Xanir leaned forward and put down the empty goblet. He stood up, swinging her up in his arms, and stepped forward into the blazing sun. Alanna's eyes flashed open, realisation hitting as the heat slammed into her. He was stepping out onto a terrace. Three small trees rose above their heads, spaced in huge, ceramic pots along the length of the wide, rectangular expanse of smooth stone paving, dark green foliage offsetting bright orange fruits. In front of the central tree, two unadorned square stone blocks were set, each about waist height. Xanir angled left, toward four wide steps running the length of the terrace that led down to a six-foot deep balcony. The blue mosaic balcony floor was surrounded by heavy stone columns supporting the balustrade, intertwined with a large-leaved vine flaunting huge, deep pink flowers.
Alanna swallowed, and straightened her spine as well as she could in her current position, lifting her chin. Beyond the pink flowers, beyond the thick palace walls visible below the balcony, was a vast, open square. It was crowded, packed with people crammed into every inch despite the hot afternoon sun, more figures squashed atop the fountain spraying in centre, or hanging from the window ledges of the distant buildings. The faces were too far away to pick out clearly, blending in a colourful, seething mass, but their feelings were clear as a mounting roar of approval greeted the Great Tahl. He stepped forward, carrying his latest bride down the steps, and the roar rose to a shout. The Tahl had wrapped her in the national colours.
Alanna's cheeks were still tinged pink, but she felt her tremor subsiding. Carefully, she held her chin at the correct angle - proud, not arrogant, head angled slightly to signify her secondary status to the man carrying her. She was March Kjeldahl's daughter, and had grown up to public life.
Xanir lowered her to her feet. Alanna stifled her inward flinch in anticipation of the burning stone on her bare soles, but despite the merciless heat beating off the surrounding surfaces, the spot he carefully set her on was cool. And damp. She was barely aware of her own faint relaxation, her thoughts caught, reassured and fascinated by the outpouring of feeling as the voices in the square swelled into song. His people adored their Tahl, but their sound was coloured with a wistful longing.
The emotion in the voices soothed her toward peace. Xanir's arm slid around her bare shoulders, and he turned her so that they were facing half toward the crowd, half toward the terrace. The four lords who had been in the bedchamber had emerged after them, but they remained on the terrace, poised in front of the twin pedestals she had noticed earlier. Two were carrying a long roll of blindingly white cloth, which they held stretched between the square stones.
The noise of the crowd dropped to a muted hum as the two younger lords leapt up onto the plinths. Alanna watched with increasing trepidation as the pair still on the terrace reached to pass up the white cloth. Theatrically, the two aloft held the folded material stretched taut between them, silhouetted against the dark green of the tree. The crowd held its breath. With a practiced flick, they unrolled the billowing expanse, while the pair below leapt to catch the lower corners and within seconds the white sheet was stretched taut between them.
A rusty stain smeared across the centre.
The crowd burst into cheers and whistles as blood flooded back into Alanna's cheeks, burning them worse than the sun. She felt as though she had been punched in the stomach, incredulous shame flooding through her as the most intimate moment of her life was bared for public scrutiny. Her head swam in horror, cold leeching into her belly. Tears sprang into her eyes and she clenched them shut, feeling one escapee running down her cheek then drying up in the hot, alien sun.
The crowd sounded like jackals, baying approval of her deflowering.
That is what he wants you for
, she reminded herself caustically, trembling as she stiffened to ramrod straight under Xanir's arm. He was waving at the whistling crowd with the other, acknowledging their shouts. The sound echoed louder in her ears, jeering pleasure at her humiliation. But she was a Kjeldahl. Alanna forced her eyes wide again, glistening blind against the glare of this torturing sun. A Kjeldahl does not flinch.
The touch along her shoulders was an invasion she had to bear. She had no choice; for one year, she was his to do with as he wished. Three hundred and sixty-five days as a toy would provide safety and prosperity to her people for much longer than that, through the mutual alliance with the most powerful ruler in the world.
Three hundred and sixty five days.
