The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  “Gods be willing,” a voice came from the door. Sylvan leapt to her feet and was at the door cradled in the arms of her mother, before Serra could blink.

  After a time, the green skinned woman pulled back from Sylvan and regarded her. “Look at you. You resemble your human friends now more than a Dryad.”

  Serra was startled by this, in her mind Sylvan just looked like Sylvan, but she realized now that over the last two weeks Sylvan’s nose had begun to grow a bridge. Her skin, while still green had lightened and her hair no longer resembled grass, but rather dark green hair.

  Sylvan bowed her head. But her mother hooked a finger under her chin and raised it. “I am proud of you, my daughter. You have chosen your own path and though it leads you from the wood, you will always be welcome here.”

  Sylvan nodded, tears in her eyes and her mother looked up to take in Sylvan’s companions. “Welcome to my home.” She bowed her head to each of them in turn. “I am grateful that my daughter does not travel her path alone.”

  Servants appeared behind her bearing trays laden with food. Sylvan and her mother moved to allow them to enter the room and place the tray on the table. Serra’s mouth fairly watered looking at the spread before her, pies and tarts, sautéed vegetables, bread and cheese, a sweet creamy sauce with bits of fruit in it and tea.

  “You must be hungry. Please help yourselves while I converse with my daughter.”

  Serra sat around the table with the others and began to eat, though she kept one eye on the dryads by the windows. They kept their voices so low that Serra could not hear what they were saying, though by the look on Melita Tiana der Harfina’s face Sylvan was telling her all that had transpired in the months since her departure.

  Serra was not the only one who continued to watch Sylvan. Rian’s eyes hardly strayed from the dryads as he ate and Vaughn continuously flicked his gaze in their direction. And even Thistle, who seemed to not need to eat, floated idly in their direction only to be shooed away by Sylvan.

  Only Reks remained impassive, his back to them, his focus on the food before them.

  After a time, the Melita left Sylvan to her friends. Sylvan sat with them, loading a plate with food that seemed to have no end. “My mother suggested that we wait for the morning to see Master Gerard. She has gone to have the steward prepare rooms for us.”

  “What did she say about my father?” Rian asked.

  “Only that he is as stubborn as his father was and she hopes that you are not the same. She received a letter from him only two days ago demanding she release you and all the other children in her custody or else face the consequences. She replied that she did not know where you were and she expressed her sympathy at his loss of you.”

  “Was your mother unaware that you were traveling with Rian?” Vaughn cut in.

  “No. She knew. But she feels that our time is better spent searching for the answer to this madness rather than in pacifying Rian’s father and I can’t say I disagree.”

  “Nor I,” said Rian, his voice weary. “But I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, declaring war on the Dryads. Our people are sure to suffer for it.”

  “My mother said she would try to hold off your father for as long as she can with as little loss of life as possible, but if he comes at her full force she will have to defend our people.”

  He nodded grimly. “I would expect no less.”

  Exhausted from traveling under the watchful eye of Nalren, they finished eating in silence. They had just sat back in their chairs, their bellies full of food and drink, when a soft tapping came from the door.

  “Come.” Sylvan called and moments later a servant stepped into the room.

  She dropped into a quick curtsey. “Begging your pardon, Natesa, but your rooms are ready should you wish to retire.”

  “Yes, thank you, Jola. I think we would.”

  They stood and gathered their belongings. Jola led them up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor. “This hall of rooms has been set aside for your use. You may use whatever room speaks to you.” Jola curtseyed again and hurried down the hall away from them.

  “Use whatever room speaks to you?” Rian asked.

  “Just pick a room.” Sylvan growled striding to the nearest door and shoving it open. Rian did the same and, ever the personal guard, Vaughn took the room nearest his. That left Reks and Serra standing in the hall. They regarded each other for a moment, and then Serra said, “Why did you make Sylvan talk about her separation from the wood? Couldn‘t you tell it was painful for her?”

