by Patty Jansen
Ellisandra wasn’t expecting anyone, at least she didn’t think she’d made any appointments. She went down to the living room, where it was warm and smelled of tea and sweet cakes.
In the chair by the fire sat . . . Jaeron.
“Oh, good afternoon. I . . . wasn’t expecting you.” Why did he always unnerve her so much?
“I can’t come to visit unannounced?”
“You can, but . . . I haven’t made myself pretty.” She was going all hot in the face again and she hated that. His penetrating eyes looked as if they could see straight through her and he knew what she’d just been reading.
“You’re always pretty to me.”
She smiled at him, and he returned the smile, albeit a bit stiffly.
At the little table next to the hearth stood a tray with a teapot and two cups as well as a plate of dainty cakes. She poured two cups of tea. One of them, she gave to him, as well as a plate with two cakes, which she set down on the table next to his chair. His hands didn’t touch her at all when she gave him the cup, but his gaze followed all her movements in a detached, unemotional way.
She nodded at the little stool next to his seat. “Do you want me to sit there?” Mother used to do that, and then Father would put a hand on her shoulder and she’d lean into him.
“You’re not a servant, aren’t you? There will be no need for you to crawl on the floor.”
She sat on the couch, straight-backed, with her own tea clutched on her lap, but she didn’t trust herself to pick it up and drink. He would notice that her hands trembled.
He clutched his cup with long-fingered hands and she wondered how it would feel if those hands massaged her shoulders. She sort-of wanted him to, just to show her that he was actually interested in her as a person rather than a checkbox in his life achievements to be ticked.
Get a wife: tick.
He picked up one of the cakes and bit off half. “Hmmm,” he said with his mouth full, and when he had swallowed it, he added, “Excellent. Do eat some. I don’t want my wife to be skinny.”
Those two words, my wife, sounded so chilling. Ellisandra took a cake, but didn’t think she’d be able to eat one bite.
He ate the rest of the cake and then the other one. She looked at his lips as he chewed. They were quite broad and a little bit raw from the cold.
Then he was finished eating and set his plate down. “I have a request to make of you.”
Oh? That didn’t sound like he’d come here to kiss her. It sounded like business.
“This is really quite important for me and it will be important for you, too.” He fixed her with a stern look. “A Nikala man came into one of our tenants’ shops this morning. He bought a brand new male tiyuk cloak for himself and one for his wife. He was not an old man, quite young, in fact. Young enough not to have children.”
“Your tenant had a good day, I presume?” Where was this going?
“Yes, a very good day. Then another man came in, wanting a cloak also, and boots. Then a third customer came in, and my tenant was out of quality cloaks.”
“Why are you telling me this? The shopkeeper must have been happy.”
“Of course he is.”
She still didn’t get what the problem was.
“The customers are all people who are working for our friend next door.”
Vayra.
“He’s paid them more than any local employer can afford, and they like it.”
Why didn’t he just tell her what his point was?
“He’s buying the workers’ favours. They’ve never been paid this much before and they’ll do anything for him. He’s using the Ilendar account. I could ask for council action to have it blocked, but chances are that he’s got other accounts as well. For years, the rich families have hoarded credits in their accounts. It’s why things have become cheaper, because there are fewer credits in circulation. It looks like he’s dumping all this money on the market.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” She’d heard that those accounts were a problem. Because credits were directly linked to the available land within the city boundaries, the council couldn’t simply respond to the problem by releasing more credits, or at least not without seriously affecting people’s old age livelihoods.
“He’s buying their loyalty, telling them where to buy. The amount of money involved in this could potentially be staggering. He could potentially bring all of Miran to its knees.”
“So what does this have to do with me?”
“We need to know how much cash there is in these accounts.”
“So you want me to give you access to the system.”
“Yes.”
In one chilling moment, she understood: this was not about the information at all. If the councillors really wanted to get that information, and Jaeron was on the council, they could get it through their own channels. To suggest that the safety of Miran hung on her access to the Accountkeepers’ system through the theatre was just ridiculous. Either he needed to have access for something illegal or, more likely, this was a test of her loyalty to the council. The blood roared in her ears.
What would happen if she refused?
What would happen if she agreed?
Oh, she wanted to tell him what she thought of these tactics and the intimidation that had been directed at her, and oh, by the way, do you know the wedding is off? But her mouth was too dry to speak, and she was too scared to say those things, because she had nowhere to go that wasn’t controlled by the men in power.
“Ellisandra.”
She froze.
“As my future wife, you have sworn loyalty to me.”
She nodded, but she felt like she was about to faint.
“Give me those figures.”
“I . . . don’t have access to them from here.” Which was actually true.
“Tomorrow.” His expression was hard. “I’ll come to the theatre.”
When he left, Ellisandra ran up the stairs. It smelled like dinner was almost ready, but her throat felt so tight that she couldn’t have eaten anything had she tried.
She stood in the middle of her room, her heart racing. This room where she had dreamed of getting married in a big beautiful ceremony.
