by Dianna Gunn
Amber reassigned Lai to laundry duty. She hated the hours of scrubbing but it was better than working in the frigid cold. Now she only went out to groom Maia and take her riding around the city for exercise.
Maia got sick a few days before the year ended. One day she stopped eating altogether and the next she could barely stand. Lai stayed with her a long time, grooming her, trying to convince her to eat. Lai might be able to heal her, but Maia would only get sick again. She wasn’t built for this cold.
Someone cleared their throat behind her. Startled, Lai turned to see Tara, The Twins’ Tale clutched tightly in her gloved hands.
“I thought you might want this,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d want to leave her.”
Lai nodded, tightening her grip on Maia’s mane. “I don’t have many reminders of home left.”
“This is your home now, isn’t it?” There was a hint of hopefulness in Tara’s voice.
She looked at her friend, clutching The Twins’ Tale and breathing out tiny clouds of frost. If anything made this place feel like home, it was Tara. Tara, who spent so many late nights helping her read despite waking up before dawn for her training. Tara, who accepted her without question. Tara, who was staring at her wide eyed, as if she might break if Lai said no.
“Of course it is,” Lai said.
Tara grinned. “Do you want me to read you a story?”
She could have listened to Tara read out loud for hours. “You don’t have to stay out here.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re staying out here until your horse passes, right?”
Lai tightened her grip on Maia’s mane. “Maia. Her name is Maia.”
“All right. Well if you’re going to stay with Maia all night, I’m going to stay out here long enough to read you a story.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you tell me a story about yourself?”
A dark expression flickered across Tara’s face. “My stories aren’t so interesting.”
“They are to me.”
Tara didn’t respond for what felt like an eternity.
“You don’t have to tell me about your past,” Lai said.
“Childhood wasn’t easy for me,” Tara said, her voice thick with sorrow. “When my parents died and the temple took me in, I promised myself I wouldn’t look back.”
Lai looked away. She had never seen her friend in so much pain, and she didn’t want to cause any more.
“Then tell me about living here,” Lai said. “You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?”
Tara laughed, a weak laugh that sounded like it might become tears at any moment. “My life here wasn’t that interesting until you arrived.” She opened The Twins’ Tale to a story near the end. “Besides, I haven’t finished reading this to you.”
Lai wanted to know everything about Tara’s life, even the boring parts, but she wouldn’t force the stories out of Tara. Especially not if they made her sad.
“Read away,” Lai said, offering Tara the brightest smile she could muster.
Tara cleared her throat. “In her seventy-fifth year Estella grew weak,” she said, one long finger following the words as she read. “She gathered all of her most valuable possessions and led the eldest Keepers of the Dawn into the sacred valley between mountains.”
“Actually, there’s another story I want to hear,” Lai said. She had avoided asking this question for months, but she needed answers. “Tell me about the Scarred Lands.”
Tara frowned and lowered her book. “Are you sure? It’s not a pretty story.”
“It’s about my people, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it.”
Tara sighed. “I suppose you have a right to.” She flipped all the way back to the beginning of The Twins’ Tale, the part she had made Lai skip.
“Once there were many tribes who worshipped Taelanna and Ravina,” she began. “They lived in a plentiful land beyond Alanum, traveling from one holy place to the next as the seasons changed. They had the mightiest of horses, and the mightiest of magic, but many of these tribes also had other, crueler gods.
“These gods demanded sacrifices of many kinds, including the most gifted children of each year,” Tara read. “Those who refused to believe in them were conquered and slaughtered.
“After many decades of watching this cruelty and trying to save their brethren, the Taurik tribe abandoned their sisters.” Here Tara’s voice grew heavy. “Many were caught and killed on the journey north. Only one band, led by Elder Corinthia’s visions, reached the holy mountains.”
Tara closed the book and stared at her hands. “Your people aren’t mentioned in the book again, but we learn about the Scarred Lands young. It’s supposed to scare us.”
“It won’t scare me,” Lai said, even though all the hairs on her body were standing up.
Tara ran her hands along the edges of The Twins’ Tale, her eyes distant. “Our sister tribes became a single empire soon after our ancestors left. They prospered for many centuries, but almost four centuries ago they went to war with Alanum.”
Lai tightened her grip on Maia’s mane, resisting the urge to clap her hands over her ears. It had been a little over four hundred years since the lake dried up and her people abandoned everything they knew to start a city in the far south.
If this story was true, everything else she knew about her ancestors was a lie.
“Magic was much more common—and stronger—back then,” Tara went on. “Our sister tribes had more mages, but Alanum’s mages were more powerful. They destroyed cities with people still in them. Their magic even killed the land. Hardly any traces of our sister tribes remained. The Scarred Lands are said to be haunted now,” Tara said. “Filled with everyone who died in the war.”
She stopped speaking and glanced up at Lai, her eyes filled with worry.
