~ 2 ~
The Maiden intrigued
Supper was the dull, interminable thing she expected it to be, a shallow pageantry of aristocrats doing their best to outshine each other either in their clothing and jewels or boasts regarding the size of their estates, the quality of their horseflesh or the fertility of their loins. Jahna ignored the predictable scrutiny of others and did her best to eavesdrop, without being obvious, on the conversation among her brother, her father, and the Ilinfan swordmaster.
Sir Velus had joined them shortly after supper began, his attempt at slipping unnoticed into his seat foiled by her brother’s loud and enthusiastic “Sir Velus, come join us!” combined with the equally loud and complimentary “Such beautiful hair!” from a drunken noblewoman further down the table from where Jahna’s family sat. For a change, all eyes weren’t on her, and Jahna didn’t know whether to be relieved for her sake or feel sorry for Sir Velus’s.
He seemed unfazed by the attention, his focus first on her father and then on Sodrin. Only after a round of greetings exchanged with him, did he turn to her and offer both a bow and a tiny wink only she could see.
The heat of a blush crept up her neck and face, and she ducked her head, suddenly shy in his presence. Her earlier ease in speaking with him had vanished, a distant memory in the face of her current tongue-tied state. She spent the remainder of supper sipping wine and listening as he and her father discussed Sodrin’s lessons, and Sodrin fired off questions as fast and numerous as a barrage of arrows.
Once the supper ended, and the various diners broke into smaller groups to either gossip, curry favor, or destroy reputations, Jahna edged her way toward the room’s perimeter and the promised freedom beyond the tall, ornate doors flanked by guards. Her father had left her to her own devices, and she had refused her brother’s offer to keep her company.
“Enjoy,” she said, catching the way his gaze swept the hall, settling on one pretty nobleman’s daughter before moving to another. He was a high-ranking aristocrat’s son and of an age where courtship was not only natural, it was expected. Sodrin didn’t need her clinging to his arm should he try his hand at a little clumsy wooing.
She almost made it to the doors without incident when Dame Stalt stepped neatly in front of her and blocked her path. The urge to curse her bad timing battled with her delight that the revered headwoman of the Archives sought her out.
As if by some unspoken magic, the crowd thinned away, leaving a wide circumference of empty space around them. The dame looked more formidable than any warrior queen in her severe-cut gown. She stared down her nose at Jahna, who gave a hasty bow before clasping her hands behind her back to hide the fact she was wringing them bloodless from nervousness.
“I received your scrolls,” Dame Stalt announced, and Jahna’s heart plummeted to her feet at the grim tone in the other woman’s voice. “You lack structure and need proper training, but the account you sent me is thorough, detailed, and avoids useless fancy.”
Almost light-headed with relief at the sharp-edged compliment, Jahna gave another quick bow. “I’m so glad, madam. I enjoyed recording the stories the grandfathers and grandmothers of Osobaris told me.”
The village of Osobaris perched inside lands owned by Jahna’s father. A nondescript community made so by its lack of significant trade goods or strategic importance, it nonetheless possessed the distinction of being a gateway from which the first of the Elder races, the ancient Gullperi, abandoned this realm, leaving behind only remnants of their power in lonely tors, sacred circles and timeless forests.
Dame Stalt’s gaze was even more piercing than that of Radimar Velus. “You did a fine job of recording what they said without succumbing to the more fanciful aspects of storytelling. I think you would do well as an apprentice at the Archives if you’re interested.”
Jahna swayed on her feet before catching hold of her shock and wrestling it into submission. Gods forbid she do something stupid such as faint in front of the dame, especially when the news was this wondrous. She measured her words and prayed she didn’t screech or babble. “Oh yes, my lady. I’m very interested. Though I don’t know if my father would be willing to release me to apprentice with the Archives.”
She hadn’t expected such an offer from Dame Stalt. Her hope in sending the manuscript to her for review had been that the dame would look it over and perhaps consider her for apprenticeship as an amanuensis with possible promotion to first tier king’s chronicler after a few years. This was far better than she ever imagined.
If only she could get her father to agree to it.
