CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
She fled beyond the mountain’s stifling arms
Her loyalty a chain that was secure
She long wished for an ironclad embrace
An unconditional love that endured
The cornerstone her father made would bind
A heart rent open by thwarted desire
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
The skies over Lower Faalagol were overcast and an uncharacteristically chilly wind had blown in. Zeli sat in the courtyard, her back against a tree, wondering if the clouds would unload and drench them all. She flinched anytime footsteps sounded along one of the covered walkways connecting the buildings.
From her position here, she couldn’t be seen by most passersby, but she wasn’t so foolish as to imagine herself hidden. There was nowhere she could hide.
The Magister was back.
He’d returned in late morning with a series of shouted orders that had set the household on edge. His powerful stride had pounded across the tiled floors. Doors crashed and shutters rattled. His dinner the night before had not left him in a jovial mood and now the servants would suffer. Zeli most of all.
The summons she had been dreading came not a half hour later. Her bottom had grown numb on the cold ground and while the clouds kept their peace, the wind had kicked up significantly. She’d been watching the boughs above her teeter and sway when a page boy found her. The look of relief on his face at completing his task made a stab of regret strike her. She’d contemplated running away, but who would bear the brunt of that decision?
Devana had run away without a care about how it would affect anyone else. Zeli could not do the same. Even if she’d had somewhere to go.
She stood slowly, gathering her strength. Lying to a Magister, to any representative of the True Father, was punishable by death. Why had Devana asked her to do such a thing? Had she cared so little for Zeli’s life that her own wants and needs were always more important? Of course they were. She was raised the only child of a powerful man. And Zeli was just a servant, after all. Replaceable. Unneeded now that Devana was no longer here. And if the girl never reappeared and Zeli somehow escaped the noose, would she be sent away? Was another factory, or worse, in her future?
Her steps were languid as she approached the Magister’s suite—a small building of its own set in the corner of the estate. She knocked on the carved wooden door, solid and unforgiving under her knuckles, and waited for the gruff voice to bid her to enter.
She set foot in a room that appeared to be an office. On the far end, seated on a long, low couch, the Magister sat rigidly. He set aside the lap desk on which he’d been writing and gave his full attention to Zeli. Her limbs numbed under his gaze.
“You are my daughter’s personal maid?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“Yes, mideni.”
“And where is my daughter?” He clasped his hands in his lap, fixing her with a piercing stare that flayed skin from muscle.
Zeli gripped her tunic in tight fists, took a deep breath, and decided the only thing she could do to spare her life was tell the truth. “She left with the guru Waga-nedri, mideni.”
The Magister did not move. He didn’t so much as blink. The scar bisecting his eyebrow and leading down his cheek seemed to twitch, but that may have been her imagination. “When?” was his response.
“Yesterday morning.” She swallowed.
“And why did you not stop her?”
Zeli dropped her head. “She is my mistress.”
He sighed, as if talking to a simpleton. “Why did you not inform someone then?”
“She forbade me. I could not—”
“So you just let her go?” he roared, rising to his feet. Zeli’s knees quaked, threatening to fail her. “Allowed my daughter to run off with some ancient scheming charlatan? The Father only knows what he’ll do with her to spite me.”
He began pacing before her. With her head still lowered, she saw only his boots, polished to a high shine as they tread the tiled floor. “I should have tied the little idiot down when that cunning old cur stepped foot on this estate. Of course he would try something like this.”
He abruptly stopped before her and grabbed her chin with powerful fingers, wrenching her head up roughly. “Your duties are to serve my daughter, not give in to her every inane whim. I should have you hanged for this.”
A lump swelled in her throat and tears burned her eyes. His grip on her chin was painful, but she tried to swallow the discomfort.
“Ah!” he muttered and shoved her away, returning to his couch. “The silly chit. So foolish and headstrong.” He wiped a hand over his face and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.
“Kurron!” he bellowed, foregoing any politeness, as was his way. The Magister’s valet appeared soundlessly in the doorway.
“Twenty lashes for this child and get her out of my sight.”
Zeli was led away with a coarse hand on her upper arm, her legs barely supporting her weight. She would live, but after a beating from Kurron, she would likely wish she was dead.
Ulani found her on the ground in the yard behind the stable, back bloodied and torn, unable to move. At least none of the staff had been forced to watch her punishment, but likewise, none had helped, for fear of drawing the master’s ire. Eventually, Gladda would send someone, when the Magister was distracted with a meal or a visitor, but Zeli hadn’t expected help for quite some time.
So she startled when Ulani sat down wordlessly beside her and picked up her hand. In moments, the tingling sensation of Earthsong washed over Zeli’s body. The searing pain on her back lessened until she could take a full, deep breath. Kurron had done his duty with gusto, using a thickly corded whip that she was certain had also broken one of her ribs. Under Ulani’s ministrations, the bones moved back into place, knitting together inside her. Flesh mended and ravaged skin smoothed, becoming whole again.
Before she could thank the girl, a deep voice pierced the quiet afternoon. “Zeli-deni, I heard what happened. I—”
Zeli turned her head, still on the ground, recognizing Kerym standing over her. Well, she recognized his voice and shoes; she couldn’t see much more of him than that. But she imagined what had cut him off midsentence. Her, laying there in the dirt, bloody and half-naked, but with no wounds.
He crouched next to her, bringing his face into her sightline, then looked over at Ulani. “The child has her Song?” His voice had gone low and strange.
Zeli closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool ground. She wished there was some way she could get Ulani away from here. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far away.
