by M. S. Verish
“Where’d she come from?”
“The Land of the Hunchbacks, obviously.”
“They found her begging at the castle gates. One of the garrison felt bad and took her in.”
“We should invite all the ugly foreign beggars to serve His Majesty. What a fine staff we would be.”
“Watch yourself, Mary. Barendorn’s daughter has taken a shine to her. Had her moved from the kitchen to the library.”
“Then that’s where she should be kept—where no one has to lay eyes on her.”
The bread in Kariayla’s mouth had turned into a tasteless lump of dough. She fought to swallow it, but she fought harder to hold back her tears. Her head hung over her bowl, the meager content of which was but a blur. She knew she should leave before they saw her face.
“Oh, I think you hurt her feelings.”
“Should I care? I’m entitled to speak my mind. I’m not saying anything she doesn’t know.”
“Spill your tears somewhere else,” one directed. “We’re trying to finish our meal in peace.”
“Go on! Away with you!”
Kariayla felt a shove. She brushed her sleeve over her eyes to clear her sight when she was pushed again—harder. Awkwardly she stood and collected her bowl. Without looking at anyone, she headed for the counter as quickly as her feet would take her. The entire hall was murmurs and snickers. Her cheeks burned, and so did her eyes. She did not care if she starved; all she wanted was to be alone.
A sudden obstruction snared her leg, and she was falling forward before she knew what was happening. She landed on the filthy floor, the remaining soup from the bowl soaking into her clothes. The vessel itself had clattered away with the spoon—beyond her reach. There was a moment of silence before the hall filled with laughter.
Kariayla clambered for her bowl, but just as she was about to snare it, someone kicked it away. She reached again, and a foot pushed her back to the ground. She nearly cried out in pain, but even if she had, it would not have been heard above the din. Pinned beneath the boot and frozen with humiliation, she lay there in misery, wondering if this was all not some horrific nightmare.
But then the laughter went away, subsiding to the cold, steady pressure that seized her mind. Her breathing slowed, her heart marched calmly onward, and she looked up to meet the gaze of her antagonist. “Let. Me. Go.”
The man laughed and shifted his foot, but he did not relent.
“Let me go,” Kariayla repeated, and though she had not raised her voice, her words penetrated the surrounding noise like a bitter frost. The man’s eyes widened, and his momentary surprise was time enough for her to break free of him and quit the hall.
She did not remember the journey to the library. Her senses did not return to her until she was standing inside her cell, a lit candle in her hand. She set the candle down as she began to tremble. “What is wrong with me?” she whispered, overcome by emotion. She sank to the floor and closed her eyes, squeezing the remaining tears from them. “What do I do? Great Ones, please help me.”
The silence and the darkness of the library cradled her, broken only by the sound of Kariayla’s breathing. Was this the only peace she would ever know? Slowly she extended herself like a snail from its shell. With great care she lifted the bulky shirt over her head and began to untie the bindings that constricted her chest. She shivered against the cool air, but the anticipated freedom was worth the chill.
With a long, pained breath, she exhaled, at the same time allowing a pair of dark, leathery wings to unfold. Though she could not stretch them completely in the small room, she felt she could finally move again. The darkness, the solitude—it belonged to her—for only in such times could she truly be herself, alone with her secret and her shame. She closed her wings around her and wept, a prisoner to this kingdom, and a prisoner to herself.
2
An Opportunity
“Where were you last night?”
Kariayla kept her back angled toward the young woman as she replaced another book upon the shelf. “Where am I any given night?” she asked.
The porcelain doll who followed her did not relent. “Kariayla, please. I went to the servants’ hall to find you, but you were not there. Unless you skipped dinner—”
“I didn’t,” Kariayla mumbled. “I had forgotten something, and I needed to come here.”
There was a pause as the young woman studied her. “You are not so good a liar.”
“I am not lying. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the peace and quiet of my cell.” At last she turned to look up at her friend. “I’d rather not speak of dinner.”