Dame Stalt waved a languid hand in the air, as if approval from Jahna’s father was a minor and unimportant thing. “Let me speak with Uhlfrida tomorrow. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement that would satisfy everyone.”
She bid Jahna a short good night and plunged into the throng of dancers and observers, her decisive strides toward the king’s dais at the far end of the room clearing the path as if she wielded lightning strikes to push people out of her way.
Jahna envied her that particular talent and wished she might be able to employ the same as she tried for a second time to reach the main doors. She wanted to race outside, kick up snow drifts and laugh with joy under the winter moon. Her euphoria over Dame Stalt’s offer wasn’t dimmed by yet another interruption, this one even more welcomed than the dame’s had been.
“You remind me of a lantern whose flame burns bright, my lady. Your eyes are dancing, though you are not.” Sir Velus raised a questioning eyebrow, his own eyes green as the coveted sea glass brought over the mountains by the intrepid trade caravans and sold as jewelry to rich noblewomen.
Jahna grinned, still riding on a swell of elation. “I don’t dance because I’m never asked, Sir Velus.” She hurried to qualify her statement in case he thought her remark a clumsy attempt at garnering an invitation from him. “And I value my feet. Too many drunk lords fancying themselves butterflies on the dance floor when they’re really oxen.” His low laughter joined hers, and she thought his as delightful as his speech. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
He’d been scrutinized, measured and admired the moment he walked through the doors. A person would have to be without eyes or blindfolded not to see it. That he hadn’t been swallowed up by the spinning, swaying crowd, a partner on his arm, puzzled Jahna.
Wry humor played across his mouth. “Because I’m not important enough or high enough in status to warrant the time. You’re young, but I suspect you know how this works. This is a dance only on the surface. Underneath is a battlefield and those who strategize best are the envy of even the most successful generals.”
She blinked. He had just neatly summed up why she disliked this particular festival dance. Its air of calculation, of desperate purpose, stripped the joy from it. People used the event as an excuse to maneuver for position in court and negotiate marriages and trade alignments. Her father waded into the thick of it, never dancing but flitting from one cluster of nobles to the next as he bargained and gleaned information that would expand his influence.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t participate, but from here, it feels like I’m watching a battle instead of a dance sometimes. I like the courtyard dances much more, especially the Maiden Flower Dance. Have you seen it?”
Her companion nodded. “I have. The villages closest to Ilinfan come together to celebrate Delyalda. The Maiden Flower Dance and the Firehound story are always the favorites.”
“I love the Firehound story!” Jahna blushed, mortified by her enthusiastic outburst. She sounded more like an overly excited seven-year-old than the dignified young woman her father so desperately wanted her to be.
Sir Velus grinned, the expression one of appreciation instead of mockery. “Mine too. One of the older swordmasters possesses a touch of sorcery and can create the Hound from flame, though to be honest there’s been years where it looks more like a rabbit or piglet.” He winked at her. “Keep that between us.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she captured it by covering her mouth with her hand. She had met this man only hours earlier, knew almost nothing about him other than his profession and his purpose in being here, but oh, she liked him very much. There was about him a steady confidence, as if he was very sure of his place in the world, with no need to prove his worth to anyone. He’d shown her great kindness, even before he knew she was his employer’s daughter.
He tipped his chin toward the crowded dance floor. “Your brother is enjoying himself.”
She followed the direction of his gesture, spotting Sodrin twirling a girl Jahna recognized as the youngest daughter of a lesser aristocrat. Her father stood not far away, watching, a disapproving frown pinching his face. “I’m glad,” she said. “As the heir, he’s ever reminded by our father of his duty to the line and the inheritance.”
She shuttered the rest of her words. It wasn’t her place to gossip about her family’s personal interactions nor the swordmaster’s place to be privy to them. It put them both in an awkward position. The heat of embarrassment flooded her face once more. She was a clumsy creature, socially inept and too free with her words when someone showed an interest in talking to her.
Unlike her, Sir Velus didn’t look the least ruffled and took up the threads of the conversation she abandoned. “Sodrin gave me a quick demonstration before supper of what he knows. He has a natural talent for the blade. He just needs to be lighter on his feet.”
