by Burke, H. L.
Leilani nodded. Zeb’s world sounded so interesting. Kids living in their own spaces, no chores, reading . . . on the other hand Zeb appeared to spend more time away from her family than with them. Leilani wouldn’t like that at all.
“Common have guilds rather than manors, right?” Zeb asked. “They sound similar.”
“Yes, well, there are individual trades within guilds. My father is part of the Textiles Guild which includes other weavers but also tailors, thread spinners, and even basket and rope makers.”
“Rope makers? Somehow I can't imagine sitting around all day making rope. Basket weaving might be fun, though. I think I could use the Strains for that.” Zeb raised her hands in an exaggerated shrug. She stood and brushed off her bloomers. “Come, let’s try and find our way out, and no consulting the Strains. That would be cheating.”
Leilani scrambled to her feet. “No Strains.” She didn’t mention that she didn’t have the ability to use them as guides in the first place.
The girls spent the day darting through the hedge maze, climbing trees, and talking. Zeb’s parents checked on them from time to time but seemed to trust their daughter to take care of herself. After a few hours, they wandered to the far side of the Gardens where vendors had set up colorful tents and sold everything from sweet cakes to whole, roasted chickens. The savory smells tickled Leilani’s nose. Her mouth watered. Zeb had pocket money, and the two friends split a flat cake crusted in sugar and a whole fish skewered on a stick with the head still attached and black grill marks on its scales.
Zeb fell silent as they ate.
Maybe she's lost her voice, Leilani thought between bites of fish.
Zeb cleared her throat.
Leilani glanced at her and swallowed her mouthful.
“That day with Vickers, I asked him to be my best friend, because I'd never had one before. He said yes, but then he didn't really mean it. I haven't tried to have a best friend since then, or really any friend for that matter.” Zeb dropped her eyes. “I mean, people like me, but mostly adults. Other kids . . . they don't like to talk about the Strains like I do . . . or you do.”
Leilani took a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned the fish oil from her fingers. The Strains chirped the way they had the day in the woods when she'd first met Zeb.
“I've never had a best friend either, until now.” She smiled at Zeb.
Zeb's face glowed.
Chapter Five
A few days after her visit with Zeb, a letter arrived for Leilani. She snatched it up and read it over and over again.
Zeb wrote about Vickers's impending departure and how everyone at the Country House acted as if he were leaving for war rather than accepting an overdue manor posting.
I'm pretty sure his head has grown several inches in circumference, but he won't let me measure. I do regret that he's leaving. No one else presents a suitable challenge or makes decent conversation. I wish you could come take Vickers's place. Maybe you could teach me Rynaran.
Zeb had enclosed enough postage for Leilani to write back. She stayed up late composing a perfect letter.
Keris's boyfriend has been around a lot. His name is Jess. He's a carpenter, so he has no business looking at cloth so often. Everyone knows he's just here to drool over Keris. She likes it. It's ridiculous.
She only wants to talk about him now, so I really wish I were there with you. I bet I could teach you Rynaran. Keris knows it but says it isn't fashionable. By that she means Jess doesn't speak it.
She finished off her letter with some examples of Rynaran shorthand, along with their Gelian equivalents, including both her and Zeb's names.
As the weather grew colder, they moved their meetings from the Botanical Gardens to Weather Manor, where Zeb's family lived. Zeb's Country House schedule allowed her three days at home a month. Although she spent most of this time with her parents, she always managed to visit with Leilani for a few hours.
Weather Manor, a grand, brick building, had communal recreation rooms where Highmost families socialized and ate together. Most didn't give Leilani a second look, but a few times a squinting adult approached her and asked if she were lost. After that she made sure to stick next to Zeb. Those at the manor seemed to know Zeb and didn't question her peculiar taste in company.
