Mud and flies were two things Caríchio was not accustomed to. The village, as much of it as he could see from out his carriage door, had an abundance of both. He surveyed the scene with distaste and wondered if this trip was truly necessary.
No one was forcing him to be there. On the other hand, if lia Merelda’s report proved true, the potential gains were worth enduring a little squalor.
He gritted his teeth and stepped out of the carriage.
The people of Delesta continued about their business as if he weren’t there. Caríchio saw the stiffness in their shoulders, though, and the furtive glances they cast in his direction, and he knew their behavior was a lie. His emerald green silk stood out in this village as glaringly as their dull homespun would in the palace. They all knew he was there; they were just choosing to ignore him, hoping he was not there to meddle in their lives.
All except the innkeeper, whose muddy excuse for a courtyard Caríchio had stopped in. The man hurried forward, wringing his hands, to make an awkward parody of a bow and inquire if the noble lord required any assistance.
“Ema,” Caríchio said, not looking directly at the man. He wished he could hold his nose as well, but there were limits. “I am looking for a girl named Ema.”
“Noble sir, there are several girls named Ema in this town; it is a common name. If sir has any other way of identifying her?”
Caríchio noted the tension in the man’s posture. The innkeeper guessed which one he meant, but he wouldn’t say it outright. “The daughter of Meña. The one who has been…ill.”
The innkeeper bobbed through several more bows, assuring the noble sir that yes, indeed, he knew the very girl. Caríchio curbed his impatience and was rewarded with guidance to Meña’s house, where the girl might be found.
He could not force himself to enter the rough little house of fieldstone and thatch. The rank, fly-filled interior was too nauseating. Instead he dispatched the innkeeper to summon out both mother and child.
They emerged, squinting in the sunlight, to stand before him. Caríchio dismissed the mother with a glance and studied the girl instead. She kept her head down, so that her stringy dark hair fell in a curtain to conceal it, but she looked healthy enough—albeit underfed and in severe need of a bath. No obvious deformities, thank Soja.
“Look at me, girl.”
Her chin rose tentatively until he could just see her pointed little face. She was young, not more than fifteen, and passable underneath the dirt. Her grey eyes remained downcast. That was one stumbling block; the color would mark her out as a peasant among violet-eyed nobles. But everyone would soon know who she was anyway.
Caríchio addressed the mother. “I am Caríchio Feliosa lio Jurín, Third Minister of Provincial Supply to their Imperial Majesties. Word has reached us of your daughter’s abilities; I am here to observe her and determine the truth of these rumors. If they prove accurate, your daughter is invited to court in Quilía. Their Imperial Majesties have resources that can aid your daughter.”
The mother looked up for just an instant before training her eyes on the dirt again. In that brief glance Caríchio saw shock and no small amount of fear. He smiled reassuringly and continued. “Your daughter will have an opportunity to earn herself a permanent place at court, well-favored by their Imperial Majesties.” Another flicker of grey eyes, this time tinged with greed. “I will personally take her into my household as a protege and see that she is cared for.”
The girl was looking at her mother now. “Mother—I—”
The mother reached out and took her daughter’s hand in her dirty fingers. “Ema, go. This lord can give you the help I cannot.”
Caríchio smiled to himself. Quite as easy as he’d expected.
***
“I cannot believe you have done this,” Modás said, his voice bubbling with laughter. “Brought a peasant to the palace, and taken her under your wing!”
Caríchio smiled. “I had sufficient reason, my dear friend. Think of the opportunities she brings!”
“Then the rumors are true?” Valinú asked. “She does indeed have the gift?”
“She does indeed, although she has not yet mastered it enough to glean much benefit. I, of course, shall train her.” Caríchio toyed with the stem of his wine goblet, watching the silver wink in the sunlight. “Before that, though, I shall have to educate her in other matters. She owns only two dresses, both quite vile—peasant homespun, you know. And she brought nothing else with her save prayer beads. I have made an appointment with a seamstress this afternoon to outfit her more suitably, and with a barber to deal with that rat’s nest she calls hair.” Both of his companions made sympathetic noises. “I also intend to offer her a new name.”
“What is she called now?” Modás asked.
