"I didn't realize the school was accessible by the treetops," he teased.
"It isn't," the sour faced Delia answered before Kiarra voiced a word. "My sister isn't interested in her future."
"I'm here, aren't I?" The rejoinder lacked any heat. She seemed impervious, and perhaps accustomed, to her sister's ribbing. The two women couldn't be more different in personality and Clay wondered how their parents managed the obvious complication. The Walton household must endure constant drama.
"Not that being here will do you any good." Delia rearranged her skirts yet again. She returned her eyes to Clay with another simpering smile. The falseness of her expression compared to Kiarra's turned his stomach. He had always been a good judge of character, something that both aided and haunted him within Merchant House. He easily chose the business partners least likely to cheat him, but being constantly surrounded by snakes was still unpleasant.
The bell for midday meal rang, saving him from a further reaction. The students rose as one, except for Kiarra. Clay fidgeted under the desk. He had arrived early on purpose, taking his seat before any of the students entered. It was the only reason Delia was interested in him. He was a handsome man if a woman could overlook his deformity. Most couldn't.
Kiarra sighed, drawing Clay's gaze. The sound echoed of despair.
"Not hungry?" Clay asked.
"Not really. I admit I bought a meat pie and ate it on the way over here." She smiled, her coral lips full and luscious. Her eyes glittered. Clay admired their color. They were the alluring greenish-blue of the sea he had lived next to the majority of his life. "What about you?"
Clay shrugged and pulled a small brown bag from the pack at his feet. He had prepared his lunch, not wanting to subject himself to the stares and whispers that accompanied him when he walked.
The students brought their lunches as well, but they were encouraged to eat out of doors if the weather accommodated. Scholar House physicians determined sunlight was beneficial to the soul and mind. They had passed the directive on to the school teachers to the pleasure of the students. He bit into the dark bread and cheese sandwich he'd prepared that morning.
"You wouldn't prefer to be outside or with your schoolmates?" Clay's voice echoed in the empty room. When the chamber was full of students, he had to raise his voice to attract the attention of his group.
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Kiarra cocked her head to the side.
Clay choked on the dry bread, his cheeks burning again. A drink of water helped him recover his poise. "No, absolutely not," he stammered. "I was just curious."
Kiarra studied his face, testing the validity of his words. He wondered if she had the same astute character sense as he. She seemed observant, a vitally important characteristic. After a moment, she shrugged and looked around the room. One slim hand brushed at a streak of dirt on her skirt. "I was outside all morning, as my clothes attest. And my schoolmates," she shrugged, "they don't think much of me."
Clay studied the rye bread as if it held the secrets of the world, turning the food around in his hand. "Would you mind if I asked why?"
"I'm nearing the cutoff for testing. If I don't test next week for my placement into a House, I'll be branded a Commoner or a Performer. None of them believe I will be in their House, so they don't believe in cultivating a relationship with me."
"That's absurd," Clay protested with fervor. "The Houses need to work together. Insulating oneself in their House provides a very narrow view of the world." It was a concept he believed staunchly. Few others agreed.
Kiarra's seafoam colored eyes settled on him in interest. One hand stroked her braid and she grimaced when she encountered another twig entwined in the coil. Without the artifice many women would employ, she began unraveling her plait and raking her fingers through the long locks. Bits of dried leaves and twigs fell to the schoolroom floor. Clay was grateful her attention was otherwise occupied because he was certain he resembled an open mouthed bass. Her hair was unique, unbelievable in its majesty. The soft waves fell to her waist in colors of topaz, copper, gold, slivers of onyx, and dark mahogany.
"You don't act like a Merchant."
"What?" Clay stuttered. His attention had single-mindedly focused on the slim fingers combing through her thick tresses. Her voice had registered but he hadn't understood through the fog in his brain. She glanced up at him beneath a waterfall of bejeweled hair. He attempted to school his face to a less obvious look of adoration and amazement, but he was certain he failed. She flushed a light shade of pink, resembling the seashells that washed up on the shore.
