Because following the scrolls means we have to let your sorry ass push us around, said the little voice in Mortlebee’s head.
After receiving no answer, Lackma continued, “Because you and many other Elders can’t provide any meat on the table for your family. The Lord Protector rewards those who follow him. Just as good merchants, good noblemen, good tradesmen prosper and grow rich while bad ones wither and are replaced, so too with religion. The religion of the Lord Protector is on the rise. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I think religion means something entirely different to you than it does to me. If you are finished eating”—Father nodded at the plate—“perhaps we should turn in for the night. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
Lackma picked up the last bit of bread and cheese off his plate. He studied it for a moment then threw it into the fire and watched it blacken and melt into tar. Then, realizing all gazes were on him, he looked up. “Sorry, did someone want that?”
If no one else was here, I’d strangle that priest with my bare hands, Mortlebee thought, shocking himself both with the thought itself and how strongly he felt it.
“No matter. It’s gone now,” Father lay down on his blanket and turned his face away from the priest.
Lackma looked toward Mortlebee and his sisters. “A few of the Lord Protector’s temples around Tockery, and the bread would be much more plentiful. Persuade your father to think reasonably about things.” He opened up a bedroll, slid into it, and curled up on his side, tucking his hands under his head.
Mother tidied up anything out of place then poked at the fire so the flames died, leaving the embers to provide heat through the night. She found a spot by the wall, away from the priest, and curled up.
Mortlebee glared at the cleric’s shape. Lackma knew how much suffering he was causing—that stunt of throwing the food into the fire had made that clear—and he didn’t care. Father probably wasn’t wrong in refusing to allow the temples. When the clerics had first come into Tockery fifteen years before, they had only looked for a small amount of tribute. One or two temples would swiftly become more, and having a hungry populace was the best way to recruit.
Of course, refusal was unlikely to stop them for long. The clerics presently want the Elder’s blessing, but if they don’t get it, then what? No one in Tockery was going to stand up to them, not with the precepts in the scrolls of Kale to follow.
Lackma’s snores vibrated through the one-room house. Mortlebee lay awake long into the night as the embers dimmed and faded, thinking about the glowing bow.
The Silver Portal – Chapter 4
“I don’t like that smile, child—too much hope in it. You mustn’t forget you are just a woman.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t be silly,” Suma said.
“Just a woman.” What a thing to say. Suma’s mother had forgotten how horrible it had been to be a girl and ignored by everyone who mattered—like a puppy having outgrown its cuteness yet not old enough for the hunt. Today, I will take my place at the banquet table as the daughter of the Duke of Delmoria and a woman grown. She had been waiting for the moment for several forevers.
“I’m not going to let you ruin my day,” Suma said.
She would have preferred entering through the main doors, but the side door was closer to their chambers, and that was where Mama made for, pushing open the narrow door and entering the great hall. Suma straightened her dress around her shoulders and followed.
As she had feared, no one noticed their entry. Torches blazed along the walls, and the rumble of dozens of overlapping conversations floated above their heads. Suma took slow, deliberate steps, falling behind Mama, who scurried ahead.
Three long tables stretched down the length of the hall, leading up to the high table, set widthwise. The far end of the lengthwise tables was empty of people, with no places set and several hounds curled up underneath. The center of the hall was dominated by the common soldiers, surrounding themselves with off-color jokes and raucous laughter. The sergeants and more important soldiers were closer to the head table, keeping a watchful eye on the behavior of their men, and farther up, the lesser nobles threw jealous glances at anyone higher up than them.
Mama noticed Suma dallying and returned to her. “Now child, I must warn you, this isn’t going to be what you expect. You’ve read all those storybooks, and I don’t know what they’ve put in your head, but—”
“Hush, Mama. I’ve got this lovely dress on, I’m all made up... Let me enjoy the evening.”
“Tonight isn’t about enjoying yourself. It’s about...” She shook her head. “How do I tell you? You simply don’t know your father.”
