by Andra Leigh
“Is that…” Eliscity tried to recall the map of Rylock. “I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s below the Mythenra Ranges. Stretches right along the mountain line, with the Cityel opposite. The only reason it exists is because of the water held in the Ranges. Makes it flourish with life, right there beside the desert.”
Eliscity smiled at the way his eyes lit up describing his childhood home.
“Are there truly covens of Witches in the mountains?”
Neith’s shoulders bobbed in amusement. “I don’t know. Though a friend and I spent much of our youth going on Witch hunts. At that age every stick and mark was proof of Witches. But no, we never found anything real. Then again, between the Mythenra’s impossible terrain, the fear of being carried off by Witches and the very real wallop waiting for us back home if our mothers ever found out where we had been, we never ventured far into the mountains.”
“And you never went back?” a stunned Eliscity queried. “Not to see your family or this friend? You knew where home was. Why did you stay here?”
He gave her a patient smile. “The Cursain Valley stopped being my home the moment the Clinic took me. See, after my escape it wasn’t a home I wanted to return to. It had nothing to offer me.”
“But your family…” she argued.
Neith was shaking his head. “To walk back into that life and tell them I was kidnapped would be one thing. A simple thing, even, and no doubt I would have been accepted back into the community. But to tell them what I had become… That warm welcome would have disappeared and I would have been putting myself and everyone else in danger. Not only are we a secret the Clinic wants kept, we’re a secret the Clinic needs kept. The Realm’s not ready for us. Everything in society, the Extinction Laws, the way the War is remembered, everything is skewed to make sure the Realm is not ready for us.”
Eliscity’s heart sank as Neith told her exactly what she already knew.
“No,” he continued. “I prefer to have my parents believe me dead. That’s a happier ending than the truth. Anyway, family is easily made. Especially in the most horrible of conditions.”
“The Manor’s not so horrible,” she muttered, truthfully.
“I wasn’t speaking of the Manor. But yes, this place isn’t so bad.”
Eliscity opened her mouth to ask if he meant the Clinic, wondering if that had been where his nose had been broken too, but changed her mind at the last moment when a more important question came to her. “Has anyone ever done it? Gone home, I mean.”
Neith considered something for a moment. Eliscity got the distinct impression he was debating whether or not to answer. Finally he said, “One.”
Eliscity’s heart hammered. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”
“Is that possible? Are they still alive? Is their family hiding them?”
Neith’s brow creased as he clearly struggled to decide whether or not to answer again. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to tell you that.”
Narrowing her eyes she felt her shoulders slump as she was overwhelmed by a sudden suspicion. “It was Jinx. Wasn’t it?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Warned Reigness
• Acanthea •
Acanthea suspected this Season’s Sect banquet had been specially crafted to resemble her own personal brand of torture.
The Reigner had, in fact, ensured that they were matching in their apparel. Acanthea’s dress was a deep crimson she would never have chosen for herself. Embroidered roses, so tiny one could only see them if they were rubbing the fabric with their face, adorned the bodice. Since no one was getting that close to her, Acanthea thought it was a poorly thought out embroidery choice. The Reigner’s flowing cape was made of the same fabric and Acanthea thought there was a better chance at someone seeing the embroidery on this, as she could imagine him strangling one of the servers he deemed too slow with it.
The rest of their attire was sleek and attractive. She would have liked it had it been a different colour and not part of a matching set. The only pleasure she took from it was knowing that the Reigner, no doubt, was as pained as her by the gaudy image they presented.
The night was dragging on. The craving for a Dusting had crept into Acanthea’s mind early. She had known it would. She never Dusted before a palace event. There were always too many over-observant powerful people in attendance who would love to de-reign their family and send her to the noose for good measure. The Dust would just have to wait for her to turn in for the night. Unfortunately that time didn’t seem to be approaching quickly. The night had begun with the slow, laboured announcements of all the guests worthy of having their attendance pointed out. After that the four course banquet had been rolled out, doing little to quash her cravings. Now, with the plates and platters being bustled off by a flurry of maids, they had entered the stage of the night Acanthea had been dreading the most. Mingling with the guests.
“Ah, Mister Scapnia, so glad you could make it,” the Reigner boomed, addressing a short, fat, balding man with tiny eyes and large lips.
“Oh yes, yes. Postponed our departure three days,” the man said, as if he should be thanked for agreeing to such an imposition. “We might be able to make some time up in the Plains, never know. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He drained his wine while flagging down a black and white clad server for another at the same time, apparently believing himself to be important, rather than just plain ugly. “Doesn’t matter in the end, does it? Can’t say how long we’ll be in the Ranges and who I am to not enjoy a few more days of rest, aye now, aye now.” He laughed extravagantly.
Acanthea couldn’t think of a man less fitting to venture anywhere, let alone into what sounded like the Mythenra Ranges. He was so fat he was lumpy, his entire body jiggling in different directions when he moved.
“But don’t panic now, Lord Reigner.” His puffy hand waved through the air between them. “I’m sure the journey will be well worth your wait.”
