Finder: First Ordinance, Book One

by Connie Suttle

  I trailed him as he walked into his private study, then gasped as he pressed a bar on the wall—another door opened, when I had no idea a door was there. A smaller library waited, and my breath caught as we walked past shelves meant for browsing. These were shorter than those in the main Library, and I could reach the top shelf if I stretched.

  We came to the end of the first set of shelves and made a turn. I gasped a second time—a painting hung on a back wall, in full view of anyone who walked this deeply into Gurnil's private library.

  A woman with golden hair was portrayed in the painting, her hand outstretched while the Orb pulsed nearby. Her body was what drew my attention, however. It appeared to be encased in the trunk of a tree, the roots serving as long skirts. I had no idea whether she was emerging from the tree or becoming the tree. Either way, the work was breathtaking, and I couldn't stop staring at it.

  "Elabeth," Gurnil sighed. "In the Saving."

  "I thought she had wings," I mumbled absently as I continued to stare.

  "She did, but this was always done during the molting. You can't see the molting wings behind her—the artist chose not to depict them."

  "What is the Saving?" I breathed.

  "Young one, I cannot explain that. Jurris forbids it. The books you want are this way."

  I was led away from the painting, and wondered why it hung here, instead of some other, more important portion of Avii Castle.

  * * *

  Dena brought our lunch. "You should go outside—it's a fine, spring day," she said when she found me sitting on my bed, reading one of the geography books Gurnil lent me. "Gurnil has benches on his terrace."

  I blinked at her, feeling stupid—I hadn't been forbidden from going outside to read, and imagined it might be wonderful to do so. Marking my place with a scrap of parchment, I followed Dena as she made her way toward Gurnil's terrace.

  * * *

  "Ordin reports that the feather tips are white, with traces of gold, silver and copper," Justis reported. He didn't tell his brother that Ordin didn't want to reveal that information, but Jurris demanded, therefore it was required.

  "That's preposterous," Jurris huffed. "None have wing colors like that. White possibly, as she is an aberration, but the colors of precious metals? Impossible." Jurris rustled red wings in agitation at his brother's description. "Ordin is merely attempting to make her appear better than she is."

  "As you say, brother," Justis nodded. "I worry that she will be attacked again in the kitchen, should she go back there. Need I remind you that payment for her services was well-received?"

  It had been—Halthea giggled when Justis handed the money chip to her, and immediately made plans to spend it.

  "With that sort of income, I'd think you'd look to protect the asset," Justis continued.

  "Then where?" Jurris began, before flinging up a hand. "Never mind. Send her to Ordin to fetch and carry for him and the other healers, and let her sleep in Gurnil's quarters if he still wishes to house her."

  "I will ask," Justis bowed respectfully to Jurris and turned to leave.

  * * *

  "Will you accept this now?" Justis handed a bottle of wine to Ordin, after landing on Ordin's terrace shortly after twilight.

  "Why?" Ordin held out a hand and accepted the offering.

  "I managed to convince my brother to protect his asset. Quin will report to you when she is ready to work again. Jurris says she can keep her quarters with Gurnil, or he can move her into something better; I know he has larger suites connected to the Library."

  "Is this true?" Ordin blinked at Justis, shocked by the news.

  "There is usually a path to get one's way, if one is willing to make a convoluted journey," Justis smiled. "Shall we send word for Gurnil to join us?"

  "Most certainly," Ordin laughed.

  * * *

  The last light of day was fading as I closed my book—I'd eaten on the terrace and then read again as long as the light lasted. When I rose to go back inside, they flew past—parents with a child perhaps ten turns of age, who was learning to use his wings.

  He laughed as he dipped his wings, taking joy in the flying, as his parents flew to the side and slightly below, to assist if needed. I have no idea why tears came to my eyes, but they did.

  I ran inside before I sobbed aloud.

  Chapter 11

  "You're to report to Ordin every morning after breakfast, and on end-days, you'll have breakfast with us." I'd never seen Gurnil smile so much. "Ordin says you may take the last two hours of your workday to study here, in the Library. It only seems fair, since you never received a proper education."

