The Olive Conspiracy (19 page)

She folded her hands across her stomach and
waited for his opening chords.

Shulamit’s head lolled backward with unexpected
delight as Carolina’s glorious soprano voice filled the room.
Several moments later she realized her own mouth was hanging open,
so she closed it and swallowed delicately. Gripping her cup, she
let the sound fill her body, until every hair on her head, every
inch of skin, every drop of blood was Carolina’s song.

The words were sad, some kind of lament over
unreturned love. Shulamit pretended they were for her. Then they
became her own words, in her heart, and she saddened as she
realized for not the first time that if one of them had been a boy,
it was likely their fathers would be arranging their marriage. Why
did things have to be so unfair? Shulamit didn’t want to be a boy.
And she
definitely
didn’t want Carolina to be a boy. The
thought of being touched by boys made her tense up even
more.

When her father looked at her, puzzled, she
realized she was showing her emotions too much. Settling back into
the cushions with false calm, she applauded at the end of
Carolina’s first air and listened as she began a second, more
jaunty performance.

Since their fathers wouldn’t be able to help
things along via the obvious political alliance, Shulamit would
clearly have to fend for herself in matters of love. She cast her
mind back to the racy books she’d found in her father’s library.
What she wanted with Carolina was far more wholesome and poetic
than the salacious little stories, but they had given her some
ideas that might prove useful. Her
plans
would work best if
she and Carolina had a chance to spend some quiet time alone
together indoors.

Carolina’s vocal acrobatics tore Shulamit from
her schemes. How was it possible that she hit all those far-apart
notes with such precision? What a woman!

***

It was morning, and Princess Shulamit bounded
out of bed ready to have adventures. She’d planned out her outfits
for every day of the visit with excruciating care, down to the last
earring, but now that she was in Carolina Central itself, she
rearranged her clothing, fretted and posed, second-guessing every
decision.

Her only guide to what Carolina might find
pretty in another woman lay in the way Carolina herself dressed.
She’d been wearing blue yesterday, but Shulamit usually disliked
the color and owned nothing suitable. Her next best clue was
“finery,” so she selected her lilac dress with the fuchsia
shoulders and trim, for its extensive embroidery and ribbons. The
matching fuchsia trousers she wore underneath were made of
something reflective that shimmered, and the scarf was a work of
art—starting at fuchsia and working its way to lilac, it had been
hand-painted by a Perachi palace artisan.

Thus arrayed, she made short work of the
pastry, coffee, and cheese the Imbrian servants brought her for
breakfast. Her stomach cramped painfully as she left her room for
the gardens, where she and Carolina had agreed to meet. She tried
to ignore the squeezing and figured it was just nerves from her
crush. Then she remembered the coffee and decided to slow it down a
little bit. After all, she was more used to tea.

Princess Carolina was sitting by one of the
water lily ponds when Shulamit found her. She wore gray like a big
beautiful storm cloud, and was all over ribbons and fine white lace
as the day before. “Good morning! You match the flowers again
today.”

Shulamit smiled awkwardly. “I always seem to do
that.”

“
Are you all right?”

“
What? Oh yes,” Shulamit stammered.
“I think I drank too much coffee. I’ll be fine.” She wondered if
being in love felt less queasy once the other person loved you
back. Taking a deep breath, she rallied herself against the
pain.

“
Let’s go out on the river in a
rowboat,” said Carolina animatedly. “The weather is
perfect.”

That sounded safe and “sitting down,” so
Shulamit agreed. “Is that the ‘little river of stars’ your capital
city is named for?” she asked as they made for the riverbank.
Everything was safely within the palace’s outer walls, so there was
no need to worry about taking along the guards.

“
Ah, no,” said Carolina. She swept
one hand toward the sky. “At night, when there is no moon… you
know, the river of stars in the sky?”

“
Oh! The Milky Way,” Shulamit
answered. “I guess it’s special for us, too—we start our month on
the nights with no moon.”

“
We have a legend that the founder
of our city followed the river of stars to this place, led by the
Gods.” Carolina surveyed the boats, choosing the one that seemed in
the best condition. “Remind me later and I will show you a painting
of the story in my mother’s salon.”

I want to row with you on the river of
stars…
Shulamit daydreamed, thinking about how there were no
beautiful paintings of women like that, only vulgar
ones.

Soon, Shulamit was alone with Carolina on the
peaceful water, and she desperately wished there wasn’t this need
for subterfuge and strategy. If only she could be sure her feelings
wouldn’t be met with amusement, confusion, disgust—if only she
could just speak openly.
Being around you just makes me want to
get to know you better
, she pretended she could say.
You’re
beautiful and elegant and gracious, and I know that if you just
held me I’d be happier than I’ve ever been in my whole
life.

Carolina’s hand dipped into the water, and
Shulamit followed the curving, subtle line of her arm with yearning
eyes. She was going to go crazy if she didn’t say something
else
, even if she couldn’t talk about how she felt—not here,
not so openly. Time to start impressing her with trivia again, as
she had back in Home City.

But Carolina spoke before she could think of
anything. “I am so glad that you came with your father on this
trip.” She moved the oars through the water, and beside them, the
riverbanks floated by. “It is hard for me to find friends of high
enough rank to be appropriate companions.”

“
I get lonely too,” Shulamit
admitted. She did have companions, ladies-in-waiting, but even
though things were far more informal in Perach than in Imbrio, she
felt cut off from them by her plainness, and her nerdiness, but
most of all her attraction to other women—which none of them seemed
to share.

“
There were some older girls, the
daughters of Counts, when I was younger, but they are all grown and
married now and it is not the same with those much younger,”
Carolina continued. “And there is João, of course, but he is a
special case.”

