by Vela Roth
“Well then. I shall bid you good morning, Lio. Rest well. For I shall exhaust you with more questions on the morrow.”
28
Days Until
SPRING EQUINOX
Threads
Cassia drank her wine slowly, letting the heady, spiced vintage warm her. She judged she had about half of her drink left, to match the half of Lady Hadrian’s gathering still to come. More than one goblet would appear excessive for someone in Cassia’s position.
A flagon of this in her own room before bed would serve her well. She ought to sleep while she waited to hear Perita take her noisy leave. But during the past eight nights that Cassia had continued to meet with Lio, she never could seem to find rest before she slipped out to the grounds. Nor after they spoke, for that matter, if she got back to her rooms with any time to spare before dawn.
Lio’s revelations were well worth the lost sleep. The extraordinary details he shared about his world were beyond Tenebrans’ wildest imaginings, because they were the opposite of everything Tenebrans imagined about Hesperines.
Even so, this exhaustion setting in upon Cassia was cause for concern. She could not afford to be less alert. She made a point to pay attention now.
Lady Hadrian’s loom clacked and whisked, and her tapestry took shape as she and the young women she had gathered about her wove a conversation with their voices. They decorated here and there with laughter at each other’s jests. Cassia watched for loose threads: evaded questions or bitter gazes that came out only when the others weren’t looking.
Cassia’s function was to sit and be a grateful recipient of generosity and, fortunately, not to assist in the construction of the masterpiece Lady Hadrian had been working on all year. It was the duty of the free lords’ untarnished daughters to praise the design, make suggestions as to colors, or hand threads to the lady. Confident in his purpose, Knight sat poised and quiet beside Cassia’s chair and shed on Lady Hadrian’s rug. There was no one with whom Cassia would rather sit and be ignored. She sipped her wine and listened.
“Oh, how I wish Aurelio would perform here!” Lady Biata moaned.
“Aurelio?” Lady Nivalis shook her head. “He would never come to Tenebra. He only performs for the most sophisticated courts in Cordium.”
“Why should only vain, greedy princes get to hear his songs?” Lady Biata pouted. “Surely we fearless Tenebrans are worthier of the great Aurelio. If the king invited him…”
Lady Dalia sighed. “Nay, when you are the greatest living minstrel, you may refuse whomever you choose.”
“They say his hair is as golden as his voice, and his face as beautiful as his songs.” Lady Biata fanned herself with one hand, her third goblet of wine in the other.
“No, no, he is Cordian,” Lady Dalia protested with a smile. “I am sure he has raven-black hair, burnished olive skin and eyes so dark you could lose your way in them.”
“He’s probably ugly,” Lady Nivalis declared, “and all the tales about his divine music a lot of Cordian exaggeration.”
Lady Dalia’s eyes sparkled. “Well, if he is as homely as a fencepost, no one gives it a thought. Not when his fingers are so nimble.” She cleared her throat. “On the lute strings.”
There came a titter of laughter and a few anxious glances at Lady Hadrian to see if she noticed or disapproved of the suggestive remarks.
Their hostess wove serenely on. “No one shall ever convince me a musician is more agile than a warrior. Only a man who is skilled with his sword can impress me.”
Lady Hadrian’s entourage let out a tide of delighted laughter, then gossiped thoroughly about the minstrel’s exploits—musical ones, of course—and how they compared to those of beloved Tenebran tournament champions. The young women lauded the competitors loyal to Lord Hadrian’s faction, while Lord Titus’s supporters became targets for veiled insults regarding their manhood, or lack thereof. Only Lord Flavian was never mentioned, for no one could deny Lord Titus’s son was the paragon of young Tenebran manhood, but nor could they exalt him in the Hadrian residence.
The ladies must do their part to carry on the oldest, bitterest feud in the history of Tenebran noble families, now that the lords could no longer perpetuate it by the sword. The king had succeeded in forcing the men off the battlefield, but he had yet to conquer the women’s weaving rooms.
