16. En Bateau

 

Princess Shulamit looked around the grand dining hall at the Imbrian royal family and their guests, admiring their exotic, ornate clothing and wondering what the next course would be. It was so nice to have varied food again, after all the rice she’d eaten on the way here. The vegetable soup was simple but flavorful, with a base of pureed potato, and the simple green salad that followed was so fresh and crisp that it almost looked too perfect to eat. The olive oil provided to pour on it with the vinegar and salt tasted different from the oil back home, but still very good. Shulamit knew there were people who could tell whether an oil was Perachi or Imbrian just by the taste, but she was far from being one of them.

Princess Carolina was seated across from her, but the pleasure Shulamit took in her food took some of the pressure off the infatuation. It was almost easier to enjoy Carolina’s presence when she had something else to think about at the same time.

Still, she ate impeccably—at any moment, those large, dark eyes might be on her, and she didn’t want to have lettuce leaves poking out of her mouth or vinegar dribbling down her chin.

Her heart sank a little when she realized the next course was more rice, accompanied by a strange, gray meat she didn’t recognize. She reached out her hand for the serving spoon to take some anyway, but her father stopped her with a gentle touch to the wrist. “That’s not for us, sweetheart.”

She looked at him curiously. “What animal…?”

“It is wild boar,” said Queen Ines, “from our royal forests. Don’t worry! There is also fish and potatoes on the way.”

“Thank you.” Shulamit moved her braids so that they hung down her back instead of over her shoulders, out of the way of her food.

The fish was saltier than she was used to, but it was still delicious. Dessert was made of little custards, overwhelmingly sweet and drenched in a brown syrup that Shulamit thought was going to be honey but was thinner and runnier. She found herself licking the spoon as she studied the novel flavor, peering at Carolina across the table. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to kiss her after they’d eaten something like that? She imagined a moment alone with her—just two girls pressing together their sugared mouths, kissing each other spotless.

“I think your daughter is enjoying the flan,” said King Fernando to King Noach with amusement. “Is this the first time she’s had it?”

“Maybe so,” said Noach. “It’s good to see her eating like this. She ate so timidly during our travels.”

“You can have a second, if you like,” said Queen Ines warmly.

“Mmmm.” Shulamit put the spoon down with embarrassment.

King Fernando pushed back his chair and stood. “Now that dinner is over, we can all take our coffee in the salon. I think my daughter has prepared something to entertain us.”

“Oh?” Shulamit turned to Carolina with interest as she followed everyone away from the table.

“Yes, I have improved in my singing lessons.” Carolina grinned, her face radiant.

“I love your voice,” said Shulamit. She was excited about the informal recital; at last, an excuse to stare at Carolina for minutes at a time!

She accepted her coffee cup and curled up next to her father on one of the sofas, wrapping her pink, filmy scarf around her shoulders like the embrace she wanted from Her Lady.

Carolina was standing at the far end of the room talking to a tall man with a beard that went all the way around his face. He was a little older than they were—maybe in his early or midtwenties, and his broad shoulders and trim waist made him seem vaguely triangular. He held a guitar that was also strapped around his neck and back with a piece of leather.

“Good evening, Visconde!” called King Fernando to the stranger.

“Good evening, Majesty!” the man replied jovially.

“Give us some good music tonight,” said the king.

“I always try, Majesty.” The man bowed, then took a place behind Carolina.

She folded her hands across her stomach and waited for his opening chords.

Shulamit’s head lolled backward with unexpected delight as Carolina’s glorious soprano voice filled the room. Several moments later she realized her own mouth was hanging open, so she closed it and swallowed delicately. Gripping her cup, she let the sound fill her body, until every hair on her head, every inch of skin, every drop of blood was Carolina’s song.

The words were sad, some kind of lament over unreturned love. Shulamit pretended they were for her. Then they became her own words, in her heart, and she saddened as she realized for not the first time that if one of them had been a boy, it was likely their fathers would be arranging their marriage. Why did things have to be so unfair? Shulamit didn’t want to be a boy. And she definitely didn’t want Carolina to be a boy. The thought of being touched by boys made her tense up even more.

When her father looked at her, puzzled, she realized she was showing her emotions too much. Settling back into the cushions with false calm, she applauded at the end of Carolina’s first air and listened as she began a second, more jaunty performance.

Since their fathers wouldn’t be able to help things along via the obvious political alliance, Shulamit would clearly have to fend for herself in matters of love. She cast her mind back to the racy books she’d found in her father’s library. What she wanted with Carolina was far more wholesome and poetic than the salacious little stories, but they had given her some ideas that might prove useful. Her plans would work best if she and Carolina had a chance to spend some quiet time alone together indoors.

