Seventh Born

by Rachel Rossano

  SEVENTH BORN

  BOOK ONE OF THE TALENTED

  By Rachel Rossano

  ©2018 Rachel Rossano

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.

  Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

  Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

  Cover by Rossano Designs

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  About the Author

  Also by Rachel Rossano

  Sneak Peeks

  Romans 12:1-2

  1Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. 2And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect. [NASB]

  Chapter I

  Zezilia

  I was the disappointment. On the day of my birth, my mother cried for I was not a son. The son they hoped, prayed, and sacrificed for, the seventh son who would become the Sept Son. He would have taken the highest position under the High King and restored the glory of the Ilars. I knew the story as if I had been there from before my conception. Father retold the tale to my family every year on the anniversary of my birth.

  I resolved this year would be different. The shame, the disgrace, and the pain in my father’s eyes might fade if I proved useful. A woman of marriageable age could advance the family by way of a profitable match. Marriage was the only way for a woman could please the goddess. I cringed.

  Glancing around the tablium, the living area of the main house, I found myself alone, which was just as well. Mother lectured a servant in the next room. My father and most of my brothers had long since scattered about the house and grounds pursuing their own interests. I was supposed to be practicing my music, but I couldn’t keep my mind on my task.

  Outside the open glass doors of our main house, the depths of gardens beckoned. I harkened to their call. Behind me, two of my six brothers argued loudly over who would take first in the foot race tomorrow. As their voices rose, the call of the quiet appealed to me all the more. Finally, I could resist no longer. Slipping through the doors, I reached the first turn of the path before they noticed my departure.

  Heavy blossoms of deep red and orange bobbed in the breeze as if ushering me into the cool depths of the gardens. The broad, deep green leaves of the organza ferns reached out to brush my face and hair, tracing dew trails over my clothing. I slipped deeper into the wild heart of the garden, down where the tamed groves gave way to the chaos of nature. The border was unmanned, but clearly marked by a vast bramble of brandleberry bushes. Unfortunately, their crimson fruit, the goddess’ color, reminded me of my neglected duties.

  It was a year of six, an extra day of feasting and dancing to celebrate the goddess and her bounty to us. Only here, deep in the gardens, I could find peace from the bustle of preparation for the week ahead. Why did it have to be a long year this year, the annum of my presentation? I hated that I was born on the first day of the high week. It brought extra attention when all I wished to do was hide.

  “Child, curb your thoughts.”

  I jumped at the sudden voice, rough and raspy. Turning around in my small haven, I beheld the strangest sight. A short man, only slightly above my height, stood in the midst of the brandleberries. Red hair stood out in a riot of frizz about his balding brown head. I say brown for his face was deeper than the sun-bronzed skin of my father and brothers.

  “I sensed your thoughts jumbling about. They made my insides twist about half a mile away. Whatever could be wrong to cause such distress?” he asked, his strange green eyes assessing my face.

  “You heard my thoughts?” I asked. I was stunned. Being a female, I wasn’t supposed to have the ability to send and the situation he was describing was a strong sending. None of my brothers could send that distance.

  “Not coherently, or I wouldn’t be asking you these questions, girl. You obviously have no training. Without training, all I could pick up were your emotions and snatches of ideas. Now tell me, what is getting you into such a state?”

  I regarded him in silence. He was a perfect stranger. I was not about to dump all my trials and woes upon him, no matter how he demanded it.

  “But we are not introduced,” I protested finally. “I am not allowed to speak to men to whom I have not been introduced.”

  The man scoffed. “You are talking to me already, girl. It is a little late to start pulling proper behavior on me now.” Despite his scorn, he waded through the bushes as though they had no briars. Gaining the cleared ground, he brushed off his rough linen robes and executed a precise bow. “Errol Silas at you service, Donellea. May I inquire as to your name?”

  “Zezilia Ilar.” I curtseyed as I ought.

  His eyes widened suddenly. “Ah, that explains it.”

  My stomach sank. Now he would go on about how sad it was that I wasn’t born a male. All of father’s friends did, as if I didn’t wish reality to be different every day. Sure, my family didn’t mention it daily, but I would see it frequently enough in their expressions.

  “You are Ostin Ilar’s daughter.” His strange gaze seemed to bore into my eyes. “Has anyone else heard your thoughts before, Donellea Ilar? Your brothers or parents?”

  I frowned. “No, Master Silas, I am a female and incapable of projecting.”

