Jelena fled into the shadows at the fringes of the yard, running until she reached the wall of the keep, where she stopped to catch her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and the clammy sweat of fear soaked the armpits of Thessalina’s castoff gown. She crouched in the darkness, breathing deeply to calm herself. The public feast was still going strong, and watching the revelers had a soothing effect on her panicky brain.
I’ll just go back to the room and go to bed,she thought, suddenly very weary. Rising to her feet, she began heading slowly towards the servants’ hall. A cool breeze stirred the hair at the nape of her neck. She reached up and wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand.
As she approached the door to the servants’ quarters, she heard noises coming from behind a nearby tool shed. It sounded like a girl crying. Thinking that someone might be hurt, she started towards the shed to investigate, then hesitated. Why should she care what happened to anyone here at the castle, other than Claudia or Magnes? When she had been hurt or crying, not a one among them had ever reached out to her, other than to further her pain.
Stop it, Jelena. Do you wish to sink to their level? Someone may need help.
She hurried toward the shed, but the two people she found behind the small wooden structure were in no need of her, or anyone else’s, help.
The Festival of Sansa had always been about the celebration of fertility. With liquor freely flowing and sexual energy rampant, expectations were that there would be much merry-making of the carnal kind.
The girl sprawled on her back in a pile of straw, her skirt hiked up around her waist, legs in the air. The pale, naked buttocks of her lover pumped vigorously between her plump thighs. It was her cries, not of pain, but of pleasure, that Jelena had heard. The heat of embarrassment warmed Jelena’s cheeks as she hastily backed away, certain that the lovers were too far gone in the throes of their passion to have seen her.
Jelena was no innocent. Growing up in the insular world of the servants’ hall, where men and women spent most of their time living and working in close proximity, she had seen her fair share of couplings. However, at age eighteen, when most castle girls were already sexually active, Jelena was still a virgin. She had remained so partly because of her status as an outcast, but mostly by choice. No castle man, no matter how lowly his own status, would ever consider her anything more than an object upon which to relieve his sexual needs. Jelena had decided long ago that she would rather remain untouched for life than submit to the use of her body in such a demeaning way. She already endured enough debasement as it was.
Sometimes, while lost in the realm of dreams, Jelena met a faceless man who folded her into a lover’s embrace. The touch of his hands upon her body would awaken a fire within her so intense that she would start up from sleep, her entire being aflame with ecstasy. After the sensations had subsided, she sometimes cried, knowing that there was almost no chance of her ever experiencing such bliss in the real world.
Slowly, Jelena made her way back toward the room she shared with Claudia. Her foster mother was most likely still be down in the kitchen lending a hand, and wouldn’t be back until very late.
Their room stood empty, as Jelena had expected, but Claudia had left some burning charcoals on the grate to ward off the chill of the spring night. As the door shut behind her, all of the stress of the ordeal she had just endured drained from her body, leaving exhaustion in its wake. She put a splinter into the fire, and with its glowing tip, lit the little oil lamp next to her cot.
With a deep sigh, Jelena began to undress. Even without Claudia to help, she still managed to undo the laces at the back of the overdress and loosen them enough to pull the garment down off her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a heap at her feet. She gathered up the crisply rustling silk and laid the dress out on her cot.
She traced the delicate line of embroidery around the neckline with a fingertip, admiring the artistry of the work. Never again would she wear such a splendid gown, of that she was certain. After her embarrassingly abrupt exit, she imagined that there would be no more invitations forthcoming to any future feasts in the great hall.
It doesn’t matter anyway. As beautiful as this dress is, I’m still lower than dirt to them.
She stepped over to the small mirror nailed into the wall by the door and stood staring at the image reflected in its hazy surface. She pulled her mother’s circlet from her head and pushed back her mass of dark coils to reveal her ears.