The scrutiny turned to sympathy. “What happened?”
Kariayla frowned. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Slender, alabaster fingers gently took hold of Kariayla’s arm. “I heard you, but I know there was an injustice done. Is it so wrong to express concern for one’s friend?”
Kariayla looked away. “Why are you my friend, Eleana? You have nothing to gain in associating with me.”
Eleana’s hand dropped. “Is that all you think of me? Is that how little you think of yourself?”
“I’m sorry.”
Eleana flicked back a lock of wavy gold. “I care about you. If I did not, I would not have had you moved here, to the library. I do not want your gratitude; I want your friendship. That is all.” She guided Kariayla toward a table and made her set down the armload of books she had been carrying.
Kariayla could not help but glance around to see if the head librarian was watching. She did not see him, but each book seemed to be an extension of his awareness. Doubtless he would round the corner at any moment and—
“Do not worry yourself over him,” Eleana said, drawing back her slender shoulders. “I have it on good authority that he will no longer be standing over you with his orders.”
“I won’t be—”
“Do calm down,” Eleana said. “Allow me to elaborate, since I could not do so last night.” She drew out a chair. “You should sit.”
Kariayla sat, watching the noblewoman expectantly.
“I am to be wed.”
“By the Spirits, that is wonderful!”
“Is it?” Eleana produced an envelope and withdrew a letter. “This is from the Duke and Duchess Barendorn: my parents.” Her painted lips drooped as her eyes seemed to burn through the envelope. She did not open it, though her hand brandished it like a knife. “They are coming here to discuss my marriage to Lord Sabastian Gallant of Thorondon.”
Kariayla said nothing, uncertain how to interpret her friend’s fortune. Eleana had come to embody her ideal of Human nobility. She was beautiful, educated, kind, and perhaps a little headstrong. Her parents had sent her to the castle to learn the etiquette of a proper young lady, and it seemed only a matter of time before a suitor would be found. Kariayla would admit only to herself that she slightly envied the certainty of Eleana’s future.
“I knew this day would come,” Eleana said, setting the letter down, “and I had thought I would be accepting of it. There is, however, one problem.”
Kariayla leaned forward.
“I have fallen in love,” Eleana whispered.
“With whom?” Kariayla asked, surprised.
“A squire. Fredrick is his name. Do you know him?”
Kariayla shook her head. Though she had come to the castle nearly a year before Eleana, Kariayla was not familiar with the majority of the castle’s occupants. This was, in part, because of her status as a slave, but it was also because she had no cause or desire to be overly social. She was nearly invisible to others, and those who did acknowledge her did so only out of necessity. Eleana, of course, was the exception.
“He is dashing and handsome. And we meet every day after lunch to talk,” Eleana said wistfully, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “He is always very polite, and he said—” She bit her lip, and her face colored. Kariayla thought she might cry.
“What was it he said?” she asked gently.
>
Eleana swallowed and straightened. “He said that if he had been born of higher blood, he would already have my hand.” She took a breath and looked away. “If it was my decision, I would have given it to him.”
“Does he know of Lord Sabastian?”
“Not at present, but I must tell him soon. There is naught to be done. I envy the freedom of peasantry—” Eleana stopped when her gaze returned to Kariayla. “Forgive me for such a heartless comment. I know of your hardships, and I could not endure as you do with such strength.”
You do not know of my hardships, and there is nothing of strength to be found in me, Kariayla thought, rubbing her own back. I merely exist because it is all I can do.
“I admire your strength, Kariayla, and I hate to see you spend your days in this dark and dusty library. You are my friend, and because you are dear to me, I have come to a decision. I will have you at my side in this new life I must embrace. I choose you to be my lady-in-waiting.”
Kariayla’s hand dropped to her side, just as her lips parted without the hope of a response.
Eleana smiled. “You will come with me to Thorondon.”
“Eh—”
“Does that mean you are pleased?” Eleana teased, apparently delighting in her reaction.