“Ema. Can you imagine a more common name?”
“What do you have in mind as a replacement?”
“I have not yet decided. But I am sure something suitable will come to me.” The palace bell-tower began a delicate tune, and Caríchio grimaced. “But I must be off. The appointments await.”
He arrived at his quarters to find Ema waiting, hair still dripping from her bath. Caríchio surveyed her and was pleased. With the dirt removed, she would do well enough; she was no court beauty, but the sun had not yet taken too heavy of a toll on her skin. The crimson robe played up the slight flush in her tanned cheeks. As for her hair, the barber would arrange it once it was dried. In the meantime, she would be outfitted.
It was partway during this task, when the seamstress had draped Ema in swathes of dark blue fabric, that Caríchio made his proposition. “Ema, dear, I have been turning my thoughts to how I might ease your transition here. The palace is an unfamiliar place for you, and the people here are unlike any you have known. Two things have occurred to me. First, as I said to your mother, I have taken you on as a protege. As such, you are now entitled to call yourself lia Caríchio.” The girl’s eyes widened with astonishment. “If you introduce yourself thus, others will know who you are and understand that you are unaccustomed to this place.”
“Sir—I—”
“You may call me Master. As I said, you are my protege.”
She fidgeted until the seamstress reminded her to be still. “Master. Thank you.”
Caríchio smiled. He could well imagine how Ema felt; he had walked on air for days after Jurín adopted him as a protege. And Caríchio had been born in the palace. For a peasant like Ema, this sudden rise in status must be heady indeed.
But on with the rest of the plan. “My other idea was that I might offer you another name. Some of our courtiers are less than mannerly, and they might take it into their heads to mock you, otherwise. I think ‘Elenche’ would suit you admirably; it is a lovely name, often used in poetry to describe the nightingale.”
Her grey eyes went so wide they seemed to take up half her face. For several moments no sound escaped her; then she took a deep breath (earning another reprimand from the seamstress) and said, “Could I—could I take my mother’s name as well, Master? I have no family name, so I’d like to use her name for that.”
Caríchio did not let his irritation show on his face, even though “Meña” was no kind of family name and would mark her as a peasant just as clearly as “Ema” would have. He would compromise, and concentrate on more important issues. “Very well. You shall be introduced to their Imperial Majesties as Elenche Meña lia Caríchio.”
She smiled, transforming her face into a thing much closer to beauty. “Thank you, Master. I—”
Then she screamed and collapsed.
The seamstress leapt back, alarmed, and began protesting that she had done nothing. Elenche’s rising shrieks almost drowned her out. Caríchio hushed the seamstress, then directed her and the barber to hold Elenche down as the girl began to convulse. “This is expected. The girl is a seer.” The seamstress gasped and nearly lost her grip. “Hold her! She might hurt herself.” He crouched nearby, trembling in anticipation. Her fit in Delesta had produced nothing of use; his research indicated that a seer had to learn to master the pain of the attacks in order to speak coherently of her visions. Would she make any progress this time?
He could only wait.
His own muscles soon ached from watching Elenche’s struggles. Her face flushed and her jaw muscles stood out sharply; only the barber’s hand on her brow kept her from beating her head against the floor. The girl’s hands clenched into tight fists, and a thin trickle of blood leaked from one to stain the emerald carpet. They would have to cut her fingernails, Caríchio thought. He forced his own hands to relax and waited for the fit to end.
The convulsions began to subside and Elenche’s clenched teeth parted. “C—C—Caríchio,” she ground out, the name rasping from her throat. Was she calling his name, or speaking her vision? “Caríchio. Red. Red. Turn—” Her breath hissed inward, her eyes squeezed shut, and then abruptly all tension flew from her body. She lay on the floor, buried in half-stitched drapes of sapphire cloth, and began to weep uncontrollably.
Caríchio sat back and sighed. Three words, only one of them useful, and that one more tantalizing than anything else. “Go,” he said to the seamstress and the barber. “Return tomorrow. She will not be fit for anything more today.”
They left him alone in the sitting room, striving to find the meaning in Elenche’s three words.
