Chapter Five #2
The entrance to the chapel was crowded, as usual, ladies all waiting patiently and properly for their names to be called. “They say that the Matriarch herself will lead this service,” someone whispered, which led to a rustle of skirts and glances down the hall behind them.
Halithe resigned herself to the delay. A fine young lady of noble blood would be patient, still, and composed while waiting. Halithe was going to die of boredom, but—
Her bracelet wouldn’t restrict her from using mage sight, would it? She had permission to work this bit of magic. It wasn’t much, not like casting raging bolts of fire, but it was a bit defiant, and not something a fine lady of noble blood would do, now was it?
No one was watching her, they were all murmuring over pieces of gossip. She took a breath and held it, willing the power to come to her. She hadn’t tried this since Ritathan’s death, and for long, agonizing moments she feared she’d lost it, couldn’t do this one simple little—
A tingle ran through her and the world shifted.
She’d done it.
Her heart lifted but she caught herself, afraid to lose what she had achieved. But the strangeness stayed, much to her joy. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to give herself away. Of course, all she could see were skirts and floor and—
The power shifted, and her skin felt like it was on fire, her clothes, rough and grating on her skin.
She managed not to gasp, although the burning made her want to rip her dress off. The pain was severe, swamping her in dizziness.
One of the older lades leaned over. “Are you well, dear?”
The world shifted, and the woman’s sour breath wafted over her. Suddenly her lungs were filling with the scent of strong perfumes and unwashed bodies.
Her stomach churned. As she fought the nausea, the power tried to slip from her. She struggled, but it squirmed like an oily, wet eel, sliding through her mental fingers.
Everything shifted and it was gone.
“I’m fine,” Halithe managed to say, but the words came out in a gasp. “It’s—” she pulled herself together and gave the woman a weak smile. “It’s warm in here.” She continued. “I’ll sit toward the back, if I need to slip out.”
The woman’s eyes were sympathetic, but she shook her head. “We are seated in order of precedence, dear,” she reminded as the line started to move.
“Of course,” Halithe murmured, sagging inside. As the daughter of the Lord Marshal, she’d be toward the front. Second row, third if she was lucky. Usually close to Xydell, but that wouldn’t be happening, since the older woman had been sent—exiled—to the Black Hills.
At least her shrill complaints wouldn’t be grating on Halithe’s ears.
Halithe bit her lip, stepped to the door, and waited for the Herald to call out her name.
It was even warmer in the chapel. The women all stood in silence in their positions, each knowing her own place. The stone walls echoed the rustle of skirts and the quiet whispers of gossip meant only for their neighbors’ ears.
“Halithe, Daughter of Lord Marshal Tarwain.”
Halithe stepped forward, walking slowly, hands at her side, eyes demurely down, aware of all the eyes upon her and the chatter that would surely result.
Suddenly, the world shifted.
Halithe stumbled slightly as the whispers poured into her ears.
“Fresh paint, pews refinished. Perhaps the Queen is more devout than I thought.
“Perhaps politics plays a larger role in faith than you thought.”
“No real competition in the marriage market, not with those looks.”
“But her father has influence with both royals.”
“Perhaps one more than the other.”
“Really?”
“They said it was his heart.”
“In a pig’s eye. Man was healthy as a horse. I heard it was ordered.”
“Poor Xydell, sent away like that, and no word since.”
“One wonders who is next.”
The world shifted and her ears popped in sudden silence. Halithe reached her place with a sigh, trying to slow her racing heart.
Ritathan had said that this power would affect other senses, but he hadn’t mentioned anything like what she’d just experienced. She caught a few side glances from the others and tried to calm herself.
Sweat gathered on her neck. The sun was beating in the windows, and the heat was rising. The chapel wasn’t that large to begin with, and none of the colored glass windows opened.
Chanting came from the back of the room; the procession was starting down the aisle.
With any luck, she’d get through the next hour without fainting or doing anything else to feed the gossip-mongers.
Then she could hopefully return to her chamber, strip off this stupid dress, and throw herself naked on her bed.
She tugged her sleeve down, over the bracelet. There. She felt better, calmer, and—
The world shifted.
Halithe would have cursed out loud, but she was caught in the vision of the quiet glow of the sun disk that hung above the marble altar.
The glow seemed fainter than last time, as if her mage sense was weaker.
The dull rage was there, but she had learned her lesson and wasn’t even tempted to focus on it.
She looked away at the railing of the pew in front of her, at the floor of the aisle, at—
The procession moved forward, Caris stepped into view, and all rational thought fled.
Caris glowed, all silver and gold with glittering stars in her rich auburn hair. So beautiful that Halithe’s breath caught in her throat, all other thoughts banished.
She’d never seen the binding spell that held Caris before this.
A silken web of golden strands clung to Caris’s skin, tight enough to be a trap, a prison, a binding.
Within the gold were flickers of red. It moved with her and restrained her at the same time.
Wrapped around her was a silken cord that wound like tangled yarn and floated in the air all about her; its tail stretched out behind Caris, linking her to the Queen, who had just waddled into view.
The Queen. She wasn’t wrapped in the cords, but they all led to her; Halithe couldn’t tell if they flowed toward her or away. But they pulsed, connecting to all the other Bondmaidens. One cord trailed behind the Queen, down the velvet carpet, seeming stretched and—
Caris was moving now, with grace and poise in a way that caught Halithe’s eye and held it. The air seemed sweeter, lighter, just with her in the room.
Caris positioned herself with the others, behind the chair that had been placed for the Queen on the highest wide step. The Queen sat, looking pregnant, and with the tiniest of pouts.
Halithe waited, hoping to catch Caris’s eye.
Sure enough, Caris glanced in her direction, and for a long, sweet moment their eyes locked. Halithe’s chest expanded with joy, at those lovely eyes, so filled with…guilt?
Caris looked away.
Halithe’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t…it couldn’t be. Yet, Caris didn’t look her way again, her eyes down and shaded. The golden cord twisted and spun around her, as if aware of Halithe’s surge of pain.
Her vision shifted and the vision drained away, leaving Halithe looking at a world that seemed dull and lifeless.
But Halithe knew damned well those golden cords still bound Caris, still twisted and restrained.
The Matriarch stepped to the altar and started the call to prayer.
Halithe joined in the response automatically.
If it had been done, if Ritathan had died at their hands, it had not been Caris’s fault. She was bound, controlled, commanded.
A surge of longing rose up in Halithe’s soul. A deep, abiding hunger to rip those restraints free. Rip her own restraints free as well.
They’d come to her, to remove the bracelet. Someone from the Guild would come, maybe even the Guildmaster himself. That might give her a chance.
The hand bells chimed and the Matriarch took up the incense and started circling the altar, chanting. Halithe knelt with the other women, but her mind was not on prayer.
I will free us, she vowed. I will find a way.