  Too astonished to speak at first, I could only nod at Gurnil. "Ordin says he wishes to check your feathers and the length of your wings," Gurnil added. "Go now, then you may use the rest of the day to read or wander outside."

  "Thank you, Master Gurnil," I said, stuttering my words. Almost afraid to feel the joy that threatened to burst out of me, I walked swiftly toward the Library entrance, my destination the Healer's quarters, to thank Master Ordin as well.

  * * *

  "You'll see the blood feathers soon," Master Ordin said as he gently examined my wings. "They're growing more quickly, and I can feel the give in the hinge. You'll need it soon; in a week, your wings should be down to your ankles."

  "Blood feathers?"

  "The body needs a supply of blood to grow the feathers. Once the feathers are fully grown, the blood supply subsides. Before that time, it is wise not to damage the blood feathers. Much bleeding might result, and it could be more than painful."

  "What will happen—if my feathers are white?" I asked. Yes, it troubled me that I might have wings in a color that none of the others had.

  "Have you ever seen an albino animal—one that is white?" he asked.

  "Yes, but only once. It was a deer, dead of course, that was brought for the King's table."

  "Quin, don't call him King here," Ordin warned. "He isn't a King. He only believes himself such."

  "I know what he is," I muttered, feeling embarrassed.

  "What is that?"

  "A blight upon his people," I replied. "And Yevil, who stands beside him, is even worse."

  "Your wings may be cause for talk," Ordin steered the conversation away from Tamblin and Yevil. "You already have experience with prejudice, so I hope it won't be too difficult for you."

  "I know not to expect anything else."

  "Life is never easy, even for those who seem to fit the mold," Ordin turned and walked toward his desk. "It can be more than difficult for those who are different."

  "I know what deformed and outcast mean," I said, turning away and wandering toward the door to his terrace. "I am beginning to understand what half-blood means."

  Ordin sat at his desk with a sigh. "You must stay strong, Quin. You are here, instead of the kitchens. That in itself is something, and we should thank Liron for that."

  "Liron? I only know of him as part of a curse Fyrisians utter when angry. I doubt any of his body parts have not been included in a profane oath."

  "Gurnil has ancient texts, describing how he once visited us at times. No sightings have been reported for decades."

  "I saw a painting yesterday," I began. "In Gurnil's private library."

  "Ah. Elabeth and the Orb," Ordin nodded. "Halthea wouldn't have it in the royal chambers when she and Jurris took them. Gurnil kept it from being destroyed."

  "It's beautiful," I mumbled. "Gurnil said that her wings were molting, so the artist chose not to include them."

  "We molt every five turns. The reason Justis lives is that he was molting during Elabeth and Camryn's last visit to Fyris. He sent his second-in-command instead, as the winds between Aviia and Fyris can be brutal, and not all his primary feathers were regrown. The second-in-command died with Camryn and Elabeth."

  "He feels guilty about that," I sighed.

  "I know. He refuses to discuss it. He also refuses to stand as Halthea's guard. He comm
ands the palace guards, instead."

  "There is nothing he could have done. He would have died with them," I shrugged. "While Tamblin may have issued the order, Yevil was the one to carry it out."

  "I keep hearing his name," Ordin blinked at me when I turned toward him. "Yevil. Why do we not have records of his existence?"

  "I don't know. Wherever Tamblin is, Yevil is never far away. Any evil attributed to Tamblin involves Yevil. Yevil paid Timblor's page to kill the Prince," I added. I knew that as well as I knew anything.

  "Which Prince?" Ordin stood in alarm, his eyes boring into mine.

  "Timblor. Why do you ask?"

  "Because I helped deliver Amlis," Ordin muttered. "Omina had difficulty, so I was present at his birth."

  "He is the heir for now," I said.

  "What do you mean, for now?"

  "Tamblin has always imagined that Amlis is not his son. He attempted to kill Amlis on one occasion, and Yevil tried more often than that." I didn't add that I'd managed to save Amlis more than once.

  "You think he'll get an heir with another woman?"

