In Dreaming Bound

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  On the other side of the room, several of the boys spoke together, their voices reflecting off the tables’ harder surfaces. They were competing somehow—cards, dice, push-ups, Shironne couldn’t tell, and they weren’t quite loud enough for her to hear their words.

  The common room was full of low chatter, one of the things she’d never known before coming to this place. People had always been near her—her mother, sisters, and the servants, the army personnel she knew—but she hadn’t truly been around people her own age since she’d lost her sight. What do they do with their time?

  The boys began to sing, one of them hideously off-key. “Who’s the terrible singer?”

  Tabita chuckled. “Gabriel. Completely tone-deaf.”

  “Why does he sing, then?”

  She felt Tabita’s shoulder move in a shrug. “He enjoys it.”

  “Has anyone ever told him he’s off?”

  One of the trio laughed this time. “He knows what he sounds like,” the girl said. “I’m certain Eli’s only brought it up a hundred times or so.” The other two girls giggled at that.

  Evidently the singing must fall under the category of tweaking Eli’s nose, one of Gabriel’s favored pastimes. Shironne abruptly recognized the song as a Larossan folk song, only with the words stretched to fit a different tune. Something about sheep and goats with a poorly hidden double meaning. How interesting.

  “Can you move over a little?” one of the girls asked in Shironne’s direction. “I’m going to do Theo’s hair.”

  That had to be Hanna. One thing Shironne knew from Mikael’s mind was that braiding hair took up a good portion of any yeargroup’s informal times, especially for those who were runners, up in the palace. Male or female, they had to wear their hair in the same style as the sentries. And while Theo could likely do it himself, Tabita had told Shironne it was easier and faster to have someone else do the braiding.

  Plus Hanna gets to play with Theo’s hair. A smile tugged at Shironne’s lips. Mikael’s hair was likely too short to braid, but that did make her wonder what his hair would feel like under her bare fingers. Shironne shifted over to make room.

  “It’s not uncommon for a strong sensitive to be tone-deaf,” Tabita explained.

  Shironne felt certain Deborah had told her that. “Are you?”

  “No. At least, not like that,” Tabita said, laughter in her voice. “So Gabriel’s mother is pregnant again?” Tabita’s lack of curiosity said she already knew the answer, so it wasn’t a true question.

  Apparently, word got around, even if Shironne hadn’t said anything. “What did Gabriel say?”

  “That you said it would be a girl,” Tabita admitted. “His mother told him. How exactly do you do that?”

  Tabita didn’t clarify, but Shironne knew she was referring to her ability to sense through another person’s body, and thus know about the child inside. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “It’s not always very pleasant.”

  She could sense Tabita thinking about that last statement as the girls on the other end of the couch laughed softly about something.

  “I see. Master Elisabet requested a meeting with you tomorrow,” Tabita told her then, changing the subject.

  Shironne shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the couch. It felt old underneath her, and she didn’t want to think about what had worked its way into the stuffing over the years. “Why?”

  “She wants to begin your arms training,” Tabita said, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

  Arms training? The colonel’s people might have taught her a bit about defending herself, but none of them had ever envisioned putting a firearm in her hands. “With a weapon? Why? I’m not going to be any good at it.”

  “You’ve got very good ears,” Tabita pointed out.

  An oomph heralded someone across the room crashing into the floor, and everyone’s attention fled that direction. “What are they doing?”

  “I think they’re trying to impress us—the girls in general, I mean, not you and I.”

  Not her, because Shironne couldn’t see them, and not Tabita, because they knew she couldn’t be impressed.

  “Tabita,” Eli said coolly from somewhere past the couches. “Can I speak with you?”

  Shironne felt the couch move as Tabita went to him.

  “Only two things in this world make Eli that angry. It’s either Jonas or Maria,” one of the other girls said, naming Eli’s brother and foster sister.

  She hoped the speaker didn’t expect her to produce a name. “Who is Jonas?”

