The poor servant falls flat on his knees and silver-white delicacies roll in all different directions. Lords try to step out of the way. Women lift their skirts to avoid the mess. Other servants approach to help clean up.
I dash out the back door and only when I am thirty feet down the hall do I feel at ease to slow my pace to a fancy trot. I run my fingers over my left cheek. Mother used her best efforts to disguise the bruise blossoming on my skin but it retains an odd color that doesn’t suit the rest of my complexion. The scab on my lip could not be helped.
It has been nearly three years since I’ve walked the palace of the Celectate but I remember every hallway, every intricately carved door, and every staircase adeptly. Exploring Celectate Wood’s massive home had been one of my many pastimes when I was younger. When I was innocent. When I didn’t care what kind of man he was.
The library door is not locked, as I knew it wouldn’t be, and I slip inside, cautiously making sure I do not interrupt a lover’s meeting. The room is empty save for the books lining the shelves on the wall. Hundreds of them – too many for me to count. Master Rolfe’s collection could never compare to this wondrous supply.
Let the nobility gossip when I cannot be found on the dance-floor. Let them call me names and ruin my reputation. With all this leather – all this knowledge – at my fingertips, nothing could shatter my spirits.
Hefting my skirts up past my calves, I master the small ladder on the side of the shelves and pluck the first book that catches my attention. It is a book of tales. Another one describing the altercation of Gasan and Calaisar. I remember Celectate Wood’s son, Aspen, saying how much his father loved the tale of Gasan and Calaisar. How he would tell him stories of the two warriors – even making up his own adventures so Aspen could dream about becoming a warrior just like them. A warrior who defeated the gods.
Imagining the blood-splattered man upon the podium tucking his son in bed with stories of heroism doesn’t elevate my respect.
I search desperately among the manuscripts for something out of the ordinary. Nothing stands out. When mother had told me of the First Moon Festival, I had thought I’d be able to finally find something to answer – if not ease – the things I wanted to know so badly.
“Hell’s breaking chains today.”
“Lothalar leran de revelan.”
Perhaps I could find something among the ancient Kelban texts. The idea is a slim chance. Not many copies of ancient texts are found in readable condition. If there are any they usually go to the temple, where Calaisar’s priests copy the phrases and store the artifacts for the gods. However, Celectate Wood is so influential, so important, I’m sure he must have a small copy – even a page – of ancient Kelban writings.
Sure enough, Celectate Wood does possess a small shelf with neatly written pamphlets, all containing the centuries old dialogue. My adeptness at translating the olden tongue is somewhat lacking – I spent more time engulfing myself in old tales of Kelban folklore than I did studying with my mono-toned instructor.
The words are more jumbled together than I remember – more poetry sounding too. I try to make sense of the swirling lines and delicate strokes but can discern none of it. I catch a few words here and there: “light,” “star”, “saviors,” and a couple references to holiness.
“I thought you’d be in here. Hiding again?” The voice is so soft, yet so piercing, that my skin shudders. I don’t have to turn around when I catch the sweet scent of lily perfume that the newcomer wears. I know who it is.
“If I want to hide, it’s best not to seek me out.” I add an edge to my tone and return the pamphlet to its proper place on the shelf.
“Don’t need to be so touchy, Kyla. Remember . . . I’m a lord’s daughter too.” Selena Griff reminds me as she comes to stand beside one of the Celectate’s soft lounge-sofas. Her hands, delicately manicured, with nails painted black as midnight, stroke the soft silken furnish. Everything about her is black, from the dress that hugs her slim body to the jet-black hair that skates nearly to her waist in straight, smooth streaks. Even her eyes are lined with deep, thick eyeliner that gives her the appearance of a feline creature stalking prey.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing?” I ask. Selena is near as popular as I am on the dance-floor. Maybe it’s her gracefully thin figure that possesses the agility of a cat or her mesmerizing seduction, but she certainly has been my rival since our first acquaintance five years ago.