  Reks crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Sometimes the best way to deal with something that’s painful is just to talk about it with people you feel safe with. I could tell that she was in pain, returning here has only made her realize that eventually she won’t be able to come back. She needed to address it.”

  “Maybe, but that wasn’t the way to go about it.”

  Reks nodded. “Maybe not, but I accomplished what I set out to do. I don’t like to sugar coat things for people, Serra. Not when it’s something important.”

  Serra stared at him, considering. He had a point. Avoiding problems didn’t solve anything, but Serra believed that when a person was ready to talk about what was bothering them, they would seek out someone they trusted and tell them about it. That belief had served her well for almost seventeen years.

  “Do you think it’s safe to talk freely in our rooms?”

  Reks shrugged. “I would assume so. I can’t imagine the Melita spying on her daughter.”

  “Not on her daughter, but what about us?”

  “Serra, if you have the need to tell me once again just how incredibly in love with me you are I think that it’s worth the risk. Or maybe you‘d rather do something else in the safety of your room?” He raised his brows, stretching his scar, in a suggestive manner.

  Serra snorted, trying not to laugh, it only encouraged him. “You’re such a pig.”

  “I’m not the one who just snorted.” Serra hit him in the shoulder, which he rubbed as if she had truly hurt him. “Ouch. Vaughn’s right you do have a good punch… for a girl.”

  Serra lunged at him, but he danced away and into the nearest open room. “I’ll see you in the morning.” he called, over his shoulder.

  “If you’re lucky.” Serra called back, before pushing open the door to the only other free room in the hall.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, it felt as though the weight of the last few weeks fell on her shoulders, slowing her every move. She barely noticed the windows of her room, the beautiful furnishings or the way that light seemed to glow from the very wood around her.

  Instead, she drug her feet to the large four-poster bed and fell face first into it, fully clothed. Thistle curled up on the pillow next to Serra’s head. Serra had the presence of mind to kick her boots off before pulling a thin blanket over her shoulders.

  Moments later she was asleep.

  Chapter 16

  SERRA

  The next morning Serra woke to a gentle tapping on the door of her chambers. She rolled over and blinked then rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The tapping grew more insistent, until Serra groaned and sat up calling, “I’m coming.”

  She stumbled fully dressed to the door and pulled it open, every one of her traveling companions stood on the other side. She moved back from the door and allowed them entrance. Her limbs felt heavy and her brain was surrounded in cotton.

  “Did you sleep in your clothes?” Vaughn asked.

  Serra nodded and flopped down in a chair. Thistle still curled up on the pillow, stretched and yawned, sending a high-pitched ringing through the room. “Sorry, if I overslept, but sleeping in that bed was as close to Heaven as I’ve come.”

  “Well, you obviously haven’t been engaging in the correct activities to bring you closer to Heaven.” said Reks, a wry smile crossing his face. “I could show you if you’d like.”

  Serra blushed, but chose to ignore his comment.
/>   Rian glowered at him, then said, “Sylvan says the best time to visit Master Gerard is early in the morning.”

  The dryad nodded. “If we go too late he’ll be wrapped up in some sort of experiment and will have no time for us.” Her voice was unusually harsh. In fact, Sylvan’s entire demeanor was unusually severe. Her mouth was drawn down in a frown and everything in the room seemed to displease her, by the way she was glaring at it.

  Serra gave Rian, Vaughn and Reks questioning looks, but was only answered by shrugs or shakes of the head. Apparently, they didn’t know what had upset Sylvan.

  Serra ran her fingers through her tangled dark brown locks. “Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

  “There’s a bathing chamber just through that door there. We’ll wait here.”

  After splashing herself with tepid water Serra dressed hurriedly. She looked longingly at the deep bath that sat in the middle of the room and promised herself that she would use it that evening.

  She stepped from the room, plaiting her hair and leaving it to swing down her back.

  “Ready?” Vaughn asked.

