Sora's Quest (The Cat's Eye Chronicles #1)

by T. L. Shreffler

Sora looked in the mirror, staring at the swirls of face paint and the long, layered, elaborate dress. It was burnt pink, a shade too close to her skin tone, with sparkles and sequins. Several crystals were expertly sewn into the neckline.

  “It's hideous,” she finally said, tugging at the long, ruffled skirt.

  “No!” cried her handmaid, Lily, bursting from her side. “No, not at all! It's...decorative. You're beautiful.”

  “I look like a smoked salmon.”

  “My Lady....”

  “Honestly, Lily?” Sora turned to look at her maid, one sleek blond eyebrow raised. Her expression bordered on comical, exaggerated by her gold-flaked eyebrow paint, which arched dramatically across her forehead. She hadn't been able to touch her face all day. The artisans had come that morning to paint her skin in rich, deep tones, all in preparation for the Blooming. The makeup had taken hours to apply. “I don't want to go through with this,” she said. “I've never had a birthday party before. Why start now?”

  Lily opened her mouth, but no words came.

  Sora turned to face her maid fully, her solid blue eyes lit with a sudden idea. “Let's cut out, Lily!”

  “What?”

  “Leave the ball! Forget the Blooming! Let's just go!” Her eyes returned to the mirror, to the thin gold clay that caked her face, the silvery powder overlaying her cheeks. “I've never gone to town before,” she murmured. “It's my birthday, isn't it? Let's go exploring.”

  Lily, a frail young woman with bobbed black hair, seemed rigid at first, like a ruffled swan. Then her shoulders slowly melted. Her face softened. Her long, pale neck lost its tension. She took her mistress gently by the arm, turning her toward the antique vanity, perhaps the least decorative article in the room. It was broad, standing on four solid oak legs, the bases carved to appear like lion's feet.

  Sora's bedroom was large enough to house several families. The rich, heavy rug that covered the floor was a deep rouge color, far more vibrant and beautiful than her salmon-pink dress. It was thicker than grass and softer than wool. Her massive bed took up an entire corner of the room, enclosed by red drapes, decorated in smooth silks, thick furs and a dozen pillows, all of the softest goose down. The furniture, ornately carved of dark cherrywood, had been passed down for generations. Frivolous silks clung to every surface. Intricately detailed tapestries covered the walls, portraying outdoor tea parties, great hunts, dashing hounds and a giant, rearing stallion.

  “It's not just a birthday party, you know,” her handmaid said, assisting Sora into her chair. Lily was five years older than Sora and knew her mistress's moods as surely as the weather. She undid Sora's hair, a cascade of deep golden waves, and combed it out with a boar-bristle brush. “Your father has been preparing for this all year. He's invited half the royal court and almost the entire Second Tier.”

  “Second Tier, that's fine. I am one, after all,” Sora murmured, rolling her eyes. “Country nobility I don't mind. It's the city nobles that I can't stand. Snooty gossips, the lot of them. I hope they don't show.”

  “Oh, hush. Your father invited a few. Marrying into city nobility would be quite a dream come true...”

  Sora turned in her chair, staring up at her maid—who also happened to be her closest friend. “Truly?” she exclaimed. “Have you forgotten every other conversation we've ever had?”

  Lily shrugged in exasperation. “I still don't understand it! Any normal person would jump at the chance to marry city nobility. You would never have to lift a finger again, not even to eat your own breakfast! Huh, what I would do with that kind of coin....” Her eyes glazed over, as they always did when Lily thought about money.

  Sora sighed and turned back to the mirror. She understood as much. As country nobility, or the “Second Tier,” she lived with comfortable wealth. Just not considerable wealth. Noble blood didn't guarantee fistfuls of money, after all. Her family's nobility had been won through military service. The Fallcrests had spawned several generations of Captains and Generals. But now the times of war and battle were long past. Peace had flourished in the Kingdom of Err for five hundred years. It had been a long, long time since a Fallcrest had done anything of note.

  Her father would be ecstatic if she landed a city noble. Rumor had it that Sora was beautiful enough to slip into the highest ranks, the First Tier, second only to the King himself.

