Hexborn

by A. M. Manay

  “Where is everyone else?” Shiloh asked, looking around the almost empty ferry. The dock, too, had been devoid of people.

  “Private boat. Private dock,” Silas explained with a crooked smile. “Look down that way. You can see the sails and the cranes of the main Claw Port, over in Fairview. Ferries run to and from there every hour of the day and night, and men are loading and unloading goods all the while. The crowds can be a bit . . . rowdy. Don’t ever go there alone.”

  “Ah,” Shiloh replied, then nodded her thanks for the explanation.

  I guess it’s good to be rich.

  ***

  Silas stared over the water, reviewing all the problems that awaited him back at Greenhill Palace. The discarded former queen, Mirin of Gerne, continued to refuse to leave the king she insisted was still her husband. She remained holed up in the Dark Tower with her daughter and a few remaining ladies-in-waiting. This, of course, enraged the king’s new wife beyond endurance. Queen Zina tormented the king daily on this point, which meant that the king, in turn, tormented Silas.

  He’d seen, in the letters that had greeted his arrival home, that Zina now plotted to take the Princess Esta from her mother, insisting that her husband’s only surviving child take her place among Zina’s maids in waiting. The woman seemed incapable of understanding the enmity such petty acts of vengeance could generate.

  As if that weren’t enough, Zina was great with child, and her anxiety about the approaching birth had infected the entire castle. If Silas were a praying man, he’d be begging the Gods daily for a boy. Heaven knew everyone else in the castle was, save Mirin.

  Meanwhile, money ran through both king’s and queen’s hands like water. The exiled Patriarch continued to try to meddle in the kingdom’s affairs. A quarter of the priesthood couldn’t be trusted. The oracles of Mount Tarwin had ignored a year’s worth of letters from the king. Noblemen schemed constantly, jockeying for wealth and influence. The Earl of Redwood plotted treason, perhaps. There were still next year’s marriages to sort out.

  Hatch’s work never ended. It was enough to drive a lesser man mad.

  Silas was jolted out of his self-pitying reverie by the sight of a plume of water shooting above the surface of the Bay.

  “Look, Shiloh. A whale,” he told her, pointing.

  “What? Where?” Shiloh replied. “Oh!” she cried when the huge animal surfaced. She laughed delightedly, her face suddenly bright as the sun. Silas couldn’t help smiling at her unexpectedly effusive reaction. She tugged on his sleeve. “Hey, there’s another one! I think it’s her pup.”

  Silas shook his head with a barely suppressed smile. “You’re lucky. They don’t venture through the Gate too often. If we go sailing in the Southlands next summer, you will see many whales, all kinds. Only the king is permitted to hunt them. There are dolphins as well, leaping and playing. Sometimes they will save a man if he falls overboard.”

  Shiloh looked at him nervously. He could see that she didn’t quite believe him. He concentrated and caught a wisp of her thought: If I make it to next summer. If he doesn’t have me killed by then.

  Hatch was struck by a moment of pity. She must be terrified.

  “My advice to you is this, Shiloh: Make yourself useful, and treat everyone with respect, from the scullery maids up to the king himself. Do those two things, and you will likely have a place at court the rest of your life,” he assured her.

  She nodded, looking up with her serious eyes. “That doesn’t sound so very difficult, when you put it like that, Master Hatch,” she allowed. “But I suspect it isn’t always quite so simple.”

  Silas looked away and said nothing more, finding himself, for once, reluctant to lie.

  Chapter 4

  Problems Enough

  “Fetch me the box, child—the red one with the lock.”

  Little Shiloh rose from the floor to obey. She crossed to the bookcase opposite the wood stove and smiled when she picked up the box. They had never looked at this one before, and Shiloh was a terribly curious little girl. She carried the treasure back to her master, her usual solemn expression firmly back in place. Brother Edmun liked serious girls, not silly ones.

  “Now, we are going to find out how the magical elements react to you, perhaps see what kind of wand you might have someday. Listen to me carefully, child. What I am doing here is against the law. Only with a bishop’s permission can a young person be legally tested. You cannot tell anyone, do you understand? Not even your father. Someone might overhear. I don’t want them coming for you before we are ready.”

