Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  Karyl waves at me from the far end of the table. I leap from golden square of sunlight to golden square of sunlight projected from the large windows onto the floor to reach her. We fall into each other’s arms, giggling on the bench together. Next to Ellarin from House Elmaya, Karyl is my dearest friend. Her natural exuberance is infectious. She’s also my teammate on our House’s Horse-Dancing team.

  “Did you hear?” says Karyl breathlessly, and goes on before I can answer. “Lady Casilloria of House Chalaena lies dying. Her twin eldest daughters are squabbling over her still breathing body for the right to Head their House!”

  “I hadn’t heard that, but I’m not surprised in the least. Clarie and Carlie are the biggest brats in the Queensrealm.”

  She laughs, spooning a slice of yellowfruit into her mouth. I take the opportunity to add, “Doesn’t House Chalaena know which one popped out first?”

  Karyl swallows with a wry smile. “It’s a nasty business. The healers confirmed that Clarie came first, but Carlie claims that Clarie bought them off in exchange for a secret agreement between House Chalaena and House Elmaya.”

  I sense her inner glee. She loves excitement and intrigue of any kind.

  “But that’s ridiculous!” I protest, a little too loudly because Kliara elbows me, sending an unpleasant mental tap as well. Cowed a bit, I lean over to Karyl and whisper, “Everyone knows House Elmaya can’t be bought.”

  “Yes, yes,” she agrees just as quietly, her lips near my ear. “But Carlie will say anything for a chance to rule her House, or so they say.” The emotion I pick up from her is approval, which surprises me. Perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but I think such arguments are unLadylike, especially while their mother lies dying.

  Who are ‘they’? I wonder, impressed. That’s one of the reasons I love Karyl. She knows who to talk to for all the best gossip. Luckily, she also knows how to keep a secret when a friend confides in her…most of the time, at least.

  Like me, she’s last in a line of older sisters. And like me, she uses this to her advantage; in her case, overhearing conversations others should have kept more private. She’s truly a master at it.

  “I’m sure you heard about High Elder Jeslyn though, right? She died just before the hanging, right in front of everyone, on the road to the Field of Honor.”

  I can see her again in my mind’s eye, her face turning a sickly grey-blue, her eyes bulging… “Yes, I ah, I heard about that.”

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Karyl says hurriedly. “I’m meeting Balexa at the Lily Fountain so we can look for new boots to wear to the Candlelight Ball at House Chalaena. Do you want to go with us?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. “I just need to run upstairs and get some coins!”

  I’m back in mere moments, having taken the stairs two at a time to reach my room. Pockets jingling, we head out into the sunshine together.

    

  The weather is fine, with a vague scattering of clouds across the blue sky stretching above us. Karyl and I scan the faces at Lily Fountain, finally spotting Balexa, who had been hidden behind a gaggle of grim-faced Ladies from House Amalria. We run over to her, laughing, then head toward the Barter Booths together.

  “It’s good to see you outside the Gathering Place,” Balexa says breathlessly to us, but I know she’s speaking mostly to Karyl. My cousin is one of the most outgoing girls I know, making friends as easily as breathing. She’s beautiful and always knows the right thing to say, whereas I’m content to bask in her glow and listen quietly.

  Thank the Goddess that Ellarin is quiet like I am. She understands me best, but it’s nice to be with girls like Karyl and Balexa, too: they always know everything going on in the Queensrealm, and they always have something to say about it.

  Karyl smiles at Balexa. “Yes, this will be fun.” We reach the Booths and slow to enter the crowds.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the latest whispers about House Chalaena?” Karyl says blithely. We pause to admire some bolts of silk at the first booth.

  “Of course,” Balexa replies, old news in her tone, “but did you hear that High Lady Casilloria took a turn for the better yesterday? The healers from House Elmaya claim she was healed by the Goddess Herself.”

  “I hadn’t,” Karyl replies, “but I’ll bet you a string of bronze Queens she won’t last through the winter.” She jingles the coin-string in her pocket for emphasis.

