by Jill Myles
It was why he was here, after all. Here to take up residence in a crumbling relic of a castle that even his ancestors would have scorned. Here to bring one of the Blood to the forefront of their minds, to remind them why they were conquered and who had conquered them. To remind them who their betters were. Then, when this small piece of the kingdom was settled once more, he could return to Athon and the life at court.
Or so they all thought. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. Ah yes, court. Lady Casila was already counting the days until Graeme’s circle would return to civilized lands.
They hadn’t believed him when he had declared his plans to retire from the Athon court entirely.
~~* * * ~~
To Seri’s relief, Rilen gave her cheek an absent kiss and wandered away once they passed through the castle gates. No doubt he’d gone in search of one of his friends and coconspirators to obsess over the latest appearance of Athoni nobles in the Vidari lands. Still, without him lording over every decision she made—something that still smarted despite their forthcoming handfasting—she was able to find the tailor’s stall and show him her wares.
Goose feathers were appallingly common in the poor Vidari lands, of course, and Seri was ashamed to have to haggle over the price. She suspected Maester Grimald—a longtime friend of her father’s—took pity on her situation. “I can’t give you more than six rumma for all three bags of feathers, Seri,” he said apologetically.
“Six rumma?” she repeated, disappointed. “But they’re worth three times that much.” Her dreams of saving for a little cow in the spring were lost in the troublesome reality of having to feed her father and sister with the meager change he offered. “Six rumma will barely buy a sack of flour.”
“It’s all I can give you, my girl,” he said, patting her arm. “You know about the uprisings to the north?” His mouth thinned and he shook his head. “The Athonites are trying to break the rebellious factions by declaring all Vidari goods to be taxed at three times the amount. They figure if we’re too busy trying to survive, no one will have time to rebel.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” She thought with hate of the man with the cold eyes who had stared at her on the way to the palace itself. “How can we survive on such meager amounts?”
“I don’t know,” he agreed. “All I know is that it is law now, and I must obey if I mean to keep my business.”
Blinking back disappointed tears, Seri nodded and held her hand out for the coins. “Whatever you can give me, I’ll take, Maester Grimald. You have my thanks.”
“I’ll give you six more rumma for all your little pillows as well.”
Six more would at least let her buy some decent food supplies. With relief, she agreed to his deal, though she was a bit surprised. “I’d not have thought there was a larger market for pretty little pillows than mattress feathers,” she said, her voice carrying a tinge of bitterness.
“With all the noble ladies in the city, they’re spending a lot of coin on useless things, and freely. They’ll buy these as soon as I put them out, wait and see.” He gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder and a fond wink. “The last lot that Josdi made sold for a fine bit of coin. Tell your sister I shall buy all of them that she makes.”
Seri smiled at the elder man, grateful for his kindness. “She will be so pleased. She works hard to be useful.”
“Useful she is,” Maester Grimald agreed, handing her a bag of material scraps for more small pillows. “Just in different ways than plain folk such as you and me.”
Kind words, if hard to hear for someone that worked from sunup to sundown to keep food on the table. Seri managed a wan smile for him. “Indeed.”
He hesitated a moment, then leaned in. “Can you carry a message to Rilen for me?”
She smiled. “Of course. What shall I tell him?”
Maester Grimald’s gaze flicked to the guards milling about outside the small tent, then back to her. “Tell him,” he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear. “Tell him that we meet at noon tomorrow.”
A knot formed in her stomach as she eyed the nervous shopkeeper. Was Rilen part of the rebellion here? Things like that could lead to trouble for him and her family. Before she could ask, Maester Grimaldi turned away, clearing his throat, and headed back behind the counter. Her thoughts swimming, she tucked the small purse of coins into her belt and took the bag of scraps, heading for the entrance of the tent. She paused by one table of linens and fingered a fine green brocade thoughtfully.