Carolina’s vocal acrobatics tore Shulamit from her schemes. How was it possible that she hit all those far-apart notes with such precision? What a woman!

 

***

 

It was morning, and Princess Shulamit bounded out of bed ready to have adventures. She’d planned out her outfits for every day of the visit with excruciating care, down to the last earring, but now that she was in Carolina Central itself, she rearranged her clothing, fretted and posed, second-guessing every decision.

Her only guide to what Carolina might find pretty in another woman lay in the way Carolina herself dressed. She’d been wearing blue yesterday, but Shulamit usually disliked the color and owned nothing suitable. Her next best clue was “finery,” so she selected her lilac dress with the fuchsia shoulders and trim, for its extensive embroidery and ribbons. The matching fuchsia trousers she wore underneath were made of something reflective that shimmered, and the scarf was a work of art—starting at fuchsia and working its way to lilac, it had been hand-painted by a Perachi palace artisan.

Thus arrayed, she made short work of the pastry, coffee, and cheese the Imbrian servants brought her for breakfast. Her stomach cramped painfully as she left her room for the gardens, where she and Carolina had agreed to meet. She tried to ignore the squeezing and figured it was just nerves from her crush. Then she remembered the coffee and decided to slow it down a little bit. After all, she was more used to tea.

Princess Carolina was sitting by one of the water lily ponds when Shulamit found her. She wore gray like a big beautiful storm cloud, and was all over ribbons and fine white lace as the day before. “Good morning! You match the flowers again today.”

Shulamit smiled awkwardly. “I always seem to do that.”

“Are you all right?”

“What? Oh yes,” Shulamit stammered. “I think I drank too much coffee. I’ll be fine.” She wondered if being in love felt less queasy once the other person loved you back. Taking a deep breath, she rallied herself against the pain.

“Let’s go out on the river in a rowboat,” said Carolina animatedly. “The weather is perfect.”

That sounded safe and “sitting down,” so Shulamit agreed. “Is that the ‘little river of stars’ your capital city is named for?” she asked as they made for the riverbank. Everything was safely within the palace’s outer walls, so there was no need to worry about taking along the guards.

“Ah, no,” said Carolina. She swept one hand toward the sky. “At night, when there is no moon… you know, the river of stars in the sky?”

“Oh! The Milky Way,” Shulamit answered. “I guess it’s special for us, too—we start our month on the nights with no moon.”

“We have a legend that the founder of our city followed the river of stars to this place, led by the Gods.” Carolina surveyed the boats, choosing the one that seemed in the best condition. “Remind me later and I will show you a painting of the story in my mother’s salon.”

I want to row with you on the river of stars… Shulamit daydreamed, thinking about how there were no beautiful paintings of women like that, only vulgar ones.

Soon, Shulamit was alone with Carolina on the peaceful water, and she desperately wished there wasn’t this need for subterfuge and strategy. If only she could be sure her feelings wouldn’t be met with amusement, confusion, disgust—if only she could just speak openly. Being around you just makes me want to get to know you better, she pretended she could say. You’re beautiful and elegant and gracious, and I know that if you just held me I’d be happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

Carolina’s hand dipped into the water, and Shulamit followed the curving, subtle line of her arm with yearning eyes. She was going to go crazy if she didn’t say something else, even if she couldn’t talk about how she felt—not here, not so openly. Time to start impressing her with trivia again, as she had back in Home City.

But Carolina spoke before she could think of anything. “I am so glad that you came with your father on this trip.” She moved the oars through the water, and beside them, the riverbanks floated by. “It is hard for me to find friends of high enough rank to be appropriate companions.”

“I get lonely too,” Shulamit admitted. She did have companions, ladies-in-waiting, but even though things were far more informal in Perach than in Imbrio, she felt cut off from them by her plainness, and her nerdiness, but most of all her attraction to other women—which none of them seemed to share.

“There were some older girls, the daughters of Counts, when I was younger, but they are all grown and married now and it is not the same with those much younger,” Carolina continued. “And there is João, of course, but he is a special case.”

“Who’s that?”

“Visconde João Carneiro de Façanha,” replied Carolina. “You remember him from last night? The man with the guitar.”

“Oh,” said Shulamit. “Is he your music teacher?”