  At this he laughed. “You incapable? Ha. I have never encountered so much raw projecting talent in anyone. No, just a minute,” he said, raising a rough hand. “I have encountered one.” He looked at me as if considering whether or not I needed a haircut or a certain piece of clothing would suit me. “Yes, it is possible. Given time.” Then suddenly he grinned, giving me a fantastic view of strong, white teeth. “You are going to be my new pupil.”

  I was so stunned that I stared. “I am not trainable.”

  He frowned. “And why do you say that?” he demanded.

  “I have no talent. I am a female.”

  Dismissing my statement of fact with a wave of his hand, he shook his head. “That is a ridiculous conclusion. There have been many talented females, just no strong talents. That is why the Sept Son doesn’t bother to have them trained. Why train those who ar
e weak when so many strong need training? Now stop your protesting, child, and show me to your father. I have some things I need to discuss with him.”

  Then before I could protest, he turned and began stamping up the path toward the house. I couldn’t let him just walk into the house without an escort. To do so would be horribly rude, so I hurried after him.

  For a middle-aged man, he moved quickly. I rushed up the path, pushing aside branches and expecting him to appear ahead of me at each turn. Finally, I spotted him as I cleared the last of the wild brush. He stood out harshly with his red hair and worn robe against the ordered paths and foliage of the formal gardens. He strode along halfway to the house, head high and shoulders squared, as if he owned the gardens. I had to run to reach him.

  Just as Master Silas was about to mount the stairs to the promenade, my brother, Renato, rounded the corner of the house and spotted me.

  “Zez, Mother has been looking for you everywhere,” he called.

  “Just a moment.” I prayed he wouldn’t notice my strange visitor. It was too late.

  “Ah, Master Silas,” Renato exclaimed in surprise. He promptly came over and executed a formal salute worthy of a court presentation. “What brings you to our humble home and by the back gardens no less?”

  Instead of answering, Master Silas frowned and met my brother’s eyes. Renato of all of us was the fairest. With medium brown hair, gold dusted by the summer sun, and golden eyes, he resembled a young lion at times. However the look of confusion that crossed his face beneath the older man’s gaze made him appear anything but noble.

  “No,” he blurted out, confirming my conclusion that a sending had passed between the two of them. All of my brothers possessed both of the talents in abundance. That was why there had been such hope for me, if I had only been a son.

  “You mean none of you have ever suspected?” Errol’s voice brought my attention to him. A thoughtful look passed over his face.

  “No, she has never given any indication.” My brother glanced at me. “Father is not going to like this.”

  “Well, he is going to have to do something about it whether or not he likes it.”

  “You don’t understand.” Renato ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign of agitation. “She was supposed to be the son, the one that restored our family honor. Bringing this up now will only agitate him. His dreams are gone, past, this will only...”

  Silas lifted a hand and Renato’s attention snapped to him. Unheard words passed between them even as I watched. My brother frowned, but reluctant resignation fell over him.

  Renato lowered his head. “Very well, I will bring you to him.” He frowned over at me. “Mother has all the upper floor maids turning out the house for you. I suggest you find her before she decides to search the male quarters of the palazzo.” Bowing to Master Silas again, he said, “This way, Master. My father is in his rooms.”

  Before following, Master Silas turned to me. I must have looked as confused as I felt, for he said, “Don’t worry, child.” He touched my forehead and a single word popped into my thoughts, “peace.” The sensation was strange. It was as though someone had placed a piece of fresh plum on my tongue, sweet and juicy, except my mouth was empty.

  My eyes widened.

  The man smiled, his strange green eyes dancing. “I told you, child.” Then he turned and strode away. I simply stared after him. So, that was what receiving felt like.

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Mother demanded as I appeared in her bedroom.

  “The gardens,” I replied. Mother only nodded before issuing orders. The maids clicked their tongues over my grubby feet and scolded me for the dirt under my nails, but I paid them no attention. “Mother, have there ever been female talents?” My presentation dress dropped over my head and fell in smooth folds to my ankles.

  Mother paused a fraction of a second in her flurried rushing to inspect my dress. “This seam appears flimsy. Lota, fix this please.” She circled me.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Have there ever been female talents?”

  “Not that one, Tri, the other one?” She waved away the silver binding and pointed to the gold. “That will suit her coloring best.” Tri brought the gold and proceeded to bind the waist of my gown. “Yes, Zez, there have been female talents, weak ones. They are nothing that you should concern yourself with.”

  The hair dresser began weaving the gold through my hair. This morning I had been nervous about my presentation, but now my thoughts were full of Master Silas and his strange claims.

  Mother waved her hand at the cobbler and then turned to lecture me. “Now when we arrive at the palace, socialize only with the sons of royal houses or talents, child. You do understand that our family’s honor depends on your behavior today, right?”

