Servant of the White Sun - Chapter 6 - Paying Court

Ciel, a young human girl, has just been hired in the Whitestar household. She is now a servant to one of the most powerful vampires in the Realm. But, just as she is settling down, a royal summons arrives. Now, the Court awaits, and Ciel doesn't know who she fears most - her growing loyalty to her mistress, the demons she's about to face or the human politics she doesn't fully understand.

To know more, read Chapter 5.

The summons came at the crack of dawn, while it was still dark outside. How amazing that anyone in the Royal Palace was even awake this early in the morning…

Ciel, who had once again been roused from a deep sleep by a commotion, rolled over on her side and cracked an eyelid open. Her bed was the least comfortable in the house. Jammed between Trish’s bookcase and the door, it was in a draft, but it also gave her a vantage point on the rest of the servants’ wing – and it was a bed! Her bed!

Trish burst into the hallway, holding a lantern at arm’s length. Her expression panicked, she glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t find Timo anywhere!”

The lady appeared, just a white ghost in the doorframe. “I cannot show up alone, Trish.”

Her tone held no authority, soothing, half-plea and half-reassurance, like a parent trying to appease a hysterical child.

“I can’t go!” Trish burst out. “You can’t ask that of me! What if…? No!”

Ciel felt bad for eavesdropping – again, but really, they were making so much noise…She wriggled and a bedspring squeaked. Trish didn’t notice, too busy deep-breathing, but the lady tilted her head like a cat, her attention now split between her two servants.

“Trish,” she said in a low, intent way. “I will not make you do anything. You know that.”

Something in her voice seemed to reach Trish, who made a halting apology, “I’m sorry.”

The lady enfolded her in a quick hug. It was such a human gesture – so unexpected. It didn’t last long but it did strange things to Ciel. Jaan Whitestar kept challenging her belief that the demons were soulless. Ciel wanted to look away, to run from the realization that Jaan was capable of feeling.

“Don’t apologize, Patricia. Prepare C’hnyel for Court. You have an hour while I see to my own attire.”

The lady slipped away even as Trish’s eyes found Ciel in the shadows. The girl finally sat up, feeling sleepy still and rumpled.

Trish’s face softened into an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Ciel.” Trish sniffed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright.” Ciel, praying she wouldn’t start crying again, gave her a gentle wave of her hand. “Come on, sit with me and tell me about Court. Come on.”

Trish got a brush, a comb and her favorite ribbon and came to stand behind Ciel, her fingers pulling, combing and twisting in a hairstyle more sophisticated than Ciel’s usual plain braid. She said nothing, knowing her friend needed something to do and silently freaking out herself. She was going to Court!

“Will there be lots of saÿrimen at the Court?” she asked almost despite herself and was surprised at how composed she sounded.

Trish, maybe hearing the fear in her voice, leaned in to kiss the younger girl on the temple, “Lots, and none that you should fear.” She paused. “I'm sorry, Ciel, I simply can’t go.”

“Why? How bad is it?”

“Bad?” Trish repeated, then fell in a thoughtful silence. “Oh, it’s not bad. It’s…noisy, flashy and dazzling. Dangerous too. Complicated.”

“Then, why…”

“I had other owners before Lady Whitestar.” Her fingers were brisk now, pulling a little, but Ciel winced and said nothing. “Some were influential saÿrimen. Regulars at the Court. I can’t see them – see myself through their eyes.”

Her grip slackened as her hands started shaking. Ciel pretended she couldn’t feel it. “Tell me what I should know. What shall I do?”

“Walk three feet behind Lady Whitestar at all times. Do everything she does. Bow when she bows. Stop when she stops. Don’t speak. Don’t look anyone in the eyes. Saÿrimen are peculiar about physical contact and nobles ape them in that as they ape them in everything. Direct touch is taboo. If someone wants to hand her something, they will hand it over to their own attendant, who will hand it over to you.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is. Everything is a sophisticated ritual. But they won’t be watching you for mistakes. Every eye will be on the mistress. You’re just a part of our lady. Don’t listen to anyone, but her.”

Ciel nodded dutifully.

“Don’t touch anyone. Don’t talk to anyone, it’s a convoluted system of titles. You can call Lady Whitestar ‘Mistress.’ If you absolutely have to talk to anyone else, stick to ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady,’ ‘Your Majesty’ for the Queen, ‘Salcar’ for the Retzar.”

