As well appointed as it was, the room was still claustrophobic. There were no windows and the walls still had dark, rough-hewn rock in plain sight. Light came from candles set in wall sconces with silver reflectors behind the flames. Catherine made a mental note of how the flames threw off twice the light they normally would. We should fashion sconces like that for Lackanay. Cool air passed through two holes up high on the walls on either side of the room. It smelled a bit metallic, not like the fresh air outside, not like anything alive. Catherine shuddered.
She started to fasten a row of tiny buttons that ran straight up the front of the dress. It took an annoyingly long time to fasten them all. The bodice was snugger than she liked, and much lower cut than she had ever worn before. The dress had sheer, slim sleeves to the elbow, where they suddenly billowed out, ending in long, fitted cuffs at the wrist. The shoes were too small. At least they match the dress.
She combed her hair and wondered how long it would take for it to grow back. Her mother and father would probably be horrified at the way it looked. She wondered what Cyril thought of it. She frowned and wished there were a mirror in the room. Bessie can tell me how I look. If only she knew where they had taken Bessie. Her unease increased.
She attempted to hide the dagger up her sleeve, but the blade was too sharp and the cuffs were too tight. Inspired, she ripped her towel into strips, wrapped the blade, and then tied it to the outside of her leg, just below her knee. It was well hidden underneath the long skirt. There, that should do it.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Catherine shrieked in surprise and spun around, finding herself face to face with Mekrita. The young woman regarded her calmly, her eyes dropping briefly to the ripped towel, before returning to some point in the distance. If she thought anything of it, her expression revealed nothing but bland acceptance. How long has she been behind me? Mekrita gestured for Catherine to follow her. Heart pounding, Catherine smoothed her skirt and stepped into the hallway.
The woman was wearing the same type of tight-fitting bodice and full-length skirt as Catherine, only hers was the scarlet color of a Swiggins apple, without the yellow streaks. Catherine tried sniffing at her from behind to see if she had any taint of evil, but either the woman was moving too fast or she was not evil. Maybe I have to concentrate harder.
Mekrita stopped and opened another door. Bessie jumped from her chair and smiled radiantly.
“My, but you look beautiful, Catherine!”
“It’s a bit tight, but I can still breathe,” said Catherine. She was relieved to see her friend looking so well. They had given Bessie a green dress with matching shoes. “You look beautiful too, Bessie.”
“Me chest is feelin’ a draft. Never worn anythin’ quite so...” Bessie looked down at her bodice.
“Revealing?”
“Yes. ‘This a bit low-cut, isn’t it?” said Bessie.
“My mother and father would never let me wear a dress like this,” said Catherine. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I guess it would be hard for us to run away into the snow wearing these. I hope we don’t have to.”
Mekrita, who hadn’t seemed to be listening, suddenly smiled and then turned away. When she faced them again the bland expression had returned.
“Your hair looks better without all that oil in it,” noted Bessie.
“Yes, it must have looked dreadful, all greasy like that,” said Catherine.
“Well, you wanted to look like a boy,” teased Bessie. Catherine laughed. Even Mekrita was smiling and this time she didn’t turn away.
Catherine looked at Mekrita and tried to think the words “Let’s go.” Mekrita gestured to them to follow, but as far as Catherine could tell she heard no answer in her head. Maybe it was just a coincidence that she it taking us now. Did she really hear me think, “Let’s go?” She tried asking in her head “How is Pokos?” but Mekrita just kept walking and Catherine was left to her own thoughts. As they made their way down the hallway, more Cinnans filed in from adjacent passages and began walking with them. Catherine focused all of her energy and, without uttering a peep, mentally shouted, “MEKRITA!”
Everyone stopped and turned to look at her. Catherine felt herself blushing. Suddenly Quor was at her side, wearing a disapproving frown. He whispered in her ear, “Very bad manners.”
Bessie heard him and turned to Catherine. “What’s he talkin’ about?”
Catherine murmured, “I’ll tell you sometime. Just be careful about what you think, Bessie.”
