“You shouldn’t hug the future rysharoi without his permission,” he scolded her, though his voice was teasing more than angry. He crossed his arms and he seemed to be trying so hard to look commanding and intimidating that Eiryn fell silent even though she wanted to giggle even more. She knew how much he wanted to be like his father, to prove everyone wrong about him being wan and weak. Eiryn knew she’d hurt him if she laughed, so she bit the inside of her cheek and made sure she didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sorry in the least. She looked at the shell still in her hand and hugged Radèn again. Just quickly, another way of saying thank you. Then she returned to the contents of the basket and laid all the shells out around her, sorting them. All the pearlescent ones in one group, the gradient-coloured shells in another, and those with little specks of colour were the last.
“What are you doing?” Radèn asked, squatting down near her. Eiryn was grateful that he left her shells alone. Some of the children in their class would have mixed them up again just so she’d have to start over.
“Sorting them,” she answered, still picking shells out of the basket. When she was done she had several neat groups of shells on the white stones of Arèn-minnoi’s chambers. From those, she separated the shells out again. One of each type went into a new group, though she didn’t have enough to sort them all that way.
Eiryn frowned, not sure what to do with the ones that were left over. They were all gradients, at least. One was the blue shell she’d had in her hand when she’d hugged Radèn; one was a tiny little thing with a pink, almost lilac gradient; one was big and brown; the others were all colours Eiryn didn’t like much, such as a dark red that looked like blood. She put those back in the basket and stared at the shells left. Radèn had sat down on the ground beside her, quietly watching her. She thought for a moment, then gave Radèn the blue and the pink gradients.
“For you,” she explained when the boy looked from his hand to her face quizzically.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her and put the shells in a leather pouch. He’d kept it tucked under his shirt and it looked far too big on him, but Eiryn wished she had one too. She didn’t have anything to put things in.
“What’s that for?”
Radèn lifted the pouch.“This?” Eiryn nodded. “It’s for storing keepsakes like your shells. One of the gaodansaoina merchants sold them when I was visiting the markets with doi.”
Eiryn’d never been to the markets before, though there were plenty of gaodansaoina working in the palace. Amaru-dai had said her father was gaodansoi, though not even Arèn-minnoi knew who he was. “Would you like one?” Radèn asked, startling her.
She shook her head. “I have too many.” Radèn laughed softly at her response and she turned to fetch the cloth. She held it out to him, not sure if he wanted it back.
“It’s yours.”
“Thank you.” Eiryn lay the cloth on the floor again and turned back to her shells and carried each small group over to a low table beside the entrance to the bedroom. Arèn-minnoi had said the table was entirely for her. She’d be sure to see the shells every day if she put them there. Radèn left her, but he was back before she had a true chance to miss him. She waved away his offer to help move the shells. She put the basket down against the wall and arranged the groups around it to form a partial circle.
When she was done, Eiryn skipped over to the reception room where Radèn was waiting for her. He’d sat down in Arèn-minnoi’s chair, but Eiryn didn’t want to scold him for it. Arèn-minnoi wasn’t there and Radèn wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and deal with trade agreements, other nations and even other worlds. He could practice sitting in a big chair like that. Eiryn settled in her own, but there was no food on the table and she missed Radèn, so she was wriggling up the leather armrests within moments.
“Father said it’s all right for me to finish dinner here with you tonight,” Radèn said. As far as she could tell there wasn’t any food in the room. Maybe the cooks were preparing something new. Eiryn hoped it’d be crab. For now, she nestled against Radèn and listened to him telling her about the private lessons he was following so he could be chosen as rysharoi after his father retired. He’d only just started and so he was only learning about their gaodansaoina neighbours to the south. His teacher didn’t like him, Radèn explained, and got himself into a lot of trouble once. The man had knocked over an ink bottle and grumbled about how people like Radèn were unnatural harbingers of bad luck.
Eiryn didn’t know what harbingers were, but she knew Radèn didn’t bring anyone bad luck. She balled her fists in the boy’s grey sash, but she stayed silent to let Radèn continue his tale.