"I know my hair is odd." She crinkled her nose delightfully.
"Odd?" Clay echoed in disbelief. He was aware other women sought compliments by pointing out their differences but she didn't appear deceptive. "Not at all. Your hair is gorgeous. I don't think anything more beautiful exists in the palace treasury." He hadn't realized he was one for poetic words when he was interested in a woman. Her mere presence made him forget himself entirely. Her nearness wasn't beneficial to his brain. His body was controlling his reactions and he believed his brain was the far superior organ.
Kiarra blushed brighter. "Thanks, but I wasn't looking for a compliment. I was just mentioning a truth. I was saying that you don't act like a Merchant."
"I can, at times," Clay responded reluctantly. The traits associated with the Merchant House did not place their ranks in the best light. "My brain operates in numbers and currency."
"Really?" Kiarra's voice rang with interest. "Will you explain, please?"
"I can perform complex computations in my head without paper or an abacus. When faced with a problem, I analyze statistical evidence to calculate the best option. I automatically labeled your hair in shades of rare metals and colors of currency, which I am somewhat embarrassed to admit. I have the ability to judge the best person with which to enact a sales transaction."
"My sister must love you."
Clay shrugged. "What is not Merchant-like about me is that I can't tolerate falseness or actions taken for the sake of manipulating a situation. Your sister likes me because I am second tier Merchant House. She would like to use me for her own gain." He realized belatedly that he was speaking ill of Kiarra's sister, but she didn't appear upset. He didn’t imagine there was much love lost between the siblings.
"You are very intuitive - and again, noticeably not Merchant like. Most individuals can't detect those traits about my sister under short acquaintance. They see a beautiful, intelligent woman."
"That's what I see before me now," Clay responded, wincing after the words escaped. His brain to mouth filter was severely impaired while in this woman's presence.
Kiarra, much to his surprise, laughed. "Not as beautiful as my sister and the tests seriously challenge my intelligence quotient."
Clay wondered who had been telling her such lies and filling her head with doubt. "I don't think you are less attractive than your sister. Your beauty is unique. As far as your intelligence, perhaps there is something wrong with whoever is judging the tests," Clay lowered his voice. They could hear the voices of the other students outside the building and his words bordered on treasonous. Kiarra studied him with narrowed eyes.
"Perhaps," she spoke slowly as she tied off her newly finished plait.
The bell rang, and Clay realized he hadn't eaten anything but a couple bites of his sandwich. He devoured the last few mouthfuls and followed with a drink of water, steeling himself for an afternoon of continued mentoring. He hoped Kiarra remained in his group. She would brighten his entire experience.
Chapter Ten
Kiarra
The man from Merchant House intrigued me. It wasn't just his rugged good looks that captured my attention, although I might add that his handsomeness didn't detract from my interest. Every girl in the room, even those from other Houses, enjoyed his appearance. I noted the coy looks from behind hands and heard the whispered giggles.
The Merchant’s strong jaw, whiskered chin
, and crooked nose lent themselves to a rough handsomeness that didn't scream wealth and privilege despite the fine cut of his gold tunic. When he pulled the twig from my hair, I had noted calluses on his palms and fingers. Merchant House did not employ manual laborers, especially not within second tier, meaning he had acquired the roughened skin during his free time. His hair was a golden brown, like the waving fields of wheat beyond the wall. It was long, tied into a braid that trailed halfway down his back. I imagined it was beautiful when unbound. He also seemed uncomfortable with the female attention directed his way, despite his flirtations with me. Typically, handsome men cloaked themselves in arrogance as consuming as their House colors.
Clay hadn't stood from behind the large desk since I had arrived. I wagered a bet, since I was being tutored in all things Merchant today, that he was hiding something. I answered questions in a distracted manner as he asked them, performing computations in my head much easier than usual. Evidently, today was the day I mastered proficiency in currency. I hoped those days coincided with my paydays, but my knowledge was decidedly unpredictable.
