Chapter 5
The outraged heiress sat in her father’s oversized leather chair glaring at the painting of their family over the fire place. Shadaya was very young when they had gotten that painting done, possibly around five or six. Her parents were young, seemingly ready to take on the world as heirs of fortune. Her father with his austere frown but mysteriously amused eyes and her mother with the confident flamboyant pose of a woman who was fully satisfied with her lot in life. Even in the painting the lack of love between them was evident. An arranged marriage by their parents, which had yielded her, not a Quadin son as her grandfather had hoped.
Shadaya felt weighed down with what she felt was her responsibility, to ensure the wellbeing of those who served her. This included Bertrand and his daughter. She did not only feel responsible for Reeva because her father, Bertrand, had served her for years. But because Shadaya’s actions had possibly positioned the girl for a worse fate than the Selection. All because Shadaya did not think clearly.
"Oh father," she moaned, "what shall I do? I do not wish to look that vile man in the eyes."
Shadaya blamed Haddin for the state of things, she was sure he was behind the king’s death and Drayton’s disappearance. Something that would be hard to prove. Prior to working along with the rebels to rescue the Aldorian princess, Shadaya never fully believed in the rumors of the prince’s depth of sorcery. But after what she had witnessed that night in the Demeris castle, with the prince of Aldor at her side and that priest friend of his, she could not ignore the threat Haddin was to them all.
She tried to imagine what her father would say, close your eyes Shadaya, leave it alone. That is what he would say, that is what he had always said to her. Though he lived his life with his eyes wide open to the darkness of their kingdom, he had wanted her to turn blind eyes to it all.
She blinked and stood up, still hearing her father's voice like he was in the room with her, walking around her as she trained, watching and correcting her every move. She planted her feet and lifted her arms, mimicking the act of holding out a sword. She closed her eyes as she proceeded through his instructions, feeling the right moves to make. The other night in the alley way, it had come naturally to her. She had only started training again a few years after her father’s death and when she had gone to Henry with a plan on how to use it. He had eagerly leapt into the role of advisor. Now, as she deliberately remembered her father's lessons, her muscles jumped into action, as if excited to feel the sensation of combat training. Despite her fear over what had happened that night, she had enjoyed facing that man and protecting those girls. In a way, it felt like her father was with her, guiding her through each move, even as he did now. He had taught her to not depend on her vision to fight, according to him, vision was limited and can be easily lost in darkness or as a result of injury.
She stopped her dancing and opened her eyes, feeling a calm wash over her as she found herself facing the whitewashed stone shelf. She had stood before this shelf many times since her father had died, but somehow tonight there seemed to be a space between the stone that she had not noticed before.
She reached out and touched the smooth stone. It took a bit of a stretch to reach up above the structure in order to press her fingertips against the crack like space. It was almost like...she gasped as the stone shifted under the pressure of her hands.
"A lid," she said, eyes wide.
She glanced at the door, then frantically proceeded to clear the top of the shelf from the fixtures. She then placed both hands against the lid and pushed up, hard, until the lid gave way. Grabbing a stool, she dragged it back to the shelf above the fire place so she could stand on it and peer down into the space beneath the stone lid. Inside of it was a wooden case, fitting snugly within the stone shelf. It had a space for a key. Immediately she knew which key would open it. She had held the key her father had given her for weeks after he had died. Until she had put it away to keep it safe.
She retrieved the key and returned to open the box. With little effort a soft click indicated that it was the exact fit. She lifted the lid of the case and frowned before reaching down into the box. She withdrew what felt like two hard cover books carefully wrapped in cloth and a silver key. She stared at the key a moment, wondering what other secret compartments her father had around here. Then turned her attention to the books in her hand.
“Oh, it’s a journal,” she gasped, eagerly anticipating a fresh reminder of her father. The other was a worn-out ledger.
Shadaya stepped off the stool, holding the discovered books reverently, as she made her way to her father's desk. The first thing she reached for, was the journal. It belonged to her father. His name was scribbled in neat cursive across the first page. She smiled as she ran her finger along the ink marks made by her father’s hand. She flipped the book open, excited to read her father’s words, but she couldn’t understand a word that was written there. Frowning she turned more pages, turning the journal this way and that, until something flittered out and unto the desk.
It was a slip of black cloth, wide enough to hold a gold pattern over it, a straight line that branched off into three prongs. She frowned, recognizing it immediately. It was the symbol of the rebels. She had grown to know it from her regular visits to Arduway. In some places the markings were still embedded into the walls and woodwork of some of the buildings.
With furrowed brows she returned the cloth to the journal, feeling uneasy over what she had discovered. Now she hesitated to read the pages of her father’s journal. Up until now, this was the first shred of evidence that some of the rumors about her father was true. The fact that her father had such a symbol hidden away could easily confirm the judgment passed on him years ago. Was her father part of the rebel movement? Yes, she had suspected him to be a sympathizer of the oppressed. But she had never imagined he could have been aligned with the rebels so closely.
“What were you up to father?”
