by A. S. Etaski
Now I saw another silhouette, solid black, and hard to make out against an enormous background dotted with motes of light, the expanse such that I couldn’t tell if it was a cave or not. Then his eyes opened; milky-white without pupils, a white beard, bald head and skin almost as dark as mine. The body was shorter than me but stocky and very strong.
I backed up quickly, holding my empty palm out in front of me. Kain.
Sirana. He held a dagger.
The ground beneath my bare feet wasn’t hard rock but soft grains of infinite number, dry enough to continually shift and slide beneath even my slight weight, never mind the deep, shushing imprints left by the Tragar.
Get away, I demanded, plainly afraid.
We can’t.
That was when light rose up behind him. Golden, searing light.
This is no cavern.
Behind him was a curved line of some vast expanse of space. I realized, somehow, I wasn’t underground. I was exposed, body, mind, and essence, and there was nowhere to hide. The light should have blinded me, yet I watched the backlit silhouette of the Dwarf I’d killed now stalking toward me. He lifted his fisted hand, grains of red and yellow sediment flowing from the point of that dagger blade. The dagger itself was black with scarlet runes etched along both sides. They glowed hungrily. The weapon was offered, and it was brandished.
It’s a gift, and a curse, Kain thought.
I drew breath to scream. Before I could, the dagger flashed and bit deep into my gut, moving and angling itself independent of Kain’s wrist. I doubled over as I clutched them, my mouth wide open but my voice silent. I felt the blade eating me from the inside out, dissolving my life, my strength, like a spider’s venom liquified the guts of its prey.
Now I was on my knees, and finally, I started screaming.
“Sirana. Sirana!”
I opened my eyes sucking in a lungful of air. My joints were locked, my chest hurting from some creeping pressure. I stared up at Gaelan, who lay on the same pallet with me. She looked concerned and was gripping my shoulder; she’d been shaking me.
“Are you awake?” she asked.
I nodded.
“How many fingers?” She held them up, and I counted.
“Three.”
“Alright. What did you dream? You’ve thrashed some before, but… Was it the altar again?”
I let out my breath, drew in again, willing my heart to slow down. What I thought I’d seen made no sense, so I nodded. “Yes. The one with Lelinahdara.”
Gaelan nodded, looking thoughtful. “Any of that mixing with the failed one Jilrina did? Or is it just the true one?”
I made a face, unprepared for that line of questioning and baffled why she would care. “I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t…”
“Never mind,” she said.
Then I remembered.
“Elder Rausery told me my womb was healed on purpose,” I blurted, and Gaelan looked startled. “Because every Red Sister must be fertile. And we go to the Priestesses if we are stupid enough to get pregnant.”
She bolted upright as if evading a pincer worm, holding her head and shuddering. I sat upright as well, both of us naked from the waist with only a blanket covering as I stared at her. That was a much stronger reaction than I expected if I’d considered any at all.
“What did I say?” I asked. “Did you have to give a baby to the P—?”
“No!” she barked, her anger clear as she glanced at me. “I’ve never caught.”
Her voice was clipped, and she was looking away from me.
“Then what in the Abyss was that?” I demanded.
She waved her hand. “I thought Elder D’Shea told you.”
“Well, it was Rausery who did. And are you lying to me?”
Gaelan shook her head, breathing deep and glancing tentatively at me. “I’ve only been here five turns, Sirana. Compared to some, I’m as new as you. Think about it, me spending two of those five turns in the Sanctuary wouldn’t see me as Elder D’Shea’s Right Hand now.”
I eyed her. “That’s still a fast climb because they haven’t chosen many mages for the Sisterhood. You can actually make those tools I’ve seen Jaunda use.”
She shrugged, plain in her scowl. “I’m sure I was just a needed replacement for another Sister who died.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you make potions and things before the Sisterhood? Where are you from?”
