by Ila Mercer
At once, Katarin could tell that something was wrong. Lars, who was usually so quick to joke and smile, was scowling and, in his hands, he held a plain white envelope bearing the seal of the Order. Katarin noticed that the seal was broken, the contents obviously already read.
‘What is it?’ she said, her fingers tightening around Yaron’s so that it made him squirm. She relaxed her grip and Yaron slipped his hand from hers.
‘He’s not coming,’ Lars said, shaking his head.
Katarin did not need to ask who. ‘Then when does Brother Sneet say he’ll come?’
‘He’s not coming at all.’ Lars tapped the envelope against his thigh. ‘The Order have made their decision. Ari will not be given his freedom.’
‘But you said-’
‘I know what I told you,’ Lars said in frustration. ‘Sorry Katarin. But they went back on their promise, so Ari will not be able to win his freedom.’
Katarin felt her world close around her. If Ari did not have his freedom, neither would she.
‘I have to go,’ Lars said, ‘and be the bearer of bad news.’ He ruffled Yaron’s hair as he passed, not commenting on the small boy’s tear stained face.
She wanted to go to Ari but knew it wouldn’t be wise. He had put such faith in Brother Sneet, had believed that if he worked hard, and proved himself, he might find a way to challenge Dracodia’s notions of what a Beast truly was. But it seemed they dared not enter the challenge. For if Ari could show that he matched a Dracodian in wit, honour and intelligence, how could the Order decree they were lesser beings? Her father, when he was alive, had often said Dracodia’s economy would collapse if the slaves were set free. Could this be it? Could this be why folk who were otherwise wise and compassionate were so unwilling to see the Beasts for what they truly were?
Yaron tugged at her sleeve, and together they returned to his nursery.
*
That evening, Ari was absent at dinner time, and Yaron became remarkably petulant. He refused all his food and was finally ordered to leave the table by his uncle Worrel. Inwardly, Katarin seethed. Could Worrel not tell the boy was upset? Did he not realise Yaron was sensitive to the mood of his elders? He had ears and eyes. He knew something had happened and that it involved his friend Ari.
Katarin stirred her fork around her plate for she no longer felt hungry either. She must have been doing it for some time because Worrel clapped his hand over hers and hissed, ‘Stop it, will you.’
She dropped her fork, excused herself, and pulled back her chair.
‘The Beast has been sold to Senna Fallengrove,’ Worrel said as she turned to go.
Katarin felt a vice like grip twisting her innards. ‘What?’ she said, in barely more than a whisper.
‘You had no right,’ Lars said, jumping to his feet. ‘Father,’ he said, turning to Senna Jogan. ‘You’re not going to allow this, are you?’
Jogan’s face turned hard. ‘I have to do what is right. And the Order have shown their hand. They will never allow your Beast to know his freedom.’
‘But why not allow him to stay here?’ Lars cried. ‘He has more freedom here than he will there.’
Jogan’s face softened. ‘Do you think Ari would be truly happy here? What of a mate? Fallengrove has many she-Beasts, there at least he has a chance to be with his own kind. Perhaps even take a wife, have children of his own.’
‘If Fallengrove take him, they will use him like a prize bull. I have heard Senna Fallengrove speak of his master plan to breed his own slaves.’ He turned to his brother then, ‘I am pleased now that you sent Yaron from the table. He would have been horrified when he heard your plans. I promised Ari that I would help him return home.’
‘It is a promise you could never deliver son,’ Jogan said softly. ‘But I understand why you made it and we will be forever grateful to him for saving your life. I have asked Senna Fallengrove to provide well for him, in honour of all he has done for Dracodia must be his home now. You can not give freedom to one, while his kin remain in bondage. It would give the others hopes that could never be realised. In short, it would be cruel.’
‘How long ago did you make this deal?’ Lars said, teeth gritted, knuckles white against the cloth of the table. ‘You never meant to honour my promise, did you?’
‘I thought it might turn out this way, and when your brother came to me with his own concerns-’
‘What concerns?’ Lars cut in.
