~o0o~
Serwren saw dawn break through the windows set high in the stone walls of the stable. As the sky began to lighten, she began to explore her mind for something to hold onto, for a decision or an action. She wanted to believe that it had been a horrible nightmare, except that she was very definitely in the stables, not in her bed, and the tenderness and pain in her body refuted the pretty lie absolutely.
She was not convinced she was thinking entirely rationally when she decide that her first course of action should be to go back to her room and dispose of the bloodied sheets before anyone could find them. The only clear thought in her mind was that she did not want to have to explain the stains to anyone. Maybe, if she could hide the evidence, she could pretend it had never happened. She would hide the sheets. She would bathe, scrub herself clean, and then she would burn the evidence and no one need ever know.
With one last affectionate kiss for her mare, Serwren left the stables. She took the routes through the palace in which she would be least likely to encounter anyone.
When she got to her room, she stared dumbly at the pristine covers. They were not rumpled or disarrayed. Her bed was neatly made. She tore at the topmost covers, but the ones beneath were immaculately white and smelt of the fresh air and sun. The mess of spilt and smeared fruits was nowhere to be seen. She was too late.
“M’lady?”
Serwren bit back a cry of fright at the soft female voice behind her. She turned to find one of the maids standing in the open doorway.
“If you please, your father’s asking for you.”
Serwren couldn’t make words. Her throat was stuck fast. The maid was clearly waiting for an answer, so Serwren nodded. At that, the maid bobbed a curtsey and then turned and left her alone again.
Not knowing what to expect, in a state of mind beyond terror and confusion, Serwren unthinkingly followed the usual route to her father’s suite. It didn’t occur to her to care that there was straw in her hair, or smudges of dirt on her clothes, or that she was still barefoot.
Her hands were shaking so violently that she struggled to turn the knob on the door to her father’s rooms. It took several fumbling attempts before she managed to gain entry. She had barely closed the door behind her when her father stormed through the next doorway, his face twisted with fury.
“What is the meaning of this?” The question was demanded in little more than a vicious hiss. He punctuated it by throwing the bundle of bloody sheets from her bed at her.
Serwren made no move to catch the soiled material. She let it drop to the floor at her feet.
“It wasn’t Jorrell. Your young lover is still a gryphon’s ride away. So, daughter, who else have you been entertaining?”
Her father’s mocking scorn was like a blade between her ribs. Serwren stared mutely at the sheets, and wondered in a random thought how her father could misunderstand the violence painted on them.
“Erkas...” she croaked, but could not finish the thought, let alone the words that should follow it.
“No. Not you, too. The lies about your brother are damnable. How dare you collude with them?”
Something in that caught Serwren’s awareness. She looked up at her father, but the rage still burning in him took away any flicker of hope that she might have ever had.
“Father...” Her throat was dry. The word was barely audible, but her father wasn’t listening anyway.
“You whore. You have allowed yourself to be defiled. You made this choice, daughter. Not I. You will be married as soon as possible, to Consul Bornsig. Gods forbid that you be with child. Your engagement will be announced at the Feast of the Twelfth Moon.”
Her mind still felt thick and slow. The colours of everything around her were too bright. The blood on the sheets before her seemed to glow. “Why him?” Serwren heard herself ask.
“Because your wanton ways won’t matter to him,” her father sneered.
“You’d already decided that, hadn’t you? You’d already picked him out.” The thought of being joined to Consul Bornsig, a man easily three times her age and at least three times her weight, caused Serwren to gag. She managed to swallow the vomit back, but her father sneered again at her discomfort.
“I had no choice. You left me no choice with your behaviour.”
“But... until last night... I was...” Still she could not force the words out.
“It doesn’t matter, daughter. You’re certainly not a virgin now.”
That was too much. The fury, the scorn, the absence of any iota of love or care from her own father was too much for Serwren to bear. When the darkness began to eat her vision, she let it take her, and fainted.
Chapter Six
Whatever Jorrell was feeling, it definitely wasn’t happiness. He’d been sorry to leave the En Dek. They’d put him to work during the week, he’d mucked and scrubbed and groomed until his fingers bled, but he’d enjoyed his time with them. He felt as though he had made friends among the soldiers that inhabited the Isle.
When he hadn’t been busy with every menial task that they could think to give him, they’d taught him how to ride a gryphon. They’d lent him armour and showed him how to wield the long lances that they used in battle. He had already known how to use a bow and arrow, but the soldiers had shown him how to fire arrows at speed from the back of a gryphon in flight. It was definitely a skill he needed to practice, but he had not been completely inept.
He’d spent plenty of his time with Kai as well. By the end of the week, the gryphon had been happy to accept the other soldiers as riders. Jorrell was in two minds as to how he felt about that. He was proud that he’d had a part in her successful training, he’d loved riding her, but a part of him peevishly felt that it would have been nice if she’d continued to reject any rider but him. It certainly would have made the case he was about to make to his father much stronger.
