“The artist is here to paint your picture, my lady,” Jem says as soon as she enters my sitting room.
I leave with her, my guards in tow. “I can't believe I agreed to this when there's so much else going on.”
“You need to be remembered.”
Before I die and they have to do a painting of me then. Of course, then they’d just do one anyway. Inkga has me all dolled up, with a crown on and a fancy cream dress. She says I look fitting for a portrait, but I feel too done up.
As we walk, I dare myself to ask Jem, “Are you upset at me for letting you go as my Head Advisor?”
She's silent so long, I don't think she's going to answer. Then— “I know why you did it.”
“But you don't agree with it?”
“My job as your Head Advisor is over. I'm now a simple lady-in-waiting.”
“Who can offer her opinion.”
“Can I, Your Majesty?”
“Of course.” Not saying I'll follow it.
“Then, if you must know, I think your giving into the demands sets a bad precedent. I think you're making foolish choices, not based on what's best for the country.”
Ouch. “I understand.”
“We're here.” She points to a room, and I enter.
There is a painter in one corner, as evidenced by the giant easel beside her and the paintbrush in her hand. In the other corner is a velvet chair. My ladies-in-waiting are scattered throughout the rest of the room. The room’s only window is near the painter.
Everyone curtseys, and I tell them to rise before I take my seat. Then they all sit, except for the painter who gives me directions. “Turn your head to the left. That's right. And your knees over here. You're sitting up straight—good. Keep that up. I'll work as fast as I can, Your Majesty, but this will take some time and more than one visit.”
I don't respond. If I did, it would be a biting remark she doesn't deserve. Whoever thought the queens needed to be painted was silly. The First Queen wasn't painted while she was alive.
Of course, people have forgotten about her.
Not that I want to be remembered.
There's so much I could be doing instead of sitting here. Namely, I'd like to be out, looking for Nash. Wilric still has no information for me. The leads are turning up empty. Whatever Daros has planned, he’s keeping Nash well-hidden.
At least my ladies-in-waiting are here to keep me company. I can strike discussing certain items with them off my list of duties for the day.“We’re glad to have you back with us, Jem,” Inyi says. “As good as your temporary position was, we missed you.”
Lots of oh yes and very much so come from the other ladies-in-waiting, some sounding more sincere than others.
Jem smiles as if they all speak from the heart. “Thank you. What news do you have from home, Pina?”
My youngest lady-in-waiting beams. “My parents are pleased with how much I’ve been helping the queen. They said they can’t wait to hear all the stories I have after I’m released.”
I hadn’t thought about the honor it would give them to help me. I thought it was just their job. “When will you be released?”
She makes a tiny O shape with her mouth and looks down. Her response is quiet. “After you are no longer queen, Your Highness.”
When I’m dead. No wonder the poor girl looks out of sorts. “We’ll hope you’re at the palace, gathering stories for a long time, then.”
She darts her gaze to me, widening her eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I wave. “Please, don’t add the honorific. If you’re going to call me anything when we’re together, call me Ryn.”
“Thank you… Ryn.” My name is so soft, I almost don’t hear it.
“Your Highness, I must ask that you hold as still as possible,” the painter says.
I work not to grit my teeth. I hate holding still. At least it gives me a reason to participate less as the talk turns to fashion. I listen to them chat about it, but I don’t have much to add. I don’t care for the conversation until they start discussing about whether or not they should start dressing like me.
“It would be a bad idea to move away from tradition,” Lipla says.
“But it would honor our queen if we dressed like her.” Inyi sneaks me a small smile.
I grin back, glad someone is on my side.
“I agree,” Pina adds.
“Do any of you have beaus?” I ask, to turn the conversation away from me, though it reminds me of Nash. The talk stops dead silent. “What did I say?”
“Ladies-in-waiting aren’t allowed to court anyone until after they are released from service,” Jem says.
“Oh.” I think of all they’re giving up. Of Benala, the oldest, who never got the chance to have a family. Of Pina, who’s so young and has her whole life ahead of her, and will be a lady-in-waiting for a long time if I have anything to say about it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Freza says. “It’s the way things have always been. The queen can’t touch. Rules for us aren’t that strict, but we’re not to have relations either. We knew that when we went into training to be ladies-in-waiting.”
That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“That cream dress is very becoming, Your—Ryn,” Inyi says.
I glance down at it. Does she mean it? I wasn’t so sure when I saw it in the mirror—too gaudy—but then, their tastes are different than mine.
“She’s right,” Freza says. “It brings out the creaminess of your complexion.”
It is the first time they’ve paid me a compliment. Maybe they do mean it. “Thank you.”
“Where did you get it?” Suyla asks.
“I’m not sure. I think my Head Servant, Inkga, designed it.”
Oohs and aahs sound throughout the room.
“I didn’t know she had that sort of talent,” Inyi says. “You must tell her how wonderful a job she did.”
“I will. She’ll be glad to hear it.”
The talk returns to fashion, though I listen to it more than before. They are less inane than I thought they were. I see an intelligence in them, even if they’re talking about clothes.
I never enjoyed being with a group of people before.
It almost makes sitting here worth it.