CHAPTER VIII
The meeting of the Royal War Council began with a procession. Savra, flanked by guards in ceremonial armor, led the way from the residential wing. Behind her walked her cohort of slaves: Margot, Dove, Pinch and Tisa. (Vine, after a week and a half, was back on her feet but not yet recovered enough to perform her full duties.)
Behind the slaves went Savra’s top generals, broad-shouldered men with shaven heads and perpetual frowns, clad in their ceremonial finery and marching in regimental fashion. They carried with them numerous documents, bundles of scrolls detailing every aspect of Vaatar’s military strategy. Margot felt as though the parchment were burning a hole in the back of her head. She walked just meters away from secrets that could hand an overnight victory to her people and she could not open them to look. It was in its own way a torture worse than any flogging she may suffer.
Behind them went the nobles, Prince Haftan among them, looking as though he’d eaten a particularly bitter fig for breakfast. Minister Moshti brought up the rear, double and triple-checking his sums as he walked.
The Council Sanctum was a fortress within a fortress, fully closed off from the outside of the palace by walls of thick black stone on all sides and illuminated only by torchlight even at midday. It was sealed by a massive set of iron doors, which two guards turned two large handles in order to open. As the council members began to file inside, the Queen turned to the slaves.
“Only one of my servants may enter the sanctum,” she said. She studied them intently for a moment. “Dove. It shall be you this time.”
Damn, Margot thought. That probably would have been too easy to be true though.
“The rest of you will wait here until our meeting is concluded. Should anyone attempt to penetrate the sanctum,” she smirked, “you will be the first to know." She turned to enter.
“Hold on, sister.”
Haftan swaggered toward them.
“As a Prince, I’m permitted one servant of my own.” Savra narrowed her eyes at him.
“What need have you of one, Haftan?” she demanded.
“To hold my cloak,” he said. He shrugged his ornate silk cloak off his shoulders and gathered it in his arms.
“You are trying my patience, Haftan.”
The prince surveyed the line of slaves.
“I will take Petal!” he said jovially, and passed Margot the cloak. She took it hesitantly, not sure how Savra would react. The Queen narrowed her eyes and took a step toward him.
“What are you playing at, brother?” she hissed.
“I don’t play, sister.” Haftan insisted, smiling innocently.
“Your Majesty,” one of the generals interrupted. “We are ready to begin.” Savra pursed her lips and glared from Haftan to Margot and back.
“If you speak inside the Sanctum without being spoken to,” Savra said to Margot and Dove, her voice dripping with poison, “you will be flogged. If you speak of anything that transpires within outside of the Sanctum,” she paused, letting it sink in, “you will be flogged to death. You will not get a second warning.” She turned on her heel. Margot followed Haftan into the shadowy chamber, and the doors slammed shut behind them.
* * *
According to procedure, Margot knelt against the wall behind Haftan’s seat at the long, ornate meeting table. She was required to stay there and keep her head down unless specifically called upon to attend to her masters. Dove knelt likewise behind Savra. It was for the best that the two of them could not make eye contact.
Savra commanded the attention of the room.
“My friends and countrymen,” the Queen proclaimed with a self-satisfied smile, “the end of generations of bitter war is in sight.” Haftan audibly scoffed. She ignored him, drawing herself up to her full height. “I know many of you have been wondering why I have ceased supplying arms, effective after the Cypress festival…” There was a murmur of acknowledgement. “I, together with my elite corps of assassins, have devised a plan which will deliver a fatal blow to our enemies in Merdaine…”
Margot held her breath, determined not to miss a word. This was it.
“...by delivering a fatal blow to their simpering porcelain doll of a monarch!”
She spit the description with such contempt, Margot felt punched in the stomach. Her heart cried out for Lusianna. She missed her so much.
“On the night of the Cypress Moon,” Savra continued, “two of my assassins will take passage on board a merchant vessel bound next for the port of Emmerly in Merdaine. The same day that they arrive, the Princess will be at the port performing an inspection of armaments and munitions. My agents will infiltrate the warehouse, block the entrances, and burn it down with the Princess inside.” Savra looked mournful.
“They will then be given posthumous honors for their sacrifices to the people of Vaatar, and their families will receive lifelong pensions from my own vaults." She bowed her head respectfully.
