She shook her head.
‘I don’t think I’m allowed to. I’m not authorised…’
‘That is not my understanding of the situation.’
She stared at him. ‘I think I would know what I am and am not allowed to do.’
‘Really? On the basis of your close study of the edict using your extensive knowledge of High Khuri?’ He smiled, but not unkindly.
She flushed, thinking what Silma would have said about her knowledge of that impossible language.
‘Well, let’s have a look together. It would be a good place to start, anyway,’ he said.
Was it a trick of some kind, she wondered? But if it was, she could see no reason for it. The contents of the edict were not secret. There was no reason that she knew of why she shouldn’t show him. And he seemed to think he knew what was in there already. She should know what it was that she had signed, what promise she had been bound to, given that the penalty for breaching it was death.
‘Alright,’ she said.
He entered her chamber and stood awkwardly a moment.
‘Please, sit,’ she indicated the long bench under the window. She was nervous.
He sat. There was something about his quietness, about the way that he waited for her. He was patient, she thought. He would be a good teacher.
She opened the drawer and withdrew the parchment. She sat down beside him, and spread it out on the small table before them.
‘Just read it to me. Aloud,’ she said quickly. If this was a trap, intended to trick her into using her powers outside of the bounds of the edict, she would not fall for it.
‘The other way would be faster, I believe,’ Ged said calmly. ‘But I understand. So,’ he adjusted himself in the seat, leaning forward, frowning. ‘Who wrote this?’ he asked quickly.
‘Um, I’m not sure. Why?’
‘Look at this. Their grammar is awful. Avela rin, not avela rinu…’ he shook his head.
‘What does it say?’ Orla asked.
‘Oh sorry, yes. Well. By order of the King, blah blah blah blah, not permitted to use her powers except on express request of the King, approval of a majority of the Mekretai, or, yes, here it is, with the agreement of a Ruikan… So there you go.’ He looked at Orla, smiling, as though it should all be absolutely clear.
‘And, um, what’s a Ruikan?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed that you knew. A Ruikan is a special advisor to the King. Not a member of the Council. They don’t represent any particular territory. They act to offer impartial advice directly on their area of expertise. They are trusted.’
Orla looked blank.
‘Silma is a Ruikan.’
‘Silma? But what does she advise on?’
‘You mostly, at the present time.’
Orla flushed.
‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew,’ Ged’s forehead crinkled.
‘Of course,’ Orla said quickly.
Ged sighed.
‘What?’ Orla said.
‘You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to pretend you know things, or that you understand what is going on. Nobody expects you to. There’s no reason that you would. You were brought up…’
‘I was brought up in the slums, pissing into the river and eating with the dogs, I know. Thanks for helping me with my High Khuri. I think you may as well go now.’
‘I didn’t mean to–’
‘Please. Go.’
‘No.’ He crossed his arms and stared at her.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You need my help. That’s what I’m here for. You can be as stubborn as you want and pretend as much as you like when you’re outside this room, but if you have nobody to ask, how will you ever learn?’
‘I’ll pick things up…’
‘Are you allowed to sit in on the deliberations of the Council? No. You have access to the library, but can you read the books? No. Do you get anything more from Silma’s class than grammar known by any eight-year-old Vaturi-li? No. Have you ever even seen the King? Will you? Orla, this is a dangerous place. Knowledge is what will keep you alive.’
Orla looked away. Everything he said was true. In theory, the Council could direct her to begin her service of the King at any time. In practise, they seemed not to know what to do with her. There had been no mention of her ever actually having an audience with the King. She had hoped half-heartedly that she could just continue on as she was. Attending classes with children half her age, waiting for Roland or Kynan to fill in some of the gaps. Except now Kynan was gone, and Roland…
‘Alright. You can stay. You can help me with this ridiculous language. Then I can learn the rest of what I need to know for myself. From books,’ she said pointedly.
‘Book-reading will help,’ he said gently. ‘So where shall we begin? What do you know of Khuri?’
‘Can we just assume that I don’t know anything?’ she said, stiffly. He would find out soon enough anyway.
‘Of course. Good,’ he smiled. ‘And we can do this the easy way, right? Would you like to take my hand?’
Orla blushed. To be so formal and yet so open about it disarmed her. He sat quietly and waited for her response.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she said.
‘Silma asked me to.’
She shook her head. ‘Her asking isn’t enough… it’s like you actually care what happens to me. I don’t think Silma cares. So why?’
‘Why don’t you just find out for yourself? You could.’
‘That would be… not polite. I mean sometimes I hear things without intending to, it’s hard not to. But if we’re going to spend time together, I’d rather just ask.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Kynan chose well. You are honourable.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘My mother,’ he said, his voice still calm, still gentle, just the slightest edge that she sensed, like the faintest scent, rather than heard. ‘Her name was Iliana Rowntree. She was a Reader. She served the King.’
Orla froze.