Would she be able to have a nice dress for her handfasting in a few weeks? It seemed unlikely at this rate. Perhaps Rilen would gift her with a surprise. Her face flushed at the embarrassing thought of not being able to afford her own handfasting dress. Worse still, that she be handfasted in her work clothes.
“That’s a rather expensive fabric for one such as yourself to be handling, dear girl.”
At the unfamiliar, cultured voice, Seri turned, searching for the speaker. The covered booth was filled with shadows, thanks to the flickering candlelight. A beautiful Athoni woman stood in the tent across from her, followed closely behind by a frowning maidservant. She lifted her skirts as she stepped in, eyeing Seri as one would a filthy dog and revealing dainty, impractical shoes. An ornate, woven-gold crown decorated her brow, resting on dark braids artfully wrapped about her head. Her skin was milk-pale and her eyes a cat-like slit of green. An expensive silk dress in the high Athoni style—tight around the bust and waist and loose to the floor with an ornate hem—marked her as one of the visiting nobles. Seri stiffened at the condescension in the woman’s voice. Were all these Athonites alike?
The woman stepped forward and regarded Seri with critical eyes. “Interesting.” Her regal voice froze Seri on the spot and she stood there, helpless while the woman cast her jaundiced eye over the farm girl. “A bit dark of skin and uncouth, but typical for your wild people, I imagine.” She stepped closer to Seri and touched a lock of her dark blond waves. “Given the right clothing and facial creams…” The woman hummed to herself thoughtfully and reached for Seri’s hand, turning it over and staring at the calluses on her palm.
Seri snatched it out of the stranger’s grip. “What do you want?”
The woman tsked and smiled, the flash of teeth setting Seri on edge. “Do you know who I am, girl?” At Seri’s silence, she laughed. “My name is Mila de Vray, Lady of Goldenvale and daughter of Lord de Vray, one of the king’s most trusted advisers.”
When none of this registered on Seri’s face, Mila’s pleasant mouth turned down at the edges. “The prince is to be betrothed within the next few days, and I am one of the most likely candidates for his mate.” She gave her regal head a toss.
With her beautiful clothing and pretty, pale skin, Seri had no doubt that the woman spoke the truth. Still, it puzzled her. “What does that have to do with me?”
Lady Mila regarded her with an amused, petulant smile, showing a flash of white teeth. “You’re a comely enough sort for one of the wild people—what is it you’re called?”
“Vidari,” Seri said, stiffening at the veiled insult. Her people had not been “wild” in generations. Obviously the Athonites didn’t notice such things.
The lady waved a casual hand. “Vidari, of course.” She paused for a moment, as if considering her words, and then continued. “You see, Vidari girl, I need something refreshing and just a tiny bit scandalous to catch the prince’s eye at the ceremony.” Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “What better way to stand out than to be accompanied by a wild girl as my attendant?”
Seri managed to keep her face composed in light of the insult. “I am not interested.”
The woman was hardly deterred. “I’ll pay you well. Three dru for the week, provided you show up tomorrow so we can…” She sniffed. “…Clean you up a bit and teach you some of the basics of servitude.”
Three dru? That was more than her family saw in a year. One dru alone would buy a cow. Two was uninhibited luxury. Three? Three was madness.
Three dru to debase herself in front of the Athoni nobles and make a mockery of her people.
“I’m not interested,” she maintained, fixing her frown on the noblewoman. Oh, but three dru. She could have wept at the loss.
Lady Mila gave a liquid shrug. “Pity. I should dearly like to have a savage at my side when I make my entrance. Should you change your mind, ask for me at the gate to the inner bailey of the castle.” Long, graceful arms slid up, shrugging a long, thick veil around her shoulders as a wrap.
“I won’t.” Seri lifted her chin and swept out of the tailoring shop, her cheeks stinging, and went to load her mule. It would be late before she got home that evening, but she knew that Josdi and her father would be waiting for an evening meal—a meal she still needed to cook. Weariness overtook her, and she glanced back at the shop, feeling guilty for even considering for a moment Lady Mila’s outrageous offer.