As the day progressed, my sister became more and more irritated. By the end of the school day, I was certain I would have an unpleasant evening at home. Delia had the unfortunate habit of stamping her feet and throwing objects when she was angry. I had apologized to the lovely family housed beneath us more than once for tolerating her tantrums.
The final bell rang, and I wouldn't have caught Clay's visible sigh of relief unless I hadn’t been specifically expecting it. My spying skills were also surfacing today because I had no intention of leaving the room until I discovered what the attractive Merchant concealed. Those suspicions might be tied up in my erratic Merchant House traits, though. The illustrious men and women of Merchant House always sought duplicity in other's actions.
"Would you like me to walk you back to Merchant House?" Delia queried sweetly, propping up her breasts with her school books. To Clay's credit, his eyes didn't dip below her chin. Not that Delia had much in that department. My chest and my bottom were the two areas in which I claimed obvious superiority to her.
"No thank you, Miss Walton," Clay returned politely. The man had patience. He might be the least hot headed person I'd ever met. I liked his calm stability; it reminded me of the other men I had met in the last day. I frowned as the thought blossomed in my mind, distracting me from my current task. I needed to talk to my mother. Since seeing Mason and Ian again this morning, I had realized my life had developed another predicament, disregarding the original dilemma of my imminent testing for a moment. Certainly, it wasn't normal to meet several men and have no distinct preference over one of them? Just like my interest in the five Houses, each of the men possessed traits which attracted and intrigued me. I couldn't banish a single one of them from my whirling thoughts for any length of time.
The room cleared within moments. Master Blevins and the other teachers left just as rapidly as the students. I lingered a moment, ignoring the death glare my sister directed towards me before she flung her hair and retreated with a scowl. I tried to stall, but the action was more than obvious as I hadn't even brought my books so I had nothing to gather.
Clay lingered behind the sheltering desk. I could see the gears turned in his mind, intriguing me even further. Finally, my patience gave. "What are you hiding?" I asked in a soft tone, not wanting the question to sound accusatory. His startled green eyes met mine. They were bright, the color of precious jade stone and green grass. His tanned skin flushed again; I had never met a man so prone to blushing as he. I found the quality endearing.
He didn't answer verbally. Instead, he ducked beneath the desk and slipped a pack over his back before bending again and retrieving two long sticks. They had leather straps over the ends which he slipped his forearms into. Each arm rested from the elbow to the wrist on the padded surface of the gnarled wood. Using these two sticks, he heaved himself to his feet, emerging from behind the desk at last. His calves were thinner than his muscular upper body, both feet bent inward at the ankles. The sticks helped him walk with an almost normal gait. He easily supported his weight while also moving in a fashion that would prevent tripping. His skin colored further. This was the reason behind the insecurity I had sensed.
"Why do you hide?" I sidled closer to him. I thought he might bolt as fast as his sticks could carry him, but I wouldn't let him flee. He had no reason to hide his legs. I hadn't realized how tall he was. Even with his posture reduced on the sticks, he towered a head taller than I.
"Isn't it obvious?" There was no bitterness in his voice, just calm resignation. Whether he had been born this way or had acquired the infirmity later in life, he had come to terms with his injuries.
"Not to me, it isn't." I laid a hand gently on his forearm. The action of using the sticks made his upper body far more muscular than any other Merchants I had encountered. His flesh warmed under my hand and tingles of pleasure shocked my fingers. He cleared his throat and made his way from the room, dislodging my arm. My cheeks burned, fearing I had taken too much liberty with him. I was not a flirtatious woman, but he had seemed to be interested in me earlier. He looked back at me, though, and I took his glance as an invitation to walk with him. I kept pace beside him, noting that the crutches did not impede him at all. His hands were unable to hold anything, but that was the only obvious difference.