“And forget for a moment that he isn’t always right.” Jahna loved her brother, but his insistence that he was never wrong, just misunderstood, drove her mad sometimes.
Sir Velus’s amused snort coaxed a smile from her. “Spoken like a true sibling,” he said. “Taking instruction is the hardest thing for a student of any endeavor to master, and some resist more than others.”
The wisdom of those words settled within her and stayed. “You have your challenge then with Sodrin.”
“You know he’s said something similar about you.”
She scowled. “Is that so?”
Their conversation was interrupted by Lord Uhlfrida’s sudden appearance in front of them. “Jahna isn’t trapping you here with her is she, Radimar?”
Her father’s thoughtless question robbed Jahna of breath. Had she trapped the swordmaster here with her awkward attempts at witty conversation? Did he only linger because of her relationship to her father and his own sense of diplomacy?
Beside her, Sir Velus stiffened and his voice was much cooler than it had been a moment earlier. “No, my lord She was just telling me how much her brother looked forward to his training.”
Uhlfrida nodded, swirling the wine in the chalice he held before taking a swallow. He dabbed at his mouth with a silk handkerchief clasped in his other hand. “So he is, which is why I want to discuss something with you regarding his lessons.” His eyes flickered over Jahna. “Jahna, you should be dancing.” It was more command than suggestion.
Jahna bowed her head. “Yes, Father.” It was futile to remind him that to dance in this arena, a woman had to be asked, and her chances of that happening were non-existent. Even if some aristocrat’s son approached her, she’d refuse. She knew of the standing wager among her peers. Whoever managed to coax or trick ugly Jahna Uhlfrida onto the dance floor would win a sizeable sum.
Satisfied with her ready agreement, Uhlfrida clasped Sir Velus’s arm. “Come, I’ll retrieve Sodrin so we can talk.”
The swordmaster executed a short quarter turn toward her which served to shake off Uhlfrida’s grip. The move was subtle, unnoticed by Uhlfrida himself, but Jahna noted it. The glint in Sir Velus’s eyes confirmed it. He bowed a farewell.
“Thank you for your insight, Lady Uhlfrida. I’m eager to start training your brother.” He left out any reference to other parts of their conversation that might provoke a litany of questions from Jahna’s father.
“Enjoy your evening, Sir Velus.” She offered her father a quick smile. “You too, Father.”
He acknowledged her valediction with a grunt and gestured for the swordmaster to keep pace with him as they braved the crowd toward the still dancing Sodrin. Jahna sighed. Poor Sodrin. He’d come to the Delyalda festival to revel, not spend the evening listening to their father’s lectures.
She was in front of the great hall’s doors when a dreaded voice halted her.
“Interesting choice of color for your gown, Jahna. It matches your…skin tone.”
Evaline had finally cornered her. Jahna was tempted to rush across the threshold and flee to her rooms, but logic kept her feet planted. Her persecutors would only follow, their lust for entertainment at the expense of her misery stoked to an even hotter fire by the chase.
Jahna schooled her face into an expressionless mask and slowly turned to face Evaline. As she expected, the girl stood flanked by her ever-present sycophants. They had shed their cloaks and hoods to reveal colorful dresses trimmed with ribbon and beads.
Evaline’s blue gown highlighted her blonde beauty, and she shimmered like a sapphire under the flickering light of the numerous torches and candles set in the walls and niches of the great hall. Nadel and Tefila likewise wore vivid gowns in shades of crimson and yellow. To Jahna, they looked like a cluster of jewels—beautifully faceted and hard through and through.
By contrast, Jahna wore dove gray, the hem and cuffs of her long sleeves decorated in silver and black embroidery. The seamstress had sewn a hood to the frock at Jahna’s request, and she wore it pinned to her loose hair Evaline’s remark that the gown matched Jahna’s skin tone might have stung if it hadn’t been so predictable.
Evaline raked her from head to toe with a withering gaze. “I hear your brother will learn the sword from an Ilinfan swordmaster. He’s handsome enough if you squint the right way, so why in the gods’ names is he talking to you?”
