Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  “Well I hear that it’s just one man,” Ketzia said, brushing crushed almond from her lap. “A magien, of course. So no doubt he can find a way to visit her unnoticed.”

  “He should face the Sovereign’s Justice for what he’s doing,” Betha said. “Children shouldn’t be dragged away from their parents where it can be helped. Think about what that poor woman must experience every time it happens?”

  “That poor woman should learn to keep her knees together then,” Rona said. “There’s never any guarantee what will happen when such liaisons take place. She should avoid the heartache and find a non-Gifted man.”

  “Maybe she’s not a willing participant,” Betha snapped.

  “He is actually breaking the Law,” Via said, ignoring them both. “Magiens are not supposed to get involved with the non-Gifted.”

  “No, he can get involved with her,” corrected Ketzia. “But he must wed her and take her with him to live in the Arc if she becomes pregnant.”

  “Then he is still breaking the Law,” Via said, raising her palms upward.

  “I wonder why they have not caught him,” Betha said. “Surely this has been going on too long?”

  Clisantha kept her face engaged but allowed their voices to blur. The endless gossiping didn’t interest her, but that particular pastime was the one thing the other four women had in common. She had initially targeted them because their husbands were part of the peerage, and it was beneficial to be seen with them. But Betha was the only one she could tolerate for any length of time.

  She stifled a yawn. She had spent most of the day looking through Father’s medical and health books. The mind infection she had suffered from was not listed, even though the Elementyth had said it was common. The cure had worked extremely well though, and she was grateful the pain had gone.

  She set about refilling glasses. Her companions had moved onto the topic of childbearing. It was typical for women to want to have a family and provide heirs for their husbands, but Clisantha could not understand why they did not want to accomplish something worthwhile first. Having a hungry mouth hanging from one’s breast for nearly a year was not an achievement, it was a duty.

  Her thoughts turned to the Elementyth. Keeping her life meant doing whatever he asked her to do. Who knew what kind of things he was getting up to? If she were caught running around the city doing his bidding it may be just as bad as being caught as an illegal Giftborn. And who knew how far he would take it? She would rather die than be forced to be his whore.

  “You’re quiet, Clisantha.”

  Clisantha snapped her attention back into the room. The women looked at her. “Just listening, Rona.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you wish to birth children?”

  “Yes, but I can’t see it in the near future for me. I’m too busy.”

  Rona inclined her head. “What do you think of Lord Kuth’s new wife?”

  Clisantha shrugged but a breath caught in her throat. The question was too random to be innocent. “An empty-headed girl,” she replied. “Ketzia and I met her the other night.”

  “Well I think she’s a fine girl,” Rona said. “Very knowledgeable about what is going on around her.” She sipped her wine looking at Clisantha, her brown eyes filled with mirth.

  “I can’t agree,” Clisantha said, a bite in her tone. “She doesn’t know when to hold her tongue and allow her husband to speak. Women like that tend not to gain much sympathy from me or indeed any of the city’s peerage.” She watched Rona’s smirk dampen at the reminder of her status.

  “Exactly,” Ketzia agreed. She recounted the incident at the Glass Hearth.

  “How rude,” Via squealed with delight. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to speak to you so.”

  “Indeed,” Clisantha said, her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know where Lord Kuth found her. She’s clearly not been trained in etiquette. I’m surprised Lord Telmar didn’t remove her from his presence.”

  That sparked a long conversation about Telmar. Via and Rona were in awe of him, Betha admired his achievements in business while Ketzia thought he should take better care of his health and appearance. By the time the conversation died, the wine had lulled the group to a sleepy state and the skies were dark. Clisantha allowed the women to nap while she cleared the table and tidied the kitchen. She had let them drink most of the wine, not wanting to intoxicate herself so soon after the mind infection.

