by B. K. Boes
“I understand,” Moloch said. “What can I do to help?”
“My betrothed is bringing a chaperone attendant, her cousin, Lady Junia Nondrum, and I need one as well,” Prince Zuria said. “I decided the Ergonians have it right. I don’t want one of my father’s manservants following us around. I’d rather have a man my own age, whom I feel comfortable around, as my chaperone attendant. Of course, he’d have to be honorable, honest, and trustworthy — which is why I’m asking you.”
Moloch sighed with relief. “That is something I can do, my friend.”
Zuria placed a hand on Moloch’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “To tell you the truth, it eases my nerves a little. My betrothed arrives in eight days’ time, and my stomach has been twisting in knots. To have you by my side helps.”
“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Moloch said, trying to reassure him. “Eight days is over half a span to prepare for her arrival.”
Zuria took a deep breath. “I almost wish it would happen sooner. The wait might kill me.”
“I’ll help you take your mind off your worries.” Moloch gestured toward the palace’s entrance. “Let’s join Bram. I think both of us could use a drink.”
“Absolutely.” Zuria laughed and led the way up the staircase.
They reached the landing and walked beyond the arches into the arcades, the vaulted ceilings between arches creating an echo as they spoke. A dozen rows of six columns each lined the breezeway before the arcade opened again into a courtyard. Natural light poured between the pillars from both sides.
“We’re off to get a drink, Bram,” Moloch said, forcing his shoulders to relax. “This is your chance to join us. You’re off duty, for the most part, while we’re in the palace. What do you say?”
Bram offered a crooked smile. “I could do with a glass of ambrosia,” he said, and Moloch knew he meant only one. No matter how many palace guards surrounded them, Bram would take Moloch’s safety personally.
When they entered the courtyard, Zuria paused. “Why don’t you two get settled first? Change out of those dusty riding clothes. I’ll have the cook bring some fruit and cheese to go with the ambrosia. Meet me in the Dorrian Room for drinks?”
“Absolutely,” Moloch said. “As soon as we dust ourselves off. We’re in the Red Rooms, right?”
Guest quarters were named according to either their color scheme or decorative theme, such as the Seaside Rooms. Out of all of them, Moloch preferred the Red Rooms.
Zuria nodded. “Of course.”
“Excellent,” Moloch said. “We’ll be along shortly.”
The courtyard, a perfect circle with more columns and arches around its perimeter, had four exits. One was back the way they had come. Zuria parted ways with Moloch and Bram, crossing the courtyard toward the north wing of the palace where the king’s family made their residence. To the east were the kitchens, three dining halls, four sitting rooms of varying sizes, and on the far end, servants’ quarters. Moloch and Bram took the westward hall.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Bram asked.
“He asked me to be his chaperone attendant,” Moloch said.
“That’s unusual,” Bram said.
Moloch shrugged. “He doesn’t want someone with outdated traditional views on courtship listening to his every word.”
“Oh, really?” Bram said. “What’s so outdated about tradition?”
“A man and a woman need some time to talk in relative privacy before they marry. I can watch them from a safe distance, give them some breathing room,” Moloch said as he navigated the palace’s halls toward the Red Rooms.
“Sounds dubious,” Bram said.
“That’s because you’re an old man.”
Bram snorted. “Ha! Better than being a young pup.”
Finally, they reached their destination. Four Sarrem Estate servants had gone a day ahead of Moloch’s entourage: his manservant, to oversee the Red Rooms and any personal needs; his herald, should he need a message written or delivered; his cup-bearer, to oversee his food and drink; and his page, for the everyday minor errands he might need done. They would already be settled and ready at his call.
His manservant, Rendre, was waiting at the door. He bowed as he grasped the brass handle and opened the heavy floor-to-ceiling wooden door. “Lord Moloch, I expect your travel was pleasantly uneventful?”
“Yes, thank you, Rendre.” Moloch entered the suite, and Bram followed.
