Layna began to disagree that she had not played with fire, but the woman cut her off, her tone once again soothing and soft. “I have no doubt you did not stick your hand in a flame, deary, but touching the power is no light matter. That's why people are trained to use it. And before you ask - no, I'm not going to make trouble for you.”
She set to work spreading a huge glob of a foul smelling poultice on Layna's hand and Layna found herself saying defensively, “I didn't think it would work, my friend was trained and he explained to me how to - ow, OW!” she exclaimed as the woman forcefully prodded the worst part of the burn.
With a hint of sarcasm, the woman stated, “And obviously, he did such a good job.” She sighed and released Layna's hand to go rummage in some cabinets. “Power is not something to be taken lightly. There's a big difference between being told how it is for someone else to use it, than to be taught how to use it yourself. That burn you have could have been much worse. Luckily, instinct caused you to release your hold immediately, and your level of talent allowed you to control as much of the force as you did, preventing the burn from being any worse. Many people would have ended up burnt to a crisp by the stunt that you just pulled.”
Layna was aware that she was staring at the woman with a stupidly blank expression on her face, but she couldn't help it. She felt as though her body had gone numb as the shock of the realization of the full extent of the damage that could have been caused sunk in. She hung her head. I could have killed myself. And now, I have no choice but to spend the rest of my life with the priests. What have I done?
“I'm sorry, ma'am,” she said, immediately ashamed. “Thank you very much for the healing and rest assured that I will go straightaway to the temple to report myself.”
The woman fastened the last of the bandage on her hand and patted it with completion. “You most certainly will not,” she stated firmly. “With the shortage of high talent around, I'm not about to let someone with as much potential as you go and waste yourself on the priests. I can feel something brewing in my bones. We're going to need people like you with their wits about them, not brainwashed into complacency by those charlatans.” Her eyes crinkled as her weathered old face broke into a smile. “It seems as though you have someone watching out for you already. You mentioned you had a friend with trained talent?”
Layna found it difficult to speak, so she just nodded.
“Good. Think he'd be willing to train you, and keep it quiet?”
Layna's voice eluded her still, but her skeptical expression was enough for the healer. The woman bit her lip.
“Well, you just come back here if you find he won't. And do try not to let too much time pass before you ask him, whether it's him or me, I'd like to get as far as possible in your training before I have to go.”
Layna's voice finally returned and she sputtered, “I can't just not tell the priests!”
“Why not? What are they going to do, kill you?”
“Yes!” Layna exclaimed with conviction, horrified by the very idea.
The corners of the healer's mouth turned downwards, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Good point. Not to worry, though, no one will ever know. A trained talent would have to actually take the time to examine you in order to detect it since your friend seems to have taken care of you in that respect. I assume you don't have much direct contact with the priests, with our lovely system the way it is, so that leaves nobles. How many nobles do you know that would inspect a mere servant for talent?” She gave Layna a piercing stare, and her tone grew more serious. “Believe me, girl. You don't want to go to the priests.”
Layna was paralyzed by indecision. All I have to do is go back to the manor and pretend like nothing happened. No one knows but me and the healer...but how did she know? Oh! What should I do?
The woman broke into her downward-spiraling thoughts. “Things have a way of working themselves out, sweetie. Trust me. Just go home and go about your business. But do make sure that you contrive a reason to come see me again soon – one other than hurting yourself again. We need to find a way to get you trained.”
Layna led Fly back towards the manor, warring with herself. Twice she turned the horse to the temple, and twice she redirected him home. She was too terrified to go through with it, and she soon found herself at the gates of the manor. She dismounted, feeling like a field mouse just waiting for a hawk to swoop down and snatch her up. Her uncertainty led her to stick with the norm, and she went back inside, trying her best to pretend like nothing had happened.
*
Jezebel smoothed the deep red dress she had finally decided on for the ceremony as she stood in front of the mirror appraisingly. She turned from side to side and wrinkled her nose. “Not enough in the back,” she complained, irritated at the maid who was supposed to be helping her get ready. Jezebel was sure that the girl would not have been able to figure out how to even get the dress on her without Jezebel directing her every move. The girl moved forward to pin up more of the back and Jezebel looked it over, gazing over her shoulder into the mirror. “Better,” she said grudgingly as the girl made another fold of fabric in one fluid motion.
Jezebel stared at her reflection. Her bright red lips matched her dress perfectly, though she had to send back two tubes of lipstick, and then had needed to resort to smearing the stuff on the dress to get it through the thick skull of the girl that they were not, in fact, the same color. Jezebel had given the girl one more chance and had been surprised that not only was the dress immaculately cleaned, but the girl had finally managed to get the right color lipstick.
Jezebel lifted her eyes and sneered at the maid. The twit didn't notice the expression, however, as she was trying to reaffix a flyaway strand of hair that had worked its way out of the elaborate masterpiece on Jezebel's head. Annoyed that her sneer had been lost on the girl, Jezebel instead scowled at herself in the mirror.
