~Translation Note~
Because many Earth flora and fauna are mentioned in this text, one may be tempted to assume that Byntar is too coincidentally Earthlike. I have simply used English names when the species were at all similar and their differences would not affect the story. Therefore, a Byntarian chicken would not necessarily look, act, or taste exactly like a Terran chicken; the word “chicken” was merely used for simplicity’s sake to communicate a non-flying, domesticated fowl kept for eggs and meat. I have also used standard Terran terms for royalty (king, duke, prince, etc.) even though Byntarian traditions surrounding these ranks conflict somewhat with those of Earth.
Where a word has no reasonable English equivalent, I have supplied the Byntarian word. Please be advised that interstellar translation is, at best, an inexact science, and forgive my clumsiness in its practice.
~C.H.
~Prologue~
Byntar is a world of dualities. Two suns, Calla and Cana, rule the days. Guarding the nights are moons Paeva and Pouren. Sentient life continues the duality decreed by suns and moons above.
Elva comes from the ancient word for “heavens”, since Elva coloring echoes the firmament. Elva hair is black as night, white as stars, or any shade of gray clouds. Gray hair is just as likely on infants as adults, as it has nothing to do with age. Their eyes reflect the skies in all its seasons: black as night, gray as the storms, or blue as a summer’s day. Elva are tall and even Elva ears point heavenward. Strong physiques and ambitious constitutions mark the Elva.
Itzi means “earth”. Itzi hair is blond, brown, or red, echoing autumn leaves. Itzi eyes are usually brown as soil or green like grassy fields. Blue eyes occur, albeit rarely, in Itzi. Itzi blue is attributed to the sea. Itzi statures are closer to the ground and Itzi ears are round like rolling hills. Being substantially smaller and less intelligent, the docile Itzi are content to keep to themselves and allow the Elva to dominate nearly every aspect of life.
Choicest of the Twelve Kingdoms is Latoph, lying on the land’s western coast. Continuity of the Rebono Dynasty for the last thousand years has left a legacy of laws and civilization in Latoph which is unparalleled on Byntar.
Chapter One ~ Keedrina
Twin moons hung in slivered crescents, peeking through the scattered clouds. Fog flowed from the coast in wispy pseudopodia toward the inland woods. Leafless branches cast oddly twisted shadows in the wan moons’ light. Early evenfall should have lent Keedrina more security. It didn’t.
The shadows plagued her and she was sure she heard voices in the forest. Her heartbeat quickened at the prospect of discovery. If Mother found out, she’d beat her harder than a muddy rug and lock her indoors for several years. Keedrina pressed on through the thickets, resisting the urge to run. Running would draw more attention if she was right about being watched and not merely being paranoid.
Six months of clever artifice, though rewarding, came with a price. The strain of constant deception wore on Keedrina’s nerves; she’d never meant it to go on this long. She’d only wanted to meet the Elva farmhands that worked the field by her house, to talk to them a little. The reading lessons weren’t even her idea. Botlop had offered when she admitted she couldn’t read the note he brought her.
She should tell him. Keedrina bit her lip, considering just how to bring it up. She wasn’t who he thought. She wasn’t even what he thought.
She crouched at the edge of the wood to allow the pounding in her chest to subside. Warily, she glanced over her shoulder. No one had followed; nothing seemed awry. She inhaled deeply, stood, gazed one last time at the forest, then turned and stepped into the clearing. Keedrina sat on a weathered bench in an abandoned gazebo and lit three votive candles, sheltering them from the wind in clay cups. This meeting spot was far enough from home that Mother had never caught her and Botlop likely assumed the nearby farm was her family’s. Keedrina never disabused him of that notion.
She looked up and scanned the darkening horizon. Botlop always came as soon as he finished work. Throughout the summer and harvest it had been light at this hour, but the days grew shorter as winter impended.
