CHAPTER THREE

Before the first breath that she ever took

A cunning hand had cleaved the land in two

’Twas jealousy that dealt the final blow

But that sad state strikes more than just a few

A sorrowful, bankrupt inheritance

Unfortunately met with acceptance

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

Tarazeli crossed the courtyard of the grand estate, pausing for a moment to let the sun warm her face. She smiled, enjoying the gentle breeze that ruffled the braids gathered at her neck. A breeze was a thing to be cherished, rare as they were here in Laketown. She shook her head; she really had to stop using that provincial name, even in her mind. The town was properly called Lower Faalagol, known as Laketown by everyone but the elite. The Magister hated that term, and if Zeli ever wanted to be more than a servant, she had to change even the way she thought to match those of her betters.

Footsteps raced up behind her, causing her heart to race. She turned sharply. One of the little page boys skidded to a stop, barely missing crashing into her legs. “Devana-mideni is looking for you,” he said, breathlessly.

Zeli sighed, hoisted the basket of laundry higher on her hip, and changed directions. She thought she’d have time to squeeze the laundering in while her mistress was out shopping, but Devana must have returned early.

When she noticed the boy lingering beside her she asked, “Was there anything else?”

His gaze flicked to her wrist and then away, his face taking on a sheepish expression.

A grin split her face. “Would you like a good luck charm?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded rapidly. Zeli chuckled and set her basket down so she could remove one of the half-dozen woven bracelets on her arm. She motioned for him to hold out his hand and then wrapped the bracelet around twice to fit on his skinny wrist.

The bracelets were as wide as her fingernail and made of ash-gray leaves from the hispid blade plant that grew on the banks of Lake Faala. Zeli had learned to weave them long ago at her mother’s knee, where she’d listened to tales of how such a charm would bring luck to those who wore them, as long as they’d been woven with love and hope.

She swallowed as she tied the knot. The bracelet hadn’t done her mother any good.

But the old tales were still believed by little ones with open hearts, and as the skill of weaving them had fallen out of fashion, Zeli was the only one on the estate who made them. The leaves would stay strong and supple for about three months, then they would rapidly deteriorate and the bracelet would fall off. Zeli wore several at a time though they hadn’t brought her any luck yet … but she was patient.

“Thank you, Zeli-deni,” the boy said, beaming at his new prize, before scampering back in the direction of the stable. Zeli picked up her basket and headed toward Devana’s wing, mouth curving at the child’s excitement.

The central courtyard connected the four wings of the estate with shaded pathways, but Zeli preferred to walk in the sun with the mossy grass underfoot. The double doors leading to Devana’s sitting room were open, in deference to the breeze, and her mistress sat at her vanity table, studying her face for imaginary imperfections.

When she caught sight of Zeli in the mirror, she turned around, waving her forward. “Oh, there you are, Zeli-deni. Come here!”

Devana leaned forward and cupped her hand to her mouth, preparing to whisper, though they were currently alone in the spacious room. Her long lashes were coated in mascara imported in from Yaly, making them dramatic. They framed wide, doe-like eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Devana’s beauty was known throughout the west and few could match it.

“Do you know what I just learned?” she said, trying and failing to hide a grin.

“What is it?” Zeli whispered, catching on to her mistress’s excitement.

Devana scanned the room again, her eyes twinkling. “The guru is going to be nearby. Well, fairly close at least. He’s leading a revival outside Checkpoint Eleven the day after tomorrow.”

She leaned back, obviously elated at this news, but Zeli’s heart fell.

“Even if your father would let you go, you wouldn’t make it in time,” Zeli said, frowning.

“We would if we travel by coach.”

Zeli shook her head. “The Magister would never let you travel by public coach all the way to Checkpoint Eleven! He would never let you attend an Avinid revival at all.”

Devana crossed her arms. “The guru Waga-nedri is a great man. Surely Father would be interested in me educating myself as to the mysteries of the Void.”

Zeli raised a skeptical brow. Waga-nedri. The man’s self-styled honorific was an endearment customarily used for fathers or father figures. It made her bristle.

“And besides, I wasn’t planning on telling him.” Now Devana was making more sense.

She perched on the edge of the cushion. “I’ll say that I’m going to visit that horrible, spoiled cow over in Upper Faalagol, and I’ll be gone for three days. He’ll be delighted. He’s convinced her father is responsible for the blight affecting the goshi fish and has been after me to visit her and see what I can find out.”

Upper and Lower Faalagol, more commonly known as Watertown and Laketown respectively, had a rivalry that went back as far as anyone could remember. The Magisters of both cities each thought he should rule the entire Lake Cities region and thus control the lake that separated them, but were forced to play nice by the True Father. Their daughters were encouraged to maintain a relationship that was one part friendship, two parts jealousy, and thirty parts spying-for-their-fathers.

