“Lord Brellin!” he cried.
Brellin stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“The baroness requests your presence, my lord.”
“Let her ladyship know I will be along shortly.”
“Aye, my lord.” The boy bowed and ran away in the opposite direction.
Brellin turned and stomped on down the hall. Thankfully, he encountered no one and it was a relief to close the door to his room behind him. The large, spacious room contained shelves crammed full of books; tables covered in papers, scrolls, and magical instruments; a bed shoved against one wall and beside it his wardrobe. He shucked off his gloves as he crossed the room to the largest desk. Dropping them by a black globe, he wondered if his Master was available for his report.
Well, better safe than sorry.
Brellin picked up the globe and, cradling it in his palms, he spoke the spell over it. A whorl of flame appeared in the center.
A warm, dry voice said, “Brellin, friend, I trust you are well?”
“I am, your Majesty.”
“And you have news?”
“Yes, your Majesty. I have done what you asked.”
“And was it successful?”
“Yes, your Majesty. I've drawn the Seer out. No doubt Dwervin will make her a part of his retinue or some such. And my sources have guaranteed that Emmerich is on his way to take the castle.”
“And did you get a medium?”
Brellin reached into his tunic and pulled out a lock of hair. “I did, your Majesty. I will perform the spell tonight.”
“Excellent. You have always been my star pupil.” The voice took on a hard edge. “Do not fail me, Brellin.”
“I will not, your Majesty. Ah. I am curious. I could have taken her, right then. Why must we let her fall into Emmerich's hands?” He didn't fear asking the question. If anything, King Marduk encouraged questions from the ranks, as long as they weren't impertinent.
A soft sigh slid out of the flame. “Because, dear Brellin, she is not ready. I want her in a certain state of mind when she comes to me. Is there anything else?”
“No, your Majesty.”
The whorl of flame went out.
Chapter Five
“And just what,” Lady Maria Dwervin said, “are you going to do about the girl?”
Dinner was over (mercifully) and the pair sat in comfortable solitude in their solarium. Around them, late autumn sunlight splashed upon the flowers and trees that were slowly falling into their winter sleep. The door leading to the solarium was closed and on the other side stood four guards–double the usual. The late Lord Dwervin said a great dose of caution led to a long life. He would know; he saw his ninth decade before passing.
“What do you propose?” asked Martin. “She’s a mute, so she can’t exactly function in the outside world. She’s been a slave most of her life–?” He looked to her questioningly and she nodded to confirm his assumption. “If I were to give her freedom, what good would that do? She’d end up a whore or just one more beggar. Hell of a way to show gratitude, I think.”
“Well, she can obviously see the future. That has to have some use, with only rumors flying around about the Rebel General's whereabouts. And that was a foolish thing, ordering Brellin's death! You know you just made a traitor out of yourself. We might as well throw our lot in with the Rebellion now.”
Martin snorted. “I would rather drink that poisoned wine.”
“It's our only sane option. Brellin is going to go running back to Marduk to tell him what happened.”
“Aye. And Marduk was the one who ordered my death.”
“Not necessarily. Perhaps Brellin has his own vendetta against you or your family.”
“My family has done nothing against any magic user. What about you? Does your family have any skeletons hanging about that I need to know about?”
“We have done nothing to incur the wrath of the Brethren.”
The two glared at each other a long moment, neither one willing to trust the other.
Finally, Martin said, “Let Marduk come. I have one of the best castles in the North. I can hold him off.”
“But with neither wizard or sorcerer, how can we defend against his magic?”
“I don't know!”
They sat in moody silence for a long moment. Finally, Maria said gently, “All the better, then, to have a Seer. We can teach her how to read and write so that she can tell us her visions.”
“Fine. Let it be done. Though if it turns out she was a spy and slaughters me in my sleep, we will only have you to blame.”
She didn't ask how the girl would be able to get that close to him in the first place. “And the Rebel General?”
