by Viola Rivard
“I scarcely noticed it, except that it was warm,” she told him.
Jedora translated, “Jesarnesh to Cal’en Fasha ka fresundra et.”
Eloisa looked away from Lord Caleth just in time to see Jedora’s aura color with a lie. Whatever she said, it caused Lord Caleth to frown, his aura taking on the faintest glow of disappointment.
At once uneasy and indignant, Eloisa wanted badly to correct Jedora, but she had no idea what had been said or how to communicate with the sovereign. Furthermore, she couldn’t let on that she knew Jedora was lying, because on the off chance that this wasn’t an illusion, it would open her to scrutiny she could not afford.
Lord Caleth said, “Cuell cre sentre ka yenaskshta?”
“He wanted to know what pleases you,” Jedora said.
“What pleases me?” Eloisa repeated, looking between the two of them. “That doesn’t seem to follow the course of the conversation.”
Jedora’s aura vibrated with amusement. “Are you calling the sovereign a poor conversationalist?”
No, I am calling you a liar, she wanted to say. While she tried to think of a way she might express this without revealing her abilities, Jedora went on talking with the sovereign.
“Keinkta ka vesaruntadren,” she said.
His aura flickered with skepticism. “Halka so?”
Jedora rolled her shoulders, appearing outwardly calm, but the amusement had drained from her aura.
She said, “Resurkasta Atolian ka asana. Mesurta sos.”
The sovereign’s skepticism bled into red anger, but the color did not overtake his aura. In fact, Eloisa had yet to see his aura change entirely. It was a sign that he had a steady mind. It was something she’d seen in some Maidens and a handful of the Sisters.
Eyes narrowing on Jedora, Lord Caleth said, “Mesurkasta sos ka tashna jes halsota. Shta ka cre yadrojnesh.”
Jedora lowered her eyes, her aura wilting with embarrassment. “Vayt.”
“Revasoj ka kta.”
In an odd change of roles, it was Jedora who now seemed childish as she turned to Eloisa and muttered, “I apologize for not being kind to you, and for not adequately conveying your responses.”
Though she understood none of what had been said, Eloisa realized that Lord Caleth had been able to ascertain that Jedora had been lying. She wondered how he’d done it and if he had some sort of power similar to her own.
“I accept your apology,” Eloisa replied, not sure what else to say.
The pair exchanged a few more words in their native tongue. Eloisa found it fascinating to hear them converse. The language was so different than any she had ever heard, at times hard and at times as subtle as a breath. The way they spoke the language was also different than the way she’d heard the guards speak. Whereas the speech of the guards had seemed stilted and guttural, Lord Caleth and Jedora seemed to glide over each word, letting it flow easily into the next.
She was jarred from her musings and her contemplation of the sovereign’s lips when Jedora addressed her again.
“The sovereign says that he knows it must be disconcerting to be in a new land, away from all that is familiar to you. He hopes that meeting here has put you at ease.”
Like her bedroom, Eloisa had hardly noticed anything about the room since stepping into it. Nerves, and then Lord Caleth, had completely absorbed her focus.
She glanced around at the spacious room, its stone walls coming around them in a circle. It was well-lit, but she saw none of the blue spheres that illuminated the rest of the fortress.
When she glanced back at Lord Caleth, he was smiling. Like everything else about him, his smile was muted, only the barest curve of his lips, but no less effective. His eyes slid upwards, and then back down to meet hers, and Eloisa finally caught on.
In her peripheral vision, it had seemed that the ceiling was open to the sky. In hindsight, it was a silly assumption, given that the air around them was still and free of swirling snowfall.
When she looked up, Eloisa was staring into the heavens.
A great arc stretched across a sky that was more starlight than pitch. She could see the stars by the millions, as well as the celestial dusts and gasses that seemed to connect them in a pearlescent chain. Beyond the foremost star systems, she could make out the distant spheres of white that marked far-off galaxies.
“Is this the end of it?” she murmured, half-expecting Phaeda’s face to emerge from the cosmos and dispel the illusion.
Jedora and the sovereign exchanged words, and then Jedora said, “If it is not to your liking, there is a more impressive observatory on the other side of the city. The sovereign can take you there once the weather permits a good viewing.”
Eloisa then became aware of the glass that covered the ceiling. Like the spheres that housed the glowing beetles, it was a lens. Its design was not to magnify the light, but the sky above. Around the edges, where the lens thinned, she could see the accumulations of snow.
“I like it very much,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
Jedora translated, and Eloisa earned another smile from Lord Caleth.
“Jas oserk’a shta ka haktre?”
Jedora said, “Is it more impressive than your own observatory?”
Eloisa could only stare at him, knowing full well that she looked like an idiot. It took a full minute, and Jedora repeating the question, for her to understand what he meant.
‘I have told the sovereign that father favored you. He indulged your passions for astronomy and mathematics, and permitted you to remain unmarried so that you could devote yourself to your studies.’
Philomen had told her that, though she’d barely registered the words as they’d come after his slap. The sovereign believed that she was some sort of star reader, when in fact she knew very little about the cosmos.