‘Perhaps our discussion should move to the library,’ Jogan replied.
Katarin, who was still standing beside her chair, felt as though her feet were nailed to the floor. She could not move, she could barely think – as if the shock of those words had caste a spell on her, making her dead within a living body. Ari was being sent away and her life would be over. Jogan would make her marry Worrel and she would be trapped by their clever plan. The men stood, moving about her like chess pieces on a board. Worrel the dark knight, Lars the ineffectual pawn, Jogan the King that presided over them all.
Mika joined her. She took Katarin by the arm and led her away. Katarin desperately wanted to run to Ari, tell him of their plans, urge him to escape but Mika led her firmly to her room and once they were alone, amongst the gilded splendour of Katarin’s private chamber, she spoke.
‘You must leave with him tonight,’ Mika said, pressing Katarin’s fingers.
It was the last thing she had expected her friend to say. ‘What? You said I should marry Worrel.’
‘I have changed my mind.’
‘Why?’ Katarin said, noting that Mika would not meet her eyes.
Mika went to the window and peered through the lace curtain.
‘What is it Mika? Have you heard something?’
Mika turned to her and nodded. ‘There will be an ambush on the road between here and Fallengrove. Worrel has arranged for Ari to be killed.’
Katarin reeled with the news. ‘Why? Ari has never done anything wrong.’
Mika shook her head and smiled wryly. ‘Do you think your love goes unnoticed?’
‘But no-one has seen us together, have they?’
‘Do they need to? Your face lights up at the mere mention of his name.’ She sighed. ‘Worrel is a jealous man. He thinks you have spurned him in favour of the Beast. He wrote to Brother Sneet, telling him not to come, saying that Ari is as stupid and dull as an ox. He told the Order they would be wasting their time.’
‘But how do you know all this?’
‘I was in the study, sewing by the window because it has the best light in the Keep and when I went to rethread my needle, it dropped, so I got down on hands and knees to search for it. That was when Worrel came in but he did not see me because I was behind the big leather chair near the fire. I was embarrassed and thought it would be unseemly if he found me crawling about the floor, so I stayed still, hoping he would go away and then a second man followed him in and they shut the door. By then I knew I must remain where I was. So, I crouched low, and overheard them talking.’
‘When did this happen?’
Mika shifted uncomfortably under Katarin’s gaze. ‘A few days ago. I know I should have told you sooner.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I was afraid you might runaway with him and then be in grave danger.’
Katarin paced the room, clasping her hands tight before her. ‘We could have been far away by now.’
‘Lars hoped Brother Sneet would still come and he did not believe his father would send Ari away.’
‘But Lars only knew of this tonight.’
Mika shook her head and had the good grace to appear abashed.
‘He seemed so surprised,’ Katarin said, sinking into a chair. ‘And yet you say he knew.’
‘I’m sorry Katarin. We needed time to plan and Lars did not know that you and Ari had become lovers. He was stunned, I must say. Men can be so blind,’ she added. ‘At first he refused to consider you in the plans and then I reminded him how stubborn you are and said you would surely fo
llow. In the end, he relented.’
‘What will we do?’ Katarin said.
‘Lars still thinks he can change his father’s mind,’ Mika shrugged. ‘He plans to tell Jogan of Worrel’s deception. But I doubt it will do any good. Jogan has been convinced that sending Ari away will bring you back to Worrel’s arms and they desperately want your father’s fleet.’
Talk of her papa gave Katarin a pang of sorrow. How she wished she could seek his counsel. However, it was unlikely he would have welcomed a Beast to his family. Even her dear old papa had his prejudices.
‘The Jims will take you to an old cottage in the mountains,’ Mika said. ‘No-one will think to look so close to home because they’ll all assume you have fled to a port. Then, when it is safe, Lars will come for you. From there, Lars thinks a skiff to Moelibok would be the best way out of Dracodia.’
