The very high-god that Kelba worships to this day. Calaisar. God of the Sun.
The story leaves me feeling empty inside. Even the gods make mistakes. I cannot count on them for help.
“You are too gloomy for one who is to be bonded in a mere two days,” Master Rolfe chides. He sits down beside me.
I close the book with a sigh. “I am tired of the planning.”
“Yes. The planning is the hardest part. But once you have that first lover’s caress it will all flit away.” I glare at him and he coughs uncomfortably. “Er . . . so I’m told.”
“What would a virgin like you know about a lover’s caress, Master Rolfe?” I ask.
“Well, I’m . . . uh . . . Virgin, indeed!” he snaps and reaches out to swat the top of my head.
I evade his hand and return the book to its proper shelf. “Don’t be a tease today, master. I’m in no mood.”
“I must offer my congratulations to you, Kyla. If I may say so, it is a wonderful match. You seem to suit one another well. And just think . . . you will be our future Celecta should our esteemed Excellency’s death come soon, gods forbid.” He bows politely. “If I have been mean to you in the past, please forgive those offenses.”
Tingles linger on my spine. This is what I do not want. Fear. As soon as that scar stains my wrist, as soon as the bond is consummated, as soon as the gods plant a seed in my womb, I will be holding the future heir of Kelba. People will fear me. I will have power. I will have anything I want. Like Gasan. Like Calaisar. But I don’t want to be them.
I just want to be Kyla Bone – occasionally Sir Ky – with my nose stuck in a book, and daydreams about the Wilds.
“I will ask one favor of you, Master Rolfe.”
“Anything, dear girl.”
I harden my gaze. “Don’t ever call me ‘Celecta’ or ‘excellency’ or ‘highness’ or any of those foolish names. If I hear you call me anything but my current titles than you will be in deep danger. Understand?”
He nods with a smile. “Of course.” He doesn’t think I’m serious.
I’ve never been more serious in my life.
The door atop the library rings, and I turn my back quickly. I am still disguised as a boy, but my face has become the talk of the town since the announcement of my bonding. Everyone wants to get a look at the “seductive beauty” who stole the heart of the Celectate’s heir.
“Are you too good for us now, Kyla, that you have to turn your back on us?”
“Yeah. I thought we were good friends.”
I split a smile. I should have known.
Landor, Craig Hale, and Asher Rave shield the entire doorway. Through the atrium, windows the pale dusk light makes them resemble ghosts.
“We figured you’d be too busy with plans for your bonding to even consider wasting time away with warriors like us. But seeing as you’re hardly the lady tonight, we wondered if you’re up for one more night on the town with some old friends.” Craig gives a smile so wide I think he’ll split a lip. Ever since that long ago day when he’d bestowed my “nickname” he had been one of the most earnest supporters of my pranks – and eventually escapades.
I raise a brow at my brother. “A night on the town?”
“We’re going by the inn and it’s the end of the month . . .”
“I’m in.”
The end of the month means that all the sailors return from out of sea and bring the fresh smell of saltwater and overseas news with them. Landor has always loved the tales they tell and he had a fondness for the sea that has not dissipated all these years. Though I am deathly afraid of water, Landor could live on it.
Wishing Master Rolfe a “goodnight” I grab my cloak and wrap it around my shoulders.
Asher wrinkles his nose at the head covering.
“Is it on backwards?” I ask.
“No. I just think it’s a little large.”
“Are you dissing my craftsmanship?”
“No.” His eyes are gently honest. “But it makes your face look very thin. Have you lost weight?”
I ignore his comment. In truth, I haven’t been able to eat for days. Every time I force something down my throat, Master Ragar’s constant reminders of my “carnal abilities” brings it back up.
“I’d lose weight too if I had that old hound breathing down my neck twenty-four hours a day for as long as you have,” Landor says. “I can’t wait until the bastard leaves.”
“Maybe we should send him to Asher’s house,” Craig jokes and pats his companion’s belly playfully.
We all laugh.
However, Landor’s eyes never leave me as we walk the streets towards the inn.