She knew that in order to answer his question, and the many questions he’d have that would likely put her in a similar position, Eloisa would have to dance around the truth.
Dancing truth, as it was referred to in the tower, was expressly forbidden amongst Children and Daughters, and frowned upon among Sisters. For Maidens, who needed to interact with the outside world, it was permitted only under circumstances that would jeopardize the tower or its inhabitants.
Dancing truth was different than painting it. When an answer was painted, it was still truthful, but spoken in a manner meant to persuade a certain point of view. To dance truth was to fail to give a direct answer to a question, and with the express purpose of evading the truth.
Eloisa was no Maiden, but in a broad sense, revealing her background would not only spell the end of her engagement, but also jeopardize Atolia, and by proxy, the tower. Though the rationalization stretched the limits of what she considered appropriate, she decided that dancing truth was the only option.
She said, “I have never seen the stars with such clarity.”
Eloisa held her breath as she waited for his response, certain he would see through her deception. But his answer indicated otherwise.
Jedora said, “He says you are welcome to come here whenever it pleases you. Or anywhere within the fortress. You may think of Cal’en Fasha as your home…”
Trailing off, Jedora’s brows creased and her aura flared with frustration and indignation.
The sovereign gave a slight nod and repeated his last statement. With a grimace, Jedora translated.
“You may think of Cal’en Fasha as your home, as it will be once we are wed.”
Eloisa had no trouble grasping the significance of what he’d said. She looked at Lord Caleth, whose austere aura gave away nothing, and then at Jedora, who was fuming behind her cool façade.
“I was under the impression that marriage was not yet decided. That we would be courting,” Eloisa said.
Jedora translated her words, and then the sovereign’s response. “He says you will proceed with the courtship as planned, but as of now he sees no reason why you won’t be wed within a fortnight.”
/> Eloisa’s anxiety returned. Somehow, between seeing Lord Caleth and the time she’d spent talking to him, she had lost focus on why she was there. The man before her intended to court and marry her in less time than it took to write a properly cited counter-truth.
She blurted, “You see no reason? You haven’t even asked me if I wish to marry you.”
She regretted her words immediately, not because of any offense they might cause, but because she was not in a position to say no and they all knew it. To decline the marriage was to decline the military support that Atolia so desperately needed and it was to decline the loan that would aid Lusia.
If this was a test, then choosing to marry him would cause her to fail, not because she was choosing to wed—that failure would come when she laid in his bed—but because saying she would marry him would be choosing her family over her faith.
“Shta ka’s?”
“Do you want to marry him?” Jedora translated.
“Does it matter what I say?”
Part of her hoped it didn’t, because the decision would be out of her hands.
Lord Caleth nodded, his aura giving nothing away. “Vayt.”
“Yes,” Jedora said.
Family or faith.
Both the sovereign and Jedora waited in silence as Eloisa considered her response, and she felt no pressure to answer in haste. She used the time to give her circumstances proper thought, and the situation became clear to her.
If it was a test and she said yes, the worst that could happen was that she would wake in The Cloister to find that she had failed and would have to repeat her term as a Daughter.
If it wasn’t a test and she said yes, Atolia’s suffering would be greatly eased, at least for a time. If she said no, not only would the nation suffer for it, but she’d likely be sent back to Philomen, and there was no telling how he would punish her, or who he would seek to marry her off to next.
Eloisa looked up at the man standing before her, handsome and majestic in his bearing. On her own, she could not have imagined a more appealing husband, but she was not so foolish as to consider only his appearance.
Lord Caleth had lived a great many centuries. He had gained his position by killing his king, and then killing every person that had stood in the way of his ceaseless need for conquest. To him, Eloisa would just be means to an end, a way for him to acquire his next piece of land. There was darkness beneath his handsome façade, and no matter how kindly he seemed to treat her, Eloisa could never allow herself to forget that.
“Yes,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “Vayt.”
Chapter Seven
Eloisa had trouble orienting herself when Lidia woke her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, before peering around the room. The hearth was on the far side of the room, and although the fire was still blazing, the air around her bed was cold.
“Is it morning already?” Eloisa asked.
Peering out the glass doors that led to the balcony, she could see the sun peeking over the blue horizon.
“Something like that,” Lidia said. “It’s my understanding that the sun will not be with us long.”
The maid was sitting on the edge of the bed, her mahogany hair unbound and spilling over her shoulders. She had changed her clothes since the night before, adopting an outfit of fur and leather like the Cal’derache servants.
“How was your night?” Eloisa asked. “Did they treat you well?”
Lidia pursed her lips. “That is what I should be asking you. Did you get on well with the sovereign?”
He had been in her mind since the moment she’d woke. She had probably dreamed about him, too.
“I believe so,” she said. From some reason, her cheeks grew warm. “He seems to like me, but it must be a ploy. I’ve done nothing to merit his regard.”
Lidia bit back a smile as her aura rippled with amusement.