***
Caríchio leaned against the mantle over the fireplace and looked at Elenche with satisfaction. The pristine white silk of the divan she sat on contrasted sharply with her elegantly styled dark hair and the vibrant green of her clothing. If only her skin would lose its sun-browning, he would consider the image perfect. And if only her eyes would turn violet. But aside from that, she looked exactly as he had hoped. Elenche bore almost no resemblance to the dirt-encrusted creature that had arrived in Quilía six weeks before. The two fits she had endured since the aborted session with the seamstress had left no mark on her, but the new clothing and the ministrations of the barber had transformed her into a lady who, were it not for her eyes, would not have looked out of place among the more studious set of young courtiers.
Which brought him to the purpose of this talk. “Elenche, I know that I have been busy lately. For that I apologize.” The girl ducked her head and he sighed. “No, child—look at me.” Elenche swallowed and raised her chin. “That’s better. I may be your master, but as I’ve said before, that doesn’t mean you need avoid my eyes. I’m your mentor, not your owner.”
“I apologize, Master,” Elenche said softly. “I’m—I will try to do better.”
“I know it is difficult for you,” Caríchio said. “Unlearning old habits cannot be easy. And you’ve had little opportunity to practice new ways, given that you have hardly left this suite of rooms since your arrival.”
Elenche flushed and looked down again, then jerked her gaze back up. She seemed at a loss for a reply. Caríchio sighed and went on. “Child, you must at least attempt to make yourself a part of life here. You are my protege; you have every right to be here, despite your birth.” Elenche nodded reluctantly. “Valinú’s cousin Richero is hosting—”
“No,” Elenche blurted, then bit her lip. “I mean—I’m sorry. I understand that you’re trying to help, Master.”
“But you do not wish me to do so quite like this,” Caríchio said.
Elenche shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just would not feel comfortable at an event like that.”
Perhaps he had been wrong to suggest Richero. The boy was known as something of a rake; Elenche might have heard rumors. She was still an incredibly shy creature. But there was more than one set of young courtiers in the palace; the girl might be more at home among those less lively. “Carofia, then. Her mother is the Fourth Assistant to the Master Archivist. She and her friends have their own festivities; poetry readings, for example. You need not write any of your own, for now at least. You may simply go and listen.”
Even that suggestion intimidated her; he could see it in her posture. Elenche was not a quarter as bold as most of the girls raised in the palace, who learned to play at politics and social games from an early age. But she would adapt. She was not stupid; that much was a mercy. Caríchio would not have been able to abide a stupid protege, even if she were a seer. He watched as she weighed the suggestion of Carofia and his authority as her mentor against her own desire to stay secluded.
In the end, she nodded grudging acceptance. “I will speak to Carofia, Master.”
Caríchio smiled. “Good. I think that will work out nicely.”
***
Valinú’s suite had been the wrong setting for this conversation, Caríchio decided. The man almost never stayed in his palace quarters, so the rooms were unpleasantly empty. Valinú didn’t even bother to keep tapestries on the walls; their voices echoed off the bare stone. No doubt that added to Elenche’s obvious discomfort. The way he, Valinú, and Modás were arrayed around her couldn’t help either; it made it seem like they were interrogating her.
“Isn’t there any way you can dull it—even a little?” she begged, her grey eyes flicking from Caríchio to his two companions. Her distress provoked her into meeting their gazes squarely for once. “Just a little something to block the pain.”
Valinú shook his head. “I’m afraid not, child. Anything we do to make it easier for you will block the use of your gift. Even slight amount would prevent you from seeing clearly, but leave you in pain.”
Elenche bit her lip and looked down. Caríchio guessed her thoughts; after every fit she swore she would drug herself senseless rather than endure another. She had never attempted to do so, however; she knew that her gift was what kept her here at court, even though she had yet to speak usefully. Their Imperial Majesties had proved most patient so far, but Caríchio often worried. A seer was a valuable asset to rulers, but only if she could actually speak true. So far Elenche had managed to do little more than scream.
“Every gift has a price, child,” Modás said gently. He put one hand on Elenche’s shoulder. “Yours is higher than most, but it offers so much in return.”
