They’re children! A kind of helpless rage shakes my soul. What could they have done to deserve this?
Kylani, with a small smile, hands Kella and Breslin each a small hempen bag. Kella tries to hand hers back, but just then, the twins slide into the seats beside Kylani, both of them disheveled from trying to hold the sick woman down. They whisper with her briefly, then turn their avid attention to the spectacle before us.
The older boy and his captors reach the first of the structures. Swiftly, the women in black wrap the double nooses around the boy’s neck, then tighten them. He just stands there, his face blank, his head down as far as the ropes will allow, eyes closed.
The younger boy appears to be tiring in his struggles. But when he reaches the nooses, he lashes out like a wild animal, bucking and kicking desperately. Even so, the women get the nooses over his head and tightened at last. He’s crying, looking up at us in a silent appeal. He dares not fight now, for the nooses hold him fast, and if he were to lose his balance, he would strangle himself.
One of the women in black comes to stand before the crowd.
“These slaves,” she loudly declares, “as all here know, were caught trying to flee the Queensrealm in violation of the Ninth Rule. Their punishment is death.” She pauses as the crowd chants “Death, death, death!” The smile she answers them with is coldly approving.
Reaching up a hand, she casually smooths down a lock of black hair that the smaller boy had mussed in his struggles.
“Steb and Shad had a better life than many of their kind. As suitors in one of Stalia’s finest Mating Temples, they were given the best food, each had his own bedroom, and they were kept warm and clean. They’ve never had to toil in the fields or go without, as most other slaves do. They were the favorites of patrons from several Houses. Many brought them treats and spoke to them kindly when they visited their rooms.
“And how did they repay our kindness? They ran away. Steb claimed he was trying to protect Shad from an over-zealous patron who had beaten him on several occasions, but you know how slaves lie.”
She shakes her head as if unable to comprehend such folly. Yet from the looks of Shad’s yellowing bruise, the truth is right in front of us. The crowd murmurs in outrage at the boys’ supposedly ungrateful and lawless behavior.
Kella’s shaking intensifies, her fingernails digging into her palms. Every time her eyes wander against her will to the boys, her anger spikes and a growing sense of nausea threatens to overwhelm her.
The woman in black continues, “It’s a shame to waste such healthy stock, but the sickness of their defiance must not be allowed to poison the rest. The Ninth Rule must be upheld. What say you, Ladies?”
“Death! Death! Death!” the audience chants once more, louder than before. Kylani and the twins enthusiastically join in. Kella and Breslin keep silent. Looking around, I recognize bloodlust in the spectators’ eyes, and the gleam of righteous, mindless zeal. This is a form of worship for them, I realize.
The woman in black raises her hands, and the multitude quiets. Her smile gapes like a wound.
“The Queensrealm has spoken! Let the Hanging Arms purify our Land!” she proclaims. The crowd erupts in cheers, eerily reminding me of the times I’ve been here before, listening to the crowd cheering on their Horse-Dancing teams. Turning on her heel with a flourish, she waves to the women waiting behind her at the back of the strange catapults. The younger boy, Shad, whimpers like a wounded animal. As the women move to untie the ropes and let the weights fall, Breslin reaches out, taking Kella’s hand. Together, they fix their eyes on the flags dancing on the breeze above the catapults. Horror squeezes Kella’s heart, and she holds her breath.
I watch as the weights crash to the ground. The two small bodies fly into the air, but when their heads separate from their bodies, I look away in revulsion. Kella vomits into the bag her sister gave her while the crowd cheers. Stepping out of her for a moment, I climb the stairs to try to clear from my mind what I just witnessed.
Several stairs up, I glimpse a familiar face. It’s the woman in black that the little girl in pink had collided with earlier. Now that I see her up close, I realize I’ve seen her before. She’s the High Elder of House Mystalora.
She’s speaking with a younger woman in a stunning peach-colored dress with black ribbon stays lacing up her bodice and sleeves. The crowd is still boisterously celebrating around them. I move closer to listen.