  But she wasn't like other country nobility, who daydreamed of the Royal City of Crowns, of riverboats, masquerades and, of course, the yearly Carnival. An entire four weeks of mystifying feats, fine wines and legendary debauchery. No, Sora's experience of city nobility was much the opposite, and it had left a bad taste in her mouth.

  The memories brought on a momentary pang of embarrassment, and she bit her lip, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “This birthday has nothing to do with me,” she finally grumbled.

  “Well, of course not!” Lily replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Then you'll admit that this is all about my father! And...and marriage.”

  “You're seventeen, 'tis tradition!” Lily nodded, and glanced up, catching her mistress's eyes in the mirror. Then she recited in a singsong voice, “On a noble Lady's seventeenth birthday, she must show the kingdom what she is worth! All families with eligible bachelors are invited. They dance with the Lady and make their suits.”

  “Make their suits....” Sora muttered, cutting off Lily's tirade. “It's like they're buying me. That's what the kitchen staff say.”

  “Yes, well, that's the kitchen staff for you. Be thankful you're not one of them. Have you ever thought they might be jealous?” Lily gave a firm nod and began braiding Sora's hair in a series of small, neat rows. Her fingers moved deftly through the blond locks. “But you're country nobility, and this is how it has always been. You have an estate to worry about. And marriage is not such a bad thing.” Her maid tapped Sora's shoulder knowingly. “Your Lord father wants to ensure the future of his House.”

  “Ugh! Enough!” Sora threw up her hands and jumped out of the chair, yanking her hair from Lily's grasp. It was so long and thick, she hardly felt the pull. “His House,” she mocked. “His lineage, his marriage, his grandbabies, his future—all him! When was the last time my father even spoke to me, Lily?”

  There was an awkward pause. Her maid glanced away.

  “Am I ever going to get the chance to leave this place?” Sora continued. It was an old song, one she had sung before. “Hells, I am seventeen years old and I've never ridden off my father's lands!”

  Her maid looked flustered. She fiddled with the ivory comb, running her hands along its length. “Your father doesn't want you befriending the wrong kind of people....”

  “I don't care what he wants! A few common friends are better than complete solitude.”

  “Solitude? Excuse me? Aren't you forgetting someone?” Lily replied with a wry smile. She smacked Sora playfully on the arm with the flat of the comb.

  Sora's mouth opened slightly. She flushed in embarrassment. “I...I'm sorry, Lily.”

  “It's all right. You just need to calm down,” Lily said, and waved her hand in the air dismissively. “You'll dance with handsome suitors. The Ladies will all be jealous. Everyone will have a great time. You're just nervous.”

  “I hate being the center of attention....” Sora muttered.

  “I know,” Lily assured her. She went to place a hand on her mistress's shoulder, then paused, her palm hovering over the body paint. “Here, I'll do you a favor. I'm going to nip down to the kitchen for a calming tonic. That will take the edge off.” Lily finally found a place for her sympathetic hand, resting it gently on Sora's upper arm, then running it down the smooth silk dress. “I'll be back in a minute, all right? Don't go anywhere.”

  Sora gave her a pained look in the mirror, and Lily smiled in return. Then, with a click of her black boots, she turned and walked quickly to the door, her deep blue skirts swaying with each stride. A second later, she was gone.

  Sora let out a long, sl
ow breath. Her eyes turned to the distant window, watching the sun set in a blood-red glory, a sacrifice to the coming night. Far down in the courtyard, a dozen stable boys ran back and forth along the front drive, trying to keep up with the constant arrival of carriages and guests.

  She twisted her hands around her boar-bristle brush. Lily had a point. She was nervous—about her dress, her body paint, the Blooming she would have to perform. And, of course, the hundreds of eyes that would be staring at her. All for what? A hand in marriage? When do I get to live my life?