‘She died,’ he said, ‘as I think you know. I was only small. But I remember, I used to talk to her. She’d come to me at night after Inala had put me to bed, and sit with me and hold my hand and she’d listen. I couldn’t hear her, not like she could hear me, but I remember, I always knew when she was listening. It was peaceful.’
Orla swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Me too. Shall we begin?’ He reached a hand out to her. Orla took a breath, then took hold, and closed her eyes.
Chapter twenty-seven
In the days following that first meeting with Ged, Orla was amazed at how much progress she made and how quickly. He came each afternoon and they spent a few hours working through text, starting with the simplest nouns, then basic instructions, and then moving on to the more flowery and expressive language of a pronouncement. She learnt grammar, vocabulary, style. But more than that, she learnt about protocol: who should say what, at what time, in what manner. For the first time since she’d arrived at Kir-Enkerelan she felt the beginning of a sense of satisfaction. Something, at least, was getting better. She was able to change something about herself, if not about the situation she found herself in. The physical effects of what they were doing were not as bad as she’d expected either. She had headaches in the evenings, a throbbing pain that sat just behind her eyes, but she’d had worse. It was because Ged was reaching out to her, she guessed. She wasn’t just taking what wasn’t given. The strain was less.
Still, after a week she decided to call a day’s break. She’d woken exhausted, weak and dizzy, and the pain that usually subsided after sleep remained even after her morning bath.
When the knock came she was expecting it to be Ged. She jumped up and opened the door without looking or checking.
It was Roland. The instinctive relief she usually felt on seeing him was immediately tainted with doubt.
She’d looked for him the past few days but hadn’t seen him. She’d eaten her meals alone,
in the back corner of the kitchen. Her time with Ged and the sudden feeling she’d had of a world expanding had distracted her a little, but Roland’s absence had seemed, if anything, to confirm her worries about what she had heard. His look now was distant and tense.
‘May I come in, Orla?’
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to keep him at a distance for her own safety. Part of her wanted to punish him for his absence, for her anxiety. But mostly she wanted to know the truth, whatever that was.
‘Of course,’ she said, forcing her voice to be light and breezy. ‘You are always welcome.’
He entered and stood awkwardly. She didn’t ask him to sit. She didn’t say anything. She waited. If he had something to say to her, he should say it.
He walked over to her desk, limping slightly as he always did, and picked up the scroll that she’d been practising on.
‘This is yours?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘You’ve been working hard. Your hand is improving. That’s good.’
Still, she waited.
‘Do you still feel like a prisoner?’ he asked.
She looked up. ‘Of course.’
‘I did too, when you first brought me here. I felt as though my life was over.’
Orla was shocked. It had never occurred to her to wonder that he might feel the same way she did, and that it was her own doing.
‘But I have to thank you, Orla. I have a sense of purpose again. Of being able to contribute. I thought… Oh it’s just the ramblings of an old man, child. Sometimes old men become emotional. It is being so close to death all the time, I suppose.’
‘Please, tell me,’ she said. It was like this with Roland: he came to the edge of trusting her, of sharing something important, and then backed away into his mock-decrepitude.
‘What do you know of the Treaty?’ he asked, sinking into the chair he favoured, directly beneath the brightest window. He looked out to where the tree outside was blossoming, shedding petals of white shot through with red, that fell like bloodied snow into her courtyard.
‘It ended the war,’ she said. ‘The Dryuk withdrew from the Seven Isles, and the Uruhenshi agreed to respect our territory, in return for the Brethren being allowed to come to… teach the people of Sondaria.’ She did not try to keep the bitterness from her voice.
‘More or less,’ he said. ‘With a few important clauses missing. You may have seen a large Uruhenshi delegation arrive a few weeks ago. Civilian, not Brethren.’
Orla nodded. Shiiaan had been so excited by their arrival. It included close members of her family, long-missed friends.
‘One of the clauses of the Treaty is close to being fulfilled. The promise of an Ashkar-ship. The naming ceremony is next week. The King is unfortunately unable to attend, but his son will ably represent him, I am sure, and the full Council will be present for the occasion.’
‘But the Ashkar…’
‘…is sacred to Ishkarin. That is correct. But some priest or other will be found to bless this vessel, even though it should never have been made. It is strange how priests can be unbending on so many things but then become conveniently flexible at times such as this.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Orla asked.
‘Because it is time for us to act. And that occasion will be as suitable as any other. The Council will be absent, the guard distracted. I’m sure the King would appreciate your company.’
Orla shivered. What was he suggesting? That she go behind the back of the Council and meet with the King directly, without their approval?
‘The guards will never let me through,’ she said quickly.
‘I believe I know some who might, for a suitable payment.’ His voice was even, calm.
‘But the Council would have me killed if they found out –’
‘The King would not allow that. Once he meets you, you will no longer be waiting on the endless dithering of the Council. You will serve at his command. That is the purpose you are bound to, after all.’
‘No,’ Orla said. ‘I can’t do it.’ She felt a sudden rising panic. She realised she’d never really thought it would happen. She’d come to believe that the words ‘the King’s Reader’ were just that. She didn’t think she’d ever actually meet him, stand before him, speak with him. She felt faint just at the thought.