  Balexa nods sagely. “I’m sure you’re right. Belsa is friends with Calrissa, and she told her...”

  I drift away from them to admire a bit of lovely cream lace. As I do, my dream comes back to me. Should I attempt to call the Goddess’ breath, if only to dispel once and for all this foolishness from my mind? Not here, though…

  Have you ever had that strange sense that someone may be watching you? I suddenly feel eyes boring into my back. Sure I’m imagining things, I turn quickly. Standing alone off to one side, a slave a year or two older than I am is staring at me.

  His lips move briefly, but I can’t hear him over the noise of the crowd. He can’t be speaking to me anyway. I don’t know him, and slaves aren’t allowed to speak to Ladies except when spoken to. He’s wearing the colors and crest of House Beltarra, I see: a slate-grey work shirt over faded blue work pants and heavy boots, with the silver tower of House Beltarra on his right shoulder. His chestnut hair is a little wild, like he’s been running his hands through it. Where it catches the light, it catches fire, as do his amused eyes. Strangely enough, when his lips move, I’m taken with the oddest urge to grin at him. I do, before I can stop myself, then back away in surprise.

  “Ouch!” Karyl exclaims behind me. I’ve backed up onto her toes. Hurriedly, I shift, looking down from those mesmerizing eyes. When I glance back up, he’s gone.

  “I’m so sorry!” I cry, my mind radiating contriteness, but Karyl and Balexa are already back on their current topic.

  “I heard they’re worried about the grape harvest this year because of a new kind of rot that attacks the roots of the vines…”

  I tune out their chatter, searching the crowds for that slave. I don’t know why—I just need to, somehow. Like a fever coming on, it’s left me feeling slightly sweaty and light-headed. Where did he go?

  He steps out from behind a wagon full of shiny copper pots, again looking right at me. His lips move once more, and I find myself moving through the crowd toward him. Karyl and Balexa don’t even look up from the white suede boots they’re exclaiming over. I’m barely aware of the Ladies and slaves eddying around me because his eyes have so captured mine.

  “Pretend to admire a pot,” he suggests as I draw near. I do, feeling bemused. Underneath that, struggling to break free, are feelings of outrage. Why did I walk over to this foolish slave? How dare he tell me what to do?

  His next words shock me further. “What’s your name, Lady?” At least he has the sense to address me properly, but just speaking to me like this could result in a beating, or worse.

  Not wanting to seem aloof, I surprise myself and answer him.

  “I am Lady Kella.”

  He gives me a meager half-bow in acknowledgement. I nearly look around, to make sure nobody saw it. Why do I want to protect this idiot?

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Kella.” He says it nonchalantly, like he has conversations with Ladies of different Houses every day. His emotions broadcast amusement, and something else I don’t recognize. Something like pleasure? No, different somehow.

  Still pretending to appraise the pot in my hands, turning it over and sideways, I take his measure from the corner of my eye. He’s so tall. He must tower over me by a head. And his shirt clings nicely to his arms, hinting at the muscles beneath. His hands are large and work-roughened, but his fingers look long and graceful, as if meant for playing a lute.

  He steps closer, when no one is looking our way. I catch his scent—pleasantly earthy, with a hint of wood smoke.

  “My name is Jaereth. Meet me at the Ros
e Fountain just before twilight, Lady Kella. There’s something you need to know.” He steps behind the wagon.

  “What are you doing over here?” Karyl says behind me. I spin guiltily, the pot still in my hand.

  “Ah, checking your reflection I see, good idea,” she answers herself, quickly admiring her own reflection in it before putting it back on the wagon. Together we amble back to Balexa, waiting at the next closest booth. I glance back once, but Jaereth is gone.

    

  Heading home from Horse-Dancing practice alone that afternoon, my dream from two nights ago comes to mind again. Here, in an empty field with no one else around, would be the perfect place to see if it’s more than just a fantasy.

