The Gantean (Tales of Blood & Light Book 1) (4 page)

A passing sympathy for the poor younger daughter filled me. In Gante, I had not been considered desirable, either. She had been so miserable after overhearing Culan Entila’s harsh words.

“Lili, I will be busy tonight,” Tiercel interrupted my thoughts. “Malvyna has asked that I attend her. Can you set my room to rights while I am out?”

Later, as Tiercel headed to the Big House dressed in his finest clothing, I wondered,
what duty did he perform for her?
Why did he go so reluctantly, with such heaviness in his steps? And was he a servant, that he had no choice? His casual use of Lady Entila’s name suggested he was not, and he commanded Ghilene Entila like an equal. The man made no sense.

Beset by curiosity, I tailed him through the white-bells in the meadow and the plush carpets of the house.

Tiercel headed to the tower, Lady Entila’s domain. He moved like a sacrifice dragging himself to the altar, lifting a hand as heavy as stone to knock upon the door to Malvyna’s private chamber.

I tucked myself against a window shrouded by velvet drapes. Lady Malvyna’s door opened, and a slender hand clutched the lapels of Tiercel’s coat, pulling. He stumbled into the room, and the door clicked shut behind him. I scrambled from behind the drapes to press my ear against the door, hoping to hear a clandestine conversation.

That was not at all what I heard. I should have known. No Gantean child past the age of ten winters could have mistaken those sounds. Ganteans had no closed doors behind which to hide when they mated.

I hurried back to the mews with my face flaming in embarrassment that I’d so infringed on Tiercel’s privacy.

T
he following morning
I had to swallow my anxieties and go to Ghilene Entila for my first day as her personal servant.

Tiercel brought me to Lady Entila’s chamber, ushering me into the finest room I’d ever seen. Purple tinged everything: the paper on the walls, the chair in the corner, the drapes on the large glass windows, the dense carpet on the floor. Lady Entila herself, statuesque in a chair designed to lend her grandeur, wore an overdress of dark violet over a lavender gown, and amethysts jangled on her wrists. Her fine dark hair tumbled down her back in an elaborate hairstyle that must have taken some poor handmaiden hours to arrange.

Tiercel pinched me to remind me of proper behavior. I bowed.

“Ghilene doesn’t like this,” the Lady said while surveying me coolly.

“Ghilene will listen to her mother.” I had never heard Tiercel sound so severe.

Lady Entila pursed her lips and ignored his tone. “At least the girl doesn’t
look
Gantean. As you said, no one will ever know. But Ghilene knows, and she’s being difficult.”

Again, Tiercel clipped his words. “When isn’t that girl difficult? Lili is perfect for this job. Ghilene will learn to appreciate what she’s been given.”

The door to the purple room opened. Ghilene Entila scowled as she entered, arms crossed over her chest. I had thought her perhaps two years my junior when I had seen her in the mews, but now, in more formal clothes, with her black hair dressed in imitation of her mother, she seemed older.

“I don’t want that filthy Gantean!” Her first words made me flinch.

“You have no other option, Ghilene,” said her mother. “She is what you get. Your complaints give me a headache.”

Ghilene glared across the room at me. “I won’t have it! What will people think of me with one of
them
as a servant? She’s practically a savage!”

Lady Entila laughed. “Tiercel says he’s trained her very well, and you cannot tell by looking at her—”

“You can’t wash out where she’s from—”

“That’s enough, Ghilene,” Tiercel intervened. “Lili is your handmaiden. She’s been trained for the job, and you will treat her well.”

“Darling, what will people think of your behavior should they hear you shrieking like this?” added Lady Entila.

Ghilene only tightened her arms over her body, tensing like a cat about to spring. Her angry glance raked first Tiercel and then her mother. “I don’t know why you always do things like this to me! It’s like you want to make my life difficult!” She turned and fled the room.

Lady Entila sighed and tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair. Tiercel maintained a stiff posture and said nothing. Lady Entila caught my gaze. “Well, what are you waiting for, girl? She’s your duty now. Go and take care of her. You must learn to manage her. Go.” She waved dismissively.

