by Emily L K
A herald trumpeted in the room, and the great doors swung open. The line shuffled forward ever so slightly as the student at the front - Samwell of Shaw - was announced and entered. Cori stood on her toes to watch what was happening but she wasn’t tall enough to see over the heads in front of her. Applause sounded for Samwell as he strode down the hall. Then again a few minutes later as he presented his admission fee. Slowly the names were called out: Olivia and Rosie of Hale, Williym of Hearth, Quart of the Nomad Isles, Jilliyn of Hearth. A large handful of children from the most northern state of Resso were all called, one after the other, then a few more from Shaw and Hearth, two more from Hale and one more girl from the Nomad Isles. Cori lost track of their names as she drew closer to the door and realised the other students were making speeches to the Karalis. Cold dread settled over her. Would she have to say something? Her letter of invitation to the ceremony hadn’t said anything about this custom. She hugged her offering tight to her chest and wished desperately that she could be anywhere but here. She’d even prefer to face her dream dragons.
Finally, as Damiyn of Hearth tugged his cart of wealth into the room, Cori found herself at the head of the line with an unobstructed view of the proceedings. The throne room was well lit, with the guests standing either side of the room to create an aisle. The sound of the ocean masked any low conversations that might have been happening.
Damiyn walked slowly up the aisle with a self-righteous air, his head high and shoulders back. The only variance to this was when he reached his father and mother. They shouted praise and clapped for him and Damiyn struggled to keep his haughty demeanor expression from breaking into an excited grin.
When he reached the foot of the dais, he dropped into the customary prostrating position. The Advisor, standing to the right of the throne, bid Damiyn to rise. The boy got to his feet and hefted the heavy chest from the trolley. He tottered up the stairs under its weight, his head still bent in deference. The Karalis’ eyes swept from the gardens to watch the boy approach. His face remained impassive, almost bored. Damiyn gained the dais and lifted the chest above his head with difficulty.
“My holy Karalis,” Damiyn’s voice only just carried back to Cori. “I, Damiyn of Hearth, do proudly present my gift to you in thanks for the opportunity to attend your most noble School of Auksas.” The words rang with customary practice, and Cori repeated the words Damiyn had said under her breath so she could present herself in a similar fashion, all the while shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. She watched the Karalis nod his acceptance of Damiyn’s gift then the Advisor said something that Cori couldn’t hear. Damiyn placed his chest to the left side of the throne with the other gifts then stepped down to stand with his parents.
“Cori Cook.” Cori jumped as her name was called and her stomach twisted so hard she thought she might vomit right there in the doorway of the throne room. A smattering of confused applause met her as she stepped into the room, face burning and heart thundering. Her steps were quick as she approached the front of the room, her meagre gift clutched tightly before her. She briefly saw her mother’s beaming smile, but she avoided looking at anyone else in the crowd. She felt awkward in her ill-fitting dress and her ridiculous curls. If she hadn’t been holding the chest, she would have tugged the frock down where it was beginning to bunch at her waist. Too soon the step of the dais was before her and she dropped to the ground.
“Rise,” said the Advisor and Cori stood, looked up and met the golden, glowing eyes of the Karalis. Once more she froze, transfixed. He sat straight on the throne, his right hand resting on the head of the dragon.
Although she knew the Karalis was hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years old, he had the smooth, clean face of a young man of perhaps only thirty years old. His sharp jawline and cheekbones made his gold eyes seem even eerier. In them she noted barely restrained power and a sharp intelligence, not so easily suppressed by the practised detachment that kept all other mundane emotions from his face. There was something else too. Did he seem... curious?
Cori, he greeted her. For a moment she had double vision as she lifted her gaze. His impassive expression contrasted with the warmth she in his voice as it flowed through her mind.
The Advisor's expression soured at her delay.
Without answering the Karalis, Cori forced herself up the steps, looked down at the box in her hands, and then back up at him. He watched her, waiting. Her fingers tightened on the chest as she steeled herself to what she was about to do. Then she leaned down and placed it carefully on the step beside her.
An outbreak of whispers came from behind, and the Karalis’ gaze swept quickly upwards and across the room. The guests silenced themselves instantly. Cori knelt down before the throne and once again met his eye. She ignored as best she could the Advisor’s now furious scowl.
“My holy Karalis,” she began, letting her eyes drop for an instant in deference before seeking his again. She was mesmerized by him. “I have naught that is mine to give you in thanks for the offered learnings at your school, so instead of wealth I pledge myself to you, your loyal servant to teach, guide and to use as you see fit until the end of my days.”
You’re too kind, he said with amusement. But it wasn’t a cruel humour, more that of a man who had grown tired of tedious traditions and found himself delighted by a change in proceedings. Cori was awash with relief that he was unfazed by her sudden withdrawal of the monetary gift.
I only give you what you have always owned since my birth, Cori responded, more tartly than she intended.
Indeed. A wry tone of voice. Please, Cori, stand up. I wouldn’t take from my own even if you offered it.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that remark but she stood anyway, lifting the box from her feet as she did. She tucked it under her arm, noting that the Advisor’s eyebrows shot up as she did.