Caríchio realized Elenche had her prayer beads clenched in one hand. Perhaps she could take refuge in that, pray to Verre for a clear vision of the future. Or perhaps Agastu was more likely, given her attitude; he had no doubt that Elenche prayed for a relief from pain. What she needed was control of it.
But he had said that to her repeatedly, and it had brought no results. Caríchio often felt like screaming from impatience and frustration. He had found the first verified seer in generations, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. The expense of a protege, with none of the benefits. If she didn’t show results soon, he would lose a great deal of face at court.
“Go rest, child,” he said, trying to keep his own voice patient and understanding. “You have had a long and difficult day. With sleep, you will be more prepared to handle the situation.”
Elenche looked briefly mutinous, but she obeyed. What an irony that would be, if he taught her confidence only to find she turned it to rebellion. Caríchio made a mental note to watch for such signs and turned to his companions. “Well?”
Modás knew what he meant. “I cannot agree to it. You will not help her; you will only make her lose her trust in you. And that will cause many more problems than it will resolve—if indeed it will resolve any, which I doubt.”
Caríchio glanced at Valinú.
The other man shrugged his bony shoulders elegantly. “I stand by my suggestion. Elenche’s fits are infrequent: only five in the thirteen weeks since she has come here. She has little chance to learn anything of how to master them when so much time goes by in the interim. We can help change that.”
“Their Imperial Majesties—”
“—agree with me, Modás,” Caríchio said coldly. “And may I remind you that Elenche is my protege? I will do what I deem necessary for her education. I ask you for your input out of respect for our friendship and your intelligence, but I am by no means bound to follow your advice.”
Modás glared at him. “I would hope that respect would induce you to listen to what I have to say. I tell you again: your plans are misguided, and will not help Elenche in the least.”
Caríchio smiled, showing teeth. “She is a servant of the court, Modás. As yet she has not fulfilled her duties to their Imperial Majesties. I, as her mentor, am merely doing what I must to see that my protege upholds her responsibilities. I will thank you, Modás, not to interfere.”
***
“I take it Elenche has not arrived yet?”
Valinú looked up from the book he was studying. “She has not. What of Modás?”
“Dispatched to Asceñu, as per my request, where he will have little opportunity to interfere with our work here.” Caríchio regretted having to maneuver his old friend out of the picture, but Modás’s heart was too soft for what was necessary. He had forgotten the price of advancement at court.
Valinú seemed undisturbed by such concerns. He nodded. “Excellent. Then as soon as the girl arrives, we may begin.”
Elenche appeared not long after, looking apprehensive but calm. Caríchio briefly considered Modás’s warning, that she would be driven not to trust him, but then dismissed it. Elenche would see the benefits of this effort—if not immediately, then eventually. “Come here, child. I have asked Valinú to assist us today because his skills with magic far surpass mine; he can perform this work with much greater delicacy than I could. Please, have a seat.”
Elenche obeyed, showing signs of nervousness. Caríchio could not blame her; no doubt she wondered why there were restraints on the chair, such as those they employed to protect her when she felt a fit developing. “You understand, child, that the difficulty with a gift like yours is that you must learn to master and think through the pain which accompanies it.” Of course she did; they’d been over this a thousand times. “Valinú has suggested, and I have agreed, that with your fits so far apart you have little opportunity to learn such control.”
“You’re not going to trigger one, are you?” she asked, eyes wide.
“I do not think that is possible,” Valinú said from his desk. “Verre sends visions when he wishes to.”
“We have another plan instead,” Caríchio said. “Child, the fits frighten you. I understand this. It is our hope that we can teach you to not fear them so much, so that when they come you are more prepared to face them. If we work on this between episodes, I believe your progress will accelerate.”
Elenche looked at him, fear in her eyes. But then she took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, and when she was done the trust had returned. “Then tell me what to do.”
***
Caríchio rubbed his temples as though it would ease his headache. The action did not help at all. “Last night she shrieked curses and vile threats through the walls until her voice gave out completely. I did not get a moment of sleep.”
Valinú looked concerned. “She lost her voice?”