Gaelan stared straight ahead and into space; a subtle shiver passed through her, and she swallowed a few times. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t have a family anymore, same as you.”
I was irritated by that blatant block. “Why did you ask about Jilrina in my dreams, then? What does that fucking matter to you if we have no family but us?”
Gaelan shook her head, squeezing her eyes as she pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead as if trying to compress it down. “I’m sorry I asked, Sirana. Really. I won’t ask about your former House anymore.”
“Why not? Everyone else does,” I said. “They are still asking if I killed her. Even Elder Rausery has.”
“Well, your sister was a First Daughter sired by the first Royal Consorts,” Gaelan said, taking some deep breaths. “The gossip was widespread even outside the Palace Court, in case you didn’t know.”
I blinked. “The commoners? Why would they talk?”
A shrug. “Why not? Supposedly Noble breeding matters more. A lot of merchants and guards keep track of the drama.”
I paused. Gaelan had been a Red Sister for only five turns, while Jilrina had died twenty turns ago. “You were a commoner? And you heard about me?”
She pursed her lips and nodded, still seeming angry. “But I don’t…really care, Sirana. And now that you’re gone from Court, no one else will, either. Just forget it.”
Impossible.
“But I’m going to be back at Court in less than six marks!” I said. “Wearing red!”
Somehow that eased the tension in her face, and her white eyebrows lifted as she glanced at me. I was surprised by the small smile. “You look good in it, you know. Even if it is borrowed. It won’t be long before D’Shea sees one custom-made for you to fit right.”
That almost worked, but I wasn’t quite distracted enough. “Why would Elder D’Shea put me under the Nobles’ nose again so soon if I was just supposed to vanish when the Sisterhood came for me?”
Gaelan shrugged. “I’m not privy to her plans, Sirana. Maybe she just wants to see how much you cling to your past. What will you do with it, given you have no choice?”
Given half a tick to think about it, I realized Mother and Kaltra would probably be there; they might be at the Palace right now, staying in my old rooms. Where I’d spent a decade and a half living alone except for whatever buas I could draw into my bed.
My chest ached again. Not good. I had been so focused on the training and decorum and ritual of it all that I hadn’t thought about who I might see there.
I might see the Consort, too. Shit.
Abruptly, I also wondered whether my invisible wizard might attend as well. How could I be so unprepared? Had I lost what Court edge I’d worked so long for already? Maybe this was exactly what my Elder wanted to see, and Gaelan would be there to report on me. Rausery and the Prime would hear about it, too, if I embarrassed them. But how could the Sorceress have known that the Valsharess would find me “acceptable” in the first place?
Shit, I thought again. This is a personal test, whether it was planned or not.
“Let’s get ready,” Gaelan suggested.
The Grand Hall of the Palace could fit two thousand Davrin snugly, which was probably a third of our population, if one didn’t count the Sathoet breeds and all non-Elf slaves, servants, traders, crafters, and miscreants which crawled over Sivaraus. At this festival there would be only a fraction of that capacity: several representatives from the Priesthood and the
ir attendants, select Nobles from each of the current twenty-four Houses along with their Davrin-only attendants and adding a handful of wizards from the Tower.
The purpose of the male mages was the maintenance of various cantrips in the Grand Hall—involving lighting, decoration, and aural control—and generally being available to our Queen and Priestesses should they need them. One never did really know when they would need a mage for necessary things, and the female sorceresses would be handling the more important aspects such as testing for tampering of food and drink, managing and tracking the comings and goings of the guests.
I hoped to approach the wizards at some point this eve, merely to see if I got lucky to find one of them familiar, while I contemplated how I would handle possibly seeing Mother and Kaltra again.
Ignore them, probably. I’m not of House Thalluen anymore.
