Landor groans and flexes his shoulder. “You’d be saving my life.”
I laugh.
All at once, the footman comes running around the corner of the stable wall, tugging his formal coat up his long arms. He’s red in the face and panting for breath as he jogs towards the courtyard around the corner of the house.
“What’s he in such a hurry for?” I ask, glancing at Landor for an explanation.
He only shrugs.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I skip towards the edge of the house and hear carriage wheels turning in the courtyard. Horses neigh and a whip hisses in the air. The wheels creak to a halt and I hear our footman yank open the door and say, “Your esteemed excellency. Your presence is welcomed!”
When I peer around the corner, I see the Celectate’s carriage, with his four magnificent black horses drawing it. Our footman kneels down low to the ground as the occupant disembarks with sweeping robes that catch the edge of the door much like my dress did last night. With an irritated jerk, they are pulled free and the Celectate starts up the steps of my home. He disregards the servants who bow low to the ground with a tilt of his chin in the air. His dark eyes – eyes devoid of any emotion – stare straight ahead. The black ring on his left hand catches the light of the sun above and flashes in my face. I blink to regain focus only to find him gone when my vision clears.
Landor has come up behind me and recognizes the carriage with a startled, “What in hell’s blazes!” that Mother would surely remove from his vocabulary if she heard.
I ignore his outburst. “What’s he here for?”
Did he find out about my father and come to confront him? Did Aspen squeal and tell his father what Selena and I had discussed? Was Father going to be ostracized?
I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and lean over, clutching my middle.
“Kyla! Kyla, don’t!” Landor gasps and jerks me by the elbow so hard that I stand straight again. My vision grows hazy and every part of me goes numb at the same time. Landor catches me before I fall flat on the ground and sits down on a nearby bench beneath the shade of a bush. It offers a cool covering over my burning face. He rubs circles over my back until I start to breathe correctly again. “Honestly, Kyla, you’ve got to stop these spells you have! What are you going to do if I’m not there to catch you?” Worry stains his face.
“But father . . .” I start to say.
“Can take care of himself,” Landor interrupts. He must see the horrendous images flashing in my brain written on my face because he palms my cheek and kisses my forehead comfortingly. “Father’s a careful, smart man, Kyla. He can handle the Celectate. Meanwhile, worry about yourself first. This is getting serious.” He presses a palm to my forehead. “Seriously, you’ll kill yourself!”
I can’t hold it back anymore. I grab him around the waist and lean close. “I’m afraid! I’m so, so afraid, Lan!”
Lord Telman’s severed tongue. Watching Celectate Wood slit his attacker’s throat. Blood splattering his robes. That man had just entered my home. That man was meeting my father.
Landor seems startled by my words before collecting himself and hugging me back. “It’s okay, Kyla. The Celectate probably had some urgent matter to discuss with father, that’s all. It’s nothing, okay? It’s nothing.”
He doesn’t sound one bit sincere. Uncertainty flows in his voice like poison.
It seems like hours before I hear the servants shuffling to a stand. It can mean only one thing.
Releasing myself from Landor’s arms, I hurry towards the edge of the house again, just in time to see the Celectate’s footman open the door of his carriage. The Celectate seems in no hurry to get inside, straightens his robes, and takes a lazy look around. I’m so awed by the complete lack of emotion in his eyes that by the time they connect with mine, it’s too late to hide. His eyes draw me in and he observes my face, for a few moments, with cold calculation. Every nerve in my body jolts to attention at that gaze. It seems to look right through me.
Not wanting to be seen as a coward, I tilt my chin up proudly and walk around the corner so that he can fully see me. His eyes squint into tiny slits at my appearance and he seems to be calculating whether to approach me or get into his carriage.
