Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe was a slob. There was no other word that came to Sera‘s mind. Every bit of floor space in the enormous, circular bedchamber was covered, leaving little of the carpet visible to the eye. Clothing was scattered, hanging from Phoebe’s canopy bed or crumpled in piles. Books, weapons, and debris that looked suspiciously like the remnants of food, were carelessly tossed about.
"Do you not have a chamber maid, little one?"
Phoebe merely shrugged, telling Sera that the elderly maid was too frail to climb the lengthy stretch of stairs each rise and came only once every few rises to do the cleaning.
"Surely Mesari must scold you for this?"
"Mesari is not my keeper," Phoebe responded defiantly.
Feeling she had no authority to further scold the girl, Sera relented and followed Phoebe to the balcony overlooking the Zone.
The landscape was speckled with white and blue crukis lights hinting at life below. There was no moon this luna, Sera noticed. The darkened skies served as a vast milieu for the twinkling stars above.
Orion’s constellation was among them, shining high over their heads and winking brighter than any other stars in the sky. Phoebe described its pattern to Sera pointing one by one to each star and naming them all, but it was the belt of Orion that intrigued Sera the most. She stared at the three stars for a long time watching as the constellation traversed counterclockwise in its journey through the lunar sky. Sera knew immediately that she had seen it before, but somehow it looked different. She didn’t know why.
What do you want from me?
She frowned when no answer came.
Who am I to these people? Why am I here?
Her brain responded with an ominous silence.
"Are you listening Sera?"
"What? Oh, I’m sorry Phoebe I was just…" Truthfully, Sera had only been half listening to Phoebe’s girlish chatter, nodding occasionally and adding a few uh huhs for good measure.
"Never mind." Phoebe brushed of her annoyance, took Sera‘s hand and pulled her back inside. "I will sculpt your hair."
Sera was in no mood to have her hair fussed with, but feeling a bit guilty over having ignored Phoebe, she reluctantly consented. After shoving aside a heap of items from her bed Phoebe directed Sera to sit. She began brushing and tugging at the strands of Sera’s hair all the while prattling to Sera about her friends and favorite things to do. Sera was sure the girl would never come up for air.
"Done!" Phoebe finally announced. She gave Sera a hand mirror and pulled her over to a larger one standing in the corner. Sera surveyed Phoebe’s work and was astonished to discover that the girl had talent. Sera’s hair was pulled tight on the sides with only a few wisps left free in the front for bangs. In the back Phoebe had woven the strands into an intricate overlapping pattern and then secured the loose ends with six, golden beads.
"I will do your hair for the Marks of Permanence."
Sera was about to ask about that when she spotted a very sad looking excuse for a doll sitting on Phoebe’s bed. Sera crossed the room and picked it up.
"Where did you get this?" Sera stared at the misshapen toy in her hands. The eyes were two misaligned buttons and the smiling yarn mouth was sewn askew. The hair flared around the oversized head making the doll look as though it had received a terrible fright. The arms were evenly sewn, but one leg was longer than the other, and the dress was a patchwork of mismatched materials. It was thread bare and evidently well loved. It gave new meaning to the word rag doll.
Sera thought that it had to be one of Mesari’s early attempts at sewing. She could only hope that Mesari’s skill had improved given that the seamstress was in the process of creating a wardrobe for her.
"Jerad made it for me when I was only two term cycles." Phoebe spoke through a wide yawn as she crawled onto to the bed.
Jerad made this?
With his own two hands?
What a caring thing to do, Sera thought.
And how contradictory--ferocious warrior, tender nurturer.
How sweet of him. How appealing… and handsome too… and a good kisser.
A girl could swoon.
Sera hugged the doll to her bosom. It was a gift from the heart, created out of love for his sister. Sera recanted her original thought. The doll was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. A twang plucked in the center of her chest. Sera gulped with the sudden gush of emotion assailing her. Her heart was singing Jerad’s name. It amazed her how only a few rises ago her life had been thrown into a turmoil of uncertainty, but now just the thought of him soothed her, eased her bereavement of a misplaced past. At that moment Sera wanted to be with her husband.