  Leaning against a solitary oak, I consider. In the dream, I’d reached inside myself somehow, so I must do the same this time. I feel a little silly, standing in the middle of the field with my eyes closed, but put that out of my mind. Instead, I focus on my belly and the small silver star I’d seen there this morning. Just like in the dream, I push the Goddess’ breath out with all the breath in my lungs…

  The wind ruffles my hair and skirts. Just a coincidence, surely. Reaching out to the Goddess, I exhale, imagining that I’m breathing out the breath of the Goddess, and open my eyes. The oak’s branches and leaves begin to dance, then toss in a heavy, sighing gust of wind that tears leaves from the tree. A few birds erupt from the branches and fly away, shrieking. My skirts eddy around my legs and I step back, suddenly afraid. Just like that, the wind dies down to a whisper and is gone.

  Glancing around to make sure no one saw what just happened, I push my hair out of my eyes and take a much-needed, steadying breath. Why did the Goddess give me this gift? Should I tell my family or friends about it? My mother would just laugh, I know, and even Karyl would think I was joking. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Would the Elders think me under evil influences, or would they hail me as a messenger from the Goddesses? The last thing I want is for everyone to stare at me, thinking me cursed or worse.

  Sighing, I start walking again toward home. I’ll keep this to myself, for now…

    

  The sunlight fades in the dining room windows behind Mother’s head as we finish the last of Cook’s delicious beef and barley stew, fresh-baked bread, and Karyl’s favorite, cinnamon-raisin pudding. She’s unusually quiet tonight, which suits me well. All I can think about is Jaereth and whether I should meet him by the Rose Fountain at twilight. Oh, why in the world would I even consider it? He’s only a slave, and an extremely ill-mannered one at that. But there’s something about his eyes…the way he looked at me…

  Pushing our chairs back, we drift in twos and threes toward the Music Room. We always conclude our evenings with games, music and singing before retiring upstairs for our evening baths.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I whisper to Karyl, who nods absently, then seems to come to herself.

  “Oh no!” she says with concern, touching my forehead for a moment. “You do feel a little warm, my dear. Maybe you should go to bed early?”

  “Yes, I think I will.”

  I begin to climb the stairs to my room while the others go into the Music Room. Waiting at a curve in the stairs until I no longer hear footsteps in the main entryway, I quietly retrace my steps. Before I know it, I’m outside the great double doors of House Klia, breathing in the cooling air.

  What am I doing?

  As if they have a mind of their own, my feet hurry down the steps and onto the path toward the Rose Fountain. It’s the strangest feeling, but I’m oddly at ease, as if I’m just going for a walk instead of going to meet a strange boy who acts like we’re equals.

  Summer has come to the Queensrealm. The breeze teasing my hair is mild, the clouds blushing pink and gold as the sun sets. The rose bushes spread their heady fragrance on the wind. It’s my favorite time of the evening.

  There he is, lounging in the Rose Fountain’s shadows. The Rose Fountain is the Queensrealm’s tallest and most beautiful fountain. Stone benches encircle it so we can sit and admire the roses without tiring ourselves. At sunset, the benches are usually deserted. This evening is no exception.

  I take a seat near him, actively fighting an impulse to sit closer to this strange young man, but he appears not to notice.

  “You’re lucky I’m fond of your kind and chose not to turn you in to the Elite Corps.”

  His smile never wavers, his eyes holding mine fast as he moves closer.

  “I’m grateful you don’t wish to see me hang, Lady Kella.” Jaereth’s voice holds the slightest hint of mockery. “Don’t you want to know why I asked you here?”

  He towers over me now, his shadow covering me, but I don’t feel afraid. I know I can knock him over with the Goddess’ breath if I need to and hold him down long enough to get away.

  So I stare up at him defiantly, willing him to try something stupid. I’d like to see the look on his face when I push him over. But he stares back, unmoving. It’s a battle of wills, of sorts. At last he steps away and sits just out of arm’s reach on my bench. I pretend to admire the roses on a nearby bush—anything but look his way.

  “I’ve been watching you for a while now,” he admits finally, squinting off into the distance at the sun setting behind the distant mountains. Surprise fills me. “You wouldn’t have seen me—no one notices a lone slave loitering between duties. It’s almost like we’re invisible.”

