South of Faenella, Eganene
The memories flickered through her mind, each one a chance, a split-second, a small thing she could have done to change fate. Her voice was a low monotone, almost too quiet to hear. She kept her eyes closed, creating a wall between herself and the boys. She was far away from the cold forest, back when she lost them all.
It started in glitter and confetti. She was young, hardly past forty, her life still a sparkling, hopeful span of years-- children, her husband and love. Her maid, lithe Lillel, was tying the last of the bows that trailed down the back of her pink, silk dress. Agatha’s brown hair was worked into tight ringlets, the tresses falling gently against her bare shoulders.
“I’ll need my shawl,” she said to Lillel, turning this way and that in the floor length mirror.
“Of course, Madam.”
Lillel had been with her for years, more confidante than servant. She had the yellow eyes and pointed ears of a Yila, but Agatha had always treated her as a friend.
“The sapphire bracelet and earrings too, dear.” Usually, her emerald pendant was enough sparkle, but tonight was different. The jewelry would match her blue eyes. Her husband would approve.
Of course, tonight’s festivities were not in her honor. It was the First’s ball, a celebration of the new spring, and a time to plan for the year’s events. Most of the Radcliff and Hudear families would be in attendance, as well as dignitaries from the other important houses. Fallfest was next week and they had much to plan-- feasts, galas, and a parade for the people.
Unfortunately, none of it would be accomplished without the support of the Hudears. They were one of the most powerful families, after the First’s. Without their support, nothing passed through Congress in a timely manner. Politics.
Yet, the night would have its pleasantries. There would be a grand feast, held in the palace with dance and drinks that would last until the small hours of the morning. Agatha had been to a hundred such affairs, but they never lost their majic.
Best of all, her first grandchild would be in attendance, the new baby, Caroline’s Bekka. Agatha had seen the squealing infant only once since her birth. Custom demanded her daughter hide the baby, but it was an antiquated practice. And six months was just too long. There were plenty of races that did no such thing and their babies seemed to be just fine, the squawking bundles howling to the skies on Market day.
The one time Agatha had seen Bekka, her granddaughter had seemed thinner than normal, but it was probably a result of the stress Caroline had been under during delivery. It was no small task to give birth and hold the Umbilicus. She should know. She’d done it eight times herself.
And on top of it all, her poor daughter had to contend with the damnable agitators. Caroline made a show of not letting it bother her in public, but she was more honest with her mother. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much Agatha could do.
That wasn’t entirely true. There was much that she was powerful enough to do. And more that she could surely accomplish with the Congress’ support, but Caroline would not listen. She was an idealist, just like her father, and no amount of talk could convince her otherwise.
She would not destroy the precepts of the Agreement for a few anarchists. According to Caroline, the informants had been captured and interrogated. The men had been coached, she assured her mother, to inflate the size of the gathering army.
Caroline said her guards were aware of the unauthorized Traveling and were working hard to catch the perpetrators. It was treason to Travel without permission from the government. The crime punishable by hanging. The captured anarchists swore that their people were Traveling almost daily, but Caroline would not believe it.
Only a small percentage of people were capable of Travel using the Umbilicus, and far fewer capable of Travel without it. Caroline did not believe the anarchists had that number of Talented people, but she was concerned with why they were Traveling in the first place.
Agatha had no answers. She didn’t understand why there was such dissension in their country, a society that she helped create. Why would they want to bring down the Republic? She had spoken extensively to the emissaries, and they were to a man, woman, or beast, enthusiastic and encouraging about the human’s system. The Bolrasia had even gone so far as to send scholars to study their method, in hopes that their own people might live under such a prosperous rule.
She understood that every society had malcontents, people who could not or would not live within a given system. Sadly for her daughter, they seemed to be the same people who thrived on violence and advanced hate.
This was the way of the world, of both worlds, she knew.
Lillel was done primping her hair and had quietly exited the room, leaving Agatha to her thoughts. She slipped on her shoes, the white cloth sewn with tiny sequins, each no larger than a raindrop. The bottoms were heavier leather. Her maid knew she wouldn’t sacrifice comfort for beauty.
The jubilation on the street was cacophonous. Agatha opened the shutters of her bedroom window to see the parade below. The warm air stirred her silken curtains, bringing the intoxicating freshness of jasmine and lemons from the garden behind the manse. As warm as it was, the gentle breeze was woven with threads of chill air. It stirred her gown, heralding the approaching autumn.
Horns blared below her and the people cried their joy. The float of Rae had just entered the street. Hundreds of the spectators pressed forward to see High priest Solarin standing before the golden sunburst with the young men of his ilk.
Monks dressed in white robes tossed yellow roses and daisies to the adoring crowd below. Coins were tossed back in return. The youngest of the boys, aged no more than eight or nine ran frantically to collect them, stopping only to pour their handfuls into a thick iron box. Agatha raised her hand in salute to Solarin as he passed. He nodded to her window, his baldpate reflecting the light of the sun.