As I hurried after Ghilene, anxious excitement blossomed in my stomach. I didn’t have any idea how to handle Ghilene, but I wanted to see the High City.

When the raiders had dragged me from Gante, I had feared what lay beyond the island. Gantean rumors of the south contained nothing but slander. After seeing Queenstown and hearing more from Tiercel and the Ricknagel girls about Lethemian cities, I wanted to see more. The world was a vaster place than I’d ever imagined on Gante.

I knocked tentatively on Ghilene’s door.

“Go away!” Unaccustomed to displays of high emotion, I hesitated. Then, gently, I pushed in the door.

Ghilene lay flat on her stomach, her skirts ballooning around lace-covered legs. She lifted her head, wiping shameless tears from her cheeks. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Y—your mother sent me.”

“Damn her! I hate her. I hate that Tiercel, too. Who does he think he is, telling me what to do?”

I inched into the room, and Ghilene watched me with wide green eyes, cocking her head as she came to a seated position. “But you don’t really look Gantean at all. You haven’t any freckles, and your hair’s not so thick and bushy.”

My unlikely looks had not gone unremarked in Gante, either. I’d forever been the “bird-girl,” smaller and less robust than the other women. Ghilene rose and circled me. “You’re not as bad as I thought.” One fine-boned hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. “Listen,” she whispered, yanking me close and searching my eyes. “Promise you won’t tell anyone you’re Gantean. I couldn’t bear it if people at the Brokering knew. Promise. Especially that Ricknagel girl. Stesichore would never stop mocking me. You know why they left so suddenly? Lady Ricknagel insulted Mother at her own table! She said some things—about—well, never mind. I just don’t want to give them any other reasons to scorn me.”

I nodded. “I promise.” I wanted to win her over, though I wondered about the “other reasons” Ghilene mentioned. I could see that her happiness would be my happiness, her upsets my own, for the foreseeable future.

I packed Ghilene’s trunk while she sat in her vanity chair and criticized. I attempted to distract her by asking, “What is this event that brings you to Galantia?”

Ghilene flicked her green-eyed gaze in my direction. “Be gentle with that lace! It’s Lysandrene! The Brokering is a long-standing tradition. When the heir of House Galatien wishes to be wed, the High City hosts three days of festivities. Everyone who isn’t yet married in the Ten Houses takes it as an opportunity to make a match.” She snatched at the clothing I carried past her. “Not that blue cape! I want the white one, with the fur.”

It took me another quarter hour to get her things arranged as she liked, leaving me only a short time to say goodbye to Tiercel. I found him with the birds in the mews.

“I’m leaving for Galantia first thing in the morning.”

Tiercel beamed. “Yes, yes I know! You did it, Lili. Galantia! Look how far you’ve come. Why, I remember the first day I saw you. You were nothing more than a frightened bundle of bones. Now look at you, handmaiden to a scion of the Ten Houses.”

Sayantaq
, whispered the Gantean who still lived beneath my skin.
So cooked you can never go back.

Yet I could not be angry at Tiercel for changing me. He wanted only to help, to better my circumstances. “Why?” I asked. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“All this, for me. Why did you train me and help me? Why did you care?”

His face paled and he shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, I almost thought they had changed color from grey to dark blue. I blinked.

“I did it because I hope someone, somewhere, has done as much for my daughter. Now, go on, Lili. You need your rest before your travels. Be safe, my girl.”

A
breathtaking bridge
built from a glistening, glassy material spanned the fast waters of the River Rift that ran north of the High City. On the eve of the Brokering festivities, it bustled with carriages and wagons. I stared over my shoulder at the bridge even after we’d safely crossed. A row of spires anchored shimmering cables that supported the bridge’s weight. It looked like something out of a dream, impossible, cast from starlight or leaded glass in a spectrum of colors: silvery blue, pale green, subdued violet.

