Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  Clisantha used the distraction to slip across to the far side, examining the new scene as she went. Remarkable. The landscape was so vivid, so peaceful. Green fields, swaying trees, fluttering birds—nature at its most unspoiled. Suddenly, she halted, flinching as a ball of pain began ricocheting around her body.

  Her encounter with the Elementyth had left her unconscious for almost a day. She had woken parched, bad tempered and experiencing excruciating pains that rocked her to the core. The last week had consisted of dizziness, sleep, soup and water, restricting her to the house. The symptoms finally faded into intermittent, but manageable, intervals. She would not have left the house until the pain fully subsided but social inactivity for too long would cause too much damage.

  Smoothing down her close fitting plum-red dress, Clisantha composed herself. She hated being helpless to the sporadic attacks, but could not allow it to interfere with business. Tapping a passing server, she requested a drink and continued on to her usual table.

  Her acquaintances, a selection of lords and merchants, sat drinking, smoking and negotiating alongside their wives and lady friends. Two merchants, Clern and Galliham, were both with new female companions, Lord Loreyn and Lord Halur were locked in a heated discussion while their wives judged all around the table with sharp eyes and quiet tongues, and her long-time acquaintance Ketzia Noine, a pretty, buxom, sparkle-eyed woman, was pressing herself against the newly divorced Lord Pazito. Clisantha smiled. Nothing much had changed in her absence.

  She greeted everyone, annoyed to see the stocky, heavy stature of her stepfather Lord Telmar at the table. He sat next to his new petite wife, ale in hand, observing the tavern with small glassy eyes. Being the richest lord in the city, he was also one of the most influential. He owned many popular merchant trades and many looked to him for guidance in business, lordship and city Law. Lord Pazito, who was seated next to him, offered her his seat.

  “Why did you do that?” Ketzia whispered, feigning a smile as Clisantha took her seat. “I was making progress with him.”

  Clisantha smiled back but did not answer. Her mood could not accommodate Ketzia tonight. It had always made sense for the two of them to be friends. They had both been born and raised in the Arc, the magien city within Toak city, and had played together as young children. They had both been identified as non-Gifted and had been moved to Torak at the same time. But Ketzia’s ambitions were limited and trivial. Similar to many women, she aimed to claim wealth and status through marriage.

  “Greetings, Lord Telmar,” Clisantha said, turning to him.

  “Greetings, Clisantha,” Telmar greeted, his voice thick and deep. “You have not been around this past week.”

  A statement, not a question. “I have been unwell,” she answered smiling. “The beginning of the storm caught me at the Journey Grounds. It took a while to shake the effects of the chill.”

  Telmar’s eyes slid around the tavern. “A lesson for you, Clisantha. Lords cannot be ill for such lengthy periods. What do you think would happen to their wards and serfs? You have been spending a lot of time at the Journey Grounds.”

  Clisantha narrowed her eyes. If a lord fell ill he would be assisted by neighboring ward keepers. Did he think she was an idiot?

  “You haven’t been spending enough time there,” she shot back. “Too busy underneath your new wife?”

  Lord Telmar smirked, but said no more. Sitting back in her chair, she cursed herself. Telmar was not one to let a remark go unanswered. It would be a lengthy evening.

  “…and therefore I much prefer to visit the Weaver Shows for amusement,” Lord Loreyn was arguing, “It was a mistake to try and develop this place from an average-”

  “Pah!” Lord Halur interrupted. “Weaver Shows don’t have any demonstrations of the Gift,” he exclaimed, his round face red and a picture of disbelief. “This is purely exquisite entertainment.”

  Clisantha suppressed a chuckle as Lord Pazito, who had acquired a seat next to the two, tried to calm them down. Looking around the table once more, she frowned.

  “Who is this?” she asked Ketzia, gesturing to a pretty young brunette a few seats down and opposite, deep in conversation with the cute boyish-looking Lord Zhak Kuth.

