Dagan. What had the man just said about a farm?
“You have to watch the simpletons every moment,” said a tall man with a long, straight nose and sculpted cheeks. “They are far better off looking to us for everything they need.”
“As are we, harvesting from their fields as needed,” said another man, lifting a hand to stroke a nearby girl in the most unseemly fashion. My belly clenched. Were the girls with them by choice? Or were they slaves? Or purchased women, as we’d seen along the inner streets of Zanzibar?
“What’d you do?” said another. “About the Hoodite’s farm?”
I sucked in my breath at the word Hoodite.
“We razed it. It was beautiful, in a way, seeing that fire stream out in such a vast swath,” he said, waving his fingers as if seeing it again in his mind. He shook his head and pulled a girl into his lap, nuzzling her neck until she giggled, then looked back to the others. “We have to remain vigilant. We can’t allow thoughts of independence to rise among the Union. The last thing the king needs is civil war. Not after what we’ve been through.” He lifted his crystal glass wearily, as if he had fought each battle himself, and the other men raised their own to clink his.
“Not that it would last long,” said another. “It’d hardly be fair. Us against the Union.”
“True.”
“What of those who planted the farm?”
The first man grinned and lifted one brow. “It was tricky, hunting them down. But our people in the field are there for a reason. I believe we took care of the problem.” His smile faded a bit. “It’s for the good of all, of course.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured the rest.
“Sethos will be here soon. He’ll give you all further details.”
Sethos. I tried to swallow, and found my mouth terribly dry again. Sethos, Sethos. He couldn’t possibly mean …
My eyes shifted back and forth across the paintings upon the room screen, thinking through his words. A farm. Hunting them down. Sethos.
The vision of a tracker in his elite, hooded cape came to mind.
No, no, no, no, no …
I had to find Raniero.
I whipped around to go, but stopped abruptly.
“Hello, Andriana,” Lord Jala said, taking a long, unhurried sip from his crystal glass. He was a foot away from me, leaning casually against the wall. “What are you doing here?” He lifted his eyebrows as if honestly asking the question, but it was clear he knew exactly why I was far from my assigned duties.
“I-I’m afraid I got lost, my lord,” I said. “Your house is far more vast than I am accustomed to.” I darted past him and scurried down the hall, but he kept pace with me.
“Perhaps you need a tour,” he said jovially, setting down his empty glass as we passed a table. “So that you don’t get lost and end up hovering behind screens, appearing as a spy.”
“Oh! Yes! Of course you are right, my lord. I do not wish for anything like that to occur. I must ask Mr. Olin if that is possible. He is so busy, what with your dinner guests due to arrive so soon.”
I turned right, hoping it was the way back to the kitchen. I was honestly so flustered, I wasn’t certain. All the while, Lord Jala walked beside me, hands folded behind his back. “I think, Andriana, that I’d like you to be my personal servant tonight,” he said.
“Personal servant, my lord?” I asked, pausing at another junction. It was all feeling terribly unfamiliar. “I … uh … Forgive me, but I am so new to the household, I’m certain that I wouldn’t know what to do and when. Mr. Olin would have a fit.”
“Olin is always in a fit. Come now, it will be fun. And I can show you around. So you won’t get lost again.”
I looked back down the hallway, from where we’d come, and realized he’d let me wander into a far quarter of the house, not at all the way I’d wanted. My armband thrummed with cold warning. I stilled and straightened, trying to remember to breathe. “My lord, I-I am not like those other girls. With your friends back there.” I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye. “I will serve you, if that is what is required. But you may not touch me.”
His eyes widened in surprise and then he smiled. His smile grew wider and wider until he laughed. “Oh, my dear Andriana.” He pulled his lips together and shook his head a little, as if I’d just become ten times more charming and quaint with that one statement. He lifted a wry brow. “A woman has never said such a thing to me, in all my life. Let alone a servant.”
I wanted to slap him. Drive the side of my hand into his layrnx. Tell him that I was no mere servant, nor would I ever be. But the Maker intervened then. Clearly. In the way that Azarel spoke of.
And he told me to stand down.