  “Eli’s younger brother. One of the tens. He makes Maria look tame,” the speaker offered. “I have a sister in his yeargroup.”

  Tabita returned to the couch then, settling back with a sigh. “He found out that Maria’s gone missing,” she said very softly, likely only letting the trio hear.

  “What? Where would she go?” Shironne asked, making sure to keep her voice low.

  She heard the sound of cloth moving as the other girls leaned nearer, along with the smell of soap—freshly bathed. “She has a boyfriend,” one whispered. “In the city. That’s what I think.”

  Tabita sighed, easy to tell since she sat at Shironne’s side now. “We’re not sure where she’s going. We don’t even know how she’s doing it. It’s not easy getting out of Below.”

  “Could she just be trying to outsmart you?” Shironne asked. “To . . . um, show off?”

  Tabita radiated irritation before firmly tamping it down. “Perhaps. I think it’s more, though.”

  The trio and Theo speculated on which of the girls in the yeargroup might know Maria’s secret, but none were sure. Shironne could sense Tabita’s frustration lurking behind her control. “How long has this been going on?” she asked. “Her going missing?”

  “Six weeks, we think,” Tabita said. “If I were to ask, and you were to touch her, could you. . . ?”

  Ah, that was the thing she hadn’t asked the day before. And Maria, knowing that Shironne was a touch-sensitive had kept her distance. “I don’t think Maria will come near me.”

  “Unfortunate,” Tabita returned thoughtfully.

  The squeak of a trolley and the scent of tea heralded the approach of fresh servers of tea from the kitchens on One Down. Shironne caught a hint of lemon and spices in the scent. “Shironne, do you want a cup?” one of the trio asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Tabita remained at her side, mind whirring. “Would you be willing to . . . touch her if the opportunity presented itself?”

  Maria would be furious. She would feel betrayed. Then again, Shironne could tell that Tabita felt betrayed by Maria. If she had to pick, she wanted to be on Tabita’s side in this. “Yes.”

  “Let me give it some thought, then.”

  The other girl returned and pressed a cup of tea into Shironne’s gloved hand. Shironne brought up the other hand to grasp it. She stole the girl’s name through the muted contact of their hands, hoping to solidify her sense of the girl’s personality. “Thank you, Norah.”

  The cup radiated warmth through Shironne’s fingers, and she sipped carefully at the tea. Black tea, made with lemon, cloves and cinnamon, along with a few other spices. Fresh, strong spices. Spices that were all expensive, imported from far to the south as they were. “It’s very good tea,” she said when Tabita sat back.

  “Better than in Jannsen,” Tabita said, her mind spinning away now.

  That night, Shironne lowered herself to her still-stiff sheets wondering what sort of trap Tabita was planning. And as she lay in her narrow bunk, she sensed Mikael thinking about her. She felt his frustration pouring through the link between them. The other sensitives said Mikael Lee had quieted in the past few weeks. For her, the opposite was true. Almost as if he spoke into her ear, she could her him thinking, worrying over her. He wished loudly he could reassure her. He wished, just as she did, that they could talk.

  He wasn’t supposed to do that, she knew, but the chilly barracks roo
m felt warmer then, and she felt safer.

  * * *

  Morning came, and Mikael survived his first meeting with Jason, who’d seemed determined to make it as easy as possible. A large man from the thirty-fours, Jason could be an older version of Eli. His uniform and hair were always immaculate, his posture perfect, and his pale eyes very sharp.

  He couldn’t have missed Mikael’s nervousness, and kindly explained that meetings between the Daujom and the king’s guard were largely a formality. He’d not complained about Dahar’s skipping them because he knew what was currently happening in the king’s household.

  Mikael left Jason with the assurance that the office of the Daujom was still at work, even while Dahar was otherwise occupied. Since Anna would never have let things get out of hand on her watch, that was also unnecessary. Forms had to be maintained, though, so Mikael told Jason he would be back the next morning.

  It began to feel like he could manage the office in Dahar’s absence, at least.