Katarin had never been to Moelibok for her father said it was a barbaric country, filled with men who would slit your throat if you looked at them the wrong way, and women who bore arms in preference to minding their babes. Apart from that, it lay in the wrong direction. Far north of Ari’s homelands. But suddenly she saw the sense of it. Nobody would think to search for them there – and they could buy their passage to Baaran without need of documents. In Moelibok, gold quelled all suspicions about identity and past.
*
She packed a few of her most precious items in a cloth pouch and waited to hear word from Lars. Mika was quiet and gloomy, though she tried her best to look cheerful whenever their eyes met. The waiting was hard and every time she heard voices in the courtyard below, she dashed to the window, heart thumping, for she did not trust Worrel and half expected him to secret Ari out of the Keep that very night.
Around midnight, there was a gentle knock on their door and when Mika opened it, Lars stepped into the room.
Katarin held her breath, suddenly afraid of what he might say, for his features were stricken.
‘What happened?’ Mika asked.
‘My father’s mind is set. Ari cannot stay at the Keep,’ he said. ‘Worrel will escort him to Fallengrove first thing in the morning.’
‘Did you tell him about Worrel’s plans to have Ari killed once they are on the road?’ Katarin asked.
‘Worrel denied it and my father believes him. I don’t think Worrel will do anything while they are on the road now, but I fear Ari’s life remains at grave risk. Once he is out of our protection, there are no assurances about his safety.’
‘Then they must leave tonight,’ Mika said, her face suddenly pinched and pale. ‘I feared as much.’
Katarin’s bottom lip trembled and she could not hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. She wanted to go with Ari but was torn by the thought of leaving Mika. They had been inseparable friends since childhood, living next door to each other in a shady street of Yawmouth, high above the portside rabble.
‘Does Ari know?’ Katarin asked.
‘He is ready and waiting,’ Lars answered. With a frown he asked, ‘Are you sure about this Katarin? Are you really certain? You’ll never be able to return home again. Not once it’s known you’ve been in the company of a Beast.’
Katarin nodded. ‘I know what it means.’
Lars smiled but it seemed like a consolation. None of them understood, Katarin thought. For their biases were strong and deep, imbedded in the warp and weft of their being.
‘Let’s go then,’ Katarin said, throwing a hooded cloak about her shoulders.
‘There is one problem,’ Lars said. ‘Worrel told the guards they must not move from their posts this evening.’
‘Then how are we meant to leave?’ Katarin cried.
Lars tried to shush her with a wave of the hand. ‘I have given it some thought already.’
And with that, he unveiled his plan.
Suitors
For the next couple of days Madam Grist had a flurry of gentlemen callers to meet Lita. So far, she had been saved the shame of attending a gentleman – as the other girls called it. For Madam Grist still sought a higher bid for Lita’s first rite.
Much to Lita’s horror, a couple of the girls had taken great delight in sharing the details of their first rite. It sounded worse than anything Vicca and Tilly had described, and Lita felt a tremor of fear every time she thought about it. She did not have to act demure or timid when Madam Grist’s callers came. Lita’s terror was real.
Every afternoon at three, Madam Grist hosted afternoon tea, serving little poppy seed cakes and tiny stemmed glasses filled with port. The gentlemen nibbled their cakes and murmured politely as they filed through the dim lit sitting room, glancing at Lita who perched on the red velvet settee, wearing the awful symbol of her purity. How she hated the white dress now. It made her skin crawl whenever she slipped it over her head.
A couple of times, Lita overheard gentlemen callers questioning the authenticity of her Beastliness. After all, Beasts were never seen in towns and many folk relied on rumour and innuendo to furnish their imaginings. Those who were merchants however, seemed to have no difficulty accepting that Lita was a Beast and Madam Grist was non-plussed by the speculation as it all brought more trade through her doors. The other girls were busy with callers from midday to midnight.