The maid finally got the problem strand back into place, but Jezebel still wasn't satisfied. She kept having the face of that floozy servant girl back at the manor pop into her head. She just couldn't shake the image of her beautiful deep blue eyes and gorgeous supple lips. Damn her! She swore to herself. How dare she intrude even on my thoughts. She turned her head from side to side in the mirror, inspecting the maid’s work on her hair. At least Devon reported that he hasn't seen her with Gryffon since that day in the market. And now Gryffon is here with me where I can keep a close eye on him. She should just throw him out, but she couldn't admit even to herself that she had failed in her attempt to have him court her. Besides, he was stuck staying at the manor until he had fulfilled his debt to her. He had nowhere else to go.
His family had apparently lost their house and holdings in a vain attempt to find a healer who could save Gryffon's mother. Gryffon had then appealed to Jezebel's father who had worked out a deal to have him work for Jezebel in exchange for the money. Gryffon's mother had died anyway, and his father had soon followed. Gryffon was the last in line, and was left with nothing. He'd simply have to come around eventually. When he did, she intended to make him pay for making her work so hard for it.
She spent the next hour bullying the maid in an attempt to satisfy herself with her reflection, but it seemed that no matter what she did, she couldn't help but compare it to that girl. Finally, fed up, she threw a tub of powder from the dresser. It slammed into the ground in a tiny explosion of white, and ceramic shards clattered across the floor. She stomped off, her shoes crunching into the pieces, and left the mess for the incompetent maid to clean up.
She stormed down the hallway to the suite that Renee occupied and briefly rapped on the door in a polite gesture before pushing it open. Renee was standing in front of her own mirror, her round face looking quite rosy from effort.
“Oof,” she exclaimed as a maid drew the drawstrings of her corset. Jezebel smiled and felt her mood improving as she surveyed the hideous gold dress that Renee had squeezed her not-so-girlish form into. The gold accentuated he
r pale complexion and made her look washed out and sickly.
“Renee,” Jezebel greeted the pudgy woman as she helped herself to an armchair. She sat carefully, so as not to ruin her own maid's handiwork, and watched with amused contempt as Renee's maid laced the rest of the dress and moved on to her hair.
“Jezebel,” acknowledged Renee sounding out of breath. “You're looking lovely as always.”
Jezebel nodded acceptance of the compliment, but refrained from commenting on Renee's own appearance, stifling a laugh.
A few hours later, the two women stood in a gigantic ballroom listening to endless speeches about the new King. As the ceremony wound down to a close, they joined the procession line to pledge their fealty to him. Renee kept standing on her tiptoes to peek over the people in front of them in an effort to steal a glance of the King. Jezebel held herself still in a more regal fashion, resisting the urge to look herself.
“You know,” murmured a voice beside her, the breath lightly tickling her neck as it moved stray hairs across her skin, “we'll be electing a whole new Council soon.”
Jezebel started to rudely comment that she was well aware of the customs, but stopped herself mid-breath as she saw who it was standing next to her, obviously on his way back to his table after having already been announced to the King. “My lord,” she gasped, curtsying deeply to Lord Carlon, a man who was extremely influential in court. He had almost tripled his holdings with raids into the savage lands to the north, and consequently had tripled his power and prestige in court as well.
His lips formed a small smile and he continued, “I hear that you are interested in one of these positions. What makes you think that you are eligible for one?”
Jezebel ignored the implication that perhaps she was not qualified, knowing better than to upset someone like Lord Carlon. “My father has been very involved in court politics for some time, as you know, my lord. I took it upon myself to listen and to learn. Also, my father fully supports my claim, although he has not formally announced it.”
“Does he now.” His lips quirked again.
“I think that the rest of the Council would be quite pleasantly surprised to find that I already know what usually takes them years to figure out for themselves. My information network is quite well-established and very reliable.” She added this last comment, gambling that the lord would not take offense. Normally the practice of having networks with the purpose of spying on other nobles was accepted, but not spoken of. Her gamble paid off, and she was rewarded with a broader smile.
“You are a bold one, and I agree that you are very well-informed. Be aware, however, that even with the most extensive networks, there is always more than what meets the eye.” He arched a brow at her and gave her an appraising look before saying, “I shall look forward to supporting your candidacy once you formally announce it.”
With that, he walked off, leaving her dumbfounded in the line of people. She felt frozen in place until Renee's voice brought her back to the present, and she realized that the line had moved up. The people behind her were starting to grumble.
She glared at them all before huffily stepping forward. She tried to force her excited nerves to be still. Inside, she was giddy, trying to remember the last time she had seen Lord Carlon, and wondering what it was that had caught his attention with her. Perhaps what she had taken for an appraising look was actually a look of interest – in more than just her ability to fill a Council seat. She laughed to herself, drawing odd looks from the people around her. She paid them no heed. Well, if Lord Carlon is interested in me, he certainly is in a position to make it worth me bothering to return it, she thought to herself gleefully. Maybe his wife is getting a little round in the hips after all those babies and she's lost her appeal. The lord was substantially older than Jezebel, but that was all the better as far as she was concerned. It simply meant that he'd be out of the way sooner. A little subtle flirting and a few choice words, and she'd oust the old wife and become the new Lady Carlon in no time, to enjoy all the benefits and power that the position held. Then, when he finally met his end, she would reap all the rewards.
