Court of Fives Page 5

  Trumpets blow to announce that the next four adversaries are taking their places at the ladders in the undercourt. Father grabs hold of my arm, his grip like iron, and drags me inexorably away from the railing. I can’t see the start as the bells chime down the familiar melody.

  The crowd sings along:

  Shadows fall where pillars stand.

  Traps spill sparks like grains of sand.

  Seen atop the trees, you’re known.

  Rivers flow to seas and home.

  Rings around them, rings inside,

  The tower at the heart abides.

  A mighty shout signals the start of the run, but of course I can’t see anything from back here.

  Mother glances our way but Father lifts his chin, his way of saying, Stay out of this.

  A masked servant lifts the entry drape, and Father hauls me into the stuffy interior. The cloth-screened passage seems dimmer than it did before. We are alone.

  He slaps me hard across the face.

  “You made a spectacle of yourself, Jessamy. I do not care what pleasures his smile offers, or how well-intentioned he seems. If I bring my daughters into public, I expect them to be dutiful and modest. Amaya is the only one of you girls who has any chance for a respectable alliance. Do not ruin it for her by hoping to become a rich lord’s whore!”

  My mouth drops open. The unfairness and crudity of his scolding scalds like boiling water.

  “That you would cast your ribbons at a most unsuitable young man shocks me. I expect you to know better.” The way he examines my face and person makes me feel I am a worm crushed under the sole of his boot. “Not only is Lord Kalliarkos nephew to Lord Gargaron, his grandmother is a princess of the royal line, a wealthy woman who owns an entire shipyard. You will never speak to him again, do you hear me?”

  7

  I stare at the three chalk marks on my leather slippers. My cheek stings. “Yes, Father.”

  “He can have no interest in a girl like you except for what can never be allowed. What exactly did he say to you?”

  My breath is coming in gulps as tears trickle alongside my nose. A headache jolts up the back of my neck and my sight swims.

  “He just talked about the Fives. I felt it polite to reply. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He frowns more in sorrow than in anger. “I suppose you could not have refused to answer when he spoke directly to you. Very well. Wait for me in the retiring room.”

  He goes out.

  A masked servant enters, perhaps the same one who held the drape. All I can see of her face is her eyes. She tracks me as I retreat to the retiring room. A breeze stirs the cloth walls as I enter. Sinking onto the couch I fold forward and rest my throbbing head on my arms. The golden day has turned sour and horrible.

  The curtain swings aside and Father steers Amaya in.

  “You two are leaving immediately.”

  Amaya chirps in her sweetest voice, “Father, with our mother so close to her time, perhaps you will permit me to remain here in the retiring room. Denya can sit with me so I won’t be alone. That way I can look after Mother should she become over-tired before you are released from your duties by Lord Ottonor.”

  He takes a step toward her. “Your mother is safe with me!”

  Amaya does not cringe. “Father, I only seek the best for our mother. We girls worry for her when she is so close to her time.” She launches her next attack. “Since Maraya couldn’t come, she particularly asked Jes and me to make sure Mother is comfortable.”

  His skin darkens with a flush, for any reminder of Maraya’s deformity shames him. “You will accompany Jessamy back to the house.”

  Amaya resorts to her wheedling voice. “I’m so disappointed we have to leave early. Denya mentioned one of the military men is looking for a wife, and I prayed to the oracles that maybe he would notice me. But I suppose there is no hope for that now. I know Jes was foolish and selfish but I have to say that Lord Gargaron was rude to us.” She flicks a convenient tear from her eye as her voice catches on half of a sob.

  “A lord of his rank is accustomed to speaking as he wishes,” says Father, “but I will not hear my daughters spoken of in such insulting terms. I can make no objection to such a man so I am sending you home to get you out of his way.”

  She sniffs. “Can we at least still go by the Ribbon Market on our way? Mother said we could, to buy ribbons to celebrate your great victory and a banner to decorate the house. Our chaperone will be with us, and Steward Polodos and our maidservant and a groom and a driver. It will be perfectly proper. You promised me a new mask for the Shadow Festival the last time you were home. I thought I would be a cat this year.”

