Lady of Drith

by Chad Huskins

  Drea stood up and started walking away. The fury that lived in her belly demanded to come out, though. She stopped at the edge of the gazebo and looked back at the governess. “Taja, you forgot my other assignment.”

  “Oh? And what was that?”

  “The task you gave me yesterday, to come up with a statement that cannot be refuted by anyone or any argument.”

  Osween smiled. “Very well. Let’s hear it.”

  Drea glared at her. “I love Thryis Ardenk.”

  The governess’s smile died a slow death.

  “Go on, Taja. Go on, refute me! Disprove the statement! Go on!”

  Osween’s nostrils flared. “You are dismissed,” she said coldly.

  “I said—” Drea took a step towards her. “Refute me!”

  Osween stood up, her lip twitching. “Impudent bitch! I’ve half a mind to throttle you, but I already have the satisfaction of knowing that, with you as the last, your bloodline will soon be wiped from the face of the earth!”

  Drea ground her teeth, clenched her fists.

  “You are dismissed,” Osween hissed.

  Drea spun, and stormed off to do her work with her new-sisters, who were apparently still sulking about Drea having had a private word with Hyra herself. Saephis especially seemed sullen.

  That night, in her cottage, Drea stared at the table where she did much of her drawings, her eyes raking over the room, her mind considering the message she’d found inside the ceramic container.

  Your father’s death was no accident, and your mother did not kill herself. I have proof. Come to me, Drea Kalder.

  In two more nights, she would have to decide. Lady Blackveil had instructed her to meet. If she was going to go to the Forum and meet with a strange woman—one who apparently killed men easily, if Thryis hadn’t totally imagined it—then Drea needed to make a decision soon.

  I cannot go alone. Thryis will go with me, I have no doubt, but what if we should run into trouble?

  Drea knew from firsthand experience that the city streets were no place for women walking alone.

  She considered the weapon she had hidden under her bed. She looked back out the window, at the trees soughing lightly in a breeze. “You have to decide soon, Drea girl,” she muttered to herself.

  She turned to face the portrait of Thryis, which some slave had retrieved for her and brought back to the cottage. Probably Fengin.

  The audacity of the old woman to forbid Thryis to visit ever again, it’s too much to be borne!

  Before she knew it, Drea had balled up her fist and swung at an empty mug sitting on her desk. It smashed against the wall and fell to the floor in a dozen pieces. She stood there huffing, staring at those pieces…

  Drea turned and stared at the portrait, looking into the girl’s face. I love Thryis Ardenk. Those words had come out of her before she could think. Taja Osween had that affect on her.

  Perhaps I love her too much, for now I find myself not wanting her to come with me to meet Lady Blackveil. If something were to happen to her…my life would be empty.

  And Drea was afraid. Did she dare ask the person she loved most for such a colossal favor?

  It was in that moment that Drea suddenly saw Thryis as a precious resource that she was terrified of losing. It was in that very moment that she realized she didn’t just love Thryis Ardenk.

  I’m in love with her.

  The realization hit her like a whipcrack, and the sheer unavoidable truth of it would not allow her to sleep for quite some time.

  She stared at the fireplace, where the flames had died out and only incandescent embers remained. And I told Hyra—or whoever that woman was—I told her I wanted control. It had felt right at the time, but now that she thought about it, it was ridiculous, for a woman wasn’t supposed to have any control over anything. That was the Law. And if Drea wanted to change the Law…

  I wouldn’t just need control over a few people. I would need control over the citizens of Drith. Over the Senate.

  Over everyone.

  An idea suddenly occurred to her, a dangerous one. And it was derived from the inscription on the very first page of The Way. Drea cracked open the book, and read it again,

  Through my words, I create actions.

  Through my actions, I gain influence.

  Through my influence, I am granted power.

  The words soaked in slowly, and Drea marinated on them…

  For the first time ever, she wondered how a woman might find a way to influence the Senate. It was a passing thought, but it soon returned, and would not leave her.

  Drea drifted off to sleep thinking about this, wondering if she would have the courage, come tomorrow, to face Taja Osween again after the exchange they had had.

  There was distant thunder. A flash of red lightning. A brief spark of flame in the sky.

  It appeared the augurs had been correct. A fellstorm was indeed on its way.

  : Seshqii:

  The day that Drea was supposed to meet Lady Blackveil, her stomach was in knots. The fellstorm had been growing for days, and the fell-lightning was getting larger, streaking across the sky in a red blaze.

  The snow, which had started the day before, hadn’t let up, and the fires in the sky provided an eerie contradiction to the coldness of the day.

  Drea went through her lessons with Osween with little incident. The governess had only commented on yet another of Drea’s charcoal drawings, and had judged her understanding of astrology.

  “You know enough to get your head around the meaning of the movements of the moons and weather clouds,” Osween told her before dismissing her for the day. “But not nearly enough to forecast your own future.”

  Well, of course, Drea thought while walking away. If I were a master of telling the future, do you think I would’ve wound up here with you?