“My family carved our fiefdom out of this valley over the generations. We never made way to anyone and we aren't going to start now. The only reason why we ever bothered swearing fealty to the Throne is because we were always left alone to do as we pleased. We will stand against him.”
“And if he should take Bertrand?”
“He'll have his own problems to worry about, then, and not some trifling lord on the arse-end of the country.”
She shook her head. “You are being a fool, Martin.”
“I have been called worse.” With that he stood and walked away to glare at a rosebush, bringing the conversation to a close.
With a sigh, Maria stood and left in a swish of silk and brocade.
Two of the guards detached themselves from the door as she walked away, fuming at Martin in her mind.
Halfway to the kitchens, she caught a page by the arm and ordered him to prepare a bath for one in the lady's maid's bathing room.
“And be quick!” she said sharply.
The boy bowed and scurried off. She sighed and took a deep breath before carrying on.
By the time she reached the kitchens, her composure was restored. Relly, upon seeing her, rushed over and dropped a deep curtsy.
“I want the mute slave,” she said.
“The mute, milady?”
“Don’t worry, Relly, I’m not going to hurt the child. She’s getting a…promotion.”
That caught the cook’s attention. She kept her questions to herself, though, and gestured to the girl, where she stood at a sink piled high with dishes and cutlery. The girl rushed over wiping her hands on her smock.
Relly said, “I don’t know where the slavers picked her up. She looks Border bred.”
Maria studied the girl, seeing the tell-tale signs in the sharpness of the jaw and the slight upward angle of the eyes. Her mousey, dark brown hair, tied back with a rough rope, gave her a very elvish appearance. She decided the child must have come from the Border near Tier. There was much crossbreeding there.
“Come. You will no longer be staying here. Has she any belongings?”
“Only what is on her back, milady.”
“Well, she can leave the smock.”
Relly untied the offending garment and pulled it off of Clara, who was looking more bewildered by the moment. Underneath it, she wore a ragged grey tunic and undergown.
Turning, Maria left, assured the girl would follow. Sure enough, she heard her light step behind her.
Maria chose not to say anything until they reached her private chambers. There sat her lady’s maids, who never followed her to the solarium. They all stood upon her entrance.
“My girls, meet the slave who saved his lordship’s life.” She put a companionable arm around the girl’s shoulders, which only came up to her breasts. How old was this child? “Slave, this is Celestina, Emerald, and Lily.”
The lady’s maids regarded the slave with interest.
“What is his lordship’s will?” inquired Celestina.
“She is to be cleaned up and taught how to read and write until a final decision is made. It also wouldn’t hurt to teach her other things, such as embroidery and etiquette.” Maria smiled down at her. “Heaven only knows where this young one will end up.” She looked back at the trio. “She is a mute, tho
ugh, so don’t expect her to stay up half the night chattering with you.”
“She is to stay in our chambers?” asked Emerald.
“Where else? There is a spare room. Lily? You will take charge of her for now. Get her washed and see if there is anything to spare in your wardrobes that will fit her. We’ll get the tailor to look at her shortly.”
“Aye, my lady.” Lily curtsied. “Does she have a name?”
Maria smiled at her naiveté. “Slaves never have names, but I suppose we must call her something.” She leaned back a little and studied the slave. “Mouse, I think. Aye. We'll call her Mouse.”
“Very well, my lady.” Lily curtsied again, and, taking Mouse’s hand, led her out of the room.
Maria turned to Emerald. “I want no trouble out of you.”
Emerald curtsied low. “Of course not, your ladyship.”
Clara followed Lily into a set of chambers across the hall. These were just as lush as her ladyship's. Area rugs woven with flowers and leaves over a green background warmed the cold stone floor. Long tapestries with scenes of unicorns, gardens, and women playing musical instruments covered the walls. The furniture was upholstered in greens, blues, and reds. Five doors surrounded the sitting room. Lily drew her to the door to the right nearest the chamber door.