“None of that is in our history,” Lai said, using all her willpower to keep her tone even. “Not the Taurik tribe, or the war, or the Scarred Lands.”
“Maybe they wanted to forget. I mean, it destroyed their homeland,” Tara said. “As far as anyone else knew, it destroyed your people entirely.”
“Maybe.” All she knew was that it left a nasty taste in her mouth. Why would her people say the gods dried out the land if the damage was really done by war?
Maia shook her head violently, bruising Lai’s hand. She pulled it out of Maia’s mane and stepped back, trying to calm her startled heart. Maia shuddered violently once more and collapsed, her legs folding inwards as she hit the ground.
Lai watched her for a long time, waiting to see her chest rise and fall, air frost around her nose, a twitch, any sign that Maia might still be alive.
Tears burst from her eyes, only to freeze on her face a moment later. She was frozen stiff but she couldn’t bring herself to move, numb with sadness and cold. Maia should have lived another fifteen years, would have in a warmer place.
“We should go inside,” Tara whispered. “Your lips are blue.”
Lai wiped away the latest wave of tears and let Tara lead her back to their room.
Chapter Eleven
Two months after Maia’s death, winter gave way to a solid fortnight of rain. Watching it reminded Lai of spring back home but it was bitter cold, nothing like the warm rain she used to dance in with Mir and the other initiates.
The third morning after the rain stopped a servant brought them two silver pieces of paper.
“Are those our invitations?” Tara asked, jumping out of bed.
“Invitations to what?” Lai closed the door and glanced at the silver papers. One was addressed to her, the other to Tara.
“Right, you wouldn’t know.” She snatched her paper out of Lai’s hand. “The young people in Taurim attend a special celebration every spring.”
“Why only young people?”
Tara giggled. “Because we�
��re trying to find mates.”
Heat flooded to her cheeks. “Find… Mates?”
“Don’t look so terrified, we’re not looking for life partners. The more that young people mate, the better our harvest.” Tara unfolded her paper. “We get to dance and feast, and if nobody catches your eye you don’t have to do anything.”
“I suppose I have to go.”
“Only if you want to seem like you’re trying to become part of our culture.”
In other words, yes. Lai crumpled her invitation into a ball, sitting heavily on her bed. “I hate dancing.” She had never enjoyed it back home, and it would only be worse here.
“It won’t be so bad, I promise,” Tara said. “We’ll go to the vault and find the perfect dress for you, and I’ll braid your hair.”
“The vault?”
“We share our finest clothes here,” Tara said. “There are hundreds to choose from and a few more sewn each year.” She pulled on her boots. “Come, I’ll show you.”
A few hours later Lai was in a long silver dress with no sleeves, her hair braided and pinned to the top of her head, approaching the great hall. Tara buzzed around her with excitement, but Lai felt only fear. She could recite some stories from The Twins’ Tale now, but she hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Tara and the other servants since that terrible dinner with Katharine.
Tara opened the door to the great hall and music filled the air, the sound of at least a dozen drums pounding out a slow rhythm. The great hall was packed with people in finery of all different colors, though most of the men wore black. Many were already dancing, holding their partners close as they circled around the room.
A row of tables on the other side of the great hall held massive pitchers of ale and many fine dishes carefully arranged on huge platters. Lai hadn’t seen so much meat the entire time she had been here, not even on the night they celebrated the new year.
“I told you it would be great,” Tara said.
Lai nodded absently and made her way towards the tables. She still didn’t want to be here, but she did want some of that roasted meat.
“One plate and then you’re coming to dance with me,” Tara said.
Lai opened her mouth to respond but Tara was already halfway across the room, cornering one of the other initiates by the drink table. She loaded her plate with as much food as it could possibly fit. Prayer benches had been set up in one corner with small tables. Almost all of them were already full.
She cursed silently and headed for the only bench that wasn’t completely full, sitting as far away from its only occupant as possible. His hair was almost as blond as hers, the lightest she’d seen here.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, as if sensing her gaze. “You’re a southerner.”
She cursed silently. Would everyone always know so quickly? “I live here now.”
He shrugged. “I’ve lived here longer. Doesn’t change where I came from.”
“Where are you from?”
“Alanum. Mother brought me here when I was young.” He took a swig of his drink. “Your accent isn’t from Alanum.”
“I was raised beyond the desert.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How did you end up here?”
She grunted, hoping to stifle the conversation. This was why she wanted to stay in her room. Or at least eat quickly and hurry back, as soon as she could leave without being rude. Maybe she could even pretend to be sick, get out faster.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” the blond man said. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Lai,” she said. “I’m just really hungry, sorry.”
She shifted her plate to the corner of the table and turned her back to him, devouring her meal. Every bite should have been delicious, but she was so lost in her own thoughts she barely tasted it. Would she ever be able to get through a conversation without all these questions?
She pushed her empty plate away and leaned back as much as the bench would allow. The blond man was gone, already dancing with another woman.