“Perhaps, but I find the atmosphere in here so much better,” Selena comments. She rests her hip against the arm of the sofa and lets one of her nails scrape along the fabric. “So . . .” Her voice is honey sweet – and prodding.
“What have you been doing with yourself, Kyla? It’s been ages since we spoke.”
I smile. “I’ve been busy, of course. There’s so many lovely young gentleman coming to call that I’m afraid my time has been spent in complete boredom.”
Selena smirks – not a becoming look at all for her hunter’s nature. “I see. Then I suppose the rumors I heard were just frightful gossip.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh. You didn’t hear.” She laughs and presses a hand to her heart with a mock gesture of surprise. “There’s a rumor going around that a High Lord’s daughter was caught gallivanting around the sultry parts of the city dressed as a boy. A scholar, no less! There’s all sorts of foolish stories running around about the predicament. Some say she was in a tryst. Can you imagine? Such scandal! Not only does such behavior displease the gods, but it also gives the people a bad impression of their hierarchy. After all, if the people they’re supposed to serve start behaving like vagabonds that’s one step away from barbarity. And Kelba can’t afford such behavior.”
Someone must have seen me returning home last night. My hair had been a dead giveaway. Hell! I was being so careful. But they are only rumors. There is no verification behind them. And no one but Selena would dare insult High Lord Gavin Bone’s daughter by asking if she would even entertain the idea of such scandalous frivolity.
“What would you know of Kelban behavior?” I ask, my own claws unsheathing for the fight. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors about you, Selena. Trust me . . . they’re scandalous.”
Selena reddens but her claws don’t retract. “More so than disguising as a boy and sneaking into the sultriest parts of the city to drink and romp and sully your reputation?”
“Sully my reputation?” I laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Believe me, Selena; nothing concerns me more than my family’s honor.” I’ll swear that one to the gods.
“Well, consider this a word of advice from someone who values both reputation and honor.” Selena leans close with a devilish grin and her cat-like eyes bore into mine. “If you value those things you’ll attend the next ostracizement like a good member of nobility and openly clarify your support for the Celectate.”
“I was in bed with a headache,” I say.
Selena narrows her eyes and stares directly at my left cheek, her gaze boring into my skin. I turn my head away from her prying gaze and purse my lips in an annoyance.
“Ah, yes,” she muses and pulls back, her legs outlined beneath the silken folds of her gown. “A headache. Dreadful things, those.” She crosses her arms. “And convenient too. I dare say your health would not have improved after the showing. It turned into a rather bloody mess before Lord Telman could be ostracized properly. They had to brand him quick and drag him away. Not at all the sort of examples we’ve had in the past. A shame too.” She eyes me again. “Lord Telman was such a fool to believe he could outsmart our illustrious ruler. A big mistake on his part. The poor man. I rather liked him. Even his tongue was a pleasant sight.”
Bitch. Rotten, diseased bitch.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides.
“Rumors can be dreadful things, you know?” Selena runs her hand along the arm of the couch, her nails raking the satin into creased folds. Her eyes glitter. “They can spark a fire, start a war,
kill someone . . . and ruin another.”
I feel a headache pressing close to my skull. The migraine approaching is an entirely different physical ailment than what assails normal human beings. This headache is one of the aftermaths of the mugging.
“Once you’ve finished, Selena, I’m sure you’ll be off to create more rumors for yourself, so get on with it.” Hardly wise words to say to such a creature, but if she is in here when the pain arrives the situation will turn ugly.
Her face turns white and her lips press into thin lines on her face. “There are rumors concerning certain members of your family? For instance, your brother’s wayward ways.”
“Yes, everyone knows how men in the Celectate’s service are known for their righteousness,” I quip. My brother, Landor, is a Celect Knight, personally guarding the palace walls five days out of the week. He is one of the youngest Celect Knight’s – only twenty-one – and has been honored on many occasions for his aptitude and adept swordsmanship. Of course, he also has a heap of gossip surrounding his accomplishments. One cannot be the son of a High Lord like father and go unnoticed.