The float of Wul followed closely, the Moon goddess receiving an equally enthusiastic welcome. Bedecked in palest white, the High Lunness stood at the forefront, her youthful body sensuous despite her thick silks. Her tresses were long and blond enough to seem almost white, their ends trailing upon the petal-strewn floor.
Acolytes danced around her, the young girls in gowns the color of the night. Swirling silks and tapping tambourines had the crowd below swaying to their songs. Agatha knew that their float would collect as much as Rae’s. She threw a gold nos to the craft. The Lunness smiled at her window, shading her face against the sun’s bright glare.
“Madame,” she heard from behind her.
Turning, Agatha saw Lillel. “Did you see the parade? My gods, it’s the biggest yet. And the Lunness is gorgeous.”
Short, feathered brown hair framed an ageless face, “Madame Radcliff, you’ll more be more beautiful than anyone at the banquet. And your daughters, I have seen their gowns. You will be most impressed, I swear it.”
“And Caroline? Tell me she looks like a Queen. I could not bear it she appeared as anything less.”
Cat’s eyes regarded her, a smile lighting her feline face. Her maid twitched her pointed ears. “You have nothing to fear. I went with Jannet to choose her dress. It is long and white, a dress to befit the One.”
“Sweet woman!” Agatha laughed happily. “You make a mother smile.”
“Then come, Madame. Your carriage and husband await.”
Agatha nodded and followed her from the chambers. Through the long hall and down the marble staircase, thoughts of the night’s party filled her head. All of her friends would be attending, the Grandyons, the men of their family all sporting heavy red beards, and the Windots with their ladies always in black of mourning. The Hudears and the Grinforts would be in attendance as well, from the north and west, respectively.
Lady Hudear was an austere woman, always with the collar of her dress resting just beneath her chin. Her husband had died years ago, and although she claimed seven heirs, it was said that there was no man in her lands that was safe from her long arms. Agatha had sent her oldest boy, Marshall, to meet and woo her years ago, but he’d returned a quieter man. She did not hold this against the lady though. A powerful woman was to be respected.
Agatha caught sight of her husband and smiled. With a quick goodbye to her household staff, she grasped the gilded handle of her two-horse coach. Joseph Dean pulled her inside. Kissing him deeply, she spent several glorious moments in his embrace before he gently pushed her away.
“You look splendid, darling,” he said in his deep voice, grasping her hand. “You’ll put poor Lady Hudear to shame and then Caroline will have a time convincing her of anything.” His green eyes appraised her, “But I do suppose you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“You think me heartless?”
“Never. You are a beauty. Though you do seem a bit nervous.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing, darling. Merely a bad feeling. The antagonists in the streets. The unlicensed Travels.”
Her husband did not comment, only adjusted the drapes so they were more open and Agatha was afforded a better view. The streets were near to bursting with life, ladies and gentlemen walking the cobblestone sidewalks, arm and arm, headed to a dinner in their Lunaday best. Coaches, non-nobility, and the multitude of other races, shared the wide roadway. Caroline’s people had painted yellow lines delineating which was to be used for what direction, a grand idea that smoothed the flow of traffic throughout the city.
White lamplights burned with electricity and everyone moved in clear relief, the people smiling and laughing. Streamers and bouquets of flowers were hung upon the lamps’ supports. The Electric Company was proud of its role in the city and had taken their part of the decorations seriously.
“Will you talk to Lady Hudear about the marriage?” Joseph Dean asked.
“Yes,” Agatha sighed. “Milendra and I spoke of it a few days past. She understands the importance of the union. I asked her if she had another in mind, a lover that she would miss too much, but she told me there was no one. She just feels Willum is a bit old for her.”
“He’s only thirty-two,” remarked her husband, passing a hand through his own graying hair.
“True, but ten years might seem like an eternity. Milendra has never really grown up. You know she gallivants about and does as she pleases.”
“I don’t understand why she’s so stubborn about this. Doesn’t she want to be married? Start a family of her own?”
Agatha patted his hand. “Of course she does, darling. I think it’s just the coronation...”
“It’s not like her sister stole something from her. Her Power speaks for itself.”
“I know dear, but before Caroline was crowned, Milendra might have been more. I think she held out hope that somehow, some way, she’d be chosen anyway. It was her littlest sister that was chosen. I think it broke her.”
“Caroline is only a year younger. She was always proud,” he replied, putting his arm around her shoulder.
“Indeed.”
“Yet she assented to this marriage?”
Agatha nodded, her crescent earrings swaying against her cheeks. “She said she is ready. Her only stipulation is that she wishes to remain in her Orlenia.”
Her husband’s eyes twinkled. “And how are we supposed to arrange that? You know the Hudears, so in love with their mountains and chill temperatures. I doubt it Willum would wish to stay here.”
