Wax and Wane by Wen Wen Yang

“You have a letter, little maid.” The mail courier handed the maid an envelope. “From your sister, I bet.”

“Of course,” the maid it nonchalantly and placed it into an inner pocket in her robe without looking at it. She wore the dullest colors, greys and muted hues. Today’s robe was once an intense blue. After many years of washing, it became a grey-blue of a lazy sky. At this point, the noblewoman handed it down to her maid.

“Will she be visiting?” The mail courier stood a little straighter in expectation.

“She can’t. Working with the dying is a difficult task. You can’t leave them on their own for even a day.” The maid lifted the pole onto her shoulders. Two buckets full of water hung from the pole, one on each end. “I’d better get this to the Empress for her evening bath. Good night.”

Sanio shuffled off to the interior of the palace where the bedchambers were. She had learned to repress her training, to walk like a maid, not a warrior who carried weights up mountainsides since the time she could walk. She wore only clothing cast off from the higher classes. What is cast aside is often not important enough to give notice. She undid years of training, learning to walk with a shuffle as not to draw attention to herself as the maid who walked without sound. With the shuffle, she learned to slow her pace. Being a quick maid was one thing, but being one who could outrun a courier was another.

Sanio entered the Empress’s bedchamber and mixed the water for the bath. The Empress came in just as she was adding the bath oils.

“Will there be anything else?” Sanio asked, her body bent at the waist toward the Empress. She held the Empress’s discarded robe in one arm, an empty bucket in the other.

“Has the wine been warmed?” The Empress asked as she slipped into the bath.

“Yes, it is in the water bath by your fresh clothes.”

“Good, you are dismissed for the evening.”

Sanio bowed. “May your dreams travel through the gates of horn.” She stood and walked to the door.

“One moment,” the Empress called. Sanio turned back to the Empress, remembering to animate her face in surprise. “Come closer,”

Sanio timidly walked to the Empress, her head turned down.

The Empress took the robe from Sanio’s hands and placed it against the maid’s cheek. “It is a shame you were born so lowly. This jewel here recognizes nobility. It glows so well against your skin.”

Sanio didn’t need to force herself to blush. “This humble maid thanks the Empress for her kind compliment,”

The Empress smiled and dropped the robe into the maid’s hands. “You may go,”

Sanio bowed and backed out of the room. As she walked down the empty, grey corridors, she pressed the jewel against her hand. It didn’t glow as a firefly glows, but throbbed in the color of honey as if it had a pulse. It was as warm as blood.

Sanio pondered the idea that an inanimate gem was brighter than the imperial family to detect a spy in their court. She was raised under the leadership of the Xan emperor, who educated his daughters and sons in the art of battle and mandated that those in his provinces do the same. At birth, Sanio was a part of the court, but never once did she meet face to face with officials. The emperor kept several of the trainees hidden, in case of a situation like this.

His second daughter was the greater leader, strategist, and most importantly, diplomat. She was named heir upon the Xan emperor’s death. However, his first daughter was several times more aggressive, and took power while her younger sister was in labor. She purged the court of all those loyal to her father and younger sister, forcing them into exile. That was seven years ago, when Sanio was a young child barely nine years of age.

Sanio reentered the court when she was twelve at the completion of her training, disguised as a child sold by desperate parents. As a maid, she listened for hours to the gossip of the servants and other workers. Some officials counted these persons as important as footstools, and had private conversations very publicly in front of valets and other such persons. With age, she used her training to become invisible to even the most cautious of officials. Even those men who looked over their shoulder before they spoke couldn’t see her.

After dropping off the robe in the laundry, Sanio entered the servants’ quarters and slept for a few hours until the palace became so quiet that it startled her awake. In the dark, she made her way into the kitchen and lit a stout candle. Once the flame was steady, she took out the dagger she kept strapped to her shin. She leaned the blade against the flame and, as she waited, read the letter.

It was written in the sprawl of someone young and inexperienced in the written word. Sanio skimmed over the usual greetings. At face value, the letter rambled on about the two elderly people who missed their children. It complained of trifles and ended with the desire to leave the caretaker profession.

Sanio set the one page letter down and took her dagger away from the flame. It didn’t glow orange, which would be too hot. She placed the heated dagger above the first character of her letter. The black wax that was disguised as ink melted away. Sanio continued this with every character. Sometimes whole sentences fell away. Other times, only a stroke melted.

By the end, the paper was dotted with words. They were lyrical, stating, “The cool breeze is welcome in summer, yet stings in winter. Let them meet in spring.” Sanio reread the words and then quickly used the now cool edge to scratch off the ink. Once satisfied with the clean sheet of paper, she tucked it back into her robe and snuffed out the candle. She would have a few more hours of sleep before she needed to help make breakfast.

----

A week later, the maid was given a day off. Every two weeks, one or two servants were allowed a day to themselves. The schedule was managed so that the household would not notice the servants’ absence. Sanio left during the stillest hour in the morning and met dawn ten miles from the imperial palace. It was town of ill repute whose name may be translated into “Where Winter Warms Itself.” She easily walked unnoticed into the town’s least successful inn, called “Summer Breezes”, and invisibly entered an unoccupied room. Taking a handkerchief of pale violet, she hung half of it out the window and closed the window onto it to prevent the wind from blowing it away. As she waited, she slept in the chair by the door. Even those who could walk invisibly cannot pass through the door without knocking against her.

It was early afternoon when the door softly knocked against her. “Is it summer or winter?” said a voice from the hallway.

“Neither,” Sanio said as she pulled the chair away. The door opened and a slight man walked in. He closed the door quietly behind him and gestured for Sanio to begin.

“The court has grown comfortable. They show no knowledge of an impending attack, nor of any means to protect themselves. They have enough reserves to withstand at least half a year without outside supplies.” Sanio said softly, making sure that her voice does not sound above a whisper. She continued revealing information for two hours with only a break to drink from a water canister in her pack.

“You are doing well,” the man says as he stands from the bed. Sanio automatically stands from her chair. “You look thin, have you been eating?”

“As much as servants get,” Sanio answered. She paused, then spoke again, “When will I be able to go home?”

“Home is not how you left it. We’ve relocated.” The man paused, then gestured for her to sit. Sanio did not back down. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid your father has died, and your mother has remarried.”

Sanio’s training was the only thing that kept her from collapsing. “How long ago?”

“Two years ago since his death, half a year since the second marriage. We thought it was best if you did not know. Not until you had learned more.”

Sanio’s stoic expression shattered as she buried her face in her hands. “And I had never asked how my parents were…” She wiped the tears away. “I can barely remember the sound of my parents’ voices, much less their faces.”

“We can’t take you out now.” The man waved his hand for the reasons were as plain as air. Sanio nodded and made an excuse for her faltering.

“It is alright, I won’t tell.” The man said. Any sign of weakness could lead to her removal from her position, no matter how valuable her information was. This removal, however, would not take her back to her family and former friends.

The man looked at the window. “I’ll write another letter when we need to meet or if there is any more information.” He exited without a sound. Sanio stood in the empty room for several minutes. Finally, she poured a bit of water onto her hands and washed her face with her fingers. She retrieved the handkerchief from the window and dried her hands and face. Once she regained her composure, she left the inn and walked back to the palace. She would arrive around dinnertime; then she would sleep while the other servants worked into the evening. In the morning, Sanio will be the maid again.