Margot wanted to run then and there. She wanted to throw herself from the window and run and run, barefoot across the desert sands, then swim a thousand miles across the ocean to Lusianna and warn her. Warn her and spirit her away from the palace, away from Merdaine and the war. She wanted to run away with Lusianna somewhere they would be safe and fall asleep in her arms every night.
Savra’s voice snapped her out of it.
“The disaster will appear to all the world to be an accident. A tragic, unintended consequence of perpetual war. The people of Merdaine, then, having lost their beloved figurehead in such a way, will be demoralized. They will begin to turn against the war, until the new government has no choice but to finally withdraw.”
“This is preposterous!” Haftan finally interjected.
“Excuse me?” said Savra.
“Pray tell,” Haftan said, leaning forward onto the table. “What happens if this stratagem were to fail, given that you’ve seen fit cut off all our supplies?”
“Do you have so little faith in me, Haftan?” Savra asked icily.
“I have very little faith in your strategy,” Haftan shot back. “You seem to forget that war is a broad and complex operation and not a petty feud between you and the Princess!”
“How dare you?”
“The Prince speaks perhaps a bit harshly,” interrupted one of the Generals, “but he raises a fair question, Your Majesty. Surely we don’t want to leave ourselves without any contingencies?”
Savra stared at the man with fire in her eyes.
“Contingencies, General, are for cowards.”
Margot could scarcely believe what she was hearing. No military official in her homeland would speak, or think, this way. Savra’s megalomania was truly astounding. And potentially devastating.
“You would accuse us of cowardice for looking after the Vaatari people?” Haftan roared, rising to his feet.
“You would accuse a Queen of Vaatar of negligence to her people?” Savra shot back. “One could almost question your loyalties, Haftan.”
The siblings stared daggers at one another across the table.
“Perhaps you would care to continue this discussion without the company, my Queen?” said Haftan.
Savra stewed for a moment.
“Very well,” she replied. “This meeting is prematurely adjourned due to my brother’s temper. We will reconvene in three days. All of you may go.”
The generals, lords, and Moshti hastened awkwardly to vacate the room. Margot and Dove rose and followed as well, bringing up the rear of the evacuation. Once they were out, the heavy doors slammed shut, leaving the Queen and the Prince alone in the Sanctum.
Margot pressed herself against the black stone wall, feeling overwhelmed. Everything she had come to find out had just been handed to her and now she had no way out and no way to convey information for weeks. Lusianna was in danger and she could do nothing. She had been part of the planning committee for the armaments inspection!
Pinch and Tisa, who were still stationed outside the Sanctum, noticed her apparent distress. Pinch murmured something to Tisa, who said something similar to Dove. Dove shrugged and turned away, shunning Margot. Margot didn’t care. She didn’t need them and she didn’t care what they thought of her.
She pushed off from the wall and headed frantically down the corridor, not knowing where she was going but simply needing to move forward. Before she’d made it even fifty yards, the slight, wiry figure of Bun rounded a corner and stopped her in her tracks. She was holding a large clay water pitcher.
“Miss! I were looking for you!”
Margot caught her breath.
“What is it?”
Bun tipped the opening of the pitcher toward her. Margot peered inside and saw, not water, but bundles of herbs from the pantries.
“I brought more of the medicines for Miss Vine. Thought she might be needin’ em.”
Margot was suddenly and violently overcome with affection for the girl. She took the pitcher from her gently, touched by the concern and the risk Bun had taken to deliver it.
“Thank you, Bun. I’ll make sure she gets it.” She smiled.
They were interrupted by the thunderous boom of the Sanctum doors opening and the clattering of Savra and Haftan’s frenzied footsteps down the corridor. Margot turned around and saw her coming. Her heart racing, she made a split-second decision. She threw the pitcher onto the ground, where it shattered with an ear-splitting crash. Margot hurriedly bent down and retrieved the herbs from the wreckage, shoving them into Bun’s hands.
“Take these!” She whispered. “Get them to the barracks, you’ll find Vine there. I won’t be able to come with you right now.” Bun nodded, her eyes wide with concern for Margot, and scampered away down the adjoining hallway she’d appeared from.
Savra’s footsteps closed in until Margot knew she was right behind her. She turned around sheepishly, unable to hide the demolished pitcher.