The crowd poured into the cavernous dining hall, suffocatingly quiet. Catherine could hear only the rustling of fabric and the soft footfalls on the carpets and floors. In Crystallia a crowd like this would be laughing and talking. She felt as if she were trespassing.
Suddenly she noticed Cyril and Menard and her heart brightened. Cyril had shaven. They must have taken his clothes, too, because he was dressed like Quor and the other men, with dark pants and a high-collared, long-sleeved white shirt that came to mid-thigh. A dark leather belt rested loosely on his hips. What a fine figure he cuts. Menard was tugging at his collar, trying to stretch it out. A button popped off and rolled noisily across the floor. He scowled.
Cyril caught sight of Catherine and stopped. Menard looked over and saw her too. They both stood staring.
“You’ve taken King Cyril by surprise, Catherine. Just look at the way he’s gawkin’ at you!” whispered Bessie in her ear.
“Bessie is right. He was completely thoughtless for several moments, and now his head is bursting with thoughts,” muttered Quor. Several of the people in the room were smiling.
Cyril found his legs and walked over to Catherine. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Catherine,” he mumbled. “You... I mean, you...”
“Look beautiful,” Menard finished for him, blue eyes twinkling. “I taught Cyril everything he knows, but apparently he wasn’t listening. Forgot how to talk to a lady.” Menard bowed graciously to Catherine and, turning to Bessie, offered her his arm. “And missy, you look like a princess again tonight. One can certainly be proud of our Lackanayan girls,” he said, patting her hand gently.
Cyril was still holding Catherine’s hand. She felt light-headed standing next to him. Her fingers tingled, and it seemed as if everyone else in the room had faded away in a fog. His eyes, warm upon hers, drifted lower to take in the rest of her gown, pausing for a moment before returning to admire her face. “Your... your beauty... enchants me, Catherine.” Her mouth dropped open and suddenly she felt a rush of blood heating her face. Cyril’s eyes held hers, his lips parted. His hand tightened around hers. Mind your thoughts, Catherine, she chided herself, trying to keep her wits.
“Please, come with me,” said Quor, breaking the moment. He looked embarrassed. All around them people were smiling and nodding.
Grinning, Cyril gave a flustered Catherine his arm and they followed Quor. Catherine saw the old man and the woman she had noticed earlier. They were staring at her, but then so was everyone else. Where is Spelopokos? She craned her neck, trying to spot him somewhere in the room. As if in answer to her unspoken fear, a young girl tapped her on the arm and nodded toward the door they had just entered. Spelopokos stood there surveying the crowd, his head pulled up, his eyes a sparkling green. The white of his fur was brilliant and his coat looked as if it had grown an inch in all directions.
Spelopokos strutted forward, parting the respectful crowd. He made his way to Catherine, Cyril, Menard, and Bessie.
“I see I have not missed the presentation of the pendant,” said Pokos to Catherine.
“No. We just got here, too,” said Catherine, looking around the room for her necklace. Catherine ran her hand over Pokos’s back, marveling at how soft and fluffy his fur was.
Quor shuffled from foot to foot and glanced frequently at the old man. Finally the old man walked over to them and raised his hand in greeting, his face as rigid as a stale loaf of bread.
“This is Magnus, our governor and high examiner. H
e welcomes you to Cinna Fortress,” said Quor. Magnus nodded, his cold, black eyes surveying them with mild contempt.
Menard leaned over and whispered to Bessie, “Looks like he thought we were bugs in his bed if you ask me.” Quor stiffened and Menard cleared his throat.
“Please be seated. Pokos, your place has been prepared next to Julia, Magnus’s daughter.” The woman next to Magnus smiled and stretched out her hand toward Pokos, sending a waft of peppermint scent in their direction. A large scarlet couch was positioned alongside one of the tables. She’s the same woman from the pool, thought Catherine.
“Thank you, Quor, but my place is with Catherine.” Pokos’s voice reverberated within the silence of the dining hall.
“It would be wise to permit this small grace, Pokos,” murmured Quor. “Catherine and her friends will also join you at the head table.” He turned to Catherine. “I will serve as interpreter. Remember, only Speakers can voice words or understand them. Other Cinnans speak only with their minds. Language is incomprehensible to them.”