“I…I can’t begin to say… I am honored—I—” She brought her hands to her face and shook her head.
“I have not written word of this to my parents,” Eleana said, “but they will not refuse me. It is my only request of them if this marriage must take place.”
I am your only request? It was too much to believe.
“I will need to have you fitted for a proper dress to wear to dinner.”
Kariayla felt the warmth leave her face. “Dinner?”
“Of course. I will present you to my parents at dinner the night they arrive.” She patted Kariayla’s arm. “Do not look so frightened! I will coach you in proper etiquette. That is, after all, my purpose here. You will do well.”
Kariayla reluctantly drew her hands from her face to fold them tightly upon the table. It’s not my etiquette that concerns me. How do I stuff a pair of wings into a gown?
*
It was one matter to work in the shadows of the library, sorting and shelving books, transcribing scrolls and fragile texts; it was another matter entirely to be someone’s shadow. And when that someone was Lady Eleana Barendorn, even a lowly attendant earned attention. Kariayla found herself especially vulnerable to scrutiny, for she was every bit the opposite of the young noblewoman. Eleana was a painted rose: flawless white skin with a carmine bloom to her lips and cheeks. Her sun-gold hair and sky-blue eyes were like a glimpse of summer in the castle’s dim corridors, and her dainty feet carried her with the grace of a wistful cloud. Her dresses filled curves and colors around her slender frame, and like a kitten, she inspired smiles wherever she tread.
If storm clouds were the backdrop of rainbows, then Kariayla filled the role well. Her black hair and dark skin marked her as an obvious foreigner as she trailed quietly behind her high-born charge. Her diminutive size and bulky clothes only accentuated the hidden mass that rounded out her back. There was nothing bright or attractive about her, and even her steps were weighted with the shameful burden of her past. Whispers from nobility and servants alike fell after her like raindrops, collecting in social puddles that reflected the gloom she felt inside. Kariayla tried to seal her senses from the criticism and rumors; her time was coming. She would leave Belorn’s castle for the open world beyond. She had every reason to be hopeful.
“I have arranged for the tailor to measure you for your dresses today,” Eleana announced in her sing-song voice as Kariayla brushed her hair.
The brush clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” Kariayla murmured and bent to retrieve it.
“The herald has announced the arrival of my parents for tomorrow night. You have done well with all I have taught you; they will never know that you had any role other than my attendant.”
Kariayla frowned. “But there is one matter,” she said, unsure how to express herself. She gestured to her back. “I can’t wear a dress.”
Eleana seemed unconcerned. “Nonsense. I have already considered that matter. There are many styles of dresses. We have only to pick the right one.”
Kariayla bit her lip. “Perhaps, but I…” She turned her gaze away from the mirror. I should tell her. I should show her my wings. I will have to soon, if I am to be her lady-in-waiting. I have to trust her as she clearly trusts me. She has not judged me as a foreigner or as a slave. Maybe she—
“You have nothing to fear; all eyes will be upon Medoriate Prentishun. He is not even Human.”
Kariayla’s thoughts shattered, and she looked at her friend, speechless.
Eleana smiled. “If you have not seen him, then I know you have heard word of his presence at the castle. He would be the gentleman with the red skin—a ‘Blood Mage’ from Mystland. You see, my parents are the open-minded sort, and they have sponsored his stay in Belorn. He is here for the library, as curator of some magical museum in wizard territory. I can’t imagine what he hopes to find in that old, dusty storage room.”
“Medoriate Prentishun will be at dinner?” Kariayla asked.
“As he is every night,” Eleana said with a wave of her hand. “He is a guest in the castle. I think he is quite the spectacle.”
Kariayla recovered her senses and began to braid the noblewoman’s hair. “So he is a wizard?”
“He must be, to look as he does. I think he is rather rude and boring. He seldom greets anyone, and when he does speak, he goes on and on about events in history. He is also never without a cup of wine. Anyway, I have nothing to say to him. I am as polite as I must be, and that is all.”