  After an hour, he had everything on his desk organized to keep him up to pace with what Anna suggested, and even managed to write a note to send off to Joio Dimani. He was carrying that to the office door to hand over to a runner when someone began banging on it from outside.

  Not Dahar, since he carried keys. Mikael stuck the letter in a pocket and opened the door.

  A young Anvarrid woman stood in the hallway, her green eyes lit with ire. Her dark hair was pinned up in a tight crown, and she wore a form-fitting burgundy tunic—with trousers as well as full skirts—all under a heavily embroidered velvet overrobe, attire far too fine for an early morning visit to the office of the Daujom. She also wore far too much perfume, and the cloying scent of lilies made his nose itch.

  For a split second, Mikael’s brain failed to recognize her.

  “Are you going to let me see him?” she snapped imperiously. Her irritation spun out from her like an angry cloud of wasps. “Get out of my way.”

  Instead of letting her into the office, he stepped outside the door and closed it behind him. His approach forced her to take a step back. Mikael took a deep breath and deliberately pushed calm at her.

  Her eyelids drooped and her head nodded, like someone about to fall asleep—in response to his broadcasting. Then her chin lifted. “Don’t do that,” she hissed at him. “Let me in there.”

  Mikael noted for the first time that Eli waited a few feet behind the young woman. Evidently, he was serving a morning runner shift in the king’s household. It was good there was someone relatively calm present, though, because Mikael had rather belatedly recognized the girl in question.

  This was Dahar’s daughter, Amserian. Sera.

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  MIKAEL HADN’T LAID eyes on the girl in three years or more, but she was unmistakably Dahar’s child. She had his coloration, his hooked nose and tallish, lean build. She was the same height as Mikael now . . . perhaps a bit taller.

  Is she supposed to be here in Noikinos? Dahar certainly hadn’t mentioned a plan for her return. Mikael gazed at her narrowly. “Sera, what are you doing here?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared along the length of her aquiline nose. “You have no business keeping me out of that office. I want to speak to my father now.”

  “Your father isn’t here,” Mikael pointed out. “Nor are you allowed to enter the offices of the Daujom without permission.”

  “Father’s just avoiding me,” she said, stamping one delicate slipper on the floor. When one of the sentries farther down the hall whistled to indicate that her emotions were out of control, she turned that direction and yelled, “Stop whistling at me!”

  Wonderful. Mikael tried thinking calm at her again, this time sustaining it longer as she fumed. “Eli, could you offer a coherent explanation as to why she’s here?”

  Eli shrugged with one shoulder, his expression completely flat when she managed to glare at him. “No, sir,” Eli answered. “She arrived at the palace a few minutes ago. The porters carrying up her luggage were ordered to place it in the room where Miss Perrin Anjir is staying.”

  Sera’s attention snapped back to Mikael. “There is some girl in my rooms. I want her out.”

  Mikael held in a sigh. Poor Perrin doesn’t need Sera screeching at her. He forced himself to speak in a reasonable tone. “Did you think to ask the lady consort where she prefers you to stay?”

  If Sera had asked, that lady would have solved the problem immediately, since she controlled the household.

  And clearly Sera knew that, because her eyes narrowed.

  Mikael could almost see her calculating another way to attack the problem. Or attack me.

  There were sentries along the hallway, some now watching this interchange with vague curiosity. None appeared ready to take over monitoring Sera. That wasn’t their job, no matter how much Mikael wanted them—anyone—to assume responsibility for the girl. He turned to Eli. “Did the quarterguards not follow?”

  “There was confusion, sir, as the young lady refused to explain who she was and why she wished to remove Miss Anjir from the rooms in question. She retreated here before any of the quarterguards thought to break away.”

  “I did not retreat!” Sera cast a withering glance at Eli, and then turned her shoulder on him.