  Ketzia put down her wine glass. “Miairu Kuth,” she said, “his wife.”

  “Wife?” Clisantha repeated, shocked.

  “Exactly.” Ketzia tilted her head towards Clisantha and pulled on a strand of her silver blonde hair. “There will be none left for us soon. If I had known he favored dark hair I would have dealt with it at the gallery.”

  Clisantha stared at Zhak. No wonder she had not heard from him. He had been busy getting married. Another wave of pain arrived before she could think further. For a moment, while it intensified, she could do nothing but grit her teeth and clench her fists. Initially she had befriended Zhak to gain insight on how he became a Lord. He was not wealthy or influential so it had seemed odd that he had gained Lord status at only twenty-seven. As their friendship developed, she found his gentle manner endearing, a stark contrast to most other men in Torak. Even when he had bedded her, it had been slow, tender and affectionate. Clisantha shook her head in disgust, as the pain faded. Fortunately no one was aware of the depths of their relationship. Part of her appeal to the peerage, the noble class of citizens whose income fell into the highest category, was her moral and virginal conduct around the men in Torak.

  Zhak seemed to feel her eye and glanced at her. A look of guilt streaked across his face and he looked away, but did not escape the attention of his new wife, who looked at Clisantha with interest.

  “I don’t believe we have met,” she said, coolly.

  Clisantha raised her eyebrows at Zhak. “Perhaps your husband could introduce us.”

  Zhak winced as she said the word husband, but refused to look at her. Ketzia straightened at the oddness of the situation before her and with a stab of annoyance Clisantha realized she would have to be careful with her words if she wished to keep her private affairs private.

  “Introduce yourself,” Miairu Kuth replied, her voice harsh. “Are you aware that my husband is lord of ward thirty-one? I don’t think it appropriate that he provide intro–”

  “I don’t think it appropriate,” Clisantha interrupted, “for the new wife of a lord to behave so uncouthly among new company. Particularly towards those paying for your seat.”

  The woman froze and lowered her eyes, while Ketzia sniffed in agreement.

  “I would have thought you to make a more suitable choice of woman for your hand, my lord,” Clisantha said to Lord Kuth, who finally held her eye.

  He stuttered a response, but it was clear he did not know what to say. Clisantha felt the urge to laugh at his sorrowful expression but she pushed it away. Embarrassing him and his wife was enough. Thankfully, a server arrived with her drink, providing a suitable distraction.

  Clisantha allowed Ketzia to engage her in discussion about the lack of etiquette among the young and newly married. She could feel Zhak’s gaze still on her, not allowing his wife to reengage him in conversation, but she ignored him. Neither of them had been pushing for serious commitment, he was not even the only one who had shared her bed of late, but some warning would have been courteous.

  “You handled that brilliantly,” Lord Telmar murmured to her.

  It took a moment to register what he said. Horrified, she realized he was referring to Zhak. Ending her conversation with Ketzia, she regarded him for a moment. If Telmar knew about it, it was likely he had interfered somehow.

  “What do you mean by that? Is this one of your tests, my lord?” she asked, her voice low.

  Lord Telmar chuckled, propelling gusts of sour ale-breath into her face. “Another lesson for you; a lord who has too many emotional ties cannot effectively manage serfs.”

  Clisantha stared at him. Bastard. How dare he interfere with her affairs. She excused herself and left the table, fury burning through her. Pushing through the crowd and through a door b
eside the drinks counter, she stormed into a corridor and leaned against a wall, breathing hard. She could not lose her temper in public. Her quest had taken too much effort and hard work to damage her reputation tonight, although Zhak had nearly managed it. She paced the corridor to work off her agitation and cool the sweat forming on her forehead.