“What if Caroline offered him a position?” Agatha asked. It was unlikely she could talk her youngest into giving away the office as a favor, but she might if her father asked it of her.
Joseph Dean knew what she was asking. “And I suppose I am the one to ask Caroline about this?”
Agatha affected her most endearing expression, nuzzling into his neck. Her husband laughed, a warm sound that made her smile.
“As if I had a choice,” he grinned, answering his own question. “And I suppose you’d like me to ask this evening?”
Nodding, Agatha felt the coach slow and glanced out of the window.
We’re here already! she thought.
Moments with her husband always seemed to blow by, like a sweet summer breeze that passed too quickly. As soon as they stepped into the palace they were the First’s emissaries and would spend their time talking to various dignitaries and high society members, working faithfully to advance their daughter’s cause and secure Orlenia’s future, the full weight of responsibility settling onto their skin like a thick coat of humidity.
Lights caught her eye and Agatha looked up. Brilliant strings of tiny, white illuminations had been threaded through the newest flowers and draped upon the castle’s walls. Accompanying the sight was the smell of jasmine, sweet fried dough and hot, spicy delicacies from the sea.
The guards at the door nodded to the couple, their new, white-tasseled high hats seeming strange. Her daughter had changed much in the past few years. Both men were fit, carrying both a sword and gun at their hips. The younger one chanced a slight smile in Agatha’s direction and she returned it, having known the boy’s mother for years.
Plush red carpet covered the entryway’s floors as a herald beckoned them onward. A diminutive fellow with a severe expression relieved both Agatha and Joseph Dean of their coats. Her husband arched an eyebrow, but Agatha hushed him with a kiss. Three more pairs of guards lined the hallway, standing at attention. Agatha spied four others closeted in a side room sharing a skin of wine.
Everyone gets giddy in the spring, she thought, breathing a disappointed sigh. Orlenia’s military had not seen real work in over twenty years. Of course, the border units were always in combat, skirmishing with the races that persisted in disputing treaty lines. Thankfully, these were small and resulted in few casualties. The First’s Travelers had brought back handguns and rapid-fire weaponry through the Umbilicus, forever altering conventional warfare. It was all a mystery to Agatha, who had grown-up learning to spar with a rapier, but she had seen what these new weapons could do and respected their power.
Passing beneath the brilliantly lit, stone archway, she heard a pianist at work, the jazzy music filling the chamber and tumbling from the windows. Two massive fires warmed the guests against the night’s chill, the open hearths large enough to walk within. A hundred or so guests milled about, sampling the cheese and olives. Wines were served in thin, fluted crystal glasses.
The drink was the pride of the palace, having been obtained as a gift from a citizen of Earth and carried back. It would only keep for one night, so everyone had full glasses. The crystal had been commissioned for just this occasion. Guests laughed and talked. The more frivolous couples were taking a turn around the dance floor. Agatha smiled to see it.
She spotted Caroline looking regal in a brocade, blue dress, the thin, gold circlet of her tiara vivid against her black hair. Beside her was Adison, his dark hair worn long, brushed to shine and stark against his white doublet.
Lady Hudear, her large frame bent over the baby’s carriage, was cooing loudly as Agatha approached. Dressed in layers of heavy, evergreen cotton, the woman should have been sweating profusely. Her hair was puffed up in a bun, as was Agatha’s, but without the curls and gems. Her only adornment was a magnificent, egg-sized diamond that she wore around her neck, far beneath the ruffled collar that obscured her chins. Similar to both Agatha’s and Caroline’s emerald pieces, it was set in gold frame. Without needing to think, Agatha sensed the woman’s Power, and was surprised again that it almost equaled her own.
I wonder what she could manage with that gem, she thought.
Her daughter’s Power shone like a beacon to Agatha’s eyes, its warmth emanating from her in waves, bright and white. Beside her, Adison was a small trickle. Although for a man, he was powerful, indeed. Joseph Dean matched Adison, the two of them far stronger than any other men in the room.
“Lady Hudear,” she said, offering a deep curtsy.
“Madame Radcliff,” the bigger woman smiled, returning the formality. It took slightly longer for the smile to reach her eyes. No one enjoyed being assessed. “How good to see you.”
Turning to Joseph Dean she gushed, “And dear me, Joseph, you do look handsome this evening. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other? My gods, probably since the Crowning. Your daughter, Caroline, resembles you so. Tell me, have you been riding recently, your color is just wonderful.”
Agatha’s husband offered a neat bow, “No, my Lady. I’ve not had time for such pleasantries.”
“Well, then,” she boomed, her pug nose turning up. “You just must travel north then. It is lovely riding in the mountains, and I would dearly love to show you my home.”
Joseph Dean smiled slightly. “Well…”
“Ah! And you, too, of course,” she added belatedly, indicating Agatha. “Surely both of you must come!”