Keris continued to meet with Jess, and as weeks turned to months, it seemed as if the young man became a member of the family. Even Father, who mumbled at first about Jess being “too Gelian,” grew to like the affable fellow. No one was surprised when, after six months, he asked for Keris's hand.
Zeb gaped a bit when Leilani told her. They were meeting, once again in the garden as the winter had finally thawed away. The air still had a bite of cold to it, which stung Leilani's lungs.
“But she's only a little older than you. Sixteen, I thought,” Zeb said as they strolled down a shaded path.
Leilani shrugged. “Seventeen. We both had birthdays months ago.”
Zeb frowned. “You should've told me. I didn't get you a present. I would've gotten you a nice one. I'm good at picking out gifts.”
“I don't need presents. Birthdays aren't a big deal.” Leilani pulled her cloak closer about herself, even though she wasn't that cold.
A present from Zeb would have been nice. It might've been a book, even, but what could I give her back? A yard of cloth? She shook her head. It was best to avoid the exchange of gifts.
“Anyway, sixteen or seventeen, that seems awfully young to get married,” Zeb continued.
“Not really. My parents were both seventeen when their parents arranged their match, and my grandparents were even younger. If I don't find a trade that suits me by the time I'm seventeen, they'll most likely consult the matchmaker for me.”
Zeb stopped before a wooden bench, brushed a few stray leaves from the seat, and sat down. “But you will find a trade, won't you? You're still going to apply for the Merchant Guild.”
“Father won't let me until I'm closer to sixteen, so I have at least six months. I've been practicing my Rynaran. They need translators.” Leilani eased herself next to her friend. She didn't mention that the surest way to get an appointment within the Merchant Guild would be to marry a merchant. That seemed like such a mercenary reason to choose a spouse, and Leilani didn't want to consider it. Keris had suggested that Leilani should dress up in her best and go flirt with the merchant apprentices. Leilani shrugged off the suggestion and told her sister that love had turned her into an idiot. Leilani hoped she wouldn't lose her ability to think if she ever fell in love.
“I know you'll get it. They'd be foolish not to accept you. Maybe you can even work with the merchants who collaborate with Industry Manor. Then we can work near each other.”
The wind rustled the leaves around them and the Strains twittered, blending in with the birdsong.
“They sound happy today,” Leilani said. “Playful even.”
“They like the spring. They're always checking in on the way things grow. That's why my mother chose weather. She loves how the Strains respond to the sun and the rain and the wind. I love it too.” Zeb shifted on the bench. “You know, my father has connections in Industry Manor. I bet he can get you a recommendation. We should go talk to him right now!”
Leilani raised her eyebrows. “Right now?”
Zeb bounced off the bench and started down the path, not waiting for Leilani to agree.
Leilani sighed and followed after.
Weather Manor was made up of sturdy, red brick structures covered with vines and filled with bubbling fountains. The buildings almost looked natural, as if they'd been grown rather than built.
Zeb led Leilani into the office sections. A large wooden door separated the work spaces from the public lobby. In front of this sat a heavy wooden desk with a stern looking older woman behind.
“That's just Parrie. I call her the 'gatekeeper', but she's more of a secretary,” Zeb whispered as the two girls approached. “She looks a lot meaner than she is. She's supposed to k
eep people from bothering my parents and their co-workers during office hours, but she always lets me through.”
Parrie narrowed her eyes at them, and Leilani swallowed.
“Miss Zebedy, you know people are working here. Your parents are very busy.” Parrie raised a finger.
“I just need to talk to my father for a moment. He doesn't mind,” Zeb assured her.
Parrie frowned.
“Please?” Zeb clutched her hands in front of her in a praying position.
A smile weakened the corners of Parrie's mouth. “All right, but go straight to his office and then straight back. No poking around with the meteorological equipment again.”
Zeb took Leilani's hand and pulled her towards the doors.
Parrie bolted up. “No, just you. This . . . young lady is not a member of the manors.”
Leilani's face burned.