“Eunice!” Shadaya called as she grabbed her coat from the coat closet, “I am going out for a ride.”
Eunice called out just as she opened the back door.
“Where to dear?”
Shadaya rolled her eyes affectionately. Eunice never could help mothering her.
“Just across the manor. I may stop off at the soap house… to look in on things there,” she called back, just as Eunice emerged from the kitchen area.
“Now Shadaya, I know you are troubled about Reeva…”
“Yes,” Shadaya interjected, “as I should be. I need to think of a solution and quickly.”
“Just be careful. There is only so much you can do. The last thing you want to do is go up against the crown.”
“Yes, I know. I remember quite well what they did to my father.”
With that she threw on her coat and exited via the glass paneled doors behind her, heading in the direction of the stables. Pit wasn’t far behind, excitedly wagging his tail in anticipation for a ride out. Her white and brown speckled mare was already saddled and waiting for her, as she had sent word ahead to have her made ready.
“Mi lady,” the stable lad greeted as she walked up to her horse.
“Evening Nixon,” she greeted, “fine day for a ride?”
“For you any day is a fine day for a ride,” he replied with a broken toothed grin.
Shadaya smiled, “good answer.”
Her horse fidgeted excitedly as she approached, until she placed a calming hand on her forehead. Meggy was a large step up from the charcoal pony she had first owned; Mister Wiggles. Though she did not ride Mister wiggles any more, he was still a very dear friend, one with whom she had shared a very tragic experience with. She still remembers being found by her father’s estate manager Dereece, after her father’s execution. She was sitting just outside the square, not far from where her father had been standing, in a daze. Mister Wiggles had stood by her side the entire time. Now she understood that Dereece had been there to take away her father’s body and that she was driven hom
e with the same carriage that would have carried her his body. Shadaya sighed and pressed her head against her horse, bidding the unpleasant memories away.
“Are you alright Mi lady?”
She straightened up and smiled at Nixon. Seven years, and the memories still showed up unexpectedly.
“Yes Nixon, just fine.”
She rode Meggy hard across Quadin manor, it was the only way she rode. Gone were the days for slow rides and contemplative walks, her mind reverted too easily to that sordid day in her past. Pit kept up with her, barking at her now in excitement at what he seemed to think was a friendly competition between him and Meggy.
She arrived at the Soap House and dismounted. Immediately, she sensed the awareness of her presence. Proving her suspicions, one of her lower managers ran up to her, a younger boy in tow.
“Lady Quadin,” he greeted, “we were not expecting you. Please let the lad take care of your horse.”
Shadaya looked at the boy, who with downcast eyes waited for her orders.
“You are new,” she said.
He nodded jerkily, after a hesitant glance at his superior, “y…yes, Mi… Mi la...dy” he stammered.
Shadaya arched a brow, “look at me dear,” she said firmly.
Instantly the boy’s head snapped up, “where are you from?”
“The…th.. Nogs,” he replied.
“Long way from home.”
The Nogs were a small village closer to the south coast of Saharia and a Dravian dependent.
“Yes, mi lady… grateful… for ho... honest work.”
Shadaya nodded, “always willing to give it. What is your name?”
“Grent,” he replied, his gaze finding the ground again.
“Eyes up Grent. Here at Quadin estates we employ workers who earn a wage, not slaves. Keeping your head up is the best way to see the opportunities before you.”
Grent looked over at the lower manager but then nodded gratefully, struggling to find the words even more now to thank her. Shadaya smiled.
“Thank you for helping with my horse Grent.”
She turned to the lower manager she knew as Vin and he fell into step with her as she walked towards the Soap House. The aroma of competing and complementary fragrances filled the air, spices and flowers, some of which her father had journeyed distances to discover. Even though her father was dead, his legacy rose like a sweet aroma throughout Saharia. He took his father’s vision for hygiene and took it to another level, providing kings and nobles all over Saharia with a pleasant cleansing experience. With the help of Dereece, the manager and executor of her father’s estate, who had worked along with her father since before she was born, she had managed to introduce scented candles to their production line. It was one of the things that set Dravia apart in Saharia. The ingenuity and creativity of its people could be credited with its unique landscape, architecture and produce. It could also be credited with their creative ways of torture and cruelty.
“Is Lord Dereece here today?”
“Yes, Lady Quadin. He just returned from the city a short while ago.”
Shadaya nodded, “good take me to him.”
Dereece opened the office door and swept his hand before her, “your office, undisturbed per your long-standing request.”
Shadaya turned to look at him to ensure she did not see weariness over her insistence on preserving her father’s presence here at his most prized establishment. She found an understanding kindness in his forest eyes that instantly put her concerns to rest.
“Thank you Dereece,” she said as she made her way to her father’s desk and sat upon his old chair.
Dereece looked at her with concern etched into a face that had seen many years in service to the Quadin estate.
“What troubles you? Your sudden visits usually indicate that something is bothering you.”
Shadaya smiled sadly, “I am constantly bothered Dereece. Wouldn’t you be?”