Those afternoon teas were like the more vulgar types of troubadour parades Lita had occasionally witnessed, where an assortment of grotesque, dangerous or deformed animals were dragged through a town, advertising a show. Lita knew she was supposed to be the dangerous, virginal Beast on parade, yet she felt strangely disconnected from it - as though she were the audience. She viewed sinewed necks, gnarled arthritic fingers, tobacco stained teeth, balding pates and sagging bellies. She noted polished black boots, mud flecked pantaloons and brown wool mantles but could not bring herself to look into the eyes of Madam Grist’s callers for fear of what she might see. She pretended to herself that if she avoided the eyes, they might not really see her. Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew this was a child’s way of thinking.
Toward the end of one of these sessions a young noble alighted on the settee beside her. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her some horrid question about being a Beast. It was all they thought of. That and the other thing they were there for.
He surprised her however when he hissed her name. ‘Lita,’ he said in barely more than a whisper.
She turned to face the young Senna and was stunned when she recognised him. ‘Yaron. What are you doing here?’ she whispered in reply.
‘I’ve come to take you away. I’ll offer Madam Grist a Ruby brooch that belonged to my mother. A putter valued it at fifteen gold coins. Then we’ll hide you up in the mountains above the Keep, in the cottage I spoke of. No-one will think to look for you there.’
Before Lita could ask any more about Yaron’s plan, Madam Grist had marched over and Yaron was obligated to stand and kiss her hand.
‘I see you have met Lita, our newest girl, Senna…’
‘Finnador,’ Yaron answered, bowing low. ‘From Pendleshire County.’
‘Indeed,’ Madam Grist purred. ‘And you are here on business or-’
‘Pleasure,’ Yaron answered.
Madam Grist took Yaron by the elbow and guided him away, speaking to him quietly near the side table with the lilies. Lita watched them keenly. Oh, if only Yaron could buy her freedom. Though she did not know how she would ever repay him. For a moment she wondered why he cared so much about her fate? After all she had merely been one of the servants in his Keep. Only that wasn’t quite true – they had been more than master and servant. In a funny sort of way they had become friends through their common interest in knowledge and reading. But worth a ruby? She knew how the Keep’s stores were dwindling. It was all that Tilly and Vicca moaned about, down in the kitchen. How they had almost run out of the top-grade flour and had to cut it with rye. Or the lack of dried berries and herbs with which to flavour their soups. And the meat – tough and stringy old bucks the Jim’s brought down with their arrows.
&nb
sp; Surely Yaron’s heirloom could have been put to better use. Bought the Keep much needed grain. So why was he giving it up for her? Why was he going to so much trouble?
She could hardly breathe, and her heart felt as though it would break free from her chest and flutter around the room like a bird liberated from its cage. Then Yaron glanced her way, his eyes solemn and Madam Grist shook her head. When he returned to the settee, his mouth was set in a grim line.
‘What did she say?’ Lita asked, bowing her head so that others would not see she was talking to the young Senna beside her.
‘She says I must do better if I am to purchase your freedom. She is counting on a high fee for your first rite.’ His gaze fell to his lap. ‘After that, she would consider my offer, but-’
‘Oh,’ Lita said as tears welled in her eyes.
‘I promise I won’t let that happen.’
Lita hung her head. She could not imagine how he would do that.
‘Sal and I will find a way to break in before it comes to that. We will Lita, I promise.’
Lita bit her lip and twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. ‘It will be impossible for you to break in. Madam Grist has bars on every window and the front door is always locked. Only she can let you in or out.’
Yaron picked up her hand and squeezed her fingers. ‘Sal said she has a backup plan - someone who might be able to help.’
Madam Grist appeared beside Yaron, tsk, tsking. ‘She is not for you, Senna Finnador. But perhaps I could introduce you to Genine.’
‘I think not, Madam Grist.’ He bowed to Lita and then stood. ‘Now that I have met this maiden, I’m afraid I have eyes for no other. But I do not intend to defile her as your other guests would.’
‘Huh, young men,’ Madam Grist barked with laughter, ‘they always believe their love is pure and unlike any others but it all boils down to the same. I’m afraid you’ll need to raise more funds to demonstrate the purity of your intentions.’