The Karalis nodded his acceptance of her offer, his expression never changing. Angry muttering broke out behind her and even the Karalis’ second glance up didn’t quash it completely. Then someone clapped.
Cori spun about but she couldn’t pick the person from the crowd. Someone else joined in. And another. And another. The room rang with applause and cheers and Cori belatedly realised it was the normally still and silent servants who lined the walls. Their cheers gave her encouragement as she stepped down from the dais to stand beside her proud mother. But she couldn’t completely ignore the hateful looks that many of the Hiram shot her way
Chapter Five
Although the intake ceremony went late into the night, the new students were expected to begin their lessons first thing the following morning. Working in the kitchens made Cori a naturally early riser, and she was up before the sun.
Bel and Saasha had risen already so Cori took her time to wash her face and comb the last of the curls from her hair. Pulling on the purple robes that had been supplied to her, she surveyed herself in the mirror, nerves turning her stomach. The robes were too big, and she had to roll the sleeves back so she could use her hands. They had a brand new crispness to them, and her mother had pressed them the night before so they’d be free of creases. She fluffed her hair so it didn't sit straight. No matter what she did she couldn't make herself look any less a servant. Finally, she left the bedroom and went to the kitchens.
“Good morning,” Bel said with a smile when she saw Cori. Saasha pounded the dough in front of her with unrestrained savagery. “What would you like for breakfast?” Bel continued, with a quick glance Saasha’s way.
“Nothing, thank you, I think I’d be sick if I ate.” Saasha snorted derisively. Bel frowned and shook her head.
“Well then, you better head off to school. You don’t want to be late.”
So she did. And she found she was far too early. Her nerves made her completely forget that nobility didn’t start the day at the same time as the servants. The sun pressed long tendrils of light across the manicured lawn when she reached the collection of stone buildings at the back of the esta
te that formed the school. She circled the building where she knew the lessons were held but it was dark and still. The dining hall was in use though. There she could see lights through the windows, and hear voices, low in conversation. They would be of the second, third and fourth year students having their breakfast. As she watched, a pair of girls in green robes exited a third building together, school books clutched to their chest, one of them laughed at a comment by the other before they entered the dining hall.
Cori backtracked towards the kitchens until she reached an older section of garden, where the trees grew tall and hedged bushes provided seclusion from those on the main paths. There was a bench within the garden, and it was here Cori headed. As a child, she and the other kitchen kids met up to play with stable lads and wash boys. Two years ago, she’d kissed Dahl under the flame tree that sheltered the bench. The kiss had been sweet, both of them inexperienced, and they had ended up with red blossoms in their hair. Cori smiled at the memory as she sat down. She watched the sun lift higher, its light evening out and drawing the shadows shorter. Nearby, gardeners worked to turn an old garden bed and renew the soil. In the distance she could see women hanging linen on long lines by the laundry.
“...Think she’ll come?” Cori jumped when she heard the girl’s voice so close.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Olivia scoffed, walking alongside her friend Rosie. Cori pressed herself back against the bench, hoping they wouldn’t look through the bushes towards her. “How could she even show her face? Imagine not having a single coin to give the Karalis as a gift. Poor thing,” Olivia sighed, her tone indicating that she felt anything but sympathetic towards Cori’s plight.
The girls stepped briefly into view, and Cori couldn’t help but notice how tight their robes were, accentuating their curved hips and full breasts. Cori didn’t know how Hiram women aged, but these girls seemed far older than fifteen. Their bodies had the maturity of a twenty year old, and yet they wouldn’t physically age much more than forty. That was until they were almost dead, Cori smirked. She knew from jokes told among the servants that the Hiram aged quickly into their final years, as if the magic behind their long lives suddenly gave up on them.
“But the Karalis accepted her. Everyone saw it.” Rosie paused momentarily to take a gold scarf from her neck and tie it about her waist to further cinch the material of her robes. Olivia helped her, smoothing creases from the back. They continued walking.
“As a gimmick, I’m sure,” Olivia said haughtily, running her fingers through her dark hair before pushing it over her shoulder. They moved out of sight again. “It’s good for the Karalis’ image to be seen giving to charitable causes. No doubt they would have revoked her acceptance last night as soon as...”
Their voices faded away. Cori waited a while before leaving her hiding spot, fingernails scratching absentmindedly against the wood as she wondered how she was going to get through the lessons without being harassed. By the time she’d talked herself into getting up, most of the other students had wandered past. Cori ducked out of the bushes and trailed after them. Tom stood at the door of the lessons hall.
“Hurry up, Cori,” he called as she joined the group in the shadows of the building. The door was open now, and within was a polished stone hallway with evenly placed doors along it. A group of students in navy robes waited outside one. A few among the new students snickered, and Cori heard a distinct jibe from Olivia about not being able to read time. She ducked her head and muttered an apology to Tom, but he was already moving on.
“This morning I’ll take you on a tour of the facilities, and then you’ll go straight into your lessons. Mornings are dedicated to letters and numbers and afternoons are for dancing, decorum and instruments. Instructor Marcus will take your morning lessons and Instructor Thyme will take your afternoon lessons.
