The Gantean (Tales of Blood & Light Book 1) (3 page)

The sudden freedom from constant judgment—over my actions, over how I did my work, over how I performed my duties, felt oddly freeing. In Gante I had lived as though a great, all-seeing gaze tracked my every move, the gaze of the community around me, the gaze of The Elders, the gaze of the very land itself. Here in Lethemia, though enslaved, I had an unexpected freedom: the freedom of being unnoticed and half forgotten, the freedom to be left to my own thoughts and perceptions, which were entirely separate from the people around me. In Gante community was all—you did not let your thoughts stray from prescribed paths. There was only one truth, and it was the truth shared by every Iksraqtaq. Adrift amongst the southerners, I could think whatever I liked; I could form my own impressions without first weighing them against every Gantean rule. I found this unshackling of my mind a foreign and unexpected consequence of my situation, and I did not dislike it.

I began to see why so many Ganteans who left the isle never came back, why our Cedna never returned. It was not only the ease of southern life that was addictive; it was the freedom, too.

When I returned to the mews from the estate tour, Tiercel presented me with a list, written on paper, with my daily chores—simple things like sweeping, giving the birds water, fetching meals from the Big House. I cupped the vellum in my hand, shocked again by southern luxuries. Paper in Gante was rare and precious. Here in the south they treated it as expendable, writing down chores for a slave on it.

I leaned over the sheet, carefully sounding the words in my head. Opportunities for reading in Gante had been scarce. My too-large dress slipped from my shoulder, exposing the slightly tender spot where the southern mage had hurt me when I arrived.

Tiercel glared at my shoulder. “She didn’t!”

I craned my eyes to see what he saw, but I could not.

“Someday Malvyna will go too far,” he said. “I am sorry.”

“For my slavery?” Few Lethemians showed scruples about the practice, as far as I could tell. Even fewer showed the gentleness and kindness that my new master did.

“Slavery is a common state in Lethemia,” Tiercel said. “Even those who do not sell themselves into service with one of the great houses are still bound, vassal to lord, in some fashion. No, I’m sorry for the mark. Magemarks cannot be removed, and they can be used to track you. Such a barbaric practice! I’ve never approved of it.” Tiercel shook his head while I tried harder to see the mark my shoulder. I could just make out dark green edges that prickled my sense of magic. “It infuriates me!” Tiercel went on. “Damned Malvyna—that’s Lady Entila to you, of course. She has no sense when it comes to that blasted island. Hates every single Gantean on principle. You’d best be careful. If you try to run with that mark on your shoulder, she’ll hunt you down.”

A
s the days
passed Tiercel showed me nothing but kindness. My hours in his mews passed with ease, though he left me alone day and night at odd hours.

At first, vague plans for an escape crossed my mind, but two thoughts curbed the urges: the magemark that itched on my shoulder and the question of where I would go? I had been tasked to survive and find the Cedna.

You know what must be done, Leila.

Queenstown seemed as good a place as any to start my quest. The Cedna was not on Gante, that much was certain. I had patience. I had time. The Hinge had gorged on the deaths of my clan, and it would lie quiescent for moons and moons, possibly even years, after such a rich satiation. I approached my task like a Shringar, waiting for the currents of my life to pull me whichever way they would. Paths would open; I trusted magic enough to know that much.

I went about my daily tasks, cleaning Tiercel’s rooms during his erratic absences, examining his bookshelves while I dusted. I could have spent the whole day admiring his books and figurines. My fingers loved to smooth the soft, silky coverlet on his bed and the fine jackets in his wardrobe. For a bird-master, he had very fine things.

Lethemia continued to shock me with its wealth and beauty. Everything—from the mageglass wall sconces to the groomed hedges outdoors—was tame and cultivated. Everything contrasted with Gante’s starkness. I missed the wide, cold spaces of my home, the blank tundras, the crisp edges of cliff against water and snow against stone. Those sharp delineations kept Gantean minds clear and purposeful; we never forgot the hunger we served or the higher purpose of our duties. But this new southern world seduced me—the part of me that was my own and free from the strictures of clan and Elders—with its warmth and color. I relished the comfort of silk and ramie. I wanted more than felted tents and homespun goat wool. I wanted more than stoic silence and hard rules. Though I had been forced into Lethemia’s exotic splendor, I wanted more of it. Such sayantaq desires caused me shame.