Phoebe snuffled and turned over. She had fallen asleep while Sera was admiring the doll. Sera was grateful for the opportunity to slip away. She tucked the doll next to Phoebe and quietly left the tower bedchamber.
Sera snaked her way down the spiral of stairs hoping the guard was still posted at the bottom door.
What a boring job standing watch over a door must be, Sera judged as she pushed the door open.
Or not… she reconsidered, startled to find a woman pressed between the guard and the wall. She cleared her throat.
"I beg your pardon Lady Noble." The guard backed away from the woman and bowed toward Sera. "I thought you had retired with the Noble Phoebe for the luna."
"Never mind." Sera slashed her hand through the air. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to Shegarth‘s apartments?"
The watchman readily obliged her. Sera repeated the information twice and thanked him. She started down the passage, but then stopped and turned around. Her eyes swung between the guard and the woman.
"As you were, warrior." She gave him a sly smile.
Having the courtesy to look abashed, he lowered his lids and repressed a grin.
Sera snorted and walked away. She whistled a tune, and a clamor of words filled her head as she remembered her favorite love song. She traipsed through the halls and after a few wrong turns and further directions from late luna strollers, Sera finally found the familiar double doors to Shegarth’s hall. Sera eased the door open and peered in. The Magistrate Council was still deep in discussion. Sera discreetly retreated without being observed. She found a bench and sat down to wait for Jerad.
Jerad remained with Shegarth after the Magistrate Council dispersed. They discussed the charges and how they might effectively guard Sera should the Challenge be lost. Both agreed that if Aryan’s clan were to win charge of her, then the Magistrate would be told that Sera was the Ptino asteri. Though Aryan might be reluctant to believe it, the information might give him pause enough to prevent Sera from being harmed. Aryan had been ordained as one of the Guardians of the Key. Despite his anger, he would be forced by the Magistrate to honor that vow. Jerad was not satisfied with this decision, but dead men offer little protection, and if he were to die…
Blasted. He could not think on it.
It was nearly full luna when an exhausted Jerad finally left his father. He intended to retrieve Sera from Phoebe’s chamber and take her to bed, but found her curled up on a large cushioned bench in an alcove just a few paces down the hall. She slept on her side with her back to him, her arms folded comfortably across her belly. Jerad sat behind her and placed a palm on her thigh. She stirred slightly but did not awaken. His attention was drawn to the weave in her hair.
Another victim for my sister to ply her craft on. His lips turned up into a half smile as he admired his sister’s work.
He fondled the mesh with a delicate stroke, aching to thread his fingers through it, undo it, spread the dark, wavy mane around Sera’s head as he kissed her beautiful face.
Should he wake her?
Ack. He could not disturb her. They had found little peace since coming home and she looked like a seraph in her tranquil slumber, unaware--innocent. Her chest rose and fell with such contentment that Jerad’s own breathing caught the rhythm and eased some of his woes.
Jerad splayed his fingers through his own hair and sighed, weary from this luna’s events. He contemplated all that had been argued at the assembly, holding no blame against the Council for their conclusion. It was justifiable. An untenable death had occurred in what should have been a simple Challenge for the Cloak.
Hades blood. He could skewer himself for the wretched blameworthiness he felt about the whole thing.
It was for the best that he informed the Council he would accept a Challenge even prior to it being declared. The Magistrate was being naive if they expected to negotiate terms of punishment with Aryan’s clan. Jerad knew Aryan’s kin well, having spent much time in their company. He was keenly aware that their anger would supplant any penalty offered, other than corporeal punishment. They would seek blood for retribution and nothing less.
What a burden the Origins had bestowed on him.
Why?
Why had he been chosen for such an arduous task? Why had another not been favored?
Sera, that was why.
She belonged to him even before he met her, and no one…no one would take her from him. The thought of another having her rattled his sanity, boiled his blood, tore at his heart.