  She attended her new-sisters in the clothroom, and together they finished a blanket they had started the day before.

  All through her work, Drea found herself wondering about tonight’s errand. Was she truly going to go to the Forum at the Hour of the Crow to meet with some murderess? A strong part of her wanted to, but the more sensible half of Drea’s brain couldn’t imagine it.

  But then the other part of her mind argued that if there was even a chance that the scroll’s contents were true, then she needed to find out.

  Midway through the Hour of the Horse, Vaedris dismissed her sisters from their work. She didn’t say why the early interruption, and Drea didn’t question it. Drea returned to her cottage and sketched a little, then found herself opening up The Way once more, this time to a chapter on the Fourth Precept, which she hadn’t thoroughly covered yet.

  The Fourth Precept, she read. Always deceive. Never allow the truth of you to be known. If you are strong, make your opponents think you are weak. If you are weak, make them think you are strong. Keep them off-balance.

  But do not forget the Second Precept, which says you mustn’t lie often. Your strength and your weakness should merely be suggested through your actions or inactions, but never specifically stated to your enemies. Let them discover your weaknesses—which, of course, you will have carefully planned for them to find.

  Always deceive, but do so by suggestion whenever possible. This Precept is all-important for maintaining the Glamour.

  The book kept hammering this point. The Glamour was how you wanted the world to perceive you. The Way stressed that the only way to do this was through careful deception, for one could never truly be all things to all people.

  The Way beckoned the reader to wear many “masks,” to be a kind of social shapeshifter. But it also urged the reader not to become so caught up in their own performance that they forgot what their ultimate goal was.

  Your goal is power and control, the book said. Never lose focus on this.

  “A most deceitful text,” Drea muttered, flipping through the chapters, until she landed randomly on the Fourteenth Precept. You can have love, you can have power. But
you cannot have both.

  Drea thought this was the most disgusting excerpt, for it described love as something perverse, to be avoided at all cost if one truly sought control. Still, she read on.

  You must resist your heart, resist your instincts, the book said. Remember that your ultimate goal is long-term, but what the heart wants is always short-term. A spring love freezes in the winter, and a winter love quickly melts come spring. Love is not forever, only power is forever.

  Drea flipped further on, finding the first page of the Seventeenth Precept. Play a fool to catch a fool, the book advised. Always appear dumber than the person you mean to control.

  She flipped further, coming to the Fifteenth Precept. Be inventive, the book instructed. Utilize other attack methods besides the sword or poison. Use misdirection. If you can, let others do your dirty work for you—

  She would have read further, but there came a knock at the door. Drea put the book away and stood up. “Yes? Come in.”

  When the door opened, she was surprised to find Daedron Syphen stepping inside. He nodded curtly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all.” She bowed. “I was just catching up on some reading. How can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you were all right out here.” He pointed at the window. “A full-on fellstorm is almost upon us, and I wanted to make sure you were secure in here.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you for checking on me, but I’m fine.”

  Daedron stood there a moment, looking a little awkward.

  “Was there something else?”

  He smiled. “I have to confess, I had other motives for coming out here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Tell me, have you ever seen the entire house? It seems you’ve been mostly relegated to the cottage, to the parlour and gazebo where you have your lessons, and to the clothroom.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing the whole house.”

  “Well then, what’s say we take a turn about the place?”

  Daedron offered his elbow, and Drea took it. She couldn’t say why, but she felt a tad more relaxed around Daedron than she did with his sisters. Perhaps it was because she suspected he was courting her for an eventual marriage proposal, and that gave her something she had never had in House Syphen: an ally.

  But whatever the case, it was a refreshing distraction from the storm, and from her anger over Osween’s dismissal of Thryis.

  They crossed the snow-covered lawn, and fell-lightning crashed hard overhead. Fellstorms were so contradictory—snow on the ground, fire in the sky. Terrible but beautiful, that’s how Drea’s mother had once described it.

  The house was larger than Drea had even previously estimated. The halls on the second floor were wide and expansive, and filled with wax masks that held the impressions of past Syphenus, many of them having that same penetrating, hawk-like gaze that Phaedos Syphen held.

  There were tiny altars to the gods, which were kept up by slaves at all times with fragrant flowers, incense, and freshly spilled animal intestines for sacrifice.

  Drea’s nose wrinkled at the stench.

  “I apologize for this hall,” Daedron said. “I know it’s redolent with odors. But we have to pass through it to reach the gameroom.”

  Drea smiled politely. “These sacrifices merely prove that House Syphen is a godly House.”

  “We certainly show our appreciation.”

  Outside, thunder rolled across the world. From a nearby window, they could see fell-lightning briefly setting the clouds on fire.

  “My uncle thinks it’s important to thank the gods for our good fortune,” Daedron said.

  “Your fortunes have been many,” she said.

  When they stepped into the gameroom, Drea found a place that looked not too dissimilar from a study. The room was filled with bookshelves and gameboard tables.

  Daedron waved her to a seat. “Do you play?”