She opened it and revealed a bathing room. A tin bathtub full of steaming water sat a few feet from a brazier, whose smoke disappeared in cuts in the upper walls. Along the walls were hooks from which hung robes. By the tub on a table sat bottles of lotions, shampoos, and soaps as well as cleansing and drying cloths on a second low table.
“Now,” said Lily, “let’s get you clean.” She began helping Clara out of the ragged clothing, which she tossed to the side with a look of disgust. Looking at her naked body, Lily gasped.
Covering her in thin lines, scars marked Clara's body. On her right forearm, from elbow to wrist, ran a burn scar from grease from an overturned pot. On her legs were the small scars from her forced march, from sometimes having to shove through brambles and thickets. On her ankles were the scars left by the manacles. On her back, hidden from Lily's view, crisscrossed the scars left from the slaver's whips. She earned many of them from using her voice until that vanished somewhere along the dusty roads they had traveled.
Lily shook her head in pity and led Clara to the tub. Carefully, Clara walked up the steps and into the calf-high water, smiling as the warmth penetrated sore muscles. As she sat, Lily unloosed her hair from its rope and attacked it with a sharp-bristled brush. It took a while to undo all of the knots and tangles.
Once all the tangles were gone, she washed it several times in some of the fragrant shampoo, rinsing her hair with warm water from a copper pitcher.
Once the hair was clean enough to suit, Lily directed her to stand, where she slathered her down in soap. She scrubbed her with another brush until Clara's skin turned bright red, working carefully around the slave's collar at her neck. A second copper pitcher full of water was poured over her body, only for her to be scrubbed again and rinsed a second time.
“Sit a moment,” said Lily. “I'm going to fetch a dress for you from my wardrobe.” She left Clara there, in the semi-darkness of the room and with her thoughts.
Who could have known her snap decision would land her here? Would she remain a slave? The ability to come and go as she pleased, to be treated like a person–her mouth almost watered at the thought. She wondered if she would be expected to look into the future for her master. How could she tell him, though, what she would see? She supposed that was why she needed learn how to read and write.
After a time, Lily returned with clothes draped over her arm. She directed Clara to leave the tub and dry herself. Clara felt a little startled at seeing her body clean. Her skin was a delicate milk-white. As she ran a cloth through her hair, she discovered it fell to her buttocks in silky waves. She immediately thought of the ribbons ladies wore with sudden longing. Would she be allowed to wear them now?
When she dried enough, Lily helped her into the garments. First went on soft undergarments and a shift of thin cotton. Over that went a light brown linen undergown over which Lily pulled a sleeveless green tunic. All of this was belted with a long cloth belt of light green material embroidered with yellow flowers. Onto her feet went soft, light green slippers.
“Now, I'll show you your room.” Lily led her out of the bathing room, up two doors, and into another room. Clara stared with open admiration.
The room was about the size of the bathing room. It had a small stained glass window depicting a woman playing a harp surrounded by roses. The four-post canopy bed was made up in light blue and cream sheets. The coverlet was cream with light blue and light green embroidery. The pillows looked unbelievably soft. A set of steps was pushed against the side.
Directly across from the bed, on the side with the window, sat a small fireplace, in which a servant was laying a fire. Clara resisted the urge to go and do it herself. Rugs of animal fur covered parts of the floor and the walls were decorated with more tapestries. To her right were a large wardrobe and a vanity table complete with a highly shined circle of metal.
“This,” said Lily, “is your bedroom.” Clara looked at her in disbelief. She pointed at her chest. Lily nodded. “Aye, yours. Now, go sit in front of the vanity while I do something with your hair.”
Clara did as she was told. She sometimes caught her reflection in water but this was different. Staring at her, with green eyes wide with wonder, was a young woman. All the baby fat had melted away to reveal an almost too strong jaw with a sharp chin. Her flat cheekbones framed a slender nose under which hung small, pink lips. Arched eyebrows, a little too thick and full, flared over upward tilted, almond-shaped eyes. She had a high forehead. Her hair was a dark brown, and now wildly curling.
