The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  The one that approached and stood in front of Serra was clothed in fine leather armor studded with silver. His white blond hair fell in soft waves over the pale skin of his forehead. It was clear to Serra that this man, if he could even be called that, hadn’t worked at physical labor a day in his life. His features were soft and Serra could tell just by looking that he was a noble.

  The second man stood back, almost out of the ring of light. His features were harder than the first. Dark brown stubble covered a hard jaw. His dark hair was cut close to his head, causing it to spike up. Serra knew this was the chosen hairstyle for high ranking officers in the King’s Army. He was older, somewhere between twenty and twenty-five. A little trickle of blood came from his nostrils.

  Both wore long sleeved shirts and gloves keeping their Marks hidden.

  “Peace,” said the younger of the two. “We mean you no harm.” Contrary to his words the older man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and the knife did not move from her neck. “My name is Rian.” He indicated the man standing behind him. “That is Vaughn and the gentleman with the knife is Reks.”

  “Pleasure,” came the voice from behind her.

  “Reks,” a distinctly feminine voice spoke from the shadows. “You can let her go. She won’t fight anymore.” Serra strained her eyes against the dark trying to see the speaker. Whoever she was, she had a strange accent and she took a slight pause before speaking as though choosing her words very carefully.

  As Reks pulled the knife away from Serra’s throat, a woman stepped into the faint circle of light. She had the face and figure of a woman, but her skin was mint green and her hair flowed from her head in long green strands that looked to Serra like fine spring grass. Her dark brown eyes were wide-set and although she had nostrils and a nub of a nose, the bones that would form the bridge of a human’s nose seemed to have never formed, leaving little definition on her face. When she smiled perfectly shaped white teeth glistened in the pale light. Serra saw that her eyeteeth were dangerously sharp.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  It took Serra a moment to find her voice. “You’re-you’re a wood nymph, a…”

  “A Dryad.” Reks finished for her. “Haven’t seen many of them around here, hmm? And, lucky you, Sylvan isn’t just any dryad, she is their princess.”

  Serra’s eyes flew to the coronet of branches that circled the grass-like hair. Oh, dear gods! Serra, a lowly servant, was having a conversation with the Princess of the Dryads. Or at least she would if she could only force her tongue to form words. As it was, she simply stared.

  Sylvan smiled, revealing her pointy teeth. “We are merely travelers looking for a space to spend the night. The inns are all full. We had thought we wouldn’t disturb anyone here, as it seems most everyone is occupied in celebration. If you wish, we shall find lodging elsewhere.”

  Serra wondered briefly why the Princess of the Dryads would sleep in a stable like a common thief, but thought it better not to ask. She had no wish to have a knife at her throat again.

  “No, you can stay. Of course, you can stay. I-I won’t say a word.”

  Reks moved into the circle of light. Serra’s breath caught in her throat. He was the gentleman she’d danced with, the one who had known she wasn’t a lady. She felt red creep across her cheeks as she looked at him.

  “Ah, Lady Serrafina of Linton, isn’t it?” His mouth quirked in a half smile. He reached out and took her hand before she knew what he was about, examining the unmarked skin. “I knew you weren’t really high born.” She pulled her hand from his, and tucked it behind her, shame setting her face flaming.

  Serra cursed herself, she thought that she’d grown accustomed to the looks and the tut-tuts when people noticed she didn’t have a Caste Mark. Perhaps it was because this time she was exposed before a princess.

  Rian spoke softly. “How is it that you’ve met before?”

  Before Serra could answer, Reks spoke smoothly, his eyes intent on her face. “On reconnaissance. She was walking through the garden and spotted me.”

  Vaughn spoke for the first time. “Not very stealthy of you, was it?”

  Reks shrugged. “I was distracted by her beauty. Can you blame me?”

  The light suddenly went out and Sylvan spoke in an urgent whisper. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Hayloft,” Serra said. She waited for them to scramble up the ladder then grabbed one of the lanterns. She was trying desperately to light it when the door opened again.

  “Hello? Bull?”

