King Mileubramn of Sumanar sat behind his desk as Ceilsea entered. She was neither stopped nor announced as she walked in. His majesty did not keep a lot of servants, and those he did knew there was no reason to announce the sculptress. She sat on the chaise lounge to the side of the room and waited for him to address her.
The king was an older man. His dark, combed-back hair had streaks of gray at his temples. There might be more gray than that, but his head was usually covered in a turban. His mintan and entari were blue and decorated with gold embroidery. He had defined crow’s feet on the sides of his dark and long lashed eyes. His beard was trimmed so close it looked like a shadow on his skin. He finished writing, put down his quill, and looked up at her.
“I assume you are in a bad mood this morning, considering how much you have complained about the festival thus far,” he said. It wasn’t quite a greeting, but he did manage to include the time of day and an inquest about her feelings in one sentence.
Ceilsea gave him a slight smile. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t want to add to your stress. Organizing and overseeing the whole tournament is more of a nightmare than anything I must endure.”
“Yet, I worry about you. I would be quite lonely without you around.”
Ceilsea’s stomach tightened.
He continued, “I promise not to call on you too often, but you should show your face at the tournament grounds at least a few hours each day. Of course, you must also attend the Champion’s Ball tonight and the showcase for your work tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll be where I’m needed. Rivonae already offered to accompany me tonight. Surely you didn’t call me to remind me of things I would do already,” Ceilsea said, swinging her legs up onto the seat and lying comfortably.
“As I am acting so predictably, you might already know what I am going to ask,” he sighed. “Part of the reason I want you to attend the fight is because I would like to commemorate the Champion of Sumanar with a life-sized sculpture.”
Before she could stop herself, she stuck her tongue out and replied, “Do I really have to sculpt a bone-headed warrior or a frumpy wizard?”
“If that’s who wins, yes,” he stated. “However… I’m also willing to give you extra stone to sculpt a fight or fighter of your choosing to commemorate the event.”
She sighed. In her position, she couldn’t refuse any little bit of creative freedom. “That’s amenable.”
She would deliver the statues to the king after she left. She would not break a promise to her patron.
“I figured it would be. I’m sure both will be wonderful. Thank you for stepping up at these events. Our people see you as a symbol of our prosperity and your presence reassures them. In fact, your entire family has been very helpful in orchestrating this tournament.” He rubbed his forehead. She could see he was tired. There was probably more going on behind the scenes of the tournament than he was willing to talk about.
“Miennere has entered herself in the tournament,” Ceilsea commented, trying to distract him.
“I heard. I told your parents that I empathize with dealing with a troubled daughter. I’ll do what I can to get her out of the tournament fairly. It’s one of the things I hope my own champion will take care of,” he deftly avoided her conversational maneuver.
“Your champion?”
Ceilsea knew that after the open part of the tournament, which had put the capital into frenzy, there would be a second part where nobles entered their own proven warriors. The nominated warriors would fight against those who advanced through the open rounds until a single Champion of Sumanar remained. Ceilsea had thought the king abstained from choosing his own warrior, to avoid showing favor.
“I had to appoint one, for security reasons. You know him. It’s—”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” the king answered.
The door opened gently. Ceilsea sat up when she saw the two men walk in. The first man worked with her father regularly. The High Wayzard, Iscano Reberia, was a small, skinny man whose lack of hair was covered by his turban. He almost always looked worried, but today he looked calm. Ceilsea understood why when she saw the man behind him. The towering wide shouldered figure of Iscano’s husband, Aamard Reberia, the admiral of the royal navy, took stock of the room and then Ceilsea before moving forward to stand with his husband. His dark, well-kept hair was more evenly grayed than the kings and his beard was bushier. The admiral always stood straighter than anyone else in the room.
“Your majesty,” Iscano greeted the king and bowed with his husband. “You asked to be informed when Admiral Reberia arrived.”
“We were just speaking of you. Ceilsea, this is my Champion,” King Mileubramn motioned toward Aamard.
“Mistress Brijas,” the admiral bowed toward the sculptor.
Ceilsea sat up and bowed her head in return. Despite his increased age, she had heard nothing but formidable stories about Aamard Reberia’s prowess in battle. He was an exceptional sailor and wizard who had bested both pirates and sea monsters with his weaponwork and dynamic spell strumming. Most of these stories she heard from Vonae, who had spent a few months as his student. As far as she was concerned, Vonae was the most reliable source.
“Shall I leave you to speak of the tournament?” Ceilsea asked, brushing the silk of her kaftan smooth as she stood.
“I wish we could chat longer, but I must make everything perfect for tonight and the upcoming days. I will find you at the ball.” The king rose from his chair as he spoke, navigating around the desk. He gathered her rough hand in his larger ones and kissed her palms. She bowed her head in reverence before standing with him.
“High Wayzard. Admiral Reberia,” she nodded to them as she curtsied.
She moved to leave, but Aamard turned to stop her. “Excuse me, Mistress, I want to take this opportunity to express my admiration. I’ve seen your work in the gallery and sculpture garden and everything left me awed, especially the Nymph of Caleocade. You are truly a testament to our country’s culture and refinement. We are lucky to have your talents.”
Ceilsea cocked her head to one side. Out of all her work, the barely covered boyish beauty who birthed the ocean was not the most creative choice for the favorite of a sailor with a husband, but she need not criticize his taste. Instead, she smiled politely and replied, “You don’t have to flatter me, Admiral. His majesty does that enough already. But I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
She left the men alone to discuss the business of violence and politics. Ceilsea was barely out the door when she started to strip off the extra layers of clothing she had put on for the sake of presentation. By the time she made it back to her room, her fancy kaftan and sash were folded over her arm. She carefully placed them back in the wardrobe and retrieved an alternate dress. A common looking dress with an overcoat and a dark veil that covered all but her eyes. She would never wear such a thing socially or even casually, but in this moment, she didn’t want anyone to see her for who she was. Anyone who might recognize her normally, wouldn’t take notice of her in this style of dress. It was a costume. One that made her look like an ordinary woman, not the pseudo-princess of Sumanar or a messy sculptor. It was the only way she could slip out of the palace without Vonae.
She kept the veil hidden in her coat until she slipped out of the palace unseen. Then, she draped it over her head and nose to finish her look. It was time to see what all this noise and chaos was about and figure out how to use it to her advantage to make a clean getaway.
Her first stop was the amphitheater, not far from the eastern steps of the palace. This part of the city was usually shadowed by the overhang of the cliff above. Seasonally it hosted huge markets, events, and temporary structures, but more often than not, it was empty. Now it was busier than she had ever seen it, even busier than when they held the horse auctions.
Though the main draw was the tournament, not all the visitors flowing past her were warriors, wizards, or wayzards. People of all ages were headed in every direction. Vendors were selling food and trinkets before the festivities started in the evening. Some of the crowd moved with purpose, others gawked at the sights and sounds, as if their destination was wherever their eyes decided to take them. The only thing tying all the people together was the dust from the rocky road covering their skin and clothes.
Ceilsea felt that, at one point or another, she had been almost everyone in the crowd. As a teenager, she’d been the tourist invited to the palace for the first time. A year later, she became a local when her parents decided to move to chase the king’s favor. She became familiar with the streets until the surroundings became almost invisible in her life. Today, though, she saw the city with new eyes. She was someone new; she was a spy, looking for a way out.
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