“I won’t really have to talk to him?!”

Bad enough that she had to appear before hundreds of demons.

Trish chuckled, siphoning calm off Ciel’s panic. “Archblue isn’t that bad. He’s a reasonable sort. Ruthless, that’s for sure, but he has a vested interest in keeping the peace.” Ciel wisely kept her tongue in check. The household’s mild opinions on many subjects continued to bewilder her. She usually shut up for fear of giving offense. Still, the Retzar was the biggest, most dangerous demon around, no one was going to convince her otherwise. “Settle down, guttersnipe. If anything, you’re safer around Archblue. He’s the law. Not like Gytrash and his ilk.”

Ciel’s eyes widened. “He won’t be at the Court? Gytrash?! The saÿrim who attacked me belonged to him!”

“No,” Trish replied. “He isn’t welcome there.”

“Why?” Ciel asked.

“Because he’s a rude, arrogant, rebellious, dangerously unbalanced bastard. Ranting about saÿrim superiority and criticizing the graental system for putting humans out of his reach…” Trish’s comb stilled, at last. “Your hair will do. Now, about your outfit…”

The lady had had clothes tailored for Ciel, most of them dull black servant robes and two lighter kafin Ciel thought lovely. The short robes were embroidered in black and white, pearls sewn into their wide sashes. Ample pant legs billowed like skirts around her legs but allowed a wider range of movement.

Ciel gaped at herself in the mirror. She looked alright, nothing left of the street rat in her, finer than the uptown gentlewomen who had patronized the upscale stores where she used to work. She grinned at herself until Trish rolled her eyes, called her silly and left. Then, there was nobody to talk to and Ciel simply couldn’t forget where they were going. She sat quietly, miserably in the kitchen until their chauffeur showed up.

***

Ciel had wondered how the lady could spend an hour prettying up. Of course, once she first saw Lady Whitestar in her Court garb, she understood.

The saorim emerged from her rooms wearing three superimposed robes. Closest to her skin, longest, she had donned a dress in her favorite deep red color. Over it, she wore Persian blue and, over that, a deep emerald green that wasn’t much more than filigree. The effusion of colors should have clashed with her beautiful hair, but it had been twisted up and pulled into a severe style. Two sticks held it in place by what appeared to be a miracle of gravity and magic.

Her ears were pierced in four places. Ciel hadn’t noticed before because the lady normally didn’t bother with earrings. Now, she wore her crest in one hole, amethysts and garnets in the others.

They adorned her neck and wrists too, glittering columns climbing up her forearms and throat. It was near impossible to know where the jewels stopped and where her bright body-paint took over. Red and purple dots colonized half of her face and most of her limbs. They formed a bizarre half-mask which toned down the extreme contrasts in her physiognomy.

Under their exquisite lace, she looked a creature from an exotic land, an odd flower whose many vibrant corollas danced with each gesture. Until you almost didn’t notice the thorns. An elfin-looking sword hung at her side and she wore a dozen knives discreetly obvious all over her robes.

For a second or a hundred, Ciel was speechless, truly in awe for the first time in her life. Then, the lady smiled her usual smile, and the world fell right side up.

Ciel felt foolish for having thought herself radiant. She snorted and the lady, sitting in the car beside her, slanted her a curious glance. The saorim was a vision, alright.

“Is something the matter, Miss Sarven?” Lady Jaan asked, her tone crisp with formality.

“You just look different, my lady.”

Jaan Whitestar raised a quizzical eyebrow. She clearly didn’t know what to make of that. “So do you.”

“Thank you, my lady. Nicer than I’ve ever looked, I’d wager.”

And probably as nice as she would ever look.

“You are pretty enough, C’hnyel Sarven. You are just a little…” The lady floundered for a moment, visibly looking for a polite alternative to ‘skinny.’ “…thin.”

“I’m always going to be scrawny, mistress. Used to be rail thin as a child too,” she said, her guttersnipe accent thicker, one pinky finger raised in illustration. “It’s in the blood. My parents were all skin and bones. My brother is too,” she added with a dark frown.

She hadn’t yet decided whether she should give Frances a warning about leaving town. Even putting aside half of her earnings to repay her debt, Ciel might afford a one-way ticket out of town for her brother – she had few expenses. But would he agree to leave? Not so long as there were light-skirts and booze in town.