She was not the crying type, but her eyes pricked. It had all been an illusion, carefully built for her by the people around her. But now, nothing was the same.
Nothing would ever be the same.
She sat at her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper with dainty flowers. With her best pen from the inkpot on the desk’s corner, she wrote in neat letters:
I, Ellisandra Takumar, of the Takumar Foundation family, withdraw my consent of marriage to Jaeron Hirumar.
She blew on it to dry the ink, folded the paper, put it in an envelope and stuck on a seal.
This she put in the pocket of her cloak.
20
ELLISANDRA DIDN’T touch that letter for a number of days. The next morning, it seemed such a rash and risky decision. What would happen to her if she backed out now? Would she ever find a husband? More worryingly, was there a future for her without one? Enzo would inherit the house, and she would have no income.
She had always known that Jaeron wasn’t interested in her as much as in being associated with her family. That was a common thing in Mirani marriages. But if the notion that she should love, or even like, her future husband was just a silly idea, why then did she feel this ache inside when she thought of Sariandra and Jintho, or Rana and Mariandra?
Being jealous didn’t suit a Mirani Endri lady. They were quiet and obedient, and above all didn’t cause trouble.
She would probably never send the letter, and would obediently marry Jaeron in the spring. After all, he meant well and she would have a very comfortable life.
But she kept the letter in her pocket just in case.
Two days later word came that Gisandra had given birth to a baby girl, so Ellisandra went to the markets to buy a present. Browsing at the stalls for little romper suit
s, she noticed what Jaeron had said: a lot of the merchants had less stock than usual, and whatever they had left was inferior.
“It’s all been sold,” a woman told her when she asked. “A lot of people with a lot of money around these days.”
Most notably, when she left the markets, the group of beggars that usually hung out at the shuttered door to merchant Ranuddin’s shop was gone. Not only that but the shutters were open and people moved in the dark and dusty interior. Ellisandra already knew what they were before she could see: more builders.
Gisandra and her husband lived on the lower part of the Endri quarter, only a few blocks away from the markets. It was a decent house with a nice yard. Today, a couple of sculptures lined the path: Little snow men sculpted from compressed snow. They had rounded, fat bellies and little short legs. They were mountain cherubs, said in the myths to bring babies.
These types of mythical sculptures would be put up in yards if a significant event happened in the house, and would stay there until they melted or were snowed in.
A maid let Ellisandra into the house and pointed her to the main bedroom.
Gisandra sat propped up against cushions in the huge bed.
When she saw her friend come in, she cried out. “Elli!” She spread her hands.
Ellisandra ran to the bed and hugged her friend.
“Ow, ow, my backside.” And then she laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine unless I lean forward.”
“Oh, sorry. Was it bad?”
“I was in agony for two days and nights. I don’t know how often I begged for the midwife to cut me and rip this thing out of me. I sat pushing my guts out on the damned chair for half a day and when she finally came out, it felt like I was ripped apart. There was so much blood. It just shot out with her, like whoosh, all over the floor.”
Ellisandra shivered, but remembered that Gisandra always liked to spice up stories with gore.
She peeked in the little cot that stood next to the bed. Under the embroidered blankets lay a tiny baby. Her head was bald except for a soft layer of fuzz. Her tiny eyes were closed.
“Oh, so cute.”
“A girl,” Gisandra said and there was a tone of disappointment in her voice.
Ellisandra turned sharply and gave her a questioning look.
“It means I have to do all this again until he has his heir. The oldest son of the oldest son.”
True, and nothing could be done about it. Ellisandra sat down on the chair next to the bed. The maid came to bring tea. She set Gisandra’s on a small tray on the blankets.
When the maid had left, Gisandra said, “So, I understand that you were landed with having to stage Changing Fate?”
Ellisandra nodded.
“That’s such a weird play. I wouldn’t know what to make of it. It doesn’t seem to have a point except all the nice people die.”
“I think it’s a message.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve found out that the author of the play was a woman, most likely the one depicted as Mariandra.”
Gisandra’s eyes widened.
“I think it’s likely that the author would have been made to write the play as punishment for her evil transgression of having fallen in love with a foreigner.”
“I just can’t believe that the council would do that. Imagine seeing your lover killed before your eyes and then to be forced to write about how it was a good thing.”
“That’s what I think happened. It’s pretty obvious from the play that she was still in love with Rana. She was facing a loveless arranged marriage and she had something beautiful . . .” Her voice wouldn’t cooperate. All of a sudden, she thought of Sariandra and Jintho. They should marry, preferably before Sariandra gave birth. She thought of the sad story Vayra had told her of his parents. The image of his mother almost snapping her armband shut around her arm, thinking that her former lover was dead, brought tears to Ellisandra’s eyes. So many young women were being forced to marry against their wishes.
“Elli? What’s wrong?”
Ellisandra swallowed hard. “I’m all right. Just exhausted. We should be talking about your beautiful girl.”
