A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1)

by J. Ellen Ross

  “I hope Father decides to spice things up soon,” Aniska said, pushed back her plate when she finished. “Maybe let us learn pikes or something. I’m tired of learning the same lessons over and over.”

  “Sort of like falling for the same move in the yard day after day?” Zaraki meant his words for Fellnin, but he said them while laughing and looking at Ani.

  Fellnin knew he meant it as a joke, but today he was just sick of it. Sick of feeling second best. Sick of losing to him. Sick of feeling stupid in front of Aniska. His fist caught the other boy on the jaw and knocked him off the stool.

  Following him to the ground, Fellnin drove another fist into the boy’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. As Zaraki gasped for air, Fellnin leaned in with a knee on his chest to keep him down. He punched the smaller boy twice more in the face and took several blows from Zaraki as he fought back.

  Leaning in close to the smaller boy’s face, Fellnin hissed, “One day, I’m going to fucking kill you. I promise.” He got up and stormed out of the kitchens.

  ***

  At midnight, Cezar saw a light in the building the children used for lessons. He knew he would find Zaraki inside. Night after night, year after year, insomnia and dreams of his family’s death drove the boy from the bed and to his studies. Cezar knew about the fight in the kitchen as well and went to make sure the boy was all right. Opening the door, he smiled, seeing Zaraki bent over his desk, scribbling furiously with a book open to one side.

  “How old are you now, boy?” Cezar asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  Zaraki jumped and looked up, sporting a black eye and a split lip. Tomorrow it would be worse. Considering, he replied, “Fourteen or fifteen, sir?”

  “Old enough then. I’m not going to punish Fellnin or you for fighting. You work it out. How’s the face?” Cezar asked.

  The boy shrugged. “I’ll survive, sir.” He never complained, just took his lumps and moved on.

  “Did you learn anything?”

  Now Zaraki smiled tentatively around his bloody lip. “Yes, sir. I learned if I’m going to be a smart ass, I can’t look away.”

  Cezar laughed. “Go to bed, boy. You know I won’t go easy on you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Zaraki stood up and stretched. Cezar resisted the urge to ruffle the boy’s sandy blonde hair as he left the room and trotted across the yard to the barracks. The rules applied to him, as well. He could not get too close to any of the children and lose his objectivity. One day they might be enemies.

  After Zaraki had left, Cezar went to look at what he had been working on this late at night. He found pages and pages of notes. At first, they made no sense. Some pages held tables of figures, others some sort of schedule. A column of names lay next to what looked like lists of equipment and supplies. When he realized what he was looking at, his heart sank.

  “Far too smart for your own good, boy,” he said. These were plans, an outline for how to run and organize the same sort of operation they ran here in Ostrava. Zaraki had notes on rates of payment for different jobs, where he thought he might find and attract new spies, the gear they might need and how he would pay for it. Though not a complete plan by any measure, Cezar saw the thought processes behind it and how, with time, the boy would refine it.

  Instead of feeling pride in his student’s accomplishments, Cezar saw one thing. Competition.

  Books

  It was well past morning when Leisha noticed she was hungry. Had she eaten today? It seemed unlikely. Checking outside the door to her rooms, she found a tray with meat and cheese and cold tea. She set it on a table inside and shut the door again. No one would check on her until after dinner.

  Leisha sat down at her desk, where a copy of A History of Dynastic Conflict of South Ilaytan Islands sat open. Copious notes in her neat, tiny script filled the margins. Light poured in through the open curtains and spread across her work area. Everywhere piles of papers sat covered in notes on math, grammar, history, statecraft and a few on less practical topics like botany and horse breeding. She kept order by separating piles into their subject matters and ordering the piles with the oldest notes on the bottom. Leisha imagined she would need a better organization system by the time she turned ten. For now, though, it would suffice.