Selena sneers contemptibly and crosses her legs. “There are also rumors about your father.”
The breath I catch fans the talons gripping my skull and searing pain flames my body.
Having fueled her need for attention, Selena continues in cold calculation. “Well . . . there’s talk of rebellion going around. You know the type that can overthrow a monarchy? Lord Essan. Lord Drave. Lord Telman. People are saying your father has, shall we say, forgotten his loyalty to the Celectate like those men. Isn’t that interesting? What’s even more interesting is that it’s also affectionately called . . . Oh, what was the word? Ah. Yes. Treason!” Her eyes, which had been scanning the ceiling as she spoke, turn on me. “Isn’t that the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard off the streets? I mean . . . your father is a lord. A member of the Community, for gods’ sakes. He doesn’t question any of the Celectate’s decisions. It can only be a useless rumor. I’m sorry for even bringing it up. What a horrid thought.”
My breathing feels heavy, and I’m sure it’s not the dress this time.
Treason, treason, treason!
It rings in my ears. I see Lord Telman’s tongue. Hear the flesh melting beneath hot iron. Smell the searing skin. I know what happens to those the Celectate believes in opposition to him.
Images of my father, bleeding and gasping for breath, flash across my mind. He’s walking across a barren wasteland. Shadows claw at him, until he finally falls. Cannibals appear and he screams at them to stop as they tear at his flesh, stuffing it in their mouths hungrily. Until nothing but bones remains.
The throbbing begins, spreading down my face from my temples, spanning my neck, pulsing against the fang scars. They burn. Every part of me seems to be shaking as the world shivers around me in weird colors and vibrations. I struggle to retain my balance but the hard wood of the shelf gouges my spine when I tip backwards. I blink. Dark spots blur my vision.
“Kyla! Kyla, someone’s come looking for you. Good evening, Sir Landor. My don’t you look stunning!” Selena’s voice has taken a seductively smooth twist.
I suck in a deep breath and try to stand straight again.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lan asks. His arms wrap around my shoulders to support me and my knees give way.
Lan gasps with the sudden weight and presses his palm against my burning forehead. It feels so cool. I gently push his hand away. Selena cannot see me like this. She mustn’t.
Breathe, Kyla. Just breathe. Breathe.
“Well, I’ll leave you two in peace. See you later, Kyla.” Selena strolls off with a confident sway in her hips.
Slowly the dizziness fades. The spasms in my neck cease and my limbs stop shaking. My brother’s arms remain tight around my shoulders.
“I’m fine, Lan. You can let go of me now,” I promise.
Reluctantly, he steps away. I press my hair back into place, smoothing it against my neck. I feel so sticky and a chill skates down my spine.
“You don’t have to carry it alone, you know?” Lan says.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The nightmares – the terrors that make you scream in the night – the horrors you ask about . . . you don’t have to carry them alone.” He offers me a gentle pat on the shoulder and smiles at my surprise. “You honestly didn’t think I knew? I’ve known something was different for a long time. You changed. A mugging doesn’t do that to someone. There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
Though our relationship is one of the strongest bonds, the secrets I keep from him, and the secrets I’m sure he keeps from me, are better kept in the dark. I do not ask what things he’s done for the Celectate, atrocious or not, and he doesn’t ask what nonsense I fill my head with in Master Rolfe’s abode or why I continue to return there.
“Lan, I . . . I . . .”
“Spare me the excuses, sister. You don’t have to tell me anything. In time, maybe I’ll understand why you persist in sticking your nose into mythological tales and the ancient woes that shattered this kingdom. But I don’t understand your interest with those silly legends.” He shakes his head vigorously.
Silence presses between us.
“But that’s just the problem,” I say.
He eyes me with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“They’re just legends.” I make a fist in irritation. “There are no truths in any of it! Not one bit of solid evidence. Only nightmarish ramblings and terrifying tales. It makes me furious.”
