CEDAR RESTS THE tips of her fingers on the intricate door that exudes so much energy she feels she could reach out and catch it in her fist. There is a lock, but when she gives the handle a pull, it opens without resistance.
She steps into the wardrobe, following the energy to the back of the large cabinet. She rests her palm against the wall and a panel moves, revealing a small room on the other side.
A large worktable takes up most of the space in the room. There are a few tools scattered across the table. In the centre of the table, clamps rest along a form of wood shaped to the first curve of what looks like the start of a violin. She has never seen one, but Ash has told her of the many different instruments, and this one looks like a miniature cello.
The rich scent of varnish mingles with the earthy smell of wood. There are stacks of wood suited to making violins against one wall. In a smaller stack are larger pieces that would suit several cellos. She steps forward without hesitation, but another sight steals her breath away. Hung from one wall is a finished violin. Cedar walks over and reaches a hand to touch the glossy face of the violin made with dark red wood.
Her fingers travel towards the strings as if to pluck one. She has not pulled out her cello in so long. She craves the sound of music in a worse way than she craved fresh fruit in the coldest time of a northern winter. When her finger is a mere width of a string away, she hears the sound of a throat being cleared.
“You must be Cedar.”
She turns around, banging into the work table. With a sharp intake of breath, she clutches her hip where it burns in pain while heat rises to her face.
“Are you all right?” The man’s voice is closer now, and Cedar looks up to meet the blue eyes of the fair-haired man before her. He is wearing tan work pants and a grey t-shirt covered in sawdust. His hair is cut short. His features are angular enough to no longer give the appearance of a boy, though Cedar guesses he is not much older than her.
“Ye-e-s. Just a slight bruise.” Cedar straightens, trying to erase the pain in her expression. Her hand remains at her hip, covering the throbbing injury.
“Good. Then allow me to escort you out of this room,” he says.
Cedar’s face turns an even deeper shade of red. Trespassing is too light a word to use for her transgression. A room like this is enough to get one extradited to Koshluk. Cedar moves towards the door, but before she exits, she turns to face the man.
“I would never tell anyone of this room. I – I play an instrument myself,” she says.
A storm cloud passes over the man’s face. “Be careful who you say that to.”
“I think you deserve to know after I trespassed on your workshop.”
“I did not say it was mine,” he says.
Cedar studies him for a moment, then leaves the room through the door in the wardrobe. She waits in the showroom as the man pulls a key from his pocket. He places it in the lock and turns it before testing that it is secure.
When he turns his features have softened, and he extends a hand in her direction.
“Let’s start over. I am Linden, the son of Justice Carpenter, whom, I’ve heard, you were a great help to.”
Cedar reaches out her hand. She makes a deliberate effort not to break eye contact, though the old habit presses on her. As her hand meets his, she feels the way time changes when it is charged with connection. Something in his eyes changes, and she knows he has taken notice as well.
“I am Cedar. Your father is a kind man,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even.
Linden releases her hand and allows his to fall back to his side. “Still, he feels indebted, and has left it to me to make recompense to you.”
“No,” Cedar says with a shake of her head. “I would not feel comfortable taking anything more. I would have been at a loss when I entered the city were it not for your father.”
Linden makes a thoughtful hum in his throat. “Perhaps you will allow me to help you in a similar way. Where will you be staying in the city? Have you relatives or friends here?”
Cedar hesitates. “No, no one I can stay with.”
“I will escort you to some accommodations then. Hotels are overpriced, but the good guest houses will only take those with references. Still, we ought to be able to find someplace for you,” he says.
“Oh, I have a reference.” She lifts the corner of her worn shirt to pull the Governor’s letter from where it is secured against her. She extends it out to Linden.
He gives her a questioning glance before unfolding the official paper.
He frowns. “You are too open for city life. Keep the letter hidden, and reveal it only when necessary.”
“Oh, I know that. It’s only because, well, because of the room…”
“Do not speak of the room,” he says.
Cedar takes a step back.
He clears his throat. “Will you be looking for work in the city?”
“Yes, I think I must,” Cedar says.
“I have recently lost an apprentice. We build furniture, cabinets mostly. Your tasks would primarily be cleaning, but if you are willing to learn, there is a place for you here.”
