“I mean, of course she isn’t, but I’m just saying, it’s not like she’s slept with all kinds of men. She’s eighteen and she can read and write and sew, and play chatrang, and anyway, she’s just like us.” Preya flung off her cloak as she spoke and cast about for the row of hooks where other coats and capes already hung.
“But…she’s not,” said the snappy-eyed girl. “She’s a Fanarlem. She’s supposed to be a servant.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Grau said. “She’s not my wife, of course not, just the companion of my travels.” He took Velsa’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
He didn’t join one of the squares—in fact, he didn’t dance at all, but whisked her off to the other side of the room and poured himself a drink.
“Stars in the sky,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Velsa. I knew this was a bad idea. They’re not close friends.”
“It’s how everyone sees me,” she said.
“I know,” he said, almost snappish.
“I mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I’m used to it, I guess.”
“You’re not,” he said. “I know you’re not. I just feel helpless. I can’t make you real…”
Velsa flashed back to Amleisa, all those months ago, saying that concubines had to embrace their fate, and not fight. She might have meant this, as much as anything. Maybe it would be easier if Velsa could just accept that no one would see her as a real person as soon as she stepped into public.
Grau put down his wine glass, now empty, and took her hand. He led her to join the dance. She tried to distance her mind from all the people around them, to see only him—even though worry lines creased his brow.
They clapped their hands together, and crossed paths, meeting back to back, before clapping again. The dance was slow enough that it was easy to follow, even if you didn’t know the steps. They fell in with another couple, joining hands. The other man hesitated before he took Velsa’s hand. The other girl looked at her curiously.
Velsa had told Grau she was good at controlling her emotions. Was it a skill so easily forgotten in a couple weeks of kindness? She smoothed her expression and reminded herself how she was fortunate to be here at all. It was likely that no other Fanarlem girl had ever walked in the front door of this hall except to clean the floors.
They shared two dances, and then some of Grau’s friends returned, with brief apologies that perhaps they’d been a little crude. Now the men talked of business and Grau related the story of the Marnow farm.
While Grau’s attention was caught elsewhere, one of the girls sidled up to Velsa and hissed, “You’re no wife.”
Velsa smothered an impulse to yank the girl’s braids. She couldn’t entirely suppress the venom in her eyes. She was so tired of being spoken to like this, but she had to endure it, over and over and over, as long as she lived.
Preya hurried over, pulling Velsa away.
“Maybe you should spend some time apart from Grau,” she said. “Flirt with some other men if you can possibly stand it.”
“What’s going on?” Velsa shrank back.
“My big mouth,” Preya said. “You know that girl Ellie? She met us at the door? In the blue dress?”
Velsa realized Preya meant the snappy-eyed girl. “Yes.”
“She’s been whispering around the room, that Grau treats you like a wife. And the thing is, she had a crush on Grau a few years back. He was barely even aware. I thought she was over it, but now I’m not so sure. I think she’s jealous.”
“I don’t want to flirt with other men!”
“Fates, I don’t want you to either. Maybe we should just leave. No, that’s more suspicious. We’ll just have to stick it out and try our best to diffuse the rumor.”
Now Preya drifted to the bar, but she chose the punch with lemon slices floating in it rather than the wine. She took a swig and offered the cup to Velsa. “Have a taste.”
Velsa sipped the sweet liquid, which certainly was delicious, tasting mainly of fruit and only vaguely of spirits. If only she could enjoy the relaxing effect.
They were joined by the girl who had first greeted Preya. “My goodness,” she said. “She can drink.”
“Grau got her a spell,” Preya said. She seemed edgy. “Velsa, this is my friend Senirin.”
Senirin nodded to Velsa politely before turning to Preya. “I hope you’re not avoiding me.”
“Of course not. I was trying to stop Ellie from spreading nonsense about my brother.”
“Oh, that.” Senirin waved a hand. “It was nothing. She just can’t quite get over him.”