Landor sighs. “Nightmares,” he snorts. “They still bother you, don’t they?”
I shake my head, but it’s no use lying to him. He grasps my hand in his and squeezes comfortingly. “They’ll pass, Kyla,” he says. “I promise you, they’ll pass.”
I know he’s lying. I can see it in his face. Feel it in the way his skin turns a deadly cold. Watch it in the flickering memories he shields behind his eyes. I don’t believe his words for one moment. The repercussions from that night have never faded. I don’t think they ever will. They’ve only gotten worse. Grown stronger. Scarier.
“I’m better now, Lan. You should go back to the party. It’s not often that you get the Celectate’s personal approval to enjoy such a celebration.” He usually has to guard the palace wall, but the Celectate allowed him the night off since he was the son of a High Lord.
“You should come back too,” Landor urges me. He grips my hand. “People will start to wonder where you’ve gone. There’s already too much danger to your reputation.”
I raise a brow at him. “So you heard about yesterday then, eh?”
He scrunches up his face. “I heard about an ‘untidy, unpresentable’ scholar returning from a late night at the temple who may or may not have been a female in disguise. I was actually referring to the reputation that you can never be found three hours into a party and that you have not attended any special gatherings in honor of the Celectate for some time.” His words, though said in jest, hit the mark he expertly intended.
I release my wrist from his hand and gently nudge him towards the large doors. “Just a few more minutes. Don’t waste the evening on me.”
When he still hesitates, I push him playfully from behind. “I want to . . . gather my senses.” Gods know, I’ll need them.
My answer suits him. He nods absently and disappears through the doorway, closing it gently behind him. I turn back to stare at the bookshelves, surveying the vast amount of leather and paper that, a few moments ago, had been my whole world. Now it all burns away before my eyes.
“People are saying your father has, shall we say, forgotten his loyalty to the Celectate.”
The Wilds appear before me again.
“What’s even more interesting is that it’s affectionately called . . . Treason!”
My father is on blackened ground, clawing at dirt, while savage humans with sharp teeth tear his body to pieces.
&n
bsp; My head throbs once more. I press fingertips to my temples but it doesn’t go away. If father is against the Celectate – will he be ostracized?
Three years ago, I wouldn’t have had to think of such a thing. And, to be honest, I shouldn’t even be thinking about it now. My father is loyal to the Celectate. Granted, he doesn’t always favor the Celectate’s ideas, but he still supports him and gets the laws passed. He’d never think about starting a rebellion or a riot or anything that would harm his ruler, no matter what he thought about the man himself. He is not a violent man. He is not a Lord Telman or any of the previous seven High Lords who have met such a horrendous fate.
He won’t be ostracized. He can’t be.
“Lady Kyla?”
“For gods’ sakes, I don’t want a damned tart or a cursed glass of spirits or . . .” I bite back my words when the newcomer steps out of the shadows beside the door. I take a shocked step back – right into the wooden shelf.
“Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.” Painstakingly formal and polite, the newcomer bows elegantly in the shadows, his features a dark blur. I’m awestruck by how attractive his silhouette looks in the ill light.
“T-that’s alright.” My back screams its disapproval.
He steps out of the shadows and my stomach does a quick loop to the floor. A good look at his face – at his eyes – and all good feelings fade away.
It’s Aspen Wood.
I have not seen him this close since three years ago – since the night of the horrible “mugging.” I had left his father’s library a laughing, carefree human being who didn’t understand the viciousness that ran in his blood. Occasionally, I saw him at public parties or at executions and ostracizements – particularly those of the High Lords – but always kept my distance.
Struggling to find a way to insert my getting-out-of-the-spotlight skill, I curtsy as gracefully as I can. It’s a clumsy attempt since my whole body feels as unmoving as stone. I take a step forward and nearly trip over the delicate hem of my dress.
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 4
