I took the opportunity to step out into the sunlit balcony. The heavy scent of zezelia blooms filled the air tinged with the lighter smells of kalyee roses and jurnar. Tall trees, great green expanses of grass, organza ferns, and plants I had never seen before called to me. I lay my hands on the sun-warmed iron railing and looked down on them all.
“Is your bedchamber satisfactory, Donellea?”
Startled away from my thoughts of cool green glades, I turned to find the Housemistress regarding me seriously. Her slightly flushed countenance indicated Mother had found something wrong with her rooms.
“Yes, thank you. I am sure it is fine.”
She bowed and turned to leave. Though I didn’t mind her haste, I did have one question.
“Are the gardens open to guests?”
“Yes, they are for your enjoyment.”
“Thank you.” I turned back to survey the greenery. I was going to soak in as much as I could now before I was ushered into the dim audience chamber for my presentation. However, my quiet revelry was cut short.
“Zezilia Calypso,” Mother called.
I reluctantly turned away and entered the cooler confines of the building. “Yes, Mother.”
“It is time we went. The presentations begin shortly and we don’t want to be late. Now turn around so that I can see you.”
Obediently, I submitted to a last minute poking and prodding. I can endure this, I told myself, promising myself I would wander away and explore the green and fragrant wonderland as often as possible before we left. If I had known the extent of the High King’s gardens, I wouldn’t have been dreading this trip quite as much.
A long convoluted journey through the passages and down and up staircases ended in the two of us pausing before a set of great carved doors. The guard standing outside moved to open them for us, but mother tutted him into waiting. Turning to me, she smoothed my clothing once more before adjusting her own.
“Remember your role.”
“Yes, mother, silence, grace, duty, and reserve will impress her most.” I arranged my hands as I had been taught, fingers lightly splayed one hand over the back of the other. Composing my features into a serene mask, I lifted them for her inspection.
Apparently, they were satisfactory. She motioned for the guard to announce us.
He flung open the door and announced, “Queen Ilar and Princess Zezilia beg audience with the High Queen.”
“Come,” an answering herald immediately responded.
Mother preceded me into a long, narrow room. White ornately carved walls rose to meet an airily high ceiling. A single wall of windows lined the far end of the room, lighting the whole in bright daylight. At the far end of long ranks of similarly bedecked mothers and daughters both slightly older and younger than I, the queen and her attendants sat with their backs to the windows. The shadows on their faces left us guessing as to their expressions.
Mother proceeded forward as though nothing was amiss, so I followed her example. Slow and gliding, she paced the length without hurry or apparent worry. When we reached about ten feet away from the Queen and her cohort, my mother curtsied and I did likewise.
“So this is your seventh born?” The Queen’s voice sounded tired, but the women around her stirred with interest.
“Yes, Majesty,” Mother replied. “Zezilia is our youngest.”
“No use trying after a girl messing up the works,” someone to the left hissed in a false whisper.
Mother didn’t flinch. I tensed, but held my expression of calm. It didn’t help to react.
The queen didn’t appear affected in the least. “It is a pleasure to see you, Nascio, and to meet you, Zezilia. Come and sit by me. I would love to hear about your plans for the next year.”
Mother accepted the invitation with her usual grace. I followed out of duty. The following hour filled with polite talk of people I barely knew. My eyes kept straying to the glimpses of green I could see through the Queen’s reception room window and my mind to the freedom it promised.
Hadrian
THE HUM OF LOWERED voices filled the ballroom, almost drowning out the bright dance music in the background. The dancing would begin in a span of minutes, and the press of girlish optimism and matronly expectations stifled my senses. Every survival instinct I possessed urged me to flee, but I couldn’t. I had a task to complete.
“Great potential talent,” Errol Silas whispered into my mind. I watched the girl he spoke of, hardly more than a child, and tried to see what he saw. Or rather, receive what he heard.
“I am receiving nothing,” I protested.
Errol had told me her name was Zezilia Ilar, meaning grey-eyed. Dark and slender, she moved among the throng of recently presented girls. She seemed aloof, distant somehow, as she walked to stand by the outer wall. Her eyes down cast and demeanor quiet. From this distance, I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of her face to find out if her name was because of a characteristic or a romantic fancy of her mother’s.
The rest of the young hopeful girls thronged into clutches of whispers and giggles. Their eager eyes watching for any chance glance from an older male. They knew their purpose, snatch a rich prospect before the high week finished. One or two of the more forward young women boldly scanned the crowd and carefully chose whom they bestowed their coy smiles upon.
“She is thinking of the gardens,” Errol sent.
I looked down at my tutor and friend in surprise. “The gardens?” A young woman at the first major social event of her life, and her mind was on foliage. She was unique.
He smiled. “I told you she was different.”
I turned my attention back to the small, green-clad figure beside the open windows. Behind us the music changed, announcing the arrival of the Mesitas. “So, since I cannot hear her, what do you suggest I do to test her?”
“Touch her mind,” Errol suggested. “If she senses you, we will know that she is.”
I frowned. “And why must I do it?”