“I understand…” Preya spoke into her cup.
“I suppose you heard that I’m going to Atlantis early,” Senirin said. “My grandmother invited me and my parents figure it’s better to introduce me into society sooner rather than later.”
“I heard,” Preya said.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you there.” Senirin smiled, in a half-hearted way.
“It’s a ways off.”
“A dance for old time’s sake?”
Preya put down her cup as if defeated. She tilted her head toward Velsa. “Seems like Grau’s winding down his conversation. Do you mind?”
“No, no,” Velsa said.
Preya and Senirin joined hands and walked to the dance floor, without hardly looking at one another. But Velsa saw familiarity as much as shyness—that they knew one another’s movements, and didn’t need to check what the other was doing.
“Preya’s first love,” Grau said, stepping away from the one friend he was still conversing with. “But I’m glad Senirin is leaving. She’s just a tease who breaks my sister’s heart over and over.”
“Preya said there’s a girl here who likes you.”
He squinted. “Ellie? I don’t think she’s serious.”
“Did you ever court her?”
“Oh, no. I’ve danced with her here and there. I’ve never courted anyone. I don’t share many interests with these women.”
“If sharing interests was your priority, you certainly didn’t know you’d get that with me.”
“That’s true, but I also knew you wouldn’t get in the way. Any girl I might marry from Marjon would urge me to settle for my lot as the third son and a fish salesman. Sorcery isn’t what people out here do.”
Velsa watched Preya, who was beaming as she danced—but Senirin kept a distance. They didn’t hold each other as the men and women did.
And around the room, glances turned frequently toward Grau. Velsa felt as if they were all talking about her.
Grau noticed them too. He still had that troubled crease in his brow.
“I should have followed my instincts and kept you home,” he said. “It must seem like I’m flaunting the family wealth.”
Preya rejoined them, but now her usual stride had deflated to a drag.
“Are you all right?” Grau asked.
She looked at him, her eyes shining wetly. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s for the best,” he said. “She was using you. You bought her all those presents and what did she ever do for you?”
“You’re not making me feel any better. What do you really know about relationships, Grau? Velsa has no choice but to be with you.”
“I’m trying to comfort you, Preya! You think my relationship has been simple? More like a tragedy that I can’t unsee.”
Velsa stiffened, and he took her hand in a reassuring grasp as he continued, “Now that I know that Fanarlem think and feel just as potently as we do, the whole world seems like an evil place, and I have no power to do anything about it. I can’t free her. She has nowhere to go. I can’t free the servants we have at home. Where would they go? And I can’t go around telling everyone the truth. Most of them won’t even believe me.”
Preya’s lashes shaded her eyes. “Oh, Grau,” she said. “I’m supposed to be the pessimist between us.”
None of them cared to dance, after that, but Grau insisted they stick it out a little l
onger so they didn’t seem to be running off in shame.
Velsa wilted with relief when they finally made it back to the canoe. Grau and Preya both seemed a little drunk—they had made liberal use of the bar, to Velsa’s dismay, since she wasn’t strong enough to paddle the canoe all the way home by herself.
“You’d better not tip us over,” Velsa said, when Preya stumbled to her seat.
“I’m okay. I just dunno the way home.”
“I could navigate…these waters…in my sleep,” Grau said.
“But you’re not asleep. You’re drunk,” Velsa said. “So I hope you know what you’re doing. It’s cold out here, and remember, if I get wet, my stuffing will warp out of place.”
Grau pulled himself together a little. “I’ll get you home safe and sound, bellora. I promise.”
Indeed, he had no trouble finding his way through the moonlit waters. Despite the damp cold, the marsh under a starry sky was one of the most beautiful things Velsa had ever seen. It was so very lonely, and she wanted nothing more than to be lost in a sea of shining, living grass, far away from the world, with the only two people she truly cared for. The dance seemed very small and inconsequential under the bowl of stars.
