A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1)

by J. Ellen Ross

  “How does it feel, Ani?” Fellnin asked as he watched her with frightened eyes.

  “It hurts like fuck,” she gasped, holding her arm up, sweat covering her face. “But it’s getting better already.”

  Once the strike had heated to glowing red again, Fellnin asked Ani to do his. He stood still and stoic and refused any of the salve. “It’s fine. Heat it up and we’ll finish you, little brother.”

  Zaraki hated when he called him that but more he hated the edge he heard in Fellnin’s voice. He knew the sound; he had heard it for years as they grew up together. The older boy was a bully and liked causing pain. He liked when people feared him and he liked taking out his frustrations on Zaraki.

  “Come now,” Fellnin said as the pain faded from his face. “You’re not afraid are you?”

  Thrusting out his arm, Zaraki held it rigid, refusing to balk or flinch. This brand meant safety and food and shelter. It meant a lifetime of pay and it meant learning to defend himself from killers who came at night. Whatever pain it brought, he would take it all to never know starvation again.

  Still bigger and stronger, Fellnin reached out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing painfully and yanking it towards him. Zaraki wanted to panic, seeing the look in his brother’s eyes, but he would have to wrestle free and the older boy would fight back.

  “Ani, give me the strike,” Fellnin commanded, his eyes never leaving Zaraki. “Now,” he barked when she hesitated.

  They both knew this mood, had seen it when it took him.

  Zaraki swallowed and nodded at her. “I’m ready.”

  “Are you really?” Fellnin asked, his breath coming faster, his face flushed with anticipation. He wanted to see fear.

  The brand descended and it hurt like molten fire poured over his skin. Zaraki’s face contorted in pain as the brand seared his flesh, but he stood still and tried to let the agony wash over him. His heart raced and he started breathing hard. Fellnin should be done by now, but the other boy showed no signs of lifting the strike.

  He smelled burning skin and ground his teeth, refusing to look away or give their brother the satisfaction of seeing him pull away. The pain sat bright and blinding, racing up his arm as his hand shook and his fingers splayed wide. Still Fellnin bore down, holding his wrist captive and grinning like a man possessed.

  “Stop it.” Aniska tried to sound hard, but fear crept into her voice. “It’s done. Stop it,” she shouted when Fellnin made no move.

  “How much can you take, little brother?” the older boy mocked.

  “Stop it!” Ani screamed.

  Zaraki could barely see through the haze of pain and the sweat dripping into his eyes, but he felt Fellnin step back and pull the brand off his wrist. The floor rushed up to meet him and then everything went black.

  The next morning, Father greeted each in their classroom. If he knew about Fellnin’s behavior, he said nothing. He did not ask about their brands and he expected them to take care of the wounds themselves for they were children no more.

  Negotiating

  “Hilda, I’d like to talk to the king,” Leisha said after eating breakfast. The other maids had cleared the dishes and then set to work cleaning her apartments. Hilda had dressed her and braided her hair.

  “Hush. You have nothing worth bothering His Majesty about, girl.”

  Leisha hated when her maids talked down to and dismissed her as just a child. She hated their condescension. A never-ending parade of women traipsed through her apartments; few stayed more than four or five months. They never spent time getting to know her, never even tried. In return, Leisha found it easier to slip on a cool mask of indifference and treat them as nothing more than servants. They could not hurt her if she did not care about them.

  Frowning, she drew herself up tall and straight. “Yes I do, Hilda. This is the third day in a row my tutor hasn’t come and the last time he was here, he said he couldn’t teach me anything about theories of natural laws. I need to let the king know, so he can get me someone better.”

  The old woman sighed. “Why must you always make waves? You’re an eight-year-old girl who needs to learn to be happy with what she’s been given. The king doesn’t owe you a comfortable life.”

  Hilda said it without any real malice, but it burned in Leisha’s mind. She hated when her nannies refused to take her seriously. And her education was extremely serious to her. Without a good education, she would never be a good queen and never be able to do her duty as she promised Wysia.