“Mother,” Caroline interjected. “Do come over, you must see Bekka!”
“Oh, yes!” Agatha replied, jumping at the chance to end that line of conversation. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a discussion involving Lady Hudear and husband alone together. She trusted him implicitly, but that snarking woman was not put off lightly.
The baby was asleep, wrapped snuggly in the softest blankets. Agatha felt her face relax. The girl was still small for her age, but her pink cheeks and rosebud lips were enough to steal her grandmother’s heart. A thick shock of black, Radcliff hair had sprung from her head, falling in the tiniest ringlets over her brow. Long eyelashes, as dark as coal, rested softly on her cheeks, each one more fine than thread.
“Oh, Caroline! What a fine job you’ve done! And Adison, you too, dear. She’s just perfect! You’ll let me hold her when she wakes?”
Caroline laughed, delicate lines springing to life about her green eyes, “Of course, mother. I’d never deny you a chance to hold your only grandchild. You’ll be the first, I swear it, but she probably won’t wake until nine. She likes to keep me up from then until midnight, the little vixen.”
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Agatha embraced her daughter, quickly, since they were in public. Then, she turned to find Joseph Dean beset by Lady Hudear. The woman had placed herself directly between them, effectively cutting Agatha off from her husband. She felt her fingers twitch. Although she did not feel her building power and would never have done something so immature as to pinch Hudear’s bottom with majic, the larger woman swung around quickly.
“Ah, Lady Radcliff. Please, dear, walk with me. Your husband was just mentioning that you had something to discuss.”
Agatha glanced at her husband, noted his wicked grin and folded her arm into Lady Hudear’s. “Yes, actually, I do. Did Joseph Dean happen to mention what it was?”
“Why, no,” the woman replied, her lips curving. Agatha could feel the woman’s heavy skirts brushing against her own legs. A servant came by to offer them a drink. She seized the opportunity to disentangle her arm. Plucking two glasses, one red and one white, she offered them to Lady Hudear.
“Ah, which to choose?”
“Both are good,” Agatha replied.
“You don’t believe in fortunes, myths and riddles, Agatha?”
She was surprised that Hudear used her first name. It was an uncommon practice inside the halls of the palace, one usually reserved for close friends. Glancing at the woman’s face, no trace of mockery lit her ambitious face.
“No, Teniya. Although I do like riddles. Do you know one concerning wine?”
Lady Hudear smiled, brown eyes flashing and recited:
Red or white, do you choose
Red is for blood
White is for snow
And a dreamless sleep
Choose wisely, a new dream we will have this dawn.
“What kind of riddle is that?” Agatha asked. “It sounds more like some tavern prophecy.”
“Well, exactly!” Teniya clapped. “I heard it myself two days ago,” she whispered, conspiratorially. “Willum and I dressed up and went to a pub! You cannot believe what they do there. Agatha, really, we miss out on life. Dancing, singing! There was a girl who stood on a tabletop and kicked her legs to the music. You could see her knees! I had no idea…”
Agatha herded her to a corner of the room. “Why in Creation were you in a common room? Honestly, now!”
Teniya seemed to deflate a bit. “Actually, it was Willum’s idea. I only have my four boys.” She grabbed a glass of wine from Agatha’s hand, took a sip, and then finished with a mighty swallow, draining it. “Come on, down your gullet, Agatha. I won’t stand this conversation if you are sober.”
Agatha did as she asked, though she drank the red in small sips instead of a single gulp. No one was near to them, the guests too engaged in the festivities or polite enough to keep their distance. The music had taken a livelier turn and more couples had joined the dance.
“Now,” Agatha said. “What are you talking about?”
“Willum and I were sitting in a booth, straight backed, miserably uncomfortable creations, I tell you. The boards are so high you can only see out onto the floor. There were people, men, sitting behind us. I couldn’t see them, but we could hear them clearly enough. They were completely drunk, bragging about a plan they had. I don’t know. They started singing that little poem, Agatha, over and over again. I’m not sure what it means. I was hoping you would know.”
“But, why were you there, Teniya?”
“Oh, well,” she started. “I know this isn’t the proper way to have these discussions, but I had word that you were thinking of offering Milendra to Willum. Wait, Agatha, before you start, let me finish.
He and I discussed it, and he is amenable. More than amenable, actually, the poor boy is smitten with your daughter. He thinks it’ll be a fine match. But I know my boys. I know they won’t stand it long in this foul, humid weather of yours. I tried to tell him so, but he said he would do just fine here.
I thought it best we determine the political climate. You know, we’ve had word of antagonists even as far north as my province. I hope you can understand. I will not put my boy in the middle of some mess without knowing all the facts.