  Lord Telmar’s support would give much credit to her cause but… was it worth the aggravation? She shook the thought from her head. No. It had taken years to reach this high in the social hierarchy. She would need him if she hoped to rise any further. She rested her back against the wall again reminding herself of her initial determination to not end up like Orna—refusing to use her skills and forced into marriage to satisfy the tax collector. It was a slight on Father’s memory. Clisantha deserved to have the chance to honor him by increasing her status to a person worthy of praise, like he had been, even though she could never reveal her abilities. A meddling lord would not move her from her ambition, regardless of his status.

  She straightened and ran a palm over her intricate braided hairstyle. Lord Telmar would not be supporting her unless she had a good chance in succeeding, which meant he could see some benefit for himself in the situation. But this invasion on her private affairs was unacceptable.

  The door she came through swung open and she turned to see Lord Telmar striding through. He worked hard to try and make himself as attractive as possible, treated braided hair, muscled arms, tailor-made clothing, but nothing could disguise his ugly personality.

  “I’m glad to see you have calmed down, Clisantha,” he said.

  Clisantha did not trust herself to answer.

  “Come now, don’t be upset. Everything I do is for your own progression.”

  “How so?” she asked, keeping her voice controlled. She would not allow him to manipulate her in the confines of the small corridor. “What emotional ties do I have that constitute as too many?”

  Telmar strutted along the corridor before turning to her, shrugging. “Kuth and your mother take up too much of your time.”

  “My mother is dead.”

  “That doesn’t stop you spending hours at her graveside.”

  “You have been watching me,” she exclaimed, trying to make her surprise authentic. She was already well aware of the men he sent to follow her all over Torak.

  “No. You’ve told me often that you have been there. It’s touching, but you visit too frequently.”

  “And you don’t visit enough.”

  “You know how remarriage works, Clisantha,” Telmar said. “It wouldn’t do to be seen at Orna’s graveside for longer than two weeks. I wasn’t aware you even held such affections for your mother. I’m sure she’s surprised.”

  Clisantha pursed her lips. “How did you find out about me and Lord Kuth?”

  Telmar moved to the opposite wall, leaning his bulk against it while watching her. “He told me.”

  For a moment Clisantha was taken aback but she kept her face expressionless. Both she and Zhak had agreed to keep their relationship private. Although Telmar took pity on him as the first born of a low-class merchant he did not have to share information with him… unless he was threatened. Zhak’s earlier distressed expression floated back to her.

  “And who do you intend to… inform?” Clisantha asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Telmar took his time to answer, pushing away a strand of his dark-blond hair before folding his thick arms across his chest, eyes gleaming. “No one. Clisantha, this is all irrelevant. Do you really fail to realize your potential?”

  “I’m well aware of my potential, Lord Telmar. I began this journey alone, despite the strong opinions against the idea of women in certain roles. Don’t presume to control me just because you are involved.”

  “It has nothing to do with control.” Telmar began to pace the corridor. “Have I not entertained all your questions about lordship procedures and responsibilities? Have I not advised and guided you? Didn’t we agree that I would mentor you and test you during your development? You can’t expect to achieve this without my guidance.”

  Clisantha almost laughed aloud. She was no empty headed merchant daughter with a liking for attention and glamor, she was a Thaide’s child. She only needed him to help her gain status and provide access to those out of her reach, nothing more.

  “Other unmarried women in your position would have no choice but to pleasure some of the more successful lords to even be able to sit with me at a table,” he continued.

  “You chose to sit at my table,” Clisantha said, jabbing a finger at him. “I pay my own way. Name another woman in Torak that is in my position?”

  “You can’t spoil everything by having a dead relationship with a lowly lord. For you to even think I would allow this after all that I have invested in you proves your lack of comprehension about your situation.”

  “Allow it?” His audacious attitude broke through her hard-fought-for reserve. “It’s not your business what I can or cannot do with my private affairs. What gives you the right to move people in and out of my life and manage my relationships?”

  Telmar’s eyes flashed. “I’m your stepfather. If I’m expected to guide you, it cannot be only for matters in business. Do you wish to become the first non-Gifted female lord in Torak or not?”

  Clisantha tried to answer but he spoke over her.