Kariayla nodded and finished her task, binding Eleana’s hair with a ribbon. Any notion of revealing her wings had vanished like the morning dew.
“I cannot wait to show you the dress you will wear tonight. The color will be stunning on you—a deep green like the pine boughs. There is a length of fabric that will cover your neck and shoulders, but it will look elegant….”
Eleana chattered excitedly as Kariayla tidied the room. She slept on a pallet beside Eleana’s bed—a vast improvement from the cot in the library. Unfortunately, privacy was no longer a luxury, and she suffered the consequences of neglecting her wings. She wondered if she would not be crippled before she could ever return to her homeland. I will have to tell her. After dinner, if all goes well. Then, maybe….
“You are awfully quiet, Kariayla. Have I upset you?”
Kariayla turned to find her friend staring at her with concern. “No,” she said quickly. “I just hope that your parents will approve of me.”
Eleana folded her arms. “They will adore you as I do. My entire future is guided by their approval, and the least they can allow is for me to have my lady-in-waiting.” Her pout softened into a frown. “Jedinom’s Grace, I do not know if I can bear it.” She crossed the room to the bed and sank down upon it, her hands covering her eyes.
Kariayla rushed to her side, a handkerchief in hand. “You mean the marriage,” she murmured.
Eleana nodded through her tears. “The thought of marrying a stranger, heading off to his manor to serve him for the rest of his life… He could be cruel, he could be vile. I will leave my heart behind with Fredrick. That is the only true promise I can make.” She accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
Say something to console her. It is your purpose to ease her grief. Say something! But Kariayla could think of nothing. She knew about fate and the hardships of a future dictated by others. There had been no solace for her either. “I will be with you,” Kariayla said, taking her hand. “And that is my promise.”
*
The dress alone would have drawn all eyes to her, for no amount of binding could have kept the black, leathery appendages from protruding from the silken material. Kariayla had insisted upon solitude when she dressed—even threatened tears
so that the tailor would not be there to gaze upon her disfigured body. She felt guilty for cutting the beautiful gown to accommodate her wings, but otherwise she would not have fit inside it. The saving feature was a cloak-like wrap that fastened around her neck and shoulders, concealing what could not be concealed. Standing before the mirror, she stared at her image, wondering if she could salvage any feature of beauty when she felt so terribly ugly.
Worse than her appearance were the feelings of insecurity at being “presented” at dinner. As it was, her stomach had enough knots to put a sailor to shame. The inevitable knock came upon her door, and she found Eleana on the other side, beaming with pride. “You are stunning,” she said, sweeping a stray hair from Kariayla’s face. “You have nothing to worry about; just follow my lead.”
What followed was dizzying. She had never been at the Great Hall during dinner, and though Eleana had prepared her for the course of the meal, the sight of the king and queen seated at the high table nearly stopped Kariayla’s heart. Her thoughts were like a bird trapped inside a tower, fluttering between the bowing, the hearth, the seating, the utensils, the music of the minstrel, and the searching eyes of those around her. She did not quite feel a part of the setting, as though she was watching everything happen from a stranger’s eyes.
Kariayla had nearly forgotten the Blood Mage until she was seated, and the meal was underway. Medoriate Prentishun seemed completely aloof to the conversations at the table. He took more interest in what was on his plate and in his cup than the Humans surrounding him. Kariayla could not help but watch as he consumed every morsel of food, as slowly and carefully as an artist considers every brushstroke.
“This is my lady-in-waiting: Kariayla.”
Kariayla felt her ears burn at the introduction. She gave a polite nod but found it easier to stare at her spoon.
“‘Kariayla.’ What a lovely name,” said the Duchess Barendorn. “It is good that our daughter has a proper attendant.”
“She is my companion,” Eleana corrected. “I cannot think what I would do without her.”
“Such a close relationship,” the duchess remarked. “How came this to be?”