“She should give tribute,” Kerym said. “You know the True Father has been collecting power in larger numbers. She’s not quite of age yet, but—”
“Kerym-mideni.” She struggled to her knees, clutching what was left of her tunic to her chest. The pain was gone, but exhaustion from both the experience and the healing kept her movements sluggish. And concern for Ulani caused any self-consciousness she would normally have had to flee. “She is only seven. Far too young to be sent by herself across the country to be stripped of her Song. Please have mercy on her. Just until she’s older. The Magister doesn’t know about her.”
Kerym’s face turned grim. “It’s our duty to provide the king with the power he needs to rule.”
“I know, and she will. But the minimum age for tributes used to be fourteen. It’s been getting younger and younger and…” She turned toward Ulani, whose eyes were wide. “Please, mideni. I beg you.”
When she looked back, the severity in his handsome features had softened. “You have a big heart, Zeli-deni,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I will think about it.”
A gust of air escaped her lungs and she dropped her head. Kerym helped her stand with a hand at her elbow, but the knowledge of her current state of undress, plus the blood still covering her, made her suddenly shy.
“I should go and clean up,” she said quickly. “Thank you, again.”
He surprised her by reaching for her hand and plucking it away from its iron grip across her chest to place a kiss on the back of her palm. Confusion, desire, and awe played chords within her.
She backed away. Unwilling to give him another view of her back, but unable to meet his eyes. She was afraid to know what sort of emotion they held.
“Come, Ulani-deni,” she said, and headed away from him.
Zeli rinsed herself at the spigot outside the stable, crouching down to fit her body under its stream. She didn’t want to force herself or any of the other maids to have to clean the blood and grime from the servant washroom. A clean towel and tunic had appeared on the ledge beside her and she spun around to find Gladda standing there, face grim.
“So it’s true, then?” the woman asked.
“Is what true?” Zeli replied, quickly rubbing her skin dry.
“Kerym-mideni knows about Ulani-yul’s Song?”
Zeli slipped the tunic over her head, nodding sadly. “Yes, he saw her heal me.”
Gladda cursed.
“But he might not report it to the Magister.”
The older woman shot Zeli an incredulous look, much as if she’d said the horses would sprout wings and take to the air.
“H-he said he would think about not telling the Magister. I asked him not to. Begged him really, and he said he’d consider it.”
“Oh, child,” Gladda said, pulling her into a hug. “You are so trusting.”
First, Kerym had called her good-hearted and now Gladda thought her too trusting. She prickled inside the warm embrace.
“He will disappoint you, uli,” Gladda said.
Zeli pulled away. “How could he disappoint me? I have no expectations of him. But he is good, and honorable and…” She trailed off, recalling his voice in the darkness as he spoke to the guru. Plotting something. But all the favored had their plots and plans. And he’d sent his servant to save her when she’d needed help. She wasn’t quite sure what to feel.
Now dressed, she turned toward to the path leading to the courtyard.
“Where are you going?” Gladda asked.
“I want to talk to Yalisa. Ask her what she thinks the Magister will do with me now. She’s the one who knows him best. She may be able to influence him.” Before she took another step, she looked back at Gladda. “And what’s so wrong about wanting what she has? She was just like me, but the Magister saw something more in her. Something good and worthy that could be cultivated. You don’t think it’s possible for Kerym-mideni to see something in me?”
Gladda’s gaze was sad. She looked off toward the mountains but didn’t respond.
Zeli chuckled humorously. “I met Fakera-deni at the market.”
The older woman’s eyes widened, almost in warning.
“She said to tell you there are only two days left. What does that mean, I wonder? Or maybe I shouldn’t wonder. Maybe I shouldn’t ask why you’ve been taking food out of the Magister’s kitchen and delivering it to some … some…” Earthsinger. But she couldn’t say the word aloud. Not here. No matter how aggravated she was with Gladda. An adult Earthsinger was nearly synonymous with rebel.
Gladda brushed her hand along her tunic, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “The master has always given food to the poor.”
Her words were true but Zeli shook her head. “She knew my parents. Perhaps too well. You must be careful, Gladda-deni. We must all be more careful.” The last words were whispered, regretful.
She moved down the walkway, knowing Gladda would not reply. Her footsteps were solemn and sadness draped her. She longed for Yalisa’s wisdom. She wouldn’t reveal Gladda’s actions, the thought of informing on anyone still rubbed her wrong, but she needed some reassurance.
However, when she reached the woman’s room, two footmen were carrying out armloads of clothes.
“What’s going on here?”
One man shrugged. “We were ordered to clean this room out.”
“Yalisa-deni is gone.”
Zeli spun around to find Fahna behind her, a basket of linen in her arms. The maid’s hand was perfectly healed now and she hadn’t missed more than a few hours of work in her recovery.
“Gone? Where?”
Fahna drew closer, expression subdued, but still obviously eager to share her gossip. “To the work camps. Apparently, the guru and Kerym-mideni found out she was selling citizenship documents to people in the Snarl.”
“Yalisa-mideni?” Zeli was stunned. “Selling citizenships? That makes no sense!”
Fahna nodded sagely. “The Magister stores the documents in his office. She had access to all parts of the estate and the Ephors verified that more people than normal have been allowed entry into the city. Kerym-mideni was certain it was her, and the guru confirmed it.”
“And so the Magister sent her to the camps?”
“Oh, he was none too pleased about it. But he couldn’t deny two esteemed sources. When another Ephor confirmed it last night he had no other choice.”
Fahna shook her head and continued down the walkway, while Zeli’s blood chilled.
Strike quickly like a viper or be bitten like one. Was this what they’d been plotting over? But why? Why get rid of Yalisa? Zeli was certain the woman would not risk her position with something as silly as selling citizenship.
She’d had a good life. A stable one, or so Zeli had thought.
She leaned against the wall, feeling deflated. All it took was one voice, a single accusation and everything could be taken away. Gone like mist in morning.
Almost as if it never had been.