Chapter 2
Two
“Did you pass?”
My brother Dayne spoke the moment I was in the dim of the kepen’s halls. He was sitting on the stone window ledge, his black, endlessly curly hair hanging in front of his brow. I knew he’d been watching us through the panes. He was prone to lurking.
I blinked a few times as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The entire kepen was built from black basalt stone cut into neat blocks. Even with ample candlelight, the blackness of the walls made every room feel shadowy. “I passed.”
“How can you be sure?” Dayne leapt off the ledge onto the stone floor and took a few quick steps to my side, unburdened by the weight of iron.
“Because there was only one right answer to each question.”
And then we just stood there, looking at each other, knowing and being confused.
Sensing and wishing. Not in any sort of way—I’ve heard those rumours, too.
Dayne, even though he was a year younger than me, was simply my only friend at the time, which is a sad thing to write, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.
Even our younger siblings, of which there were four, including two other girls, weren’t our friends.
They were spies for our mother or else tragic little beings, free, but not for long.
People always said Dayne was a sour child, but I don’t think that’s fair.
He was simply smarter than the rest of us.
He saw the trap we were all in. He maybe also had a stronger sense for what was right and wrong outside of what our order prescribed.
I think this tormented him. If you’re someone who considers the stars, I can tell you he was born just after the height of summer, and I have heard such people are prone to suffering on behalf of others.
You’ve likely heard about Dayne as well.
All I can say is that I had no sense of what he was capable of when I was a young woman living with him, and I expect if the world had been kinder to him, he would have been kinder to it.
Dayne looked down at his boots and then back up at me. “You could have given a wrong answer, just one.”
“No, I couldn’t have.” I believed that at the time.
“Besides, this one was nice, or his father was, at least. The next one might not be.” His father asked me an unprescribed question, I wanted to say.
But Dayne’s misery was already seeping out of him, and I knew a little pleasantry would probably make it worse. He hated falsity.
Dayne frowned, nodding once to me, and once more, seemingly to himself. “His father is friends with our father as well.”
“Really?”
“They fought together when the Goldkeeper of the Kepen at the Trail’s Turn was…”
Drowned. My skin put in the effort to shiver, but it couldn’t properly do it as I was weighed down by so much iron.
The sea terrified me, as I think it did all who were in my order.
I couldn’t swim, but even if I could, the weight of my dress would sink me should I fall into a river or pond.
Even deep mud puddles could be threatening, so an entire sea of salty waves produced an all-consuming fear in me.
“You think father will approve then?” I said, studying Dayne’s face. He was often told more things than I was, for even though he was younger, he was to inherit our father’s post as Grainkeeper at the Kepen of the Arched Cliffs. And just like my order kept its secrets, his did, too.
Dayne stuck his tongue between his teeth, something he did whenever he was displeased. “If their offerings are appropriate.”
Offerings. Make no mistake, I was being sold.
Though at the time, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with this.
I hoped to fetch a fair price for my family.
A portion would also be put aside for my order.
I hoped for other things as well. Quiet things.
Secret things I dared not utter for fear of cursing myself.
That the kepen I would move to would be part of a large town, that there would be dances and circuses.
Women my age. That the sex part would be as interesting as I suspected it would be.
It was hard to imagine the sex part, for though I was aware of the mechanics of the act, I felt certain that, like so much else in life, the experience would be more than the parts.
I tried to visualize the act with Loric, but the man kept morphing into Rowan, the blacksmith’s apprentice, in my mind.
When we were both younger, maybe I was eleven and Rowan was thirteen, I saw him pluck a farm child from the moat.
I’d thought the little boy was dead, but Rowan breathed life back in through the mouth.
When my mind turned to the things that happened between wedded couples, it often turned to Rowan on that day and Rowan as he was grown.
His thick, soot-covered arms. How frustrating yet humbling it was that he always averted his eyes from me, so I could never gain a sense of what he was feeling.
