The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  “Did you have a good time?” It wasn’t really a question.

  “Yes, of course. I’m a young woman now. Not a child. Oh, Serra, the ceremony was beautiful. I didn’t understand most of what was said, but the music was wonderful. Who knew that the choir in our temple could sound so beautiful? I said all my lines flawlessly.”

  “Vowing to be a good little woman, saving your virginity for your wedding night and such?”

  Eva flushed an even darker shade of red. “If you’re going to make jokes, I shall just continue down to the party. I had thought that you would want to know what my Maiden’s Day ceremony was like, as you’ll be having yours in little more than a month.”

  Serra sighed, pulled her brown braid over her shoulder and plucked at the end of it. “I’m sorry, Eva, I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I can’t help thinking that the pressures put on a girl to remain pure are so much more severe than a young man.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder and began to pace. “When I’m Silas I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been approached by a-a woman of loose morals,” she said delicately. “I can’t possibly look like a lad older than thirteen, and yet it is acceptable for Silas to-”

  “Please,” Eva cut her off, holding out a hand as if to stop the flow of words from Serra’s mouth. “Don’t continue.”

  “I’m sorry… again.” Serra folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head. She kept her gaze on the carpet as she executed the perfect curtsey. “How can I help you, my lady? Does your hair need assistance? Your gown? What would you have me do?”

  Eva sighed and plopped down on a chair. “It is positively scary how well you play the demure servant.”

  “Would you rather I play a court lady?” Serra’s gaze met Eva’s as her back straightened and her nose raised a fraction. “A lady looks down to no one, Evalyne, darling. A lady must always keep her head high. When she walks,” Serra began to move around the room. “A lady must look as though she is gliding on air as effortlessly as a butterfly on a gentle breeze.”

  Serra knew the impression she gave was one that so closely resembled Eva’s mother, there could be no mistaking it.

  Eva was laughing. “You do her so very well. If I didn’t need you so desperately, I would tell you to join a group of mummers. You would be a credit to any acting troupe.”

  Serra sniffed in a disapproving way, though she was glad that Eva had apparently forgiven her. “Yes, well. I hear that actors are much too rough and rowdy for a lady like me to be associated with.”

  A brief knock sounded on the door. Serra hurried across the room and began to fiddle with the Maiden’s Flowers in Eva’s hair. Lady Hadrienne slipped through the door without waiting for an invitation.

  “Evalyne, darling, the guests are waiting for you to make your grand entrance. What is keeping you?”

  Eva smiled. “I merely want to look my best for the guests, Mother. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Lady Hadrienne crossed the room and stood next to her daughter, resting a hand on Eva‘s cheek. “You look beautiful, darling. Every eligible man here will ask for your hand in marriage. I have no doubt in my mind.” Lady Hadrienne caught Serra’s gaze. Without words she told Serra to stop her primping and step away from her daughter. Serra did as she was bid, dropping her hands and moving a few paces off, but stayed close enough to hear what was said.

  “In fact, I have some news. Your father received an offer of marriage right after the ceremony.”

  Eva’s eyes grew wide. “From who? Is it someone I know?”

  Lady Hadrienne shook her head. “I myself have only met his father and that was years ago. He is the Grand Lord of Thorndike. Lord Arseno.”

  At Eva’s blank stare, Lady Hadrienne hurried to explain. “He was the young lord who arrived at the ceremony late.”

  Eva’s face cleared. “The handsome one with the light hair?”

  Lady Hadrienne nodded. “He apologized for being late. It appears as though he was kept waiting for his luggage for nearly an hour.”

  Serra worked to keep her face even. So, the rude noble had a name. Lord Arseno. He should just shorten it to Lord Arse and save everyone the trouble of discovering his true nature. Serra made a mental note to warn Eva away from him.

  Lady Hadrienne gently clapped her hands together. “Now, come along, darling. We must continue with your celebration.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Eva stood and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. “Come, Serra, I have need of you.”