“I am not strong enough to do it at this distance.” I detected an underlying meaning in Errol’s voice, but by the time I glanced down at him, his face was blank.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Ilias.” Errol always called me by my childhood name despite my age. “You know you surpassed my abilities long ago. Now just do this for your old tutor. Test her and see if I am mistaken about her talent.”
The Mesitas, the country’s highest religious leader, with his cohort of Segia approached the High King’s dais. Any moment he would be giving the official blessing over the Caelestis Novem. If I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t have a better opportunity for a long time. I concentrated. Focusing lightly on the minds in the room, I selected hers from among them. Errol was correct; her thoughts were definitely on something other than the proceedings. Now that I was trying to read them, I could catch snatches. Reaching out with an invisible hand, I touched her mind. A fusion of mint flooded my mouth and then suddenly disappeared. In defense, I withdrew. However when I lifted my eyes, I found her gaze locked on me. From this distance I couldn’t read the expression on her face. Her body language spoke of startled surprise.
“I take it she felt you.”
“Understatement, Errol. She shut me out. The technique was raw and awkward, but she felt me and shut me out.” I looked down at Errol. The amusement on his face was annoying.
“Never had that happen before I take it?”
“Not since I first began training and you know it. Usually that kind of touch goes undetected.”
“I know. I suspected, but I wanted to be sure.”
I watched the play of thought across Errol’s face. I knew the man well enough that I rarely had to listen to his thoughts to know what was going through his mind. “Does she know?” I asked.
Errol shook his head. “Not yet. I have only just opened her mind to the idea that she might have some talent. Besides, I don’t want her to know, at least not yet.”
I glanced back in her direction.
She was gone. “You do realize that I am going to have to go apologize and explain myself now.”
“Fine,” Errol replied, waving me off. “Tell her that I put you up to it. Just don’t tell her everything. I want to keep her innocent as long as possible.”
I nodded. I wouldn’t ruin her ignorance. With it came peace, a peace that I hadn’t had in years. I never forgot the heavy weight on my shoulders, and I would be cautious to not lay that burden about Zezilia Ilar’s slender frame any sooner than necessary.
Zezilia
THE SURPRISE IN THE stranger’s dark eyes burned in my memory as the rich flavor of his mind touch still lingered in my mouth. I could not identify the taste that had flooded my senses, but I found it strangely pleasing. It felt different from Master Errol’s sending. I tried to recall my brothers’ descriptions of their experiences, but none came to mind. I guess I never pestered them with questions about it like I had about fishing, hunting, and playing Korkta.
I hoped that the cool night air would clear my senses. However, I found that even the delicious pleasure of walking at night alone in the High King’s gardens did not distract me. My thoughts kept returning to the tall man with the startled eyes. What was he doing speaking with Master Silas? There had to be a connection between the two of them.
I sank onto a bench along the path and tried to organize the riot in my head. I knew too little to wrestle it into a shape I recognized.
“Donellea Ilar.”
I was so startled that I jumped to my feet and collided with someone solid. Arms came up to steady me. Once I gained my balance, he stepped away.
“I am sorry to startle you for the second time,” he said, bowing to me. His voice was low and rich like the taste left by his mind touch. I simply stared at him. “I seem to be acting like a great oaf tonight, first intruding upon your thoughts in the assembly and now startling you out of your musings.”
It took me a moment to find my tongue. “That is alright, Master...”
“Aleron,” he supplied. He smiled. “I am Hadrian Aleron.”
“Master Aleron,” I repeated. “I seem too much in my thoughts tonight.”
“Nonsense,” he protested. “It is rude to touch someone’s thoughts without their permission. Master Silas asked me to test you to see if you have talent. I meant to only brush your mind, not to startle you. Please accept my apology and allow me to make it up to you with a tour of the gardens.”
I blushed. Thankfully the darkness disguised the color. “Surely you don’t mean tonight.”
He laughed. It was a warm sound. “No, I do not mean tonight. I was thinking more of tomorrow morning before the heat reaches its height. What do you say?”
To be honest, I was not sure what to say. My impression in the light of the candelabras had been that he was about the age of Clovis or Blandone, my second and third brothers. That made him at least nine or ten years my senior. Though my parents wouldn’t think it odd that a man would be interested in me, I did. I was after all only fifteen.
“Are you sure you wish to be seen with me?” I blurted out.
He laughed again. “Yes, Donellea, I wish to make up for my blunders this evening. I have twice been terribly rude. If Clovis or Blandone got wind of my behavior, they would give me a dressing down. Now, please consent so that I may avoid crossing paths with your brothers’ ire.”
“I doubt Blan would give you much trouble, but I can understand your concern about Clovis.” Clovis was a well-known warrior, excelling in all forms of fighting. As formidable as Master Aleron looked to me, I was certain that Clovis would be able to best him easily. “I consent.” I offered my hand as I had seen Mother do.
“Thank you, my dear Donellea.” Taking my hand he lifted it to his mouth and then surprised me by kissing it. “Now allow me to escort you to the safety of the well-lit palazzo. I can hear the first strains of the dancing music and I am sure there will be many waiting to watch you dance.”