By the time Bialla was loaded with her purchases, Rilen returned with one of his friends in tow—hotheaded Jovis, whom she disliked intensely. Rilen leaned over and kissed Seri on the cheek, his large hand clasping her shoulder. “Ah, my lovely Seri. Did you make your money?”
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Seri’s mouth at his flirty manner. “Enough to buy a few things to keep us fed for a couple of days,” she said. “These Athonites seem to like Josdi’s needlework, and that gave us enough for a good deal of flour and a bit of butter.”
Jovis snorted and shook his head, biting into a newly bought apple that made her mouth water. “Athonites are a wasteful bunch, are they not?”
Rilen touched her cheek in a possessive gesture, then looked back at Maester Grimald’s booth. He moved closer to her, his eyes on one of the guards that strolled nearby. “Do you have anything for me?”
So it was true, then. Fear clenched through her. If Rilen was messing with the rebels, he’d be in danger, and so would she, by association. “Rilen, I don’t want you fooling with those people. It’s dangerous.”
“You’d rather live as a slave for the rest of your days, then?” His mouth twisted and he gave her an impatient look. “We do this for all our people, Seri. Not just you or me or Jovis.”
She sighed. It was futile to argue with him. “Tomorrow. Noon.”
Rilen’s eyes gleamed. “Good girl. So did you buy yourself something pretty for our handfast? It’s only a few weeks away.”
“It’s hard to buy material for a new dress when your stomach rumbles, silly man.” She took the sting out of her words with a teasing smile. “I spent my coins on supplies instead.”
“I know you work too hard.” He took her hand in his own and turned it over, displaying the calluses like a shameful badge before pressing a kiss onto her palm. “When you become my wife, that will change.”
“Does your family not eat?” She smiled and snatched her hand away for the second time that day. “Why is it everyone is fascinated with the state of my hands?”
A possessive look swept over Rilen’s normally laughing features and he took a step closer to Seri, his eyes searching her face. “Who else has been touching you?”
Uneasy, Seri moved to the far side of her mule, trailing a hand along Bialla’s rump as she did so. “No one important. A lady from the castle made me a proposition, that’s all.” She laughed to make the words light.
He wouldn’t let it go. “What sort of proposition?”
She made a show of tightening the worn straps on Bialla’s harness. “Nothing much. She wants to show off at some ceremony they’re having a few days from now and wanted a little Vidari lapdog at her side to draw attention to herself.” Seri was unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “Offered me three dru for the sevenday, too.”
“A sevenday?” Rilen glanced over at Jovis, who took another bite of his juicy apple. “And you’d live in the castle?”
“I believe so.” Seri eyed him with unease. The Rilen she knew would have pitched a fit at the thought of her debasing herself for a few Athoni coins. Instead, he stroked his chin, regarding her much in the same speculative fashion that Lady Mila had.
Seri grew uncomfortable at his gaze. “What are your thoughts?”
“Think, Seri,” he began, following her around the mule and taking her hands off the harness to squeeze them. “If you’re inside the inner walls of the palace, you’ll have access to everything that goes on inside. Everything that we can only wonder about.” His voice grew excited.
Oh no. Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand, Rilen. I would be a plaything for one of their spoiled ladies. A mockery of our people dressed up for their enjoyment.”
“Let them laugh! You can find out what the big celebration is for and what the prince intends. We can use this knowledge for the rebellion!” Excitement danced in his eyes and he wrapped her in his arms. “Say you’ll do it, Seri! Think of the things we could learn! You’ll be responsible for helping to free our people from the yoke of the interlopers.”
“But my father and my sister,” she protested, weakening in the sight of his excitement. Humiliation or no, it would be three dru… and she cared more about the money than being a hero.
Rilen shook his head at her. “I’ll visit them every day and make sure that they’re well. It’s only for a sevenday, and think of how you’ll help our cause. When we find what the Athonites intend, we can find out the best time to strike! Soon we shall bring the castle down and the land will belong to the Vidari once more.”