So, I told him we would have to find out as much as we could before you and I spoke of the betrothal. It was his idea, to go to the tavern, I mean. And I admit, curiosity got the better of me. When we arrived, yesterday night, we went straight there, ate their miserable food, although it does have a nice bit of spice to it, and listened for all we’re worth. Can you tell me what it means, Agatha? I just know it’s important.”
Agatha was dumbfounded. She simply could not imagine Teniya sneaking about a tavern, eavesdropping on commoners and eating jambalaya. The whole thing was absolutely preposterous. “You’re jesting,” she decided. “Honestly, Teniya, hiding in an Inn’s barroom watching women dance on tabletops? You’re not serious.”
The large woman shook her head emphatically. “But I am, Agatha. How better to know a people than to watch them in their element? Tell me now, what do you know of the poem?”
Agatha sighed, looking around the room. Glass chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling, the room awash in candle light and electricity. What would she know of the streets? She, who had hardly spent a day outside the palace, her manor, or some other fitting establishment?
“I’ve never heard it. It’s probably just something to frighten children. Make them stay indoors where their mothers know they are well.”
“But…”
“Oh, Teniya. You’re such a goose. Come on, now. We must find Willum and speak with him of Milendra. There’s too much to be done this evening without spending our hours bending our minds over silly, peasant riddles.”
“Later, then,” the bigger woman conceded, gathering her skirts about her. “I still want to work this one out. I do think it’s important.”
Agatha nodded her acquiescence. She led Teniya over to Willum who was deeply entrenched in conversation with a stout man Agatha could not put a name to. A servant unobtrusively took their glasses and gave both women a white wine. Agatha sipped hers gratefully. The whole concept of blood had put her taste for the robust red on hold.
“Willum, dear,” his mother said joining the party. “Do introduce us to your friend.”
“There you are,” said the male Hudear, his voice quavering slightly. Agatha looked at him hard. The last time she’d seen Willum, he’d seemed more fit and lively. The man that stood before her now had the same tall stature of his mother, but none of the weight. He seemed shrunken, as if he had not been eating properly. The boy had his brown hair chopped short, almost in a bowl shape and Agatha could see white at his temples.
A bit early for that, she thought.
Indeed, Willum’s whole demeanor spoke of an older man. From his slightly stooped shoulders, to his bent carriage, Agatha wondered what was weighing on him so heavily. He had the same thick lips and piggish nose as his mother, but he carried them with little of the same grace.
He sketched a quick bow to both women, “Ladies, let me introduce you to Sanford Hyden, from Areasl.”
Areasl lay far to the West, past the borders of Eganene and the Grinfort’s domain, and was purported to be rampant with Bodin. From all that she heard from the few emissaries who had ventured forth, it was an acrid land, full of desert and terribly high temperatures. The Areaslians had dug deep into the mountains and only ventured out at night, when the air was colder than winter. The explosion that had rocked their country in years past, had changed much, including the influx of Bodin. How the Areaslians survived, she had no idea. It did not seem polite to ask.
“Well, met,” said Teniya promptly. Agatha echoed her, unused to the phrase. “What has you joining us this evening?”
“Your Ladyship, must we talk politics already?” the man asked with a shake of his curled hair. He had wide green eyes, a flat nose and a darkish complexion.
Teniya laughed, a huge sound, causing the party-goers nearest them to look their way. “Of course, dear. Politics is never at rest in Eganene. What do you think this gathering is for, if not an excuse to talk to those who have need?”
“Now, tell me, Lord Hyden. What brings you to Orlenia? And be truthful,” she smiled, “or I will find out later. And be very cross indeed.”
The smaller man shot a glance at Willum, but got nothing for it, as the younger Hudear was studiously looking the other way. To Agatha’s eyes, the Areaslian was dressed strangely, a floor length navy tunic over a white shirt with puffed sleeves. Golden stitch-work laced the bottom, the golden fringe brushing the man’s open leather sandals.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve come to enlist your Congress’ aid. It is a delicate matter and something for which I am scheduled to speak on tomorrow’s Council. If you will forgive me, my lady…”
“Nonsense, nonsense, Lord Hayden. That is not the way to conduct business here.”
“Is it not?” he asked, softly. Agatha could detect his uncertainty.
Oh, very good, Teniya! she thought.
“My dear sir, it is exactly as you say. Tomorrow you shall go before Congress to make your formal plea. However, Lord Hayden, it is better that you already possess the support for which you ask.”
Green eyes, bespeckled with yellow spots, blinked. “Madame, I’m not sure…”
“What I mean,” Teniya said, downing another glass of white, which moments earlier had been refilled, “is that our Congress works in a unique way. You must first have support and second, make your request. If you do not, you’ll spend much more time here than you would wish, attempting to persuade people who have already made-up their minds.”
“Now, if you have their support from the start, you will find your way all the easier. So, tell me. What is that you wish of Eganene? How may we aid your fine country?”