I let him lead me back to the golden glowing windows of the assembly room, but I refused his offer of an escort inside. Thankfully some young men he knew appeared. I was able to slip off unnoticed.
Chapter II
Hadrian
The whispers about the High King’s absence from the formal breaking of the fast the next morning kept the gossips busy. Right afterwards, the talents gathered in the southern parlor to discuss how to handle the ascension of the next High King. Among the gathered were all of King Ilar’s sons, a prince of the house of Sabine, and two of the house of Marcellus. Aside from them, forty others of lower houses and common houses filled the room to capacity.
I chose a chair at the back. Within the ranks of the talented, outside political rank meant nothing. It was drilled into our heads from the moment we began training. A commoner’s son could out rank a prince among the talented. The current Sept Son was a pig farmer’s son. Within the talented, level of talent and courtesy to others was all that mattered. I, being a Proctor’s son, ranked higher among the talented than all the princes present because of my age, training, and ability. Yet, it was something that one didn’t call attention to.
Tristan, a prince of the house of Ynyr, rose to his feet. The whispers lowered and all conversations dropped to the mental level.
“Talented young men,” he began, “There is an issue that the Sept Son wishes for us to address this morning. He sent Master Horace with a special missive for your discussion and recommendation.” He then bowed Master Horace into the place of honor.
Master Horace proceeded to explain what I already knew. The High King stood on the brink of the downward slope toward death. The doctors gave him three years at best, nine months at least. The Sept Son wasn’t much better. Old Neleck neared his ninetieth annum. Though his spirit and talent remained strong, age worked against his body. Thus everyone worried about which man would die first and how that would affect the succession.
The High Throne did not pass from father to son, but from kingly house to kingly house. Right now, the royal house of Honorus led by Uiseann held the High Throne. But once Uiseann died, the Sept Son would appoint the new family to take the rule.
“But what if Neleck dies first?” one of the young talents asked as Master Horace took his seat.
“Then the new Sept Son will appoint the new High King,” Tristan of Ynyr replied.
A few of the younger men stole glances in my direction. As one of the three current seventh sons in the kingdom, I was one of the candidates for the position.
“So, if High King Honorus dies first, may he live forever, Euginius becomes High King because Neleck favors him, but if Neleck goes first, we will not know.” The same young man persisted to state the situation despite his comrades’ efforts to stop him.
“Boy,” Tristan of Ynyr growled, “If you do not cease, I shall have you removed.” The boy fell silent, but the angry look on his face bode ill for his temper.
“Now,” Tristan continued, “I have summoned you all to find a solution to another possibility that we hope does not happen: the High King and Sept Son dying within a month of each other, thus preventing the instatement of a new Sept Son before an heir must be named.”
Murmuring flowed across the room like wild fire. I glanced over at Errol Silas. He and I had discussed this possibility only three weeks ago. Sitting back in his chair with his hands folded on his broad middle, Errol didn’t look like he was paying much mind to the proceedings at all. I frowned. He looked too calm.
“You put him up to this,” I accused.
Errol didn’t even shift. “It seemed that no one other than us has given thought to the possibility. I simply mentioned it as an unlikely scenario to the Sept Son. He felt it needed to be discussed.”
I resisted frowning at him. The only solution we had come up with for such a scenario was to have the successor installed and acting as soon as possible. That would be the only way to insure a smooth transition for both positions. Unknown to all but Neleck, Errol, and myself, I was already chosen as
the next Sept Son. It wasn’t a choice I relished, but for the glory and work of the one true God, I was willing to do it.
I waited and listened in unhappy silence as the men around me debated their way to our conclusion. It took them even longer than Errol and I on our own. Partially because the youngling with the big mouth kept interrupting to ask answered questions or insert completely unrelated anecdotes. Before long I found myself glancing at the height of the sun. At the rate they were going, I was going to be late meeting Donellea Ilar.
The discussion stalled as one of the younger men began carrying on about the distantly related topic of reworking the provision arrangement for the Sept Son’s sons. I sought out Errol’s mind. “May I respectfully request a recess?”
Errol turned his head and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “What is the hurry?”
“I promised Donellea Ilar a tour of the gardens this morning in payment for my rudeness last evening. I am already late.”
“I will see what I can do.” Errol returned his attention to Tristan. I picked up a small sending and within minutes Tristan dismissed the meeting.
“I am impressed.”
“Don’t be, he was thinking the same thing. All I did was suggest that we end now because I had an appointment to keep.”
“Thank you.” I rose with the others and turned to take a short cut out the tall glass doors into the gardens.
“Greet Zezilia for me. I shall be seeking her out later after I have another argument with her father.”
I stepped out into the warm humid air wondering what argument Errol was going to use to convince strong-minded Ostin Ilar that he should allow his daughter to be trained. Then I put the thought from my mind. I had a duty to perform.
Slipping through the bushes that lined the carefully trimmed paths, I cut across the manicured lawns. I didn’t truly expect her to be still waiting where I asked, but it would be a good place to start looking.
Seventh Born Page 2