  “Hilda, it doesn’t matter what you think or what you believe to be true. I’m a princess. One day, I’ll be queen and you’ll return to being a peasant farmer with no hopes of rising any further.” The old woman stared, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. A wash of anger and shame swept through her.

  Leisha did not like to berate her nurses, but they treated her like any of the other royal children at times. At sixteen and fourteen, Hemat and Sternal were simple boys who did not care for their tutors or learning in general. The ten-year-old twins, Tamary, and Truda struggled to learn the most basic concepts of math and the sciences. Leisha struggled because the tutors Andrzej hired could not teach her anything.

  “I’ll take you to see him and he can deal with you, Your Highness.”

  Hilda grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway, but Leisha did not bother fighting back. The older woman was stronger and she knew she would not win this contest of wills. She always tried to pick battles she would win. This time, she focused on what she would say to Andrzej.

  Once they found Georg, Hilda shoved her forward. “Go on, tell him what you told me,” she said angrily.

  Leisha opened her mouth to begin her explanation, but he just rolled his eyes at her. “His Majesty is in his reading room. Just take her there and get this over with. No one is in the mood for this today.” He wished them both luck and went back to his paperwork.

  Andrzej sat reading in a chair pulled close to his large fireplace. At this time of year, Arnost sat under a blanket of snow. When he saw them coming in, he set his book down on the blanket in his lap.

  “Leisha, I assume you came here because you’re unhappy with something?”

  “Yes.” She refused to use any titles with Andrzej because he still he refused to use hers. “I’d like to discuss my education.”

  Talking to this girl always bothered Andrzej. No eight-year-old should speak as well or as maturely as she did. No eight-year-old should read books on the history of the wool trade in eastern Streza. The tutors he hired all hated dealing with her. She challenged and argued with them constantly, demanding answers to questions she pulled from the air. He also disliked admitting how far she exceeded any of his own children. Resigning himself to this conversation, he tried not to sigh. “Please continue.”

  “I’ve surpassed all of the tutors you’ve provided. I’d like you to get new ones for me.” She had practiced her opening line all morning.

  “It’s very hard to find tutors for you. You’re quite difficult with them, Leisha.”

  “I’m not difficult. They’re just not good enough. You’re required to educate me and now you’re failing to do so. If you won’t bring in new tutors for me, at least give me access to the library.” In truth, she craved permission to visit the library on her own and thought she saw a way to move the king in that direction.

  Andrzej glowered at her, regretting ever showing her the contract her father signed. “I’m required to educate you. That’s all. If it’s not up to your standards, well, take it up with your father.” That was petty. The girl’s father never wrote or inquired about her, but she infuriated him when she talked to him as if they were equals.

  She blinked at him for a moment and then continued as if she had not heard. “If you don’t provide me with adequate tutors or access to the library I’ll tell everyone about your secret son. I’m sure Lord Marcus will be happy to hear you got that boy on his daughter.”

  Andrzej stared at her for a moment as his anger
boiled. “What did you say?” he asked, not quite believing what he heard. When the girl did not answer, he exploded at her. “What did you say?”

  Leisha did not flinch. Touching his thoughts, she sensed his irritation at her, but under his rage, he urged himself to practice restraint. She knew he would not hurt her. The hostage contract explicitly forbade anyone in the household from laying a hand on her.

  With fury written across his face, Andrzej jumped up and strode to the center of the room to tower over her. “Where did you hear that?” he demanded.

  While Leisha did not know what the words all meant, she had plucked them from the air one day when they flitted across Jennat’s mind. She felt the way the woman coveted this secret, and how scandalous she found it. She knew the moment she read the thought that this secret held power. “Access to the library,” she repeated.

  “You’re an eight-year-old child,” he bellowed down at her, his face purple with rage.