My eyes moved to the ground as I tried to gather myself, trembling with twined rage and fear. “Forgive me if I offended you, my lord. Clearly, I am not your best choice for a personal servant.”
Please let me go please let me go please let me go …
He stared at me so long, I thought he hadn’t heard me, and I shifted uneasily.
“Come,” he said, turning and walking down the hall. “I think it shall be most amusing, having you about this night, Andriana.”
I forced myself to hurry and catch up with him, dread filling me. I reached out to try and read his emotions again, wanting to know if he was planning something evil. But again, I got nothing but a quick, alarmed glance from him, as if he’d felt my probing. My heart lurched, this time because I wondered if my gift was fading. If I was losing it somehow, because I was away from the other Ailith? Because I was in this house of the enemy?
He strode down the hall and then put a hand on a doorjamb, swinging around and into a massive bedroom, and giving me a waggle of the eyebrows as he did so. I hovered there, within a few feet of the entrance, as he moved into the room. There was a large, round bed at the center. Massive windows at the far end, showcasing a view of the city and the desert beyond. I could see the last vestiges of sunset on the horizon, and a storm building above it.
He pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then walked over to the window with his hands on his hips. I looked around, at exotic artwork that lined the room. Simplistic. Graphic. Bold in color and texture. It was a relief to find visual diversion anywhere but in the half-naked man at the end of the room.
He turned partway, not looking at me but speaking over his shoulder. “You’ll find my evening’s choice on the mannequin,” he said. “Bring it to me.”
My eyes searched the length of the room and found what he spoke of. A beautiful, densely woven silk vest and a fresh ivory shirt in the same fabric as I myself wore, both hanging on the wooden form of a man’s torso. On the floor were slippers in a similar silk weave. I moved toward them, wondering about such extravagance, such silliness. When there were people who struggled to make it through the night, given the cold of every Hoarfrost! I remembered my parents piling me with skins, our breath clouding in front of our faces as we said our prayers.
I went to him and placed the slippers beside his feet, tossed the vest over my shoulder, then lifted the soft shirt up to him. My face burned. Was it as red as it felt?
“Slip it over my shoulders, Andriana,” he said.
I clamped my lips shut, refusing to look into his eyes, and lifted the shirt collar up and over his head, carefully keeping my eyes on the window over his shoulder while thinking of ten different ways I could bring him to the floor, break his pretty neck, force him to beg me for mercy. He had a few inches on me, but I was fairly confident that I had years of death-strike practice on him.
He lifted his hands up idly, as if he was not two decades, but rather four seasons old, and I took a deep breath and pulled one sleeve over his hand and then the other. I took the vest from my shoulder and moved behind him, helping him into it.
He turned to me. “Good. Look upon me.”
I looked him over, scanning the ensemble, but refused to look him in the eye.
“It is well?” he said.
“Well enough,” I allowed.
He laughed. Lighter at first, then louder. He shook his head. “Oh, Andriana. How glad am I that you wandered in my doors this day. Life has been rather … dull of late. You are the perfect diversion.”
My heart warred within me. I was both complimented and horrified. What did that mean? I seemed to be getting myself in deeper and deeper.
He reached forward and took my hair, pulling half forward over my shoulder, letting it drop, slowly, over my breast. I reached out and grabbed his hand before I could think. “I told you. You may not touch me.”
He smiled. “Forgive me,” he said easily, no apology at all in his tone. “I forgot myself.”
But in that instant, I read him at last. It was as if in his utter surprise over my move, and my touching him, he was open for a moment. And what I learned made me grow cold.
He pulled his hand away from mine, his dark gaze hardening. “What did you just do?”
“What?” I feigned surprise, gaining strength as I gained knowledge. “Nothing, Lord Jala.”
“Oh, that was far from nothing,” he said, reaching out to my ear.
I shied away, thinking he was about to touch me again, but he brought out a flower. A dark red rose, the bud perfect.
It was my turn to shake in surprise. “How-how’d you do that?” I said, reluctantly accepting the stem he offered me. “Ouch!” I said under my breath, as a sharp thorn pierced my thumb. I let the gift drop to the floor and glanced up at him, concerned that he’d be dismayed by my action, but he seemed unconcerned, only watching me. Taking in everything he could about me, absorbing me, in a way.