As was typical, Bram checked all the rooms with one hand on the hilt of his sword. It was always a little disconcerting to see his lighthearted companion take on his role as bodyguard, but when he did, Moloch was always reminded of why he needed him.
“Your rooms are clear, my lord,” Bram said after he checked the last one. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Would you like me to check the stables, too, my lord? For Dancer?”
Moloch rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut it already.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bram unsuccessfully tried to hold back a smile.
“I’m going to bathe. I suggest you at least clean up a bit.” Moloch waved a hand in front of his face, in mock disgust. “I can smell you from here. You could learn a thing or two from Dancer on that account.”
Bram’s eyes narrowed, but he still bowed and retreated to his own quarters within the Red Rooms. He would sleep in a room big enough for only a bed, a wash table, and a trunk. Moloch had bigger closets back home, but Bram insisted on sleeping there since it was the only proper place in the Red Rooms for him to occupy. He didn’t like to be too far away, and honestly, Moloch liked knowing Bram was near.
A warm tub of water awaited Moloch in the bathing room, which was connected to his sleeping chambers. As he lowered himself into the water, he allowed himself to lean back and enjoy the moment.
He imagined the jealousy on Waen’s face when he learned the Prince of Eikon wanted Moloch by his side in such a personal and politically important matter.
Keep the prince close. Earn his unwavering trust. Maybe show him some of my ideas regarding both Eunoya and the future of the military. If I have the support of the future king, my father will hand me the keys to Eunoya and a seat on the War Council.
An unsavory thought occurred to Moloch. If things didn’t go well with this princess, if his presence were associated with something negative in the prince’s life, things could go wrong very fast.
Or what if it went well, but his betrothed found Moloch distasteful? What if she knew of his father’s many affairs? That was certainly possible. She could assume Moloch had the same tendencies. What woman wanted her husband to be best friends with an adulterer? Moloch splashed water on his face, his confidence washing away with the dust of travel.
Chapter Seven
Kaela
Nonnka Nomadic Tribe
The Desert of Eidolon, Erem
3rd Cycle of Chenack
986 Post Schism
Doing a cartwheel was harder than it looked. Kaela sprinted, hopped, threw her hands in the air, and bent her body toward the ground. But then a lump formed in her throat and her arms felt weak and she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she caught herself with one hand and plopped onto the hard-packed sand of the desert floor. A few stray strands of her kinky black curls had come loose and hung in front of her eyes. Kaela balled her hands into fists, blew the hair out of her face, and glared at the ground.
Amusement tickled Kaela’s senses, fluttering in the air around her like dragonflies.
“Well, it’s not the fault of the land.”
Kaela turned to find her father. His arms were crossed, his smile lopsided, pure delight behind his brown eyes. Kaela blocked out the traces of her father’s emotions, as she’d been taught; Sava would not be happy if she learned Kaela had been out and about with her walls down.
She frowned and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “It’s not funny, Poppa. Marta can do cartwheels, and she laughed at me because I can’t.” Kaela rubbed the back o
f her neck, her fingers brushing over the raised lines of her Roshleth mark — a line spiraling in circles to a central point.
Poppa didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. He shrugged. “I’m sure there are things you can do that Marta can’t.”
Kaela felt heat rise in her cheeks, but Poppa bent down and touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Don’t you let frustration cloud that beautiful face,” he said. “You’ll learn how to do a cartwheel with practice.” He straightened and raised his eyebrows. “But either way, isn’t there someplace you need to be, little one?”
“Oh!” Kaela remembered and sprang to her feet.
Her father waved her off. “Get going, then!”
“Yes, Poppa!” Kaela broke into a sprint, shouting over her shoulder as she went, “And I’m not little! I’m seven!”
Poppa’s laughter boomed behind her, but she didn’t have time to be mad. She would have to talk to him later. It was about time everyone stopped calling her little.
For now, though, Sava was waiting.