This is unexpected. She looks down at the floor, thinking. She wants to work for this man, but why does he want her here? Is he worried she will expose his secret? “I can learn. Thank you, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Call me Linden. You know my secret.”
Cedar jerks her head up to look at him. His expression is without reproach, and there is a twinkle in his eyes.
“Come, I will show you to a guest house close to here. Your letter will easily secure you a room.” He leads her to the exit of the workshop, pausing with a curious look to pick up her case. Once outside, he scans the busy street. Cedar notices, now that she is not ill from the ride, that most of the vehicles appear to be taxis. Several slow down when they see them standing on the sidewalk, but continue when Linden ignores them.
“It is not far. Would you prefer to walk?” he says.
Cedar meets Linden’s eyes, where the twinkle is shining. His mouth is curved in a slight smile, and Cedar suspects his father has shared her reaction to the taxi ride.
“Yes, thank you.”
Linden gives an amused chuckle, then leads the way down the street. Cedar studies him as they walk. She wonders what his mother looked like, as he seems to take entirely after his foreign father in physical appearance.
He looks back with raised brows, as though feeling the intensity of her study, and she gives a small smile before turning her attention to her surroundings. The streets are bustling with activity, and she marvels at shabby stores and tiny decrepit houses that share the streetscape with the grandest homes she has ever seen. She is likewise stunned by what the people wear. The bright colours, the strangest shoes, and the tight-fitted dresses are different from what she is used to seeing. The tourists in the north never dressed like this. Neither did anyone in Eastern Danbarrah.
She sees others dressed in a way she is more familiar with. Wealthy and poor alike walk casually by those who make their homes on blankets spread across their own claimed space of sidewalk or alley.
They arrive at a tall, narrow house, and Linden knocks at the door.
A girl answers, and when Linden asks her about a room, she says, “Oh, you’ll want to see Mrs. White.”
Before Cedar can follow the girl, Linden places a hand on her arm, a card held between his fingers.
“I have to go.” He looks into the guesthouse. “If you encounter any problems, have them call this number. Are you ready to start tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We begin at eight,” he says.
“Thank you. You have been a great help.” She takes the card from his fingers with her other hand and slips it into her pocket.
He releases her arm and hands her the case. He walks down the steps, going back the way they had come.
The girl leads her to a large dining room with several small tables. A middle-aged lady bustles from table to table. The girl goes to speak with the lady, whose loud-pitched voice carries across the room, grating on Cedar’s ears. “A room you want? I’ll need to see references.” The woman walks towards her, a work-worn hand extended. Her greying hair is pulled away from her face in a tight bun, but the roundness of her face and body softens what might otherwise give her a severe look.
Cedar tries to discreetly show her the letter from the Governor, but the lady’s next actions nullify all attempts at subtlety.
“Oh, from the Governor. Such a letter could get you an audience with the King. I can think of a few friends who would pay you to deliver a message. You could make a fair coin by being a go-between.” Mrs. White leans closer, as though sharing a confidence, but her voice is as loud as ever. “My apologies for insisting on seeing a reference. The last time I lent a room without references the girl took off with some valuables from my sitting room and left behind a wreck of a room. She had a man over too, not that I’m one to interfere with that, but he wasn’t the sort I want sitting on my white couches.” She eyes Cedar suspiciously. “Do you have a man of your own?”
Cedar manages some sound bearing semblance to the word no.
“Now men, like the one who visits Miss Cains…” the woman gestures to a table in the corner of the room, where a young woman sits with a man in military uniform.
Cedar tenses when she sees him, not hearing the rest of what Ms. White says. She does not look again to see if he recognizes her. She does not want to risk exposing herself even further. It had been relatively easy to travel to the ruby city, but she is conscious that her luck may run out.
“The room, please? I’m sorry, I’m exhausted,” Cedar says.
She effectively captures the sympathy of the maternal Mrs. White, who leads her upstairs. She shows her into a small bedroom containing a single bed, a set of drawers, and a window looking out into an alleyway. Mrs. White leaves her just as quickly, claiming to have so many things to do, the neglect of which might result in the house falling in on itself.
Cedar takes the Governor’s letter and puts it into a drawer. She breathes a sigh of relief at having a place to keep her things once again. She unpacks her jeans, an extra t-shirt, and a few other miscellaneous items she accumulated through the summer.