“You’ll receive extra material to study daily and you must complete it by the following day. Seventh day has no lessons and is for you to pursue your own interests. This is the lessons hall.” Tom paused outside the first building so that all the students could stare up at the grey stone wall. Older students were entering via a set of wooden double doors. Most wore jaded expressions and ignored their new and younger counterparts as only young adults do when they find themselves in a superior position.
Tom next took them past the dining hall, where he told them they could find breakfast, lunch and dinner each day. When they came to the third building, he led them inside.
“This is the sleeping hall," he explained, leading them along the first floor corridor. “The girls’ dormitories are through this door, and the boys’ are at the end.” He paused so they could peer into the girls’ room. Cori surveyed the fifteen or so neatly made beds with a sinking feeling. Did they expect her to sleep here? Couldn’t she just stay in the kitchen’s sleeping quarters with her family? But Tom didn’t answer her unasked questions. Instead, he led them back to the lessons hall and introduced them to a white-haired man who turned out to be Instructor Marcus.
Instructor Marcus showed them to an empty classroom where the students jostled for seats at dark wood tables. Morning light fell through the windows and across the room, giving it and its occupants an ethereal glow. Cori quickly slipped to the back and sat at a corner desk. Nobody sat beside her, which she was quietly relieved about. She’d entirely lost the desire to converse with any of her fellow students. She got the feeling that none of them had anything nice to say to her anyway. Instructor Marcus walked between the desks handing out paper and pens. Cori’s eyes dropped to her equipment dubiously. He returned to the front of the room and pivoted on the balls of his feet to face the class. When he cleared his throat, the chatter died away.
“Today I will test your knowledge on the Karalis’ history. I expect you to transcribe as we go so I can get a feel for your written abilities.” He lifted a heavy tome. A rustle of parchment followed as the students prepared themselves. Cori poised her pen over the paper, waiting.
“The Karalis first came to power after the Last Fight. After the defeat of Cadmus and his dragon Daiyu, the Dijem found their numbers severely depleted, and it was a time of disarray across the lands. The Hiram, ever thankful to the Dijem for teaching them their powers, offered protection to the Dijem. There were only a handful of Dijem left and they gratefully accepted the protection of the Hiram, dispersing themselves across the states so they wouldn’t be so easily targeted by their enemies. Who can tell me what happened after this?”
A few hands slowly rose in the air. Cori stared at her blank parchment. She hadn’t written anything Instructor Marcus dictated, not that she knew how to form letters. A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. The sound of the other students writing their notes rang in her ears. How was she going to do this? She let the tip of her pen touch the parchment and watched the spot of ink grow and spread like veins.
“Damiyn?” Instructor Marcus called out.
Damiyn rocked back in his chair, tapping the end of his pen on the desk. “The Heads of States started killing the Dijem in each other’s protection.”
“Bluntly put, Damiyn,” Instructor Marcus peered at the boy over the top of his book, seeming unamused. “And only partly true. Nobody knows why the Dijem disappeared, but the states blamed each other and small border skirmishes turned into full scale civil wars. When it seemed there was no saving the realm of Tauta, along came a golden-eyed man with offerings of peace. Who was he and what did he do?”
“It was the Karalis!” A girl from Resso called out. “He helped the states end the wars and make peace with each other. They named him the Karalis and vowed to serve him until the end of his days.”
“Very good,” Marcus nodded approvingly.
Cori let her pen drag absently down the page. Anxiety from the lesson drained what strength she had. The ink that bloomed in a spider web beneath the nib of her pen hypnotised her.
Marcus found his place again, this time reading directly from his tome. “No one in that time knew just how lon
g the days of the Karalis would last. After his second century of ruling, it became clear that he was no ordinary man. The Hiram speculated that they had place a Dijem at their head but there was none left who remembered the old wars, let alone what the Dijem looked like. Many scholars have attempted to study the Karalis’ history but to this day, they still cannot fathom where he came from or what his part in the Last Fight was. The Karalis has, to this day, declined to comment on the matter.”
“Why doesn’t he talk?” Someone asked. It sounded like Olivia, but Cori couldn’t be sure. Her mind fogged and the voices of those in the room became an echo. Her eyes remained transfixed by her pen and she made a futile attempt to lift it from the page. She couldn’t drag herself from it, much as she tried to.
“Ah, that’s a topic for another day,” Instructor Marcus offered with a knowing smile. He observed the students furiously scratching the last of their notes. Quart had a black smudge on his nose, and Samwell’s robes were splattered in ink where his pen had burst from such frenzied writing.
Cori lifted her pen away and blinked away the last of the fog that had clouded her mind. She’d written nothing - she didn’t know any letters to do so - but she had somehow drawn a dragon.
She stared down into its snarling face and black inked eyes and a thrill of fear drenched her in a cold sweat. She couldn’t remember drawing it though the evidence stained her hands. The dragon’s body was coiled tightly, as if about to spring from the page.
Instructor Marcus spoke, making Cori jump. “That’s all for this morning. Tonight, please copy out the history of your founding Head of State. Tomorrow we’ll begin numbers. Please hand in your parchment from today on your way out.”