  “If not,” he bellowed, “there are plenty of other women in higher social positions, who would gladly spread their legs for the opportunity.”

  Clisantha stilled herself, using all her will to keep from ripping him apart with a striker. How dare he. Their combined agreement stemmed from her ambition. Getting involved with him had always been a risk but this threat was unforgivable.

  At that moment two server girls burst through the door, halting as they saw Clisantha and Telmar. He nodded and they stepped past to one of the stockrooms at the end of the corridor. Clisantha and Telmar stared at each other in silence as they rummaged around and returned through the corridor balancing boxes and bottles. Clisantha looked away from him, taking a deep breath and trying to soften her expression, despite the bubbling anger in her chest. He smiled at her, a rare repulsive sight, but she managed a small smile back. He would regret threatening her, but right now she needed him.

  As the girls disappeared through the swing door, she soothed her tone. “Forgive me, Lord Telmar. I brought my ideas to you because I knew I needed your guidance. Do I have your word that you will see this through?”

  “The fact that I have done you a favor regarding this matter with Zhak should indicate to you how serious I am about your progression, Clisantha,” Telmar said, the smile still on his face. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye but we are still family. You need to focus your attentions on your career and minimize distractions. Get rid of whoever else visits your bed. Now, I can’t stay here too long. Citizens will talk, as they do. Return to the table after a short while.”

  He walked to the door and left, as another shot of pain engulfed her.

  The evening sped by. Clisantha felt detached from her actions. She watched herself offering diplomatic suggestions, sharing knowledge on various topics, and using her smiles and the occasional touch to soften opinions. Telmar kept her close and she reluctantly played the part he expected of her—the devoted stepdaughter.

  She left a few hours after moon-arc with Ketzia, Lord Halur and his wife, bidding the rest of the table farewell. Zhak attempted to talk to her as she left but she ignored him. Even though she now knew his marriage was not of his doing, she could no longer trust him. Everything they had ever discussed could have been disclosed to Telmar. In any case, she was not interested in a man who allowed himself to be manipulated.

  The tavern emptied slowly but after collecting their robes they found themselves outside with a mass of people waiting for platforms. Lord Halur, not pleased with having to wait for anything, pushed forward to find out what was happening, muttering something about lazy scholars.


  Clisantha closed her eyes, trying to block out the babble, welcoming the wind’s cold touch. Thunder rolled in her ears, and far away a fenn sparrow’s call rang out. Nearby she heard Ketzia strike up conversation with a man and Lord Halur bellowing into the air. The crowd began to argue and push each other. A line of platforms were arriving no doubt. A warm hand slid into hers, pulling her forward. Dropping her head, she pulled her hood on to avoid being noticed by those she had not yet spoken to and allowed Ketzia to lead her, keeping her eyes fixed on her own sandals and Ketzia’s robes kicking up behind her.

  She reached a platform, a large thin rectangular sheet of shimmering light hovering two feet up from the ground, and climbed on after Ketzia. Platforms ran along the main roads as a service for citizens to use when traveling from one part of Torak to another. The scholar standing at the front of it looked harassed. Clisantha glanced behind her expecting to see the others climb up but the platform moved away, drifting down the road.

  “Wait,” Clisantha called to the scholar. “Why aren’t you waiting for the others?”

  It was strange that the scholar would only take two passengers when a crowd waited. He ignored her, but she didn’t press him. Some of them needed to concentrate more than others or they would lose the platform and their passengers would fall.

  ”Ket—” she said, turning to her, and drew in a sharp breath.

  “Greetings, Clisantha.”

  Clisantha stood rooted to the spot, fear and shock rushing through her as buildings floated past. Before her stood the Elementyth who had chased her consciousness through the city.

  “I have been looking for you,” he said, cocking his head to one side.

  “Stay back,” Clisantha warned, accessing her Gift and creating a shield.

  He was taller and broader than she had remembered. A dark robe adorned his formidable structure, making him more sinister than before.