The line in front of Jezebel and Renee separated, and Jezebel was surprised to see that her musings had lasted all the way to the dais where the King stood accepting the fealty of his subjects. Renee made a low noise of appreciation as the crowd parted and the King came into view. Jezebel lost her train of thought for a moment as she gazed at him. He was the most perfect specimen of a man that she had ever laid eyes upon. Dark brown hair flipped out from underneath the jeweled crown, and his intense deep eyes brushed over her as he nodded acceptance of their pledges of fealty. Within his strong jaw, his mouth was set in a perfect smile that he held for all his subjects. The only mar to his features was a long scar that extended across his left cheek. In Jezebel's opinion, it only served to make him look that much more strapping. She could almost imagine the fateful scene as he bravely fought off his enemies and received the wound while holding back scores of men. Jezebel felt a small shiver run down her spine as she rose out of the bow and met his eyes briefly. Their dark depths held her for a split second before he looked away. Jezebel felt herself awed by their new monarch as she made her way off the dais.
“Isn't he dreamy?” Renee asked, coming up next to her along the line of buffet tables that had been set up for the occasion.
“Mmm,” was Jezebel's only answer as she absently watched Renee pile a plate high with pastries. Jezebel's revulsion grew as Renee stuffed one into her mouth, and licked the frosting off her fingers. Jezebel chose a plate of fresh fruits and then moved into a group of people. She weaved through the crowd to find someone worthy of speaking with, leaving Renee behind to stuff herself.
She chatted with a few higher nobles before spotting Gryffon in the corner with a group of men. Devon had reported that he hadn’t been seen with the strumpet, and no one had mentioned the incident, so she decided to give him one more chance. She made her way over to them and overheard a conversation about hunting. She put on her most dazzling smile as she swept in front of him, cutting him off mid-sentence as she came between him and the group. “Gryffon, dear, won't you come dance with me?”
Gryffon gave her a stern look and answered shortly, “I don't dance,” before stepping to the side to resume his conversation.
Jezebel clenched her teeth and turned her attention to a man standing next to Gryffon. He was nothing special to look at, but not a total loss either. She batted her eyes at him flirtatiously and asked, “Would you do me the honor since other people obviously have no class?”
The man was quick to respond which pleased Jezebel, but she felt like she had been slapped in the face when he had the gall to ask for Gryffon's permission. As if Gryffon is in charge of me, ha! Gryffon barely even looked up and didn't even have the couth to be jealous. Jezebel did her best to flirt outrageously with the man she was with whose name she didn't catch, but Gryffon hardly gave them a second glance. Soon Jezebel grew tired of him and excused herself, feigning fatigue. She needed someone to vent to.
*
Jonathan's eyes scanned the crowded room, searching for Jezebel. Soon he spotted her, looking severe in a blood red dress. She was amongst a group of older women which included the wives of some of the Council members. He made his way over to her slowly, stopping to chat with people on the way to seemingly end up behind her by sheer coincidence. She was in the middle of bragging to them about some supposed merger between her lace shop and another store. Jonathan knew this to be a lie, and had a feeling that the ladies knew as well, if their bored and slightly affronted expressions were anything to judge by.
He stepped in closer and waited for her to take a breath and pause in her boasting. “And when will you be announcing your candidacy now that you have sufficient support?” he asked her when she finally stopped talking for a moment. He felt a tinge of satisfaction as she jerked around towards him; the motion betraying that he had succeeded in his attempt to surprise her.
“Ah, Jonathan,” she greeted him, the venom almost dripping from her lips.
Jonathan noticed the distinct lack of title. She turned to the ladies she was with and held out a hand indicating him, “Ladies, this is Jonathan. He's been helping me to decorate my new sitting room. Aren't you, my dear?” She turned to him and gave him a sweet smile with laughter in her eyes. She obviously thought to embarrass him by implying that he was a decorating consultant and thereby a lower noble.
Jonathan let none of his inner anger show. He simply smiled back and took each of the ladies hands in turn as Jezebel introduced them. “Indeed, it's a pleasure to meet you all. Do you mind if I steal away Lady Jezebel for just one moment? I noticed a piece by the door that would look simply superb in her new sitting room, but I'm not sure if there's the budget for it.”
Jezebel was not quite as quick to cover her anger as he had been. Her cheeks flushed brighter red than the blush that was applied to them. She excused herself through clenched teeth, and stalked off ahead of him, refusing to let him lead her. He gave a little shrug to the confused looks of the ladies and followed in her wake. “And just what do you think you're doing?” she reared on him.
“Why holding up our end of the bargain, of course,” he answered easily. “You wanted a Council seat, did you not? And what have you been doing on your end?”
She stopped in her tracks for a moment, and Jonathan realized that perhaps she had thought that the support from Lord Carlon came out of some real interest in her personally. He smiled, watching her squirm from this revelation. “I have a list of names in the room for you. You may stop by at eleven this evening to get them.”
Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1) Page 11