Catherine looked at Pokos. Something in his eyes made her feel uneasy. What is he thinking? He nodded and leapt gracefully onto the couch. Julia sat next to him, her father at the head of the table. The room became noisy with the scraping of chairs as the other Cinnans took their places. It seemed to Catherine that Julia’s attitude toward Pokos had become possessive.
Catherine’s dress felt even tighter now that she was sitting. How can I possibly eat? There was no food on the table. She smelled nothing. She glanced over at Pokos. He must be starving.
Quor looked at her. “Pokos has already eaten. One of our sheep was sacrificed to feed him.”
Sacrificed? Strange word to use. Perhaps Quor chose the word by mistake. Quor’s face showed only the familiar blandness.
Bessie was looking around the room, perplexed. There weren’t any plates.
Suddenly servers rushed in with trays of tankards. The bearers approached the head table and, beginning with Magnus and Julia, began to place the tankards on the table. Menard grinned and nodded at Cyril, then and looked into his. His smile vanished like a snuffed candle flame. Catherine looked in her tankard. It was filled with a thick, gray slop. Bessie looked horrified.
Magnus stood, and if possible the room became quieter still. He raised his tankard, surveyed all around, and then resumed his seat. Everyone reached for their tankards and began to gulp down the sludge.
“Try it. It’s good,” Quor urged Bessie.
Bessie raised the tankard and sniffed the contents. She took a small sip, looking as if she were forcing herself to swallow. It seemed to Catherine like it hurt going down, but then Bessie’s expression brightened and she took another sip.
“Tastes like raw leeks and carrots,” whispered Bessie. “A wee bit of salt, a little wine vinegar and a dash of hot pepper.”
“Very good, Bessie.” Quor looked impressed.
Catherine took a sip. It was cold and disgusting, but she was starving. Cyril and Menard forced the sludge down, Menard grimacing with each swallow. All around them the ancients were drinking with great gusto. Catherine watched Julia closely, noting the way the woman focused her attentions on Pokos.
When they were finished, the servants reappeared and removed the tankards. It had taken all of half an hour.
Once again Magnus rose. He glared at Catherine. Quor stood next to him, his face a mask of decorum. Catherine’s heart beat faster. Soon she would have her talisman back.
“Listen carefully to my words, Catherine,” said Quor. “I am thinking different thoughts than my words, so our conversation can be private. Words are only for Speakers. The other Cinnans will hear my voice only as strange sounds. Do not react. Just let my words wash over you and keep calm. Emotions are very easy to read.”
Catherine nodded her head, her mind whirling in circles. Why must he tell me something that the others don’t understand?
“You mean you can say one thing and think another?” asked Bessie.
“Yes. Can’t you do the same?” he snapped at Bessie and turned his gaze back to Catherine.
“Magnus and his daughter, Julia, mean to keep your pendant, Catherine. He wants me to tell you it was stolen,” Quor said.
Catherine’s face grew hot. “They what?”
“Please—keep your emotions under control,” said Quor. A light sheen of perspiration had broken out on his forehead. Catherine glanced quickly at Cyril, who looked ready to strangle Magnus.
Quor regarded Magnus for a few moments and turned then back to Catherine. “He says you may stay as long as necessary. But Catherine, your worthiness of the prophecy disturbs him. He wanted you to choose the left path and perish. He wishes I had never returned your dagger—it gives off a quality of discernment that he hadn’t foreseen. Surviving the fairrier cats was most unexpected. He only agreed to help Spelopokos because he thought a friendship with the cat might be useful. As for the Ancient Onyxes, they have far more power than you realize.”
Catherine felt as if the air in the room had suddenly disappeared. Her head was spinning. She saw the warning in Quor’s eyes and tried to calm herself.
“I see.” Catherine smiled at Magnus. She rose and curtseyed deeply to him and Julia. “Tell Magnus we are grateful to him for allowing us refuge from the storm.”
“Where is the necklace now?” demanded Cyril.
“No one can read his thoughts on this matter. We don’t know,” said Quor.