Botlop waved as he approached. He was lean and vigorous; wisps of curly black hair dangled over his brow, his buckskins an inch too short for his legs. Keedrina waved back, then checked her dark brown braid as she lowered her hand. It was still pinned over her ear. He arrived and flashed a winning smile. His gray eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Keedrina smiled, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of what he carried.
“Well, Keedrina, you’ve read just about everything I can get my hands on. This is the last book I can find.”
Though she longed to read more, Keedrina found herself strangely relieved. She still hungered as much as ever to learn about the intriguing yet forbidden Elva. Maybe if they limited their clandestine meetings to once a week, she wouldn’t feel so guilty. She’d have to find a way to dampen her mother’s growing hopes that she aspired toward the magehood. Using communing with the Wood Nymphs as an excuse to leave the house every evening had created an unexpected backlash in that respect. But could she continue to deceive the young man who’d been so patient with her?
“Thank you, Botlop. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the time and trouble you’ve gone to, to help me.”
Botlop sat and scooted close to her on the bench. “Maybe now you’d let me meet your parents?” He took her hand. “I’d like to ask them if I could court you, Keedrina.”
Her jaw dropped. She looked down at her feet as she disengaged her hand from his. Even if she loved him, even if she were old enough, it would still be impossible. “B-Botlop? I c-can’t.”
He sighed. “What is it? I’ll have land one day. I’d take good care of you. I thought you liked me.”
Of course she liked him—as a teacher and a friend. But that wasn’t what he meant. She weighed using her age as excuse, but that would have led to her breed. If she were Elva, sixteen would be old enough to marry. Somehow, the secret she had minutes earlier hoped to disclose now seemed cruel to consider divulging. She took a quick breath. “I like you, Botlop, but I’m really not worthy of you. You don’t know anything about my family. I’m sorry. I never dreamed you felt this way. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”
Botlop fumbled with the tattered book. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. Suddenly, he stood and turned, scanning the farmlands. Keedrina looked up, startled by his abrupt rise. He set a staying hand to her arm as she began to stand. Keedrina frowned. She heard nothing but the wind sighing through bare branches. She searched the shadows but found nothing amiss in the encroaching night.
Botlop suddenly bolted, issuing a warning as he ran. “Stay here.”
Keedrina was bewildered. Why would he run off like that? Surely it wasn’t because of her awkward rebuff? She kept her seat until she heard something—far off screams and unintelligible commotion. Keedrina stood and ran after Botlop.
She could hardly see the ground in front of her, but the further she ran down the dirt path, the more her dread increased. As she passed a line of trees, she saw her farmhouse in the distance—on fire. Fear for her family flooded her mind. Horror quickened her footsteps to a frenzied pace.
When she finally approached her burning home, she had no breath left. Keedrina expelled a nearly voiceless “Mother!” as she staggered to a halt. Her neighbors’ frantic shouts drowned out her cry. She could see a line of them passing wooden buckets up from the stream, water sloshing. She shouted again, but no one noticed. She surged toward the blazing structure.
Two strong hands caught her shoulders. “Stay back! There’s no one in there,” Botlop said.
Keedrina pulled away from him, searching through the faces of the onlookers and down the line of bucketeers. Botlop followed, trying to calm her with soothing tones. “You’ve lost your way in the dark, Keedrina. This isn’t your house. Itzi live here.”
There wasn’t time to explain. She ignored him, screaming for her mother and coughing against the smoke that stifled her lungs. He held her back from entering the inferno. “Please!” she cried in a hoarse voice. She wrestled against him, frantically trying to look at the blaze beyond. Her head whipped back and forth; her hair tumbled about her face. Her rounded Itzi ear poked out.
Anger and injured betrayal flickered over Botlop’s features. Keedrina was too distraught to worry about him now. Botlop placed his arm around her shoulder and guided her to a clearing, away from the crowds. An Elva healer knelt on the ground beside a short, red-haired woman. Keedrina rushed to her mother and burst into tears. Botlop shook his head, sighed, and turned to join the firefighters.