Today, Kaela was to recite the story of Jazelle and Obed. As she ran between rows of tents, she began reciting it in her head one last time before she’d have to say it for Sava. Besides, reciting stories in her head helped keep the air quiet and the emotions of others at bay. It helped her stay within her walls.
Jazelle and Obed saw the world was forgetting the true history of Leyumin, and so to keep that history alive, they established the tribes of Erem. They were our first Patriarch and Roshleth, the beginning of our way of life.
She ran past a group of women weaving baskets and mending clothes. Normally she would stop and pretend to help weave so she could listen to them chatter. They always had secrets to tell, and they always made everything seem so important and exciting. But, she was out of time today. She leapt over a finished basket and sped around a corner, ignoring a woman’s rebuke for her to slow down.
You see, the world had forgotten that every nation of Erem came from the same place. But Jazelle and Obed knew; they studied the stories written by our ancient mothers. They studied the stories of the stars, given to mankind by the Sustainer. Jazelle and Obed knew the truth of our origin. No matter how different the nations of Leyumin became, there would always be a common bond because they shared a common ancestry.
Kaela approached the center of the camp where a tent larger than the rest stood before a small clearing. Five men worked in that space, preparing the night’s meat for the entire tribe, carefully removing the skins of several hares as Kaela passed them. She skidded to a stop outside the entrance to the tent. She had practiced this story all day yesterday, and Poppa had said she’d recited the ending perfectly. So, she tried to say it again just right, with all the proper inflections of voice.
And so Eremite or Sozian, Ergonian or Adikean or Eikonian — all belong to each other. As we travel the desert, serving the nations with our trade, we also serve them by keeping their past alive, the past that they no longer know. We seek to understand all people, to trade with all people, to live in peace with all people.
And one day, when the nations are United once more, they will call upon the tribes of Erem to show them the truth, to show them how to live together in peace.
Kaela steadied her breathing, holding a hand to the stitch in her side. And this time, I won’t bring up the Lone Mountain people…
When Sava had first told Kaela the story of Jazelle and Obed, she’d mentioned the fact that the tribes of Erem did not seek to understand those of the Lone Mountains.
“We understand them,” Sava had said, “and we don’t like them. You’ll understand one day, better than most.”
Kaela had wrinkled her brow at that, but Sava had given her a look that meant the conversation was over. It was time to accept what she’d been taught and move on.
Now, Kaela imagined the look of pride on Sava’s face at her storytelling and utter lack of annoying questions.
I can do this. Kaela paused outside the great tent belonging to her grandparents, the Roshleth and Patriarch of the Nonnka. She tidied her hair, tucking away stray curls, and walked through the open flaps of her grandmother’s tent, ready.
But, no one was in the common area. She glanced at the back of the tent where two rooms were closed off by canvas walls.
Maybe she’s napping. Sava has been extra tired lately.
Kaela decided to wait patiently until Sava came out. Centered in the common area sat two large, bright floor pillows, one made of blocks of orange and red fabric, the other boasting several shades of green swirling together.
Kaela wasn’t supposed to sit on the pillows. They were special, only for her grandparents. It was the place they made important decisions, where they listened to arguments and made judgements. But no one was there, and that stitch in Kaela’s side was still causing her pain.
So Kaela collapsed on Sava’s pillow, the green one, and breathed in deeply. The sweet musky smell of her grandmother lingered in the cloth. Kaela burrowed as far into the pillow as she could, content until the stitch in her side began to subside.
As her pounding heart quieted and her breath came slower, Kaela heard whispers behind the canvas wall.
Sava isn’t napping. She has a visitor.
It had to be family — others weren’t allowed into her grandparents’ private rooms. Kaela quietly stood and looked around the tent, craning her neck to view the outside through the open entrance. No one was there. Or at least, no one was paying any attention. She tiptoed up to the canvas flap of the little room, closed and tied from within. Kaela held her breath as she recognized her mother’s voice.