“She suffered, never fear. She flopped around on the ground like a dying fish,” the woman in black says as loudly as she dares. The other woman looks pleased. “Now you must keep your part of our little agreement,” she continues. “The Higher Path demands it.”
“I’ll gladly join you and do what I can aid your cause, Malisanth,” the other woman assures her. “Shaylie told me what you need, and I think I can provide it given a few days’ time…”
There’s something strange about the woman in black that I can’t put my finger on. She shimmers almost, when the light strikes her just so—
Malyse steps out of her, startling me, and gives me a languid grin.
“They put on quite a show here, don’t they?” She smirks, gesturing toward the grisly field. I briefly consider begging her to call off her ‘game’, but I know better than to grovel. If I have any chance of getting her to relent, I need to gain her respect.
“I didn’t find it entertaining, if that’s what you mean,” I object, careful to damp down my emotions.
“It’s fascinating though, is it not, Sera?” Her voice takes on a lecturing tone. “On the surface, these people appear sophisticated, yet what lies not so very far below the surface is savage and pitiless. Perhaps it proves that there is a darkness hiding within all human hearts, waiting patiently for an excuse to surface.”
You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? I think to myself, frustrated.
“Actually, I believe most people are basically good, but because of ignorance or brokenness, sometimes they make unfortunate choices,” I counter. I don’t know if I actually believe that or not; I just want to see if I can beat her at her own game. Maybe that’s the darkness in me showing.
She nods sagely as if she admires my idealism.
“So all we need, then, is an educated society where no one is ever emotionally wounded. Sounds like a utopia. I wonder if that’s the botanist in you?” Her tone is completely innocent, but her gaze is a little too intent, like a cat watching a mouse. It’s unsettling.
“Well, I did say ‘most people’,” I qualify, pushing down my annoyance doggedly. I know she’s implying that this topic is above my head, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. “How do you explain the selfless, even sacrificial actions of some, if darkness lies in wait at the heart of every person?”
She doesn’t blink. “Indeed. So perhaps we should say that both darkness and light dwell deep within our hearts, and we must choose between them at any moment based upon life experiences, mental health, and who we believe ourselves to be at our core?”
She tilts her head slightly as if watching a beetle scrabble helplessly in the dirt.
“I concede that that may be the case.” I glance over to check on Kella and the others. They’re still sitting there, unfortunately. A woman in grey is talking to them.
“So wouldn’t you say then,” Malyse continues inexorably, with a hard smile, “that as a product of one’s genes, upbringing, and life experiences, in a real sense we shouldn’t be held accountable for the wrongs we commit? For how can we be other than who we are?”
I know what she’s trying to do—get me to excuse what just happened here, and by extension, excuse her ‘game’—and she thinks she has me. But the perfect answer comes to me in a flash of insight.
“I think you discount the ability of the human soul to rise above injustices done to it, to choose not to react in kind to a world that has shown it nothing but evil.”
Her eyes have gone flat, reminding me of the gaze of a reptile. “And I think you over-inf
late the transcendent ability of the human spirit.”
Kella and her friends stand and begin moving toward the stairs. Malyse follows my gaze. The light is back in her eyes.
“What a striking young woman you’ve Chosen,” she exclaims with false enthusiasm. “You’d best go to her—she seems a little unsteady. Thank you for the fascinating chat though, dear.”
Kella is wobbling slightly, her face very pale. I’d feel chagrined for leading Malyse straight to her if I thought for a moment she hadn’t already done her homework on who our Chosen were before throwing down her gauntlet.
When I turn back, Malyse is gone. Good. Her mind-games are exhausting, and it’s futile to appeal to her human side.
Hurrying down the stairs, I step into Kella and reach out to her spirit, trying to impart a feeling of comfort. Breslin puts her arm around her unobtrusively, to steady her.
When at last we walk through the towering gates, Kella begins to breathe normally again. It’s only then I realize that the strange conversation with Malyse made me forget about the conversation those two women had been having. If that had been Malyse’s intention, she’d succeeded. But if that woman, Malisanth, is Malyse’s Chosen, I’ve learned something useful.