Quiet filled the car until Ciel finally noticed the lady’s tension. Jaan’s fingers were clenched on the hem of her upper robe, her back was painfully straight, and her breathing was loud enough that a human ear could hear it, for once.

“Are you alright, my lady?” she asked.

“I do not enjoy myself at the Court.” The lady grimaced. “But one does not ignore a royal summons.”

“Are there lots of saorimen at the Court?”

For some unfathomable reason, Ciel’s question gave Lady Whitestar a start. She turned away before she answered – but not before Ciel saw the pain, the icy anger in her eyes. “There are precious few saorimen anywhere, C’hnyel.” Her voice went soft, “They say our saÿ is sweeter than ambrosia.”

Ciel didn’t understand at first and, when she did, it felt like an invisible hand reached inside and squeezed her innards. Her skin was hot and cold and tingly, and her eyes burnt, as if from a sudden bout of fever. “They eat their own,” she said in a not-quite-inquiry.

“They hunt us down-” The lady, still looking out of the window, lifted her chin a few inches higher. “-for fun and out of old superstitions.”

Ciel hugged herself, feeling all shivery. Demons, indeed. “Is it safe for you to appear at the Court, my lady?”

“I am the White Star,” the lady replied at once, arrogance and something more in her voice.

It wasn’t by any means a straight answer. Ciel decided they were entering enemy territory and regretted not coming armed. It was a mistake she would never make again, she promised herself. Maybe her nest egg would be better invested in a weapon than in her good-for-nothing brother. She made a note to visit a smith.

“You are safe enough, C’hnyel Sarven,” her mistress told her suddenly.

“What about you, my lady?”

“Do you care? Few humans do.”

Ciel shrugged. “How could I not? My livelihood depends on your continued well-being.”

“How…mercenary of you, Miss Sarven.”

She heard the laughter in the lady’s voice and knew that she hadn’t fooled her. She cared, period.

“Is it safe for you, my lady?”

“I am a Whitestar magician, C'hnyel. Nobody would be foolish enough to provoke me.” The lady smiled a toothy smile. “No, upon further reflection, let me amend that: nobody but Gytrash would be foolish enough and I almost wish he would try something, if only for the pleasure of squashing the gnat once and for all.”

Ciel had always believed that Gytrash was on par with Archblue when it came to power. Could the lady just squash him? The saorim was an amazing healer, but she wasn’t a warrior. Ciel almost made a comment to that effect but the lady spoke in a tone clearly meant to set the matter to rest, “Now, enough of that, Miss Sarven. Look out of your window, we are entering the Silent Bubble.”

Ciel gasped and looked out, wonder making her forget everything else. The Silent Bubble wasn't a sight for her likes and she had never expected to visit it in a hundred years. Oh, she had imagined it!

Everybody knew it had been an amusement park before it became the royal residence, but Cormac, a sailor Ciel had had a brief dalliance with, had sworn to high heaven that it was an honest to goodness forest. He said that you couldn't see anything from the river, but trees. Frances was sure it was “all bullshit.” The residence couldn't be anything but fortified, concrete walls and guards to the skyline.

They were both right. The Silent Bubble looked like a centuries-old wood, dark and peaceful in the way of ancient forests. The dark green firs seemed to watch the car as they made their way deeper, solemn and proud. Sometimes, as the road curved, Ciel caught sight of bent structures, buried deep in the vegetation. They were sinister, those great metal skeletons, lying on their side, slowly eaten up by rust and lichen. The parts that weren't corroded reddish still glittered in the sun.

But other metallic contraptions also winked at them, perched high up in the trees.

“Cameras,” she said in a breath.

“Everywhere,” the lady confirmed. “Motion detectors too. And snipers. Don’t ever forget the snipers.”

“Why would I…”

“Queen Fantine is no fool – and neither were her predecessors. There is no privacy in the Palace. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Don’t make sudden moves around the Queen and never step within six feet of her. Only a handful of intimates are allowed that close.” She paused, then added, “The same applies to me.”

Ciel grinned. “Am I expected to enforce that rule?”

She couldn’t help imagining herself trying to beat grimacing demons into submission with the buckle of her kafi. She didn’t think it would go over well. The lady chuckled. “I will enforce it myself, have no fear.”