Jelena had never seen a full-blooded elf, but all her life she had been told that they were beautiful, soulless creatures, completely vicious and amoral, incapable of any of the higher emotions like love and compassion. The priests always taught that the elves were the spawn of demons that had escaped from the Abyss to procreate on Earth with human women, many thousands of years ago. All manners of crimes, both high and low, were attributed to them. They soured fresh milk, caused miscarriages, brought the ague and the flux, stole human babies for their dark rites of magic—all because they were jealous of the souls of humanity. They knew that death meant oblivion for them, and that those of their race could never enter into the presence of the gods, and dwell in Paradise for all eternity.
Claudia had always told her that her mother had loved her father.
How could my mother fall in love with such a man, believing everything she’d always been told about elves? She must not have believed any of it at all. I’m living proof that none of it is true.
I’m sick to death of all of this. I’m leaving.
Jelena slipped out of the underdress, and gathering up the gown from her cot, she folded both garments and laid them in a neat pile atop her chest. She pulled the embroidered slippers from her feet and laid them, together with the silver circlet, in the center of the pile. The last thing to come off was Claudia’s necklace, which she laid in the center of her foster mother’s cot. Tomorrow, she would return the borrowed ensemble to Fania and the circlet to her uncle.
She felt so tired, she barely had the energy to pull on her nightgown and extinguish the lamp. She slipped into bed and pulled the rough blankets over herself with a heartfelt sigh. As she lay waiting for sleep to come, she wondered again just why she had been invited to the nobles’ feast, and why she had been seated next to Duke Sebasianus. The mere memory of the way he had looked at her was enough to send a shiver of fear coursing through her.
None of it mattered anymore. She had made up her mind. Amsara was a border duchy. Just north of the Janica River lay elven territory—the southeastern-most province of the Western Lands. Chances were good that her father or his family lived in the area. As soon as the spring rains stopped, she would leave Amsara for good. She would seek out the man who had sired her, and cast her lot with him. And if she could not find him… well, she would think about that when and if she had to. Life couldn’t possibly be any worse among the elves than it was among humans.
By the time Claudia returned in the wee hours of the morning, Jelena slept deeply, dreaming of a man she called Father and of pale, blue fire.
Chapter 5
Her Intolerable Fate
"Jelena! Jelena, wake up, girl. You’ve gone an’ overslept!” Jelena groaned and scrubbed her sleep-heavy eyes with closed fists. Blinking like a hapless mole torn from its burrow, she reluctantly crawled from her warm nest of blankets and groped under the bed for the chamber pot. Claudia stood in the center of the small room, fully clothed, hands on hips.
“Must ‘ave been quite a time y’had at the feast. Too much wine, I reckon,” she said, a little smile playing about her lips.
Jelena shook her head. “No,” she replied, and her stomach knotted up with the pain of remembering. “I left early, actually.” She set the chamber pot by the door so she’d remember to empty it later, then went to her chest. She moved aside Thessalina’s gown, lifted the lid, and began pulling out her work clothes. No time for a wash,she thought ruefully.
“Why, whatever didya leave early for? You looked so pretty in that go
wn… Surely you wanted t’ show off a bit?” Claudia’s surprise seemed to come from a genuine belief that, because she saw beauty in her foster daughter, others would as well.
Jelena laughed sharply. “No matter how fancy my gown or how pretty you think I look, I’ll never be accepted here, Heartmother. I could hardly wait to get away from all of them. Especially him.” Her hands began to shake.
“Who d’you mean?” Claudia probed.
“No one. I…I…uhhhhh!” She fumbled with the strings of her apron, unable to tie them properly. The terrible emotions of last night crowded in close around her, pawing and scratching. She suddenly felt like bony hands had fastened around her throat, cutting off her breath. The barrier she had erected to keep the pain at bay abruptly gave way and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
Wordlessly, Claudia gathered her up and held her until the flood of tears subsided. Jelena clung to her, snug against that same soft bosom that had sheltered and comforted her as a child. Now, as then, she felt safe while enveloped in that great haven of motherly flesh, secure in the knowledge that there would be no more torment as long as she stayed within.
