The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  Serra liked her lessons with Sylvan more. She liked the feel of the bow, made by Dryads, in her hands. The wood seemed to leap at her touch, to understand just where she wanted the arrow to go. The first few times Serra had struggled with the taut string. But under Sylvan’s gentle guidance Serra had eventually gotten used to the movement, anchoring her thumb at the corner of her mouth and releasing the arrow to fly to its mark.

  Once done with archery, Serra would stumble to the stream accompanied by Thistle, wash quickly then fall into her bedroll. She went to sleep exhausted each night and woke up sore each morning.

  During their brief breaks from riding, Reks started to teach her how to properly use a knife. This practice left her with countless tiny cuts all over her hands, which, of course, made her evening practices all that much harder.

  Serra wanted to learn. She knew that she needed to be able to defend herself and anyone around her when she finally did encounter the kidnapper. But her body rebelled against her every time she moved.

  Vaughn told her she would grow accustomed to the vigorous workouts that her companions seemed determined to put her through, Serra didn’t believe him. But she couldn’t blame her companions for teaching her, not only had she asked, but if they knew she could defend herself they would be less likely to be distracted by worry for her safety.

  They made good time when heading to Norwood and five days later they had reached the largest town in Plysa. Serra had never been happier to see towering stone buildings.

  They decided to use what coin they had to rent rooms at an inn with a large bath house attached. Sylvan, who had changed her appearance before entering the city, and Serra would be sharing a room, while the three men would crowd into a room just opposite theirs.

  Almost as soon as Serra had slung her saddlebags onto her bed, she was searching through them for her last pair of clean clothes.

  “I’m going to go and take the longest bath possible,” she stated.

  Sylvan smiled, showing her pointy teeth. “I wish I could join you, but unfortunately I can’t hold my façade for more than a few hours. I already used it to get here.”

  Serra sighed. “That’s too bad. I’ll have them bring up a bath for you, if you’d like. I’ll just tell them you prefer to bathe alone.”

  “Thank you, Serra.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  As she was leaving, Sylvan said. “Make sure you’re back by dinner time. We have to discuss our next move.”

  Serra stopped at the front desk and requested that a bath be brought to her room for her companion. She made it quite clear to the lady behind the desk that whoever brought the bath and water needed to knock before entering. That would give Sylvan time to either change her appearance or to hide behind the dressing screen.

  The woman nodded in affirmation then pointed Serra to the door that would lead her to the woman’s side of the bath house. A smiling attendant led Serra to a small chamber where she could undress and store her clothes. There was a robe of thin fabric hanging on a hook that Serra knew she was supposed to wear while not in one of the many baths. She had never been in one of these bathhouses but Eva had.

  Serra flinched as she undressed, she had gotten more used to the exercise and long hours in the saddle, but her body still ached. She pulled her shirt over her head and then almost turned right back around and replaced it. In her eagerness bathe, Serra had forgotten about her lack of a Caste Mark. Now the unblemished skin of her left arm screamed it.

  But not five days ago she’d had one when she’d needed it, one that belonged to a person that did not exist.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Are you alright in there, miss?”

  Serra started. “Yes, everything is fine. Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.” She waited for the sound of footsteps moving away from the door, then focused on her arm. She imagined the pattern she’d seen the other day, the Caste Mark that she knew better than any other: Eva’s Mark.

  As Serra watched black ink swirled to the surface of her flesh. The pattern appeared strong as though she were the daughter of the Grand Lord of Lyre. It stretched from the back of her hand to her elbow, just as Eva’s did, the inky blackness covering the entirety of the skin, allowing only brief glimpses of flesh color where the swirling pattern separated from itself.

  She stared at it for a moment in wonder, not entirely sure of what was happening. Wanting to bathe before whatever magic she had cast wore off, Serra quickly finished undressing and pulled on the short-sleeved robe.

  Leaving her clothes, Serra stepped from the dressing room and was greeted by a bath house employee.

  “Let me show you around and then you can choose what facilities you’d like to use.”

  Serra shook her head. “There is no need. I would like to use one of your single baths with enough water to be able to sink up to my neck or deeper in.”

  The woman nodded and led Serra through the main room, where women lounged in a large pool with water that steamed and bubbled, to a smaller one that held five single baths separated by privacy screens. The light in the room provided by candles so was so low that Serra had to squint to truly see what else was in the room. Wood paneling on the walls gave the room a cozy feel and the steam from the baths heated the air, making the room warm.

  The sweet smell of flowers reached her nostrils and Serra realized that petals were sprinkled around the floor of the room. As they were stepped on the flowers released their sweet fragrance into the air to sooth and calm the women in the tubs.

  At the moment, the room was empty.

  “Would you care for scented oil in your tub? Perhaps rose or lavender?”

  “Lavender, thank you.”

  The woman bowed her head and moved to a side table where there were any number of vials full of liquid. She chose one and drizzled a portion of its contents into one of the steaming tubs. Immediately the sweet scent of lavender filled the room.

  The woman bowed and left after saying, “Let me know if you have need of anything.”