  Serra bit her lip to keep from saying something she would regret. At times, Eva was too good at playing a lady and it was hard to tell who she really was. Serra started forward, but Lady Hadrienne shook her head. “You cannot have a servant following you around at a ball.”

  “Mother, Serra is much more than a servant, you know that. Or at least you should, I’ve told you enough times.”

  Serra had no wish to be a source of tension between mother and daughter, but it appeared to be her lot in life. The two of them had spent countless hours arguing over her… it seemed that today would be no different.

  But Lady Hadrienne surprised Serra and Eva, too. She sighed. “Very well, if you insist to have her attend, dress her in one of your older gowns and say she is some distant cousin. Do not under any circumstances tell any of our guests who she is. We would be hard pressed to find anyone who would marry you if it gets out that you befriend servants.” She turned to Serra. “You’ve learned enough as Evalyne’s companion not to make a fool of yourself and this family. One mistake, one little misstep and you will no longer have a home here. Is that clear?”

  Serra nodded.

  “Good. I expect both of you downstairs in no less than ten minutes. Make sure Serra is wearing gloves.”

  Chapter 2

  SERRA

  Eight minutes later, Eva had twisted Serra’s hair into quite a pretty up-do and Serra was dressed in the gown that cost more than she would most likely ever earn as a maid in the Grand Lord’s house. Serra had opted to not wear any cosmetics, as she had no wish to feel like a mummer in a play.

  But that was what she was, a mummer in Eva’s play. As she placed a gloved hand on the banister to descend the stairs Serra’s mouth quirked in a slight smile. Although, she was sure to receive curious looks for wearing gloves when it was all the rage to reveal one’s Mark, Lady Hadrienne had been right to demand the accessory. It would cause even more of a stir if it was revealed that Serra didn’t have one.

  Serra paused on the stairs and surveyed the crowd of party guests below them. The ladies all looked lovely with their bright colored dresses. Some had chosen to wear daring gowns with sleeves only as wide as their shoulders, while the more modest ones kept their sleeves cut at the elbow or upper arm. The gentlemen wore dress suits with fine linen long sleeved shirts underneath, although some of them had decided to have their shirts and jackets cut at mid arm, putting their Caste Mark on glorious display.

  Eva took her hand and pulled her down the stairs, a look of anticipation on her face.

  As they made their way around the great hall, Serra did her best to play her part. She nodded politely when Eva introduced her as her cousin Serrafina from Linton and watched while Eva flirted with the young gentlemen daring enough to approach her under the watchful eye of Lady Hadrienne.

  The Grand Lord had apparently been warned of the temporary change in Serra’s status, as he clasped her hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek when he came to greet his daughter.

  Being polite, remembering etiquette and trying her damnedest to look pleasant was tiring to say the least. By the time that dinner was announced Serra felt as though her cheeks were about to break, she’d smiled so often. She wished desperately that she could excuse herself from dining with the rest of the guests and make her way to the servant’s quarters where those who were not on duty were undoubtedly having a celebration of their own, but Eva was constantly glancing in her direction checking to be sure that Serra was enjoying hers
elf.

  After dinner, the dancing began. They made their way to the large ballroom, draped in flowy white fabric and lit with a thousand candles. To one side of the room, three sets of open doors led out to the gardens, letting crisp fall air to cool the dancers. The musicians tuned their instruments in the balcony.

  As soon as the music started, Eva was whisked away. Serra sighed and positioned herself near an open window. She had no intention of dancing and Eva was occupied with all the handsome young men vying for her attention.

  “You look very familiar to me. Have we met?” Serra stiffened, recognizing the voice.

  Pausing a moment to compose herself, Serra pasted her polite smile on her face and turned to face the speaker. She looked up into the eyes of Lord Arseno. His hair looked just as hard as it had earlier in the day. “I do not believe so, my lord.”

  “I could have sworn we have met somewhere before, but no matter. I am Lord Arseno Valen, Grand Lord-”

  “Of Thorndike.” Serra finished with him.