Zeb scowled. “Leilani is my friend, and Father doesn't mind.”
“She doesn't belong in here. The only non-manor folk allowed in the work areas are servants and aides. She can wait for you out here.” Parrie pointed to a bench across the empty lobby.
“No, she–”
“Zeb,” Leilani interrupted. “It's fine. You'll only be a minute. Let's not make a fuss.”
“But it isn't fair.” Zeb glared at Parrie.
“It's how things are. If you'd rather, we can wait until he's off and talk to him then.”
Zeb exhaled a loud breath. “All right. I'll be right back. Don't think this means I agree with you, Parrie.”
Parrie shrugged and opened the doors. She then smiled a simpering smile at Leilani. “It is good to see a respectful young lady who knows her place in the world.”
“I don't know my place,” Leilani said. “But I know plenty about people like you.”
Parrie's face contorted, but Leilani spun on her heels and went to sit on the bench. The Strains twanged in a way that almost resembled laughter. She smiled with satisfaction. Parrie glowered for a bit then returned to reading over some paperwork.
Leilani stared at the marble floors. There was some sort of pattern in the blue and gray tiles, either waves or wind. She traced them around the empty room.
Minutes ticked on and she got up and paced. Parrie kept her eyes on the documents, occasionally making notes with a fountain pen.
Leilani walked to the far side of the room where several high windows let in squares of light. She stood with her face to the sun and imagined herself as a merchant’s apprentice, translating important documents from Gelian to Rynaran.
The Strains began a song, a dashing, dancing fiddle tune. Leilani couldn't help swaying along with it. She closed her eyes as the music built to a crescendo.
Then, for no discernible reason, the music grew weaker; not weaker as in softer, but more distant, as if the fiddler walked away from her, then faded altogether.
It felt as if cotton was stuck in her ears. Why couldn't she hear them? She cleared her throat, just to see if she'd lost her hearing altogether, and the sound echoed in the emptiness. Whirling around, she spied Parrie.
Parrie still continued with her paper work as if nothing had happened. What if it was just Leilani who couldn't hear the Strains? Where were they?
“Come back,” she whispered, praying they would answer her.
Nothing.
Dead silence.
She was alone.
Overwhelmed, Leilani stumbled backwards two steps, and the Strains swelled to meet her like welcoming friends. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Where were you?” she chided.
The fiddle music commenced but in a somber key. Leilani rubbed her arms, trying to calm the goose-bumps which prickled all over her skin. She concentrated on the sounds.
Don't leave me again. I couldn't bear it.
The door behind Parrie flung open, and Zeb darted across the lobby, waving a piece of paper in her hand.
“I've got it! He wrote it out the moment I asked.”
“Shhh!” Parrie hissed.
Zeb wrinkled her nose. “I told him you wouldn't let Leilani in. He said that wasn't very professional of you.”
Parrie's jaw dropped, then she hardened her face and harrumphed.
Zeb hurried to Leilani's side and handed her the letter. Leilani gazed down at it, somehow unable to smile.
Zeb's eyebrows furrowed. “Are you all right? Parrie wasn't nasty to you while I was gone, was she?”
“No, it's not that. I'm just . . .” Leilani paused.
What was that? I've never not heard them, not even for a second. What could that mean? Nothing. Of course, nothing. They had to have been there. They were simply quiet.
“I'm just tired,” she said. The Strains continued to harmonize, and she convinced herself all was right. Still, doubt chewed at her. What if they left again?
“Oh, all right. Let's go someplace where we can sit down then.” Zeb cast a disapproving look over her shoulder at Parrie. “Some place with better company.”
Chapter Six
Mr. Weaver touched Leilani's shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you knew this was a likely outcome. The Merchant Guild only takes on so many apprentices, and they like to keep things within their families.”
“I just thought my language skills and Mr. Brightly's recommendation would give me a leg up,” Leilani mumbled.