  “No. You are going straight home. Wait here until I return with Steward Polodos.”

  He departs.

  “I never get what I want and it’s all your fault!” Amaya looks ready to spit with anger. “Aren’t you suddenly turned into the flirt! I’ve never seen you go after a boy like that! You should know better than to speak to a lord’s son. It makes Father look bad.”

  “He spoke to me first! It would have been rude if I hadn’t answered.”

  “You should have moved away from him. But you didn’t. You thought he was handsome. Admit it!”

  “Handsome?” I pause, remembering the way he looked atop the victory tower when he pulled off his mask, the perfect representation of a triumphant adversary. “Yes, he is. But that’s not what happened.” I lift my right foot to display the three white smears. “Lord Kalliarkos recognized the chalk marks. He’s the adversary who won my round. He wanted to know why I let him win.”

  “What a disaster! What did you tell him?”

  When I think back I can’t help but smile even though my cheek still hurts. It is very flattering that he knew I should have won. “I told him I can’t unmask. Then he asked me about Rings. He was remarkably courteous and treated me like an adversary, not a Commoner. He thinks I’m good, Amaya!”

  “Oooh! Jes’s heart has been slain by a man complimenting her on her skill in running the Fives!”

  “What a relief he wasn’t speaking to me because he found me pretty!”

  She grins with the charm that makes her irresistible when she chooses. “That’s not what I meant. But you have to admit it is just like you to care more that he praised your skill than your beautiful eyes. Jes…” She curls a ribbon around a forefinger, suddenly somber. “If he knows your secret, then he can tell Lord Gargaron. Or Father!”

  “Hush,” I say, for I hear footsteps.

  A servant lifts the entry drape. The painted mask she wears gives her the look of an ancient statue brought to life to serve the highborn. It also hides her expression so I cannot tell what reaction she has as she steps aside to allow Lord Gargaron to walk into the retiring room.

  With a look, he measures me from my scuffed leather slippers to my coily hair. His lips sneer as if he is imagining some dire calamity like a great tide of seawater destroying the city or my modest charms seducing his nephew. The frown fades as he examines Amaya with a more luxuriously measuring stare. I grasp Amaya’s hand; she squeezes mine, taking a step away from him.

  “Where are the other two?” he asks. “Four daughters and no sons. A man ought to be ashamed.”

  “Our sister Bettany is frequently unwell, my lord,” I say, for I do not want him to think he can command Amaya’s attention whenever he wants. “Our eldest sister, Maraya, is studying with the hope of being allowed to take the examinations to be admitted as an Archivist in the Archives.”

  Father returns with Junior House Steward Polodos in tow. His surprise on finding Lord Gargaron alone with two innocent girls cannot be disguised.

  “My lord,” Father says as he places himself between us.

  Lord Gargaron studies us as if we are furnishings. “The Archivists who investigate the workings of the world believe that a woman who has an excess of heat and vigor may give birth preferentially to daughters. As it is the nature of Commoner women to b
e overburdened with the heated constitutions more appropriate to men, it would explain the unusual numbers of daughters among Commoners. Not like the women of our people, Captain, who are properly cool and reserved.”

  Father sucks in a breath so sharp that the lord deigns to notice.

  “Had you a comment?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  Father’s anger snaps in his eyes like a storm but his tone remains flat. “It was nothing, my lord.”

  “No, no, indeed, I insist you speak.”

  Gripping my hand even more tightly, Amaya shuts her eyes. Usually nothing scares Amaya but she is trembling now.

  I won’t let such a poisonous man humiliate Father. We have heard this slur before, and I need only repeat words Maraya has said more than once. I know how to speak exactly like a full-blood Patron, each word crisp and clipped short. “In truth, my lord, the unusual numbers of daughters found among Commoners might more easily be explained by them keeping all their girls instead of giving younger-born daughters to the temple in the City of the Dead as Patrons do.”