  Serra nodded. As soon as the woman was gone, she untied her robe and stepped into the tub. Now, this was the way a bath was supposed to be. Not a quick splash in a cold forest stream.

  Serra scrubbed her body and washed her hair with soap that rested on a small table next to the bath before truly allowing herself to just relax. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been soaking when she was awakened by what felt like a bug bite on her nose. She sat up rubbing her nose in consternation. Thistle floated on the air in front of her.

  “Are you sure you’re not a Nixie? You always show up when I’m in water.” A nixie was water sprite. Thistle shook her head, then motioned for Serra to follow her.

  “Oh, the others sent you to find me, did they?” A nod. “It’s dinner time already?” Nod. “Alright. Will you please go and tell Sylvan I’m on my way? I’ll need to dress.”

  Thistle nodded again and then simply disappeared.

  Serra stepped from the tub, a bit miffed that she hadn’t been able to enjoy it for longer. As she used her robe to dry off, her eyes rested on the Mark that persisted on her arm. What did it mean? Was she the illegitimate daughter of the Grand Lord of Lyre? Is that why she had no Caste Mark? He was ashamed of having a daughter out of wedlock with someone other than his wife?

  She shuddered at the thought of Lady Hadrienne discovering that Serra was her husband’s daughter with a maid.

  Serra shook herself. There was no way of getting answers to questions such as those until she returned to Malvern’s Ward, which would most likely be a very, very long time.

  Chapter 10

  SYLVAN

  Sylvan ducked behind the screen when the knock sounded at the door. She had enough magic and energy left in her to change her appearance for the time it would take for the servants of the inn to bring up the tub and fill it with water, but she didn’t see the point in exhausting herself w
hen it was avoidable, especially when Serra had gone out of her way to make sure that the servants would give her time to spirit herself away.

  “Come in,” she called. The door opened and someone stepped into the room. “You can just place the tub wherever. Thank you so much for bringing it.”

  “Sylvan?”

  The dryad scowled. She recognized that voice. She pulled the dressing gown tighter around her and stepped from behind the screen. “What do you want?”

  Rian’s blond hair was clean and damp. Obviously, he’d already visited the baths and had finished his ablutions in record time. He glowered at her harsh tone. “I thought we might go over the plan for tonight together.”

  She motioned to her dressing gown with one graceful mint green hand. “I am not in any state to discuss anything as you can see, Your Highness. I have not yet had the pleasure of a bath.” Hs scowl grew at the way she said, ‘Your Highness’.

  “I was only trying to be considerate. I know you like to plan the next steps.”

  Sylvan took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, but resenting him. “What would be considerate, Your Highness, is to give me one moment of peace to myself, please.”

  Rian’s face grew red. “I didn’t realize that my company was so distressing to you. I will see myself out.” He spun on his heel and moved to the door, opening it an instant before the servant on the other side could knock. Sylvan dove behind the screen, listened while Rian gave instructions for where to place the tub. She heard his boots retreat down the hall, and let out a breath.

  Perhaps, she had been just a bit too hard on him. But he got on her nerves in a way that no one else ever had before. So pompous and all knowing, arguing with her at every little suggestion she made. Almost as if he felt that him being a prince gave him the right to order her around… Her. The daughter of the Queen of the Dryads. No one ever ordered her around.

  “Your bath is ready, miss,” a servant said from the vicinity of the door.

  “Thank you,” she called. Sylvan waited until she heard the door closed before striding over to it and turning the lock. Hopefully, Serra would be a while, enjoying her own bath and wouldn’t need entrance to the room anytime soon.

  As she climbed into the steaming water, Sylvan thought about Serra. The girl was a puzzle to be sure. Despite what Serra had said about just getting between Thistle and Sylvan by accident, Sylvan didn’t quite believe it. Serra felt different from other humans, more vibrant somehow.

  And it truly did take someone with tremendous magic to be able to call a pixie.

  It was another thing that Sylvan and Rian argued about when Serra wasn’t around to hear. Sylvan was certain the Serra had magic. Rian maintained that she must not, she would have known about it before. It’s rare that mages would grow to adulthood without any sign of magic.

  Though it irked her, Sylvan let him win that argument.

  Sylvan found the bath reinvigorating and by the time she finished, she felt truly guilty for being so harsh with Rian. As she dressed she promised to herself that she would try to keep her temper with him better.

  We’ll see how long that lasts, she thought.

  Chapter 11

  REKS

  Reks looked up from the spread of food in front of him as Serra entered the room. She didn’t move to take the empty seat at the table, instead she placed her bundle of clothes on one of the beds and stayed standing, her fingers tucked behind her.

  His stomach twisted. She’d spent so much of her life trying to hide her unmarked hand, that it was second nature to her now.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes fixed on him. “I know I have kept you waiting, but would it be possible to for me to talk to Reks? Alone? We’ll go next door.”

  Without waiting for their go ahead, Reks dropped his fork and stood from the table.

  Once they were safely in the other room, Reks asked, “What is it that couldn’t wait until after the dinner that I paid for?”

  Serra snorted. “You mean the dinner that all the fine ladies at Eva’s party paid for.”