The inn is swarming with bodies; tall and short, fat and lean, odious and pleasant. Landor manages to secure a table for us by flirting with one of the well-proportioned serving girls. She flushes pink and quickly scoots four lads still “wet behind the ears” over to the fireplace and gives us their spot.
“What’ll ye have?” the girl asks when she returns, looking at Landor first.
“Your finest ale,” he says.
Craig and Asher ask for the same.
The girl looks at me, humbly lowering her eyes to the paper. Scholars rarely enter “questionable” places like inns. If they do, they usually order water or cider. And I have – until now. Master Ragar’s voice croaks in my head: “When he leans into you, spread those hips wide and . . .”
“Ale. Your strongest,” I mutter.
The girl’s brows lift high but she doesn’t question my choice. She disappears with a swing of her hips to collect the orders.
“Ky . . . can you handle it?” Landor asks.
I glare at him. “Ask Master Ragar to give you a lesson in ‘child-making’ and then see which beverage you prefer.”
Landor flushes to the roots of his hair. “Another one? Gods-curses, how many lessons must he give you. It’s really very simple.”
“He makes it sound like a skill!” I snap.
“Oh, it is. But one not taught with words,” he mutters. My insides flop.
The girl returns with the drinks before I can add my own disapproval to his statement and plops them down in front of us. I lift the cup to my lips and take my first large gulp. It burns a trail down my throat, but I don’t dare cough it back up. The heat it leaves behind numbs the disgust inside of me. I can’t wait until it numbs everything.
“You do remember that Aspen, the son of the man you serve, is going to be the one who isn’t teaching me with words, right, dear brother?”
Landor chokes on his ale. Craig pounds him furiously on the back.
“Take it easy on the guy, Kyla,” Asher reprimands solemnly.
Landor waves them both off and turns on me, eyes blazing furiously. “You realize I hate this as much as you, right? That if I had my way with things, I’d drive a good five-knuckled fist into that hell-cursed, whore-born . . .”
I cut him off before he can continue with what would be a traitorous sentence, even if it were conducted under the influence of alcohol. “Allow me to do the honors.” It will be a good fight I’ll put up before I let Aspen spread my legs – and I’ll guarantee there will be blood and bruises.
But at the same time – as the liquor numbs my senses – I feel a different kind of pain. Father. We have not spoken much since I sent my acceptance letter. There is not much to say. I am saving his life, even though he doesn’t know it. If he is ostracized, Celectate Wood gets more power, more control – and I lose my Father!
I won’t let it happen.
The girl returns to refill our drinks, and I finish mine off before the boys do.
“A toast!” Craig says. We lift our third mugs. “To Kyla’s future.” He says it in a low voice so we don’t rouse the attention of the crowd around us.
We down the drinks.
“Even if it is an injustice,” Asher mutters under his breath.
I smile slightly. I knew Asher and Craig long before Landor was sworn in as a Celect Knight. T
hey had been a trio of bad luck throughout Kirath, causing mischief everywhere they went. Those had been the good days: when we played, laughed, loved, and lived. The days before everything changed. Before I changed. Both boys had known me from the age of twelve and on. They had teased me every chance they got. They had helped me learn to throw daggers. They had taught me to climb a tree properly. They had encouraged me to peruse my frequent visits with Master Rolfe just so they could tease Landor about his “little brother Ky.” They had been the closest thing I had to friends – even if they were Landor’s companions.
The music of pipes and fiddles in the large room drones on and on. People begin to gather around the fire – around the sailors – for the news and wild tales. I wait for Landor to join them. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stares into the empty space of his mug. I nudge him and he looks up.
“Not tonight,” he says dejectedly at my questioning look and stares back into his mug. I wonder briefly if he’s drunk. No. A little numb, like me, but not drunk.
Craig and Asher appear just as sullen. The silence grows unbearable.
“Are you three being bonded as well? Because I see no reason for your ill-amused faces.”