The healer’s head jerked up, brows slanting. “Can you not see I’m busy—oh, Keedrina! Thank the Heavenlies you’re safe.” His brows relaxed as he retreated from his protective hover. Mother bled from several chest wounds, her nude body inadequately covered by a grass-speckled cloak.
Aided by the blaze, Keedrina could see bruises on her mother’s face and rope burns on her throat and arms. She took her mother’s hand and looked hopefully at the healer. She knew who he was even if she didn’t know his name. “You can help her, can’t you?”
The healer shook his head and replied sadly, “Little one, I have done everything I can, but I cannot fix this.” He touched Keedrina’s shoulder with a bloodstained hand.
She recoiled from him. “No! You let my father die; you will not let her die too! You’re a healer. Heal her! You must—”
Her mother’s voice halted her impassioned plea. “Kee...dri...na?”
Keedrina inhaled quickly. Hope and fear fluttered in her words. “Yes, Mother, I’m here.”
Her mother tightened her grip. Keedrina broke down in sobs and buried her face against the bloody shoulder. Weakly, her mother gasped, “Tried to stop them... tried to get help... thank the Nymphs you’re safe... my precious, precious... Kee...” She coughed. Keedrina felt a convulsive squeeze of fingers then a sudden relaxation in her grasp. Her mother went limp.
“No!” Keedrina wailed. “Please don’t leave me.” She drew her mother’s hand to her chest as the tears flowed.
“I’m sorry. I did everything I could,” the healer whispered.
She didn’t comfort him with a reply. All she could see was her mother lying in blood, her home engulfed in flames, and her world swallowed up in anguish. She shut the healer out and felt only pain and loss.
The healer arose, gave her a pat on the back, and walked away. He stopped just distant enough to give her privacy with her bereavement.
Keedrina wept bitterly until she spent herself. At length, she placed her mother’s hand over her bloodied breast and kissed her cheek. Still sniffling, Keedrina stood and turned away.
The healer returned and covered her mother’s body. He placed his hand on Keedrina’s shoulder and spoke gently. “Do you want to say goodbye to your sisters?”
“Them too?” She’d assumed when they weren’t at Mother’s side that her sisters had to be badly injured or dead, but she hadn’t the strength to find out which.
The healer nodded and gestured a few feet away to two blanket-covered mounds. She followed him numbly, too devastated to think straight.
He lowered the first rough blanket to reveal only the face. The amber light of the burning farmhouse illuminated bruises on her sister’s cheeks and deep scratches over her forehead and across the jaw. An eyelid was cut and swollen shut. Blood clotted the hair at her temples. Keedrina whispered her sister’s name and broke into fresh sobs. She couldn’t stand to look at the disfigurement. Choking a pitiful goodbye, she pulled the blanket back over the head before moving to the next shroud.
Afraid to pull the covering away, Keedrina stared at the smallest mound. Tears streamed, leaving tracks in the ash smudged on her cheeks.
The healer spoke in a kindly tone. “Her face isn’t bad. Go ahead and say your goodbyes.”
She lowered the sheet and cried, repeating her youngest sister’s name before kissing her cheek and replacing the cover with a whimpered farewell. She glanced at her home, already consumed beyond hope. Keedrina swayed. She felt lightheaded and then darkness swallowed her. Her muscles relaxed and she slumped sideways into oblivion.
She awoke to find herself lying on the cold, damp ground, covered by a rough blanket. The fire no longer crackled. No neighbors shouted bucket brigade instructions. Misty fog enveloped the area, chilling the air and dimming the moons’ light. The covered mounds were gone. For a few seconds, she fancied it all a nightmare. The bitter smell of smoke and the sight of smoldering ruins confirmed the grim reality. Only the henhouse remained.
The Elva healer spoke softly, “The house is gone. Why don’t you come back to Ny with me and get some sleep? I have to take care of some things early in the morning. You can wash up before we go see the duke.”
