In a scene of barbaric splendor straight out of a Hollywood historical epic, the walls were draped with silk, low tables bearing gold or silver bowls of berries and early apples stood about the room, and pillows in bright colors were strewn over the wooden floor. The oil in the lamps was scented with jasmine, adding heavy perfume to the fragrances of the ripe fruit. Gina coughed, tried to repress a sneeze, and hoped that none of the queen’s attendants suffered from severe allergies. Fastrada lounged on a pillow-crammed bed that was pushed against one wall. She was wearing a blue silk gown with a red sash wound about her slender waist, and at least a dozen gold necklaces. Her feet were bare. She looked downright unhappy. Or perhaps she was sulking. Gina had the impression that Fastrada often sulked. “Did you have to bring her here?” Fastrada asked when Lady Adalhaid appeared with Gina at her side. “Why should I be expected to receive a lowborn concubine?” The other ladies in the room smothered giggles.