“
Who’s that?”

“
Visconde João Carneiro de
Façanha,” replied Carolina. “You remember him from last night? The
man with the guitar.”

“
Oh,” said Shulamit. “Is he your
music teacher?”

Carolina chuckled. “No, no. My music teacher is
a strict old lady who yells at me until I am perfect. João is the
son of a landowner who gave his life to save my father’s. In
gratitude, he allowed João to spend time in the palace, so we are
friends. For example, he is invited to the ball tonight, even
though he is under the rank of the other guests.”

Sunlight glinted off the water and spilled into
Shulamit’s eye. Behind it, she thought she saw in Carolina’s face a
mirror of her own troubles.

Carolina must have sensed her scrutiny. “If he
were a Count’s son I would marry him,” she said simply. “Instead,
he must remain behind me and play the guitar while I sing. These
things are upsetting, but they are the way of the world. Otherwise
I am sure you would notice all those handsome guards who look after
your father. You are so sensible to ignore them.”

Shulamit let the misunderstanding of her
obliviousness toward the Perachi guardsmen go without comment as
she digested this news. She had a rival, but he was a disqualified
and defanged rival. And here she was, a crown princess in her own
right.

Unconsciously, she fiddled with one of her
dangling amethyst earrings. “So…”

Answering the wrong question, Carolina
continued, “I will make my choice next year, perhaps. A widowed
Duke has been paying me court, but he is older than I’d imagined.
There is a young Count who makes me laugh. He is perhaps a bit
frivolous for a royal consort, but I can always balance him. They
say I have a cool head.”

Shulamit listened patiently, the squeezing in
her stomach making her glad that Carolina was the one
rowing.

“
Then, of course, Zembluss has two
princes my age, but with the political situation over there being
what it is… I suppose you have also rejected them for the same
reason.”

“
I’m not marrying any princes from
Zembluss.” Shulamit frowned at the idea.

Carolina smirked. “Poor men! They have far more
to worry about than finding wives, I imagine.”

“
My father says there will be civil
war soon, over there.”

“
Soon, yes.” Carolina looked out
over the water. “I agree.”

“
Which side do you—”

Carolina tossed her head. “Imbrio will not get
involved.”

A splashing sound and then rustling in the
plants on the riverbank made both girls turn their heads. On the
shore, a group of bare-chested men gathered strawberries from a
field, placing them in wooden crates as they worked. A fully
dressed foreman was standing over one of them brandishing a wooden
stick. He raised it high in the air and brought it down on the
worker’s shoulder. Shulamit realized the initial noise had been the
picker trying to get away.

She whipped back around to face Carolina, eyes
wide. “What…? Why…?”

Carolina lifted her chin a little, studying the
scene carefully. “Do you see that crate there?” A wooden box lay on
its side, a few layers of rich, red berries spilling out into the
dirt. “He must have broken it, and all the berries inside fell into
the river,” she explained finally. “It can be taken out of his pay,
yes, but when things like that happen, it also wastes time and
shows a lack of care.”

Shulamit’s mouth dropped open. “But he’s a
person
, and it’s… just… fruit.” She massaged her cramping
stomach and felt spoiled; the beaten man was probably in more pain
than she was.

She craned her head as the boat drifted past
the scene, unable to take her eyes off the man on the shore as he
returned to work.

Carolina’s voice filtered into her thoughts as
if coming from the next room. “I’m sorry if it upset
you.”

Shulamit didn’t know what to say to
that.

“
You’ve pulled out one of your
braids,” Carolina remarked.

“
Oh. Oops.” Shulamit looked down
and realized her nervous fingers had made short work of her hairdo.
What’s more, the cord holding the braid closed had vanished. She
bit her lip.

“
I’ll fix it.” Carolina beckoned to
her. “Here, lean close.”

Shulamit inched forward on her seat and leaned
forward as much as she could.

Carolina, too, angled her body in Shulamit’s
direction. She pulled a silver ribbon from the bodice of her dress.
“There are so many! Most of them are just for show.” Shulamit was
held by the command of her eyes, now rapturously close to
Carolina’s curvy bosom. Her breasts were captivating as she leaned,
beautiful hills against the gray storm clouds of the stately
dress.

With deft fingers, Carolina rebraided
Shulamit’s thick hair. As she began, her fingers brushed more than
once against Shulamit’s cheek, and the other princess’ lips parted
slightly as she patiently waited for more of this unexpected
pleasure. There were a few moments of tension as Shulamit felt torn
in two between the argument they’d almost had and the simple,
silent pleasure of closeness, and then she simply gave up and
enjoyed it.

“
Have you ever—” But no. She
stopped. Not here. She was too scared, and besides, what if it
worked? Here they were in a rowboat, where any contact even more
intimate would result in capsizing.

Carolina, looking over her handiwork with
satisfaction in her eyes, raised them to Shulamit’s. “Worn my hair
in braids? When I was a girl, of course. Now I prefer it
down.”

“
It’s lovely.” Shulamit looked away
over the water, squinting to keep out the reflection of the
sun.

17. Sabbath Blessings

Layers of delicate lilac surrounded Princess
Shulamit’s tiny body, flowing down to the floor. She twirled in
front of the glass, stretching out her arms. A ball! She’d
practiced the foreign dances with her father, back home, but she
knew that one look at Carolina and she’d manage to put her foot
down in three places all at once.

“
Princess Brainy!” Her father’s
voice boomed from out in the hallway. “You’re beautiful already.
Let’s go.”

“
Just a minute!” She rotated
sideways, checking the glass again. Her braids were staying in
place where she’d tied them, together behind her back. Carolina’s
silver ribbon was still there from this morning; she hoped the
Imbrian Infanta would forget to ask for it back.