  While nibbling at her food, she read over her notes from Dynastic Conflict. Maybe she would go and visit the stables in a bit. She loved spending time with the horses, even if the king refused to let her ride. Her neck was too valuable to risk on a horse. Perhaps the library then. Reading, studying, walking the splendid garden on the palace grounds and being ignored took up most of her time anyway.

  When she grew bored with note taking, she stepped in the front rooms of her apartment and looked for Marja. “I’m going to the library now,” she told her aging nurse.

  Sitting with her back to large windows, soaking up the summer sun, Marja smiled and nodded.

  Leisha no longer needed an escort when she wanted to visit the library. Someone needed to know where she was, but now they trusted her to take care of herself and the books she borrowed. Last year, after Andrzej got over his anger at her, he conceded this arrangement saved him money and he lifted the restriction on her movement. She knew to stay away from the other royal children, who no longer feared her, but did not like her. They wanted to talk about childish things and play games while she wanted to learn and argue politics. She knew to stay within the wings of the palace permitted to her and not to bother the staff.

  Walking to the library meant going down two flights of stairs and across the fountain yard, through two sets of doors and up another flight of stairs. Leisha loved this walk. She would linger in the Portrait Hall, staring at dead Embriel monarchs and wondering what they had been like. The marble stairs taking her down to the ground floor were cool and smooth and fun to run down. Fountains in the yard splashed all day, attracting birds and insects for Leisha to watch.

  However, Andrzej’s library pleased her more than any of the other delights the castle held. The king inherited an ancient collection of texts and loved adding to it. Booksellers often visited the fortress and the king’s librarian bought crates from them. She paused when she reached the huge, carved wooden doors, staring at the intricate patterns of flowers and vines that echoed through the palace. Then she reached up to grasp the large metal ring on the door and haul back on it.

  One door swung open on silent, oiled hinges and Leisha stepped inside, closing it behind her. Here, she could lose herself for hours and no one would bother her. Alone with all the books and scrolls and texts, she did not worry about making people uncomfortable, the way she always seemed to. There was no one here to flinch when they saw her coming or scramble to sweep their thoughts into dark corners of their mind, where they imagined she would not see them. The solemn little girl with the pretty face had learned her gifts frightened and offended others. Leisha finally understood they did not hear or feel all the things she did.

  Her gifts were just another one of her senses, one which made her world rich, vibrant, and alive. But they also let her hear the whispered musings of her nannies, all the cruel things they thought of her.

  I don’t like her, they whispered.

  I wish I didn’t need this job so I didn’t have to deal with that awful child. That one hurt because Leisha had liked Gemma.

  She’s a spoiled brat and I’m not surprised no likes her.

  Their rejections weighed on Leisha, but it never occurred to her to stop listening. It made no more sense than blindfolding herself did. She listened because she loved the caress of the thoughts wafting around like scent on a breeze, but in doing so, she heard things she would rather not have.

  Though never cruel to her face, her nannies held themselves apart, terrified she would learn their secrets. Which, of course, she did. When they pondered the fears and secrets they did not want her to know, they cast their thoughts to the wind and sometimes she heard them. The more she heard, the further Leisha withdrew, refusing an
y relationship with her maids deeper than master and servant. This only served to isolate her further from the only people she saw most days. As she grew older, she stopped caring much about what they thought of her. She would be queen one day and they would not.

  In the library, she could just be herself.

  Walking passed tables and writing desks, Leisha felt relaxed as frustration and loneliness ebbed away. She might not have anyone here who cared about her, but she had access to these books and they never judged her. Dark wood shelves stuffed with texts lined the walls. Above them, great leaded glass windows let in the sun.

  Today, she wanted to find another book on the history of Tahaerin and to spend the day reading in the quiet and solitude. Wandering around the perimeter of the room, she dragged a chair out to check the books at the top of one shelf. Usually, the librarian dumped newer additions to the collection here after a buying frenzy and sometimes, the top shelves held riches.