Landor smiles sadly, and I bite my lip. I know that smile. It’s his regretful smile. His helpless smile. He looks at me and guilt shines behind his eyes. “Did you know I wanted to be a sailor?”
Okay, maybe he is drunk.
I laugh lightly. “Really? I want to be a bird.”
However, when neither of the boys laughs, I stop. “What happened, then?”
Landor sneers and pulls the dagger from his side. He slams it to the table. Its modest leather sheath masks a keen, shiny blade I’ve seen him practice with a million times. Etched into the pommel of the sword is the Celectate’s symbol – a half-lion, half-dragon head. It symbolizes strength and power. By wearing it, Landor proclaims that he is in the Celectate’s service and protector of the ruler of Kelba. He is a Celect Knight.
Landor flips his finger at the weapon.
“I already had the plans drawn up. I had made a deal with a ship’s captain and we were going to set sail for Landor in a week. Then father came home and informed me that Celectate Wood had requested an audience – a private audience – with me. When I arrived the man stamped me with his seal right there, and swore me in for training. I had no choice. No voice in the matter. I could see the underlying threat behind his eyes. He would punish me if I refused. He hadn’t made the ‘ostracized act’ at that point, but he still had the power to hurt me.” He laughs derisively. “And do you know what I did? Do you know what your brave brother did, Kyla? I took the coward’s way out. I refused to speak my mind. I refused to refuse. I let my dreams go because I was afraid of being hurt. Of suffering. I’m a coward. Your brother is a coward.”
“You are not a coward . . .”
“I am!” he snaps and drains the remaining contents of his mug in one swallow. “We all are. It was the same with that riot the other day. I was there, Kyla! I stabbed a man when he rushed for the Celectate. I killed a man – not for Kelba, not for citizens – for that odious man!”
He is breaking our agreement. He is talking about his secrets. He is shattering every last barrier between us because I’m about to do the same thing he did. I am going to throw my life away – my dreams, my choice, my voice.
“We have all killed and murdered and connived for him,” Landor snaps. Craig and Asher watch him sullenly, not even attempting to interrupt. Their faces are crossed with guilt and regret. They look aged beyond their years.
Landor calls the girl again and she fills the mugs.
“So drink up, Ky,” Landor mutters and thumps the mug down in front of me.
I stare at the watery brim.
“If you could go back . . . would you do anything differently?” I ask.
Lan sighs. “That’s just the thing. That’s what makes my skin crawl and my headache at night when I try to imagine what happened. Why I didn’t speak up for myself. Why I didn’t say “no” and take whatever came afterward. It’s a simple answer too. I would have done everything the same. Because I’m the same person I was then as I am today. I’m afraid of that man.” He slams his mug down, empty. “I’m so afraid of him that my skin comes alive around him and my thoughts are no longer my own.”
Craig and Asher drain their mugs.
I do too. The burning liquid numbs my brain. I wish it would numb the fear growing inside of me too. I have more to fear than anyone else ever has.
I am going to be that man’s daughter-in-law.
“What the hell have you done to her, Landor?” Mother stares at me with her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes roaming the length of me. She wrinkles her nose. “Bringing her home past midnight – and like this! You boys ought to be ashamed!” She pokes Landor hard in the shoulder.
Landor grunts but doesn’t relinquish his steady hold beneath my arms. I don’t remember when he started carrying me – perhaps when we were past the third street. Or the fourth. Or the fifth. I don’t remember. All I know is I had a damned fine time and everything feels so blissfully empty.
“And you two . . .” Mother spins on Craig and Asher.
“D-don’t be mad at ’em, ’other. I a-am frine,” I say.
Mother points a shaky finger at the boys. “I swear, if you ever do this again you’ll be . . .” And then she stops. Her lips move, but no sound comes out of them. She doesn’t have to say anything else. It’s as if she’s been struck by a bolt of lightning with how white her face has gone. Why are there tears in Landor’s eyes?
“They ’on’t do it agin. Will ya, ’oys?” I ask, searching their faces. Why are they so blurry?
Both boys look at me. I swear they look as pale as ghosts.
