Followed by Fros(58)

Kitora fussed over my hair, which she said looked like an ibis’s nest, and returned the next day with a scarf to hide it. She had originally wanted me to wear hair ornaments, but I refused to wear a wig, so this was our compromise. I thanked her until she snapped at me to keep quiet.

Lo also came to see me before the celebration, once the day after I saw Imad in the city, and again a week later to bring me another book in ancient Hraric, though not the one that referenced “Garen’s wish.” On that first visit, he came bearing wonderful news: Boani’s son’s fever had broken, and the boy was recovering nicely. I did not know if Sadriel had played any part in deciding the child’s fate, for I did not see him before Imad’s celebration. Because he stayed away, I did not have the opportunity to ask him.

A troop of four guards, Qisam and Eyan among them, came to my cavern in the early afternoon the day of the celebration, their camels’ saddles and tails decorated in braided wool. They wore bright bronze armor and swords with gem-studded hilts in honor of the occasion. The armor was obviously not meant for protection, being too thin, but I imagined it shined brilliantly when not in the shadow of my storm.

I dressed quickly, hoping the stiffening fabric around my body did not look too obvious. Kitora had made such a beautiful dress; I hated not being able to do it justice. I put on my gray gloves and tied back my hair in the scarf before mounting Leikah, who wore a red and black wreath around her long neck and bells on the back of her saddle.

“You look ripe as a sheila’s daughter,” Eyan said with a laugh as we started for the city.

“What does that mean?” I asked, but Eyan only laughed more, and colorless blood rose to my cheeks. Did I look foolish? But Kitora had made this dress for me, so I would wear it and be proud, regardless of what anyone else thought. I asked him to ride closer so I could check my head scarf in his armor, which made Qisam snicker. Truly, though, I rode into the city between four men made of mirrors.

Oh, how lively the city was! Unlit lanterns stretched between buildings and windows like clothes on a line, each with a different ink painting—tigers and mountains and spiders, even snowflakes. Women wore elaborate dresses with silver hairpieces that chimed when they turned their heads, or hats nearly an arm-span tall. A few wore gowns similar to mine, with the hems tied up nearly to their waists to keep them from dragging in the dirt. Men and women alike wore long jeweled earrings and carved stone necklaces, beads in braids and beards, and kohl to outline their eyes. Many women wore bright red lip stain, emphasizing their already full lips. People sang in houses and on corners, and even danced right in the middle of the road until harried travelers or camels forced them out of the way.

For once, the markets did not bustle with merchants and customers. Nearly every shop was closed, save for a few manned by especially determined salesmen bartering off last-minute jewelry or makeup, gold-tinted chains, and wide embroidered belts. The smell of yogurt and meat drew my eyes to a street vendor who had several feet of sausage roasting over a small fire. He cut pieces off the end, then skewered them on sticks and handed them out to passersby.

So much jubilation surrounded us that few people noticed me, even when my storm blocked out their sun or a cool breeze brushed through mashadah. It felt wrong to bring in my storm when so many were enjoying themselves in the warm streets. I decided then to leave the banquet early, if only to keep my storm from snowing too much on this blessed day. At least those who did not live close to the palace would not bear the brunt of my chill. Perhaps, if the day had been hot, they would even enjoy it . . . or so I hoped.

A stage had been erected near the palace, and women dressed in sheer veils and broad pants lined with bells were performing a complicated dance, holding glimmering batons in either hand. A crowd had gathered around them, and the spectators clapped their hands to the beat of music that sang from two hammered dulcimers and a goatskin drum. I laughed at the sight of them. How marvelous it all was! Nothing in Euwan compared to the grandeur of Imad’s Nameday Festival. Nothing.

I was not the only guest to arrive at the palace with an escort, nor was I the first. Four men carrying a litter draped in magenta lace approached the front of the well-guarded palace well before me. A beautiful young woman in heavily beaded silks emerged from the curtains, her ribbon-braided hair hanging to her ankles. A small caravan came after her, though the wagons were too tall for me to see their guests. Eyan led us behind a cluster of camels ridden by men in bright yellows and whites, each with an ornamental sword at his side. Unlike Lo’s, their swords were narrow and slender, with brass handles that looked like frozen fire.

I searched the indigo-clad guards who were helping guests at the front of the palace, but did not see Lo among them.

Eyan waved off a few soldiers and guided Leikah down himself, even offering me an armored elbow. I smiled at him but dismounted on my own.

“There’s a show going on while the guests arrive,” Eyan said. “My niece is playing the arghul. She’s excited to see the Svara Idyah in person. I told her you weren’t that great.”

“So kind,” I chuckled, clasping my gloved hands beside me and following him through the entrance. Qisam stayed behind. I tried not to marvel at the palace, for I still found its beauty enchanting. Many of the guests took notice of me—if not by sight, then by the chill—but fortunately none were blatant enough to make the signal for warding off demons in my line of sight. They either did not wish to offend me or did not wish to offend Imad, who had invited me. A few donned violet coats, all of the same make. Perhaps Imad had passed them out earlier. I stayed close to Eyan and adjusted my stride to ensure I gave everyone else plenty of space.