  His pale eyebrows rose in surprise, then pleasure crossed his handsome features. “My reputation precedes me, I see.”

  Serra smiled, trying hard not to gag. “Yes, but only slightly. My… aunt spoke to my cousin about you before dinner.”

  He nodded as if he had finally figured her out. “Ah, you are related to the lovely Lady Evalyne. Then you must be her cousin, Lady Serrafina of Linton.” Serra nodded and turned to survey the dancers. With any luck, he would continue on to find someone more important to talk to. Luck was not with her.

  “If you were present when Lady Hadrienne spoke to Lady Evalyne then you must know how she took the news of my proposal.”

  Serra wanted to tell him that Eva had shrieked and forbade her mother to ever speak his name again, but instead she thought back. Not taking her eyes from the dancers she said. “I did. She was neither excited nor appalled. She simply took the news as any lady should when marriage has been proposed by someone she has never met.”

  He nodded, a pleased expression dancing on his face. Apparently, resigned etiquette was a desired trait in any prospective wife of his.

  “Can you tell me what I might do to further my wooing of the lady?”

  Serra opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. Serra knew exactly what she wanted from a romance, but Eva had never truly spoken of it. The few times they had broached the subject of lovers Eva’s face had gone red from embarrassment and said that she would marry whoever her parents chose for her.

  She was saved from answering when a young man approached. A smile did not curve his full lips nor did a glint of welcome sparkle in his silver eyes. He stopped in front of them and bowed deeply. His black hair was cut close to his head on the sides and left longer on top and a scar bisected his left eyebrow and descended down to curve over his cheek. Serra marveled that he had not lost his eye when he’d gotten that scar.

  Her gaze skimmed over his body, and what a very fine body he had, to his hands, eager to see this man’s Mark. She was disappointed to find that the stranger wore long sleeves and gloves.

  He straightened and held out his hand. “I wonder if you would grant me the pleasure of a dance.”

  Serra looked over at Lord Arseno as if to say, ‘I can’t be rude’ and slipped her hand into the stranger’s. He led her to the dance floor.

  They were silent for a moment as the dancers positioned themselves for the steps. When the music started he said, “Forgive my interruption. You looked as though you needed rescuing.”

  Serra’s mouth quirked in a half smile. “Yes, I was rather…”

  “Trapped?” he suggested.

  Serra laughed as the dance took them away from each other. She spun in the arms of another gentleman, and then sashayed back to her partner. His grip was warm through their gloves. His silver eyes regarded her a moment.

  “You don’t strike me as the lady type.”

  Serra tried her best not to tense, but her grip tightened on his fingers just the tiniest bit. “Ah,” he said nodding his head once. “You aren’t the lady type.”

  The dance separated them yet again. Serra spun in the arms of a man she’d seen Eva dancing with earlier. Serra didn’t sashay back to her partner, she more did a shuffle. She couldn’t leave without being too rude, but if he told anyone about his suspicions, she would be out on the street and she would most likely never see Eva again.

  She joined hands with him. He pulled her closer to him, so close that it was almost improper. “Don’t worry,” he whispered in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.” He guided her body away from his until there was the proper amount of space between them. “You play lady very well. Have you had any training?”

  Serra bit her lip. She no longer wanted to dance with this man. She no longer wanted to converse with him. She wished desperately the song would end. He continued to wait patiently, his silver eyes disconcerting.

  Finally, Serra said, “Training? If you call growing up in this house and attending all of the same classes as Lady Evalyne training, then, yes, I’ve had training.”

  “Here?” the eyebrow with the scar arched. “I thought you were Lady Serrafina from Linton.”

  “Not from Linton, from here. The Grand Lord likes to introduce people based on where their parents are from. My parents died when I was just a baby. The Grand Lord and his wife, my aunt and uncle, were kind enough to take me in and provide me with an education befitting a lady in my position.”