Father. I can’t call him that, can I? She’d always thought of him just as the Duke in her head. He’d paid no notice to Suma all her life, but that was understandable, as she’d been just a girl. “Where am I sitting, Mama?”
Mama pointed out a seat.
“Only two down from him.” Her voice rose in anticipation.
“You never listen to me. I’m trying to explain—”
“I do listen to you, Mama.”
Mama sighed. “I guess we all have to learn the hard way. One way or another.” She took her seat on the edge of the high table.
I’m closer to the Duke than Mama. I wouldn’t have expected that. Perhaps it’s because it’s the first time I’m attending the banquet. Maybe he’ll talk to me. Suma wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified by that thought.
Suma spotted Arron and Balti close to the high table, with Arron on his seat and Balti grappling with him. As usual, her two preteen brothers were fighting. She pulled Balti off his brother and plumped him on his seat. “No fighting now, you two.”
“What kind of stupid dress is that?” Balti said.
“It’s an awful yellow color,” Arron said. “And look at those puffy shoulders.” He made a grab for the fabric, but Suma danced backward.
“It’s gold,” she said, “and the latest fashion. They started wearing this style in Yalsomme this winter, and it hasn’t even taken off in Thulum yet.”
Balti laughed. “She looks like a shiny yellow duck.”
“Ducks don’t have puffy shoulders like that.”
“Do too.”
“You’re stupid.”
“Take that back.” Balti dived at his brother, sending the two of them rolling across the floor.
Suma decided to let them fight it out. Better they directed their energy at each other than destroy her outfit.
The high table was no longer empty. Her older brother, Lucii, was on the right hand of the throne seat, and the Xercian archpriest was talking to Mama. Suma gave Lucii a nod—he winked back at her—then took her seat.
Servants in black livery with two rows of metal buttons down the front were distributing plates and mugs. Smells of meat and mead carried in on the evening drafts were making the people restless, reminding them of their hunger. The food wouldn’t come out until the Duke arrived, of course.
A fat man trundled behind Suma then took the seat between her and the duke’s throne. An extra-large chair had been placed there, obviously especially for him, but even so, it creaked alarmingly when he sat.
Lucii sprang to his feet. “Duke Washmir, may I introduce Sumastra Delmoria.”
Washmir didn’t say anything but just examined her with beady eyes. He reminded her of a giant bullfrog, warts and all. His tongue came out of the corner of his mouth, rooted against the side of his cheek, then disappeared again. He picked up a knife and rubbed it against the side of his plate, making a grinding sound.
We get it, you’re hungry. No need to make that annoying noise. Washmir was the most odious being she’d met—except perhaps for Balti when he’d been eight years old. She smiled. He wasn’t much better now, but two years earlier, he’d been such a gross child. She was convinced he had been breeding beetles and worms in a dung patch under his bed. Or something worse.
Lucii perched upon the seat on the other side of Suma. “You l
ook happier than I expected.”
“Than you expected? This is the happiest day of my life.”
Lucii leaned closer and lowered his voice, nodding toward Washmir. “You’ve met him?”
Suma nudged her head close to Lucii’s ear. “I won’t let him ruin my evening.”
Lucii shrugged. “It’s your life. I’ve been told to never try to understand women.”
Several dogs barked as the duke strode through the main entrance. He bent down to greet the hounds. Conversations stopped dead as all gazes turned to him. That’s how you make an entrance. Suma remembered all the work she and the maids had put into her appearance, getting fitted for the dress days before, the thrill that had gone through her when she’d put it on. And then no one had noticed except for her little brothers, who thought she looked like a puffy duck.
“This is his arena,” Lucii said, also watching the Duke. “He knows all their names, their wives’ names, some of their kids’ names. And he can talk their language.” The Duke paused to slap one soldier on the back and shared a joke with another. “He knows everyone is hungry and can’t wait to dig into the food, yet still he delays, milking every moment. His men all love him and are terrified by him.”