His body jolted against the invasive and unwanted vulnerable feelings.
Duty, he convinced himself, and Honor.
Jerad unclasped his cloak and nestled himself against Sera’s back, covering them both with his mantle. His attraction to her was merely physical, the intention of the Oneroi to keep him at her side, to ensure he would protect her--so the Edict could be fulfilled.
Nai. That was a good explanation for it.
Chapter Fourteen
Sera slowly opened her eyes. She did not remember falling asleep. It seemed like very early in the rise, but she felt revitalized for the first time since entering this alien world. She took a deep breath and attempted to stretch. Several things occurred to Sera as she fully awakened. She was pinned to a rock hard wall--a breathing wall, by a bracket of muscled steel. A large masculine arm was wrapped around her and a hand was slipped into the top of her dress, covetously cupping…her breast?
That had better be Jerad behind me, she mused, but knowing it could only be him.
Sera snuggled against him then stiffened, suddenly disturbed that he would take such intimate liberties while she was in a state of unawareness, but more so with her own feelings that she liked it. That was quickly replaced with distress that a passerby might have seen them there. She was relieved to discover they were covered by a cloak. All thoughts dissipated when she realized that she had to pee--badly. But she couldn’t move.
Sera poked Jerad with her elbow. His grip around her tightened.
Damn. Just wake him up Sera.
Jerad snored.
She took pity on him. He was tired. It must have been a long luna for him, and god only knew they hadn’t had much rest. Sera wriggled out from under his arm and carefully climbed off of the bench. She paused briefly to admire her husband’s gloriously formed body, and then strode off down the hall.
When she reached the end of the passage she looked left and then right.
Hmn. Which way should she go?
She had come from the left last luna. Sera shrugged and turned right. She soon found herself standing in a large open vestibule, an exhibition hall she believed, if the numerous sculptures, tapestries and paintings were any indication.
"Don’t move," a voice echoed from across the room. Sera stilled, but she wasn‘t afraid. She recognized that voice. It was a kind voice, a trustworthy voice.
A head peered out from behind a large canvas set on an easel. Sera smiled.
"Why do you wish that I not move Noble Mekal?"
"Ah Sera, you know me."
"From the path in the village." She nodded.
He looked pleased.
"You have not answered my question Noble."
He moved around the canvas, crossed the room and came to stand in front of her. When she saw him on the path, he wore the colours of the Eighth Zone, a blue feather pierced with a gold ring, anchored on a black, jagged bar. His attire on this rise was much more casual, a loose flowing, black, pullover shirt hung over tan, suede trousers. His attire was smudged with paint. Sera peered up at him and studied his face. It was a face that made her feel quite comfortable--and his eyes. She knew those eyes. Sera drew her brows together.
But from where?
The thought was interrupted when Mekal brought his hand to her chin and he turned her head from side to side.
"Nai, a fine subject to grace my canvas. You will let me paint you, gracious lady?"
He stepped back from her and bowed.
"I would be delighted Noble Mekal, but I have a more urgent need at the moment." She leaned in and whispered, "I need to find the…uh…facilities."
Mekal tipped his head in questioning regard. "And what facility would you like me to direct you to?"
"Ya know, the bathroom?"
"You wish to take a bath?" He tipped his head to the opposite side.
"No, not the little girl’s room."
"I don’t believe we have a gathering place for our female youthlings."
"No damn it! The toilet! I have to pee!"
Exasperated, Sera dropped her head and scanned the floor. This was embarrassing. Why didn’t he understand her?
What the hell did Jerad call it?
Actually he hadn‘t called it anything. He just showed her.
Mercy, was she going to have to explain it to Mekal?
"So many words for one little room."
Sera looked up to find Mekal was smirking at her. Her eyes widened. "You’re teasing me?"
He smiled broadly and pointed to a door at the back of the gallery.