Mother had given the healer the land by their house in payment for attempting to save Keedrina’s father. The healer had hired Botlop and some others to work the field; he only came periodically to check on his crops. Mother had maintained a working relationship with him, selling garments and buying grain for the chickens, but they weren’t really friends. Keedrina had been forbidden to speak to him, as she was with all Elva. Why would an important Elva take an Itzi to his home?
“I—I have nothing, milord. I can’t even pay you for the care you gave my family...”
“You didn’t call me.”
“No, but I did beg you to heal my mother.” It had been more like an order, something Mother said the Elva wouldn’t tolerate from an Itzi.
“Silla was my neighbor. I don’t know how in Byntar she got your sisters out of the house with the wounds she had, but they were both already passed when I arrived. I would have done anything in my power to save your family, little one, and I wouldn’t have done it for silver. We will catch the filthy knaves who did this. I promise.”
Keedrina clenched her fists. “I should have been here. I could have helped. Mother fought all alone...” She trailed off as she realized she’d heard the attackers in the woods and instead of checking the source of the voices, she’d thought only of herself and her secret.
“If you had, you’d be dead now too, and your mother wouldn’t have had the satisfaction of knowing that she left a daughter. Remember how relieved she was to see you? She had peace, knowing you were all right.”
Keedrina nodded and drew a deep breath. It now fell to her to bear the responsibilities of an adult. She wiped her eyes with a dirty sleeve. “Where are they? I should bury them.”
The healer pointed to his wagon and shook his head. “First I need to see them in the light of day, to see if there is any evidence that will help us catch who did this. Your mother told me just a little of what happened before you arrived. I will bury them once I finish. Right next to Blod.”
Keedrina nodded her thanks. She knew her mother would have wanted to be buried next to her father, but that land belonged to the healer. She had nothing to offer for such a favor. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to do the digging. Her people didn’t believe in ceremony or funeral. She didn’t need to be present for the burial. Yet, she didn’t have the heart to leave what was left of her home. “I should stay with the chickens.”
“I’ll leave one of my hired hands. You need to rest and clean up if you’re to come see the duke with me.”
“Why would the duke want to see me?”
“We must put a face to the crime—to show him the subject who was most wronged.”
“What’s the use? I’m just another Itzi to him,” she grumbled.
“The duke cares about all his subjects,” the healer said, “and he isn’t prejudiced. Come now, I insist. Let Botlop take you into town. You can have the bed in the infirmary adjoining my home. As a guest.” He emphasized the last word.
She couldn’t use lack of silver again as excuse. Besides, a warm bed was too appealing to pass up. Wearily, she nodded her head and murmured a resigned thanks for the offer. The healer motioned and Botlop appeared.
Why did it have to be Botlop? Not only did he know about her deception, but she’d unwittingly hurt his feelings. He said nothing as he led her to a horse. She bit her lip, regarding the strange animal. Though she had seen them before, horses were uncommon in rural areas.
Most farmers preferred koopchuks as draft animals. Koopchuks ate one third more than a horse, but they did at least double the work. The strength of an ox, the stubbornness of a mule, and especially foul dung characterized the stocky breed. The koopchuk’s shaggy fur covered a round body on short, thick legs. As a child, Keedrina had sat atop a koopchuk while her father walked it on close rein. A running horse would be quite different. “I... I’ve never ridden before,” she said.
“Don’t worry. You can hold on to me. Besides, everyone thinks Itzi are too stupid to read, and you can do that, can’t you?”
“Botlop, I... I never lied, you know...”
“I know. I saw what I wanted to see. I should have figured it out when you had so much trouble, but I just thought I wasn’t a good teacher.”
Impulsively, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “You were a good teacher. Thank you.” He frowned; his face wrinkled in disgust, but he didn’t say anything. He recoiled and grabbed the reins, then swung himself into the saddle and extended his hand to her.