Dereece nodded, almost ashamedly, “of course my lady. To be responsible for such a large estate is not an easy burden for a girl so young.”
“For anyone,” she corrected with a disapproving frown.
Dereece smiled, “Aye, my apologies for offending.”
Shadaya waved him off, “you always have my forgiveness for your masculine slips of the tongue. The respect you show me as a woman greatly compensates for what I understand comes easily to you.”
Dereece chuckled, “I will leave you now, knowing that you are just as you always are.”
Shadaya returned his smile, “Dereece, could you find out about the new hand following around station manager Vin. I have a feeling you will not find him listed on your wage books.”
Dereece sighed uncomfortably and Shadaya’s eyes widened with disapproval.
“You know about him?”
“Look Shadaya, I know you have your ideals regarding slavery…”
“They were my father’s ideals too.”
“And mine. But our ideals are not going to keep Quadin Manor running. Yes, some of the men still take slaves…”
“You know how slaves are acquired Dereece,” she interjected.
“This is Dravia, Shadaya. Please do not make a great deal of this. This is our world, we buy slaves and they serve us, most of them are captured against their will others have depths to pay. You should start thinking about striking a balance… maybe focus instead on encouraging masters to be kind, instead of challenging the very ways of our kingdom.”
Shadaya glared at him, “Why? Because that is what got my father killed?”
Dereece sighed, looking sad, “I don’t know Shadaya. It is time to stop dwelling on these things.”
“I will… when it starts to make sense to me. And it was not a question. I know my father was a part of the rebellion.”
One look at Dereece and she knew that he knew too.
“How long were you going to keep that from me?”
Dereece squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, he wore his golden hair like most Dravian men, just above his shoulders in a layered cut. With age his hair had faded into a sandy shade.
“Shadaya you must not trouble yourself with matters such as this.”
“How can I not? You let me believe all this time that my father had been wronged…”
“He was,” Dereece interjected, taking a firm step forward.
“Your father only stood up for what is right, for the cause of those who did not have the voice, power or resources men like him could afford.”
“So, he was funding the rebellion.”
Dereece sighed, “I do not know exactly what he did, but I did find out when I looked over the books that a large sum of money was being withdrawn every month. And there was talk of Pillar families funding the rebellion, I assumed… knowing the kind of man he was…”
“I think he was doing more than funding it Dereece.”
She reached into her shoulder bag and took out the ledger she’d found. She then withdrew the cloth from her pocket and tossed it across the table. She wasn’t ready to show him the journal yet.
“He was a part of it.”
Dereece picked up the cloth and stared at it as if it could burn him.
He placed it on the table between them gently, “I don’t know everything your father did. What is this?”
“A ledger, he had it hidden in his study back home. It has detailed outlines of his contributions, plans, sketches… all treasonous.”
“Oh.”
Shadaya sighed and leaned back in her father’s chair, “These books are the kind of evidence you would need to sentence a man to death. If the king didn’t get them, then what was his justification. What did he deem an act of treason? Could he have killed my father without solid evidence of his crimes?”
Dereece looked uncomfortable, “I don’t know Shadaya,” he sounded bored.
She continued, shaking her head “how do you live with yourself in a place where what you feel is right is deemed wrong?”
&nbs
p; “You close your eyes!” Dereece said through gritted teeth.
“That is all your father wanted you to do, not snooping around, trying to turn over stones that have been placed for your protection. Dravia is a dangerous place for people with ideals… your father still warns you even from the grave.”
“How hypocritic of him, to tell me to close my eyes to what is happening around me, while he lived with his wide open, sword and wealth at the ready.”
Dereece looked her right in her defiant eyes, “fathers do what they must to protect their children.”
“And who protects their children from the lies they use to protect them?”
“Shadaya!”
“Leave me Dereece,” she said calmly.
Dereece sighed but bowed slightly and left the room as was asked of him. Shadaya immediately got up to lock the door behind him, pressing her forehead against the aged wood of the door. Her heart was now a big ball of confusion.
Chapter 6
Markus looked into the tearful eyes of the grieving widow and his heart broke as the memories of his own mother welled up within him afresh. He reached out and took the old woman's shaking hands in his.
"I am sorry for your loss Ma'am, if only I had been more attentive. I feel the weight of his death like it was by my own hands."
The caretaker who left here yesterday very much alive, had returned dead. Now his grieving wife stood before Markus. How did this happen? He should have known that giving him such an ostentatious payment would draw unkind attention. But who else would know that he carried the jewels on his person? The poor old man must have boasted of his fortunes. Markus sighed, his old mentor had often warned about a man who could not hold his tongue.
The woman sniffled and lifted sad eyes to him, "oh you are a kind young man," she said hoarsely, "Igniss would have loved to continue working for you, if he had been given the chance."
"I am sure," he said with a sad smile.
At that moment Cad walked into the living area, his steel boots clattering against the polished floor with an air of importance and usefulness.
Shadaya: Out of Darkness (Gemstone Royals) Page 6