  "There are few births, and many of those die not long after the birthing," I said. "If he gets another heir, it will be most unusual. He is aging and may not survive long enough."

  "I will let Gurnil know. He still keeps records, such as he can, with little information coming from Fyris as it does. We were not aware of Timblor's death."

  "I wasn't there; I was in Vhrist when word was brought," I said.

  "What were you doing in Vhrist?"

  "Working in Omina's kitchen, and as a chambermaid," I answered honestly. I decided that listing my work as Amlis' page might prove less than prudent, so I withheld the information.

  "Why don't you go out and enjoy the day?" Ordin shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. "Tomorrow, I will begin teaching you anatomy."

  * * *

  The central bowl of Aviia, containing much land where animals grazed and fruit and vegetables were grown, was too large for me to explore in a few hours, so I walked to where I'd boarded the flying vehicle before traveling to Kondar.

  I'd seen sheep there before, and hoped to see them again. A boy tended the ones I found when I arrived.

  "What are you doing here?" he sounded sullen.

  "Looking for your sheep," I said, nodding to the grazing animals nearby.

  "You're the half-blood."

  "Yes."

  He looked to be fifteen or sixteen, with gray wings folded tightly against his back, indicating his unease. Brown hair lifted in the breeze while gray eyes scowled at me. With my gift, I knew his morning lessons were over, so he was watching the sheep while his father ate a noon meal.

  "Stay away from our sheep." He turned his back on me and walked toward the animals. Yes, I could have called them, and they would have flocked about me. I didn't. I walked away, too. Perhaps I might find geography books more friendly than the shepherds of Aviia.

  * * *

  "I've moved you to a larger room," Gurnil announced when I walked into the Library half an hour later. "I've placed an order for more suitable clothing. Keep those old things you wore in the kitchen if you want them, but you're no longer required to wear them."

  "Thank you," I mumbled. The shepherd boy's words still stung, and that had affected my mood.

  "Who did you meet?" Gurnil lifted an eyebrow.

  "Only a shepherd boy. I wanted to see his sheep. He wanted me gone."

  "You know, I haven't requested a permanent Yellow Wing to clean the Library in a very long time. Perhaps I should consider doing that," Gurnil mused as he motioned for me to follow him. He led me to my new quarters.

  "Everything here is yours," he said. I stared. This was a bedroom a minor noble's daughter would be proud to call hers. A bed twice as wide as the one I'd previously had stood against the far wall of a spacious room. A carved headboard graced the bed and a soft, blue cover lay over white sheets and plump pillows.

  "Master Gurnil, I," I floundered. Mere thankfulness seemed inadequate for this gift.

  "I believe you deserve it," he offered, his words dry and accompanied by a chuckle. "I wish I had a window to offer, but I don't. Those are sparse throughout the castle."

  "May I use your terrace?"

  "Whenever you want. You don't have to go to the bowl for sunlight if you don't want to. Ordin will allow you to use his, too."

  "Thank you. I've never had anything," I said.

  "I know how orphans are treated," he shrugged. "I assume you were orphaned—you never spoke of parents."

  "I have none," I agreed. "I don't remember having any, either."

  "Did others tell you anything?" Gurnil seemed interested, suddenly.

  "No. Nobody knew anything. An old woman in the kitchens said I was handed to the cooks when I was two. That was nearly sixteen turns ago."

  "Sixteen turns? Which kitchen?"

  "The King's—Tamblin's kitchen," I blushed and hung my head. "I was moved to Vhrist shortly before I was brought here."

  "You have no memories before your arrival in the palace kitchen?"

  "No, Master Gurnil. I wish I did."

  "I'll leave you to settle in," Gurnil said, although I could tell he was preoccupied suddenly. Without another word, he left me alone. I heard his footsteps as he walked swiftly toward the terrace, then the door opening and a rush of large wings immediately after.

  * * *

  "The time period matches," Gurnil shook his head.

  "If word of this gets out, it will place her in danger—more than she's in already. It matters not that she may have white wings; they're certainly not red. You know some will see her as a threat, anyway, no matter what talents she may have," Ordin responded.