As much as she desired to, she couldn’t stay. Eventually, she always had to leave.
Claudia mopped at Jelena’s tear-streaked cheeks with the hem of her apron. Gently, she lifted her foster daughter to her feet and tied up the recalcitrant apron strings. Jelena felt comforted, knowing that Claudia needed no details, and that her foster mother understood the pain of her ordeal, an extension of the larger ordeal of her life as an outcast.
“Now, you go on,” Claudia said. “Don’t fret about the dress. I’ll take it back to Fania m’self.”
“My mother’s circlet…” Jelena started, but Claudia interrupted.
“You can give the circlet back to yer uncle later, durin’ yer break time. Hurry, now, child. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
As Jelena hurried off to the kitchen, the image of Duke Sebastianus sprang, unbidden, into her mind and filled her with foreboding.
~~~
“Jelena!” Cook bellowed. Jelena jumped, nicking her thumb with the small blade she had been using to slice carrots for the staff’s midday meal. She stuck the wounded digit into her mouth and turned to see Cook beckoning to her from across the room.
Gods, what have I done now, she thought.
Dropping the knife amidst the partially sectioned vegetables, thumb still firmly between her lips, she hurried over to receive her scolding.
“Git yer thumb out of yer mouth, girl,” Cook growled.
Jelena obeyed immediately. “I cut myself, ma’am,” she explained, wrapping a corner of her apron hem around the oozing wound. She braced herself for the verbal barrage. To her surprise, Cook had a message for her.
“His lordship wants to see you.”
“Now?” Jelena asked meekly.
“Yes, now!” Cook replied sharply, her jowls quivering in annoyance. “Gods only know when you’ll be back. Who’s goin’ t’ cut all of them carrots, eh?”
Jelena resisted the urge to answer with “Cut them yourself.” That would only get her a cuff on the head from one of Cook’s ham-sized fists. Instead, she remained silent, eyes lowered.
“Go on, then! Don’t keep His Lordship waitin’!” Cook waved her hand in dismissal, and Jelena hastily departed.
The yard lay quiet, bathed in watery, midmorning sunshine. The castle gates stood open and through them, Jelena could see a pair of guards lounging just beyond the raised portcullis, leaning on the butts of their spears. Pigeons fluttered and cooed in the eaves of the outbuildings. A pair of cats snoozed contentedly atop a hay bale.
I’d better go get the circlet. Now’s as good a time as any to return it, Jelena thought. She hurried back to her room and retrieved the circlet from her chest. As she descended back down into the yard and made her way toward the keep, she couldn’t help but feel that monumental changes were in store for her. Her life had come to a crossroads; she felt certain that her uncle intended to tell her which path he had chosen for her.
She thought about the blue fire and wondered again where it had come from and how she had summoned it. Why had it not appeared last night, during the Sansa feast? Surely, if strong emotions were the trigger, it should have manifested then, yet it had not.
Jelena knew the answers to her questions lay elsewhere. Only by seeking out her father’s people could she ever learn the true meaning of the magic that had awakened briefly within her, with such startling results. Only the elves could teach her how to control it.
I’ve made up my mind. No matter the price, I must walk my own path. I’ve got to find out who I really am.
“Come!” Jelena heard her uncle’s voice command through the thick wood of his study door. Quickly, she obeyed.
Duke Teodorus was not alone. Brennes, Amsara’s steward—a lanky scarecrow of a man—was there as well. He sat on a stool beside the duke’s writing table, diligently scribbling in a big, leather-bound book resting on his lap.
“I believe we’re finished here, Your Grace,” Brennes said, slamming the ledger shut, and briskly rising to his feet. To Jelena, he looked like one of the herons she often saw out in the flooded spring fields, wading about on thin, bony legs in search of crayfish hidden in the black mud.
“I’ll coordinate with Lord Magnes on those matters we discussed,” the steward said as he tucked his quill behind one ear and started for the door.