Already the taint seeped into me.

The Iksraqtaq world had been destroyed; there was nothing left on Gante, no clan or community to which I could return even if I could escape. My only choice, as I saw it, was to learn how to live in this new world, to adapt and survive, as Nautien had directed.

I would not look back. I would go forward blindly on this path. Had Iksraqtaq detachment and pragmatics prompted my choice, or sayantaq weakness?

I could not say.

O
ne morning
while cleaning Tiercel’s quarters, I succumbed to temptation, leaned my broom against the bookshelf, and pulled down a book from the shelf. I opened the leather cover and ran my finger down the page. It showed a map of Lethemia. Ten noble houses ruled ten provinces. Entila’s province covered the entire north-eastern quadrant of the Lethemian peninsula.

“What are you doing?”

I whirled at the unexpected voice and fumbled the book. A girl stood there—someone I did not know from the Big House, though, by her attire and her haughty demeanor I assumed she must be Lady Malvyna Entila’s only daughter. Though younger than me, already she stood taller. Green eyes blazed in her narrow face.

“You’re Tiercel’s new girl? You don’t
look
Gantean.” Her gaze dropped to the book that I cradled. “And you read? I didn’t think Ganteans knew how.” She spoke derisively rather than kindly.

I shoved the book back onto the shelf and performed the curtsey Tiercel had taken pains to show me for when I encountered a member of the Entila family.

“I’m looking for Tiercel,” the girl said. “Have you seen him?”

I shook my head. I’d seen him shuffling off towards the Big House the evening before, and he had not yet returned.

“How useless. I want to fly my bird.”

I cleared my throat and formed my words carefully. Tiercel had been coaching me to diminish my Gantean accent. “You might find him in the Big House.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Then he’s occupied. You can unlock the cage for me. Come.” With an imperious gesture she returned to the main room with the birds.

I followed reluctantly. Tiercel had been clear that no one was to handle the birds without his supervision.

“What are you waiting for? I want that one.” She pointed to a particularly temperamental goshawk, a bird that cast evil eyes at me any time I came near it.

“I cannot open the cages. Tiercel says—”

“He’s Mr. Tiercel to you,” the girl admonished. “Open the cage.”

“I do not have the keys. Mr. Tiercel keeps them.”

“Open the cage this instant!” Her voice rose, and she grabbed the front of my dress, taking advantage of her hand’s breadth of greater size.

“Let her go, Ghilene,” Tiercel interrupted from the doorway. I exhaled.

Ghilene Entila dropped me and brushed off her hands as though she’d touched something soiled. “You’re late, Tiercel.”

Tiercel’s brief nod managed to convey irritation at Ghilene’s remark while still fulfilling the requirements of protocol. “Your mother detained me.”

Ghilene frowned. “I want my hawk. Mother says I can show my bird to the Ricknagel girls when they arrive.”

“Very well.” Tiercel turned to me. “Lili, would you mind cleaning the cages of the two birds we take out?”

Tiercel gathered the furnishings they’d need for hawking—gauntlets and jesses and hoods—while I hurried to fetch the hand broom.

Ghilene muttered as I departed, “
Would you mind?
Really, Tiercel, as if she has a choice!”

But before they could get their birds out, Rennet arrived. “I need your girl, Mr. Tiercel. We are short-handed for the Ricknagels’ visit. She must come serve in the Big House.”

“
W
hen
do they arrive
?” Tiercel asked Rennet, clanging the bird cage door shut again.

“This afternoon. She must come down to the house as soon as possible.” She spoke of me as though I did not exist.

“I’ll see to it.” Tiercel turned to Ghilene. “There’s no time for birding now, my dear. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when the Ricknagel girls are better rested.”

“Oh, blast, Tiercel! I wanted to have my bird with me when they arrive. I hear pet birds are all the rage at court.”