Zeli chose her words carefully. “I think it’s wonderful that you want to better yourself, but traveling such a long way alone seems … unwise.”

Devana pouted, crossing her arms. “Sacred seeds, I’m not going alone, silly. I’m not some witless fool. You’re coming with me. I can’t very well travel without my personal maid. Honestly, I thought you’d be more excited. We get to see the Midcountry and have secret identities.” She grasped Zeli’s hands in her own. “It will be an adventure.”

Zeli remained unconvinced. “But why don’t you ask Kerym-mideni?”

Devana sighed wistfully. “Kerym-mideni cannot know. Promise you won’t tell him. He doesn’t think much of the Avinids, and has never said a kind word about the guru.”

Zeli had a feeling that Devana’s fiancé would not be left in the dark for long, but she kept the thought to herself. “I just … I still think…”

“Zeli-denili.” Devana’s voice hardened and her eyes turned flinty as she made their difference in rank clear by her choice of suffix. Zeli lowered her eyes.

Devana was usually very generous with her, calling her Zeli-deni—with the informal honorific used by equals in High Lagrimari speech—but Zeli had fallen out of line. She swallowed and nodded.

“All right. I won’t say anything.” Her throat thickened, hating the censure.

When she looked up again, Devana was beaming. As if a switch had been flicked on her mood, the change was so sudden it would have been alarming if Zeli hadn’t known the girl so well.

Devana stood suddenly, motioning for Zeli to rise. “We need to be on the five a.m. coach tomorrow. You must go down to the depot and get the tickets. And Zeli-deni?”

“Yes?”

“I promise this will be fun.”

Zeli rubbed one of the bracelets on her arm, hoping for an infusion of luck right now. But the leaves had gone brittle and the tie snapped, causing one of the charms to fall from her wrist and onto the carpet.

---

On her way to the marketplace, Zeli passed through the kitchen, where she’d left her shoes for one of the footmen to mend. She usually roamed the estate barefoot, but a trip into town would require footwear.

The warm space was busy as the kitchen staff prepared for dinner. By virtue of the sheer quantity of food being chopped, sautéed, baked, and boiled, it looked as if the Magister would be entertaining that night.

She paused by the pantry, finding her shoes there in line with several others that had been newly patched, and noticed Gladda, the staff matron, filling a large, painted basket with items from the shelves.

The woman was middle-aged and had worked for the family for decades. She’d known Devana since the girl was born and was perhaps the only one, aside from the Magister himself, who had any sway with her. Maybe Gladda would know a way to persuade Devana not to go through with her foolish plan.

But Zeli had been sworn to secrecy and couldn’t betray Devana’s confidence, much as she wanted to. She slipped her shoes on and when she looked up again, the pantry door was closed.

With halting feet, she left the estate and walked down the winding road leading to the heart of Lower Faalagol. The Magister’s sprawling home sat on a hill overlooking the lake to the north and the city to the south. It was a twenty-minute walk to the nearest market square, which was where the closest public coach staging depot was.

The air was thick and heavy as the red days came to a close. Though she loved the cooler, crisp weather of the yellow-orange days, she did not mind the heat, though perspiration quickly dampened her skin. She felt no hint of the earlier breeze as she wound her way down the hill, but still found cause to delight at the sight of the wildflowers blooming on the side of the road. They would be gone in a few weeks.

As the buildings she passed grew more dense, the plants grew more sparse until she was in the city proper, roads paved with stones quarried from the mountains that loomed over the Lake Cities. Upper and Lower Faalagol battled for the distinction of which was the second largest city in Lagrimar. Zeli happened to believe that Laketown was the larger and finer city of the two, though she’d only been to Watertown a handful of times to compare.

Horses, wagons, carriages, and the occasional diesel contraption clogged the street, creating a cacophony that vibrated through the soles of her feet. She fought her way through the crowded sidewalks until she reached the northern market square that served the upper-class neighborhoods where the favored lived.

The public coach depot was a one-story stone structure attached to a stable. A large coach sat unhitched on the side of the building; Zeli shuddered at the thought of riding on the thing. The coaches were notoriously cramped and uncomfortable and often beset by bush wranglers who robbed the travelers. But once Devana’s mind was set on something it was nearly impossible to turn her away. A byproduct, no doubt, of always getting her way.

Zeli approached the ticket window and got into line behind a half-dozen other customers. She’d only moved forward one spot when she felt a tingling at the top of her spine like she was being watched. Clenching her limbs and holding her breath, she turned to scan the area. A wave of relief was followed instantly by a quickening in her chest when she observed Devana’s fiancé, Kerym, striding toward her, a questioning smile on his face.

“Zeli-deni?”