  “Nevertheless…” He motioned toward her. “What is it?”

  She hesitated, her hands still tucked behind her, wedged between her body and the door the she leaned against. Her blue-green eyes considered him for a moment and Reks had to admit he felt uncomfortable under her gaze. Like she was weighing whether she could trust him, and he was coming up short. Smart girl.

  He shook himself and took a step toward her, a grin spreading across his face. “What? Have you brought me here to confess your undying love for me?”

  “Reks!” He liked the flush that spread over her cheeks.

  “Well, I can hardly figure out what else would make you so nervous.” He moved closer, until he could feel the heat radiating from her body, soaking through his clothes to warm his own skin. He breathed in deep. “Mm, you smell nice. The benefit of your bath, I suppose.”

  The flush on her cheeks deepened. Reks grinned again, enjoying her discomfort. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She snapped. “Baths do have that effect, you should try it. It might work even on you.”

  The grin faded from his lips. “I don’t bathe in public houses.” The skin between his shoulder blades began to ache, as it did sometimes when he thought about it too much. The trick was to not think about it. He’d spent a good portion of his adult life finding ways to forget, and Serra was as good a distraction as any.

  A smile crept across his lips and he leaned ever so slightly closer to her. “Now, come on. Tell me what has you so nervous. It must have something to do with me, or else you would have spoken to one of the others.”

  “Naturally, you would assume that it has to do with your indefinable charm and my inability to resist it.”

  “Naturally.”

  Without looking away from his face, Serra rolled up the sleeve of her shirt. Reks kept his eyes locked on hers, a slight smile still curving his lips. When she’d finished with her sleeve, she raised her arm in front of his face.

  Reks’ smile fell and his brow furrowed. He grasped her wrist turning it this way and that, examining the black design that swirled over her skin. “Did this just appear like last time? Without you thinking about it?”

  The hand he held was trembling. This had to be overwhelming for her. She’d gone her whole life without a Caste Mark, and now suddenly one had appeared out of nowhere. “No. I-I made it appear.” His eyes flew to her face. She hurried to explain. “I was in the bath house and I realized that I couldn’t go in without a Caste Mark, I would have been thrown out. Orphans aren’t generally greeted with open arms. So, I just focused on Eva’s Mark and it appeared. I even fell asleep and it stayed.”

  Reks ran his fingers over the black part, trying to smudge it, though he could tell it wouldn’t go anywhere. “Interesting.”

  He could feel her eyes on him, waiting for him to process the new information, but seemed unable to stop the next question that burst from her lips. “Do you think this means I’m really the Grand Lord’s daughter?”

  “No.” Reks said, distracted, still examining the pattern. He shook his head and raised his eyes to hers. “No. I don’t think that’s what it means. In the village, you were able to create a Mark for a person who does not currently exist.”

  Before he had a chance to think about it too much, Reks stripped off the glove that covered his left hand and rolled his shirt sleeve up to his elbow. Serra’s eyes flew to his Caste Mark, no doubt trying to make sense of the symbols and designs there. He knew she would come up short. Not many people were familiar with the images in his Mark. And the job was made doubly hard by the multitude of scars that crisscrossed the black pattern, breaking the design and making some of the symbols impossible to decipher.

  He held it out to Serra. “Can you see at least part of the pattern?” She nodded. “Good. Try to duplicate it on your skin.”

  She took his fingers in her right hand, holding it gently. He could feel the calluses that had started to form on her skin,
the delicate bones of her fingers. She brought her face close to his arm, so that he could feel little puffs of her breath across his skin.

  After a moment, she dropped Reks' hand as if it had burned her and held up her own for inspection. Not only had she duplicated his Caste Mark, but all of the scars were there as well and her arm itself had changed shape fashioned itself after Reks' more muscled forearm. Her fingers were no longer small and slender, but rather long and callused.

  “Reks…” she said her voice barely a whisper. “What’s going on?”

  “I… I have no idea. I haven’t seen anything like this.” He ran a hand through his black hair, making it stand up in all directions. “Change it back to your hand.”

  “What?’

  “Change it back.” He bit out.

  “Oh, sure, of course! I’ll just wave it around and it’ll magically go back to the hand that I’m used to.” She motioned with his arm angrily. He could tell she was panicking, overwhelmed by what she had done. If he was honest, he was too, but at least one of them had to stay focused.

  He tilted his head, listening to the sounds in the room next to them. He had to get her to concentrate and fast.

  Reks placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. He spoke in a soothing voice. “Serra, you need to calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Better? Okay. You can do this. I’m not sure how, but you can do this and you had better do it fast because in about two minutes Rian is going to come knocking. So, just do it.”

  Serra nodded and closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Reks studied her face as she concentrated. The pale skin, flushed pink from excitement, pert nose and bow shaped lips. Her features relaxed, and he could tell she’d felt something click in her body.

  He glanced at her left hand.

  “There,” he said softly. Her eyes flickered open. “That wasn’t so hard. And just in time, too.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Reks went to answer it while Serra stayed where she was, looking wonderingly at her hand.