“Doubtful,” Tiercel said. I was amazed by the way he dared to speak to Ghilene so casually. “Think of the mess.”

Ghilene huffed, grabbed her skirts, and flounced from the mews. Rennet followed her.

Tiercel pulled me into the center of the room. “This is a step up for you, Lili, to serve the guests in this way! You must make the most of it. Let me show you better how to walk. Step smaller. Only Gantean women stride. In Lethemian slippers you must mince.”

I wanted to ask about the other Gantean women he had known to form such an opinion, but Tiercel prodded my back and I tried to imitate the walk he preferred.

“That’s it. Now try a curtsey.”

I felt clumsy as I tried to execute the motion.

“Smoother and smaller,” Tiercel advised. “Again.”

He drilled me for nearly an hour, making me practice bows and curtsies and formal words. He explained that the Ricknagels, the guests, were one of the most important families in Lethemia, second only to the Galatiens who were the ruling House of the entire country.

I hurried, anxious and excited, to the Big House. Rennet found me a dress of fine purple wool and little slippers so delicate I did not think they would stay on my feet.

“Has Tiercel covered how to behave? He says you are a good girl, though I can’t countenance it. I expect no trouble, do you understand? You’ll start with the Ricknagel daughters’ chambers. The elder daughter is Lady Stesichore; you say it like this: Ste-si-kor-ree. I’ve put her in the blue bedroom. The younger is Lady Sterling; she’s in the green. You’re to clean for them, make up their beds, and run errands if they ask.”

I nodded. Tiercel had explained that if I proved myself useful and discreet, I might better my situation in the hierarchy of household servants. I also wanted to glimpse more of these highborn Lethemian women. Their lives intrigued me.

I forayed into the blue bedroom, opening the door quietly. A young woman, perhaps four or five winters my senior, sat at a small table covered with boxes and bottles. Yards of vibrant blue silk swept around her in gleaming pleats. The effect dazzled me.

Lady Stesichore’s personal attendant pointed to the other table. “Start there,” she advised me. “Lady Stesichore spilled her tea.”

I attended to the mess, listening to the women converse.

“Have you seen my gloves?” Lady Stesichore asked. “My white ones. I can’t find them anywhere.”

The servant found the gloves in a trunk. The Ricknagel daughter drew them over her hands. She moved so gracefully. Part of me wanted to
be
her, to wear such fine things, to always be so clean and pretty. At the same time, a strong surge of Iksraqtaq guilt flooded my soul. I knew better than to be seduced by such luxuries when Gantean blood had paid for sayantaq power.

“I told Culan Entila I’d meet him in the mews,” Lady Stesichore said. “He wants to show me some bird.” She wrinkled her nose. “This property is so small and dark.” Stesichore rose and peered into the looking glass.

I continued to wipe the table long after it was clean. I liked the clipped, precise way Lady Stesichore said her words. I wanted to hear more.

“Imagine living in this backwater. Everyone told me I’d find Entila rough and dirty, but I hadn’t thought it would be
this
bad.”

The two women departed. I shook my head as I began to sweep, trying to picture what the Ricknagel girl’s home must be like if she found this “rough and dirty.”

As I opened the door to proceed to the other daughter’s chamber, voices in the hall brought me up short. I peered out to see Ghilene Entila and a young man I identified as Culan, her older brother, based on Tiercel’s descriptions. They did not much resemble each other. Culan had fleshy limbs, a thick body, and light brown hair that curled, whereas Ghilene was slender, angular, and black-haired.

“I hate this,” Culan Entila complained. “Why does Mother insist? The Ricknagels will never marry their precious Stesichore to me. They’re saving her for Costas Galatien. It’s obvious.”

The siblings moved closer to my door. “They’re here to foist the younger one off on you. Splotch-face,” Ghilene commented.

Culan shuddered. “Ugh. I can’t bear to look at her. I never know whether to stare past her or look at her breasts, because have you noticed? They’re quite ample. Such a waste.”

I leaned forward as Ghilene and Culan passed, hoping to hear more. Ganteans had always said the Lethemians were loose, that they took more than one mate in a lifetime and switched partners at a whim. I wanted to know if these rumors were true.

