The Master of Jackals walked into the desert bearing only one skin of water.
Are you not afraid? a boy cried, as Jackal disappeared into the sands.
I will return or I will not, he said. My fear has no bearing on the outcome.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
A knock at the door brought Jasminda fully awake. She garbled a greeting and a tiny maid, not yet out of her teens, appeared with yards of fabric in her arms.
“Have a nice rest, miss?” the girl said in a crisp city accent. Jasminda tried to prop herself on her elbows but gave up after a few moments and collapsed back down.
“I’ve never slept better,” she said, mostly to the pillow.
The girl chuckled, then flitted around the room, opening the curtains. Late-afternoon sunshine filtered in.
“It’s time to bathe and change, miss. The Prince Regent has requested you for dinner.”
She startled into wakefulness. Was she to be the main course? Neither the servants last night nor this girl had reacted to her appearance, but Jasminda remained on her guard. Why could the prince want to dine with her? Jack must have set it up, though after enduring the suspicious glares and harsh words of the soldiers, she could not imagine the prince would be more welcoming to her than they had been. However, it stood to reason that Jack would be in attendance as well; he was the reason she was staying there, after all. Her excitement to be near him again grew as she followed the maid into the gold-trimmed bathroom.
Marble floors and walls greeted her. She gaped at the ivory-handled sinks with hot water flowing from the taps and marveled at the modern efficiency of a water closet with a seat that warmed her bottom. Papa had devised a plan for plumbing in the cabin, using some spell she suspected, but water had still needed to be heated on the stove.
The bathtub proved to be a stumbling block. The little maid was adamant about bathing her. Jasminda protested that she could very well bathe herself—she wasn’t a child—but finally gave in to the girl’s steely determination.
At least a bucketful of dirt disappeared down the drain. Her hair was washed and doused with a sweet-smelling concoction. Nadal—for if another woman was to see her naked, Jasminda insisted she should at least know her name—carefully combed Jasminda’s thick, tightly coiled locks free of snags in front of the fire, drying it as much as possible. Then she helped Jasminda into a complicated dress she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get out of again. At a gentle tap on the shoulder, Jasminda turned to face the full-length mirror in the dressing room.
She gasped at the vision in front of her. Shiny golden fabric flowed around her body, hugging her curves and making her appear, for the first time, like she was worthy of staying in the palace. Her hair was even tamed into a cascade of thick waves.
“You are a miracle worker,” she praised Nadal, who blushed.
Nadal searched the pocket of her apron and pulled out a tiny oval mirror on a gold chain. “Where would you like it, miss?”
Jasminda gaped. “Who is it for?” Mourning mirrors like the one Nadal held were worn after the death of a loved one. It was said those in the World After could peer through the mirrors and say their final good-byes to the living. After Jasminda’s mother died, she’d worn one around her neck for a year. When her father and brothers died, she hadn’t had the heart.
“You haven’t heard?” Nadal’s hushed voice filled with wonder. “I’d thought since you arrived with … Miss, the Prince Regent has gone to the World After.”
Jasminda took the mirror from the girl, gripping it lightly, and shook her head. “When did this happen? And how could he have invited me for dinner?”
“They made the announcement this morning, but he could have been dead for days. They never proclaim the death of a royal until his heir has been sworn in. Fear of attack during the changeover or some such. I heard from a girl who works in the prince’s wing that she’d seen His Grace last week, Thirday. But she’s just a duster, and she didn’t see him that often.” The torrent of words seemed to take something out of the girl, and she dropped her chin, staring at the floor as if embarrassed to have spoken at all.
“So the new prince invited me?” Her skin went clammy. The air in the room suddenly grew thin, as if Jasminda stood at the peak of a mountain. Jack had wanted to tell her something that night at the base, and again before they’d entered the palace.…
She shook her head, unwilling to believe such a thing. He was a warrior, and perhaps a poet. He was almost certainly not a … She couldn’t even attach the word to him. An image of his face slightly twisted in one of his grim smiles filled her vision. He would have told her something so monumental.
“Is this dinner special in some way? Is it in honor of the prince?”
Nadal shook her head. “It is just dinner. The changeover is seamless. Outside, the people will mourn and most here will wear the mirrors for a week or so, but the business of the palace never stops, not even for death.”
Jasminda sucked in a breath and fastened the gold chain around her neck. It fit snugly at the base of her throat. Not quite tight enough to choke her.
“It’s time, miss,” Nadal said.
Jasminda steeled her nerves and ignored the questions battling for dominance in her mind. They exited the rooms, and Nadal led her to the top of a grand staircase where a black-clad butler ushered her down and through a maze of hallways to a grand dining room. The grandeur of the palace was a blur, the empty feeling in her bones stealing most of her attention.
“Jasminda ul-Sarifor.” A hush descended over the vast room as her name was announced by a silver-haired attendant. Every head swiveled in her direction, and she froze under the weight of expectation in the air. The sense of foreboding remained, but she tilted her chin a few notches higher and stepped farther into the hall. Yet another butler appeared at her elbow, a kind-faced man who, despite his Elsiran appearance, reminded her of Papa.
“Miss Jasminda, this way, please,” he said, and led her deeper into the dining room. She followed his straight back, walking carefully in her delicate gold slippers. A four-piece string ensemble sat in the corner playing muted orchestral music. Three enormous U-shaped tables took up the majority of the room, with seating around the sides and a wide space for the servants to come and go in the middle. The end of the center table faced a slightly raised dais on which stood a smaller table. She surmised that must be where the Prince Regent sat. The space was magnificent—more carvings of the Lord and Lady adorned the tops of each window, and the ceiling was a grid of carved stone. Around each table sat several dozen people, all watching her. Conversations restarted, but the stares drilled into her as the butler led her to a setting only a half-dozen paces away from the dais.
She was seated next to a posh woman in an elaborate, feathered hat, her snakelike figure poured into a silken black sheath dress. Directly across from Jasminda, an old man with a hearing cone pressed to one ear and thick spectacles leaned toward the man to his right, complaining loudly of the noise. Each wore a mourning mirror. The most ostentatious display was from an older gentleman farther down the table whose mirror was affixed to his eye patch.
Jasminda fought the urge to squirm as the gazes of so many in the room raked over her, not bothering to hide their inquisitiveness. Her glass was filled by a passing waiter, and she grabbed at it, gulping greedily to soothe the sudden ache in her throat. The hall quieted again, and Jasminda turned to see what had captured everyone’s attention this time.
A hidden door built into the wall behind the dais had opened. A group of guards in fancy black uniforms emerged, then flanked the door. Chairs groaned across the floor as everyone at the tables stood, almost as one. Jasminda raced to catch up.
The same man who had announced her stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Jaqros Edvard Alliaseen, High Commander of the Royal Army, First Duke of Cavill, and Prince Regent of Elsira.”
The servant slid away, and Jasminda’s heart dissolved into a pool of liquid at her feet. Directly in front of her, in full regalia, stood Jack.