“N-no. We won’t do it again,” Craig says. Why does he sound like his world is ending?
Asher doesn’t even have the heart to look at me.
Mother gently prods both boys with her hands towards the door. “It’s late and she’s going to be up all night tomorrow praying in the temple. Leave her to her rest.” She pats their shoulders. “Yes. I’ll wish her good luck for you when she’s sober. Have a safe journey home.”
She shuts the door behind them and returns to us.
Landor hefts me up in his arms again and follows her towards the stairs. Everything is so light. I could fly like a bird, I swear.
“I didn’t make her do anything, mother,” Landor says as we ascend to the second floor. “She made this decision on her own – it was her last one. Let her have that.”
“Foolish boy. I’m not going to scold her. She wouldn’t remember anything I say, anyway,” Mother chastises. She leans close and whispers in his ear. I hear every word. “Do you think I’ve never danced with a bottle before? Honestly, son, I wasn’t always such a lady.”
Landor looks stricken but doesn’t say anything. He deposits me on the floor of my room. The ground lurches beneath my feet, and I meander unsteadily in a half-circle towards my bed. I grab at one of the four posts and hold myself upright.
“Goodnight, Mother,” Landor says and shuts the door behind him.
“Okay. Out of these clothes.” She helps me remove the boy garments from my body, gently setting them aside on a chair. “Careful.” She steadies me and slips my nightgown over my head, pulling my hair out of its neck for me. It feels wavy soft against my face, and Mother gently rubs a tendril of it beneath her fingers. “So pretty,” she whispers and helps me lay back. “You rest now and I’ll wake you in the morning.”
She turns to go.
“I’m tired,” I say.
“I know.”
Everything comes rushing back. Master Ragar’s lectures. Master Rolfe’s fleeting moment of fear. Aspen’s hand stroking my wrist. Celectate Wood’s eyes boring into mine with cold calculation. Landor’s aggrieved confession. Craig and Asher’s sullen goodbyes. The burn of liquor down my throat. The empty abyss. The endless pains and questions and fears and doubts.
“No.” I shake my head. Everything jumbles together until I don’t know what I’m feeling or what I’m trying to say. My cheeks are so wet. My body feels so limp. So helpless. “I’m tired.”
Why do I sound like a wailing child?
Mother returns and sits down beside me. Her cool, gentle hand strokes my forehead soothingly. “Let it out,” she croons. Her hands drops to my neck – to where the scars pulse – and her fingers trace the ridges lovingly. “Let it all out, Kyla.”
“I’m tired of . . . tradition.” My words don’t slur. They are too important to be ruined. “I don’t . . . want this!”
Her hand stills and her lips press tight together as a flash ignites in her eyes. It disappears.
“I know.”
Chapter VII
The journey to Kirath’s Temple of Calaisar is so much longer than I remember it being. It is customary for the bonding bride to go to the temple the night before the ceremony to pray so she will be holy the next morning. She will enter the solar of the temple, where the altar is, and pray for Calaisar to calm her unrest and accept her fate that will come at sunrise.
For some reason the tales of the “sacred night” had always sounded distant and untouchable to my ears. I’d never imagined myself having to enter the solar alone, in the dark, and pray all night. Now, here I am, standing in front of the tall, marble pillars.
A long row of white clad priests stands beside the temple entrance, waiting for me to go inside. They will follow me to the solar and lock the door behind me. The idea of these creepy, tattooed men trailing my every move sends shivers down my spine.
Beside me Mother walks straight and proud, her neck gracefully poised, her chin tipped, and a neat sack slung across her arms. In the sack is the “bonding” dress the servants spent the last month preparing from blood red cloth. Though some girls have used blue or green for their “bonding” days, red is most appropriate, considering the “bonding” is symbolic of a blood covenant. In addition, the servants were in no hurry to disgrace the Celectate by not making the appropriate color for a successful bond. I haven’t seen it yet. It is said that a curse awaits the girl who sees her dress before the sunrise of her bonding day.
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 8