Cassia had observed time and again that Lady Hadrian caught the thread of every innuendo in her reach, whether about the size of a minstrel’s flute or the size of a rival free lord’s army. Why did she spend so much time on these weavers who were still learning to keep up with her? Lady Hadrian’s position was secure; she could get what she wanted without coddling the daughters of her husband’s supporters. She was not prone to vanity and did not require the flattery of younger women to know her own worth.
A tangle in the conversation made the laughter fade. All the good humor was gone from Lady Dalia’s gaze. “Surely not, Bee. Please say it is only a rumor.”
Now the focus of everyone’s attention, Lady Biata drew herself up like a bird ready to preen. “Well, it is a rumor, but is it not one that should concern us? If frost fever has begun to afflict outlying villages in the east, then how long before it reaches us here?”
“It should indeed concern us. Rumors are often the only warning we get before the fever strikes.” Lady Nivalis’s hands knotted around the stem of her goblet. “We would have done well to heed them last time.”
“We shall be better prepared if it ever happens again.” Lady Dalia put a hand on Lady Nivalis’s arm. “But I’m sure the illness will stay far away from us. No one need worry but the outlaws and beastmen who run wild in the east.”
Lady Biata nodded. “Perhaps it is a blessing to rid us of the unholy.”
“Or just a lot of heartless gossip.” Lady Nivalis looked away.
How many younger siblings had she had? Three, Cassia recalled, all under the age of ten. Until the last outbreak of the fever.
Lady Hadrian observed this exchange, lips pursed, her fingers never wavering in their guidance of the weft. “Let us either lay this terrible rumor to rest or establish its credence. If we can do neither, let us speak no more of such a painful subject.” Her head turned slightly, and Cassia realized their hostess’s gaze was upon her. “Lady Cassia, I know you can assist us in this. Perhaps the mages of Kyria have word from their sisters in remote areas. Have they given any indication they fear an epidemic may be encroaching on us?”
“They have said nothing about an outbreak of frost fever, my lady,” Cassia lied.
“Perhaps they would not speak of it, to avoid creating panic,” Lady Biata said to Lady Hadrian.
“Naturally the mages would seek to protect us,” Lady Hadrian soothed. “They would not speak of it hastily, but they would act well ahead of time to be prepared for such a threat. Lady Cassia, have the temple mages harvested a winter crop of rimelace? Or made medicine from any stores they might have from previous years?”
No untruth required this time. “No, my lady.”
“There now.” Lady Hadrian’s smile returned, creasing its customary paths around her lips and eyes. “Lady Cassia devotes her time to the goddess in the mages’ gardens nearly every day. She would know if anything was amiss. Thank you, my dear.”
“I am happy to reassure you.”
“Oh, your wine grows cool,” Lady Hadrian surmised, turning her smile on one of her handmaidens. “Minica, such good news warrants a full glass.”
Cassia spent the rest of the afternoon draining her goblet and hoping she would be awake enough to go out again that night. She was sure she missed a few implications that would have been as useful to her as her knowledge of the seamstress’s son. Cassia really must not become careless.
Lio presented a great inconvenience, robbing her of sleep and distracting her thoughts. But the words he gave her each night were worth even more than those spoken to the rhythm of the loom.
Hespera’s Rose
The weather
could not make up its mind. Waiting by the Font, Cassia kept tugging her cloak about her against a sudden drizzle, then pushing it open again when the rain let up. Would that she could be as unbothered as Knight, who sat calmly beside her and gave no indication he minded the drops that clung to his outer coat.
She would get the information from Lio. He could give her an answer for the mages of Kyria. It would be just like reading lips at dawn rites or listening for useful gossip at Lady Hadrian’s gathering.
Except that it had to do with the king’s politics.