“Petal!” Savra barked, clearly still in a foul mood from whatever words had been exchanged between herself and her brother. “What have you done, girl?” Margot shrunk under the Queen’s scrutiny.
“I’m sorry, my Lady,” she said submissively. “I thought you might be thirsty after your meeting, so I was going to fetch you some water…” she let the rest explain itself. The Matrons emerged now from behind the Sanctum, flanking Savra like bodyguards as she considered Margot’s explanation.
“Hmmmm…” Savra frowned disapprovingly. “Thoughtful as that may have been, you have directly disobeyed me by abandoning your post.” Margot thought she saw Savra’s eyes flick momentarily over her shoulder and back. “You must never, ever, disobey a direct order from your Queen, you stupid girl. And you have broken my property as a result.”
Margot nodded.
“Yes, my Lady. I’m sorry, my Lady.”
Savra sighed heavily and clenched her jaw.
“I will see to it that you truly are, sorry, Petal,” she said. She beckoned to one of the Matrons, who stepped forward and produced from inside her robes a sturdy riding whip similar to the one Haftan had used on Vine, but with a longer lash.
Savra pointed to the pile of broken terra cotta.
“Stand there,” she said.
Margot turned slowly on the spot, looking on with dread at the jagged clay shards.
“Go on,” Savra repeated.
Margot closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped gingerly onto the broken clay, wincing as the sharp edges dug into the soles of her feet, some breaking the skin. She adjusted her weight, tears welling in her eyes from the pain.
“Now hold your hands out, Petal.”
The stoic Matron loomed next to Margot. She slid the end of the horsewhip underneath Margot’s hands and lifted it, raising Margot’s arms slowly until her palms were extended out in front of her like a disobedient schoolchild.
“Ten lashes, Matron,” Savra ordered. She looked at Margot. “Consider this a warning.” She turned and swept away down the corridor, not staying to watch.
Margot sucked in a breath and held it. The Matron raised the whip over her head. Margot closed her eyes.
The whip whizzed down through the air and snapped across the palms of Margot’s hands like a firecracker. The pain shot up through Margot’s arms like an electric shock and she nearly doubled over, swallowing a pained grunt. She composed herself. She’d been trained for worse than this.
The Matron whipped her again across her palms. Margot pulled her arms into herself reflexively, her hands stinging brutally from the blow. Tears leaked from her eyes but she still didn’t cry out.
A third stroke landed across her forearms. Three bright crimson welts burned across her skin now. She whimpered at the blow. She tried to send her mind away, leave the here and now and retreat to a place of safety until the punishment was ended. She tried to picture Lusianna, how she had bandaged Margot up after a bad riding accident once, how Margot had laughed at how banged up she had looked, and how tender Lusianna had been with her. She thought about Lusianna bandaging her hands now, how tender she would be…
The Matron held nothing back as she brought the whip down for the ninth, then the tenth time. Margot’s hands shook violently with the strain. Her face was flushed and sweat beaded on her forehead from the stress of repressing her screams. Burning pain crept up her body from her whipped hands and her lacerated feet. She sniffed, desperate to maintain her composure and looked around, regaining her bearings in the room.
The other slaves had stood and watched the whole punishment. Tisa looked on sympathetically, Pinch with a necessary disinterest, and Dove with a bitter satisfaction. The Matron returned the whip to the folds of her cloak.
“Clean up this mess and return to your duties,” she barked, then strode away.
Margot stepped to the side, burying her hands under her arms and grimacing as she willed the pain to subside. Silently cursing, she knelt down and began to gather up the shards. Many were wet with her own blood.
***
Margot spent the first half of a sleepless night in the barracks huddled against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She was able to use some of Vine’s leftover herbs to soothe the cuts on her feet, but the wheals on her hands and arms still stung terribly, like oversized insect stings.
As she nursed her wounds, she became aware of a presence in the door of her stall. She turned and looked. From her clothing, the thin woman was a member of Savra’s household staff; a high-ranking servant of some sort, though not one she recognized.
“Pardon me,” the servant whispered. “The Queen sent me. She requires your presence tonight. In her bedchamber.”
The servant bowed politely and tiptoed quickly away, beckoning Margot to follow.