  Leisha found a more recent philosophical treatise interested her. Pulling it down, she noticed a much smaller book resting next to it. Dark, old binding kept it hidden in the shadows at the back of the shelves. She loved these treasures, things no one had disturbed in years. Drawing it out carefully, she hopped down off the chair and took her finds back to the desk to inspect.

  The title of the little book stole her breath away. On the Subject of Mind Readers.

  There were others? With secrets enough to write a book on? No one had ever told her that.

  She turned it over in her hands, examining the cover and running her fingers over the embossed leather. It looked to be in good condition, the spine still flexible. Cracking it open, Leisha leafed through the pages, reading the chapter titles.

  All day and into the evening she read, missing dinner and barely noticing when servants entered to light candles for her. One chapter held stories about famous mind readers and their epic adventures. These she suspected were fanciful exaggerations, but they amused her. She found chapters on the history of mind readers and how they were persecuted, hunted and killed a hundred years ago.

  There had been others, but they were all dead.

  Several others chapters talked about how to exist as a mind reader in a world of promiscuous thinkers. Leisha learned she could exercise far more control over her abilities than she ever imagined. She discovered better ways to ignore people’s thoughts when she did not want to hear them. Though she had learned some on her own, the book showed her tricks to allow her to move in large crowds without the constant wash of their thoughts and emotions.

  One chapter described in detail how everyone had layers of thought. Those swirling through the air around her were the superficial one. They were the things racing through people’s minds at any moment. The book compared listening to these thoughts to eavesdropping on conversations, but if she entered a person’s mind and dug deeper into them, she could uncover their secrets, force them to reveals truths about themselves. However, the book said this would cause pain to the recipient of her attention if she did not take care.

  The last chapter of the book also contained a short section on using her abilities to harm others. If she were talented enough and strong enough, she could take control of a person, or even kill them, by dominating the parts of their mind that controlled their body. The passages fascinated and terrified her. Leisha did not want to hurt people.

  Saddest of all were the lessons meant to be practiced with an experienced mind reader. She had no one to practice with or to discuss the things that made her world so rich, but which also seemed to doom her to a life apart from others. No one since Wysia had ever asked her about her abilities and Leisha so wanted to share them.

  The night bell tolled ten times and Marja came to find her.

  Leisha thought back to the history chapters in the little book. People feared mind readers and had killed them in the past. Would they kill her? Her nannies and maids certainly knew about her ability to hear their thoughts. She would need to tread carefully from now on. Survive and return to Tahaerin, where she would be queen and no one would be able to torture her for reading their minds.

  Jobs

  “Come in,” Cezar called out when he heard the knock on his door.

  Zaraki stood in the doorway, a young man now, tall and lean, dangerous like most who lived in Edik’s castle. Cezar knew a great deal about all his pupils because, of course, he spied on them. He knew the boy was popular in town with a number of women but did not keep any close. He knew the boy never violated any of his oaths or acted in any way that could earn him punishment or expulsion from Ostrava. Out of this cohort, Cezar ranked him second behind Aniska, but ahead of Fellnin. All three were talented, but Zaraki’s ambition dwarfed anything he had seen in any of the children he had trained in all these years.

  The time had nearly arrived when he would have to deal with it and Cezar regretted the necessity of it. For now, though, he would think and use the boy’s talents.

  “Sit down, son. We’ve had a request come in I’d like you to consider.” Ostravans were never obligated to accept a job but refuse too many and Edik would sell their contract and wash his hands of them. “Lord Grigor of Boihad is at his manor near Deblin for a few months to meet with some potential business partners. He’s throwing a party and has asked for help from us. It’s a small job, nothing complicated. Socialize with those in attendance, listen to what they say. Grigor wants to know more before he goes into business with them.”

  “It sounds simple enough, Father. I don’t see any problems with it,” Zaraki said, already creating the list of things he would need to do. A wardrobe would need to be prepared; he had grown taller since the last time he needed to borrow nobleman’s clothes.