As sorry as he was to leave the Isle, even though he was hoping to return, Jorrell had been filled with excitement at the thought of seeing Serwren. But then the trade ship that he’d boarded on the Isle had docked in the port of Thrissia, and Serwren hadn’t been anywhere in sight. Disappointment sat like a black shadow on his soul. He had assumed that she would be there to greet him, and yet, she was definitely not one of the faces that thronged the quay.
Jorrell hefted his pack onto his shoulders and made his way up the steep cobbled streets that zigzagged through the city, his steps powered by confusion and worry, and perhaps a little anger. He chose the main street as his route, although he knew almost every lane and alleyway. There were areas of the city that were less than welcoming. A person was always at the mercy of pickpockets in the busy trading areas, but someone who had all the appearances of being a traveller straight from the docks was also at risk of being beaten and having his luggage stolen if he was caught in the wrong place, by the wrong people.
The lower reaches, by the water’s edge, were filled with the stench of fish and the sewage that ran from the city’s gutters. There was barely air between the shouts and calls of the fishermen and the caw of the gulls and other sea birds. The fishermen unloaded their catches, and the nets were immediately sorted through. Anything viable was sold from stalls directly on the quayside. Anything deemed unsuitable for sale was thrown at the beggars and unfortunates that waited patiently each day for the boats to return, or it was thrown into the harbour to rot with the rest of the detritus that turned the normally azure waters into a dirty, greasy brown.
Above the quay were the traders who made their living selling the goods that came in on the trade ships, the sole establishment which auctioned human goods, and the whorehouses that jostled to be the first port of call for returning soldiers and sailors. Away from the stink of fish, the air became thick with the scent of spices, perfumes and sweat. In the heat of the middle of the season of Taan, this portion of the city was almost unbearable, without the cooling effect of the water to mitigate the tangible miasma of humanity exuded by the bustling crowds.
<
br /> Although Felthiss, as a rule, was not a nation founded on slaves, there were slaves in the city. It was rare to come across any in the rest of the country, where most people lived freely, although not necessarily richly.
Among jewellers that offered the metals and precious stones that were mined in the Southern Wastelands below Veltharesh, there were shops that were a riot of colour and sound, filled with exotic animals and fantastically coloured songbirds, and others that were covered in the white dust of salt.
Beyond the traders in foreign goods, were the traders of native produce, butchers and grocers. The sounds changed from the ear-splitting calls of pimps and hawkers to the grunt and snuffle of beasts and the cluck of chickens. There was more space between the buildings to allow for the pens for the animals. The air here was fragranced with the musk of the animals, overlaid with the fresher aroma of native herbs. Once past the more sedate markets, the noise decreased significantly as the businesses changed to those of craft people, cobblers, leatherworkers and tailors. Dyeing and tanning were undertaken well to the edges of the city, space being at too much of a premium in the centre to allow for the great vats of urine that were used to set the vibrant colours into fabrics.
The quieter commercial district became the near silence of homes. As Jorrell progressed ever upwards the buildings showed ever-increasing evidence of affluence. This was where the successful merchants lived, and beyond those carefully maintained houses were the homes of the consuls. By the time he reached his home, the muscles in his thighs and calves had begun to burn from the steep climb and the heavy weight of his bag.
A servant relieved him of his luggage, but before Jorrell could wash the grime of the journey from his skin and clothes, he was told that his father wished to see him. He found the consul in his study. The room was lined from floor to ceiling with books of every nature, from dictionaries to novels. Woollen rugs in bland colours muted the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor. The only furniture was a small writing desk, a comfortable chair covered in aged leather and a low, padded bench mounded with pillows that was set underneath the window to catch the natural light. Jorrell chose not to sit; he didn’t want to sully the furniture with sweat and dust, and he hoped the conversation would be brief so that he could get himself clean all the sooner.
His father was standing by one of the immense bookshelves. He had one of the larger volumes resting on his forearm and was turning the pages slowly as if searching for something. He paused at a page and continued to examine the passage he was reading whilst Jorrell waited silently, then he closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. “How did you find your time on the Isle, son?” He asked as he turned and crossed the room.
“I enjoyed it. Father, I wanted to speak to you about it.”
“Yes?” His father settled himself into the comfortable chair. Jorrell turned to face him, hoping that the expression of interest on his father’s face did not hide a lie.
“I want to join the En Dek on the Isle. I want to train to become one of the gryphon riders.”
“Really?” His father cocked his head to one side. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want to leave Thrissia?”
Jorrell stood a little straighter. He had been expecting something along these lines. “I wouldn’t be so far away. And I enjoyed my time there, Father. I felt a part of something, I felt useful.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
Jorrell let the words and the disappointment they carried sink into his mind. “That’s not a yes.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m afraid I can’t give you the approval you seek.”