Her father took the letter out of his daughter’s hand and placed it on the counter, as if removing it made any difference.
She had been waiting for this letter for a month, since a week after her sixteenth birthday, the earliest her father would allow her to apply to the guild. Every day for weeks either she or Kip made the trip to the messenger's guild to check for a response. Today had been Kip's turn, and he brought back the letter, only to have it be a refusal.
The only dream Leilani had ever possessed, the only dream she dared to imagine, had died. She had carefully chosen a practical dream and not set lofty, unattainable goals. Probabilities were calculated, skills honed to improve her chances, and she convinced herself that this really could happen.
And now that they said no, now what?
“You don’t need to seek a trade,” Kip said. “You can stay here and help me when I take over the shop.”
Leilani winced. Great, I can be my baby brother's apprentice. That's a lofty fate.
“He's right, Leilani,” Father said. “You will always be welcome here. However, I know you must wish to leave the nest. Perhaps one of the other shopkeepers in our guild has need of an apprentice, or we could consult the matchmaker on your behalf.”
Leilani hesitated. None of the trades within the Textiles Guild interested her, but they appealed to her more than an arranged marriage, especially since she had seen how happy Keris was, ruling over the little home her love had produced. Leilani wasn't in love, however; no puppy-eyed young man had presented himself to her the way Jess had tripped over his own feet to win Keris.
There had to be a better option. In spite of the finality of the refusal, she glanced at the letter. Perhaps if she read it again, it would say something different.
Mrs. Weaver cleared her throat. “It isn’t as if you have to settle in an apprenticeship this very minute. Your visit with Miss Zebedy is tomorrow. Why don’t you go upstairs and ready your festival dress? You can’t go to the manors in your work frock.”
Grateful to escape her family’s sympathy, Leilani slumped up the stairs. She took her gown out of the chest and shook it off. No wrinkles.
In defiance of her mother’s dire predictions, Leilani’s monthly visits with the young Highmost had continued. In fact, since Zeb had turned fifteen and graduated the Country House, they saw each other more often. Preparing for her first manor post took up some of Zeb’s days, but she had returned to live with her parents in the meantime. The girls saw each other two to three times a week. Zeb even visited the Weavers' home on occasion.
Zeb’s academic career had charted a skyward course, due to her quick wit and sensitivity to the Strains. Of all th
e Highmost Leilani had observed, none related to the Strains like Zebedy. Most treated the Strains as a servant or a tool. Zeb named them, laughed with them, and interacted with the musical voices as one might a beloved older sibling.
Sometimes when Leilani and Zeb conversed, the Strains joined in. Leilani could hear their music and guess their mood, but Zeb would giggle at their jokes and relate clever observations they made. Even among the Highmost, Zeb was special.
Zeb would be a much welcomed distraction. Leilani wouldn’t even tell her about the Merchant Guild’s rejection. For the space of their visit, it would be as if the letter had never arrived.
§
Weather Manor housed both the homes and work spaces of the Highmost assigned to it. Each building spanned an area as large as the Textiles District and from the outside appeared to be one gigantic structure. The majority of the housing had been built into the thick outer wall, and balconies dripped with potted plants and colorful flags displaying family crests.
Through the gate, however, lay a labyrinth of passages and buildings more complex than the Botanical Garden’s maze. Tunnels led under houses into courtyards. Ivy walls lined pathways from homes to offices to shared recreation areas where Zeb had taught Leilani to play Toss Stone and card games.
Leilani took the stairs up to the Brightlys' third story apartment two steps at a time. She tugged at the bell rope, and the door burst open.
Zeb grinned. In her hand she clutched a piece of parchment similar to the one that bore Leilani’s ill news. For a moment Leilani’s smile faded. The Strains whistled with an up-note she almost imagined to be a question. She forced a smile.
“You’re here! Come in! I have so much to talk about.” Zeb took her hand and pulled her through the sitting room into the bedroom.