  Serra swore quietly. “Nessa?”

  “Serra?” There was a crash as Nessa stumbled into one of the stall doors.

  Serra got the lantern to light and held it up.

  “What are you doing here, Nessa? You should be up at the house; Lady Hadrienne may need you.” She walked toward the open door, tried to usher Nessa out. Dear gods, she smelled like the inside of a tavern. “Have you been drinking?”

  Nessa sniffed, resisting Serra’s gentle pressure. “Well, not all of us servants get to play at being a lady like you, Serra. The rest of us were having a celebration of our own.”

  “So, you got drunk?” Serra took her arm.

  “Stop! Stop trying to get me out of here. I saw a light. It might be Bull. I want to see Bull.” Nessa jerked away from her and walked farther down the line of stalls.

  Serra closed her eyes briefly and asked for patience before saying, “Nessa, the light was me. I came down to check on the horses. Bull isn’t here.”

  Nessa looked confused, swayed slightly. “But he’s the head Hostler. He should be here.”

  “I’m sure he’s back at the party. Gods know I’ve never known Bull to pass up free ale. Let’s go find him.”

  “You’ll help me?”

  Serra took her arm and pulled her out the door, leaving the stables in shadows.

  Serra did not sleep well that night. First because she was waiting for a summons from Eva to help her dress for bed, but long after the sounds of merriment had ceased from below, no summons came. Serra rolled over buried her head in her thin pillow and tried to sleep.

  She woke at the slightest sound and ran to her window, anxious to see if it was their visitors leaving. About an hour before dawn, she hurried to the window to see four figures lead horses from the stables and mount up. They had very little in the way of baggage and Serra knew immediately that it was them. She watched as they rode down the long drive and out the gate into the city.

  Sighing, knowing she wouldn’t sleep anymore that night Serra dressed in her normal servant gown and made her way to the kitchen. Bleary eyed cooks and kitchen boys greeted her as she helped herself to a scone and an apple.

  After eating, Serra arranged to have water heated and brought to Eva’s room. The servants would carry up the buckets of steaming water and fill the tub. The water would sit and cool, only to be emptied half way and more hot water added, until Eva stirred from her sleep enough for Serra to shepherd her into the steaming tub.

  Two years ago, Serra had tried waiting until Eva woke for the day before ordering the bath. Eva had ended up being late for breakfast, which, of course, had reflected badly on Serra. Lady Hadrienne demanded that from that day forward, Serra would order Eva’s baths by seventh, regardless of how late her daughter was up the night before.

  Serra was certain that Eva wouldn’t rise before tenth, which meant that for the next three hours, servants would be tramping up and down the stairs with buckets of water. Serra did not envy them their task.

  The crisp morning air nipped at Serra and she slipped up to Eva’s room to light a fire to keep the cold at bay and pick up the garments that Eva had no doubt simply left around the room while she undressed last night.

  She quietly started a fire in the sitting room first then silently entered the sleeping chamber.

  Though the curtains were open, allowing early morning light to stream through them, the heavy drapes on Eva’s massive four poster bed were closed. Serra sniff
ed and wrinkled her nose. A foul smell hung in the air and she wondered just what her friend had got up to the previous night. She made a mental note to ask the maids to do an extra deep cleaning of Eva’s bedchamber and to have Eva’s Maiden’s Day dress cleaned as well.

  Serra paused. The dress that Eva had been wearing the night before was nowhere in sight. Curious she went into Eva’s dressing room, there was the gown hanging at the front of the wardrobe, her slippers peeked out from under it, as if she had placed them carefully.

  This was so unlike Eva that Serra was sure someone else had helped her undress. She returned to the sleeping chamber and bent to build a fire. Soon, flames were crackling merrily in the hearth, Serra half expected Eva to groan from deep under her covers. But no sound issued forth.

  A feeling of trepidation gripped her. Now that she thought of it, no sound had come from behind the curtains the entire time that she had been in the suite of rooms. Eva was a light sleeper, she would have normally woken up enough to shoo Serra out of the room.