Jorrell remained silent as he mastered his temper. He took deep breaths of air sucked dry by parchment and paper before speaking. “Why not? I don’t see the problem.”
His father sighed and refused to meet his eyes for a moment. Eventually, after looking around the room, the consul again met Jorrell’s gaze. “The problem is Serwren.”
“Excuse me?”
“Serwren is to be married.”
The words made no sense. They were in a language he understood, they were in a correct enough order, but they made no sense. He hadn’t been gone so very long. Jorrell’s stomach turned as his heart clung onto a vain shred of hope. “What..?” His voice was more strident than he wanted it to be.
“Hear me out before you start shouting. Serwren is to be married to Consul Bornsig.”
“That old goat,” Jorrell said with disgust. Bornsig was one of the old men who letched at Serwren whenever he happened to see her. Jorrell had seen the female consuls notice the disgusting behaviour, but no one had ever called Consul Bornsig to task in Jorrell’s hearing.
“Jorrell, you will calm down. Yes, I’m aware he’s old enough to be her father, but regardless, this is her father’s choice and she will obey him. Their betrothal is to be announced on the night of the Twelfth Moon.”
Jorrell was still a little stunned, still only half believing that what his father was telling him was true. He and Serwren were meant to be together, they had planned their future. He hadn’t been given a chance, they hadn’t been given a chance to even try. “And Serwren agreed to this?”
“Serwren is not in a position to agree or disagree. She will do as her father bids.”
All his plans, his hopes and his dreams were beginning to crumble. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Serwren felt about this, and it had all been taking place while he was absent, when he couldn’t possibly intervene. “But, Father, I was going to speak to Dimacius. I was going to ask him for Serwren’s hand. I planned to serve my apprenticeship with the En Dek first, then we could marry and she could live on the Isle with me.”
His father at least had the grace to look a little sympathetic. “That was a good plan, son, but it’s too late. The decision has been made.”
“I need to find her. I must speak with her.” Jorrell started for the door, but was halted by the tone of command in his father’s voice.
“No. You must not. Jorrell, you’re not to make trouble in this. You must leave Serwren be. How can talking to her help matters? Will you elope? You won’t get your apprenticeship with the En Dek then. Where will you go? How will you live?”
Spiriting Serwren out of the city as soon as possible had been the thought forming in his stunned mind. “I... I... We’ll go into the country.”
His father made a noise of disgust and scorn. “And live as peasants? I don’t think so. You’re not afraid of hard work, but you have no idea what poverty and hardship are. You know nothing of the struggle to scrape a living off the land, of being at the mercy of droughts and storms as well as everyone else in the world who is greater than you. No, son. I think not. You are to stay away from Serwren.”
Jorrell’s blood was beginning to heat with anger. “And if I refuse to?”
His father sat back in his chair with a chilling air of calm. “You have no choice. You sail for Naidac with the army tomorrow at dawn.”
“What?”
“You are enlisted in the army. You will join the other new recruits at dawn at the quay. I’m pleased to hear that you enjoyed the rigours of a soldier’s life with the En Dek. You will have that, as you want.”
It felt to Jorrell that his father was speaking to him as if he were almost a complete stranger. There was no hint of parental love of concern. Confusion and shock coloured Jorrell’s tone with petulance, which he hated even as he heard it in his words. “But I wanted to have that with the En Dek. I wanted to ride the gryphons.”
“It’s true that the life of a soldier is less glamorous, but the Isle is too close. I want you farther away than that. I want you far enough away that you couldn’t possibly make trouble for Serwren or her husband. It won’t do to have rumours about the two of you flitting around like bats at dusk.”
Jorrell bit his tongue. He knew full well that if he were anywhere near Serwren, married or not, he would not be able to stay away from her. He couldn’t make that promise. He wasn’t strong enough to mak
e it. Jorrell felt a pain, that he thought might well be his heart breaking. It was fuelled by his father’s dispassionate delivery of the news and its results as much as by the loss of Serwren.
“Jorrell, heed me,” his father said sternly. “Do not go looking for Serwren. Leave her well alone. As far as you are concerned, she is already wed and completely beyond your reach.”
“Very well.” The words scraped from Jorrell’s throat like shards of glass. “I will leave her alone.”
“Good. I’m glad you can see the sense of it.” His father nodded.
All the sense that Jorrell could see was that if he went anywhere near Serwren at the moment he’d throw her over his shoulder and ride off into the sunset without giving the smallest damn about poverty or hardship, as long as they could be together. Part of him saw no reason why that should not be exactly what he did next, but a small voice, a whisper of sense, intimated that should they do that, they would be hunted down and brought back in disgrace.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 7