  “Good. You’re the right age and hair color to pass as Antonin of Andula, Lord Ferenc’s heir in Embriel. There’s no reason to think any of those in attendance knows Antonin. His health has never been good and he rarely travels outside the city. It’s a good test for you, too. If you run into any trouble, you can always blame it on your filthy, uncultured Embriel manners.” Cezar said, laughing. “In a few days, then, you’ll leave with an escort. Enjoy arriving in style and eating like a nobleman. You’ll be near Deblin for several weeks, so pack accordingly. I’ll prep you tonight over dinner.”

  Zaraki smiled, pleased to be chosen. “Thank, Father. I’ll start preparing now.”

  As he watched the boy leave, Cezar mourned once more having to kill him. Of all the children he had trained over the years, Zaraki was still his favorite. The young man’s affable, warm personality persisted from childhood. He never caused problems and always offered his assistance when he could. Nearly everyone liked him, except Fellnin. If only he would stop planning and learn to be happy with what he already had. Because Cezar’s spies told him Zaraki still kept his notes and ledgers, still talked of what he might accomplish. He never made any move to replace his father, but Cezar feared what his bright, ambitious pupil left unsaid.

  Perhaps the ledgers and lists were nothing more than idle dreams, something to engage the boy’s mind and hands while he waited for his contract to sell. Or perhaps, they were proof, evidence of his skill and intellect to be shown to Edik when he put himself forward as Cezar’s replacement.

  What does Edik see when he looks at me? The man wondered, not for the first time. Did he see his friend of thirty years, strong and capable, quick handed and smart? Or did he see the spreading waist and hair that held more grey with each winter, the lines etching themselves deeper when he squinted into the sun?

  ***

  The carriage with its escort departed from Ostrava in the middle of the night and after several days of traveling south, they left the sun-baked prairie behind. Trees appeared, growing more abundant until Zaraki could say they moved through a proper forest. He had spent hours perfecting his eastern Embriel accent, reciting Antonin’s biography and practicing the silly flourish Andulan nobles added to their bows. Bored in the coach, he leaned his chin on one hand and looke
d out the window at the leafy scenery rolling by.

  He wished he could ride with the others. Behind and in front of him, he could hear the horses his escort rode. Most of those with him were failed spies; men who could not wield a sword fast enough or keep up with Cezar’s lessons in math or reading. If they had aptitude enough, Edik preferred to keep them employed in Ostrava. It was steady work, but Zaraki felt a smug pride. He had passed all the tests and training. He would make his own way, one day, not beholden to the benevolence of any nobleman.

  Hours dragged by as they crept towards their destination. On the final day of day of travel, Zaraki stared out the window once more and frowned as something prodded at his brain, tugging at his memories, asking to be invoked. “Deblin,” he muttered to himself. Had he lived in Deblin with his parents? Perhaps. Had they passed through this forest on the way north? Possibly.

  It happened twelve years ago, so he was likely nearing nineteen. He could recall only bits and pieces of crossing the plain to Ostrava - the hunger, his lips cracked and bleeding because he could not find water. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he shoved the memories away again, shaking his head to clear it. The dead lingered, wanting to be remembered, where Zaraki chose to forget.

  ***

  This area of southern Streza, around Deblin, had been tranquil for over a century, passing peacefully from father to son without conflict. Harmony throughout the area allowed nobles and rich gentry to move beyond their walled cities and out into rural areas. While towns still hosted massive, sprawling castles, the countryside now played host to lovely fortified manor homes.

  Lord Grigor built his house on a small hill rising out of large clearing in the forest near the Ont River. As they drew close, Zaraki made out a short, crenelated wall ringing a three-story tower. A gatehouse rose at the north end of the wall and as the carriage rolled through the gates, he took note of a separate hall, mews, bakehouse and storeroom all huddled inside the courtyard. He sketched a map in his mind and committed it to memory.