“You haven’t disappointed me yet, Mister Scapnia,” the Reigner said.
Mister Scapnia, oblivious to the subtle threat he had just received, laughed deeply.
Acanthea was never told who any of the people were that they were making excruciating polite talk with, nor what they did in life to achieve the very elusive status of ‘cosy with the Reigner’. She had no idea what business the man had in the Ranges and what could possibly be worth the Reigner’s wait. And honestly she didn’t care.
Acanthea was thinking about how if he shaved the straggly remains of his hair off and held his breath until he turned purple, this Mister Scapnia would look like a bunch of grapes, when he shifted his attention to her.
“Lovely to see you, Gentle Reigness. Lovely, lovely.”
Fighting the urge to cringe, she plastered her best fake smile on. “And you, Mister Scapnia.”
They moved on, pushing through the crowd, offering greetings and false smiles. Occasionally they would pause to talk with various guests. Acanthea saw a few of the younger attendees that she would often spend these events with, though didn’t get a chance to do anything more than wave at them from afar.
Sensing the Reigner coming to a halt, she came to a graceful stop at the same time. It was something she had learnt to do at an early age. The Reigner didn’t like sloppy movements, especially not when those movements were next to him.
“Madam Beldeno, you look beautiful this evening.”
A red-headed woman gave a low curtsy, blushing deeply at suddenly finding herself with the Lord Reigner’s attention. Acanthea couldn’t blame him for granting it to her. Unlike many of the women that currently swarmed the ballroom, she was clearly a natural beauty.
Acanthea would have quite happily given her further time, but the Reigner moved on. Not even a beautiful woman could distract him from treating his guests with the attention parallel to the level of importance they held to him. Apparently she was important enough for him to know her title,
but not so important that she deserved to partake in an actual conversation with him. Acanthea thought he had his priorities seriously muddled up. The pompous talking bunch of grapes had gotten a full conversation, yet the stunning woman got a sentence. She and the Reigner had rather different ideas of how to objectify people.
A sallow-faced man was the next to receive the Reigner’s greeting followed by Lord and Lady Melck. As Lord and Lady were rare titles to hold in Rylock – since they were also given to the crowned Reigner and Reigness of the time – Acanthea knew them well and was able to pretend to be a good Gentle Reigness by asking about their children and small rat of a dog.
The greetings continued on. A man with a dark complexion and neatly trimmed goatee. Two brothers, one well groomed, the other longhaired and grizzly looking. A sour-faced woman. A pox-scarred man. A muscular person she decided, after much debate, was a woman. On and on went the procession of faces.
“Mister Reinhold, ah and here’s your wife. How is your son?”
“Wonderful, Lord Reigner.” A sharp nosed man bowed.
The Reigner didn’t bother with a vocal reply, opting instead to give a curt nod.
Clearly the son was the important one in that family.
Moving away from them, the Reigner clasped hands with a man who was a similar age to himself.
“Breconn, how’s that enquiry in the Southern Cities going?”
Breconn DirTarne was the closest thing the Lord Reigner had to an actual friend. It was a concept that absolutely bemused her as neither seemed to fully grasp what that entailed, nor had the emotional capability for it. Breconn’s son, Tylan, stood beside him. They made a handsome picture with their identical silky chestnut hair and broad shoulders. Unlike his father, Tylan understood emotions, in particular how to manipulate or play on them to get what he wanted.
“Very little progress,” Breconn said. “You know Southerners, they see guards and suddenly they didn’t see anything. I took Tylan, here, along with me. His first time experiencing the animosity over the river when in command of a unit.”
Tylan gave her a pointed look that told her she wasn’t the only one being forced to hang on their father’s arm tonight. Acanthea offered a grim smile in return.
The Reigner nodded in approval. “I’m sure he’ll be ready to take over Half-Post soon enough.”
“Oh yes,” Breconn agreed. “Still a good number of years before he gets Full-Post command, though.”
The two fathers laughed together, matching one another with their humourless tone.
“Best not rush that anyway,” the Reigner said, “not if there is a marriage to negotiate.”
Breconn bobbed his head, looking over to Acanthea for the first time.
Acanthea fought an eye roll.
This had been a prominent comment made about their future since they had first met. Acanthea had been nine, Tylan had been thirteen and apparently the courtship of the Gentle Reigness and the son who would one day command all the authority figures in Rylock sounded like a profitable and effectual partnership.
What the Reigner never cared enough to learn, was that she never had any inclination toward flirting or – Bloods forbid – courtship with the boys of men. None of them interested her. No, she had always known who she was and what interested her. It certainly was not males. There had been no need for her to ever struggle with the search and discovery of who she was. She didn’t understand people who thought life was meant for some sort of self discovery. No, self discovery was an excuse for pathetic people too afraid to embrace the only person they were born as. And rather than live life, they spent it – bit by bit – accepting each little aspect of themselves and convincing everyone else they’d only just become like that.
That wasn’t Acanthea.
It also wasn’t Tylan.
While he liked females, he tended to lean toward the more mature woman. And while he liked the idea of marriage, it was because those mature women were often already married – to other men.