Chapter 8
The next day, Grau’s father came home from his daily business. He entered with furrowed brows, furious eyes, and a deadly quiet settled upon his shoulders like a mist.
“All of you,” he said, “come to the dining room, now.”
“What’s wrong?” Grau’s mother asked.
Grau’s father was looking through the bookshelf, pulling out a stack of the pamphlets; the ones Grau had brought home and many others besides. He flipped through them until he found the one he was seeking, and then he went to the dining room.
They all had worried expressions, but Grau and Preya especially. Cold fear trailed down Velsa’s spine.
“I need to read this to you all,” Grau’s father said. “‘A Treatise on Fanarlem.’”
Grau put his arm around her.
“Grau, I wouldn’t do that right now if I were you,” his father said.
Grau only moved closer to her. “What is this about?” he demanded.
“What is this about? The entire town is talking about you and her. That’s what it’s about. They’re saying you wish to have Velsa as your wife.”
Velsa’s arms tightened, almost involuntarily, around her waist. Grau’s father won’t send me away, she thought. He paid for me. But what could he do? Sell me to someone else? Her mind raced over possibilities.
Preya dropped her head into her hand. “It’s my fault,” she said. “It was an offhand comment. I just didn’t want the girls to see Velsa like she was a whore.”
“Well, then, you were really stupid, Preya,” Grau’s father said. “I understand that Velsa is likable, but it doesn’t matter if you like her. There are people in this town who would harm her and your brother if they thought he saw her as a wife. You can’t take your friendship with Velsa outside of this house ever again.”
In a strange way, Velsa wondered if he was trying to protect her. It didn’t feel like any consolation. She watched the pamphlet waving in his hand.
“I have never regretted anything so deeply as offering Grau the gift of this girl,” he continued. “I expected her to be servile, and she is not. I understand the temptation to welcome her into the family as if she is a whole person, but we all need to heed these words.”
He opened the pamphlet. “‘The race of Fanarlem was created centuries ago. Although the original intent was to create a better way of reviving the dead, the true and fated purpose of Fanarlem were soon revealed.
‘Fanarlem bodies are fate’s way of cleansing the evil in our souls. When Fanarlem are called to be born, the weakest souls are attracted to the call. These are the souls of sinners. These are the souls who have condemned themselves by the misdeeds of their past. But in becoming Fanarlem, they are granted a chance to save themselves with servitude.
‘You may be tempted to feel pity or sorrow, when faced with the sight of the Fanarlem laborer. But remember, they brought this suffering upon themselves, and indeed, they do not suffer as you or I would. They feel no hunger, pain or cold. Their greatest pain is loneliness, but surely this is a fair burden for them to bear.
‘The more a Fanarlem can adopt an attitude of agreeable servitude, the more they will find their work pleasant and their days easy to bear, and the sooner they will purify their souls for the next world. They will be reborn to greater happiness.
‘No, do not pity the Fanarlem—only take them as a warning, to take care in your actions in this life.’”
He turned the page, as if to continue. Grau shoved his chair back and stood. “It isn’t true,” he said.
“You think you know more about how the world works than Lord Jherin?”
“Where is the proof?” Grau demanded. “Where is the proof?”
“Kalan Jherin is the Wodrenarune,” his father said. “And Fanarlem do have damaged souls.”
“And Miralem believe there is a goddess sleeping in the moon. We believe the fates speak to the Wodrenarune—well, I did believe it, but I’m not so sure anymore. Velsa isn’t a condemned soul.”
“There is no way you could possibly know that,” his father said. “She has been given the guise of a pretty young woman, but we have no way of knowing what is in her soul. Sometimes I find the expression in her eyes to be quite rebellious.”
“Stop it.” Grau slammed his hands on the table. “I really don’t care what Kalan Jherin says. I know what my gut says. I know the sinking feeling in my stomach that says I’ve done something wrong. I felt it when I bought her, and I felt it the other night when you told me I needed to bed her.”