“Will he speak to me?” Suma asked.
Lucii chuckled. “Yes, that’s right. I forgot about your strange worship for a father you don’t know. Remember when you thought that whenever he wasn’t in Xercia Castle that meant he was up in heaven?”
Suma slapped Lucii’s shoulder. “I do. And you told me to ask the archpriest about it, you bastard. I was only seven, and he gave me enough prayers to leave my knees aching. Seriously though, will he?”
Lucii stood and bowed slightly to a knife-thin man, just arriving. “Baron Cumille, excuse me for borrowing your seat.”
Baron Cumille was in control of one of the biggest baronies in Delmoria. He had a white mustache and always looked as though he was coming from the funeral of a loved one. “No problem at all, Lord Lucii.”
“As for your question, Suma, you should wish that he doesn’t.” Lucii returned to his place.
The Duke continued his slow procession down the Great Hall. Washmir seemed to have lost the energy to grind his knife against his empty plate and held his bloated face low over the table, his eyelids half closed. The Duke surely realized that delaying the food was pure torture for his guest of honor.
When the Duke finally reached his place at the center of the high table, he paused behind his chair, leaning his elbow against the backrest.
The entire hall took a collective breath and released it as one when he sat down.
“Let’s eat,” he shouted.
The servants practically sprinted into the hall, carrying plates piled high with meats of different types, hares and partridges cooked whole, sliced stag and boar. They brought the food to the high table, offering everything first to the Duke. Washmir’s first plate was devoured—Suma wasn’t sure where all the partridge feathers disappeared to. He washed it down with long slurps of mead.
Suma refused most of the plates and only picked at the food she did accept. She knew she should be hungry since she’d had nothing all day, but her nervous stomach was rejecting the idea of eating. Also, she wanted to be careful not to dirty her dress. She periodically glanced past Washmir—though he did provide a rather large obstruction—at the Duke. It was strange that she had rarely seen her father in close quarters.
The Duke wasn’t wearing a thick cloak like Washmir and many of the other important nobles. Instead, he wore the clothes of a younger man: a fitted jerkin, pale colored, with a pattern of crosses and swirls; a leather belt; black hose; and black boots tied up to just below the knee. His sword hung at his waist, of course. Everyone knew he never went anywhere without that. His beard was well cropped, and his black hair was brushed back. She guessed he was handsome if men that old—he had to be nearing forty or even past it—could still be thought of that way. Most remarkable of all were his eyes, green like the depths of a pond. They were still and watchful at the same time.
Once Duke Washmir had taken the edge off his hunger, he took to staring at Suma. She wished he’d say something, not because she wanted to talk to him but simply because she’d feel less uncomfortable. On her other side, Baron Cumille was most at home with a despondent silence about him. Suma wished she was down with Arron and Balti, even with the risk of Balti putting something slimy down her dress.
The most exciting day of her life was proving positively boring. She’d never read about a banquet that didn’t have at least a sprinkling of fun and excitement. Most of the younger people weren’t close to the high table, but even squinting, Suma didn’t spot anyone likely to be a handsome prince. Possibly, one lurked in disguise, but Suma doubted it. Still, that sort of thing came when least expected, and a rocky journey to her Gwavin or Dondolier would make the whole thing all the sweeter.
The Duke leaned back to see around Duke Washmir and gestured for Suma to come to him. Terror strapped her to her chair. It’s happening. She forced her limbs into motion, stiffly rising then approaching the Duke, her eyes downcast. She curtsied low.
“What do you make of her?” asked the Duke.
The legs of Duke Washmir’s chair squealed against the floorboards as he turned his chair around. “She is as young as you said, certainly.”
“Young, that’s all? She’s not unpretty.”
“I guess not. But...”
“Out with it.”
“I was watching her earlier. She has a rather unpleasant demeanor.”