Jahna sighed inwardly. Please let them grow bored with this quickly. “I don’t know.”
Nadel’s toothy smile reminded Jahna of the mountain cats that stalked the forested cliffs surrounding her father’s estate. “Maybe he feels sorry for her.” She laughed at her own jibe and Tefila joined her.
Evaline didn’t laugh, and her blue eyes were cold enough to skate across as she stared at Jahna. “Not sorry enough. He didn’t invite you to dance with him.”
Jahna had observed Radimar Velus nearly the entire evening. He hadn’t asked anyone to dance with him. She knew she’d regret it, now or later, but she replied anyway. “He didn’t invite you either.”
Evaline’s snide expression froze. Her nostrils flared, and Jahna braced herself to dodge a slap that didn’t come. Lord Lacramor’s “whelp” clenched her teeth and curled her hands into fists. She breathed in audible pants.
Lord Uhlfrida was of higher status and greater importance than Lord Lacramor. Jahna knew it. So did Evaline. To outright physically attack Jahna where witnesses abounded carried repercussions on a grander scale than a juvenile spat between the young daughters of two powerful noblemen.
Jahna didn’t look away as a seething Evaline stared daggers at her before visibly wrestling her fury under control. She raised her head, nose in the air and gave a disdainful sniff. “What good would it do me to spend my valuable time with a lowly baron’s son?”
Was he a baron’s son? Jahna had never heard of the House of Wemerc and assumed it was one of the families awarded noble status for outstanding service in the Beladine army. Leave it to Evaline to waste no time in finding out where her object of interest stood in the hierarchy.
She arched an eyebrow, committed now to the foolhardy venture of antagonizing the viper. “You’re spending time with me, and I don’t intend to offer for your hand.”
“As I’m sure no one will offer for yours, though your father might be able to convince some desperate nobleman in need of coin.” Evaline almost spat the words at her.
“Only the king is that wealthy,” Tefila added.
The three laughed at her quip but finally moved on when Jahna’s deadpan expression didn’t alter. She watched them go, her stomach in knots, perspiration trickling down her back. She turned to look blindly at the crush of people filling the great hall, their bodies slowly blurring to watery outlines the longer she watched them. Jahna blinked hard and caught Sir Velus watching her from the other side of the room, his face grim. She forced a weak smile and gave a wave to signal all was well before fleeing the great hall in what she hoped was a dignified walk.
Once in the corridor, she raised the hem of her gown and ran, gasping for breath as her chest and throat tightened with the threat of tears. Her father’s suite of rooms was blessedly empty save for two maids who offered to help her change and bring her tea or wine. Jahna refused both, pleading an upset stomach from the food. They left her alone while she settled in a narrow bed placed in the sitting room with a screen erected for some semblance of privacy.
Beyond the screen, the fire in the hearth crackled, driving away some of the cold that managed to sneak under the tapestries hanging on the walls. Jahna huddled under her blankets, still clothed in her gown. She listened to the maids’ voices, their words soft and indistinct. Soothing.
Evaline’s insults were carefully crafted to cut, but it was Tefila’s that struck deepest. “Only a king is that wealthy.” Jahna closed her eyes and gave in to a bout of silent weeping until the bands squeezing her chest loosened, and her throat relaxed. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling with its intricately painted murals. The last of her tears slid down her temples to tickle her ears.
A voice inside her assured her none of those vicious bitches was worth a single one of her tears, and there was far more to her than a disfiguring purple stain. Still, another voice refused to stay silent and wished she’d been born unmarked. She didn’t wish for beauty, just the acceptance that came with not being so noticeably different.
Jahna turned her thoughts to more cheerful things—her brother laughing as he danced a lively jig with a pretty brown-haired girl, the upcoming Firehound story brought to life by the king’s sorcerers, Dame Stalt’s invitation to join the student body of the Archives and train as a king’s chronicler. These things mattered, gave her joy. She closed her eyes and spooled out memories that made her smile and dried her tears. She fell asleep to the image of the Ilinfan swordmaster with his sunrise hair and sea-glass eyes.