It’s been a good two years since I’ve stood this close to the Celectate. After that fateful night, my father did not bring me to any more of his meetings with the Community. I only saw the palace at festivities like the First Moon Festival last night. The Celectate rarely presented himself at such festivals unless it was absolutely necessary. However, two years has done nothing to diminish my memory. I haven’t forgotten his eyes nor the youthful look he possesses, despite the truth that he is nearing sixty years of age. Not a gray hair decorates his neatly combed black hair. Not a wrinkle mars his face. The unnatural look in his eyes sends more shivers down my spine.
I refuse to flinch beneath them.
Apparently, the Celectate’s seen all he needs to. He steps inside his carriage, pausing only once to turn around and give me a strange smile. It spikes every bad feeling I’ve ever had into my gut, twisting a knot of anxiety deep within. The carriage door closes behind him, blocking his face from view. Shielding me from his hideous smile.
His visit was not about anything good.
The carriage rolls to life, slowly departing from the courtyard, and out the gates of my home. Only when they close behind it do I get a chance to breathe.
From inside the house, glass shatters and a cry of rage reaches my ears.
Father!
Finding the correct room is not a problem. My mother would have welcomed the Celectate into the Sanction, the family quarters where we spend our time together. It’s the loveliest room in the house, complete with lavish couches that the Celectate could sit upon. And there’s enough glass fixtures in that room to fill the fountain in the middle of our courtyard.
The moment I enter the room, Mother shrieks, “Kyla, stop!”
If it had been anyone but Mother, I wouldn’t have listened. Instead, my feet halt – right before they would have plunged into the broken glass vase shattered on the ground. Close by lies another, shards decorating the immaculate carpet that cost a fortune.
Father stands in the middle of the room, fists white with strain, his eyes ready to bulge from a reddened face. I’ve never seen him so angry. He’s always been the most controlled man I’ve ever known. Now his eyes are wide and maniacal, looking around the room for something to throw.
“I swear to you I won’t do it! I won’t! He can hang me from the highest wall in all of Kelba and I’d still say no. This is all his wickedness. His greed for my diamond mines!” Father screeches. “That bastard!”
Realizing the servants are probably hearing every word of his rant, I turn around to close the door. Landor is already there, shutting them securely and sliding the lock into place. When he turns to face me, curiosity creases his brow. I offer a confused shrug.
“Gavin, lower your voice, for all our sakes. If the servants report what you’ve just said . . .” Mother tries to put a smooth polish to her voice but we can all detect how strained it is. She’s slowly losing control too.
Her hand rests on Father’s arm. He shakes it off.
“To hell with the servants. That bastard can have ’em! I’ll be dead before I let him bind that spawn of his with my daughter!” Father lets out another roar of rage and kicks ferociously at the couch before him. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bone snaps my senses and Father falls onto the cushions, clutching his leg in one hand.
The room suddenly feels like a prison closing in around my swirling head. Everything floats insecurely before me. The buzzing starts in my ears and slithers down the rest of my body until I am light as a feather.
“What did you say?”
Father stops moaning. Mother looks up from his feet, where she’s inspecting his newly broken toe. They both look first at Landor and then at me.
My vision clears, and I can finally
breathe again. “The Celectate . . . what did he say?”
It’s as if I haven’t said anything. They just stare at me, mute and dumb.
Feeling as if I’m the only one who hasn’t completely clarified the situation adds irritation to shock. The scars on my neck palpitate with my pulse, curdling nausea in my stomach.
Still they don’t speak.
Grasping a white figurine from the delicately carved mahogany table, I fling it across the room. It shatters against the wall in a thousand pieces and joins the glass Father deposited moments earlier. My action rouses everyone from their silent reveries.
“What . . . did . . . HE SAY!” I scream, my throat cracking with the strain.
Father looks at me helplessly. Slowly he clears his throat. Licks his lips. Rubs his slick palms over his knees. “The Celectate said . . . ordered . . . you to be bound to his son a month hence.”
I didn’t hear wrong. My mind didn’t register his outburst incorrectly. The Celectate came to order my bonding. To Aspen.