She withdraws the cello with reverence. She can tell by the noises she hears that the walls are paper-thin, but she has not removed it from its case for some time now. She strokes the fine wood grain of the instrument. Her fingers crave the vibrations of the strings, and whispers fill her ears.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR’S LEGS ARE heavy as she swings them off her bed. She somehow drags herself to work on time. Linden sees to most of her training himself, teaching her more than the expected cleaning duties.
The palace is in constant view as she trudges back to the boarding house. She does not have the energy to imagine how she will accomplish the task of convincing the King to release Ash. Her anxious desire to reach this city is forgotten. Exhaustion dictates the return to the guesthouse after each day of work.
It is many days before she drags herself past her guesthouse and the bed that beckons to the palace that stands at the top of the hill.
There is an outer wall. Guards are posted at the entrance, but they stop no one. Cedar keeps her face down as she moves under the archway into the courtyard.
There are two doors at different places along the circular stonewall, and several doors on either side of the main door to the palace. Benches are interspersed along the perimeter of the wall, placed in recesses. She sits on an unoccupied stone bench and watches.
A well-dressed lady, wealth obvious in her clothing and bearing, goes easily past the guards who stand at the grand doors of the palace. She watches as another woman approaches the door. A guard steps forward and says something. The woman turns away from the door and leaves the courtyard. A man approaches the guards and shows a piece of paper. He is allowed entry. A woman dressed in pants that are too large for her and a shirt that hangs off her shoulders limps up to the grand doors. Before she can even speak a word, a guard takes her by the elbow and escorts her outside the courtyard. Cedar sees her attempt to regain entry to the courtyard, but this time, the outer guards bar her way.
She will need the Governor’s letter simply to gain entry to the palace. Would she see Ash? Where is he now? She looks up and scans the many windows of the palace. The windows are arched in a style of ancient architecture. She sees one window covered in boards, though all the rest have clear or stained glass. Which room does he occupy?
She rises from the bench and walks out of the courtyard. Once on the street, she runs to the guesthouse. She has no plan beyond retrieving the Governor’s letter and gaining entry to the palace. Her legs shake and her heart thuds in her chest as she takes the stairs two at a time.
She opens the door, and her throat constricts. Drawers are pulled out of the dresser, the few contents are dumped on the floor. Pulse racing, she looks under the bed. Her investigation of the case reveals an untouched cello. She turns her attention back to the drawers, rifling through the few articles of clothing on the floor. She becomes frantic, pulling out the remaining drawers, and hauling the entire cabinet away from the wall. She checks behind and underneath the furniture. Her search is futile. The Governor’s letter is gone.
Why had she not kept it with her? She sinks onto the floor, resting her head in her hands.
When she raises her head, she is met with the sight of the opened cello case. She scoots closer and runs her hands over the polished wood. She knows what she will have to do, and it makes her palms sweat. Mother Rosemary and Sister Nettle had known. Cedar had known herself.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR WAKES EARLIER than usual. She cracks open her door, cringing at the unexpected creak.
She steps barefoot into the hall. She will make sure the way is clear first, then she will return to the room for her cello. The girl who had let her in is in the kitchen making bread, but does not look up when Cedar passes by. Cedar makes it out the front door before she realizes she has not returned for the cello.
She keeps walking. A few people sleep on the sidewalks, but otherwise, the city is eerily quiet. Yet there is none of the solace of quiet trees here. She approaches the palace. The two guards at the outer archway do not even twitch as she walks past.
She walks with her gaze fixed on the ground. What is she doing here? She has already left out a vital part of her plan. The night before, it had been so clear. Squaring her shoulders, she walks toward the palace doors with her head held high.
A single guard stands at the doorway. When he looks at her, she breathes a sigh of relief at the kindness in his eyes.
“I have come to request an audience with the King,” she says.
The guard inclines his head towards her. “I regret to inform you that the King will grant no audience without the proper documents.”
“Is there no other way?” she says.
He shakes his head. “What is it you need?”
“There is something I have to ask him.”
“Perhaps I can pass along a message to his secretaries,” he says.
“Thank you, but no. I will be back tomorrow.” She turns and walks away.