  “Argued like an Archivist,” says Lord Gargaron. “Are you sure you are not the one who should take the examinations, rather than your unseen sister?” Amusement creases his brow, and yet I wonder at the twitch by his left eye: Is he angered by my forthrightness? “These intellectual questions are not mine to decide. I have estates to run and a war to fight. The king recently named me lord governor general of the Eastern Reach. Do you know the intricacies of the eastern command, Captain Esladas?” He nails his gaze onto our father.

  Father’s lips crease with a curl of anger, quickly suppressed. “By reputation only, my lord. I have not fought there.”

  “No, indeed not. Your talents have for the most part been wasted on the tedious mire of skirmishes in the northeast desert. A shame Lord Ottonor has given you little scope in which to shine so as to burnish your shield of rank.” He sweeps a hand in the half-circle gesture by which Patrons honor the god of Fortune, since what balances atop fortune’s wheel may as quickly fall beneath. “Let me remove myself from this private room, where a man who is no kin of yours cannot be welcome. I was looking for a different sort of chamber.”

  Too late, we display our palms and bow our heads in deference to his lordly rank. The lapse makes him smile as he leaves.

  “You cannot get out of here quickly enough.” Father takes Amaya’s arm. I grab our satchels. The Junior House Steward stands at attention in the manner of a lowly foot soldier. “Polodos, keep your eyes open to make sure no servant of Lord Gargaron follows you.”

  Polodos taps his chest twice. Like soldiers on a fast march we hasten to the shaded area where Lord Ottonor’s servants prepare food and wait to run errands. Coriander is ready to go.

  Our chaperone is an elderly Patron woman named Taberta who holds the beads of an ill-wisher. Every well-to-do Patron family with children keeps an ill-wisher to guard its progeny, for such a woman can cast the evil eye onto any person who tries to harm her charges.

  Father leaves us with Taberta and hastens back to the balcony and Mother.

  Taberta greets us with a nod. Her tongue was cut off on the day the oracles named her as an ill-wisher. She notes Amaya’s tears and lightly taps my arm with her ebony baton. The click-click-click of her ill-wishing beads accompanies us as we emerge into the wide carriage yard. Drivers doze in the shadows of carriages. Our senior groom comes stumbling out of the shade and kicks the driver to wake him up. Both men smell of barley beer.

  Taberta clambers up beside the driver, where everyone can see that this carriage must not be molested by beggars, thieves, or hucksters. As I get inside I hear Amaya talking to Polodos before she gets in after me. Once again the bead curtains conceal us. The carriage rolls, the servants walking on foot outside.

  Amaya studies me. “You do look a little bit like Mother. It isn’t entirely impossible that a Patron man who wants that kind of thing might look at you.”

  “Goodness, Amiable, you truly do hate to admit that any one of us except you might be attractive. No wonder you and Bettany don’t get along.”

  “Bettany is Father’s problem, not mine, thank the oracles!”

  “Don’t be mean about Bett!”

  Amaya has a startling glare when she narrows her eyes to slits. “Bettany makes life hard for herself! Don’t blame me for pointing it out. The person you ought to feel sorry for is Mother but you never do!”

  “Father loves her! That’s always been enough for her!”

  Amaya shakes her head. “You’re so blind, Jes. When Father’s gone all you think about is the Fives. When he’s home you follow him around like a loyal dog waiting for scraps.”

  “I do not!”

  She snorts. “You’re the closest thing to a son he has. Don’t you understand why Father doesn’t want a lord talking to you? If your handsome palace-born Lord Kalliarkos informed Father that he wanted you, Father could not refuse. He would have to hand you over! He worries about what will become of the three of you, even Bett! That’s why you ought to do everything you can to help me make an advantageous marriage.”

  “Because you are the only one who can hope for a respectable life, as you forever keep reminding us?”

  Amaya’s eyes get a droopy look that makes me think I have choked the fragile hope she has nurtured. “I don’t want to live in Father’s house all my life! If I marry well, you can come live with me and sneak out to run the Fives as often as you want.”

  “I thought you wanted me to give up the Fives!” I hiss.