Cassia’s sense of unease grew by the moment. It was unlike Lio to take so long to appear. But that might be no reason for concern. Perhaps he simply hadn’t gotten away from his uncle as quickly tonight. He would come, and she would ask him the mages’ question, for she could not go into her next conversation with the Prisma unequipped. What was one quick question about the Summit, just a simple yes or no? That hardly signified she took an interest in royal affairs.
Cassia peered past the edge of the clearing, trying to see in the intermittent moonlight. Where was Lio? He would come, for he must drink, and when he drank, he would know she was here.
He might even now be breaking his fast somewhere in the woods. Cassia shifted on her feet, pulling her cloak close again. What was it really like when he took his nightly draught? She needn’t waste time imagining the deed bore any resemblance to the nasty stories Tenebrans told. Instead the memory came to her of Lio sitting poised and mannerly at table by candlelight, drinking Solorum’s finest vintage. She had observed him as he had lifted the goblet in one of his long-fingered hands, had seen the rim of it touch his lips, had watched his throat move as he swallowed… She could envision him doing just that, when the dark red liquid he sipped was not wine.
Was it dangerous to interrupt a Hesperine in the midst of the Drink? She was confident in her assessment of his intentions. That did not change the fact that his kind were powerful. Power, when approached without caution, was always dangerous.
“Good evening!” Lio sounded like a young courtier hailing a lady in good cheer before a dance.
She turned to find him loping toward her through the trees. “What’s this? I see you approaching on your own two feet. No sudden and magical appearance this time?”
He came to a halt before her. A courtier might be winded. Lio was not. In fact, he did not appear to be breathing, until he did so to speak. “I walked up to you those times as well. You just didn’t see me.”
“I thought for certain you whisked yourself about, moving on magic in an eyeblink.”
He held out an arm ahead of them. “Walk with me?”
Cassia set out into the trees, and Knight took his customary place between her and Lio. The way the Hesperine prowled beside them made him appear restless. How strange for his usual poise to falter. His graceful body betrayed he wished to be on the move, so Cassia set a brisk pace.
Even so, he had to shorten his stride to match hers. “We can use our power to assist in getting from one place to another, although I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as a blink. It’s more like…” He held up a finger. With his other hand, he reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a sizable white handkerchief.
Whyever would someone who did not sweat, sneeze or relieve himself need a handkerchief?
Oh. Was it messy when they drank?
She eyed it as he unfolded it. Snowy and clean, with a black geometric design embroidered on it. No red stains.
He came to a halt and turned to her. “Hold out both your hands?”
She stopped before Lio, and Knight sat down on her feet. “Shall I reassure Knight this will be like the soap?”
“Yes, please. I should hate to see the state of my silk handkerchief if he deemed it a threat to you.”
“Hamaa.” She rubbed the toe of her slipper against Knight’s furry flank. Grumbling, he shifted himself to lean against the side of her leg instead. She held out her hands in the open space between her and Lio.
If her dog’s proximity made Lio anxious, he gave no sign this time. As he draped the handkerchief across her open palms, the motion of his hands was relaxed, as if they did this all the time.
He smoothed the handkerchief over the contours of her hands, and she almost started. Knight tensed against her.
Lio’s skin was warm. She felt his body heat through the cloth, as surely as she would a human’s. The tales of Hesperines as cold as the grave were all lies.
She gazed down at his hands where he touched the handkerchief upon her palms. She caught herself staring. But she ought to make note of the embroidery, she told herself. It might be significant. It appeared to be a stylized flower of some kind, with a round center surrounded by five lobed petals and five sharp points like thorns.
Lio tapped one point with his finger, then touched the end of a thorn on the opposite side of the flower. “When we use our power to travel, it is not as if we fly about.” Now he traced from the tip of the first thorn, all the way across the flower to the opposite point, following the lines of black thread. His finger left a trail of warmth over her palms. “It is more like we ease our own passage. We simply step.”
“I wish I understood,” Cassia said.
“You already do. You’re just overthinking it.”
She felt as if she were not thinking clearly at all. “It is very subtle, your magery.”