She realized then that he was only fulfilling an order from his employer. She tried not to get too close to him as she held his waist. He was young and peer-conscious; it was unlikely there’d be room for a friendship. It was probably fair consequence for having deceived him for so long—one more loss in a night of losses.
Keedrina saw nothing on the ride to Ny. It was too dark to distinguish landmarks she had previously seen only in daylight. Ny was a prosperous port with thriving fishing, citrus-farming, and shipping guilds. The comforting daytime hum of commerce was absent, replaced with the clopping of the horse’s hooves on cobbled streets. Crooked fingers of shadow surrounded her, adding apprehension to her grief.
The horse stopped in front of a large limestone house. Botlop dismounted, then helped her down. He rapped on the door. A plump woman, barely taller than Keedrina, answered. Silver hair drawn tight in a bun and telltale pointed ears confirmed she was Elva. Obviously forewarned of her coming, she spoke kindly to Keedrina. “There you are, poor thing. It’s right this way.” She bustled to another door fifteen paces down the road.
Keedrina followed while Botlop stayed behind. Without a word, he mounted and rode off. “Thank you. For everything,” Keedrina called to his retreating back. He merely waved. Keedrina sighed and shook her head.
Inside the infirmary, Keedrina watched as the Elva woman lit an oil lamp and filled a porcelain basin from an indoor hand pump. The farmgirl could only marvel at such conveniences. The Elva set the basin on a table, then she set a sea sponge and oatmeal soap nearby. She pointed to a door and mentioned it was the inhouse. Too bad Keedrina had come under such unfortunate circumstances, or it would have been pure adventure to discover all the wonders contained in a town dwelling. As it was, the niceties brought only momentary lift to her depression.
The Elva woman smiled. “I’ll leave you alone now. I know it’s hard, but try to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
“Thank you for the hospitality, milady.”
“You’re welcome. Rest well, little one..” She left and shut the door behind her.
Keedrina stared at the volume of water for a long time, then sighed. It had to be a hint about the state of her clothes. She removed her canvas tunic and muslin chemise. Carefully, she pressed them into the water. Before the water got too dirty, she remembered to wet the sea sponge and wash her face, arms, and hands. Once her body was clean, she scrubbed away at the clothes. Strange that she couldn’t find a washboard. Keedrina found a small hand brush to use instead. Since the stains were essentially fresh, most of them came clean.
She frowned again when she couldn’t find a wringer. How could a place with a hand pump and inhouse not have something as simple as a clothes wringer? She twisted the garments by hand as hard as she could, then shook them out. In her bloomers, it suddenly occurred to her that she had no place to hang her clothes where they could dry by morning. She hadn’t seen a tree from which to hang anything, even if she had been able to get clothed enough to venture out. Keedrina berated herself for her stupidity. She would have to stand before the duke in damp clothes. It wouldn’t be any worse than being dirty, but it would be uncomfortable. Regardless, it was too late. She opened the window and hung the wet clothes from curtain tieback hooks on the window sash.
She headed to bed. It was a straw mattress much like her own, except thicker and covered with a more finely woven material. Unlike hers, it sat on a platform that lifted it from the floor. She bit her lip as she considered the possibility of falling out. She pushed the bed against the wall and planned to favor that side in her sleep.
With the window open to dry her clothes, and wearing solely underwear, Keedrina was chilled. She lay down and covered herself with a wool blanket, then blew out the lamp.
Guilt and grief overwhelmed her. She cried until her head ached. No matter how she tried to relax, her mind stubbornly replayed all the night’s horrifying events. Finally, exhaustion took over and claimed her body to a fitful sleep.
The healer, Pharn Patkus, decided not to take the bodies into town to save time in the morning. He slept until dawn near the charred embers of Silla’s ruined homestead. As the first rays of the suns dusted the farmlands, he drove the wagon to a secluded area where no prying eyes could watch.