“The only way anyone could convince me to marry Sterling Ricknagel would be to pay me a mountain of jhass
and
give me the regency of Ricknagel province. Then I’d consider it, if only she promised to wear a mask—”

The far door closed behind them.

A woman and a girl entered the hall from the other guest room. The girl had a red birthmark that sprawled over the right side of her face.
Splotch-face
. She must be Sterling Ricknagel, the younger of the two Ricknagel daughters. Her companion was a beautiful woman who drew the eye; she moved with strength and precision, as though she were a knife and the world served as butter to her blade. She made magic prickle in my fingertips.

Sterling Ricknagel looked ready to cry.

“He’s a fool,” snapped her companion. “A childish fool.” She held out a white handkerchief.

Tears overflowed Sterling’s eyes as she snatched the kerchief. “He said only what everyone will say about me at the Brokering, Serafina. Oh gods, I don’t know if I can bear it. I should beg Papa to send me home. I’m not cut out for this.”

Sterling’s companion laughed, a rich, musical sound. “Your father will not coddle such weak-mindedness, Sterling. Now, pull yourself together. They were only words. Words can only hurt you if you let them. You must be bigger than these small-minded fools.” The companion took the disfigured girl’s arm and pulled her out of the hall with broad, powerful steps, as though she could shape anything to her will.

I wished I could move through the world like that. As if it belonged to me. As if I were more than a slave bowing deferentially to her master’s guests.

A
fter completing
my duties in the Big House, I returned to my humble room in the mews. A light glowed from Tiercel’s chamber. I hurried down the hall to tell him I was retiring for the night, but froze when I heard conversation.

“Who did this to you?” asked a woman’s angry voice beyond the door.

“You must leave off. There is nothing we can do about it.” Tiercel sounded calm and resigned, whereas his companion was clearly agitated.

“Onatos,” the woman snapped. I could not see her without risking exposure, but the voice was familiar. “You never knew me well if you think I will kiss you quietly while you—” Her voice dropped to tones too low to hear for a moment—“magic.”

Magic!
Since arriving in Lethemia, I had hoped that by following the traces of magic, I might be led to information about the Cedna. Nautien’s anbuaq still rested heavily on my chest. Not only that, a raw Gantean’s biggest grievance with southerners was that their mages did not pay for their magic. Sayantaq mages
made no sacrifice and left it to Ganteans
to pay the balance. I wanted to know more about their profligate magic.

I retreated from the door just as it swung open. Sterling Ricknagel’s tall, imperious companion strode from Tiercel’s room, moving so briskly that her skirts billowed and brushed my hands. She exuded an aura of power, but she didn’t take any notice of me as she passed.

T
iercel had said
the Ricknagel family visited the Entilas en route to an occasion called a marriage brokering that was happening in the capital of Lethemia, way down in Galatien Province. Lady Malvyna and Lord Xander Ricknagel, the father of the two young women whose rooms I cleaned, wanted to discuss a marriage between their children before going to the Brokering where such matters became official. The Entila and Ricknagel families intended to travel south to the Brokering together, setting the entire household into a flurry of preparation that doubled my work.

One afternoon as I sorted Tiercel’s laundry, he entered his room brimming with excitement.

“There you are, Lili! Listen, put all that away. We have more important things to do. I did it, Lili! I secured you an excellent position as Lady Ghilene’s handmaiden! You’ll get to go with them to the Brokering in the High City!”

“But I like working here with you—” The last thing I wanted was to be forced into Ghilene Entila’s company.

“But as Ghilene’s handmaiden, you’ll get to see Galantia! It is not to be missed. You cannot stay here working for me forever. I need a boy to train as my servant. You were a spiteful mistake on Rennet’s part. Besides, Ghilene needs a steady, calming influence. You’re perfect. Malvyna has agreed as long as I prepare you for the duty. We have so much to do. Come, come.”

He gestured me towards the main room of the mews. Tiercel could be as commanding as a lord, and I was drawn up into his wake like a piece of flotsam on the sea.