“That is because we work with the world, not against it as the mages of Anthros do. To perform traversals, mortal mages must be as birds in a storm, heaving their rain-laden wings to stay aloft on turbulent winds. Hesperines, when they step, are like fish in a river, swimming with the water’s natural current. We enjoy the world. In Orthros, I run on foot every night when I awaken, without using magic. When you go too directly from one place to another, you miss everything in between.”
Cassia could think of some shit-filled courtyards at Solorum she would gladly miss. But she suspected that was not his point. She held the handkerchief closer to him to give it back.
He didn’t take it. “Do you recognize the emblem on it?”
“No. What kind of flower is it?”
“Have you never seen a rose?”
“Oh!” She looked at it again. “It doesn’t deserve what they call it here.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
She made a face. “Harlot’s kiss.”
Lio sighed. “They would give such a name to my Goddess’s sacred flower. Is it true mages uproot them whenever they’re found in Tenebra?”
“I’m afraid so. No one grows them, for that would be heresy. None of the gardeners I’ve met in palaces or temples even remember what they look like. I’ve never seen a depiction of one. Until now.”
“This is a beloved symbol in Orthros—Hespera’s Rose. It appears everywhere, from handkerchiefs to illuminated texts. I’m partial to seeing the design in windows, but I must admit my bias as a glazier.”
“Glazier? But you are a diplomat, not a craftsman.”
“Every Hesperine must learn four things: a service, a craft, magic, and Ritual.”
“What a demanding education.”
“Life is best filled with purpose, rather than left to become aimless. Even with four areas of study, many Hesperines find themselves looking for enough to do. We have quite a bit of time on our hands, you see.” His smile was halfway to a grin.
If not for his lengthy canines, Cassia wouldn’t have believed the blithe youth before her could be speaking of immortality. Hesperines lived forever. Lio was a Hesperine. That knowledge usually hovered in the shadows of her thoughts along with every other Hesperine mystery, vast as darkness itself and just as impossible to grasp. What they spoke of now brought it into the light. The fact was, the person she passed each night with in conversation would live forever.
She had learned a great deal about him, and yet there was still so much of Lio she could not fathom.
“I know of your service to your people as a diplomat. Your craft is gla
ssmaking?”
He nodded, but did not elaborate.
She could see she would have to prod him, as usual, if she was to discover anything more. His self-effacing tendencies were quite the obstacle. He would gladly tell her about his people from dusk to dawn, but when it came to his own affairs, he was in his own way nearly as reticent as she to keep their Oath.
He did not talk like someone whose people had spoken grand prophecies over his head since birth. She might have believed his modesty a diplomatic affectation, except that it was so much work to make him talk about himself.
“Yours is a very exclusive craft,” she said. “Glass is so expensive, and the truly fine pieces are rarities treasured as heirlooms. I imagine it must be a challenge to work with.”
“In Orthros you can hardly turn around without seeing a stained glass window. Hesperines love light and color, and glass is the perfect medium for both.”
“You make stained glass windows?”
“I earned my initiation in my craft with a rose window in this design.” He gestured to his handkerchief. Knight’s gaze followed the motion of his hand. “But my Ritual mother embroidered this for me. I’m no good with thread.”
“That makes two of us. What is a Ritual mother?”
“Ritual mothers or fathers attend our first Ritual after our Gifting and remain our trusted mentors who watch over us and offer us guidance. They are usually a relative, a close friend of the family or, for those given Sanctuary as adults, their Gifters. Mortals’ temple parents are similar, I think. In Tenebra and Cordium, don’t a temple mother and father accompany parents when they present their newborn to the gods for the first time, when the child is twice-seven days old?”
“What is Ritual? You said it is the fourth thing you must learn?”
“It is a sacred ceremony but also, in a broader sense, our beliefs. You can learn much of it from Hespera’s Rose. Each part of the design has a specific symbolism.”
Cassia spread the handkerchief out again, holding it in her open hands. “Show me.”