  Up to this moment she had put off thinking about the birthday, the suitors, the whole damn thing. She had focused instead on all of her usual activities: flute lessons, schooling, riding her horse through the vast acres of her father’s estate, fishing in the peaceful streams, painting, weaving crowns of wildflowers, romping in the meadow, on and on and on until finally, the day had arrived. It seemed too soon. She felt bushwhacked, betrayed somehow.

  I can't do this anymore. I don't belong here, she thought, gazing out the window across the open meadow behind her father’s house. The city nobles laughed at her—the country nobles avoided her. And now her father wanted to get rid of her.

  I hate him, she thought, reflecting on her father's two-year stay in the City of Crowns. He sent cold, disinterested letters, addressed to Lily, about her studies. She had felt this several times, but now she could finally confirm it: I really just hate him. It didn't matter who attended the party or how much body paint she wore. The First Tier would never want her. Not with a damaged pedigree.

  On a sudden inspiration, Sora rushed across her room to her nightstand, where an ornate musicbox sat, a remnant from her childhood nursery. She glanced at the door, poised, listening for the maids. They couldn't know about her secret.

  Turning the musicbox upside down, Sora thumped the heel of her palm against its base. An object rattled inside the box. She slipped her lithe fingers through a crack at the bottom and dragged the necklace out from its hiding place, holding it up to the light.

  A single stone hung from a long silver chain, shaped like a perfectly round marble, sparkling in the sunlight like an expensive gem. She had never been able to identify the stone, though she had looked through countless books. Green-tinted, a yellow swirl shifted and swam inside it, as though alive.

  It was her mother's necklace, or so Lily had confirmed. Her mother, common-born and now disappeared. And Lord Fallcrest's greatest mistake....

  She didn't know if the rumors were true. If her mother truly was peasant-born or if that was just vicious gossip from the First Tier. Looking at the pretty green stone, she felt certain that it was rare, not something that a mere peasant would own. The musicbox, the only relic left by her mother, was forgotten in the nursery for years. Sora found the necklace about five years ago.

  Lily had admitted to seeing it before. “She never wore it,” her maid had told her. “Only held it. And sometimes, she would speak to it. But I was very young. I thought the stone was magic, but...well, that's just silly.”

  My mother left this to me. I know she did, Sora thought, staring at the bright green bauble. She had never worn it, worried that she would lose it somehow. But tonight seemed appropriate.

  She fastened the clasp around her neck, careful not to smear the body paint.

  Chills flowed over her as the necklace settled in place. A shudder ran down her spine. She jerked, resisting the urge to rub her arms, feeling as though a thousand needles were piercing her skin. She glanced around. Had there been a draft?

  Sora frowned, jarred from her memories. Her hands traveled to the stone, which was warm to the touch, warmer than a stone should be.

  By the six gods...if only I was free to do as I wish. Her eyes found the small bells and tassels that hung from the bed frame, tokens of the Goddess. She had waited long enough. She wanted to find her mother. Perhaps it sounded like a fanciful dream—the woman could have been a harlot, a wandering gypsy who had caught her father's eye—but she would never know unless she found her. And sitting around in this manor house, waiting to be married, wouldn't help find her.

  But how? Sora's hand trailed along the side of her bookshelf, running over the old leather and gold-leaf titles. The bookshelf was an easy reach from her bedside, jam-packed with every single book she could get her hands on. Some were in languages she couldn't read, yet she kept them anyway, for love of leather and ink. The top shelf was dedicated to the mythology of the War of the Races, stories of heroism and adventure.

  She wished she could be strong like the warriors of old, braving the wilderness, plunging into the unknown. She imagined hundreds of years ago, when legendary fighters had walked the lands, wielding deadly broadswords and enchanted arrows. Back in the time of the races, before city and country nobility, before mundacity, before magic had drained from the world....

  Sora's hand paused on a title. The Wanderer. Hadn't her favorite warrior—Kaelyn the Wanderer—left her family behind? The first warrior of the Goddess, she who was chosen to save humanity. She had been a true adventurer, someone worth looking up to. Strong enough to follow her own path….

  Sora’s hands stilled in shock. Gods, how could I be so stupid? The answer had been right in front of her the entire time!

  Run away.