  "But what if she is?"

  "We can never speak of this, you know it," Ordin said.

  "I make this suggestion, then," Gurnil offered. "When we see the Kondari healers again, we ask for their tests. They can tell if she's full or half-blood, I know it."

  "We can do this for reference purposes, and slip it past the others in that way, should they ask," Ordin nodded. "We will hold this information between us. There is no need for the others to know. It may lay our curiosity to rest concerning the matter," he added.

  "I would certainly prefer to know. After all, we only saw the babe's bloody remains and buried them quickly."

  "Perhaps we took the word of murderers and liars too quickly?"

  "Perhaps, indeed."

  "We'll need something of them, for the physicians to make a comparison, don't you think?"

  "I believe we can supply that; Jurris still has the bones of the first half-blood sent to us after the murders."

  "How will we get a sample?"

  "Let me worry about that," Gurnil smiled.

  * * *

  "Just a fragment? I think I can ask for the entire skull," Justis said. "All I have to tell Jurris is that I desire it for target practice."

  "Just a fragment," Gurnil said. "For research."

  "Easy enough," Justis said. "It's still laid out on the bench on his terrace."

  "While I realize he wants to see it rot, that one wasn't responsible for the murders."

  "I know. Somewhere in his mind, he knows it as well. Camryn became his father when Treven died, and was a much better parent than Treven ever was. He can't exact his revenge on those responsible, so he does this, instead."

  "I will not comment further, then." Gurnil shook his wings. "Unless I miss my guess, all of them will die before long. The time for the Saving is long past, as you know. Tamblin was never a witness to it, as his brother never wanted him to know. He has no idea what he did to Fyris when he planned those murders."

  "Do not say that bastard's name within my presence," Justis hissed. "I will get your fragment, never fear."

  * * *

  "The anniversary approaches," Farin settled his cup on its saucer with a sigh. He and Omina sat inside her study, sharing a cup of tea before the fire.

  "For t
he second time," Omina agreed. "Tamblin thought it some archaic ritual they performed, and a wickedness against Fyris. Tandelis never wanted him to know what sickened Fyris, or that Fyris might be sick at all."

  "Your husband never watched or listened with a wise head to anything any other did or spoke. If he'd used any intelligence, he'd have known that the land seemed renewed afterward."

  "Every sixteen turns," Omina shook her head. "Tamblin is a fool. Likely, it was he who is responsible in some way for my Timblor's death."

  "Yevil will have had a hand in it, too. I hear he has been short-tempered of late."

  "Bodies are always left in Yevil's wake."

  "I hear from Vhrist's physicians that more are falling ill with the wasting disease."

  "Farin, we will all die, just as those who are sick now will die."

  * * *

  "We'll all die, if Yevil doesn't manage to kill us before then," Amlis shook his head while handing the letter to Rodrik. "From Farin. It's a report of the spreading sickness in Vhrist and Vhoorth."

  "Will we have healthy troops to load on your father's boats?" Rodrik scanned the letter quickly before handing it back to Amlis. "Have they not cleaned in here?" Rodrik scuffed his boots on the dusty floor of Amlis' study.

  "I'm afraid to let anyone in, so I told the maids to stay out of this room. I wish we had Finder back. She would do this for me and I wouldn't worry about my notes and books falling into the wrong hands."

  "She's dead. They kill the half-bloods," Rodrik sighed and strode toward Amlis' wide window. "I hope it was a quick death."

  "I'm not sure we can count on the mercy of the Guardians," Amlis rose and stretched before joining Rodrik at the window. "Are those the new conscripts?" He watched the training of troops in the courtyard below.

  "Yes. Few know the proper grip on a sword."

  "I've heard rumors," Amlis said.

  "What rumors?"

  "The ones concerning the way my brother's page died. Those that say he didn't die solely of a knife or blade wound."

  "How else might he have perished? I heard Yevil killed him with his bare hands."

  "Not true, according to Garth. He told me there was a gaping hole in Brin's chest. What weapon might cause that?"