"Very funny. Ha ha." Sera brushed by Mekal, tossing him a sneering look. She didn’t think it was possible but his smile expanded even further, and his shoulders shook with his brief, convulsive laugh. When he could no longer see her face, Sera’s feigned expression relaxed. Her frowning mouth was replaced with a grin. Though she could not say why, she felt an unqualified allegiance with Mekal. It was poles apart from the feelings that Jerad stirred in her. Jerad made her heart dance, awakened her passions. With Mekal she did not feel such a physical yearning. With him, she felt a friendly, collected ease.
Sera finished taking care of her needs and emerged from the privy chewing on a fresh mint leaf she had picked from a bowl near the wash basin. At least she hoped it was a mint leaf. It tasted like mint anyway. She shrugged and headed toward Mekal, glancing at a small canvas she was passing. At first she thought it was a painting of a bird, but did a double take and stopped when she realized it wasn’t a bird at all. It was an image of a man with wings--artificial wings.
A kite, she thought. No, no, a hang glider.
Mekal came to stand beside her. "Daedalus, of whom I am a descendant, was an Origin with great ingenuity. He fabricated the wings and gave the Eighth Zone the gift of flight. We refined its design. The glide flyer is one of my Corridor’s greatest achievements."
"You fly?" Sera was astounded that they had such knowledge.
"All in the Eighth Zone take wing. It offers expedience to effectively survey the territory. Our Sky Sentries also do battle from the air."
Sera leaned against a pillar and crossed her arms. "Well, I’m impressed."
It would have been convenient if one of them had flown overhead when she and Jerad were traveling the plains.
Mekal set one of his hands on top of her folded forearms. "I could teach you to fly, Sera."
He watched her face brighten, but it was not for him or his suggestion. Her attention was drawn beyond him.
"Or not."
Mekal turned his head to the voice to see Jerad crossing the gallery. He released Sera’s arm as Jerad stepped between them. If Mekal had not known Jerad for most of his life, he would have taken pause with the ferocious expression Jerad directed his way. Instead, Mekal returned Jerad’s avaricious glare wit
h an expression of unspoken humor. The jealousy on Jerad’s face was so vivid that Mekal could have pressed a canvas to it and made an impression. Jerad had always been the impassive sort. Seldom did he show emotion over much of anything, least of all a woman. It was touching to see his friend in such a tattered condition, and quite amusing.
Mekal casually strolled to his pallet of paints, and dabbed a brush into a tray of pale green. He swept it along the canvas.
"Do not question my integrity, Noble," Mekal spoke from behind the easel. With certainty, Jerad should not have a care where he and Sera were concerned. Mekal did not even consider those kinds of thoughts toward her. He liked her well enough, and her body was beguilingly touchable. Yet, he lacked what should have been a purely male reaction to her.
Mekal wrinkled his brow.
How odd. It was rare for him to be unaffected by a beautiful female. If there was anyone who loved women, married or not, it was Mekal, but with Sera it was unthinkable, forbidden somehow.
Jerad grunted. He would trust Mekal with a sword at his back, yet seeing him touch Sera left him feeling antagonized. He had never felt such a quirky sensation afore.
What was wrong with him?
"You do not wear jealousy well my friend." Mekal continued to paint without looking up from his canvas.
"I am not jealous," Jerad emphasized his words, a bit too zealously.
"You‘re jealous?" Sera looked at Jerad with both surprise and skepticism. "Of him?"
She pointed a finger in Mekal’s direction. Could Jerad actually have feelings for her that went beyond his damn fidelity to his Edict?
Mekal turned his head away to hide his chafed pride. Sera was not attracted to him either. He sighed. Dikaios, dikaios--Fair is fair.
Jerad opened his mouth to vocally deny Sera’s question when a child suddenly came running into the gallery.
"Noble! Noble!" The boy rushed toward them, his chest heaving for the breath that his long sprint through the castle denied him.
"What is it child?" Mekal inquired.
"Ezra…in the infirmary." The boy bent in half and pressed his palms to his knees. He panted heavily before speaking again. "Dagur was kicked by his horse. His face is crushed."
The Third Corridor Page 16