Meanwhile, the Royal Consorts would either be attending their current Matrons or brought out to be presented by the Priestesses when the time came. Their total number was only twenty, less than half that of the Red Sisters; there were not enough to give each House even one, and it was not uncommon that the top five Houses have two. A virgin Consort meant only that he had not served a Matron for an official term yet. The Priestesses would never present an untested, untrained male, but virgin or not, each was still required to prove his ability and virility atop Braqth’s altar before being sent with his new Mistress at the end of the ball.
Going through twenty of these couplings will take some time.
The last thing for me to bear in mind was that it was for this ritual that Curgia had prepared herself, anticipating she would be the one from her House to test a Consort before the eyes of all present. It would not be her, of course; Wilsira had made her agree it would be another of her sisters instead. I wondered if Curgia would even show her face at the Ball?
Musicians, artisans, performers, soldiers, and servants abounded, swelling the number of Noble and Sancta bodies present four-fold, although only seven Red Sisters would be visible to ensure the peace. The four most experienced—Qivni, Agalia, and the two ranking Sisters—would remain unseen, with the clear priority to protect the Valsharess and Priestesses should any threat make itself known.
A quarter of the Sisterhood attended this Ball, which did demonstrate its importance even as it was not a difficult assignment. Any disruption might see us directed to make a public example of a troublemaker. In that instance, I had no Feldeu, and all I knew was that I would do as I was told.
Gaelan and I also wouldn’t be able to stand near each other often or take any cooperative activities because we had few overlapping stations to watch and be seen. The visible Sisters would switch areas every half mark, red uniforms vanishing in and out of sight with deliberation.
In position, Qivni’s voice came through a message cantrip, a generic sound intended for all of us. At attention. Follow your path but keep it fluid. Use your tools if you see any threat and inform Agalia and me immediately.
I took my first position to the side and closest to the door as the guests and representatives arrived in due fashion wearing their beautiful, flowing dress and artful decorations, hairstyles, and headdresses. Their choices took advantage of candle and torchlight or cultivated, glowing lichen, and only at a time and place such as this had I ever seen so many vibrant colors all in one place, drenching everything.
As the Grand Hall filled, it returned to me once again how I’d found the social rituals to be excruciatingly dull unless I either became engrossed in a plot or managed to seduce an attractive bua from another House. The only exception had been that mass ritual to help conceive a demon-child, about which I had both wet dreams and terror sweats ever since. Leaving the Ball early wasn’t an option; I was here until the end, but at least I wasn’t required to be involved in the gossip and chatter.
Ironically, as I made my assigned rounds, I observed more gestures and leans to whisper than I ever had before, blatantly watching them and taking mental notes for anything possibly significant. I saw faces I recognized, but they would quickly avert their gaze if I came near them. Three caits who had taunted me along with two older governesses who disliked my laugh betrayed their shock at recognizing me then quickly covered it up. I had to admit that was satisfying, even as I knew it was all due to the uniform.
I wonder what they imagine I’ve been through since they last saw me?
Probably stories more insane than it actually was, even though there were several tests I’d rather not repeat.
I spotted Curgia after a time; she had indeed shown up to the Worship Ball. Knowing what I knew, I could detect the strained corners of her smiling mouth and saw the misery in her eyes as she made her own kind of rounds, bartering and hinting with various members, indirectly comparing agendas. More than once her hand touched her abdomen, but it wasn’t in proud anticipation. From the way she was drinking the fermented spirits, no one would expect her to be carrying. Of course, it had only been a few cycles; everything she felt had to be the wisp of possibility in her anxious mind.
When I spotted the next Davrin I knew, she also rested a hand over her abdomen. My gait hesitated and stuttered, and I cursed myself, stepping behind a dark grey column, decorated with the banner of the Second House, to regather my wits.
Fuck. What the fuck?
My Mother was here. I hadn’t seen her in almost a decade, and although I counted myself lucky that Kaltra didn’t stand beside her, I hadn’t expected to see the Matron pregnant.
