White by Ted Dekker Page A

villa?”
    They all knew that Qurong was building a villa for her in the large walled compound referred to as the royal garden, three miles outside the city. She hadn’t seen the villa yet, as Qurong kept the section where it was being built cordoned off. But she’d been to the compound many times, usually to the library to write or to read the Books collected over the past fifteen years. The sprawling gardens and orchards were kept by a staff of twenty servants. Not a blade of grass was out of place. Elyon himself would live here, they said, such was its beauty.
    And Chelise would live there too, beside the library where she would sequester herself and write into the night. Maybe even one day discover the key to reading the Books of Histories.
    â€œPerhaps.” Her maidservant winked.
    Chelise ran into her room. “Quickly, help me dress. What should I wear?”
    â€œI would say that a white gown—”
    â€œWith red flowers! Is he waiting?”
    â€œHe will meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes.”
    â€œA few minutes? Then we have to hurry!”
    The palace had been built from wood with flattened reeds for walls and pounded bark for floors—a luxury reserved only for the upper class. The Forest People had built their homes in the same manner, and Qurong had promised that they would all live in such magnificent homes soon enough. Their simple mud dwellings were only temporary, a necessity mandated by the need to build so many houses in a short period of time.
    She discarded her simple bedclothes and took the long bleached tunic that Elison had retrieved from her closet. The gown was woven from thread that the Forest People had perfected—smooth and silky, unlike the rough burlap the Horde had made from the woven stalks of desert wheat. The costs of the campaigns against the forests had been staggering, but Qurong had been right about the benefits of conquering them.
    â€œThe flowers . . .”
    Elison laughed. “The villa won’t be going anywhere. Take your time. Sometimes it’s best to make a man wait, even if he is the supreme leader.”
    â€œYou know men so well?”
    Elison didn’t respond, and Chelise knew that her comment had stung. Maidservants were forbidden to marry.
    She sat in front of the resin mirror and picked up a brush. “I will let you marry, Elison. I’ve told you, the day that I marry, you’ll be free to find your own man.”
    Elison dipped her head and left the room to fetch the flowers.
    The mirror’s resin had been poured over a flat black stone that reflected her features as a pool of dark water would. She dipped the bristles of her brush into a small bowl of oil and began working out the flakes that speckled her dark hair—an unending task that most women avoided by wearing a hood.
    And when will Qurong allow you to marry, Chelise?
    When he finds a suitable man for you. This is the burden of royalty. You can’t just marry the first handsome man who walks by this castle.
    Chelise decided to forget the brushing and settle for the hood after all. She dabbed her fingers into a large bowl of white morst powder and patted her face and neck where she’d already applied paste. The regular variety of the powdery paste soothed skin by drying any lingering moisture such as sweat, but it tended to flake with the skin. This new variety, developed by her father’s alchemist, consisted of two separate applications: a clear thin salve, then a white morst powder that contained ground herbs, effectively minimizing the flaking. It might be fine for the common woman to walk around with loose flakes of skin hanging from her tunic, but it wasn’t fitting for royalty.
    Elison returned with red roses.
    â€œRoses?”
    â€œI also have tuhan flowers,” Elison said.
    Chelise took the roses and smiled.
    They descended the stairs ten minutes later and hurried toward the courtyard. They crossed an atrium