I wondered if the thorn had embedded itself beneath the skin, it hurt so badly, as an orb of red formed. I lifted it closer to my face and squeezed to see if the thorn was still caught, needing to be plucked out.
“Hmm.” He wiped his index finger across the rising blood on my thumb before I could move away. He peered at the red smear on his finger for a breath, then slid it into his mouth, watching me all the while.
I gaped at him, every cell within me beginning to freeze, along with my armband.
Clearly enjoying my horror, he walked away from me, toward the door. “Come along, Andriana.” He walked out like some freakish prince — his slippers sliding on the tiles, making his feet pop up slightly — and rounded the corner. And given that I had few options, I followed, feeling as if I carried thousand-pound weights.
I followed him down the hallway, and he didn’t look back again, turning left, then right, then down another hallway until we were facing the courtyard. I could hear the others laughing ahead, more raucous than ever.
We moved through wide doors to the portico now capped by the purple clouds of sunset, and the others greeted Maximillian as if he’d been gone for weeks, not minutes. Seeing other servants, I moved to their side, hands clenched before me, wondering what would be required next. If only Lord Jala would forget I was present, I might be able to slip out. I felt shame, then, finding myself wishing he’d find distraction in the girls that circulated out and among his friends. For a moment, I thought that it was what they wished. But within seconds, I knew their collective shame, their misery, their desire for escape. They acted. Desperately hoped that one more empty night of pretend might open a doorway to freedom
The sorrow threatened to overcome me. Choke me. My gift had not disappeared. Lord Jala was simply harder to read than the rest here, before me.
“Wine, Andriana,” Maximillian said to me, gesturing pointedly toward an empty glass and then the pitcher on a nearby table.
I picked up the goblet, went to the pitcher and poured, aware that most of the men watched me as I moved.
“Where did you find this comely creature, Max?” purred a man, coming closer to me as I set down the pitcher. I swiftly finished my task and tried to smoothly edge away, making my way toward Lord Jala.
“She wandered in this morning, seeking work, according to Olin.” He accepted the goblet from my hand, but was blessedly distracted by the woman who came to sit on his lap.
His friend followed me back to the edge of the courtyard. He wavered a bit, clearly feeling the alcohol he’d consumed. “There is something about her”
Max looked over his shoulder, his eyes far more focused than his friend’s. “You sense it too, Fenris?”
“Ahh, yes,” said the man. Fenris, too, was little past his second decade. He reached up to touch my cheek, and I moved my head away.
He smiled, as if I played, and moved both hands up to touch my arms.
“Don’t,” I warned, looking him in the eye, and the other two servant girls looked at me in alarm. As if it wasn’t allowed, refusing men’s advances.
Lord Jala laughed, the girl kissing his neck as he watched us.
His brown-haired friend didn’t share his amusement. He was tall, reedy, strong. And he clearly perceived my avoidance as challenge. Mouth in a line, he moved toward me, taking my wrist, and I could hold back no longer.
I did what I’d longed to do to Maximillian earlier: Twisting, turning, and pulling him over my shoulder. Slamming him to the ground, watching with satisfaction as his mouth widened in a gasp and his eyes rounded, belatedly feeling horror as my bare foot rested on his chest. My hands still clung to his twisted wrist, as if screaming my guilt.
What have I done?
I looked up to Lord Jala, waiting for the worst.
But he laughed. Laughed and laughed until he cried, his green eyes twisting in merriment as the other noblemen joined him. All except Lord Fenris. “Gentlemen,” Maximillian choked out at last, wiping his cheeks free of tears, “meet Andriana, my new maidservant.”
CHAPTER
24
I backed away from Lord Fenris, dimly hearing Lord Jala lackadaisically introducing the other lords of Pacifica — Kendric, Daivat, Broderick, and Cyrus — to me. They rose and moved to stand around me and their fallen comrade, as if we were a small theater act. None of them meant me harm but Fenris. They’d adopted Lord Jala’s mode of thinking — that I was entertaining. And they seemed hungry for entertainment. Their longing for distraction, engagement, opened up and threatened to swallow me in a sea of empty need.