Lily picked up a brush and began brushing her hair–again. How often would she have to do that? When it was sort of manageable, she began braiding it in a simple plait then wound part of it at the top of her head like a crown, letting the remainder of the plait fall to just below her shoulder blades. The style accentuated the sharpness of her jaw; Clara wasn't sure she liked it (it had looked better loose, she thought).
“There,” said Lily. “This is appropriate for an unmarried maiden. Though, you're more than old enough to be married off, I think?”
Marriage? Clara looked at herself intently. Marriage and romance had never crossed her mind. For some reason, she thought of the boy with grey eyes, whose fate she had never learned. She felt, again, the prickle, but nothing came. That seemed ominous in itself.
Her eyes went to Lily, whose hair was also braided, but more elaborately, with ribbons.
“Now, I'm sure her ladyship wants to see you.”
They left the room (the servant already gone) and went back across the hall. Her ladyship sat in her couch, her maids arrayed around her. They were chatting gaily as they each embroidered cloth belts.
For the first time, she paid close attention to clothing. Lady Dwervin's dress was of finer materials, as well as darker, bolder colors. The maids were dressed as her only in lighter colors. Her ladyship's hair was the most elaborate. Clara's the plainest.
The trio looked up at their entrance, each of them gasping as Lily gestured at Clara dramatically. Lady Dwervin stood and regarded her with wide eyes.
“She's beautiful,” whispered Celestina.
Emerald smiled cynically. “For a slave, you mean.”
“That status,” Lady Dwervin said sharply, “may change soon enough.” Some of Emerald's smile wilted. Clara decided she would have to watch out for her. Her ladyship turned back to her. “Come, Mouse. I think my lord will want to be properly introduced to his savior. Girls.”
The three lined up behind her. Clara went to do the same but Lady Dwervin caught her arm and pulled her up beside her. She nodded at the guards, one of whom opened the door. They all swept out, the guards trailing behind.
They walked down to the lord's priv
ate audience chamber. A little larger than the kitchens, it was decorated with tapestries depicting war scenes and farming. The lord sat in an elaborately carved chair, looking very bored. Around him stood his steward, the Shire-reeve, guards, and a servant by the lord's elbow holding a carafe of wine. Over Dwervin's head hung his coat of arms.
A farmer (standing a respectable distance away), with a knit cap balled up in his hands, was going on and on about how the rains and cold had ruined the crops. The man seemed distraught, but the lord looked like he was still thinking about his midday meal.
Finally, Lord Dwervin made an imperious gesture with his hand. The farmer fell silent. “Steward Sordin,” he said.
A man in a fine tunic and trousers came forward and knelt. “My lord?”
“Are you aware of this?”
“Aye, my lord. We have enough from our good harvests to feed us through the winter.”
“But last year's harvest was just as bad!” interrupted the farmer.
Lord Dwervin looked at him disdainfully. “Are you doubting my word?”
The farmer shrunk in on himself a little. “No, your lordship.”
“Then, Farmer Earlton, you can go with assurance that your lord is doing all he can.”
The farmer bowed and paced backwards a couple of feet before turning and scurrying out. Clara felt deeply sorry for him.
The steward stood and retired to his former post in the corner to the lord's right. Her ladyship came forward before anyone else had the chance to be admitted. Lord Dwervin stood and there was a great show of kissing her hands. For some reason, Clara didn't believe that for one moment.
“My lord,” she said, “may I properly introduce you to the slave who saved you.” She gestured for Clara to approach. She did, curtsying deeply and keeping her eyes to the floor. “We are calling her Mouse, for the moment.”
“Mouse, I am honored to meet you.” Then, to her great surprise, he took up her hand and kissed it.
“It is my sincere hope, my lord, that you will show your gratitude to her.”
Clara Page 4