Radèn said that he’d told the teacher the man was making his own bad luck. Besides, sailors considered foam-pale skin lucky, even if the person made a terrible sailor. The boy laughed, though it tasted bitter to Eiryn, and she couldn’t think of any response but to hug him and try to get him to talk about fasaoi that only the rysharoi was allowed to learn, but he refused.
Wanting to know what Radèn knew and she didn’t, Eiryn sulked. He tried telling her about the fasaoi he was learning in his classes instead, but since Eiryn was in those too she ignored him.
When he tried telling her about a farakaoina they’d been learning last week, Eiryn slipped off the chair and bounded around the room, letting her voice dance over wordless notes the way dai had always done. Eiryn sang more loudly, though, trying to feel the melody of it in her very being. Radèn merely shook his head and stayed where he was.
“She-ells!” the girl sang when she stopped dancing. Radèn jumped out of the chair and led her back to it. Eiryn obediently snuggled into the seat and managed to sit still for what she thought was a long time before she bounded over to the windows again. “I want to go to the beach too,” she muttered. Dai’d promised to take her after she’d learned how to swim. “Have you been to the beach?” she asked, turning around.
“Yes,” Radèn said. He came closer and held out his hand. Eiryn didn’t take it. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s cold and I still had sand in my shoes the week after.”
Eiryn pouted. “I want to see the beach. Dai promised to take me when I could swim because she loves it.”
“Is that the only reason you want to go?”
“I like shells,” the girl stated, a little upset he didn’t seem to know she could find them at the beach for herself. “I want to find my own. Do you think I could?” Radèn’d opened his mouth to answer, but she was talking before he could answer. “I’d like to. Arèn-minnoi says dai loved the speckled shells, but I don’t. They’re pretty, but I like the ones that change colour better. I like the ones you have best. When I find one that’s prettier, I want to give that to you too.”
A knock at the door pulled Eiryn from her musing and back to the promise she’d made. Her mother’s voice had receded now. I’m sorry, dai, she thought. Eiryn knew it was Radèn’s presence that had sent her mother into hiding, but Eiryn couldn’t just send him away. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, either.
“Are you coming?” Radèn asked. He’d gone over to open the door and servants were setting dishes down on Arèn-minnoi’s desk. “I’m famished.” The boy touched her arm and Eiryn startled a little, then frowned.
“You’re what?”
“Famished. Starving. Very hungry.”
“I’m not…” Eiryn muttered, so softly that not even sensitive kerisaoina ears seemed to pick up on it. She followed Radèn to the desk again. Arèn-minnoi kept it as neat and clean as anything else in his life and Radèn or the servants had tidied the desk up even further so they wouldn’t accidentally spill any of the food onto her uncle’s papers. After Radèn had settled in the chair, Eiryn scrambled onto the boy’s lap.
“Ryn,” he muttered admonishingly, but Eiryn didn’t pay him any attention. The dish she grabbed consisted solely of soup. “I want to eat too.”
Eiryn pursed her lips, hands against the warm bowl. She wanted to listen to
her mother, who was begging her not to eat, but she’d promised she would. And there was nothing worse than a broken promise. She’d learned that lesson well.
Careful to sit in such a way that it wasn’t entirely impossible for Ràden to reach his food too, Eiryn ate her soup slowly. It was a thick vegetable soup with not the tiniest bit of crab anywhere. If Radèn hadn’t liked it so much, she would have been disappointed. They ate in silence, Radèn finishing well before she did. Eiryn had barely eaten a quarter of what was in her bowl when she found it’d cooled beyond tastiness. Telling herself that she’d eaten something at least, she put the bowl back on the desk. People should be happy she’d eaten that much when she really didn’t want to.
“Silly girl,” Radèn muttered. “You don’t want any more?”
Eiryn shook her head.
“Then I’ll eat it.”
Eiryn slipped off his lap and ran to the bedroom before he could grab the bowl. When she reached the archway, she paused and turned. One glance at the window told her that it was well past her bedtime. She yawned. Would Keilan-minnai let her sleep now?
“Go to bed,” Radèn told her, so she did.