Already. At least through the first turn, to be that size. I never even heard about it, I didn’t know she planned to…
The red leather of my glove softened the tips of my fingers as they dug into my palm. To think I could walk up to her now and tell her I wasn’t barren. And I’d be telling the truth. It was an action I would never take, could never choose and expect to live beyond the Prime finding out.
Daughters are easily replaced, I suppose. And the Sisterhood needs them, too.
After my heart slowed, I considered what this also said about Mother’s faith in Kaltra as the uncontested Heir. Matron Thalluen would have been informed of what happened to me; the Prime had ordered it, and there was no way to get me back regardless. I could grant perhaps Mother was showing good sense about the future of House Thalluen under Kaltra the Incompetent.
At least she’s still capable. She must be praying for a fourth female. Will she get it, I wonder? What are the chances of that?
I shook myself out of my doubts and refocused, coming out from behind the column and continuing my rounds. I made no deliberate effort to be visible to the Matron of Thalluen, but it was inevitable that she might see me in the Grand Hall, with the light and the bright red of my leathers. I must not have been looking at her when she first caught sight of me because when our eyes did meet, she did not blink.
She had the chance to cover any honest response.
Just as I had.
Matron Thalluen watched me steadily as I strolled around two other groups of subtly shifting Nobles, and she smiled slightly, showing what could be a guarded measure of pride in her scarlet eyes.
Then she looked away like all the rest.
I hesitated, knowing this was a test even if Mother might not be aware of it. I could ignore her—or pretend to—and evade her all eve. I could show my Sisters here, evaluating me, that I’d severed all links to those outside the Cloister. Except I hadn’t, yet. And my Elder’s both encouraging me to confront my fears and my anger while at the same time avoiding a certain Priestess still rankled me.
I approached Rohenvi of House Thalluen directly, getting within several paces as Nobles around her became aware of me and stiffened. They parted for me or took a deliberate step away from her. None gave away whether they caught the likeness between us, though I’d have thought only the blind would miss it.
“You honor this festival of fertility with your presence, Matron,” I said, glancing pointedly at her swollen bell
y.
She bowed gracefully before me, perfect and elegant as if she really had spent decades at Court before I was born. I was taken aback but kept my face like stone.
“My humble thanks, Red Sister,” she replied and, somehow, I sensed the hand on her belly had turned protective. “That is my most faithful wish to honor our Queen.”
She wants that baby. She’s afraid of me.
I hadn’t thought ahead when I decided to speak to her. I didn’t know what to say next because, somehow, I hadn’t anticipated that she would yield so fast.
Idiot.
“Do you know the sex yet?” I asked, and I could tell she wasn’t eager to say, but she wasn’t going to refuse. She probably wasn’t even going to lie.
“Yes, Red Sister. She’s female.”
In another turn, I’d have a younger sister. That was four caits in a row, no buas. How could a Matron have it so well and still be struggling?
Because the Consort-bred Daughters were insane or stupid.
I nodded, working to keep my back straight and my chin raised. I had the higher status here, but it didn’t feel like it. And none of this should matter.
My Mother curtsied again, giving me an out. “Bless and keep the Valsharess, Defender.”
I left, having nothing else to say. I wondered if Qivni had been watching, or Gaelan. I wondered what they’d say to their Elders, and whether I’d failed.
Fuck.
Brooding while the early dining and drinking happened, prior to the Priestesses coming out with the new buas, I had plenty of time to watch everyone three times over and the freedom to move among them without obstruction or delays. I noticed the Noble male counterparts on the arms of the named guests, saw their simple movements—some of them I knew what they looked like naked—and a quiet pang of longing entered my lower gut.
I had adapted to the Feldeu quickly, and I was learning to enjoy sex with caits, which was a feat after my sister, but they all smelled like females.
Buas smell like males. It’s different.
I enjoyed their smell, had grown to savor their taste and have fun with their offerings. It still thrilled me to recall the faces my buas made as their stiff rods flexed and spurted either over my skin, down my throat, or deep inside me.