We proceeded through a busy district at the river’s edge. “The Bottom City,” Ghilene said, turning away from the sights. “It smells so awful I wonder why the Galatiens permit it to exist?”

We passed run-down shanties made from scavenged materials—metal and rotting wood, mostly—with sometimes only fabric to cover doors and windows. Not even Queenstown had prepared me for such a crowd, and I did not regret being hidden inside the carriage with Ghilene. Beggars reached eager hands as we passed, shouting and waving for notice. I had never seen people so destitute before—in Gante no one was left behind in this way.

Two routes led up to the High City, both equally impressive. A straight stair formed a direct route for pedestrians, while a road for vehicles etched hairpin turns up the steep incline. The road traffic moved slowly as larger carriages negotiated the sharp turns. I studied the view of Galatien Province’s rolling green hills, so different from Entila’s rocky terrain or Gante’s stark tundra. This province was lined with farmlands and dotted with healthy trees and shrubs. When we arrived on the plateau that supported the High City, guards dressed in grey and gold escorted us through a network of streets line with buildings made from a pale white stone to the Crystal Palace itself.

Though I had read descriptions of it in Tiercel’s books, words could not do the sprawling Crystal Palace justice. Its massive walls created a hex-shaped perimeter, girded by six enormous pillars of crystal.

Ghilene pointed at the rose-colored crystal column. “The mages who founded the High City brought the pillars from far away.”

From Gante
. Every Gantean knew the troubled history of those pillars. Stolen from Gante by the Lethemians centuries ago, they had created the original rift between Iksraqtaq and sayantaq.

Lady Entila exited her carriage on the arm of her white-cloaked mage while Culan Entila helped his sister from hers. A gilded door unfolded from the Palace walls at our approach.

The guards led us into a spacious receiving atrium. As soon as we entered we
all bowed deeply out of respect for the presence of the King, though I felt odd giving such honors. In Gante we revered only the Cedna above any other. We had no important lineages or families, and blood relationships meant nothing to us. Iksraqtaq considered blood special only because it fed the Hinge.

Welcoming conversations floated around me, but I paid little attention. Instead I observed the dazzling sights that assaulted me from every direction: long velvet drapes that ran the twenty spans from ceiling to floor, mirrors as big as the fishing nets I once wove, ornate chairs so padded in silk and pillows I could barely discern their shape.

“Be welcome, cousins.”

I peeked up to catch a glimpse of Lethemia’s king. Tiercel had mentioned him more than once during my training. Mydon I Galatien represented the least of the sights here, a man of medium height with thick golden hair worn Lethemian-style, unbound to the shoulders. His facial hair—an unusual feature for a southerner—pointed into a close-trimmed beard and moustache.

He exchanged bows and formalities with Lady Entila and her mage, though neither of the Entilan children stepped forward to participate, so I stayed back, holding up the cumbersome train of Ghilene’s green dress so she could move freely. All through our approach to the Palace she’d fretted about tripping on the thing, telling me exactly how I must manage the fabric. My own simple dress had no such hazards.

“Here are my sons, Prince Costas and Prince Adrastos,” Mydon Galatien announced generally. The elder prince stepped forward to shake Culan Entila’s hand.

As I peeked up at the Galatien sons, an almost physical rope of sensation tugged below my chest
,
as though my insides were yanked out through my navel, stolen, like my breath, by the prince in white above me.

“Be welcome.” The prince took Ghilene’s hand, bringing it to his lips. He had bronze skin and equally bronze hair, cut much shorter than southern custom. Unlike his father, the prince screamed for notice: everything about him—his crisp white coat, his fitted breeches, the breadth of his shoulders—served as a trap for my attention. He looked like one of the cast statues we’d passed on the walk up the Palace steps, gleaming, shaped by artistic hands. I’d never seen a man like him. Other Lethemian men, even Tiercel, struck my eyes as effeminate, with their slicked hair and carefully arranged clothes, but Costas Galatien had the strength and presence of a Gantean combined with the glittering allure of
more
.