  “As long as we live in Father’s house, it would be safer if you did.” Her voice rises.

  The thought of never again running the Fives smashes down like a vast rock. My eyelids flutter as I crush back tears. “It doesn’t matter. What point is there in training if I can never compete?”

  Her expression darkens, like the breath of an oracle pushing an ominous cloud over the bright eye of the sun. “You should have lied to the young lord. Why should he keep your secret?”

  “How could I lie when he saw my shoes? Anyway, he promised not to tell.”

  “There will be trouble,” she mutters, and lapses into silence.

  The horses labor, pulling uphill, and I wonder where we are going because our house lies downhill from the City Fives Court. When the carriage glides to a halt I peek outside. To my astonishment we have stopped at the Ribbon Market.

  “Amaya! Father told us to go straight home!”

  She leans in to whisper, “You ran your Fives! Now I’m going to go buy my cat mask.”

  Before I can react she hops out of the carriage and, with Coriander and Taberta in tow, strides away into the Ribbon Market.

  8

  I jump out. Junior House Steward Polodos waits in the shade of the carriage with his arms crossed. He came from Saro-Urok only two years ago, from the same town as Father. For months after arriving he wore his straight black hair long and tied back in a club as Patron men do in the homeland, but recently he cut it off into the short style all men wear here where it is hot year-round and soldiers go clean-shaven. It’s as if he is trying to impress someone.

  The groom and driver are standing at the horses’ heads, talking together, looking agitated.

  “Steward Polodos! What is going on?” I demand.

  He regards me with a pleasant and entirely unruffled expression. “There’s been some trouble with the horses’ harness, Doma. We just have to stop here a moment to fix it.”

  No one is fixing anything.

  He turns his face back toward the sea, a faint smile on his usually serious face as he gazes at the view. The promenade is built on a crater rim and offers a splendid view across Saryenia, the royal city of Efea. Saryenia is famous for two conical hills, the King’s Hill and the Queen’s Hill. The King’s Hill is crowned with the massive king’s palace, the Royal Fives Court, and the many administration buildings and military offices. On the Queen’s Hill, the queen’s stately palace oversees banking and merchant offices
and the markets. The Archivists say these hills were once tiny volcanoes like the Fire Islands that seed the western sea.

  I can imagine exactly how fiery Father’s reaction will be if he learns we have disobeyed his direct order.

  “Amaya wheedled you into doing this, didn’t she? I mean no offense, Steward Polodos, because Mother speaks highly of your skills. But if you harbor some sort of romantic feeling for Amaya, you must know she has her sights set on a dashing military man. Not a mere household steward like you who besides that is as lowborn a Patron as our father.”

  If my words offend him he does not show it.

  “Almost any man would find Doma Amaya hard to resist,” he says with another smile. “I respect Captain Esladas more than I can say, Doma Jessamy. But it will not harm your sister to find a little happiness by buying a mask. The Ribbon Market is always perfectly safe. Lest you wonder, the groom and the driver both had a drink of celebratory beer while on duty. Should your father hear of it they will be whipped and lose their employment. So they will say nothing. Will you tell your father that we came here?”

  The thought of Father finding out about this reckless escapade and thus causing Amaya to tattle about the Fives makes me want to scratch my fingernails down my cheeks and scream.

  “I’m going to find her and bring her back.”

  “Doma, your sister took the servant and ill-wisher with her for propriety’s sake. You must stay here with the carriage.”

  “Will you tell my father that I walked alone into the market when you weren’t meant to bring us here at all?” I stalk off before he can answer.

  Nestled inside the Queen’s Hill crater, the Ribbon Market is a maze of stairs and narrow aisles shaded by canvas awnings. I know exactly where Amaya’s favorite mask vendor has her stall, but when I make my way to the place down several flights of twisting stairs, Amaya isn’t there.

  I want to strangle her. Where has she gone?

  I head deeper into Mask Lane. There are wooden masks and thin hammered metal masks and fragile glass masks and inexpensive canvas masks and woven reed masks. Masks ornamented by beads sit beside masks sewn entirely of feathers.