The twins pause to talk with a girl their age wearing a brown dress, so we step aside to wait for them. Kylani contemplates her sister with something surprisingly akin to sympathy.
“I vomited too, the first time,” she confides at last. Kella gazes back at her gratefully. “Of course, I was much younger than you at the time.” Her mouth quirks upward. “What you have to remember is, they have no soul,” she continues. “The Goddesses said so, and they don’t lie. And it happens so fast, I’m sure they never feel a thing. It puts them out of their misery just like we do when we behead chickens. It’s no different, you see.” She shrugs.
Kella nods slowly. The primary emotion I sense from her is relief. When we move forward again, her steps are decidedly lighter. Disturbing. But I suppose it isn’t surprising. Raised in a society teaching you from early childhood that males are no better than animals, what else would you believe? Animals still deserve kindness, but when a dog bites a person, he’s put down. Males who become unmanageable would naturally be treated the same way.
Kella and I watch from behind a flower-wreathed pillar in one corner of the ballroom as her mother instructs servants with last-minute preparations for the House Klia Masquerade Ball. The Ball is always held on the cusp between spring and summer because that’s when so many of the most beautiful flowers are in bloom.
The ballroom is awash in dozens of lavish flower arrangements, from the pure white, night-blooming jasmine which is the favorite of House Elmaya to the rich, deep purple lilacs favored by House Isalania, the glorious golden lilies representing House Laela, and the sweet-scented roses of all colors beloved by House Klia.
Each of the Houses has a flower to call its own, and most are very beautiful. But there’s one I always try to avoid looking at: House Mystalora’s black irises. They’ve always looked to me like large black spiders perched atop their tall, stiff green stems. Kella and I both shiver as we sidle past them. We both passionately hate spiders.
I can feel her rising excitement as we cross the ballroom and pound up the stairs leading to her chamber. Her mother allowed her and each of her sisters four copper queens each to buy a new dress. Kella’s is the most beautiful—at least I think so. It’s a muted apple-green brushed satin, plain except for lace of the same color adorning the curving neckline and framing the matching ribbon lacings there. It also frames the matching ribbon lacings down the back and circles the bottom of the dress in several tiers, the final one just brushing the floor. The color brings out the green of her eyes and makes them sparkle.
Maren pulls the laces taut behind her and ties them off. He smiles, almost like a proud father might if girls had fathers in the Queensrealm, as they both admire the dress in the mirror.
“I’m so excited, I couldn’t even eat my noonday meal,” Kella confides as Maren pulls her hair up away from her face except for a few curling wisps, securing it with a jeweled clip. He carefully pins tiny lily-of-the-valley blossoms in her hair. “Karyl couldn’t either. She found the most beautiful turquoise satin dress. It has a delicate stitchery of tiny silver flowers marching across the bodice. She complained that her gloves don’t quite match, but I think they’re fine. I can’t wait to see how her dress looks. I hope Mother approves of mine…”
She breaks off her stream of enthusiasm to take a deep breath and laughs, brushing one stray flower into place before turning from the mirror.
“I’m sorry, Maren, I didn’t mean to babble.”
She doesn’t wait for him to reply. Maren has been trained well; he knows better than to respond unless asked a direct question by his Lady. He just smiles fondly, handing her a jeweled mask.
“I haven’t been allowed a new dress in a very long time, and I feel…oh, I don’t know, almost enchanted. Like the Goddess Herself will be watching tonight!”
I’ve noticed ever since I started stepping into her that Kella is almost, but not quite, aware of me, like no one else I’ve ever indwelled. It may be that my intergenerational influence, beginning with Kella’s grandmother Kassyl, then Kylara, and now Kella, has caused her to be especially sensitive to my touch. Sometimes when there are no distractions and we’re sitting quietly, she’ll startle as if catching the emotions of someone nearby. That would be completely normal, for that is the ability of the people of the Queensrealm. Except no one was nearby at the time. It’s been happening more often, and as soon as it does, I step out of her mind. But I’m beginning to believe that sooner rather than later, she will become aware of me. And I’ve no idea what will happen then.