“Soft sleep, Radèn-minnoi. Thank you!” she said and bounded back into the sanctuary of Arèn-minnoi’s bed — dress, sash, and all because she was too tired to change — and snuggled into the sound of her mother’s voice. Eiryn could almost believe she felt dai’s arms around her too.
Arèn paced the room, waiting for Keilan to finish whatever it was that she was doing. “We don’t have this much time,” he stressed, his voice rising in pitch enough to make him flinch. The faslaeraoina were about to gather to discuss his niece. Not only had she tried to disrupt the funeral of his sister, but she’d been eerily listless since. Only yesterday, Keilan had realised why and Arèn couldn’t believe he’d missed it himself: the funeral had gone wrong.
Arèn tugged at the white-and-black striped faslaeraoina sash around his waist to ensure it was tied properly and pulled a hand through his short hair. He grabbed a small glass of wine from the table and downed it in one gulp. It didn’t help. “She did not use fasaoi. Balance knows she did not!” He marched back to the window, fists clenched. He’d already lost his twin. “You were there. They were all there. They would have done something then if she had!”
“Calm down, Arèn.” Keilan appeared from the doorway leading to the palace’s library. He blinked; he’d never quite got used to his friend wearing silk summer dresses all year long. She always complained of the cold, but she refused to wear heavier, warmer dresses because she claimed they itched. Keilan patted his shoulder. “They won’t start without us, and you know you’ll make matters worse if you don’t calm down.”
Arèn lacked her confidence. “What were you looking up?”
“Cases. She’s not the first, Arèn-minnoi, and she certainly won’t be the last. Fasaoi grateful, there are records of similar trials.”
“She’s four! She could not have used fasaoi!”
This time, Keilan put her hand on his shoulder instead of pat it. His own voice rang in his ears, shrill, painful and discordant. Arèn tried to focus on the touch itself, the years of friendship between them. Keilan was not his enemy. Shouting at her would do no good.
“I know,” she said and sighed. “I know.”
Arèn didn’t have the heart to ask her what the outcome of those cases had been. He didn’t dare. No kerisaoina could use fasaoi until they matured, until they were old enough not to tear the world asunder by accident.
Silently, Arèn followed his friend down the half-dark corridors. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise yet, but it felt like he’d been up for hours. The walls gleamed where sconces lit the way. Servants were mopping the floors, some by hand and some with fasaoi. His niece had told him once that the walls were shiny; it was true. How long had it been since he’d noticed himself? Soon the sun would rise and reflect off the walls.
Soon the faslaeraoina meeting would begin. Arèn had no idea why they’d taken so long to organise a meeting about his niece; they’d seen what she’d done and they knew Eiryn hadn’t been well since the funeral. He tried to take courage from that. He could convince the faslaeraoina their fears were groundless. If they had deemed Eiryn’s situation dire, they’d have brought it up long ago. Waiting as long as they had… Arèn hoped they were holding the meeting merely out of protocol. Eiryn could not have used fasaoi. Children never could. They’d researched that time and again, to be certain.
When one of the servants almost bumped into Keilan, Arèn only narrowly avoided walking into them both and sending everyone tumbling down the stairs. He frowned. Keilan was leading him past the public stairs. They’d been designed to impress, but were now rarely used. Well, he reminded himself, they are closer. Keilan’s choice didn’t have to mean anything. Perhaps it was supposed to inspire him with confidence. Eiryn would be all right. He’d make sure of it.
Arèn cursed softly as he realised that he hadn’t woken her up and told his niece he’d be gone most of the day. His niece would wake to an empty room. He’d done that once before; she’d been inconsolable all day, thinking he’d vanished from her life just as Amaru had. He stopped, turned and bounded back up the stairs to grab the nearest servant. The kerisaoi startled and Arèn held his arms low, palms outward, to show he meant no violence. “I’m sorry. Please. Eiryn Enrai’Amaru –” He paused, corrected himself. “Enroi’Arèn. Please, will you go to my chambers and wait there until she wakes up? I am needed in an urgent meeting and did not have the heart to wake her.”
“I will send someone,” the servant said, voice clipped.
Arèn wondered if he’d imagined the disapproving look in aos eyes. He probably hadn’t. He hated being called from his work himself, after all. “Thank you.”