  That’s true, I muse—we learn not to see them, because they don’t really matter unless we need them for something.

  “At first, I noticed how quiet and thoughtful you seem. You brushed up against me once in a crowd and said ‘Excuse me’ as if you saw me. Ladies…they don’t do that.”

  Yes. Slaves of another House are all but non-existent for most Ladies.

  “I like to watch the horses graze in the outer pastures. I’ve seen you out there, Lady Kella, chewing on a clover stem, talking to the horses.” I turn to look at him curiously, but he’s still squinting at the sunset, seeming not to notice.

  “You always clip the creamy white roses from a particular rose bush—always six white roses, with flowers of a different color every time to surround them,” he adds. “And you have this thing you do when you’re nervous or angry: your hands ball into fists.”

  I blush at this, knowing it’s true, but fortunately he can’t see it in the fading light.

  “If you’re happy, you hum under your breath without even realizing it.” He runs his hand through his hair; a nervous gesture of his own, I’ve noticed.

  “You and your friend—the talkative one— you two almost always buy a piece of candy from a Booth when you’re shopping and give some to a runner or two. I wonder, is it your idea, or hers?”

  “Mine,” I admit, becoming more embarrassed with every word I hear. Slave boys between the ages of six and nine are often given the task of being a runner. They run messages from one House or Lady to another. I just figured they might like a treat and could use the extra energy.

  “You said you have something to tell me?” I ask abruptly, no longer wanting to hear of my deeds—good or otherwise—from someone I don’t know and shouldn’t even be talking to.

  “Yes,” Jaereth says, turning to meet my gaze at last. His shadowed eyes bore into mine. I find I cannot look away.

  “What I wanted to tell you was that if anything, ah, bad happens, and you need protection, I’ll come for you.”

  I frown to try to hide my amusement, but before I can stop it, a giggle escapes. Jaereth doesn’t react.

  “What bad things could possibly happen to me? Are you going to magically be there if I should happen to fall from my horse?”

  He shakes his head. His emotions speak of nothing but unruffled patience in the face of my ridicule. I smooth my features to match his. I am a Lady, after all.

  “Just remember my promise, Lady Kella,” he warns. Rising from the bench, Jaereth looks down at me. “You’re never truly alone.”
>
  I watch him walk away in the direction of House Beltarra, unable to decide if I’m annoyed or amused by his grand statement.

    

  The next morning when I wake, I’m surprised to see white roses. A vase with my favorites, surrounded by blue irises, stands on my bedside table.

  Maren pokes his head around the corner. “Shall I bring in your breakfast tray, Lady Kella?”

  “Yes, please. Where did these come from?” Rising, I bend to enjoy their fragrance.

  “When I went to get your tray, I found them waiting outside your door,” he says dispassionately, but I see a twinkle in his eye. He must think I have a secret admirer.

  I know immediately who must have left them. Is it a plea for my continued silence? Or something more?

  Maren would, of course, think the flowers are from another Lady. Pairings with males are forbidden, except in the mating temples of the Goddess Stalia. There, we’re careful to make sure we lie with males who aren’t from our own House, and we light a candle, asking the Goddess of Love for a baby girl to quicken within us.

  I’ve never taken a lover, and I’m too young yet to visit the temples. But Maren doesn’t know these things. So I smile and shrug, careful to exude a feeling of satisfaction. I’ll need to examine my real feelings alone, later. If I can figure them out, that is.

  The same thing happens the next day, except in addition to white roses, there are also yellow lilies and the many small lavender blooms we call Blue-Eyes. I need to find Jaereth and ask him to stop this. His face was the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep the night before, too, I remember with chagrin. If someone catches him, well, I don’t know what they’d do to him, but I can’t let that happen.

  After breakfast, I go straight to the Rose Fountain. Jaereth is there, waiting. This early in the morning, no one else is around. His smile is back, and I don’t know if I find it infuriating or…something confusing. But I’m a Lady, and we don’t show slaves weak emotions like confusion. So I straighten my shoulders and march right up to him, a smile conspicuously NOT on my face.