“You’re not all right. What’s the matter?”
Ellisandra hesitated. Out of all the many women she knew, Gisandra was the most down-to-earth, the most honest.
She said in a low voice, “I don’t want to marry Jaeron.”
Ellisandra had expected an outcry of What? but instead her friend just looked at her. Her eyes glittered with tears.
“Gisi?”
She whispered, “Go, while you’re still free.” She wiped at her eyes. “Run away, Elli. Run.”
“What’s the ma—”
“If you don’t want to marry him, don’t. Please. Don’t do anything because some man says you have to.”
“Are you all right?”
Gisandra nodded. “I’m fine. Just a bit emotional. And we had a fight. Because he wants a son, he wanted to . . . you know, last night.”
“After you’ve given birth? He’s got to be kidding.”
“No. And I told him to go to hell.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“He just sort-of shrugged and left. Haven’t seen him since, but that could be because there is some sort of thing going on with the council, so they’re very busy.”
“He didn’t hit you or anything?”
“Oh no, he’s too much of a softy for that. We’ll be fine when it’s settled. I don’t mind, you know, pleasing him, and having another child, apart from the gory end-bit. But you know . . .” She looked aside when her little daughter was still fast asleep, a tiny hand resting relaxed on the sheets. “You know her life is worthless, just like mine is worthless, and yours?” Her voice cracked.
The anger Ellisandra had felt building for days was clawing its way to the surface. It wouldn’t be long before she had reached that point of no return. Vayra had said that Mirani women were too complacent. Well, she was done with being complacent.
“No, none of our lives are worthless,” Ellisandra said. “I have a plan. We’re going to do something about it.”
“But how? I can’t see what we can do.”
“Make sure that you get out of bed on the day of the play. Come to the hall and bring your drums, cymbals and bells. We’re going to form an orchestra.”
Ellisandra walked past the Andrahar house on the way home. It was uphill from her, and she needed to walk around the block to pretend that she was coming from that direction. Even this late in the afternoon, there was a lot of activity at the house. Builders were just packing up their tools, walking out the front door and stowing their tools on the porch.
Vayra had ordered blue tiles, she noticed.
While the builders walked out of the gate in small groups, other men came in. These were taller and broader, mostly in grey clothing. They took up position in the shadows, blending with the snow. Did she imagine it or were some of them not Mirani?
The open metalwork gate into the yard was no longer rusty. Flaking paint had been scrubbed off and replaced with a shining coat of black.
A very eager person had shovelled a broad path from the gate to the front porch and the tent. The piles of stones now formed the wall, the slate was on the roof. The windows had been put in. She wondered how close the house was to being finished.
While she stood there, a man came from the tent—where the cook and resin maker had already gone—and crossed the yard to the gate.
She recognised Vayra about halfway to the gate.
“I see you chose the blue tiles.”
“Yes. We can have a quick look if you want.”
Ellisandra glanced up at her house. The light was on in Father’s room, as well as Jintho’s room and in the downstairs rooms on this side of the house. If she just went quickly, no one would know, right?
Vayra led her over the shovelled path, up the new steps to the porch and into the hall. The floor was still rough. Crates
of stone pieces stood against one wall, a couple of doors against another.
“Wow, is that real wood?” She ran her hand over the surface. It felt rough and warm.
“Those are the doors for the living room, the kitchen and the front room. This room next to the front door used to be Iztho’s room.”
She peeked into the space. The ceiling beams were still exposed, and the wall panels hadn’t been put up yet. A couple of workmen walked past with bags of cement.
“They’re for the bathroom. We’ll be starting on that tomorrow.”
He guided her into the corridor that was familiar to her because she had seen it in the simulation. The bathroom seemed smaller than it had appeared in the simulation because the walls were still rough stone, and the piping and ductwork was exposed. The water heater would sit in a little room at the far end of the pool.
The workmen walked out, leaving behind an uneasy silence. Outside the bathroom and upstairs, men talked and laughed and hammered.
“It will be nice when it’s finished,” Ellisandra said. “I’m sure your mother will appreciate it.”
“This is not only about my mother.” He faced her. His eyes were intense and she couldn’t continue to meet them. “This is about us, the younger generation of Miran.”
She stood within reach of him, and all of a sudden, she was afraid that he had only invited her here so that he could grab her and kiss her.
She glanced at the open door, as if seeking for a way to flee. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Do you still think it looks good?”
“It’s hard to see without the tiles.” Her heart thudded so much that she could barely hear him. She was starting to feel hot under her cloak and wondered if he would notice beads of sweat on her upper lip.
“I suppose.” He looked around, craning his neck. “I need to get them to fix that duct.”
A few more moments passed in uneasy silence.
Then she said, “I could use some players for the orchestra.”
He turned sharply to her and smiled. She had never seen him smile like this, never seen much emotion on his face. That was to be expected, since he’d been to the Trader Academy, but it shook her. Had he waited for a reply like this from her?