He removed the shroud from Silla and shook his head, sighing deeply. He took notes as he searched her body. Tiny blown-glass jars caught seedpods from her hair and bits of fabric embedded in dried blood. He labeled the jars with the stub of a black candle and stored them in a wooden crate.
His examination of the middle daughter’s body sickened him to the point of retching, something that hadn’t happened in twenty years. By the time he uncovered the youngest, his stomach was empty. He wept. The eyes of a child were always the same. It didn’t matter whether male or female, Itzi or Elva, the lifeless eyes said everything. They declared the loss of innocence. They cried out for justice. Woe to the filth that did this if he caught up to them.
He could lose to Disease. He and that enemy fought many times, and he defeated it more than he was defeated by it. He saw Accident far too many times as well, but he had an understanding with Accident. Accident was part of life—a momentary lapse, or as in Keedrina’s father’s case, the fault of an unreasoning animal, but Accident knew no malice. However, this was not Accident or Disease. This was Evil, a power that had preyed upon the weak to rape, steal, and destroy. He forced himself to continue despite the horror. He was determined to gather every bit of evidence he could against the Evil that had violated such docile, innocent females.
He couldn’t help but feel that fate had dealt cruelly with Silla from the day Blod was mortally injured. To a small extent, Pharn had shown her favor. He’d sold her grain for her poultry at less than what he could have received in town. He’d bought garments her family made and not squabbled at the asking prices. He’d tried not to make any overt gesture that would have exposed him as a benefactor.
Silla was too proud to have accepted charity and of course, her lot was nothing strange among Itzi. Itzi mating compacts usually dissolved when each had a child of his or her own gender, so many Itzi females lived without males. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that Silla and Blod might have stayed together even if Silla had borne a son. The Itzi were a practical people and even those who didn’t feel love might share a home for the sake of convenience.
But Blod had fallen in the path of a koopchuk’s plowshare. The wounds were too deep; infection slowly drained his life. Silla insisted that Pharn come see Blod twice a day, even after Pharn assured her that it was hopeless. If Silla didn’t have feelings for Blod, why would she have done that?
Pharn had thought it benevolent to ask for Keedrina in payment for the services rendered to Blod. It would have reduced the number of mouths Silla had to feed. He had no unseemly intentions toward the ten-year-old girl who even then could pass as Elva. Her hair was so dark that only bright light and careful scrutiny proved it brown rather than black. Inconclusive blue eyes and unusually tall stature furthered the illusion. Only round ears gave her away.
A child slave, especially an Itzi female, was not nearly as valuable as the farmland Silla insisted he take instead. Pharn persuaded her to keep the henhouse and paid her extra for the barn and animals she couldn’t sustain without the field. That was six years ago.
After going over the three bodies meticulously, Pharn wrapped them up and drove the wagon to the spot where Blod was buried, under a large oak tree. Silla had said it was Blod’s favorite place to rest. The stream was nearby so he could get a cool drink and sit in the shade overlooking his fields. Since oak roots were poisonous to crops, Pharn had had very little argument to allowing Silla to bury Blod there. Now he was compelled to give the rest of Blod’s family, save Keedrina, similar graves.
He was not an undertaker. This was a favor to Keedrina and a favor to himself. He did not have the back for so much digging, but dig he did. The three shrouded bundles were lowered into the earth. He knew the Itzi didn’t practice liturgy with their dead, but he couldn’t bring himself to show any less than proper Elva respect for females taken so violently. He bowed his head, addressed the Nymphs that Silla mentioned in her dying breaths, and committed the bodies to their care. Then he said a reverent goodbye and shoveled the dirt back over the graves. It was the tenth hour when he made it home and cleaned himself up.