“Why do you help us, Quor?” Catherine asked as she nodded to Julia, who looked on with unblinking attention. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her.
Quor’s expression darkened. He took a moment before he answered.
“We Speakers honor the prophecy. If we do not find your amulet, there will be a terrible loss of life in Lackanay.”
Catherine tried to squelch the panic that threatened to flood her thinking.
“Once the blizzard has stopped, Mekrita will bring you and Bessie to the pool for a cleansing ritual. You have nothing to fear from Mekrita. She is my cousin—and she has secretly learned how to speak. She will relay information to you.”
Catherine resisted the temptation to turn and stare at Mekrita. Instead she smiled at Julia and Magnus. Julia’s haughty expression infuriated her and before she could rein in her anger, Julia gave her a gloating smirk. Magnus played with the ring on his hand and didn’t look at her at all. Finally, he rose.
The whole crowd got to their feet and filed out of the dining hall. Quor gestured for Cyril and Menard to follow him, and Mekrita appeared at Catherine’s side, her eyes downcast and face expressionless. Bessie surveyed the dining hall, raised her eyebrows, and sighed in disappointment.
I know just how she feels.
The next morning, while the blizzard still shrieked its displeasure outside the fortress, Menard, Catherine, Bessie, and Cyril met in an alcove of the Overlook Room, where they had first been reunited with Spelopokos. Before they could say much about the outrage of Magnus stealing the pendant, Pokos and Julia entered the room. The cat gave Julia a long look and left her to join them, stretching out on a thick Cinnan carpet and immediately falling asleep. Julia watched for a minute, smiled, and then left. Catherine balked at the cool superiority Julia exuded. Don’t think you’re so special. I know what you and your father have done. Tricksters. Thieves! Catherine unclenched her teeth and forced herself to be calm.
Dull, diffuse light poured into the room as snow buffeted the tall, leaded glass windows. At times the wind sounded like a banshee that would break through and sweep them all away, and at other times they could hear tiny ice crystals hitting the glass. The opaque white curtain of snow constantly blocked the view of outside.
Catherine and her friends were not alone—Cinnans made use of the rest of the huge room. Women worked at spinning, embroidery, and rug making, and the men carved wooden figures of animals or sewed seams of what appeared to be the same sort of white outer garments Catherine had seen them wearing outside t
he Cinnan fortress. Small groups of Cinnans played some sort of mind-blocking game with painted wooden tiles. Unlike Crystallia, there were no books, no plays or poems, nor even a fire to gaze upon. The only relief from the silence was the laughter of the children who had games of their own and ran freely through the rooms and hallways.
“At least we can talk. They can’t understand our words, whether they are spoken aloud or in our heads, unless they are Speakers,” said Catherine. “But Quor said that emotions are easily perceived.”
“I’ve a mind to be careful with our words, too. We don’t know them well enough to recognize who the Speakers are, and besides that, there could be spies,” said Menard.
Cyril jumped to his feet and began to pace. He glared fiercely at any Cinnan who had the temerity to approach the alcove, but it didn’t always work. A man they had seen sitting with Magnus at the dinner table from the night before hovered nearby, discreetly turning his back and pretending to look out on the storm.
“What say you, Menard? Pink horses love to eat beets and black horses love to eat coal?” asked Cyril, scowling. Menard’s jaw dropped and he looked thoroughly confused until Cyril nodded in the direction of the Cinnan. Bessie giggled.
“Blue sky means rain and tomorrow I’ll polish my nose,” said Menard, catching on quickly.
The Cinnan leaned closer.
“I should like some broken glass for lunch, wouldn’t you, Catherine?” asked Bessie.
“Apple peels and pebbles would be better,” said Catherine.
“Careful lasses, or you’ll really give them some ideas,” whispered Menard. Cyril laughed and Catherine marveled at his straight, white teeth. For a fleeting instant, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. His hazel eyes sparkled with golden flecks. Suddenly she realized that she had stopped breathing and drew in a gulp of air. This foolish attraction cannot be happening. I must remember Lackanay and why I am here. Get a hold of yourself, Catherine.
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