  Serra crept over to the curtain and closed her fingers over the dark purple fabric. She would just peek. Just a quick look to settle her nerves then she would leave. She pulled open the curtain.

  The bed was empty.

  Trying to remain calm Serra looked through the house. Upon finding no sign of Eva, she made her way through the gardens. She’s fine, she kept thinking. She has to be fine. But the news of the kidnappings across Iperia kept returning to her mind. One of the princes had disappeared, wasn’t it possible that Eva could have suffered the same fate? If that were the case there was little hope of finding her.

  Biting her lip and fighting back tears, Serra shook her head as if to shake the thought from her head.

  After an hour, she had found nothing.

  Dreading what had to come next, Serra walked with steady steps to the family wing of the Great House. She paused outside the heavy oak door that led to the Grand Lord’s chambers. Breathing heavy, she lifted her hand and executed three brisk knocks. After ten seconds, there was no answer. She knocked again, and again, and again, until finally the door opened.

  The Grand Lord was a large man and when he was upset it was best to stay out of his way. He tended to get so enraged that he threw things. He never hit or physically attacked anyone, but her certainly yelled a lot.

  “What Serra?” his voice was so loud that it was all Serra could do to not clap her hands over her ears.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, my lord,” she dropped into a quick curtsey, but didn‘t stop talking. Any pause would invite him to begin yelling. “But I went to see to Lady Evalyne this morning only to discover she had not slept in her bed. I searched the house and the grounds within the wall, but I - I can’t find her.”

  Serra heard a gasp from Lady Hadrienne who was out of Serra’s sight. The Grand Lord’s face went white. “I’ll be down in a moment. Get Captain Ailwyn from the guard house.”

  Serra curtseyed again and hurried away. She practically ran into the guard house, where many of the soldiers were just sitting down to breakfast. They gave her curious looks as she gasped out, “Where’s Captain Ailwyn?”

  The Captain stood from her seat in the back of the room. “Here.”

  “The Grand Lord sent me for you.”

  Ailwyn needed no more prompting than that. She followed Serra to the door and then took the lead to the Great House. Serra followed behind her, focusing on her black and silver hair. Captain Ailwyn had been head of security for as long as Serra could remember. She had never once failed the Grand Lord in all her years of service. She would find Eva. She would bring her back.

  By noon the search was well under way. Serra sat in the library, staring out the window without seeing anything. Too much time had passed.

  Captain Ailwyn had listened to what Serra had to say about the events of the morning, then ordered the soldiers into the Glen of Malvern and to talk to the servants and guests.

  They would have found a trace of her by now, especially with the mage that the Grand Lord had brought in. Eva had been taken like all the others had been. Serra did the math in her head, the last count she’d heard, including the Prince, had been fifty-six. Now the number was up to fifty-seven.

  Serra didn’t like waiting. She wanted to be doing something, to be helping in some way, but the Grand Lord and Captain Ailwyn had both patted her hand and told her to stay put. They needed her here in case Eva was found. She would no doubt be traumatized and need the comfort and support of her dearest friend.

  Still, she couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Maybe she should go to the stables and find something to distract her there.

  Serra gasped. The Stables! She had entirely forgotten about the four strangers who had passed the night in the stables. It was too much of a coincidence. They had to know something about what had happened.

  Quickly, Serra went to her room and changed into her stable boy outfit. She made her way to the stables. No one was around, as they were all searching for Eva. She would take one of the horses and go find the Grand Lord or Captain Ailwyn.

  Nodding decisively, Serra made her way down the row of stalls. She stopped outside one of them and peeked inside. Shadowdancer, a small all black mare, stood inside. She whinnied softly when she saw Serra’s head over the stall door.

  It was strange that no one had taken the fleet footed mare. She was the fastest horse that graced the stables of the Grand Lord. Perhaps they had decided it was better to be thorough than fast.