  Leisha smiled, her eyes wide, feeling the king’s anger and knowing she only needed to nudge him a bit further to win this confrontation. Her hands went over her head as she began to twirl in a circle, her dress swishing around her feet. “That’s right,” she said in a singsong voice. “I’m just a little girl who repeats whatever she hears.”

  “Fine, fine. Yes, you can have access to the library,” he relented. Immediately, the girl stopped pirouetting and stared at him with her infuriating, impassive face. He knew she had done it again, angering and manipulating him to get what she wanted.

  “And I can read any books I choose,” she insisted. All the terms needed to be spelled out and agreed to. Sometimes the king tried to back out of their agreements. She wanted to have Andrzej sign something but felt it might be going too far.

  “Yes. Now, get out of my sight,” Andrzej snapped, shaking his head at a child blackmailing him, especially this wretched child.

  Leisha chided herself for losing control as she left and headed back to her rooms, Hilda in tow. It had been a childish display, and she knew she should have argued her case better. She wanted to win because she was right, not because she enraged the other person. On the other hand, manipulating Andrzej’s temper got her fondest wish. Free of the inadequate tutors, Leisha could teach herself any subject she wanted now.

  Competing

  For the next two years, early mornings lessons in Ostrava continued to focus on history and diction, dancing, and dress. But once morning instructions concluded, the children moved out into the yard. Cezar now expected them to spend their off time in the library reading on their own. Drills with weapons, exercises for skill and stamina and strength replaced hours spent reading or discussing. No longer small and wiry, Zaraki stood almost as tall and broad-shouldered as Fellnin. Aniska’s skill with blades eclipsed both her brothers, usually.

  After lunch and a morning spent sitting, Cezar preferred to drill his children with weapons until their bodies ached. Each of them had weapons fit their fighting style and body types. Fellnin preferred long blades, and with his larger size and reach, they suited him well. Zaraki and Aniska typically chose short blades like poniards, though both were proficient with some swords as well. Regardless of their preferences, though, Cezar made them train with everything.

  Today, he wanted to see them drill with rapiers, which better suited Aniska and Zaraki’s styles. He knew Fellnin would be frustrated by the end, but he thought the boy could benefit from some frustration. Fellnin spent far too much time feeling superior to everyone, and on days they drilled with long swords, he purposefully bullied the other two with his strength.

  First, they attacked dummies with dull blades, stepping through full-contact strikes. After they had warmed up, he set each in front of a target mounted on the side of the curtain wall. The targets were nothing more than stuffed sackcloth with circles painted on them. Two lines bisected the circles, top to bottom and left to right. Where the lines crossed the circles, Cezar had drawn numbers, one through four. He placed Zaraki and Aniska a fair distance from their target so they could work on more advanced footwork. Fellnin stood closer, so he could concentrate only on his thrusts and targeting. Finesse was not the boy’s strength.

  Once the children were set, Cezar began calling out numbers of the points and his students would thrust, attempting to hit the corresponding point. “Fourth,” he said and watched as Aniska moved forward, hit her target and then moved back immediately into her stance. She would be deadly if she kept at it.

  He called out, “Second,” and watched Zaraki execute the movement. He hit his mark, but his retreat was sloppy. Cezar caught him by surprise on the step back, hooking a foot under the boy’s leg. He landed face down in the dirt. Unlike Fellnin, who would have sprung up full of indignant rage, Zaraki dusted himself off and resumed practice, knowing he deserved the rebuke. He even laughed at himself this time.

  Cezar tried to be fair with all the children, tried to be objective, but Zaraki was his favorite by far. The boy could be painfully eager to please, but his personality was easygoing and likable. He never caused trouble and always tried to mediate when problems arose with the other boys and girls. Unlike most of the other children, he rarely lashed out or needed a reminder to check his temper. Cezar suspected it was because Zaraki grew up in a family and not starving or abandoned on the streets, like most of the other orphans he took in.