The healer didn’t own a rooster and no one came to wake the weary orphan. The lighthouse bells were louder here than on her farm, but Keedrina had tuned them out after the first interruption of sleep. With such emotional exhaustion to overcome, she slept well into late morning. Calla and Cana cast their heat upon her cheeks and woke her. It took a few moments to remember where she was. Keedrina groaned as reality hit her again. For a good while, she just lay there, debating whether she should bother getting up, or whether she cared about living at all. Dark thoughts were pressed aside when nature called.
She rolled out of bed and trudged into the inhouse. Her eyes brightened at the prospect of using a watercloset. She allowed herself a small smile as she lowered her bloomers to straddle the strange bowl. The seat wasn’t nearly as cold as she was used to. The tinkling sound brought a light giggle to her lips. She chided herself for the levity enjoyed over the sinking feeling in her stomach. Once she finished and replaced her bloomers, it took her a moment to discover the mechanism for disposal of the waste. She pulled the cord on the wall tank, then stepped back and gasped. Amazing that they used so much water for such a thing.
Stiffly, she straightened the bedcovers then went to check on her clothes. She marveled to find them dry. She looked out the window and noted the position of the suns. Oh no! It was late. Had the healer already gone, thinking she scoffed at his invitation? She dressed quickly and rebraided her hair, styling it to hide her ears out of habit. She gave the room a quick check, then left and knocked next door.
A short female with strawberry blonde hair and rounded ears answered. She appeared to be in her early twenties. She dipped her head, ushering Keedrina in with a sweep of her arm. Keedrina smiled at the Itzi woman, her gaze transfixed to the steel bands. She knew slaves wore bands about the neck, wrists, and ankles, but she had never seen a slave this close before.
The slave smiled back, seemingly unbothered by her stare. “They don’t hurt,” she whispered with a wink. Keedrina looked down quickly. The slave laughed. “I’m the one who’s supposed to look down, milady. Please, relax. The master and mistress are eating. I’ll show you the way.”
Keedrina was stunned. A woman older than she had called her “milady”. Heretofore, no one had ever called her that. What was more, this slave seemed to be in high spirits. Keedrina watched the woman closely as she led the way to the kitchen.
“Welcome, Keedrina,” the healer said. “Come, sit and eat.”
She had never eaten with Elva before. Though it was an honor, Keedrina was hardly in the mood to eat, much less embarrass herself with rural Itzi manners. Yet, to refuse would be an insult. “Thank you, milord,” she said.
The slave guided her into a chair and set a plate and flatware in front of her. Keedrina stared at the spread of food and utensils, dumbfounded. Her hosts smiled and passed platters and bowls. Keedrina took small amounts of several dishes that smelled delicious, but were unfamiliar. With a nervous smile, Keedrina mimicked the healer’s fingering on the fork and took a tentative taste of the first unknown food. She chewed, smiled, and took another quick bite.
The two Elva and the Itzi slavewoman all chuckled before turning their attention to other things. Keedrina was surprised the banded one got away with laughing, or even that she might feel any sort of happiness to begin with. She assumed that slaves were held under grim conditions, but neither the healer nor his wife noticed anything astray. Keedrina observed the slave as much as she could, hoping she wasn’t too obvious. The banded Itzi smiled at the attention. The healer and his wife exchanged glances.
“Keedrina, how did you get your clothes so clean?” the healer’s wife asked.
“I used the little brush near the basin. I couldn’t find a washboard.”
“You mean you washed your clothes in that tiny basin?”
“Y-yes, milady. Wasn’t that why you filled it for me?” Keedrina fidgeted nervously and looked down at her lap.
The healer and his wife both laughed again. “No, that was for you to wash your face and hands. That must have been some feat, to wash that bulky tunic. You did a wonderful job,” the Elva woman said.
Keedrina smiled, relief washing over her. She hoped they could keep up the small talk. Tears threatened and only constant attention to trivialities could hold them at bay.
“I’m sure you’ll impress the duke,” the healer said.
Keedrina’s smile faded. She had never considered such a preposterous idea. There was no way an Itzi could hope to impress an Elva nobleman. If it had been up to her, she wouldn’t bother him at all.