“You are a beautiful woman, that alone merits his regard. Though, in truth, you will need to do more if you’re going to hold his attention.” She patted the bed. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”
Lord Caleth had departed from the observatory shortly after Eloisa had agreed to their marriage. After giving her a few moments to view the stars, Jedora had brought Eloisa back to her room, where a plate of food and the Cal’derache maid Graja had been waiting for her.
Despite knowing that she needed sustenance, Eloisa had drunk a glass of water and nibbled at a piece of bread, leaving the meats and cheeses untouched. Not wanting to let food go to waste, she’d insisted that the maid take the platter back to the servants’ quarters to share with her friends. Though the servant spoke only a few words of Atolian, Eloisa had been able to get her point across and eventually convinced her to depart with the food.
Afterwards, she’d set to exploring her new room. It was lavishly appointed, and she’d kept her hands behind her back as she’d walked around, examining the furnishings and décor, all of which seemed to have been imported from the south.
The bed was set apart from the rest of the room, the floor beneath it raised so that Eloisa had to travel up three steps to reach it. She rather liked the design, as it gave her a good view of the room and made her feel more secure. She could have done without the crepe canopy, though, and whoever had imported the sheets had clearly never slept in silk bedding. Even with as cold as the room was, she’d woken drenched in sweat.
Below the sleeping level and near to the balcony was a sitting area that excited her more than she wanted to admit. There were several fine chairs and a small table to take lunch at, but the finest feature was the writing desk, which was stocked with clean sheets of paper and thirty jars of ink, each of them a different color. Eloisa had tested them all.
Flanking the desk were two tall bookshelves. One was empty, while the other was stocked from corner to corner with books on constellations, star reading, and more forms of mathematics than Eloisa had known existed. Though she had little interest in either subject, she’d burned down a candle poring over the books, as the act of studying was familiar to her and gave her a measure of comfort.
“Has the sovereign ever been married before?” Eloisa asked as Lidia helped her out of her nightgown.
“Not to my knowledge, Ma’am.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd? I mean, he’s rather old.”
That was putting it mildly. Lord Caleth had already begun his northern conquest when her father’s uncle had inherited the Atolian throne.
“It seems strange to our sensibilities, but in the north marriage is not considered, well, necessary.”
“Do northern rulers not need proper heirs?”
“In the north, there is no primogeniture or illegitimacy. Sons inherit based on merit, not by birth order or their mother’s bloodline.”
Eloisa had never heard of such a thing. “It sounds somewhat logical.”
Lidia snorted. “It is madness. I’ve heard that it’s something of a feeding frenzy when a titled man dies. Once, the sovereign had to a install a ruler from another territory because a lord’s five sons killed one another in an attempt to claim his house.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Quite, so. In any case, the sovereign has had no need for a wife. He’s had several consorts and there is record of him having had a son many centuries ago, but he fell in battle. At present, he has no named heir, which means that any son you have would be the only claimant to his throne.”
“Pray I never have a second son,” Eloisa muttered.
Lidia paused in buttoning Eloisa’s slip. “You seem better today. When I left you last night, you looked so faint. I could hardly sleep for worrying about you.”
Eloisa clasped Lidia’s hands in hers. “I cannot say that I am fine, as it would be a flagrant lie, but I am coping better. Please, don’t worry for me.”
She released Lidia’s hand and finished buttoning her slip while Lidia collected her dress.
“Is the sovereign expecting me to dine with him?” Eloisa asked.
As she spoke, Lidia motioned towards the glass doors. Eloisa followed with her gaze and saw that the sun, which she was certain had been rising, had nearly sunken below the horizon.
“This time of year, the sun rises and sets within the hour. The Long Dark begins next week. There will be no sunlight for a half year.”
Eloisa stared at the last vestiges of golden light as Lidia’s words sank in.
“I am to be married in darkness,” she whispered. “That seems fitting.”
She’d been speaking to herself, but had piqued Lidia’s interest.
“Did the subject of marriage come up last night?”
“The sovereign said he would marry me in a fortnight.”
Lidia’s eyes widened. “Then it is definite?”
Eloisa lifted her shoulders. “I’d thought so last night, but as I dressed for bed, I remembered my scars. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep them hidden, and even if he still wants to marry me after seeing them, I will have to explain how I got them. Then, he’ll know what I am capable of and…” She wet her lips. “I’ve never seen a Cal’derache girl arrive at the tower. They must have girls with aurasight, so what do they do with them?”
Lidia raised a finger to her lips. “Speak softly, Ma’am. There may be few who know our language here, but it only takes one person to overhear.”
“But that’s just it,” Eloisa whispered. “The secret is too great. We’ll never be able to keep it.”
“Let’s set our focus to getting you married. Once your vows have been spoken, you’ll at least have a measure of leverage.”
Eloisa could tell that she’d rattled Lidia’s confidence, and she kept silent for the rest of her dressing.
In a culture that placed no value on marriage, she could see no incentive for the sovereign to keep his vows. He may have wanted their marriage to secure his position in the south, but not at the cost of having a wife with aurasight, who could pass the so-called blight on to his daughters.