  Serra pulled the mare from the stall and saddled her with sure, quick movements. In five minutes, she was riding through the gates in the wall around the Grand House, into the cobbled streets of the city. Shadowdancer seemed to know where she was going. Serra gave her reign, but urged her to go faster. They passed by stone buildings that contained stores and merchant guilds, temples and smithies. The small mare picked her way through the crowds until they reached the less populated area of the city. Here the buildings were smaller and made of wood. Serra drew on the reins, making the mare draw up short, and looked around. Many of the town’s people regarded her curiously, but she didn’t see anyone from the Great House.

  “Well, Shadowdancer, I don’t see anyone. I need you to find Captain Ailwyn.”

  Shadowdancer shook out her long black mane and whinnied then she started forward, heading for the open country. Serra drew back again. “What are you thinking? That we should go after them?”

  Shadowdancer’s head bobbed once, almost as if the horse was answering her. Serra shook her head at the thought.

  “I guess they can’t be that far ahead of us. They only left seven hours ago.” Even to Serra’s grief addled brain that didn’t sound right. Shadowdancer bobbed her head again. “Alright, let's go.”

  Serra gave Shadowdancer slack on the reins and the horse took off. Serra tightened her knees to keep from falling off, and leaned low over the mare’s straining neck. In minutes, they had left the town far behind. Serra twisted her head to watch the buildings disappear. When she could no longer see them she turned her full attention to the road under Shadowdancer’s pounding hoofs.

  Trees, fields and small farms flew by. After an hour’s hard ride, the mare drew up short, nearly sending Serra sliding off the saddle. “Whoa! Shadowdancer! What’s the problem?”

  The horse gave no sign that she was even aware of the person perched on her back. She stood utterly still, her ears rotating as if trying to pick up any sound that the four travelers might be making. Picking up on something Serra could not hear, Shadowdancer plunged into the underbrush on the left side of the road.

  After a minute or so of trotting, they broke away from the scrubby brush and out into a field. In seconds, Shadowdancer broke into a full gallop, stretching her legs out in front of her. Serra had the impression that they were almost flying, the ride was so smooth.

  Although she’d had the occasion to ride Shadowdancer in the past, Serra had never ridden her in an open field before. Wind whipped over her with fi
ngers that snatched at her cap and hair, pulling the cap from her head and the hair from the tight braid she’d put it in that morning. Moisture squeezed out of Serra’s partially closed eyes and she found it hard to breathe.

  Still, Shadowdancer continued, never slowing her pace. Serra lost track of how long they were riding. But by the time the horse stopped again, the sun was making its descent behind the hills that lined the horizon.

  The mare came to a rest on the top of a hill, looking down on a valley filled with towering trees. Serra looked down, too. Hoping to catch a glimpse of what had made the horse stop so suddenly. She dismounted on legs that screamed their protest. Wincing Serra stretched cautiously, bringing blood rushing back to limbs that had been neglected for too long.

  Shadowdancer did not even seem to be winded by the long journey. She bent her head and nibbled at the grass on the top of the hill in an unconcerned way. After a moment, she raised her large head again and stared intently down into the valley. Serra placed a hand on the horse’s neck and looked down too.

  Serra’s eyes strained in the fading dark to see what held Shadowdancer’s attention so completely.

  There! A sparkle of light in the trees. It wasn’t firelight, but rather something else, a kind of pure white light. Serra was nearly knocked over when Shadowdancer nudged her backwards with her black head. Apparently, the horse wanted to continue.

  Serra pulled herself into the saddle, biting her lip in pain as her muscles screamed their protest. Almost as soon as she had settled, Shadowdancer was off again, plunging down the hill at breakneck speed. Serra kept from screaming in sheer fright, but only just.

  They reached the bottom of the hill and Shadowdancer streaked toward the white light that was steadily growing brighter.

  Something hit Serra’s chest knocking her backward out of her saddle. Bright light flared for a moment and then Serra’s world went dark.

  Chapter 3

  DORAN

  Four weeks earlier

  As the fifth of six princes, Prince Doran Cassius had little hope of ever becoming king. In truth, it was a relief. He had very little interested in the post. He saw the way his father and oldest brother, Edwin, worked. How frantic they became if there was a slight deviation from their plan for the country.