  “Yes, Master,” she replied. “But if it is against the law, then why are we doing it?” she asked, head cocked in puzzlement.

  “Because the law is for ordinary people,” he replied. “And I want to know if teaching you is a waste of my precious time.”

  Shiloh opened her mouth to ask another question, but the look on Edmun’s face told her to mind her tongue.

  The priest unlocked the box with his wand and carefully tilted back the lid. Nestled in blue velvet sat four small spheres of glass. One was clear and colorless, filled only with air. One contained a bright flame, flickering without ceasing. One sat half full of sloshing water that moved in waves like a miniature sea. The last contained a hunk of granite speckled with pink quartz.

  “They're beautiful,” Shiloh whispered. Her hand clutched her hook behind her back; she struggled to resist the urge to reach out. Edmun had long since taught her not to touch magical objects without permission; it had been a painful lesson.

  “Aye,” Edmun agreed. “Now, when I tell you to, you reach out and hold your hand above the box. Do not touch the spheres. Just take a deep breath and clear your mind. Hopefully, one of the balls will react to you, just a little bit. Don't expect dramatics. It will just be a little wiggle. Go ahead, now.”

  Shiloh grinned and held out her hand. She took a deep breath, as instructed. She closed her eyes. At the sound of an exclamation from Brother Edmun, they snapped back open.

  All four balls had risen from their cradle and now floated an inch below her palm. She turned over her hand, and the spheres followed to sit suspended above it, rotating slowly.

  She looked to her teacher, whose mouth stood gaping. “Did I do it wrong?” she whispered. Her eyes brimmed with worry.

  Edmun stared back at her, incredulous. “No, poppet. You didn't bloody do it wrong. Gods above!”

  He laughed loudly enough to shake the herbs hanging from the rafters, which only worried the girl more, as it was a sound from him with which she was entirely unfamiliar.

  He finally calmed himself and declared, “Time to put them away. They've told us all they're going to tell.” He waved his wand, and the orbs returned to their resting places.

  “What did they tell us?” Shiloh ventured.

  “That we’re both going to need to work harder,” he grumped. “And that you should stop pestering me with foolish questions.”

  Shiloh relaxed. That sounded more like Brother Edmun.

  ***

  A carriage met them at the king’s private dock. As Silas exchanged words with the driver, Shiloh looked up to see the palace looming above the City, the complex completely covering the tallest hill. She could see the concentric sets of walls and the green of the enormous gardens. The irregular towers jutted up, fingers reaching for the sky. It was the law, she knew, that no building in the City could be constructed that rose higher than the shortest tower of the palace.

  Silas helped her into the velvet interior of the carriage, and before she knew it, they were rattling over cobblestoned streets. Hustle and bustle closed in on all sides as soon as they departed the royal wharf. The noise was overwhelming: the clatter of wheels and horses, the cries of vendors, the angry yells of drivers trying to force their way through the traffic, the clanging of the Temples calling people to morning prayers. Shiloh could feel her chest tightening. Another buggy swiped against their own, setting it to rock
ing on its springs, and she could not stifle her cry of alarm.

  Hatch looked up from his letter and set it aside. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she lied, voice cracking. She saw his eyes land upon her lap and looked down to see that she was clutching her skirts hard enough to turn her knuckles bone white. To her surprise, Hatch reached across and took her hand, carefully opened her fingers, and set them back down on her knee.

  “I’d forgotten how strange it is the first time,” he said apologetically. “It seems so crowded and dangerous. When I arrived, I had not once been out of the Vine. I was convinced I would never arrive at Greenhill alive. When we travel with the whole court, they clear the street. It is much calmer that way. But I don’t rate that treatment by myself, I’m afraid.”

  “Thank you,” Shiloh replied self-consciously. “It’s just so noisy. I’ve never been anywhere so crowded. Obviously.”