"Many would disagree with you," Clay murmured.
"Perhaps there is something wrong with those that are judging you," I rejoined. He smiled, his teeth flashing and I rejoiced in the same echo of his confidence from earlier. I held the door open for him as we walked out, a courtesy I would have provided anyone. He nodded his thanks.
"Do you mind if I asked how your injury happened?"
Clay glanced at me as we crossed Low Road and continued along Fenton. Walking through the city would be the fastest route to Merchant House. "I wouldn't mind at all, actually. Most everyone I meet tiptoes around the subject. I imagine they are worried about offending my sensibilities, but I would rather it be acknowledged than danced around."
I filed away this nugget of information. He appreciated the direct approach but didn't want me touching him, which communicated that he had no romantic interest in me. The realization hurt deep inside my chest. I tried to convince myself it was for the best. I had enough men on my mind.
There weren't many citizens on the road separating Scholar House from Information House. A small park filled the lower tier of the Quarter between the two Houses, but the area was sparsely populated at this time of day. Most days after school, I would linger under the trees and recline on the lush grass. This time of year, the greenery was waking from a long winter, tender buds shooting up from the ground and sprinkling the trees with color.
The third tier supported the hospital and city library, the second and first tiers boasted the massive University building where my mother was currently hard at work. School children were dismissed earlier than the workers to avoid clogging traffic on the streets. Those too young to go home on their own stayed at school until their parents retrieved them.
"The incident occurred when I was nine," Clay began. "I grew up in Sheldrake Port and was fishing on the docks when a ship worker accidentally upended a crate on my legs. Luckily, the doctor was able to save my feet. I was fortunate I didn't need them both amputated. The old ship-worker was so apologetic, he carved my first set of crutches. I practiced endlessly to walk with them. I refused to spend the rest of my life in one of those wheeled chairs they use in the hospital."
We passed by the mentioned hospital. Some stared at Clay with blatant curiosity, but others slid their eyes away lest they be caught staring. Crippled citizens were not an unusual sight, but they were not usually clothed in second tier tunics or robes. Clay kept his eyes focused ahead as he walked and I noted his balance was better than my clumsy feet on the uneven cobblestones. The closer we got to the palace, the smoother the roads became. I couldn't decide how to respond to his
story. I was certain he didn't want my sympathy. My housing unit loomed and I glanced over at him.
"Do you mind if I walk you to Merchant House?" I queried, my fingers tangling together in nervousness. He had denied my sister the same request. He stilled his crutches and turned halfway towards me. His green eyes bored into me. People moved around us, and I caught several stares directed our way.
"It depends." His voice was deep, the vibration settling pleasantly in the center of my chest. "Are you accompanying me to help me?"
I cocked my head at him. "Surely you are jesting? You are far more balanced than I. In fact, I am more worried I would be the cause of you falling. I have tripped twice since leaving the school house, and you have tripped not at all." I twisted my braid, staring at my clumsy feet. "I am enjoying your company."
"Then I would be glad of your presence."
I looked up to catch his brilliant smile. The genuine gesture caused his jeweled eyes to twinkle. It also had the unfortunate side effect of making my heart pound within my chest. "I wasn't certain," I replied breathlessly, "you told my sister no."
His eyes roamed my face as if memorizing my features. "Do you think your sister would have accompanied me after I stood and showed her my feet?"
I scrunched my nose as I realized the answer. "No. She would have found a convenient excuse to rescind her offer. I apologize for my sister's rudeness, or the rudeness she would have shown anyway," I babbled as we resumed walking.
He shrugged one shoulder, the action not disturbing his gait. His feet made scraping noises on the cobblestones as they drug crookedly. "I doubt her attitude is your fault," he answered. I couldn't help but laugh. No, the fault lay with my father. They were both cut from the same cloth. Her selfishness was certainly a byproduct of his bitterness at Mum or simply a genetic trait Rowan and I had both escaped.
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