He noticed my gaze and smiled with a quick quirk of his mouth even as he guided Ghilene to greet his father. No one else had seen the flash of his notice; that smile was a private thing made only for me. Hurriedly I turned my attention back to Ghilene’s train, shifting it higher as she moved. The tugging sensation in my gut did not stop.

Lady Entila and her retinue were given rooms in the Palace’s eastern wing. Ghilene hurried into her room—causing me to scramble to keep the train away from her feet. She giggled with excitement. “Did you see him? Did you see him? He was just as handsome as everyone says! He kissed my hand!”

“Who?”

“Are you blind? Costas Galatien, of course! The Palace servants should have delivered my things by now. Hurry, find my lavender dress for dinner tonight! And I want to wear my pearls, the pink ones.”

A
table made
from a cross section of a giant tree ran nearly the length of the dining hall, a slice of wonder my mind could hardly grasp. Gantean trees were small and stunted. I wanted to see the forest that had produced such an enormous tree. Had I not manners to remember, I would have stared open-mouthed at everything in the dining hall: the painted ceiling, the gold beams, the glittering glass orbs filled with light that dangled from the ceiling on threads so thin they might as well be floating.

More
, said that sayantaq
voice inside me.
Show me more.
Dazzle me. Transport me. Amaze me more.

Mydon Galatien stood at the head of the table and opened his arms. “Let us eat together!”

For each chair situated round the table, a stool had been provided. These stools—for servants like me—were so low that only my head and shoulders would peek above the table. I suppressed a nervous laugh. I would look like a begging dog.

Ghilene settled into her taller seat as I held it for her, and then I lowered myself onto my stool. Prince Costas and his manservant sat across from us. I snatched glances at them to make sure I served the food onto Ghilene’s plate in the correct way. Costas Galatien had the most luminous skin. I wondered if he brushed it with something to make it gleam. I wanted to look closer but I did not dare.

“Lady Ghilene,” Costas said, leaning across the table. “How pretty your dress is. It brings out the lovely color of your eyes.”

Ghilene flushed. Her hands twisted her servlet in her lap. “Thank you,” she said meekly.

Costas gazed at Ghilene as if she were the only person at the table. “What is your age?” he asked.

Did he calculate to convey his interest? Surely Ghilene would take it that way.

“I am fifteen years old,” she replied.

Costas nodded vaguely. “Old enough to marry, then.”

Ghilene stared at him, her green eyes wide. I’d never seen her struck dumb, but apparently the Lethemian prince had a power over her that no one else did.

Costas attended his food for a moment before speaking again. “I practice my martial arts in the morning, before breakfast. Would you like to come observe? Do you enjoy such games?”

“My brother practices,” replied Ghilene with an eager tremble in her voice.

“Bring him, if you wish, and your handmaiden, too.”

Prince Costas’s gaze turned to me, making me feel as conspicuous as a black hare in a drift of new snow. His attention had a snaring effect, drawing in its object like a trap. Ghilene, still flustered, had lost all interest in eating. I hoped she did not notice how closely Costas stared at me. His gaze dropped to my throat, and I had to suppress the urge to cover my neck with my hands. I had been keeping my tormaquine and Nautien’s anbuaq carefully hidden beneath my clothes since coming into Ghilene’s service—if she saw them she’d make me remove them lest they betray my origins. I would as soon remove my own eye, and so I dressed to hide the amulets. Had they slipped out? Did Costas Galatien recognize them for what they were?

He sent a secret ripple of awareness running through my limbs. Such intensity behind his amber eyes! Every time I caught his gaze, my stomach fluttered and my ribcage clamped down on my breath.
Why does he study me so? And why does it make me feel so hungry for more?

T
he following morning
I tracked the smell of cooking food to the Palace kitchens to prepare a tray of tea and biscuits for Ghilene.

Upon my return she remained buried in the sheets. She did not like to rise early.

“You are to observe the martial arts practice,” I reminded her while handing her a teacup.