  Her mind turned to the methods of protection the Elementyth had referred to. Most of the advanced techniques she knew came from books she had taken with her from the Arc or Father’s collection, but the Elementyth had highlighted something she had not fully considered—why was she risking exposing herself to highly skilled magiens when her training was clearly still sparse? She had thought her Gift would be safe if she kept it well hidden behind the barriers she had created, but the Elementyth had sensed her. Was it a risk worth taking? And who knew how many Gift orientated infections and diseases there were?

  She nudged her guests awake and pried their glasses from their fingers as they grumbled and rose from their seats.

  “You must tell me where you get your wines, Clisantha,” Betha slurred as Clisantha ushered her to the door. “My husband is the most famous weaver in the Western Realm and he never gets such delicious wines.”

  She bid her and the other women farewell at the door, where their carriage drivers met them and steered them away.

  The next morning she set out at sun-rise, making her way through the connecting roads across the city. The hour was quiet, with the odd platform and its lone scholar drifting back to the Arc in the arriving sunlight. Blustering winds greeted her at the gate to the Journey grounds, pulling on her cloak and fanning her hair as she settled in her usual place in front of Orna’s grave preparing to mind travel, head down, eyes closed.

  She used a short mind-jump to arrive at Telmar’s residence. Too far to mind travel from home, the large brown brick house with decorated roofing and framed windows sat in the first quarter surrounded by a delicate garden. She drifted through the wall straight into his meeting room. Decorated with numerous ornaments crafted to specification by the finest merchants in Torak, the room was impressive, though almost overbearing. Thick ash chairs surrounded a large matching table in the middle of the room, with solid black columns at each corner. Huge windows saved the room from a gloomy tone by allowing sunlight to splash over the dark colors, lighting up Telmar’s wall mounted sculpture and portraits of himself and his two sons.

  As always, Telmar was holding an early hour meeting. He sat at the head of the table. His wife sat to his right side, upright in her chair, hands tucked in her lap. Her dark hair had been pulled back from her young face, while clear gems and gold dotted her ears and fingers. They held an audience with Lord Yoen, an elderly man well known for his successful lordship over one of the largest wards in Hannaw. Bowls of fresh and dried fruit, nuts and spiced bread lay on the table before them with crumbly red cheese, jellied eggs and jugs of juice and purple wine. Clisantha settled in her usual corner to watch over the proceedings.

  “So, you are telling me that all your serfs are dead?” Telmar asked, his thick voice tinged with disbelief.

  Lord Yoen seemed to tremble as he answered. “All but the boy…”

  “But he was taken. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Telmar shook his head, reaching for a handful of nuts. He dropped them into his mouth, crunching before speaking again.

  “This is very unfortunate, Yoen. There hasn’t been any incident of this scale on wards at the border edge, let alone a ward surrounded by magien-held wards, like yours.”

  “My ward isn’t that far from the border, my lord,“ the elder said. “And it’s supposed to be protected by the magiens. Where were they when this atrocity was taking place? They should be to blame for not preventing this.”

  Telmar leaned his bulk forward, his eyes bulging, voice light. “Do you expect to plead that case to
the council?”

  Lord Yoen dropped his head and shook it.

  “Then talk no more on that subject. The best I may be able to do is recommend retirement.”

  “Retirement?”

  “Indeed.” Telmar sat back. “It would be far better than the Sovereign’s Justice, wouldn’t it?”

  Yoen frowned. “But this wasn’t my fault, Lord Telmar. I have no Gift, how was I to stop this from happening?”

  “You are aware of the conditions under which you were given that land, Yoen. You must allow or even request magiens to visit and inspect the land frequently for signs of intruders and all Lords are given alarms for emergencies. It’s likely your ward was targeted because the offenders were aware of your laid-back approach. The council trusted your age and experience and you became lazy.”