Fenris rose, brushing off his ivory shirt and tan, woven silk vest, his neck and lower cheeks flushing in fury. “Send her to the dungeon, Max. Such … insolence!” He leaned closer to me, and I didn’t have to read him in order to capture a full serving of his loathing.
“What?” Lord Jala said, rising behind his compatriots at last, shoving the girl off his lap and coming closer to us. He patted Fenris on the shoulder, but the man shoved him away. “Friend, don’t you see? This is the most fascinating woman to cross our path in months!” he said, gesturing toward me. “The emperor will be utterly besotted …”
“Don’t waste your time,” Fenris said, looking me over from head to toe. “She’s not met her second decade.”
“Ahh, but she’s not too far off,” Lord Jala returned, looking me over again. “Same as his highness, for that matter.”
“It would be a boon, finding his mate from among the Union,” put in Lord Daivat, giving me a quick glance. He crossed burly arms and scratched dark stubble on his strong chin. “Bind us together and all that.”
“Bah. If he’s to take a bride from the Union,” another said, “it’d be best if she was the daughter of a trade post boss. Someone with true power.” His eyes were bright and penetrating, an odd, light blue. I thought he was the one called Kendric.
“Power,” Lord Jala said, tapping his lips. His eyes slid to my arm — to my cuff — and then away. He took a sip of wine. “It’s been proven that the women of the Union do not suffer from the infertility rate as our own women do. And Keallach is bent on having his own blood heir.”
My mind raced, even as my heart seemed to pause and then pound painfully. Was I gathering what I thought I was gathering? Was I surrounded by all six of Keallach’s council? And were they honestly consideri
ng me as a potential mate for him?
I wanted to vomit.
“Our women do not suffer from infertility as much as the desire to maintain their youthful figures,” the one I thought they called Broderick retorted. He was lithe, elegant in form, with dark brown eyes and hair. “It truly must end. For the health of the kingdom. And our future with the empire.”
I frowned, my eyes moving between them. Throughout the Trading Union and apparently the kingdom of Pacifica, the accepted age of matrimony was after a girl’s second decade. But in Zanzibar we’d seen women married far younger. Was the emperor honestly seeking a bride? When he was but a decade-and-seven himself?
My stomach rolled again.
“My lords,” Olin said, entering the courtyard and attempting to look utterly refined, even as he cast me an alarmed look, finding me encircled by the council. “Dinner is served. If you would kindly move to the dining room …”
“Yes, Olin,” Lord Jala said. “Thank you.”
Olin paused at the doorway, gesturing for me to come with him, as if I’d absently wandered in and he needed to collect me … as if I were a stray dog in the very heart of the palace. My heart leaped, and I was turning toward him, eager to make my escape. Any punishment he heaped upon me would be better than —
“No, Olin,” Lord Jala said behind me. “I’ve asked her to attend me.”
Mr. Olin pulled up straight. “Yes, of course. Very good, my lord.” He hesitated. “But the girl … she has not been introduced to the nuances of the dining hall, my lord,” he said. “Perhaps after a few days of training, she might attend you?”
“Nonsense,” Lord Jala said, passing by us. “Come along, Andriana. You’ve as quick a mind as you do nimble defenses. Let us see how you might employ it within the intricacies of the dining hall.”
I groaned inwardly, waiting until the others filed out, and avoiding Lord Fenris’s narrowed gaze as he passed. When the men had left, we servants followed, leaving the courtyard consorts behind, like garden statuary.
The two servant girls coached me as we went, whispering instructions to walk three steps back and to the left of my charge, to keep my eyes on Lord Jala at all times so as to be ready to do anything he bid, to stay silent, to not fidget, to hold a pitcher of wine and refill his goblet any time it reached half full, to hold an extra napkin and trade it out after each course — draping it across his lap from left to right — to pretend as if you were not listening to the conversation, but listening enough to be aware in case your master had need of you … On and on they went, sending my head spinning.
Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel) Page 27