  Serra nodded. Thistle flew over and took up her spot beneath Serra’s left ear.

  Sylvan led the way out the room and down the hall. As they walked she noticed that all of the men were keeping their distance from the Dryad, as though if they got too close Sylvan would hit them for no reason. Serra wondered what had happened in the last ten hours that put her in such a foul mood.

  Sylvan led them out of the palace and across the large bridge. She took them from one tree to the next until they were on the outside of Sidondale. They came to the final bridge that led not to a tree, but to a large stone tower that was taller than any tree in the forest. Serra grew dizzy just looking at it, not wanting to even imagine just how tall it really was.

  The bridge to the citadel did not look as well kept as the others. In fact, it looked as though no one had checked on it for years. She waved the others ahead of her trying to gain the courage to cross. Finally, she moved her feet out onto the bridge, sliding them along the slick, rotting planks. The bridge pitched and swayed under Serra’s feet, making her nauseous. Her fingers gripped the fraying rope on either side of the bridge.

  Her progress was slow, but at least she was moving.

  A particularly vicious gust of wind sent Serra to her knees in fear. Through the gaps between the wood Serra could see the ground under the bridge, the bushes and ground cover as small and insignificant as pebbles.

  A movement down below caught her eyes, something about it was vaguely familiar. She followed it for a moment trying to figure out what it was, but then the bridge pitched again, sending a fresh wave of fear through her. She curled her fingers around a plank of wood and held on for all she was worth.

  She couldn’t move.

  The ropes were going to break and send her plummeting to her death and she couldn’t move. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for all that she was worth. She had never truly prayed, but she did so now. She listened to the sound of her companion’s footsteps move farther and farther away. Thistle tinkled away from her, flying in the direction her friends had taken.

  They were leaving her. They were all leaving her.

  “Sylvan, wait.” Vaughn called. She heard footsteps come pounding back in her direction. Vaughn knelt next to her and grasped her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  Without opening her eyes Serra shook her head.

  “What’s the matter?” Sylvan asked.

  “Serra’s afraid of heights.” Reks answered for her.

  “What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Sylvan asked.

  “I’m saying something now.” Serra’s voice was tight and small, her voice-box squeezed by fear.

  “Serra the bridge is perfectly safe. Safer than the ones in Sidondale. This is all just an enchantment to keep people from visiting Master Gerard. He is not a particularly friendly man and prefers his privacy. The bridge is an illusion.”

  Serra raised her head and opened her eyes to meet Sylvan’s earnest dark brown eyes. “Really?”

  A smile broke out over Sylvan’s face. “Yes. I’ve come here so many times in the past that I don’t even see it anymore. I apologize for not warning you.”

  “Can you stand?” asked Rian from behind Sylvan.

  Serra nodded and allowed Vaughn to help her to her feet. He kept a hand on her elbow as they finished crossing the bridge.

  She let out her breath when they reached the wide stone porch that jutted out from the tower. Before them stood a tall oaken door, not as big as the ones that led to the great hall of the palace, but was at least twice Serra’s height.

  An ornate metal door knocker depicting an old man’s squashed face, eyes closed with a ring stuck in his mouth, protruded from the very center of the door. Sylvan stretched on her tiptoes and knocked three times with the knocker.

  The man on the door blinked down at them. His mouth moved but the words were muffled by the ring. Sylvan reached up again and pulled down on the ring. It slipped from his lips.

  “Pardon me, what did you say?” She asked politely.

  “I said, who dares to disturb the exalted and magnificent Master Gerard Verteri on this day?” As he spoke his metal lips knocked together, punctuating each word with a slight clanking sound.

  “It is I, Natesa Sylvan der Harfina of the Dryadian people.” She motioned for the others to introduce themselves.

  “And I, Prince Doran Cassius of Iperia.”

  “And His Royal Highness Reks Malarkey, Thief Lord.”

  “And Vaughn Oren, member of the royal guard and protector of Prince Doran.”