She tried to respond, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate at first. When Devana used the informal suffix on Zeli’s name, it was out of kindness and denoted a level of familiarity between mistress and servant. It encompassed the fact that they’d known one another for a decade, since they were both seven-year-old girls who’d lost their mothers and clung to one another in grief.

However, when Kerym used the term, the politeness inherent made Zeli’s knees weak. There was little familiarity between the two of them, and yet … She traced the edge of one of her bracelets and took a deep breath before addressing him. “Good afternoon, Kerym-mideni.”

His grin was the sunshine. Not for the first time she wondered if his short beard was soft. If it tickled Devana’s cheeks when they kissed. If he—

“Are you going on a trip?” He motioned to the line she stood in and all her dreaminess fell away. Apprehension seized her belly.

She clasped her hands in front of her. Here stood one of the five Ephors of Lake—she shook herself mentally—of Lower Faalagol. The man who would one day be Magister. If she hoped to have a future in his and Devana’s household, she couldn’t very well lie to him. But she couldn’t betray Devana, either, especially since her mistress had specifically not wanted Kerym to know about their trip.

Zeli cursed silently. She should have gone to another coach depot. Though this one was closest, it was right in the middle of Kerym’s territory—why hadn’t she thought of that before?

She tugged at the sleeves to her tunic and swallowed, but remained silent, looking everywhere but at him.

“Sworn to secrecy are you?” he said, amusement in his voice. “How about I guess? I heard a rumor that a certain withered old man would be holding some kind of hootenanny in the bush outside of Checkpoint Eleven. Blink your eyes if I’m getting close.”

Zeli couldn’t very well not blink. She lifted her gaze to meet the dark ebony of his eyes, so warm and captivating, and blinked. Then dipped her head again.

But she peeked up through her lashes to see his smile.

“And my lovely fiancée has no doubt enlisted her faithful maid to procure tickets on the coach without her father’s knowledge so that she can witness the legendary ‘wise man of the west’ in all his wrinkled splendor.”

Zeli held back a smile and blinked again.

Kerym sighed. She wasn’t quite sure what would happen next. Would he order her to leave and not allow Devana to do something so silly? Would he tell the Magister? Have Zeli punished? She was merely following orders; could she be sent away to the camps or worse for trying to trick the master?

But Kerym just shook his head and stepped into line beside her.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked.

“Well, I know I can’t convince her not to go because she’s one of the most stubborn women to ever grace the Fatherland, so I suppose I’ll just have to go with you.”

Zeli gasped, her mouth hanging open.

Kerym shot her a careless grin and tossed a coin in the air before catching it. He, too, wore several bracelets, but his were made of gold and other precious metals. They denoted his status as Ephor, one of the right hands to the Magister, and represented his other duties, all important and necessary to the running of the city and its surrounding region.

“Are you sure?” she managed to get out.

“Well, I can’t just let you go alone. The Great Highway is a dangerous place. You don’t mind if I accompany you, do you?”

He looked at her intently as if her answer mattered. As if he may change his mind based on the word of a maid—a plain, short girl who still looked far younger than her seventeen years and was no match for Devana’s beauty and poise.

“I-I don’t mind,” she said through quivering lips, and Kerym chuckled, the sound rich and sweet, like the melted chocolate crèmes the cook served on Mercy Days.

Zeli’s face flamed. Her breathing came in short spurts—sacred seeds, he was standing so close. His tunic untied at the top, showing off the powerful muscles of his chest. Her gaze kept darting there and then away, but getting caught at his lips or his hands. Finally, she closed her eyes and squeezed them shut until she could exert better control over her senses.

The rustling of fabric and shuffling of feet indicated the line was moving. She pried open her eyes, forcing them to stay on the braided head of the woman in front of her. Before she knew it, the woman was walking away and they were at the front of the line, standing before the stooped old man selling tickets.

Kerym ordered three round trips on the coach and paid out of his own change purse, holding a hand up when Zeli tried to contribute the money Devana had given her.

“Keep it,” he said, as the cashier handed over their tokens. His gaze roamed over her, assessing. “Buy yourself something nice.”

She kept herself from looking down at her clothing. Her tunic and trousers were clean and in good repair. Her shoes freshly mended, but nothing she owned could truly be called nice.

She would have to give the money back to Devana, but the mere fact he’d suggested such a thing warmed her heart. Her mistress was truly lucky to be betrothed to such a man. Zeli cut off the urge to drift into her own dreams of love and partnership. Later, she would review every aspect of this meeting.

“Come now,” Kerym said, striding away from the depot on long legs. Zeli raced to catch up. “I think it’s time I had a word with my dear fiancée.”

Dread mixed with anticipation as Zeli followed him back toward the estate. Kerym was going with them. Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.