  A heavy silence followed as Yoen watched Telmar gulp his wine, an expression of disgust distorting his face. “I have been raising that family of serfs since you were a suckling scut. I have managed over eleven generations of strong men and fertile girls and my ward has been one of the most productive in Hannaw. I have not been lazy. I have inspired many Lords, which you have benefited from. And now you wish to relieve me from my post because of something that was not my fault.”

  Telmar slammed his goblet on the table and jerked forward in his chair, nostrils flaring. “I’ll allow you your comments because I recognize you are distressed but it’s the council that makes the rules, not I. This is a serious matter that will cause ramifications across the lordship in the city. If you wish to keep your life you will do as I say, or face the council alone and risk falling foul of Sovereign Law.”

  Yoen closed his eyes, his thin frame swaying as if pushed by a mild breeze. “I apologize, Lord Telmar.”

  Telmar grunted, a peach already in his mouth.

  Clisantha’s mind raced. Lord Yoen’s ward was only a few miles from the border. It had been attacked, but how, why and by whom? Was there a threat to Hannaw that the people didn’t know about? Serfs provide Torak with nearly everything. They must be protected at all costs. She pushed the thoughts aside as Lord Yoen took his leave and Telmar sent his serving girl out with empty plates. This was the part she liked to listen in on. Telmar always spoke openly with his new wife and listened to her advice. She had worked as a scribe and assistant at the council assembly hall and was familiar with the political structure of the city.

  “It’s unfortunate that the reign of his ward must end this way,” she sighed, reaching over to the table to pick a handful of dried fruits that she nibbled. She moved with the grace of a fine weaver yet did not possess even a quarter of Orna’s beauty. “Many of the other lords admire him. Who would have attacked him?”

  Telmar shrugged, pouring himself another glass of wine. “Could have been anyone. Neighboring serfs, a disgruntled lord… attacks on this scale are not frequent but this one is useful. We could do with his ward,”

  His wife nodded, “Yes, for Clisantha.”

  “There’s no other suitable man available to take the ward in its condition and the council won’t want it idle for long. It would affect the quality of produce coming into the city.”

  “I agree. Promote her now while there is no one to contend with. They will take your recommendation seriously.”

  Telmar nodded, sipping his wine.

  “Once she is in place,” she continued, “our income will increase tenfold and you’ll be the lord that introduced the first non-Gifted female ward owner.”

  “Mmm.”

  His wife observed his silence. “Something worries you?”

  Telmar leaned back in his chair. “Clisantha doesn’t behave like a normal noble woman of Torak. She seems disinterested in men and money.”

  “But didn’t you say she was upset that you broke her relationship with that young lord?”

  “Yes, but she was more upset I had interfered, rather than by the removal of her lover.”

  His wife stayed quiet in thought for a moment, smoothing down her brown hair. “What’s your concern?”

  “I’m not sure,” Telmar murmured. He drained his glass. “Keep abreast of her movements.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Telmar reached for sheets of swill-paper that rested on the table and pulled them between himself and his wife. “Now, Yoen’s ward was successful because he split it up into sections and created conditions so that he could grow a variety of produce. If you look here...”

  Clisantha shot forward to view the papers, but an intense pressure pushed on her consciousness. She halted, waiting for it to stop, releasing all her senses to maintain her energy. When the feeling had faded she tentatively drew energy in and drifted over to the table but Telmar was already folding up the papers.

  “I think it best to wait until the hearing before you mention anything to Clisantha,” his wife said.

  “Agreed,” Telmar said, rising from the table. “It will give me time to consider how to introduce her. I gather she had guests at her home yester-evening.”

  “I will arrange an appointment with Rona so she can report how it went. I hear Clisantha’s cooking is outstanding.”

  “Good. Citizens will like that.”

  “A skill acquired from Orna no doubt…”

  They both rose and left the room still in conversation. Clisantha exited through the window and drifted into the sky. She was finally about to get her own ward. She swerved and dipped and dived in the air, enjoying the mild giddy sensations, as she made her way back to the Journey Grounds. She would be more successful than Yoen. Nothing would cause her to fail. Once she became a lord she would make sure no one could threaten her place. She would forever be recognized as the first ever female citizen to become a lord in Torak.