“Yes, thank you,” the duke replied. Brennes brushed past Jelena, pausing just long enough to rake her with a disdainful glance down his great beak of a nose before exiting and closing the door softly behind him.
“Good morning, Uncle,” Jelena said politely. “Here is my mother’s circlet. Thank you for allowing me to wear it.” She proffered the circlet to the duke, who took it without comment and set it down on his desk. He folded his hands before him and fixed Jelena with a hard-eyed stare.
“Why’d you leave the feast like that? Were you deliberately trying to embarrass me in front of my guests?”
“No, Uncle, of course not. It’s just that I…”
“That you what?” Duke Teodorus interrupted, clearly irritated. He shook his head and took a deep breath as if to calm a rising tide of anger. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. No harm done, thank the gods.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Jelena replied. An ache in her hands drew her eyes downward. She was clutching her apron hem so tightly, her knuckles stood out like white knobs. She forced herself to relax her grip and remain steady.
“I have news for you, girl, and it’s good… The best news you’re ever likely to hear from me.”
Jelena dared to look up at her uncle’s face. The hard lines around his mouth had softened a little, as if he were going to take great pleasure in what he was about to say.
“I sent a letter to Duke Sebastianus several months after his wife died, describing you to him and inviting him to come have a look at you at Sansa. Well, he did, as you know, and he has agreed to take you off my hands. Do you understand what I’m telling you, girl?”
Her uncle’s words fell on Jelena like freezing rain, rooting her to the stone floor.
“I…I’m not sure,” she whispered, barely able to get the words past lips that refused to work properly.
“Veii has made an offer for you, girl, that’s what. He’s willing to take you on as his legal concubine. It’s not marriage, of course, but then, you didn’t really expect that, did you? This is an excellent offer, the best you’ll ever get. Veii will be legally obligated to care for you for life, and provide for any children that you may bear him, even if he marries again. Furthermore, he has agreed to pay me a decent sum for you, much more than I’d thought I’d get. Everyone profits.” The duke leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly now.
Everyone profits?! How do I profit by being sold into slavery?
A white-hot anger rose up in Jelena, melting the ice encasing her stunned brain and unfreezing her limbs. A shout forced its way up
from her belly and into her throat. “No!” she screamed. “I won’t let you do this to me!”
Duke Teodorus’s smile vanished. Slowly he stood up, a storm of rage settling upon his brow. His voice was deadly calm. “You ungrateful little bitch. How dareyou speak to me that way? Don’t you realize that you have no say in this? As your legal guardian, I have the right to decide for you in these matters. The bargain’s been struck, and the contract has been signed and witnessed.”
“Contract! Don’t you mean bill of sale?” Jelena shot back bitterly.
Like a charging bull, the duke rushed her before she could react. His closed fist connected with the side of her head like a hammer blow, knocking her to the floor, where she lay stunned. Blearily, she saw the toes of her uncle’s boots appear just beyond the tip of her nose.
Where is it? Where is the magic!
She felt herself being hauled to her feet by the back of her dress. Her uncle shook her hard, like a terrier shakes a rat.
“Stand up, damn you,” he growled, holding Jelena under her armpits while she struggled to get her feet underneath her.
I need the magic! her mind screamed, but it refused to come.
“Veii leaves for home in three days’ time. You’ll be going with him. Now get out.” Jelena stumbled as the duke gave her a shove toward the door. Dizzy and sick from the blow to her head, she barely made it out into the hallway before she doubled over and retched.
“Gods! Jelena, what happened?”
Jelena felt Magnes’s arms loop around her waist to steady her. She turned and leaned into him, close to losing consciousness.
“Gods!” Magnes exclaimed again. “Who did this to you, Cousin? Who hit you?” He gently probed the blotch of rapidly purpling flesh on her face. She winced and tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.
“Come on. I’m taking you back to my chambers. You can tell me there,” he said. Jelena felt too sick and disoriented to protest. Instead, she allowed Magnes to sweep her up and carry her back to his apartments, a suite of rooms that took up half of the keep’s third floor.
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