As the man began to outline his troubles, Agatha stood amazed. She knew Teniya was a decent stateswoman, but really, she had not expected such a fortunate showing. She needed to speak with Joseph Dean. If they could get Teniya to stay in Orlenia for a bit, they might be able to tie up these troubles with the anarchists.
“So, you see, Madame,” the Areaslian was saying, “the Bodin have never been this bold in living memory. They usually stay out in the sands, worshipping their Obelisk. The area, we call it Trinity, is impassible, as are the land twenty miles around their sacred stone.”
“The rose-colored desert is their territory. We stay in the mesas and steep mountains. Your country has been kind enough to send two battalions to aid us, but we need more. They are coming.”
“My supposition is that they are going to war for war’s sake. It is in their nature, after all. My country’s armies and your battalions are fortified within our capitol, Gaden, and are well supplied. They could last years in that position. But my countrymen, the people who work the farms and mines, they are unprotected. We are asking for three more battalions…”
“Three!” Teniya interjected. “My dear Lord, that is quite a lot. My country’s forces are spread out along all our borders, assisting others in maintaining security. Why, we have two others North, above my province, with the Yila. They are heavily entrenched, and though I cannot offer you specifics, I can tell you that their troubles are far worse than Bodin.”
“But, Madame! Without the reinforcements, my country will be ransacked. Your own military starved or butchered. You must understand…”
Agatha intervened, “Lord Hayden. You misunderstand the Lady Hudear. We have no intentions of allowing your country to suffer such brutalities. She is merely allowing as to how our forces are stretched thin at the moment.”
“My husband, Lord Radcliff, would be helpful to you in this discussion. He is an advisor for our military, and has more specifics than we possess. In our country, the men are pledged with the responsibility for detail and oversight. Let me introduce you.”
“I would be much obliged. Lady Hudear, let me thank you for your frank discussion and helpful advisement. I would be much indebted if we could continue our discussion at a further time.”
“The pleasure would be mine, Lord Hayden. We have rooms in the palace if you have need of me.” She curtsied, a passing servant nimbly stepping out of the way of her voluminous gowns. “I will find you later, Lady Radcliff,” she said to Agatha. “We have much yet to discuss.”
“As you say,” Agatha replied, leading Lord Hayden off to Joseph Dean. The shorter man spoke of trivialities as they walked-- the beauty of the colorful fresco above them, the unique taste of the horderves, the pleasant people.
“You are kind, Lord Hayden,” Agatha responded. “Ah, but here is my husband. Lord Radcliff, may I present to you, Lord Hayden. He has journeyed a long way to speak with Eganene. Areasl is beset by a significant problem, and he wishes to discuss possible aid.”
With a smile for his wife, Joseph Dean bowed deeply. “Welcome, Lord Hayden of Areasl. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Agatha left them there, her husband already listening intently to the emissary’s plight. She wanted to tell him what Teniya had told her about the tavern, but there was no opportunity. For the next hour she circled about the party, engaging lords and ladies in discussion over the holiday’s festivities. Most acquiesced to her ideas, some had to be coaxed or prodded, but overall she counted it a successful venture. She had not yet had a chance to speak with her other children. Her two girls, plump Francilla and slender Beatrice were busy dancing. She did not begrudge them their happiness, but stole glances in their direction, watching the gaiety of new love.
Her four boys were likewise engaged. Tomm and Briant, her twins, were dancing with two pretty girls she did not know. Tomm, distinguishable from his brother only by his long hair, twirled his partner nicely. Briant, not to be outdone, lifted his partner off her feet, nearly falling to the floor. It ended well though, with both parties laughing and lining up to try again.
Her second oldest, Bertrand, was in heated discussion with a minor noble, and Agatha decided to keep away. Radcliffs were known for their ardor in politics, and by the rising voices, Agatha could guess where that discussion would end up. Her youngest boy, Phillip was away. Only eighteen, he was a lieutenant with the Second Regiment stationed up in Yila. She sent a quick prayer to Rae and Wul for him.
Just then, she caught sight of Milendra. The girl was pulling away from Willum, his arm tight about her wrist. Agatha watched as she lashed out with her Power, just a small sting to the Hudear boy’s arm, and then spun on her heel. Her black hair was a shield behind her as she stalked off, the trail of her red, silk dress twitching behind.
Willum clapped his hand over his wound. Agatha saw him bite back the shout bubbling on his lips. The look on his face was pure hatred, and his dark eyes glared daggers at the girl’s receding back.
My, my, Agatha thought, this will never do.
She needed to speak with Milendra and Teniya. If the marriage was so obviously unacceptable, than it must be put off. She had no intention of forcing her daughter on someone who looked at her like that. Scanning the room, she saw Teniya, the woman’s broad, green backside almost eclipsing Joseph Dean from view. Hayden stood beside her, speaking quickly, his gestures animated.