‘I wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t think you were ready.’
‘But the Council – ‘
‘Listen to me, Orla. If you wait for the Council, the time will never come. And much will be lost. More than you can know. It is vital that we act, and act soon. He needs you. Will you do this?’
His grey eyes glittered, and she sensed his excitement, something tightly coiled within him, ready to spring. And then she remembered what Kynan had said to her that first day, as they were travelling from Ekenshi to Kir-Enkerelan. I’m offering you the chance to know what your life is for. She thought of Ged, whose mother had served faithfully and died, and yet who remained here at the Palace, and was even now trying to help her. She thought of Merryn, and the vengeance she deserved. She was achieving nothing sitting in her chamber trying to get the brush strokes of her letters even.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘If you can get me in. But I still don’t know what I have to offer.’
‘That’s not for you to know,’ Roland said. ‘If I’ve learnt one thing from life, it’s this: your value is determined by the use others can make of you. Do not presume to guess what that will be.’
‘Genevieve came to see me,’ Orla said quickly. ‘She told me Kynan had been taken.’
Roland snorted. ‘Always one for a dramatic turn of phrase, Councillor Genevieve.’
‘So where is he?’ She looked at Roland directly. If he tells me, and I find that it’s true, then I will trust him. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to give him an opportunity to prove that he deserved her trust.
There was a moment’s silence. It was broken by a knock at the door. Damn it, Orla thought. Ged.
She opened it, ‘I’m so sorry Ged, I’m really not feeling…’ then she trailed off as she caught Roland’s look as he rose from the chair beside her. He had grown suddenly ashen, his eyes shadowed. Orla didn’t have to read him to guess what it was; Ged must look like his mother, Iliana. Everything that reminded Roland of the last Reader seemed to unsettle him.
He turned to Orla and bowed, formally.
‘Thank you for your time, Orla Ekenshi-li. I am sure you have other matters to attend to. I will return when there is further news.’ And without a word to Ged, he strode past and away down the corridor, the silence only broken by the swishing of his cloak and the slight squeak of his slippers on the polished marble floor. Orla watched him go.
Ged didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. ‘Look, I brought you something special…’ He drew a thick, leather-bound book from under one arm and grinned at Orla.
She couldn’t help but smile back. It would be something unbelievably boring, she knew. A list of prices of wheat dating from the Fifth Kal, or a treatise about the tanning of leather.
‘It’s better than you think,’ he added, hopefully.
Orla knew that Ged had learnt long ago that almost nobody shared his love of this elaborate and obscure language, but somehow that knowledge hadn’t served to dampen his enthusiasm. Now that he was standing there, grinning like an idiot, Orla couldn’t send him away. She’d come to realise that their time together was in fact the highlight of Ged’s day. Because she was the one person in the entire Palace who was bound to listen to him, she reminded herself.
The truth was, though, it was the highlight of her day too.
‘Alright, let’s get started,’ she said.
Chapter twenty-eight
The night before the naming of the ship there was a feast for the Uruhenshi delegates in the Great Hall. Of course, she wasn’t invited; she did not expect that she would be. Orla sat alone in her chamber trying to work through the latest text that Ged had left her, hearing
the distant lilting of music, murmured conversations and singing. The atmosphere was celebratory, but all she could feel was fear like ice in her belly.
Tomorrow she would meet the King. Tomorrow, when the ship was launched, and all the people now celebrating were watching the ceremony politely, Orla would be guided through hidden corridors in utter secrecy to meet the King.
The thought of it made her want to throw up.
There was a gentle knock.
‘Come in,’ she said.
‘I brought you something.’ It was Ged. He dropped by often these days, mostly for her lessons but sometimes just because he was passing, or so he said.
Ged closed the door and sat beside her.
‘How’s the party?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘The speeches lasted an hour or so. Councillor Lew went on about the close ties between Uruhenshi and Sond, the blessing of the Treaty and the debt we owe for the Uruhenshi helping rid us of the Dryuk, and so on and so forth. Then I grabbed some of the tastier looking food and made a run for it.’
‘Won’t you be missed?’ she asked.
‘Who by?’
He opened the small bundle he was holding and the smell was released. Despite her nerves, Orla’s stomach rumbled. Roast pork and quinces, rich spiced pudding, dried emertines, that sweet bread, a Vaturi delicacy, that Lani sometimes made…
‘See, this way you get to enjoy the feast without having to sit through the boring bits,’ he said. She smiled. Ged leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched her eat.
The days were longer now and a slanting golden end-of-day sun poured through the window and caught him in its blaze. His hair shone a rich auburn. She glanced at him. She had never noticed before that, although he mostly seemed younger than the twenty-three years he claimed, his hands were calloused and scarred, stronger than they should be for someone who had lived his life in the Palace, holding nothing more demanding than parchments and pens, learning Khuri. She looked away.
‘What do you remember of your mother?’ she asked.
The Dying Flame Page 13