“You do need to bed her.”
“Well, I did, all right? So enough.”
Preya’s eyes widened.
Grau shook his head. “And even so, how do we know that souls are really purified by slavery?”
“Whether or not we choose to believe it, everyone in town will believe it. The law believes it. You can’t talk of marriage and love. You can’t bring Velsa to a gathering if she isn’t going to behave with the submission everyone expects of her. You need to show your place versus hers. Have her fetch your drink, hold your drink. Reprimand her if she speaks out of turn.” He stood. “It pains me to punish my children, but for your own good, you must remember this day. Velsa is spending the night in the servant’s hut, and Preya, I will deal with you in a moment.”
“Oh, Garen,” Grau’s mother said with distress, but she didn’t intervene.
“The servant’s hut?” Grau cried. “She doesn’t belong in that dirty hovel.”
“If you are really so concerned about the welfare of Fanarlem, then you can spend the night there with her,” his father said. He stood and grabbed Velsa’s arm. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. I’m not risking our wealth and safety over this.”
He dragged her out of the room. After a few steps she picked up her pace, so he was not tugging on her. It was no use resisting.
Outside, the sky was full of stars and a moon that shone on the grasses. Tonight its solitary beauty was foreboding. He hustled her down a path and she kept tripping in the darkness. He led her to a one-room stone hut, barely in view of the house. From the outside, it was dark, and had no chimney.
He threw the door open. In a dim and drafty room, two Fanarlem sat at a table around a single candle, playing a game of cards. The one Velsa had seen sweeping Grau’s floor was now smoking a cigarette. Just as Velsa could taste before she could eat, she supposed they could also smoke, although she had never seen such a thing. A bed stood on each side. Some gardening tools hung on the wall, and there was another table with a few books and baubles. The walls were painted pale pink with flowers, and that was about the only cheery thing about the place.
“She will stay with you tonight,” Grau’s father said. “Don’t damage her. Her body is expensive.”
&nbs
p; He pushed her in with them and shut the door.
Velsa drew back against the wall. The two Fanarlem didn’t say anything. Now that she could compare the two, she thought the one she had seen before was female. Her face and eyes had a softer, more feminine appearance.
“Sleep on the floor,” the female one said. Her high voice confirmed her gender, but her tone was harsh.
Velsa sat on the ground in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows.
“You’re the youngest son’s whore, aren’t you?” the woman said.
Velsa shook her head, and then moved to the window. Where was Grau? Surely he wouldn’t leave her here for long?
She waited for long moments, watching the moonlit path.
Maybe she could find a place outside to go for the night…but the dew would seep into her skin, and insects might crawl between her stitches… Her stuffing was supposed to be repellent, but she didn’t care to test that.
Even here, she wasn’t sure she was safe from perils. The hut was clean, but it didn’t feel inhabited, and the walls and doors and windows obviously weren’t fitted tight. Maybe no place truly seemed lived in without flesh and blood people inside.
“Aren’t you a whore, though?” the woman pressed after a while. “Do you think you’re too fine to talk to us?”
“N-no,” Velsa said. “Not at all. I would talk to you…I just didn’t think you wanted me to.”
“I’m not a pampered little bitch.”
“We work hard for our redemption,” the man added.
Velsa turned back to the window. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from the other Fanarlem. Empathy? Kinship? Then again, she’d been here for over a week and had never sought them out. She was much happier spending her days as part of a Daramon family. She didn’t want to admit that she was afraid of them, that she found the sight of them repellent—it wasn’t their fault, but it was true. They must sense her aversion. No wonder they hated her.
They kept playing cards as if she wasn’t there at all. She heard them slapping down their moves, occasionally murmuring about their turns, the sound of their lips drawing on the cigarette as they passed it back and forth between them.
The Sorcerer's Concubine (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 1) Page 10