The Duke gave a humorless laugh. “I know you well enough to know you care little about that. Out with it.”
“She has a... a rather boyish figure.”
“I’m not fully grown out,” Suma blurted then held her hand to her mouth, realizing she shouldn’t have talked out of turn. But she wasn’t going to allow herself to be discussed like that. Her fifteenth birthday was still months off, and everyone knew some girls didn’t get their curves until they were older. She arched her back slightly. Following her mother’s advice, she’d padded out the bust of her dress, but still he’d called her boyish.
“See, she says it herself—she’s not fully grown out,” the Duke said.
Washmir wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his beady eyes roving up and down Suma’s body. “Now I’ve seen her, we can discuss a dowry.”
Dowry. Like a cymbal clash inside her head, Suma realized what was happening. They thought she was going to... with Duke Washmir?
“I won’t marry him,” she said.
The green of the Duke’s eyes chilled. He stood. “She’s a chatty mare, too. You’ll have plenty of dinner conversation.” His fingers curled around Suma’s upper arm. “However, the wine and rich food has gone to her head, so she’ll have to take her leave from you for tonight.”
He walked across the back of the high table, and Suma was almost lifted off her feet as he forced her to walk alongside her, his fingers biting into her flesh. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back.
The Duke placed her in front of Mama. “I don’t ask you to do much, Bilenda, but surely you can manage your own daughters.”
“She won’t listen to me,” Mama said. “She just fills her head with stories and fancies.”
“Burn the books if that’s what it takes.”
“I won’t marry him, Father. You can’t make me do it.” She wasn’t going to let anyone burn her books either.
The Duke’s fingers tightened further, and he lowered his face until it was close to hers. “You have no comprehension of what I can make you do. Be glad that the only thing I want is to find you a noble husband.”
He released Suma’s arm. “I’ll leave this in your hands, Bilenda. She’ll have a better demeanor next time we need her, and she’ll smile at the altar when the time is right. You’ll both regret it if I have to bother myself further about this.”
He returned to his seat, leaving Suma standing in front of Mama
. The archpriest concentrated on his food, and no one else was within earshot. For Suma, the world had stopped spinning, yet throughout the great hall, for everyone else, the laughter and joking and eating and drinking hadn’t been interrupted.
“I’m sorry, child,” Mama said, “I did try to warn you. But you don’t know him. Sometimes a demonstration is worth a thousand words. A parent can shield her child from the world, but as you’ve been telling me, you’re a woman grown now.”
“Oh, Mama.” Suma dashed away. Her tears flooded out. She’d held them back while the Duke’s fingers had pinched into her arm, but they escaped, sliding down her cheeks.
She was glad the side door was close and hoped she was as unnoticed leaving as she had been entering. Outside in the corridor, she almost crashed into one of the servants. He was carrying a bowl of gravy and only just managed to avoid spilling it as he lurched out of her way. Suma didn’t even slow. She’d thought to return to her rooms, but her feet led her in a different direction. Only when she reached an outer door did she realize her destination.
The moon was full, shining its ugly, fat face down on Suma when she wanted to remain hidden. However, with everyone at the banquet, no one would see her. Crammed close to an inner wall, the Duchess’s Garden was only a few paces wide and a dozen long. Mama had told Suma she’d had to fight to get a garden even that big. Since Suma had met the Duke, she understood better how hard it would be to get him to do something he didn’t want.
I called him Father, she remembered. Well, why not! Her brothers had no problem calling him that, why should she? That was what he was, after all. She’d created an aura of mystique in her head about him for no good reason. He was just the Duke of Delmoria and her father.
A hedge of rosebushes encircled the garden. Suma didn’t want to go around to the small gate, so she pushed between two bushes. She would have given her brothers hell for doing the same, but she couldn’t do any real damage since the flowers weren’t in bloom. Plus, why should I care about some stupid roses? She was to marry the Duke of Washmir. Her life was effectively over.
The Desert Palace Page 6