  Serra wasn’t exactly sure what to say. She had no grand title.

  “And I, Serra Ashworth… servant.”

  The door knocker looked down on her from his great height. “Servant, you say? Hmm… I am not so sure that Master Verteri would like for a servant to disturb his studies.”

  “Serra’s not only a servant. She’s a shifter.” Reks said, before Serra could stop him.

  The knocker’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “A shifter. Hmmm. Why have you come, Natesa?”

  “We have come to beg for the help of Master Verteri in a matter of grave importance. Only he will be able to help us.”

  The knocker seemed to be considering. “Very well, you may enter.” Then he opened his mouth and Sylvan stuck the metal ring between his lips. The knocker closed its eyes and remained still as the large door swung open of its own accord.

  Sylvan led the way into the citadel. Serra was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. She had thought that the home and study of a great mage would be clean and cozy, covered with books and parchments.

  The interior was dark and a thick dust covered every surface. “Light,” Sylvan demanded and the torches that lined the walls flickered to life, throwing the disarray of the room into greater relief.

  Sylvan took the nearest torch from the wall. “Vaughn, take a torch too.” He did as he was told. “We have to climb up to the top of the tower.” She cast an apologetic glance at Serra, who shrugged. Height wasn’t so bad when inside a solid building with walls around them.

  Sylvan led the way through a door at the back of the circular chamber and started up a long flight of stairs that curled with the circular structure of the building.

  At each new floor, they crossed a room that looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Serra began to wonder if they had come to the right place no matter what the knocker had said. No one would live in such a mess, not matter how scatterbrained they might be. They passed through a kitchen with food molding in unclean pots, a dining room with a half-eaten meal on the plates, a sitting room with musty old couches, a sleeping chamber, a lavatory that had the unpleasant smell of stale urine, a bathing room, and what looked like a study, before Sylvan paused outside of a heavy oak door.

  “We’ve reached the top.” She said. “Serra, there are windows up here. I just wanted to wa
rn you.”

  Serra nodded and Sylvan pushed the door open. Serra’s heart dropped. There was no one in the echoing chamber. In fact, there was nothing in the open chamber but a trap door in the floor, that no doubt led to the room directly below. Sylvan stepped in the room and placed her torch in one of the holders on the wall then took the torch that Vaughn held and placed it in the holder opposite.

  “There’s no one here.” Rian said. “We climbed all that way and he’s not even here? Why didn’t the door knocker say anything?”

  Sylvan smiled and shook her head. “I told you that Master Gerard likes his privacy.” She strolled over to the door in the floor and pulled it open. Serra looked down it, but rather than a view of the room below them there was another stairway, this time a tight spiral that led back down. Without a word, she disappeared.

  The stairway deposited them back in the first room. Nothing about it had changed. Serra could make out their footprints in the dust. Without a word, Sylvan started toward the door in the back.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Rian said, incredulous. “You want us to climb the stairs again? There’s nothing up there.”

  The dryad didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled open the door. Golden light spilled into the room from the open portal. The stairway had changed, there was no more dust and torches lined the walls.

  “You were saying?”

  “Never mind.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” Sylvan led the way up. They passed through each of the rooms that they had before, only now they were clean and inviting, just as Serra had imagined. Thick leather bound books with pieces of parchment sticking out of them at odd angles covered every available surface.

  They continued their upward climb, until finally they reached the thick oak door. Sylvan knocked three times before pushing the door open. The room at the top of the tower was no longer empty.

  A long wide table was the in the center of the room, covered with all sorts of glass bottles and vials and instruments that Serra had never seen before. Different liquids bubbled merrily over balls of flame that did not scorch the table. Bookshelves surrounded the room, breaking only for the occasional window. Each bookshelf was full to its capacity and books were stacked on the floor, some of the piles reaching as high as the ceiling. There were a few chairs scattered around the room, but those had been commandeered as temporary bookshelves as well.