“Of course, you’re not coming to impress him. I’m sorry. I know this is difficult. You don’t have to pretend this is a festival. It’s all right to show your sadness.”
Keedrina nodded solemnly.
“I took care of the burial. They are all next to your father now. Moreover, I am going to deed the area around the oak tree to you. I don’t want you to think of them as being buried on someone else’s land. I should have given it to your mother when your father died, but I didn’t think of it.”
Another slow nod from Keedrina verified she was listening. Her fork hovered in a circle over the remaining food. The healer looked up to the slave and gave her a nod. Without a word, she cleared the table, bustling about with a spring in her step and a light hum on her lips. Keedrina envied anyone who could be happy right then. She didn’t bother to hide her interest and openly stared, following the slave’s every move.
The healer nudged his wife who shook her head tightly. The healer frowned at her for a second, and then both of them smiled back at Keedrina, feigning innocence of marital collaboration.
“Well, time for us to go find the duke,” the healer said as he got up from his chair.
The Itzi slave stopped her kitchen cleanup to dip her head to the healer. “Safe journeys, Master. Good day.”
“Thank you, moxi. Don’t hold supper. I may be late.”
Keedrina wondered if the slave was putting on a show for her benefit. She rose from her seat, studying moxi for any signs of falsity. moxi dipped her head to Keedrina and set a gentle hand to her back. Although moxi was older, her actions didn’t seem condescending, but respectful and genuine. Nevertheless, Keedrina felt uncomfortable, though she couldn’t figure out why.
“Good luck to you as well, milady, and... I’m sorry about your loss,” moxi offered.
Keedrina managed the faintest of smiles as she nodded and vacantly answered, “Thank you.” In the haze of her depression, she had enough presence of mind to address her hostess as well. “And thank you, milady, for the hospitality and the meal and all.”
The Elva woman nodded, smiled, and waved her away.
Keedrina scooted out the door. Outside, she soon caught up to the healer. He was headed down the cobblestone road 90 degrees away from the duke’s residence. Rebono Keep was one landmark Keedrina knew. It was set on a knoll overlooking the city, near the East Gate. Elevated as it was, it could be seen from most anywhere inside Ny’s walls. She wondered whether the healer had to look in on a patient first or whether this was some sort of shortcut. She had only seen Rebono Keep from afar and had no idea which road to take. Without Mother, Ny was a labyrinth of streets, filled with far too many strange faces.
Pharn walked briskly once assured Keedrina followed. He hadn’t been stretching the truth with her when he asserted that Duke Vahn cared about Itzi. As much as any Elva he knew, the duke acknowledged that Itzi were thinking, feeling creatures, even if inferior. Besides, Itzi were consummate followers—followers whose support would be necessary if he were ever to take the Throne from his twin brother, King Arx.
Of course, it was pure speculation that the duke aspired to such a goal. Such treasonous ideas were only whispered in private, and not with mere healers. But because Vahn was a twin, many people, including Pharn, thought Vahn’s right to the Throne was as valid as Arx’s. The nineteen-year-old duke had only lived in Ny three years, but his charisma and positive leadership had won the hearts of nearly everyone.
Pharn knew of the duke’s inclination to frequent the places where his people gathered. While the young noble dressed in impeccable clothes and usually had an entourage of slaves, he took pains to identify with subjects from both breeds and all walks of life. He toured homes, fields, and shops. He was even known to speak with shady figures and those who shunned polite society. The Scarlet Dryad was probably a favored haven because it was central to the city and had an approachable atmosphere, while still offering some royal comforts.
Pharn stopped at the tavern entrance and put up a hand for Keedrina to wait. “I’ll check and see if he’s here,” he whispered.
Keedrina blinked and halted where she was. He disappeared inside the door. In a few moments, he popped his head back out and grinned. “I was right, he’s in here. And not very busy, either. You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she sighed.