  “Take deep breaths,” Hatch advised. “Soon we’ll arrive. I’ll hand you off to the Matron and to your maid. She will show you your room and help you get your bearings. This afternoon, you will meet with the headmaster and the armorer. Tomorrow, your studies shall begin. Simple.”

  All Shiloh could do was nod and watch the palace grow ever closer.

  Simple.

  ***

  Shiloh looked up into the skeptical face of Sira Woodborn, Matron of the Academy. Her narrowed eyes and sharp features did little to welcome her newest student.

  “I do not know how you were raised out in the wilds, Miss Teethborn, but here at court, we expect a certain level of conduct. You will offer the proper obeisance to the royal family. You will offer the proper respect to the nobility. You will offer the proper respect to your fellow gentle bastards, most especially to those who serve as tutors.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Shiloh replied obediently, earning herself nothing but a glare for the interruption.

  “Inappropriate fraternizing with men will not be tolerated,” Sira continued, “Not that the likes of you should have much to worry about by way of advances, given your condition and status.”

  Shiloh kept her face serene. She had a great deal of practice ignoring such barbs.

  “Our ladies sleep two to a bed in order to help prevent late night errors in judgment. As we cannot expect anyone to share a bed with you, you will have your own room and will thus be responsible for preserving your own virtue which is, as I mentioned, in little danger. There is no room remaining for you in the Pink Tower with the other gentlewomen, so we have chosen a room for you elsewhere.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Breakfast is taken in your room at seven o’clock. Tutorial begins at eight, save on Lordsday. Dinner, should you choose to take it, is offered at one in the afternoon in the Lesser Hall. After two o’clock, you will have assigned duties. Most of our ladies attend the queen or one of the great ladies in the afternoon, but you, given your deformities, are not suitable as a lady-in-waiting. You may alternate between assisting in the Library and working in the Temple.”

  Yes! Thank the Gods for small favors!

  “Yes, ma’am,” Shiloh replied, careful to appear disappointed lest the Matron change her afternoon assignments to something she would hate.

  “Supper is at seven in the evening, in the Great Hall. The ushers will show you to your proper place, with the lesser bastards. After nine o’clock, you are expected to be in your chamber, at prayer, at study, or asleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sira looked down her impressive nose at Shiloh. “I advise you not to put on airs nor to get ideas above your station. There will be no dispensation, no great marriage for you, no up-jumping, no rags-to-riches nonsense.”

  “No, indeed, ma’am,” Shiloh agreed.

  Seemingly disappointed not to have gotten a rise out of her, Sira waved a hand in dismissal. “Jane!” she snapped at a young maid waiting patiently next to her desk. The girl jumped. “Take Miss Shiloh to her room and help her unpack. They ought to have delivered her trunk by now.” The Matron’s lip curled. “I do trust that she has a few more hand-me-down dresses to hang up, though it hardly seems worth the trouble.”

  Jane bobbed a curtsy, and Shiloh followed her gratefully out of the tart Matron’s sanctum.

  Jane led her through countless hallways and stairways. Shiloh’s eyes fairly goggled; there was so much to see. She hung on Jane’s every word and despaired of ever learning to find her way around.

  “Out there is the main courtyard, miss. The stables and jousting ground are out that way. That hallway there leads to the Pink Tower, where the Queen’s Apartments are, along with rooms for most of her ladies and maids-in-waiting, the ones not sleeping in family apartments with their parents. The hallway opposite leads to the Blue Tower, with the King’s Apartments and lodgings for his Men of the Chamber. On the opposite side of the palace are the Dark Tower and the High Tower. Your room is at the base of the Dark Tower.

  “To our left is the Library. One floor above it is the Great Hall. Most of the classrooms are here, opposite the Library. We have to take these stairs down a floor and then a little further down the hall. They’ve put you back by the winter kitchens, I’m afraid.”

  Shiloh tripped her way down the wide staircase and followed her guide. They veered off into a narrower passage and, after several turns, finally stood before a heavy green door. An old brass plate reading “Royal Healer’s Private Stores” hung crookedly from a single nail. Jane reached out and grabbed it, yanking it off the door and sticking it in her pocket. A bit further down, two larger doorways stood watch.