  Drea looked at the table in front of her. On top of it were the pawns and tiles of a seshqii set, a popular strategy game. She took her seat, and said, “I only understand the basics of the game.”

  “The basics are all that’s required to play,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “I find that playing often distracts from the stresses of life.”

  Another peel of thunder rattled the windows, and the gameroom lit up with the horrible, beautiful light of fell-lightning.

  On each side of the table, the players had cups filled with twenty wooden tiles—one player’s tiles were painted red, the other’s were painted white. The board itself was made up of sixty-four squares, and the players took turns placing a tile on any empty square. After all the pieces had been placed, the players took turns moving the pieces around the board, attempting to capture each other’s pieces.

  “Ladies take white,” Daedron said. “Which means you go first.”

  “Thank you,” Drea said, and made her opening move.

  Daedron took a moment to gauge her move, then responded by moving one of his outside tiles. “I suppose you’re aware that the next three-moon day is tomorrow?”

  “No, I wasn’t aware.”

  “Yes, the augurs have declared it. The Triumverate will be made the official presiders over the Senate. Uncle Phaedos will be among three men who has final say in all senatorial matters, whose voting powers will be second to none. That effectively makes House Syphen a ruling family, one of three presiding over all of Drith and its Empire.”

  “My congratulations,” Drea said, moving another piece on the board. “It would appear your uncle’s devotion to the gods has paid off.”

  Daedron reached out to capture one of her pieces and removed it from the board. “It certainly doesn’t hurt to remember the gods.”

  Drea responded by taking one of Daedron’s own pieces. “My father always said so.”

  They played in silence for a bit, the storm still mounting outside. Heavy snow and ice began to smack against the window, sounding like the blades of tiny fairies trying to get in.

  “Do you think this city’s cursed?” Drea asked.

  Daedron moved one of his pieces. “How do you mean?”

  “The fellstorm. The loremaster say it’s a curse, leftover from some angry sorcerer ages ago.”

  “It’s hard for me to imagine someone hating Drith so much they would curse it.”

  “You love this city.”

  “To my very core,” Daedron said. And Drea believed him. For a Syphen, he had an unusually genuine quality about him.

  Daedron captured two more of Drea’s pieces, and Drea captured three of his.

  “You’re quite good at this game,” he said, smiling.

  “I’m just lucky tonight.” She made another move, one that left her open to an attack from two of his pieces.

  “Luck has little to do with it. I can see that you don’t just have the rudiments of the game down, you have a mind for strategizing. It’s subtle, but it’s slowly revealing itself.” He smiled, and moved one of his tiles away from hers. “Like here. You’ve left yourself open so as to give me an easy capture.”

  “You flatter me, but it was honestly just a silly mistake.”

  Daedron shook his head. “It wasn’t a mistake, you were luring me in.” He smiled. “You have a subtle mind. One that works slowly and thinks about things before making a final decision. I imagine you comprehend more than you let on. Indeed, you may not even know you’re doing it.”

  “I’m sure I would know if I was trying to be subtle,” Drea said, moving another of her pieces.

  “I doubt it,” Daedron said. “Subtlety is a gift, and those with it usually don’t even know they’re capable of it. Such is the nature of being subtle; you deceive even yourself.” He chuckled, and moved a piece to try and isolate one of Drea’s tiles. “Do you know what I think?”

  “What?” Drea said, feeling suspicious of him as she moved her piece out of danger.

  “I think that you had long-term plans f
or survival the moment you walked into these halls. I think you were already working out ways of achieving your goals.”

  “What goals would those be?”

  “The Way teaches that men’s goals are typically set in stone, whereas the goals of women are more…malleable. Like clay. Capable of shifting quickly when a new opportunity presents itself. Men are gifted at boldness, but are shortsighted. Women are gifted with a longer view, but they often lack decisiveness.”

  “Is that so?” Drea said.

  “It is. The Way says that women are so adaptable because your gender is used to being pawned off on others, shuffled from one family to another. You have to be a lady at all times, laugh at men’s jokes, be pretty and presentable at a moment’s notice. You’re trained from birth to adapt. To be chameleons.”

  Drea said nothing, just watched him move his piece, then moved hers. And she couldn’t help it, when she saw the opportunity to capture two of his pieces, she did so.

  Daedron noticed it and smiled. “So, in a way, your coming here has made you smarter, wiser, even more accepting of change.” His smile grew wider. Daedron was handsome enough most of the time, but certain smiles of his weakened the effect. “Perhaps that’s why the All-God, in his wisdom, made Hyra a woman.”

  Drea shrugged, and maintained her straight-backed composure, the very model of propriety and casualness. “If we don’t adapt, we die,” she said. “Men who study the natural sciences often observe this in animals and even plants.”

  “That is so. Tell me something else interesting.” Daedron gestured at the board in front of them. “Tell me something about this game.”

  Distill the Glamour, she thought. The notion came quite out of nowhere, but she accepted the inspiration in the moment and looked over at her opponent. “Did you know,” she said slowy, “that there are more possible games of seshqii than there are grains of sand in all the oceans of the world?”