Carolina chuckled. “No, no. My music teacher is a strict old lady who yells at me until I am perfect. João is the son of a landowner who gave his life to save my father’s. In gratitude, he allowed João to spend time in the palace, so we are friends. For example, he is invited to the ball tonight, even though he is under the rank of the other guests.”

Sunlight glinted off the water and spilled into Shulamit’s eye. Behind it, she thought she saw in Carolina’s face a mirror of her own troubles.

Carolina must have sensed her scrutiny. “If he were a Count’s son I would marry him,” she said simply. “Instead, he must remain behind me and play the guitar while I sing. These things are upsetting, but they are the way of the world. Otherwise I am sure you would notice all those handsome guards who look after your father. You are so sensible to ignore them.”

Shulamit let the misunderstanding of her obliviousness toward the Perachi guardsmen go without comment as she digested this news. She had a rival, but he was a disqualified and defanged rival. And here she was, a crown princess in her own right.

Unconsciously, she fiddled with one of her dangling amethyst earrings. “So…”

Answering the wrong question, Carolina continued, “I will make my choice next year, perhaps. A widowed Duke has been paying me court, but he is older than I’d imagined. There is a young Count who makes me laugh. He is perhaps a bit frivolous for a royal consort, but I can always balance him. They say I have a cool head.”

Shulamit listened patiently, the squeezing in her stomach making her glad that Carolina was the one rowing.

“Then, of course, Zembluss has two princes my age, but with the political situation over there being what it is… I suppose you have also rejected them for the same reason.”

“I’m not marrying any princes from Zembluss.” Shulamit frowned at the idea.

Carolina smirked. “Poor men! They have far more to worry about than finding wives, I imagine.”

“My father says there will be civil war soon, over there.”

“Soon, yes.” Carolina looked out over the water. “I agree.”

“Which side do you—”

Carolina tossed her head. “Imbrio will not get involved.”

A splashing sound and then rustling in the plants on the riverbank made both girls turn their heads. On the shore, a group of bare-chested men gathered strawberries from a field, placing them in wooden crates as they worked. A fully dressed foreman was standing over one of them brandishing a wooden stick. He raised it high in the air and brought it down on the worker’s shoulder. Shulamit realized the initial noise had been the picker trying to get away.

She whipped back around to face Carolina, eyes wide. “What…? Why…?”

Carolina lifted her chin a little, studying the scene carefully. “Do you see that crate there?” A wooden box lay on its side, a few layers of rich, red berries spilling out into the dirt. “He must have broken it, and all the berries inside fell into the river,” she explained finally. “It can be taken out of his pay, yes, but when things like that happen, it also wastes time and shows a lack of care.”

Shulamit’s mouth dropped open. “But he’s a person, and it’s… just… fruit.” She massaged her cramping stomach and felt spoiled; the beaten man was probably in more pain than she was.

She craned her head as the boat drifted past the scene, unable to take her eyes off the man on the shore as he returned to work.

Carolina’s voice filtered into her thoughts as if coming from the next room. “I’m sorry if it upset you.”

Shulamit didn’t know what to say to that.

“You’ve pulled out one of your braids,” Carolina remarked.

“Oh. Oops.” Shulamit looked down and realized her nervous fingers had made short work of her hairdo. What’s more, the cord holding the braid closed had vanished. She bit her lip.

“I’ll fix it.” Carolina beckoned to her. “Here, lean close.”

Shulamit inched forward on her seat and leaned forward as much as she could.

Carolina, too, angled her body in Shulamit’s direction. She pulled a silver ribbon from the bodice of her dress. “There are so many! Most of them are just for show.” Shulamit was held by the command of her eyes, now rapturously close to Carolina’s curvy bosom. Her breasts were captivating as she leaned, beautiful hills against the gray storm clouds of the stately dress.

With deft fingers, Carolina rebraided Shulamit’s thick hair. As she began, her fingers brushed more than once against Shulamit’s cheek, and the other princess’ lips parted slightly as she patiently waited for more of this unexpected pleasure. There were a few moments of tension as Shulamit felt torn in two between the argument they’d almost had and the simple, silent pleasure of closeness, and then she simply gave up and enjoyed it.

“Have you ever—” But no. She stopped. Not here. She was too scared, and besides, what if it worked? Here they were in a rowboat, where any contact even more intimate would result in capsizing.

Carolina, looking over her handiwork with satisfaction in her eyes, raised them to Shulamit’s. “Worn my hair in braids? When I was a girl, of course. Now I prefer it down.”

“It’s lovely.” Shulamit looked away over the water, squinting to keep out the reflection of the sun.