She spent much of the following morning exploring the overgrown gardens that had once been the pride of the current king’s grandmother. When Rodan married, his queen had a new garden designed to her taste installed at the southern corner of the palace grounds. The old garden was left to run to seed and grow wild and unkempt. Jahna loved it, as much for its isolation as for the snow-encrusted climbing roses and ivy that grew in chaotic profusion, swallowing broken statues and choking stone walls in an intricate web of snaking vines.
One of her father’s servants found her near midday sculpting sacred spirals made of snow next to a fountain garlanded in roses the color of blood sugared in snow. Jahna’s hands were frozen, and her breath steamed in front of her every time she exhaled, but she ignored the cold, happy to be outside and away from the stifling conditions in the overcrowded palace.
“Lady Uhlfrida, your father is looking for you. He’s asked that you attend him.”
Jahna sighed and followed the servant back to their rooms where her father held court with whomever chose to visit at the moment. Her mood lightened when she spotted Dame Stalt seated across from Marius in the antechamber he used as a receiving room. The dame skipped the usual round of polite greetings and went straight to the subject of their conversation.
“Your father feels it best you remain at home at Hollowfell for now, Jahna.” Jahna’s heart plunged through the floor at the news, a ready plea on her lips in the hopes of convincing her father to change his mind.
Her stricken thoughts must have reflected in her expression because the dame shook her head. “You mistake us, girl. When you’re eighteen, you may join the Archives and apprentice to become a king’s chronicler then.”
The ringing in her ears warned Jahna she was in danger from fainting from the tide of relief that washed over her. She turned to her silent father who nodded.
“Court life has its challenges, Jahna. You’ve had a taste of it. Give yourself three more years. You’ll better know how to cope with the vagaries of palace society. That is if you’re still interested in the position of chronicler by then.” He didn’t mention any of the usual platitudes such as the chance she might want to marry instead.
“I will be, Father,” she assured him in her most adamant tone. She turned to the dame. “My thanks, Dame Stalt. I will work hard at not disappointing you.”
Dame Stalt rose. Marius followed suit and both he and Jahna bowed to her. “I bid you both farewell then. You’ll hear from me periodically.” She swept out of Marius’s receiving chamber, followed by a small entourage of women composed of both servants and lesser dames.
Marius eyed his daughter for a long moment. When he spoke, it wasn’t to question her choice in pursuing such a profession—one populated by women from every level of the social strata. “Accompany her to the bailey, Jahna, so she may know I’ve raised you properly.”
Jahna hurried to do his bidding and caught up with the dame just before she reached the doors that opened up to the royal palace’s outer courtyard and bailey. Across the grounds, the Archives stood between two temples, its portico facing the palace’s northern façade. Dame Stalt waited until Jahna drew abreast of her before speaking.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid to see me home, Jahna, especially one young enough to be my granddaughter.” Her sharp regard was softened a little by the smile that played across her mouth. “I will, however, lay a task on you.”
“Anything, madam,” Jahna said.
The dame frowned. “Be careful you use that answer sparingly in the future, Jahna.” She pulled her heavy cloak more closely around her thin frame. “The Archives store all manner of things concerning Belawat’s history. You have a rare opportunity before you, one any chronicler at the Archives would envy. An Ilinfan swordsman will reside in your father’s house for four years. Talk to him. Learn of Ilinfan and its ways, the philosophy and practices of its teachers. Record it and send to me when you’re finished.”
Excitement sang through Jahna’s veins. The dame laid a monumental task at her feet, but one Jahna wholeheartedly embraced. Ilinfan was ancient, built and abandoned by the Gullperi, inhabited by humans who created a famous school and mastered the art of sword form. All those things made it a jewel to research, the chance of learning more about Ilinfan directly from one of its swordsmen, a gift beyond price.
She bowed. “I will, madam. It will be an honor.”
She waited until the dame and her retinue disappeared in a veil of falling snow before literally skipping back to her father’s suite, eager to start her new assignment right away, eager to hear Radimar Velus recount the mysteries of Ilinfan in that magical voice.