“You ate fast,” Tara said, settling her tankard on the table beside Lai. She held half a bun in the other hand.
“You wanted me to enjoy myself.”
“I do.” Tara stuffed the entire second half of the bun into her mouth.
“Well, I enjoyed the food.”
Tara washed the bun down with a massive swig of ale. “And now you should enjoy a dance with me. I’ll show you how. They say I’m a great partner.” She winked.
Lai glanced at the dancers again, all the couples holding each other so tightly, spinning in circles that sped up with the drumming.
“Only married couples would ever dance so close back home,” she said. For that matter, only married people were allowed to mate.
“So? Things are different here.”
Lai crossed her arms over her chest. “I hate dancing, that isn’t different.”
Tara frowned, her dark eyes growing unbelievably large. “Even with me?”
At least it will look like I’m really trying to fit in. And she was the most beautiful woman Lai had ever seen. “Very well. One dance and then I’m going back to our room.”
Tara brightened instantly. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
She followed Tara onto the dance floor and let the other woman pull her into a tight embrace.
“Are you ready?” Tara asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Tara grinned as the song changed and a flute joined the drums. “Then let’s get started.”
Tara all but dragged Lai around the room as the song picked up speed, spinning her so fast that by the end Lai was dizzy.
“You don’t look so good,” Tara said, helping her back to the corner where the eating tables were set up.
“I just need to lie down,” Lai said. “I haven’t really slept much lately.” She often read for several hours after dinner, sleeping for only a brief time before her duties for the next day began.
“Then get to bed.” Tara propelled her towards the door. “I’ll keep dancing.”
Lai grinned. Tara’s enthusiasm was infectious, even if Lai hated this whole celebration. “Good night.” She hurried out of the room before Tara could rope her into another dance.
Tara entered the room early the next morning, one sleeve of her dress askew and her hair a giant frizzy cloud. Lai stared at her, a strange twinge of jealousy warping her heart inside her chest. She went to someone’s bed last night. But why did it matter so much? Tara was her roommate, nothing more. Lai certainly didn’t want to sleep with her.
“Did you sleep well?” Tara asked, crossing the room to her wardrobe.
“Well enough,” Lai said. She didn’t ask about the rest of the festival. Tara’s radiant expression said everything Lai needed to know.
“Amber noticed that you left early.” Tara pulled off her dress, grabbing a pair of breeches.
Her throat suddenly went dry. “Was she angry?”
“I told her you were sick. She said you could take a day off if you had to.” Tara threw a burgundy tunic over her head.
“I am well enough to work.”
Tara turned around, her arms crossed over her chest. “Really? Or are you going to make Amber happy?”
Lai stood up, throwing her blanket down on the bed. “I’m well enough to work. Are you?”
“Of course I’m well enough. I actually sleep.”
Lai glared at her. “I slept all night.”
“I’m sure you did.” Tara picked up her cloak. “I’ve got to go.”
“All—” But Tara was already gone, the door swinging shut behind her.
Spring on the mountain soon turned into summer. Tara’s hours of training increased and Lai spent ever more time by herself, reciting passages of The Twins’ Tale in the mirror. She could
recite most of them entirely from memory now.
One night Tara burst into the room, her eyes bright with excitement. She grabbed Lai’s hands and lifted them into the air.
“We got the trial date,” Tara said. “Exactly two weeks from now, I’m going to become a Keeper of the Dawn.”
She sounded so sure it broke Lai’s heart. I was that sure once. If Tara was wrong she wouldn’t even get a chance at a different life. Most initiates in Taurim became Keepers of the Dawn, but those who failed the final trial didn’t return. Lai tried not to think about it, but every day Tara’s trial grew closer it became harder. She might not even have one friend here in three weeks. This isn’t about me.
“Congratulations,” Lai said, forcing herself to smile.
Tara let her hands drop and leaned against the door. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“You just caught me off guard.” And I’m really more terrified than excited. As terrified as Pa probably had been watching her enter the stadium. Her stomach twisted painfully. She prayed to her mother often, but she hadn’t thought about Pa in months. He has another child now. Lai hoped it was a boy.
“There’s a private celebration for initiates and our families before the trial,” Tara said. “I want you to come with me.”
Lai blinked. “Is that proper? I’m not your family.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “My family is dead. And some of the others are bringing dates.”
Lai stared at her, Tara’s words sinking into her mind slowly. “You want me to be your… date?” The words felt strange coming out of her mouth.
“Is that wrong?”
“Women don’t date each other back home.” Few got to date at all. Most had their husbands chosen by their parents.
“You don’t live there anymore.” Tara’s voice was so soft Lai barely heard it. “Love is sacred here. People are free to love who they want.”
Lai sank onto her bed and pulled her socks off, the last item of clothing from her work day. After a moment of silence Tara turned and started changing. Lai watched her, thinking of the warmth she felt every time she was close to Tara. Could they actually be together? She had never even considered it before.