“I’m sure she’ll recover.” Caríchio sighed. “You would not believe the language in this girl, Valinú. She sounds worse than a soldier. The things she said to me when the guards brought her back to the palace…” He shuddered. “All the plagues of Rañe, plus some I think were of her own invention.”
“I would never have thought that meek creature you brought here would behave so.”
Caríchio’s laugh was bitter. “She has learned independence, Valinú.” A bit too much of it. Elenche had not been reticent in saying what she thought of his methods of training her. Caríchio shifted his chair closer to the fire, even though the palace was not cold, and rubbed his head again. Valinú’s magics had shed no blood, but they’d left their mark on Elenche nonetheless. And she had let him know it, in more ways than one. “I must admit, I underestimated her. I did not expect her to try and run away.”
Valinú shrugged. “She is young and rebellious.”
Young. How long had it been, since Elenche came to the palace? She might well be sixteen by now. Caríchio wondered if giving her a birthday gift would fix anything. Probably not.
“Do we continue?” Valinú asked.
Caríchio looked at him suspiciously. Valinú’s tone was bland as always, but was there a hint of eagerness there? Caríchio did what he had to, but Valinú enjoyed it. He wished he could do without the other man’s help. If and when Elenche began to prophecy usefully, he would owe Valinú a significant debt, and the canny nobleman would find creative ways to collect. But Valinú’s aid was crucial to his plan.
“Of course we do,” Caríchio said, trying to look unruffled. “Until she suffers a fit, we will not know if we have made any progress or not. Until then, we do everything we can to inure her to pain. She must be able to think past it when the time comes.”
Valinú nodded. “Then we shall waste no more time here. Let us go see if Elenche has recovered.”
***
“Congratulations, Elenche. Their Imperial Majesties were most pleased with the information I brought to them; they had not seen the signs of rebellion in the governor of Hiciele, but with your warning they have found that which they missed. They send as a token of their gratitude this necklace, and will in the future provide you with a small retinue of servants to call your own.” Caríchio laid the jewelry down on a table, but the girl did not turn in her chair to face him. “Elenche?”
She continued to ignore him.
“Elenche, this is a great victory. Your gift is finally coming under your control.” And Caríchio’s fears had been laid to rest. He and Valinú had worried that Elenche might refuse to speak when a fit came upon her, in retaliation for the trials they had put her through. As the texts had said, though, the speaking was involuntary. If Elenche was capable of forming words, she had no choice but to do so.
Still the girl did not respond.
“I have a guess as to the meaning of the first prophecy you spoke here, as well. Do you remember when the seamstress came to fit you for clothing? You spoke three words. ‘Caríchio. Red. Turn.’ Their Imperial Majesties have spoken of promoting me, possibly to the position of Second Minister of Palace Supply. If that were to happen, my official badge would then be red. Do you think that is what you meant, Elenche?”
Her back was as unresponsive as the palace wall.
Caríchio opened his mouth to speak again when a serving-girl emerged from the door to the bathing room and bowed. “Ema, your bath is prepared.”
“Thank you, Seri.” Elenche rose to depart, but Caríchio crossed the distance between them in three strides and gripped her arm.
“Is that it?” he asked, trying to maintain a pleasant face. “Are you angry because I suggested you change your name? Is that why you will not speak to me?”
She met his eyes coldly, showing no signs of the meekness that had characterized her before. “I refuse to be the person you’ve tried to make me, your little nightingale, trained to sing on command. I’m not a noble. I never will be, no matter what clothing you give me, or what fancy collar you put around my neck.” One hand gestured contemptuously at the necklace on the table. “At best I’ll be a tool for their Imperial Majesties to use until it breaks, and a way for you to advance yourself at court. I thought you took me as your protege out of concern for me, but you and Valinú have shown me how wrong I was. You’ll do anything to make me useful, won’t you?”
Caríchio controlled his anger. Now was not the time to lose his temper; he might drive her away entirely. “We are trying to teach you to master your gift, Elenche.”
Her face hardened at the name. “I am Ema. And you want me to master it so you can parade me around as your accomplishment.”
“That is not true.”
“Let me see my mother.”
He blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Your mother?”
“Meña. You do remember going to Delesta, right? I want to see her.”
“I will see if that can be arranged.”