  After a hundred thrusts at the practice targets, Cezar called a halt. Sweating and exhausted, all three students dropped to the ground to rest. “Shall we spar?” he asked them after a few minutes. “Zaraki and Fellnin, into the practice yard. Improve and this won’t be such a hassle for you, boy,” he said as a warning when he caught Fellnin rolling his eyes and groaning.

  The two boys faced each other in the yard and bowed. He watched as they both mentally marked off their imaginary circles, to act as a point for their footwork to hinge around. They took their stance, right foot pointed forward with the left at an angle to the other, just as he taught them. Both stood at guard watching the other. “Begin,” Cezar said.

  Fellnin, still angry from a rebuke this morning, clenched his jaw, eager for a chance to hurt someone, but Zaraki would finish this quickly, Cezar knew. Fellnin’s temper would get the better of him and he would strike without thinking. The scene had repeated itself for the last year as Zaraki grew taller and more accomplished.

  As he expected, Fellnin moved first, knocking Zaraki’s blade aside, taunting him. The smaller boy recovered, staying out of Fellnin’s way and moving around his circle as he sized up his brother’s threat.

  Twice more Fellnin slapped his practice sword against the other boy’s. On the third, Zaraki followed the motion of his blade as Fellnin pushed it down towards the ground. Now all Zaraki’s weight rested on his right foot and he swung his left around while holding Fellnin’s blade away with his own. As he moved, he turned his wrist to ready a thrust at Fellnin’s now exposed left side. The larger boy knew the move, Cezar was happy to see. Zaraki used it on him all the time. Fellnin tacked right and out of the way, but as usual, he shuffled his feet. He wobbled a bit and Cezar groaned, knowing Zaraki would take advantage. Fellnin relied on his strength and size to beat his opponents into submission, forgetting time and time again how finesse and intelligence could defeat him.

  Seeing Fellnin off balance, Zaraki took a step to the left and thrust for his opponent’s sword hand. Fellnin countered, pushing the weak thrust away with his own sword, but he carried it too far. The excess motion left his sword high and to Zaraki’s right. The smaller boy pivoted on one foot, bringing himself around and well inside the point of Fellnin’s practice blade. Zaraki raised his right arm for a shoulder cut while his left hand shot out to grab Fellnin’s wrist. A twist and the larger boy yelped, dropping his practice sword.

  “Enough,” Cezar called. “Zaraki, excellent. Fellnin, what did you do wrong?”

  “Father, I shouldn’t have been impatient,” the boy said, rubbing his wrist. Cezar allowed them all to be rough wi
th each other at practice. No actual damage but a bit of pain made things more realistic and helped them remember their lessons. “And I need to practice keeping my footing.”

  Fellnin sounded reasonable, but inside he seethed. Again. Again he had lost to Zaraki. It happened more and more often at practice and at lessons. As always, it happened in front of Aniska so she could see his humiliation.

  Father’s rules prohibited him from pursuing her. They could never become involved with each other as long as they both worked for Edik. But how he wanted to. She was small and lovely and ferocious. Fellnin disliked the girls in the town. Most of them were poorly educated and just stupid. One day, they would not work for Father, and then he would court Ani.

  When Father released them for dinner, they all headed to the kitchen to eat with the other servants. Usually, the older students, the ones who went out on jobs for Father and Edik, ate with the soldiers. The youngest children ate together with their nannies. Those in the middle could eat where they wanted, so long as they did not cause trouble.

  Fellnin watched as Zaraki and Aniska walked together, laughing, maybe at him. It grated on his nerves.

  Once in the kitchen, the cooks always had plates of food set aside for them. The other two liked talking to the cooks and they enjoyed having the children come visit. Fellnin could not have cared less about peasant servants or their lives, but he enjoyed what they offered the other students.

  They found their usual spot, a small table with a few stools around it, and set their plates down. A thick stew and a huge piece of fresh bread always made for an excellent supper. Even though they were just children, Cezar insisted on giving them the same food as the men in the castle. No scraps or leftovers.