  “The white double door down there leads to the winter kitchens, like I said before. There’s also a door to your room through the back of the kitchen, if this green door sticks in wet weather. You can lock the kitchen door in your room from your side.”

  “How reassuring,” Shiloh managed.

  “That black door leads to the staircase up into the Dark Tower proper. It is very much locked. The only access to the Dark Tower is through the guarded doors up on the main level. Not that anyone goes up there, except poor Master Hatch trying to talk the old queen into finally clearing out.” Jane’s pink face clouded over, as if she realized she had said a bit too much. “Anyway, here you are, miss, home sweet home,” Jane declared with false cheer.

  At last, Shiloh got a look at her new lodgings. The chamber’s past as a storage room was evident; empty shelves still lined one wall, and bundles of herbs still hung from the rafters. No one had bothered to get out a ladder to cut them down. Shiloh took in a deep breath and smiled. It smelled a lot like Brother Edmun’s house.

  The room was oddly shaped and sparsely furnished. A rough-hewn bed filled one corner, its plump mattress covered with clean sheets and cheerful blankets. A simple desk and chair sat next to the door. A scuffed-up wardrobe sat opposite the foot of the bed. A small alcove next to it contained a basin and water pump as well as what Shiloh assumed was an indoor privy like the one she had used in Master Hatch’s house. Her borrowed trunk waited by the wardrobe.

  There was no hearth; the back of a chimney from a fireplace in the adjacent kitchen encroached into her room a few feet from the wardrobe. Shiloh trusted that it would keep her well warmed come winter. Lamps hung from the walls at regular intervals.

  There was no window, of course. Sunlight would be unwelcome in a storeroom for medicines, as it would sap their potency. There seemed to be fresh air coming from somewhere. Shiloh looked around until she found the vent. Proper ventilation would have been needed to dry the herbs and prevent mildew, she supposed, luckily for her. The only apparent decoration was a cracked oval mirror hanging on the door of the wardrobe, its frame etched with images of birds of prey.

  “I did my best to clean it up for you, to make it proper cozy. But I fear that when the weather turns cold, it will be terrible noisy for you from the kitchen,” Jane said apologetically. Her red hands twisted in her white apron, her flushed face
quite earnest. “I fear the Matron means to insult you, miss. These are servants’ furnishings, not at all fit for a student of sorcery, even a bastard one.”

  “You did a wonderful job. It’s quite nice, really. I’m rather accustomed to insults, so don’t worry yourself on my account,” Shiloh assured her. “And my father was a blacksmith. My lullabies were sung by hammer and tongs. The noise of work will not trouble me. This room will do me just fine.”

  Shiloh moved to unpack, and Jane shooed her away. “You just have a seat, miss,” the maid told her.

  “Sorry. I’ve never had a maid before,” Shiloh apologized, feeling terribly awkward.

  “Well, then, you just enjoy it, miss.” Jane began to hang Shiloh’s dresses. Shiloh, for her part, sat heavily on the edge of her new bed and savored the moment of quiet rest.

  “May I ask you something, miss?” Jane piped up, interrupting Shiloh’s reverie.

  “Certainly.”

  “Is it true that you’re, you know . . .”

  “Hexborn?” Shiloh replied, bracing herself for rejection. “Yes. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “No, miss, begging your pardon. I was just making sure Master Hatch wasn’t pulling my leg. Sometimes he says things that I can’t make head nor tails of. I suspect he throws in nonsense just to confuse a simple girl. It’s just, you don’t seem much like the fright stories and the old paintings and such.”

  Shiloh sighed inwardly. “No, those portrayals are, shall we say, highly exaggerated.”

  “I mean, I can see plain as day you haven’t any horns at all,” Jane offered as she brushed lint from a skirt.

  “I filed them off.”

  Jane turned and gasped. “No!”

  Shiloh shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Sorry, I shouldn’t tease you. No horns. No tail. No fangs nor claws. Just a bad arm, and I get sick some nights.”