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t think. There’s only one question swirling around in my mind. Why? Why? Why?
“I won’t have it! He can ostracize me for all I care! I won’t have it! I’m going after that bastard and strangling every last drop of blood from his wretched body. He can’t treat my daughter like filth! Like gold to be tossed around to beggars!” Father’s voice grows higher and higher. With each new word, my heart pounds faster and faster. It pounds out a familiar phrase.
Ostracized. Ostracized. Your father will be ostracized!
I can’t think. Not in this room. Not with my father so upset and determined to commit an act of treason. With my mother crying and begging him not to do it. With my brother standing helplessly by the doors.
I need to get out.
“Kyla, don’t!” Landor cries as I dash for the door, snap the lock free, and rush out into the atrium. He makes a grab at me and misses.
Servants dodge out of my way as I fly up the stairs and down the hall towards my room. Below me in the atrium, Landor calls after me to stop and Mother pleads with Father not to yell so loudly. The door of my room opens so easily I wonder if I even touched the knob. It slams behind me just as easily. The lock is in place.
I am alone.
Curling up on the bed, my knees under my chin, I contemplate what has just happened. Everything from the Celectate’s arrival to my Father’s outburst that I am to be bound to Aspen.
I knew my “bonding” ceremony would come one day. I have prepared myself for it. However, I had hoped, wished actually, to be able to pick my own spouse. Father had all but guaranteed that he would trust my instincts when it came to my choosing a companion for life.
“The Celectate ordered for you to be bound to his son a month hence.”
From downstairs, I hear Father raging once more and Mother trying to quiet him down. Her fears are my own. If Father goes after the Celectate and refuses the order, he’s defied him. By law, Celectate Wood can sentence him to his fate. Father will be ostracized! Sent behind the Wall of Kelba into the Wilds. Images of poison drifting up beneath Father’s feet, eating away at his flesh until not even bones remain, makes me sit up straight in bed.
From behind my door, Landor’s voice drifts in, pleading softly with me. “Kyla? Kyla, open the door. Kyla?” He tries to twist the knob. The lock holds true. “Kyla, please.”
Father can’t be ostracized. Father can’t refuse the Celectate.
Wiping away the tears that have unconsciously stained my cheeks, I march to the door.
Father won’t be ostracized.
When I open it, Landor’s fist almost cracks against my skull. He pulls it back just in time. He stares at me long and hard, waiting for me to say something before finally clearing his throat. “Do you . . . Can I do anything?” he asks.
When I look into his face, I see it. He knows.
He knows what I’m going to do.
When I gently squeeze his hand, a shiver runs through me. It is ice cold. Releasing it, I walk to the top of the stairs. Below, Father stands, his own hands clasped together impatiently. His foot taps on the tiles, drumming out a rhyme in my head.
He won’t be ostracized. He won’t be ostracized. He won’t be ostracized.
I take a deep breath, ready to completely abandon myself, wishing I could disappear. Mother’s tender gaze catches my eye. One look and steel hardens my nerves. She knows too.
Everyone seems to know except the one I’m determined to shield.
“I . . .” The words stick in my throat. I try again. “I . . .”
Don’t. You can’t back down now. You have to say it. You have to.
“I will bond with Aspen Wood.”
Surprisingly, Father doesn’t say anything. Only stands there in shock. Then, without a word, he turns and walks inside his solar, closing the door tightly behind him. I hear no sounds from within. No chair. No desk being opened. Whatever he’s doing inside, it’s something that doesn’t require movement.
Tears blur my vision. I shake them away.
I will bond with Aspen Wood.
I will.
Why can’t I convince myself?
Chapter VI
I never knew how much knowledge – how much planning – would be needed for the ceremony.