  She swooped down to the Journey Grounds and was startled at the sight before her. Next to her body stood a green-cloaked figure. The Elementyth. He stood facing Orna’s grave as though he stood with her. What was he doing at the Journey Grounds?

  Without hesitation, she mind-jumped back into her body and remained as still as possible while rapidly drawing on energy to create a shield, trying to ignore the familiar dizziness that overcame her.

  She opened her eyes, keeping her head straight. “Why are you here?” She could smell the grainy earthy smell of the new grave dug on the other side of the Journey Grounds and a woody perfumed scent.

  The Elementyth kept his head facing the grave. “Rest day is so long away, I thought I would visit you and see how you’re spending your time,” he said. “Clearly you are still wasting it on this lordship pursuit.”

  “Do you have nothing better to do than spy on me?”

  “Spy?” The Elementyth lifted his head from the grave.

  “I know you connected yourself to my consciousness,” Clisantha spat. “I felt you.”

  He returned his gaze to the ground. “It’s not pleasant is it? You’ve spied on me and clearly you spy regularly on your lord step-father. You have no right to be indignant about anything. Now let us discuss our arrangement.”

  Anger enveloped her. “No! You will tell me—”

  The Elementyth turned to her and a pressure shot around her neck. “You will refrain from raising your voice to me, Mss Saraethien,” he said, his voice quiet and forceful. The pressure squeezed. “If you would prefer to make it impossible for me to work with you, I will report you to the Arc and let them deal with you. I don’t have time to abide this kind of behavior. Do you understand?”

  Clisantha nodded. His serious side had resurfaced, the man she had seen in the hjuy.

  He turned again to face the grave. “I want you to give up this quest to be a lord.”

  Clisantha clenched her jaw, the pressure still increasing around her neck. “I can’t. I have been working on this—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “But you must see now that it’s dangerous on the wards.”

  “No, it’s not like that most of the time.” It was becoming hard to swallow. Her shield still had no effect o
n him and with the pressure squeezing tighter she couldn’t risk trying to attack him.

  “How would you know?” he asked, glancing at her. “All you can remember of the wards is from what you experienced with your father. You know nothing about them. In any case, you can’t work for me if you are pursuing this lordship.”

  How did he know Father took her to his wards? The pressure squeezed even tighter causing her head to spin. “Release me,” she rasped.

  The Elementyth looked at her, and withdrew the pressure.

  Clisantha staggered away from him and took a few deep breaths. “Lord Telmar has me watched,” she said, rubbing her neck. “They will have seen the glint of the Gift around my neck and he will know you have threatened me.”

  “His men aren’t always watching,” he said. “And no one could see around your neck with your hair all over the place like that. Find a decent hair-braider.”

  Clisantha clenched her fists, the desire to attack him rising.

  “I want you to pass these messages onto Lord Ghawyn, Lord Cluro, Mss Askale and Reic Turly,” the Elementyth said, holding out small folded pieces of old parchment. “They need to get these by the end of the day.”

  Clisantha took the parchment from his hands, a dull realization working through her. He had the upper hand. Her Gift seemed to have no effect on him and he bent to no one, not even the Sovereign Order. The only way to get out from under him would be to do as she was told until she had information she could use as leverage. But she would not give up her pursuit of lordship.

  “Don’t make me regret giving you this chance, Mss Saraethien,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts. “I will meet you again on the next rest day at the Glass Hearth tavern, one hour before sun-arc.” He pulled his hood on, turned and walked away.

  Seven

  Nemma woke. The forest was thick with silence except the faint crunch of footsteps at the forest edge that bit through the trees. She listened, breathing shallow on a bed of broken branches, moss and slick mud, staring up into the network of branches. The footsteps faded and she closed her eyes again.