Ghilene leaned against the headboard of the bed, pushing her wispy black hair out of her face. “Who practices anything first thing in the morning? Ugh. I won’t bother inviting Culan. He never gets up so early, and he certainly won’t want to spar at this hour.”

“Prince Costas will be waiting for you,” I spoke with just enough prod to get her moving, knowing it would please her to consider the prince. Already I had adopted that trait of servants everywhere: a tendency to manage my mistress’s emotional state to minimize its effects on mine.

Ghilene threw off her blankets. “Do you think he likes me? He didn’t speak to anyone else at the dinner last night, not even his manservant.”

I collected biscuits onto a plate for her. “I do not know your customs in this matter.”

Ghilene sniffed, but did not reply for several moments. “But he did appear far too curious about you. Do you think he knows you’re Gantean?”

I shook my head. “Why would he?” I played it off as though the same thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but my concerns only heightened, knowing that Ghilene had noticed Costas’s scrutiny of me.

Ghilene set her teacup on the ornate bedside table. “You’d better stay quiet around him,” she warned. “I’ll have Mother whip you if you ruin this for me.”

After getting Ghilene into a mint green silk gown, I accompanied her to the arms courtyard, eager to see more of the Palace, though anxious lest I make some mistake that would call attention to me. I did not know how much store to put in Ghilene’s threats.

Upon our arrival at a wide lawn situated on the western side of the Palace, we found Costas Galatien already practicing with another young man. They used two swords each, the weapons flashing in complicated arcs that matched the sharp, precise swivels of their torsos. When Costas spotted us he paused the game and waved, indicating two benches that lined the practice pitch. He bowed and then returned to the match.

Ghilene spread her skirt over the bench. “That’s Jaasir Amar,” she murmured, pointing at Costas’s opponent, a pale, slender man dressed all in black. “I’ve heard he and Costas are great friends. Possibly more.”

“More?”

“Yes, more. Culan says people here whisper that they’re lovers. They’re always in each other’s company. Jaasir’s been a guest at the Palace forever.”

I studied the sparring men. Two men as lovers struck me as unimaginably bizarre, but I made no comment. I had encountered plenty of other odd customs in Lethemia.

“Costas doesn’t strike me as a pillow-biter,” Ghilene went on in a low voice. “In fact I think he’s quite masculine.”

“Does Costas hunt with spears?” I wondered aloud. As soon as I asked, I knew I’d made a mistake. Tiercel would have been disappointed in me.
You ask too many questions,
he had once reprimanded me.
Questions reveal all the things you do not know.

Ghilene gave me a perplexed look, my meaning clearly lost on her. Ganteans described masculine using the phrase “hunting with spears.” Apparently the quality had little to do with spears in Lethemia.

“He uses the butterfly blades, I would think,” Ghilene said. “After all, he’s the one who designed the Martial Forms, and he’s the one who trains the Dragonnaires.”

“What is a Dragonnaire?” Another foolish question, but I couldn’t help my curiosity.

She rolled her eyes at my ignorance. “Prince Costas’s special group of elite soldiers. Be quiet! Someone might hear you asking stupid questions.” She turned towards the action on the pitch.

Jaasir Amar struck in a flurry. Costas tripped as he danced backwards, but he made a deft somersault from the stumble, arriving on his feet in time to parry a finishing blow.

Ghilene did not appear especially interested in the match, but I found it fascinating, yet another sayantaq spectacle. The men’s streamlined motions, with their metal blades flashing in the morning sun, struck me as a marvel. Ganteans played no games like this. The two men circled each other so gracefully they might have been dancing rather than fighting.

More,
hissed that sayantaq voice.
This world has more. Here you can be more than a bird-girl, more than a quiet, breakable thing. More than a slave.

I finally began to see what Tiercel had intended for me.

Costas and Jaasir had their blades, all four of them, locked together. They pressed into each other. Ghilene stood up to adjust her dress, and Jaasir lost his concentration. Costas took full advantage of the lapse, sweeping his blades free of the lock to pitch Jaasir forward. As Jaasir fell, Costas brought a blade over his back.