  It’s so obvious! If I just run away and disappear, I won’t have to get married, my father would never find me, and I’d be free to find my mother....

  Brilliant

  It was also a very desperate plan, but Sora was as desperate as one could be. If not now, when? she thought, her breath quickening with possibilities. She had considered the idea before, when she had been very young. But at that age, running away meant camping in the woods for a night. Not forever.

  And yet, it felt right.

  She only had three hours before the Blooming and about a thousand details to cover. It was already growing dark; the lanterns were lit across the front drive. She began ticking off a mental list of supplies she would need. If I can gather them quickly enough, I can stash the bag somewhere in the hallway. I could slip out of the ballroom after the festivities...during my father's speech, mayhap. That's the ticket! Then no one would suspect.

  She felt that icy sensation again, as though a cold draft of air had struck her feet. But she pushed that concern aside. There was no time left for hesitation. Lily would return any minute!

  Rushing to the other side of the room and yanking open her wardrobe, she pulled out an old, worn leather bag, one she had often used while riding or hiking in the forest. A small hunting knife rested at the bottom of the bag, along with her travel flute, a wooden pipe she had whittled by hand.

  She reached far back into the recesses of the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of muddied riding pants and a stained shirt, which she also threw into the sack, followed by her riding boots, a light cloak and compass. Then she stood for a moment and racked her brain, trying to imagine what else she would need. A waterskin, certainly. She had one of those stashed under her bed. Money, of course. She had that under the bed too, a heavy purse of gold coins, bits and pieces she had tucked away over the years. Her lifesavings were the perfect funds for an adventure. To find my mother, she thought with a thrill of excitement.

  She dashed quickly to the bed, clumsy and awkward in her tall shoes, dragged out the flask and coin purse from beneath her mattress and tossed them in her satchel. Then she stood up with a triumphant grin. It was all so perfect—why had she not thought of it sooner? She would wait until everyone was dizzy from dancing and dead drunk, then slip out and never return.

  “Milady! Your paint is smeared!” a horrified voice exclaimed behind her.

  Sora whirled around, nearly falling over her nightstand. She tossed the satchel under the bed before Lily could see it. “I didn't hear you come in!”

  “I should have come back sooner,” Lily said, her voice strained. She stood in the doorway with a pinched mouth. “Did you touch your face? Your hair is sticking to your forehead! Here,
I think I can fix it. Sit down and drink this—but don't let it brush your lips!” Her maid handed over a frothing green glass. Sora took it gingerly, staring at the dark, syrupy liquid. A short reed straw stuck out past the rim.

  Sora sat down obediently as Lily broke out the jars of paint. She wanted to groan in frustration. She had been forced to stand stiffly for most of the afternoon as the body artists had painted her chest, arms, neck and face—any patch of skin that wasn't covered by the dress. Supposedly, she was to symbolize the fertility of the Wind Goddess. The custom was so long-standing that no one questioned it. The artists had left some paint behind, just in case something like this happened.

  Lily went about her duty, untangling Sora's hair and gently extracting it from the paint. She then got out a tiny paintbrush and started dabbing at the red splotches and thin purple lines. As Sora stared at her face in the mirror, she felt another lurch of horror and anxiety, imagining the ceremony to come. She was already messing up. This evening is going to be horrible.

  But her eyes focused on the green stone necklace, which glinted and twinkled secretively, and she felt a smile come to her lips. Tomorrow...who knew where she might be? She had her bag packed, ready to go at a moment's notice. A seed of hope bloomed in her heart. Tonight was it. The end of nobility, of stuffy parties and snobbery...and the beginning of her true life.

  A sense of relief flooded her. Now that she was finally committed to leaving, to heading out on her own, it was as if a fresh wind had blown open a stuck window. She couldn't wait.

  Lily began braiding Sora's long, rich hair, looping the strands expertly atop her head, pinning them in place with fresh flowers.

  Sora stuck the straw in her mouth and slurped the liquid. She grimaced. It tasted like rotten plums.

  One hour down. Two more to go.

  CHAPTER TWO