In Kelba, the “bonding” ceremony is symbolic. The couple being bound comes before the holy altar. The High Priest then takes a knife from a golden dish on the altar and slits first the woman’s left wrist and then the man’s. Producing a diamond studded thread he then ties the wrists together, binding them, blood and all, into one. It is a blood covenant. Blood, once mixed, can never be separated. The diamond studded thread is supposed to mean the bond is unbreakable since diamond is the hardest mineral in Kelba. Finally, once the ceremony is complete, the newly bonded couple departs to private quarters where they complete the last part of the ceremony: the “consummation act.” Two weeks after the bonding ceremony, a celebration is held in which the public can fully join in wishing the new couple on in life. It is held two weeks after the ceremony so the couple can present a picture of being happy together in public, indicating their bond is holy and love abounds. The wounds on the wrists will heal, leaving a scar that indicates the person is married.
My betrothed visited the house three days after I sent the acceptance envelope and properly acknowledged my parents. I could see the disgust both of them tried to hide when Aspen spoke. After that, we had met twice a week in a per-determined place for chaperoned visits with one another. Each time, Aspen found time to slip his hand into mine or to whisper his affections in my ears. Each time I nodded and inwardly retched.
Celectate Wood personally hired an instructor to school me in all the ways a proper Celecta should behave – if he dies Aspen assumes the reign. I would be wife of the ruler of all Kelba!
The instructor, Master Ragar, informed me of what I might expect in a marriage with one of the strongest, bravest, most-powerful men in Kelba – beneath the Celectate himself, of course. He talked and talked until my stomach was in knots. I pitied the long-deceased Celecta Erina. She must have been relieved when death took her.
The future Celecta was to know all about the fittings, traditions, and expectations of Kelban propriety. She should be calm and steady in times of political upheaval. A pillar of strength in wartime. A confident to her husband when he needed to empty his mind – or his loins. An approving mind if he chose to take a mistress. I often wondered if I should just make a statue of this perfect, complacent, timid, quiet creature they wanted and ask the gods to breathe life into the fixture.
Now, I am where I want to be. Master Rolfe’s.
It is only two days until the “bonding” ceremony. Tomorrow night I will go to the temple for cleansing. The High Priest of Calaisar will bless my way and ask the gods to be kind to me – probably be requesting I reward my new husband with a child by the end of the year. A boy, if possible. I will pray all night long while the h
oly place cleanses me of whatever sinful manifestations I have thought in the past. Then I will continue to the palace, proceed with the ceremony, follow my new bond to our private quarters, and . . .
No. I can’t think about any of it.
All of Master Ragar’s carnal teachings slip from my mind and I lose myself in the pages of the legendary tale of “Gasan.” Gasan was supposed to be a common sailor on the The Vast Sea between Kelba and Landor, the island my brother had been named for. While upon the sea, he was said to have discovered the crypt of the gods and they had agreed to grant him one wish for his great observance. He had requested immortality. However, as time went by and Gasan lived past the normal ages of men, he began to change. He watched twelve wives die and hundreds upon hundreds of offspring pass away in a world that saw them as miniscule. Therefore, he determined to make them a world where they would have power as well. He took dominion over the world and ruled it with an iron hand. As time went by, he lost sight of his original purpose and fell into ways of perversion so frightful that storybooks failed to describe its horrors. In those times, a young citizen heard rumors of Gasan’s acquired immortality and went in search of the crypt of the gods. For eight years, he searched until his determination was rewarded. The gods offered him a gift too. They offered to make him even more powerful than Gasan so he could overthrow him and return the world to its former ways. However, the young lad had already made his choice a long time ago. He requested a weapon capable of destroying an immortal. A weapon like the sun. The gods provided him with the weapon. No sooner had they placed it in his hands then the boy slew them all. He returned to mainland and stabbed Gasan to death atop the roof of his palace for the entire world to see. Then he turned to the remaining gods. Wanting to live, the gods made a deal with the young warrior – they would leave for the heavens and never interfere with humankind again. However, the boy had different ideas. He ordered them to grant him immortality. With impending death, awaiting them the gods did as he asked and were allowed to live. The boy became the “high-god.”
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 7