Just as she was about to make her way over, the pianist stopped playing. The conversation dying as a few high trills of laughter petered out. The palace’s Headman was standing beside the grand piano. He was dressed all in black, his leather shoes polished to a high gleam. His black jacket glinted with three silver buttons, the white, starched shirt beneath utterly unwrinkled. A dark bowtie was fixed about his neck. The crowd held their collective breath.
The clothing was Earthen, yet he looked magnificent and professional. Agatha wanted to smile, but she kept her face straight. Caroline had just made a bid for a new style. One that, if it went well, would be worn on every noble within the week. Gripping her hands together firmly, she waited.
Finally, the Headman made an elaborate bow. In a loud and carrying voice, said, “Lord and Ladies. If you will be so kind, dinner is served.”
Applause filled the great hall, tremendous in volume. It was a success! Agatha had to admit that it was a very late meal, by all standards. Everyone was probably excited to eat. She saw more than one person stagger to their place, as though many of the guests had been substituting wine for food.
She felt a little woozy herself, but with all the talking, she’d forgotten to replace her empty glass with a full one. The opportunity passed her in the form of a neatly dressed servant. She obtained another glass of white and moved to the head of the table. Seated at her daughter’s right hand, which was her place as a former First, she noted Joseph Dean was only a few seats down. She felt fortunate to be close enough to speak with him at all. There were usually too many powerful women present at these gatherings. The men were pushed far down the line.
Milendra’s place was empty. She hoped the girl would hurry back soon. Across from her, Teniya and Francilla sat beside each other. Beatrice sat beside her father, as she was by far the weakest of the females, and her three brothers surrounded her. Agatha was pleased at the arrangement, knowing the conversation would be lively at their portion of the table.
Willum was sitting beside Agatha, out of order. He was quietly surveying the table, a red welt rising on the pale flesh of his arm. His expression was sour. Every few seconds, a tick twitched his eye.
Oh, dear, Agatha thought again. Milendra, what have you done!
Servants appeared to fill thin, crystal glasses with champagne. It was a new drink, one that Caroline had brought back from the Earth. The liquid gold bubbled fiercely as it was poured, frothing with pale foam. When all was set, her daughter rose from her chair. She was beautiful, her high cheekbones catching the light from the candles.
Caroline took a deep breath. There were a hundred people at the table, and her voice would need to carry. Her delicate shoulders squared. Agatha noted her bodice was cut quite low, the rise and fall of the swell of her breasts visible.
“Ladies and Lords,” Caroline said into the hush. “I welcome you here tonight for an early celebration of Fallfest. It is a time of growth, of life and of beauty. Indeed, I have my own new life here with me tonight.”
Her maid lifted sleeping Bekka from her bundle of blankets and laid her on her mother’s arm. “Bekka, six-months old. Let us toast to new life and new beginnings.”
Applause and cheering exploded from the ranks, loud, too loud for the sleeping infant who woke with a bawling start. The crowd cheered even louder at the sound, although, Willum’s expression turn even nastier.
He doesn’t even like children! Agatha thought disbelievingly.
The room toasted the child while Caroline gave little Bekka a bottle and servants refilled glasses. The chef and his staff, all wearing pristine white garments, brought out course after course. Among platters of fruits and nuts, jambalaya and spiced crab, was the cook’s pride. An immense, fire-roasted, wild boar, its tusks a foot long, was seared to a perfect red, a large apple in its mouth. Steam rose as three men carried it to its place at the center of the table.
Servants were already spooning portions of mashed potatoes, the gravy made with rosemary and dulai, a rare spice from west of Areasl. Green beans and sweet flower onions, syruped carrots in butter sauce, a thin slice of beef and yam pie-- there was so much food that Agatha turned most the servants away.
Teniya gave the next toast, a jovial and booming recitation of Caroline’s performance as First. Among her list of feats were her Headman’s attire and the fine new beverage, which heralded a good-natured laugh from the audience. Agatha shared a smile with Joseph Dean.
As the kitchen staff began to cut the pig, Willum stood for a toast. Agatha was surprised, not thinking he was in the mood for the festivities. “We are here tonight to celebrate. Let us forget the past, live in the present and the future. All is ours to behold, we have only to grasp it.”
“Hear, hear,” Teniya said standing. She swayed on her feet, a large ship adrift in an ocean of wine. “My son has the right of it, lift your glasses once again and we shall eat this merry feast.” Up-ending her glass in a flourish, she slammed it down hard enough to shatter the crystal.
The table rang with empty glasses, the crystal breaking apart under the harsh usage. The slower guests refilled their beverages to stand as well. More and more people were on their feet, cheering, swaying, laughing.
Agatha saw Teniya grab the woman next to her in bear hug, the lady’s cup spilling from her hand. Shards of glass flew, each one sparkling as though diamonds had been tossed as party favors. Teniya put a thick hand to her face, wiping at her cheek and smiling at Agatha, embarrassed at her folly.