  “Yes. I understand.” Every child of a Royal house is presented to the High King and his Queen on the first day of the Caelestis Novem after their fifteenth annum. I was the last of the family to be presented. I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn’t talented like my brothers. A talented male’s presentation meant a testing of his skills in determining whether or not he would be continuing training. All six of my older brothers tested well and continued their training under the Sept Son.

  My presentation, being an untalented female, was going to be more of a formal entrance into society than anything else. I would be presented first to the High Queen and then the Lower Queens, Mother being one of them, and then to the High King and the court at the grand assembly. The following feast and dancing was in celebration of the beginning of the Caelestis Novem, but many young women were chosen by interested suitors to be wooed throughout the High Week and beyond. That was how Janus, my oldest brother met and wooed his wife.

  That was my duty. As an untalented female, I was to make a good marriage and hopefully have seven sons.

  “Mother?”

  “Hmmm?” Mother crossed to her mirror and glanced at her image, dark eyes, a luxuriously thick brown mane of hair, and a trim figure. She looked half her age. Father constantly said that she didn’t look like she had borne him seven children.

  “If I was a talented female, would I still have to go through with all this?”

  Mother froze and then turned to me, her brown eyes suddenly stern and searching. “Where did that notion come from, Zez?”

  I dropped my gaze and took a sudden interest in the fall of my skirt. Mother had the uncanny ability to appear to read thoughts, though when I considered the discovery in the garden, I began to wonder if my supposed ability was more than just an illusion

  “I was just wondering, Momma.”

  “Zez, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Momma as though you were still a child? You are fifteen. It is time you set aside your childish habits.”

  I muttered an assent just as a light tap on the outer doors announced the summons. “His Majesty the King requests your presence, my queen. He is ready to depart.”

  “Fetch our wraps,” Mother ordered. She checked her already perfect hair and then turned to me. Fussing for a moment to make sure I was presentable, she accepted the wrap and led the way down the women’s stairs to the front hall.

  WE RODE TO THE HIGH King’s palazzo in covered boxes, called roans, carried by four men. Being one of the royal families with residences in the holy city had advantages. We could arrive early and settle into our royal chambers well before our presence was required at the High Court in the High King’s palazzo.

  I tried to secure a place with Renato so that I could find out what happened when the strange Master Silas met with father, but Vander beat me to it. Mother and Father always rode together. I found myself sharing a roan with Manvel, my fourth born brother.

  The High King’s palazzo turned out to be grander than I imagined. Tall, white columns guarded the entrance, which was six doors wide. I asked Manvel how the wall stayed up without any visible support. He usually lectured endlessly about anything to do with build
ing things. I got a detailed lesson on columns, braces, and hidden methods of support. Of all my brothers, he was the most consistently kind, but he did carry on at times.

  The grand entrance opened into an even grander gallery. Three elaborate candelabras hung over us from incredibly high ceilings. I tried to see as much as I could with only a glance.

  The men milling around the gallery were just as fascinating as the architecture. A few I recognized. Three of the five other lower kings and their sons were already there. King Marcellus and King Euginius were to arrive tomorrow. Because of the distance of their lands, the Mesitas, the goddess’ high priest, gave special provision for them to travel on the first day of the High Week. High King Honorus wasn’t there, but his son, Cephas came forward to greet father.

  “My dear Ostin.” He enfolded father in a hug. “Finally you have come. Father will be so glad to see you.”

  “Where is he?” Father asked.

  Stepping back, Cephas frowned. “He isn’t feeling up to the greetings, poor man. His old wounds act up when a rain is coming.”

  Father nodded and asked about the other kings. My brothers promptly melted into the crowd. I followed in Mother’s wake as she navigated the elaborate greetings.

  I spoke only when spoken to, which was a whole of three times. Finally, Mother climbed the right staircase to the women’s quarters.

  “Now remember your manners,” she admonished as the servants opened the doors and Mother sashayed into the High Queen’s sitting room. Empty, except for a few straggling nobodies, the rooms echoed despite the carpeted floors. The High Queen's reception, when I was to be presented, wasn't scheduled until later in the afternoon.

  We followed the matron down a maze of corridors before she paused in front a trio of doors set into the wall. “These are your rooms, your majesty.” She bowed us into the middle door.

  To my great delight the sitting room, an airy and bright space filled with couches and flora, overlooked the gardens. My bedroom opened off to the right, while my mother’s more opulent room lay behind the door to the left. Ignoring the great expanse of open air beyond the balcony, Mother sailed into her room, housemistress in tow.