  His eyes never left her face. “So, you are Lady born, but you don’t really feel like a lady, do you?”

  Serra opened her mouth to answer, but the song ended in that moment. She had never been happier to leave a dance floor. They bowed to each other. He offered his arm and led her to the side of the floor where Eva was waiting, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watched them approach. Serra’s dance partner deposited her next to her “cousin” and bowed gracefully, before simply turning and walking away.

  Eva turned grabbed Serra’s hands and squealed. “Who was that young man? He is so handsome and very dashing! Did you see that scar? I wonder how he received it. It is clear that he is enamored of you. Even while he was dancing with the other ladies he didn’t take his eyes off you, not for an instant.”

  Serra did not share Eva’s enthusiasm. “Eva, quiet down.” Serra’s voice held such a tone of command that Eva immediately stopped bouncing and craning her neck to follow the gentleman’s path through the hall. Her blue gaze locked with Serra’s. Serra moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, then said softly, “he knew. He knew I wasn’t a lady. He asked me about it.”

  Eva’s face fell. “How could he possibly know? You play lady better than I do.”

  “I don’t know. But I can’t risk losing my position here. I’m going to my room. Send Nessa for me if you need me to help you dress for bed.”

  Eva nodded her grip tightened on Serra’s fingers. “You are my best friend in the whole world. You have been a good and solid companion for my entire life and I love you like a sister. Never forget that.”

  Serra nodded, blinking back sudden tears. Eva hugged her one last time and then urged her out of the room.

  After leaving the great hall, Serra made her way up to her rooms in the attic where she carefully took off the dark blue dress and silver slippers and laid them gently on the bed. In her shift, she stood by the window. The view from it wasn’t particularly exciting, it only overlooked the courtyard below and the entrance to the stables, but Serra liked it. She could see who was coming and going from the house. And beyond the long driveway and high wall she could see the glittering lighted windows of The Glen of Malvern.

  A movement in the courtyard below caught Serra’s gaze. She tried to make her eyes focus through the shadows, but couldn’t see more than a blurry figure moving through the open space to the stables.

  Quickly, Serra pulled on a pair of her trousers and the rest of her stable lad garb. She hadn’t taken her hair down from the style that Eva
had put it in, so she simply pulled a cap on over the up do.

  Serra knew something wasn’t right before she even made it into the stables. The horses were far too quiet. They should have been snuffing and huffing in horse talk, especially with the sounds of merriment drifting over the Great House grounds to keep them awake. She slipped through the doors, only opening them a crack, letting in only the smallest amount of moonlight. Darkness engulfed her as the door slid shut. Her fingers closed around the smooth wood handle of one of the pitchforks that Bull kept hanging on the wall by the door.

  Keeping her back to the row of stalls on the right side of the stable, Serra moved swiftly down the row. She paused halfway down and listened intently. There! A creak came from the hayloft above her. On silent feet, she moved to the one of the ladders that led to the second floor.

  Gripping the pitchfork in one hand, she placed her hand on a rung.

  Strong arms grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. Hands pulled the pitchfork from her fingers. Serra opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, making her voice catch in her throat. Frantic, she braced her feet on the ladder, bent her legs and pushed back hard. The man holding her stumbled, crashing into a stall door. He swore.

  Serra took advantage of his temporary unsteadiness to thrust her head back, like Bull had taught her. She felt her skull connect with the soft cartilage in his nose, she hadn’t broken it, but she did make his arms loosen. She slipped away from him, and crouched on the floor, next to the door of a stall.

  She didn’t hear the man sneak up behind her, but she felt the kiss of cold steel on her neck. “Stand.” His voice was silky soft. She rose to her feet slowly holding her hands wide of her body. “Good girl.”

  She grit her teeth, biting back a harsh reply. Light flickered to life, making Serra flinch.

  Two men stood in front of her. The third still held the knife at her throat and stood behind her out of Serra’s view. The two she could see looked as though they were Royal soldiers rather than common thieves.