Amid the chaos, Agatha smiled back.
As the larger woman turned away, a drop of blood slid slowly from her ear, bright red against her heavily powdered face. It trailed down, cutting a path through the thick white dust to pool at her jaw. A second droplet formed, thicker than the first and sped down faster, splattering upon the linen tablecloth, a single blossom.
“Teniya?” Agatha asked, her voice stolen by the volume of the table. “Teniya, are you all right?”
The baby was crying louder now, in a panic from the noise. Without thinking, Agatha took the small child from Caroline. “I’ll take her up, dear,” she said quickly. “You stay with the party. Check on Teniya, though, will you? I think she may have cut herself.”
Her daughter nodded, a few black curls tumbling into her green eyes. The maid led the way and Agatha glanced back once. Joseph Dean was smiling at Bertrand, who it appeared was in another discussion, despite the noise. The rest of her children, were likewise engaged. All but Milendra, whose place remained empty. Caroline grasped Teniya’s arm, the heavy woman spinning slowly.
By the time she made it upstairs, Bekka was quiet, worn out from the raucousness below. A tiny bubble had formed at the child’s red lips. Agatha could feel the warmth from her little body. Dismissing the maid, she used her free hand to rearrange the blankets upon the crib.
At first, she did not recognize the sound, the erratic tap, tap, tap.
Screams followed in its wake, and a great rush of Power built beneath her feet.
What in the gods’ names? she thought.
There was too much Power, stronger, fiercer, the echo of it white-hot and almost blinding. Although she couldn’t actually see the light, Agatha closed her eyes.
Dear gods! she thought. What was happening?
Grabbing Bekka, she rushed down the curving stone stairs, cursing her dress and her slow progress. The child slept on oblivious, her exhausted body dreaming deeply. The sounds grew louder; the echoes of high-pitched screams filling the stairwell, the horrible tat, tat, tat a constant drumbeat.
The Power build-up was waning, the energy from the initial burst melting away. Agatha could feel individual pulses now, so strong and more deadly than she had ever felt before. What was it?
Down and down she ran, her slippered feet silent in the night. Iron sconces lit her way, the candles flickering fitfully. All the electric lamps were dead. She realized that the power had failed.
Or someone cut the lines, she thought.
Either way, the lack of light did not account for the noises downstairs.
Smoke assaulted her as she made the bottom step. It was thick, a grayish cloud that blocked the way to the dining room. Edging forward, Agatha made her way through the hallway. She was shaking so badly, she was sure the child would wake.
Let them be well, let them be well, she prayed fervently.
She could hear voices, urgent words spoken harshly. A scream erupted seconds later, a woman, the voice, pushing out from the smoke to tear at Agatha’s soul. The blast of majic that followed made her stop. She pressed against the wall, turning her body to shield Bekka.
White hot, the Power radiated outwards from its origin. Agatha did not wait. Faster than thought, she put up a shield, her own majic even brighter than the other. Only someone with the ability could have seen her do it, would have known she was hidden in the smoky corridor.
But someone did. The white flame winked out of existence. Agatha released the shield without thinking. A rose colored light, like a dart, flew into the smoke. Agatha was too surprised to react. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. She had no majic at her fingertips to turn it away. Fast, too fast, she couldn’t get her hand up in time.
It struck Bekka full in the face, pink light exploding around them in a shower of sparks. And then it was sucked back again, pooling, circling into a vortex centered on the infant’s brow. The child never stirred, never even moved. The only change that Agatha could see was the girl’s cheeks turned a shade pinker, as though she had been wrapped in too many blankets.
“Monsters!”
Agatha’s heart broke. She knew that voice, had heard it a thousand times, but never like this. Her mind balked, would not believe, could not understand. She stood in the smoke and listened, the infant still sleeping peacefully on her shoulder.
“Why?” Caroline said, her voice breaking.
“Go easy, now, and it will be better.”
It was a man’s voice, calm and deadly.
Jokihm? she thought, pain twisting her insides. She wanted to get closer, but Bekka was nestled into the side of her face, the girl’s warm breaths teasing the hair at the nape of her neck. She couldn’t go in with the child.
“Why?” Agatha’s daughter asked again, her voice stronger.
“Now is not the time for questions. We need to go. You will not resist. I’ll not tell you again. If you so much as gather your Power, the first one who dies will be the one you care about most, and so on. Do I make myself clear?”
Agatha shuddered and clutched Bekka closer. She had to get out, get the child to safety. But Joseph Dean and her children were in there. Jokihm had come prepared. No matter the number of guns in that room, it would have taken a lot of Power to stop the people at that party, even when they were drunk.
There was no time to think. She had to get the baby out. Then, she could figure out what was going on. She squinted into the smoke, trying vainly to see someone, anyone, but there was nothing.
She ran.