What is Momma doing here? she wondered. The back of her neck tingled, and the air felt fearful, the emotion washing over Kaela, making her heart skip a beat. She pushed the wave back, embarrassed she’d let her guard down again, and in Sava’s tent, no less.
She’d tried to explain emotions in the air to other people when she was very small. Momma and Poppa had thought it an active imagination. Only Sava had taken her seriously, and since then, her grandmother had set strict guidelines for how she was to handle her curse. The first and most important rule was to keep it secret, to never speak of it to anyone but her. The second rule was to always block out others’ emotions. Sava said the ability to feel the emotions of others put her at the edge of a terrible darkness.
And Kaela believed her. At the edge of her mind there really was something dark. She saw it sometimes, in her mind’s eye or in her dreams. It was a pool of something other, the black liquid somehow terrifying and enticing at the same time. That’s what scared her most — that when that pool called to her, part of her wanted to answer, to partake. The very thought of it made Kaela’s skin crawl.
The fear in the air dissipated as Kaela mentally blocked it out, building her wall quickly and efficiently.
She watched Momma, worried the fear was because she’d lost another baby. Twice now, Momma had been with child. One had survived only a few cycles in the womb, the other only a few minutes after birth. Kaela bit her lip and was about to make her presence known when Momma spoke again.
“She’s too young!” This time, with her inner walls up, the wave of nervous energy only barely touched Kaela’s mind.
Kaela peered through a small slit where the canvas came together. Are they talking about me?
Momma was pacing, one hand gently tugging on her union seal — a small, bronze hoop earring reserved only for those women who had found their match. Kaela’s father wore an identical one, but his was at the top of his ear instead of the lobe, like Momma’s.
Despite Momma’s agitation, Sava sat cross-legged on a pillow, calm as usual.
“She’s not too young,” Sava said. “I joined this tribe when I was only six.”
“Our whole life is here, with you and Poppa. We are Nonnka.” Momma stopped pacing and knelt beside Sava. The air was quiet now, and the only emotions Kaela could feel were her own — mostly confusion.
“Please,” Momma said, “we’re not ready.”
Kaela’s stomach fluttered as her cheeks turned hot.
“Faen,” Sava said, “the Nonnka have a future Patriarch in your brother’s son, and our future Roshleth is training well. Your duty as my daughter is done. We will not need you to fill in any gaps. I’ve lived to bless the next Nonnka Roshleth with my teachings. Now your duty is to your daughter, that she might carry on our family’s line and our stories among the tribes of Erem.”
“But—”
“It’s already done, my dear daughter,” Sava said.
Kaela’s chest tightened, and she balled her hands into fists. It was hard to keep her walls up when her own emotions overwhelmed her. Anger and fear swirled inside her, and she began to feel touches of sadness and frustration emanating from her mother.
Sava continued. “The Patriarch of the Hodda has been looking for a Roshleth to match with his grandson. The boy is ten and well accomplished, from what we’ve been told. He will be a great Patriarch for the Hodda, and our Kaela will one day become his wife and the Roshleth for his tribe. In seven cycles, when the Hodda trade at Ogche, you will take your family there and become Hodda. That will give you half a year to prepare yourselves, and then another cycle to travel. Kaela will finish her training with me. When you leave, your training will bolster Kaela’s. Together, you and Roshleth Vyad will continue Kaela’s training.”
Momma’s face fell, but Kaela lifted her chin. She bit the inside of her cheek. They can’t make me leave!
“I’m not sure,” Momma said. “What about the rumors we’ve heard of the Hodda’s Roshleth? Of her harsher ways? Her… unique interpretations?”
Sava sighed. “Roshleth Vyad has been known to be a hard woman, but she has led the Hodda through difficult times. Her wisdom has saved them in the past. I knew her some when we were both young. I know that she had a good heart then, and I can’t say I have reason to doubt her now. Rumors are often far from the truth.”