The kerisaoi nodded once and resumed walking. Arèn watched aon for a few moments, then turned to catch up with Keilan. She was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking confident and calm. Arèn envied her ability to seem so unruffled. Keilan said nothing, merely fell into step beside him.
“Radèn-minnoi told me she barely ate,” Keilan started and Arèn frowned.
“Her bowl was empty.”
“He said he was still hungry and finished Eiryn-minnai’s soup. I’m sorry, Arèn-doi. What if we didn’t get her away in time?”
Arèn took a deep breath. If they’d failed to take Eiryn from the funeral in time, she’d die. It was, after all, why they burned their dead and, normally, sent them to the horizon. If they’d waited too long, Amaru’s ghost would be lingering. Eiryn was just a child, and vulnerable as a result. If they’d failed, she’d be lost, taken by the ghost of a ghost, or now, perhaps, condemned by his colleagues. He would not let that happen. “She will not upset the Balance. She has not and she will not.”
They continued walking in silence, though sometimes Arèn sought Keilan’s hand for a moment. He tried to stare straight ahead and see nothing. The walls reminded him of a conversation he’d had with Eiryn before Amaru –
They just reminded him. Eiryn had asked him whether he could make stone glimmer like a pearl in the sunlight. She’d smiled when he’d shown her a trick to do just that, but it had only been a trick. He hadn’t seen Eiryn smile since and it seared his heart. Arèn could scarce remember when he, Amaru and Keilan had asked themselves such questions. It seemed so long ago. His niece was full of them. ‘Can you make stone shiny?’, ‘Why can’t Keilan-minnai stay with Arèn-minnoi?’, ‘Why can’t Arèn-minnoi smile, dai?’
Keilan squeezed his hand, as if she’d picked up on his thoughts. Arèn’d believed he’d banished that last question from his mind. He’d never meant to overhear it. He’d been looking for Amaru out in the gardens, hoping to get his sister’s advice on something — he couldn’t remember what — but Amaru was too caught up in playing with her daughter and he hadn’t had the heart to call her away. And Eiryn had asked, entirely serious, why he couldn’t smile. He’d left before Amaru had answered, not w
illing to fluster the little girl. Arèn remembered that day so clearly now. He wiped his hands on the black-and-white sash around his waist because they were sweaty. Thinking about his niece or his sister at the moment would do him no good.
Arèn set himself the task of fielding imaginary arguments, but he hadn’t even finished the first one before the doors to the Hall of Balance rose before him. They were high but plain pine. Arèn needed a moment to steady himself, resting a hand against the wood. Fasaoi, shine down on my little Ryn. Don’t take her from me too. With that silent prayer and a quick glance at Keilan’s unreadable face, he stepped back and sang the opening farakaoina.
His voice never faltered or caught at the sight before him. Training and habit were the only things that countered the desire to fall silent and gape as the doors swung open, even now. The Hall of Balance was oval-shaped, two storeys high to allow visitors a seat in the gallery when necessary, which wasn’t often. The hall was still dark, but the great window would bathe them in multicoloured light as soon as the sun hit it. It was almost time, but no one else was present yet. He and Keilan had been the first to arrive.
Arèn strode over to the seat he’d been assigned this time. There would be no spectators for an emergency meeting like this one. He’d never thought he would feel such profound relief for that. Eiryn’s life was hard enough, with an unknown gaodansoi father and now the loss of her mother. Rumours of her being sifanou could ruin her just as surely as if the faslaeraoina had ruled against her. Not caring where Keilan sat, Arèn closed his eyes. If she sat down on one of the chairs on the opposite row, he did not wish to know until he had to. Didn’t want to think about what it might mean. He’d never been to a ruling on sifanou before. Keilan and Anou-minnoi had explained the basics to him, but that was all.
Trust Keilan, he told himself, and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He could hear footsteps and quiet muttering and did not open his eyes. The faslaeraoina would all wait for the sunlight to have risen high enough to touch the edge of the mosaic in the centre of the hall. Arèn hated the waiting even more today and tried to empty his mind of everything except the sensation of stone behind and underneath him.
A Promise Broken Page 3