  Mikael sighed inwardly. Most of the more experienced among the quarterguards would be with Dahar and Madam Anjir at the moment, since they’d left the palace grounds. That, or guarding the king. It was possible that none of the remaining quarterguards were old enough to recognize Sera. “And thus you’re stuck following her around while they straighten out the mess.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eli said. “I felt she shouldn’t be wandering the halls un . . . controlled.” Eli made it sound like he’d been searching for a good word to describe her, but Mikael was certain that Eli had chosen that term deliberately.

  Sera turned back to him, her narrow chest swelling with rage. “I do not need your escort, boy!”

  Being around the Valaren family is like watching a melodrama on stage. Mikael had barely spoken with the girl in the first year he’d been in the capital, but he did recall trying to hide whenever one of the Valaren family squabbles broke out. Sera had generally been the star player on that stage, with her father usually cast as the villain. Nothing Dahar did was acceptable to this daughter. “Lady Sera,” Mikael said, wishing good will at her, “if you’ll present yourself to Lady Amdiria, she will find an appropriate room for you.”

  “You do not get to order me around, Mikael Lee,” she snapped.

  “That was a request, not an order.” Mikael could see that Eli was close to losing his patience. “Your father is not here, and therefore . . .”

  She drew herself up a little taller, her lip curling. “And who told you that you could simply decide to end your betrothal to me? To marry someone else, no less.”

  I should have known that would come up. “Your father agreed to it, Sera.”

  “Well, I did not!”

  Mikael felt his irritation slipping loose. This is ridiculous. “How many times over the last three years did you write to me—and to your father—announcing how little you wanted to marry me?”

  “A man does not simply end his betrothal,” she persisted, nose in the air. “Of course, you’re Valerion’s son, so no one expects faithfulness out of you.”

  Mikael stepped back against the closed office door. For the first time, he wished this argument wasn’t taking place in front of Eli. He let Sera feel his ire. She was a sensitive, although probably not a very strong one, but he was good at making sensitives feel him. “Then the end of the arrangement,” he snapped, “should not have caused you any consternation at all. I should think you’d count yourself fortunate to have escaped me.”

  For a split-second, he could see he’d stymied her. She’d argued herself into a corner, so he pressed his momentary advantage. “Now, please do as I’ve suggested,” he said in a more civil tone. “When he returns,
I will inform your father that you are awaiting him.”

  Won’t Dahar love that?

  Her eyes narrowed again, almost as if she’d caught that last thought. “You smug bastard,” she spat, her hand rising to slap his face.

  Eli grabbed her moving arm at the wrist before her hand could connect with Mikael’s face.

  She twisted to face him, fury in every line of her body. “Let go of me, boy!”

  While some of the earlier words might have been posturing, Mikael could tell that this anger was in earnest. Another whistle came from the sentry down the hall.

  “Apologize to Master Mikael,” Eli said sternly, not releasing her hand. “Your language is inappropriate.”

  “Why?” she asked. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  Actually, it wasn’t—Mikael had the status of half-legitimate—but he wasn’t going to argue Anvarrid semantics with Sera. “It’s fine, Eli. Let her go.”

  Eli loosened his fingers, and Sera made a show of snatching her arm away. She clutched the hand close to her chest as if Eli had injured her. “I will tell my father what you did,” she hissed nastily at Eli.

  “And your father will laugh,” Mikael predicted.

  Her eyes shifted to Mikael, and she clutched her anger about herself like a second overrobe. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her eyes shifted when she caught sight of movement farther down the long hallway. A tall dark-haired man in a Family uniform approached, and as he came closer, Mikael saw with relief that it was Kai.

  Sera abandoned her quest to punish Mikael and ran to her brother instead. She threw her arms around Kai, who returned the gesture, a rare show of emotion from him. Despite all the infighting in the Valaren family, Kai and Sera cared for each other.

  Sera clutched at Kai’s hands as if she would never let go. Fortunately, that should take her off Mikael’s hands for a time. Kai had likely come specifically to corral her. “I think you can go back to your station,” he said to Eli as he gestured for a sentry to come join them. “Let Kai handle his sister.”