“You will make it happen.” She glared at him. “Delesta isn’t so far away; you can have her here by late next week.”
Was she planning some insurrection with her mother’s aid? After four failed escape attempts, Caríchio would have thought she’d learned how impossible that was. But he was not certain of anything anymore. “Elenche—” He gritted his teeth. For the time being, he would go along with her petty demands. “Ema. Please listen to me. All I ask is your cooperation. If you ceased this constant rebellion, your life here could be quite comfortable. You are in a position to provide valuable service to the Empire; their Imperial Majesties will reward that handsomely!”
“And I live out my life as a useful pet? I don’t think so.” She wrenched her arm free of his grasp. “I wish you had never found me. If I’d known what you were, I would have refused to come here.”
“Then you might have died,” he snapped. “Only the care I gave you kept you safe during the early fits—”
“Fine. So I would have died. That would have been better than this.” Her eyes were full of contempt. “I will sing no more for you.” Then she turned her back on him, a deliberate rudeness, and walked past the terrified servant to her bath, where she shut the door on Caríchio’s frustrated protests.
***
Valinú found him in the darkened sitting room, staring at the dying embers of the fire. “Caríchio?”
With a wave Caríchio gestured for him to take a seat. Valinú waited in silence until Caríchio chose to speak. “She tried to kill me today.”
An indrawn breath was his only answer.
“In truth, I am not surprised. She blames me for all of this.”
“It doesn’t have to be this bad!” Valinú exclaimed, frustration clear in his voice. “If she would just cooperate—”
“She won’t cooperate. I don’t dare bring her mother here; the girl plots escape every waking moment, and I cannot let her speak to an ally. I can’t even let her have servants any more; one of them gave her the knife she tried to plant in my neck.” The fire popped, shockingly loud, sending a spray of orange sparks up the chimney. “I would ask your aid, if you will grant it.”
“I am with you in all of this, Caríchio.”
Of course he was; he too stood to gain if Elenche proved her value to the emperor and empress. And he would lose much less if she failed; after all, he wasn’t the one who had taken on a peasant as a protege. “I have had her sedated. Will you help me prepare a cell for her? We must not let anyone near her, or give her anything she might use to cause herself harm. She had another vision today, you see. A small thing—the Empress’ cousin will be with child before the year is out—but it has made it just that much clearer how valuable she is. I will need help with spells to keep her cell clean, and so on. She will not live in squalor.”
Valinú nodded. “I understand. It should not be difficult to arrange.”
“Good.” Caríchio sighed and drained the wine from his glass. “Everything else has been difficult; I need something to be simple.”
***
Lia Vincho looked up at him and shook her head.
Caríchio’s heart felt like lead. He was not even appalled by the mess in front of him, the pallet on the floor, soaked with blood and vomit. His nose hardly even registered the stench.
The healer’s eyes were accusing, but she kept her opinions to herself. “The guard noticed the damage too late, lio Jurín. I could do nothing for her.”
“What happened?” He forced the words out past lips grown numb.
Lia Vincho looked down at Ema’s filthy body. “She bit off her tongue. Because she was bound on her back, she inhaled some of her own blood and swallowed the rest, which caused her to vomit. It choked her.”
She had bitten off her own tongue. Caríchio thought about the girl he’d seen in Delesta, who had stood with her gaze fixed on the ground, afraid to look a noble in the eye. Where had she gotten the courage and determination to bite off her own tongue? How had such a meek little mouse grown so fierce?
Looking at the healer, Caríchio wondered. Had she really arrived too late? No one in the palace had known of Ema’s situation save himself and Valinú; even their Imperial Majesties had not known the specifics. Had lia Vincho arrived here, seen the cell, and chosen to let Ema die?
“I am sorry, lio Jurín.” The healer stood. “I know Elenche was your protege.”
“Ema,” he whispered, the name slipping out without his permission. Lia Vincho looked at him, and he shrugged in resignation. “Her name was Ema.”
Lia Vincho glanced at the body on the pallet. “It suits her.” She departed then, leaving Caríchio alone in the cell, staring at the girl he had named for a nightingale. A girl who could not live caged, and so died instead. She would sing no more for him.