Ciel had a lot of fears but didn’t think it was the right time to mention them.

“You should roll down your window, C’hnyel. There are environmental wards all around the Silent Bubble. Unless you go on an intercontinental cruise, you will never breathe air so pure.”

Ciel couldn’t tell whether the air was that pure, but that silence…She had never heard such silence. They were smack in the middle of a bustling city, but she could hear the quiet lullaby of the wilderness in its full glory – the wind rustling in the branches and the undergrowth, a couple of singing birds, teeming life under all the greenery. The hybrid motor of the car hummed along.

“They’re just letting us drive in here?”

“This is a Whitestar vehicle and we carry the Queen’s seal.”

The lady produced an envelope – the royal summons. Ciel almost took it, then stopped when her fingers tingled with the distinctive pins and needles sensation that signaled the presence of powerful magic. The summons disappeared back in the folds of Jaan’s robes.

“We will take a walk around the park after my audience with the Queen. It is quite lovely. The Palace should be just around the next bend.”

Ciel threw her dignity to the wind and stuck her head out of the window. She ignored the silvery peal of the lady’s laughter inside the car: she didn’t want to miss one glimpse of the Palace. It glowed! A bluish light reflected off the walls of the royal residence. They were unique – fine marble, milky white, veined with cerulean blue. Belfries and towers reached up to the angels, a lattice of stairs, balconies, statues and fountains wrapped around the citadel.

“Gaudy,” the lady said.

Ciel turned to stare at her and was surprised when they stopped at the first check-point. The guards – big, harsh men – looked at them out of eyes that reminded her of the kids in the Bowels. They were armed to the teeth and they looked hostile, suspicious. They wore a uniform of royal blue and steel gray, and the Queen’s personal crest was embroidered on their backs – a scythe and a star.

“Royal Guard. They call themselves the Brothers of the Scythe.”

Ciel smirked. She knew, of course. She didn’t trust men at arms as a general principle, even Scythers, for all that they held the highest responsibility imaginable. “Calling themselves the Brothers of the Star would have been beneath them, I suppose.”

The lady chuckled again, then fell quiet as guards surrounded the car. Jacob Salomon rolled down his window and laconically announced, “Whitestar.”

A guard, slightly older than the others, nodded. His eyes roamed inside the car. “Only three?”

“Aye. I can open the trunk for you if you want.”

“If you would all step out of the car, please?”

“New security measures, uh?” Salomon probed. “First time we’re asked to leave the car. Do we have to?” The guard just grunted. Salomon glanced at them over his shoulder, “My lady?”

Lady Whitestar nodded. Ciel immediately jumped out of the car and darted between the guards to open her mistress’s door. She bowed as the saorim emerged. The guards only bent at the waist. It annoyed Ciel.

Still.

The Scythers looked over every inch of the car – they even brought out a couple of sniffer dogs. There was nothing to be found, of course and Ciel eventually helped the lady back into her seat. She was relieved to get out of the wind. Her clothes weren’t quite enough to isolate her from the cold. The lady, maybe in response to her shivering or to the hasty way she closed her window, brushed a hand down Ciel’s back, spreading delightful warmth in her wake.

“Your impressions, Jacob?” she asked.

Ciel had never heard anyone call stout Mr. Salomon by his Christian name and, if she had expected anyone to, it wouldn't have been the lady. The kindest word she could use to describe the saorim's relationship with her staff was ‘polite.’ But now that she thought about it, she realized that she hadn’t seen Jaan with her free servants often. Maybe everyone in the Whitestar household had been handpicked for their potential loyalty to the lady.

“Stun batons on their belts,” Salomon replied, cool professionalism in his tone. “Gas masks and cans of tear gas inside their cars.”

“Preparing for riots,” the lady hypothesized.

“Likely.”

“Anything else?”

“Hm. Silver bullets. Royal Factories. The best out there.”

“Not just preparing for riots, then?”

“No. Not just for riots.”

He took a ramp descending into an empty underground parking garage. Remembering the lady's advice, Ciel tried to look starched and competent but was quietly disheartened to leave Mr. Salomon behind with the car. It would have been much easier to pretend to be starched and competent with starched and competent backup.

Ciel and Lady Whitestar took an elevator up.

If you want to know what the Queen wants with Jaan Whitestar, read Chapter 7.