Carol Berg - Flesh and Spirit

My livid father straightened his fur-trimmed mantle and stood at his end of the table. “Despite this unseemly interruption, our feast is not yet done,” he said, his voice quivering with anger.

It would not have surprised me to see his leather strap appear in his hand. But it was merely a scroll of parchment that he snatched from a silver tray a servant set beside his plate. The scent of hot beeswax drifted on the warm air. “This night we seal the first and last contract of our recondeur. When the opportunity arose this morning, I felt Serena Fortuna’s blessing enfold our house once more. Valen needs a strong hand, a master who can control his violence and deceit and bend him to his duty. And yet our family will never stoop to unworthy contracts, even to salvage what we may of Valen’s honor.”

“Perhaps you would like to review the document, Valen?” He brought the scroll around to my place and unrolled it on the table in front of me. “Tell me, do you find any terms you would like to change? I can have pen and ink brought.”

Cheeks on fire, I squinted and strained to make out the letters that might hint at whose name was listed on the contract. But of course the sun still rose and set, and the earth still plowed its course through the stars, thus the blotches mixed and mingled on the page like swarming bees, defying my comprehension. Sweat rolled down my neck. I wanted to scream at him to tell me who my master was to be. But without hope of altering his gleeful course, I would not give my father the satisfaction of begging for an answer I would learn soon enough.

“No objection or qualification?” He snatched the page away and returned to his place, pleased with his little joke. “So we can proceed, then.”

My mother unsnapped a gold disk from her neck. She turned it over and over in her hand as my father positioned the ends of a red silk ribbon looped through the tail of the page and dripped a puddle of wax from a small pewter ladle onto the joining.

“Who is this master, Patronn?” said Thalassa. “Should we not be told before the papers are sealed? Of course it is entirely your and Matronn’s decision, but my position makes certain demands.” I was amazed to hear she didn’t know.

“No one in the temple will question my choice, Thalassa,” said my father, frosty and imperious.

He jerked his head at my mother. My mother pressed her disk to the wax and held it. After a moment, she lifted the slip of gold, threw it on the table, and reached for her wine.

My father affixed his seal beside my mother’s. “Who but royalty deserves the service of a Cartamandua-Celestine? The Duc of Evanore will send his man to retrieve Valen tomorrow morning.”

My flesh went cold as a widow in winter, and the bottom fell out of my stomach. The Duc of Evanore…My father had contracted me to Osriel the Bastard.

“Patronn!” Thalassa jumped to her feet. “What are you thinking? Valen is your son!”

Phoebia gaped at me as if I were already some flesh-eating monster. Max clapped his hands to his head and collapsed backward onto his dinner cushions, roaring with laughter. My mother emptied her glass and waved for more wine.

“Mind your manners, Sinduria,” snapped my father. “You are still my daughter, and you sit in my house.”

Thalassa snapped her fingers at a servant who scurried away to retrieve her cloak. “Never again, Patronn. Not as your daughter, at the least. You have disdained my path since I first submitted to the temple, and you have scorned my position that brings honor and respect to all purebloods. I do not think the Registry will refuse me independent status. Not after this madness.”

In a swirl of silk, my sister crouched beside me. “Forgive me, Valen,” she said softly. “I’ve never understood this bloody war between you and Patronn. I still don’t. But I’ll do what I can.”

I stared up at her, numb, scarcely comprehending what she was saying. What uses would the Bastard have for me? Tracking down corpses and gouging their eyes? Seeking the path to the netherworld? Mapping the realms of the dead? I’d heard that his mages tried to keep a victim living while they took his organs for their dark workings. Perhaps they needed more power. Perhaps I was to hang in their web while they stole my magic…my blood.

My sister pressed a cold hand firmly to my forehead for a moment, and then swept from the room, leaving me with naught but a sensation like an arrow piercing my skull and a deadness in my soul.

Bia wailed at my mother, horrified at the thought that the Bastard Prince himself might walk through our door.

My father bellowed at Silos. “Set extra guards about the western walls tonight and lock the courtyard gate. Reinforce the wards on Valen’s door. The man who lets him escape will never see daylight again.”

Max was still chortling as Caphur and Silos led me out of the noisy brilliance of the dining room and into the quiet night. I hobbled through the ice-skimmed slush, my thoughts as frostbit as the night.

“Your Registry valet has returned to the city, plebeiu,” said Silos after a while, as we threaded the courtyards and brick passages. “I think he was afraid of you.”

The pain in my head dulled. I allowed myself to see nothing, feel nothing. This night’s events could not possibly pertain to me. My father could not have bound me to the monster of Evanore for the rest of my life. My grandfather could not be something other than I had always believed. His words…the same words he had babbled in my ears for as long as I could remember…could not be demanding new interpretation now I was old enough to hear them. And the name he had invoked…Clyste. Clyste’s Well, they had called the walled pool beyond Gillarine’s valley, a Danae holy place. I could do nothing about any of it. Osriel…holy gods…for the rest of my life.

“The bodyservant sent by the Sinduria will attend you tonight,” Silos continued, as if I might care.

Even when we stepped into my warm apartments and he began to unbind my hands, my trembling did not cease. Caphur poked up the coals in the brazier and left. Silos bundled the silken cord into a ball and unshackled my ankles. I did not move except to wrap my arms about my churning belly. Probably a good thing I had eaten nothing.

“The Sinduria will do what she can, plebeiu.” Only as Silos raised his eyebrows and nodded a good night did I heed him. “But do not try to escape again. More than me will be watching the walls tonight, and they’ll not hold back as I do.” He closed the door softly behind him.

Someone appeared in the doorway of my bedchamber, but I could not be bothered to look. I had to decide what to do. My head felt like porridge. My gut ached.

“I’ve been sent to attend you, Broth—plebeiu.” The youthful voice cracked like a donkey’s bray.

Purest disbelief spun me about. “Jullian!”

The boy must have grown three quattae in the weeks since I’d left Gillarine. Whether it was the green temple livery or the grim circumstances, he looked older as well. And though forthcoming with news of Gillarine, he no longer babbled with the tongue of innocence. Resentment and withholding laced his every politeness.

“I’m truly sorry to hear Gerard’s not found,” I said, forcing my thoughts to focus as we sat close to the little brazier, devouring the cold roast duck and soggy bread he’d brought from the kitchen. “He didn’t take anything with him at all? Has he family?”

“Not even his cloak. And he has only his gram in Elanus; she hasn’t seen him. Father Abbot fears he is harmed and that’s why he brought me away from Gillarine, besides to come here and take your messages and pass on his. I ought to be back there searching for him, not—” He pressed his lips together.