I detach from her as she walks toward the door, grabbing her gloves from the stand beside the door before Maren can. Muted music floats up from downstairs, a sure sign that the ball has begun.
“Enjoy the servant’s ball, Maren!” she calls before dashing down the stairs. I follow more slowly in her wake, admiring the way her dress glows in the candlelight along the curving stairway, rustling quietly behind her.
Karyl waits for her at the foot of the stairs.
“Oh, Karyl, your dress is perfect!” Kella exclaims in awe. Karyl twirls to show her the full effect, her eyes shining behind her mask.
“I think yours is much prettier,” Karyl replies, but she looks pleased. “The lace is so lovely.”
“Thank you. Let’s go find Mother,” Kella suggests. They move off into the crowd, greeting girls their age from the other Houses as they search the crowd for High Elder Kylara.
Kylara was the last High Elder of House Klia that I would indwell, I decided years before Kella was born. At first, I enjoyed all the intrigue that goes into holding that exalted position, but I don’t like what it does to those I care about. I watched Kassyl and Kylara go from being sweet, kind girls to devious, even manipulative women. It made me sad to watch. It’s a necessary progression, because it takes calculation and scheming to rise above the other Houses, but it leaves the heart empty. Kella will never know that feeling.
That’s why this time around, I Chose the youngest instead of the eldest daughter. That way, she and I can just relax and be ourselves without worrying so much about what the other Houses think or do. No one notices us much except for Karyl, Maren, and Ellarin. We prefer it that way, most of the time.
But this is not one of those times, I think sadly, catching sight of Kylara. She’s standing in front of the white marble fireplace, her five oldest daughters arrayed to either side. Taking a flute of sparkling wine from a servant as if plucking it from midair, she waves the servant away.
Her dress is an elegant deep emerald-colored silk damask, and the tiny golden flowers woven into her greying hair look like a shining crown upon her head. Knowing her as I do, I know that’s no accident.
Kylara appears not to notice when her youngest daughter a
nd her youngest sister’s youngest daughter approach her. Kella’s older sisters look away haughtily. Without thinking, I step into Kella to lend what emotional support I can, because I know what will happen next.
“Good evening, Elder Mother,” Kella says shyly. The two girls bow their heads briefly in respect. “Your dress is so very beautiful.”
“Yes, child,” Kylara replies coolly, “I am aware of that.” She’s scanning the room as if searching for someone. Her eyes light up, catching sight of the person she’s looking for. “Run on now,” she adds, her tone impatient. “I see High Elder Emmaleyn approaching.”
The girls step aside obediently.
Kylara plasters a welcoming smile on her aging but still striking face for her esteemed guest, her youngest already forgotten.
Karyl leads Kella over to a table lined with delicate rows of sparkling wine flutes. Grinning at one another, they each take one, as they drink in the ball’s sights and sounds. But I’m still in Kella’s mind; I feel her disappointment at her mother’s disinterest. When I send thoughts of calm to her, she takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Gently, I brush away her sadness as best I can with thought-tendrils of well-being, feeling her relax. She takes a sip of sparkling wine, then another.
“Look!” Karyl exclaims, pointing. The musicians are holding their instruments aloft, a sign that those who want to dance should make their way to the dance floor. Giggling, Karyl grabs Kella, pulling her toward the dance floor. Dropping their empty glasses into the waiting hands of servants, they take their places opposite one another beside other dancers. The music begins and they’re off, laughing and bowing their way through the forms, their disappointment forgotten.
I’ve never enjoyed dancing, so I decide to head downstairs and look in on the revelries at the Servant’s Ball. The servants who must serve at the upstairs Ball, of course, miss out on a large portion of it, but personal servants, cooks, cleaning servants and outdoor laborers are free to enjoy a meal, some music, and some dancing of their own. Even servants from neighboring Houses are welcome to attend.
Gambit of the Gods Page 9