“Rilen, I don’t know.” The thought of spending a week inside the enormous stone walls of the palace, alone and friendless and an object of scorn—it frightened her. What if more of the soldiers came upon her? Would they stop at mocking her? Or would they take it one step further, as she was Vidari and therefore unimportant? She had heard tales the other girls told at gatherings, of soldiers and what they did to helpless Vidari women in dark alleys.
Rilen’s hands clasped her cheeks and he forced her to look into his eyes. “I love you, Seri. I’ll come and see you every day, trust me. Won’t you do it for me? For us? So our children won’t have to grow up under Athoni rule?”
He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and at some point, she must have said yes, because it was decided.
~~* * * ~~
That night, she had disturbing dreams. In them, her mouth pressed against a man’s, her naked body twined with his. Hands on hot flesh were everywhere, and her body craved something, anything, as she pulled him closer to her. The glow surrounding the two of them was blinding, the light in her bedroom bright enough to be midday, obscuring the face of her lover. When his luminescent body moved over hers and she parted her legs to invite him into her flesh, she saw his face.
The face in her dream was not Rilen’s, but that of the handsome, cold Athoni nobleman, his dark eyes burning into her own as he possessed her.
Seri awoke with a gasp.
Chapter Two
With Josdi’s sobs ringing in her ears and her sick father’s angry admonitions in her mind, Seri showed up at the gates to the castle the next morning anyhow, alone and on foot.
Rilen had declined to go with her at the last minute—disappointing, but she couldn’t argue with his logic. If they see me here, he had told her, and then see me again when we carry out our plan, it might cast blame upon your shoulders.
The last thing she wanted was for the Athoni prince’s wrath to be brought down on her own shoulders—and thus on Josdi and Father. So she had gone alone to the castle, her heart thudding in her breast, palms sweaty.
She had dressed in her cleanest and least-worn dress, but the guards still snickered at the sight of her. To them she was a poor goosegirl with bare legs and loose hair, waiting patiently on her betters. Farmers were allowed into the outer bailey for the night market, but the inner gates had always been closed to her kind.
One of the guards approached, fingering his sword and eyeing her with a lascivious gaze. “Well, well, what have we here? A bit of fine wild deer to come and whet our ap
petites?”
Her cheeks red with humiliation, Seri glared at the man, resisting the urge to dart away and forget the entire matter. “I am here to see Lady Mila.” When he didn’t move, she added, “She has asked me to come and be her servant.”
“Has she now?” He guffawed and elbowed the guard next to him. “I didn’t realize that Lady Mila was in the habit of taking in the local trash.”
“She has asked to see me,” Seri repeated, holding herself stiff. “Please let her know I am here at her request.”
The guard waved another man off and refocused his attention on Seri. “If we find out you’re lying, are you going to make it up to me for wasting my time, little wild girl?” He ran a finger down her arm. “Been a few moons since me and the boys have tasted a woman.”
Seri jerked away from him and stepped to the side, averting her gaze as she waited. She prayed that Lady Mila would remember her and was not simply teasing her with promises she had no intention of keeping.
“So is it true that Vidari don’t kneel to anyone? Because if you’re going to be in the castle, little deer, you’ll have to kneel to the prince.” The guard’s eyes were hot on her. “The Athonites insist that you kneel to your betters to show them respect. In fact, I could have you kneel right now, couldn’t I?”
Oh gods, please leave me alone. She remained silent, trying to ignore him.
“Look at me,” the guard said, grasping her arm. “Why don’t you kneel for me right now?”
“Vidari only kneel to the gods themselves,” she said, her voice stiff as she jerked her arm from his. “Not to men.”
“Ah yes, your crazy little pagan beliefs,” he said with a laugh. “Dozens of gods looking out for your poor, downtrodden little people.”
Her face burned under her tan, but she didn’t look at him, even when he stepped in front of her. She could argue that they only worshiped four gods—one for each of the seasons—but to the Athonites, that was three too many.