“Now,” he said. “Court dance. It’s complicated, but necessary, so we must start with that. Watch me.” He performed a series of steps that took him through a figure rather like a six-pointed star. “Remember which way to move through the figure, for the woman, always to the right.”

I nodded, wondering why a bird-caretaker knew anything about court dance or felt so sure of his position that he could refer to Lady Entila by name, even if only to me. But Tiercel was a secretive man. I did not feel comfortable asking him private questions.

“Stand there. Now step to the right. Pause. Now step forward.” Following his directions, we stepped our way through the figure. Fortunately, I had a quick mind for patterns and figures—a benefit of my skill as a net-weaver—and following the steps came easily.

“That’s it,” Tiercel said. “You’re getting it. I knew you’d take to this. Now we’ll do it together. Hold your arms out like so.” He demonstrated a stiff, outstretched position, which I did my best to imitate. He startled me by entering the circle of my arms.

“We always maintain this space between our bodies,” he explained. “Some dances are less formal, but I won’t teach you those. If a man ever wants you to dance the Valta, you should refuse. It isn’t a proper dance.”

We moved through the figure as Tiercel counted aloud. Where my hand touched his, my palm tingled, sending burning ripples up my forearm. Startled, I wrenched my hand free and shook it out.

Tiercel paused his counting. “Did you step wrong?”

I shook my head. “My hand felt strange.”

“Hot?” he asked eagerly. “Tingly? By the gods! Can this be? Lili, you have magic? You never told me!”

You never asked.

“I know Ganteans practice magic differently, but surely you knew if you had some skill?”

I nodded.

Tiercel beamed. “My first boy had magic! I did not expect it to surface in him, as these things are passed by blood, and I had shown no talent at all. Of course, you must be careful in Galantia. King Mydon punishes unsanctioned magic harshly, and he does not favor Ganteans.”

“Why should I feel this magic now?” The sensation that moved up my arm distressed me.

“The dance figure is a sigil, a symbol of magic. It stirs up the aetherlight. It’s harmless, but it may make you a sought-after partner in Galantia; it’s considered a pleasure to dance with a magitrix. Come, try again. Don’t worry about the feeling. It will come and go. I have danced with many a magitrix.”

Again, I wondered where and when. I held the required position and the prickling sensation crawled up my arm again.

“There,” Tiercel said. “I feel it now, too, though the power comes from you. How delightful.”

Tiercel finally released me. “I think you’ve got the basics. Now I’ll show you the figure for the Balance. It’s more complicated.”

I frowned. I did not want to dance anymore. The tingling magic unnerved me.

Reading my reluctance, Tiercel explained, “You have a chance, Lili, that’s why I do this. This change in your status from mews girl to handmaiden is a fortuitous one. Handmaidens are trusted confidantes of their mistresses. It’s an honored position. You have a chance to be more, but as long as you act like a Gantean they won’t accept you. Certainly Ghilene won’t. You must learn the dances for the Brokering to fit in, and we have little time. So, practice.”

I practiced. Tiercel put me through the paces as though I were one of his new birds: dancing, posture, comportment, the duties of a handmaiden. My new skills thrilled a part of me, but another part, the raw Gantean part, was ashamed. Any Iksraqtaq feared being taken captive by southerners for just this reason: sayantaq tainted too deeply to ever be washed clean. I did not know how to resist the change. Tiercel’s Lethemian world surrounded me, sucking me in and warming me up, cooking down all the Gantean purity I’d always held with such pride.

T
he Ricknagel family
departed suddenly the following evening. After thoroughly cleaning the rooms the daughters had occupied, I returned to the mews to find Tiercel. He often had the household gossip before anyone else.

“What happened?” I asked him as I arrived. He was reading in his room—he lived a strange life, neither servant nor master, with ample leisure time. “I thought the Ricknagels meant to travel to the marriage brokering with the Entilas?”

“Ah.” Tiercel closed his book with a snap and set it aside on his desk. “There was a misunderstanding. Malvyna thought they meant to offer the elder girl, Stesichore, to Culan. But the Ricknagels wanted him to marry the younger one, Sterling. Malvyna was displeased; they were angry. The Ricknagels decided to proceed to Galantia on their own.”