They both knew that they would never be married to one another, not even to appease the potential wrath of their families. The Lord Reigner and Breconn DirTarne believed it would be a successful merging that would strengthen the Reigning name to the people of Rylock. Acanthea and Tylan believed it would be a laughable excuse for a marriage and often joked over who would order the other’s death first. It was going to be a scary day when the men found out just how stubborn their children could be on the matter.
“Yes there’ll be time for Full-Post after,” Breconn said. “Or perhaps a different post would be required.”
“Mhm,” the Reigner mused. “Something would need to be rearranged. It would be a shame to completely lose such a respectable young man’s command. Especially when he already holds such esteem in the men.”
She fought the snort that bubbled up in her nose as Tylan winked at her.
Tylan was anything but respectable.
Along with his tendencies to aid in adultery, he was also the person that had introduced her to Dust. As the son of the Full-Post Commander, getting his hands on products taken off the law-breakers of Rylock had always been easy. How so many people remained oblivious to who Tylan really was did amuse her greatly, but also benefitted her. Without him, getting Dust would involve risking exposure by buying off unsavoury characters.
“What say we let the children talk, Nayton?” Breconn suggested. Acanthea tried to settle her facials, in order to not portray just how desperately she wanted that. She could see the Reigner struggle with the same masking. He wanted to be rid of her for the night just as much as she wanted to distance herself from him. The only difference was he cared what the people that milled around the ballroom and laughed too loudly thought of him and his daughter. In the end he obviously decided that they had put on enough of a show, leaving her and Tylan alone, not bothering with a goodbye.
“Thank the Dead,” Tylan sighed in his silky voice so many females found alluring the moment his father was out of earshot. “It’s rather challenging not telling the fools I’m being introduced to exactly what I think of them.”
“At least you’re getting introduced,” Acanthea huffed. “Half the time I’m making polite talk with people I don’t even know the names of.”
“Why should that be an issue?” Tylan scooped up two goblets of mead from a passing server, handing one to her before taking a generous sip of his own. “By the time you move from Gentle Reigness to Lady Reigness all the stuffy fools you’re making small talk with will either be dead or so old they don’t know their own names, so you could call them what you please. Now, if you would excuse me.” Tipping the rest of his mead into her goblet he clinked his empty crystal to hers with a wink. “Madam Visturt has just extracted herself from her mundane husband, so I think I shall go seduce her in the powder room.”
Acanthea pulled a face. “She has two daughters our age,” she reminded him.
“Not my type,” Tylan said, ignoring her blatant attempt to emphasis the woman’s age. “But you’re welcome to have a go at them, Reigness.”
Acanthea watched as he sauntered in the direction of a curvy brunette before deciding this was her moment to escape. Plonking down her full goblet she made her way toward the doors leading out to the vast hedged garden. It would have been quicker to disappear up the wide sweeping staircase, out into the grand foyer and on into the private wings of the palace but she couldn’t risk the Reigner seeing her leave. Instead she pushed through the haughty and proud, indulging the greetings she received with intention and self-importance (let it not be said there was someone haughtier or prouder than her). Once outside she skirted around the different courtyards and paths, ignoring the harp and lute players scattered through the gardens meant to create a seamless atmosphere. The only atmosphere she ever enjoyed from them was when one of them accidently fell in a fountain or pond – something that surprisingly happened quite often. Making it around to the north-eastern side of the wing, she slipped under the gabled galler
y and back into the palace, two corridors away from the hum of the banquet.
As this was still an area where guests may roam, guards stood to attention all the way down the wide hall. Straight backed, boltbows in their left hands. They stood like that constantly. Not moving. So absent of expression Acanthea had trouble differentiating one from the next in the line. It didn’t help that the guards based in the palace were grouped together by size. To the Reigner, it was all about creating a cohesive picture.
“Gentle Reigness,” a voice to her right acknowledged.
It took Acanthea a moment to place the grey haired man who had spoken. “Mister Vance,” she said politely. She recognised him as one of the people born to a wealthy name. Though as he had also been blessed with an abundance of intelligence he had done more with his name than just speak of his purchases. If she remembered correctly he was a doctor, or perhaps it was a medical professor. She wasn’t certain, but she thought he had something to do with the development of new medicines and diagnosis. It sounded like a noteworthy profession to her. There were too many people falling to unknown illnesses, her Mother included.
“Forgive me for saying, but red does not become you.” He nodded to her dress.
Although she had to agree that it was not a colour she liked, she frowned. “I’ve been told it compliments me.” With her long golden curls and porcelain skin she looked good in almost every shade.
“Oh, it does, Reigness.” Mister Vance agreed, like that was an obvious observation that required no argument. “However it does not become you. But please, don’t let me keep you from your escape.” He smiled at her knowingly, before adding, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“You won’t?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m very good at keeping secrets, Reigness.” Mister Vance gave her a bow and headed in the direction of the banquet.
Acanthea made it part way down the corridor before a hand latched onto her arm and she was dragged sideways into an empty room, where she found herself face to face with Cathrainra.