It soothed me to imagine that if I were to fall into the moat, there was a man perhaps strong enough to pull me out, one who knew how to give breath back.
I was struck by a swarm of heat from beer and roasted lamb and many bodies crammed into one place.
The great hall of the Kepen at the Arched Cliffs was large, with a vaulted ceiling, but so full that it felt small.
The guests sat with my father at the head table on the dais.
My siblings and my father’s sworn swords—of which there were at least forty knights present—sat at tables on the floor.
Everyone seemed merry enough—except for Waldmire’s youngest son.
He sat up straight and turned his head at the appropriate times to keep his gaze on whoever was speaking, but the matte lacquer of his eyes gave him away. He was bored senseless.
Dayne pulled my chair out for me when my short, iron-burdened steps finally brought me to the rightmost table on the floor.
Little tasks like pulling out a chair didn’t feel so little when one’s clothing was filled with iron bars that made any sort of bending likely to cause pokes or pinches.
Even sitting was a task that needed to be carefully executed.
Dayne helped with this too, holding out his arm so I could use it to steady myself.
He took his seat to my left and waved a server over, pointing at the empty plate before me.
My mother usually sat to my right, only she wasn’t there.
It was possible my youngest sister Dinah, who was still only a baby, needed tending to.
It was also possible—not likely, but possible—that my mother was absent because she had complicated feelings about the evening and the guests that were here to potentially take me away from her forever.
It was just as likely that she didn’t care.
I could imagine her discussing the marriage with my father, saying, Will he be strict with her?
You know how Mira needs firm correction.
But let’s not discuss my mother now. She brings a bitter taste to my tongue.
Across from myself and Dayne, sat our three other siblings.
Elfrith, who was twelve, irritated me most out of everyone.
This was probably because she was far more likeable than I was.
She was quick to cheer and didn’t seem to struggle with our order’s demands in the way that I did.
But, in my defence, Dayne also found Elfrith annoying.
When she was giddy and rambling, his eyes often wandered to mine, revealing his irritation.
I’d have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
And then there were the little boys: Hamon and Emery.
Though they were only seven and five, both sat solemn and ate in silence as was expected.
Occasionally, I felt bad for Elfrith in the division of my siblings.
Hamon and Emery were close in age, as were Dayne and I.
Poor Elfrith was alone in the middle. She’d taken a liking to baby Dinah immediately, spending much of her time cooing over the child and humming to her.
The only time Elfrith was ever reprimanded was when our mother accused her of being too lenient with the baby.
This probably tells you more about our mother than Elfrith.
Dayne’s eyes followed a rosy-cheeked server as she came to the table, presenting me with several slices of crispy lamb.
Once her task was done, she lingered, smiling at Dayne.
She left but returned quickly with beer, filling his goblet even though it was hardly empty at all.
Her eyes darted to the door leading to the kitchens—the one used by the servants—and back to Dayne.
He didn’t fully shake his head, but there was an abrupt, subtle movement that resulted in her pouting slightly and moving away.
“Do you like him?” Dayne whispered, nodding to Loric, who was listening attentively to something our father was saying.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, lifting my fork. “Have you heard anything about him?”
“I heard he fought well at Draiden Hills. But people always exaggerate what grainkeepers—” Dayne cut himself off abruptly because Loric had stood and taken a step down from the dais in our direction.
“He’s coming over,” I whispered as soon as I realized that was his intention. “Quick, what do I do?”
Dayne snorted under his breath. “Literally nothing.”
In a few quick strides, Loric was standing near our table. “Gentlewoman,” he said, nodding to me. He dipped his head to Dayne. “Gentlesir.”
Dayne stood and grasped the man’s elbow, a sign of non-combatance in my country. “Gentlesir.”
Loric held my brother’s elbow in return, but once they released each other, there was a pause that was longer than comfortable.
In the unease of it, I felt sympathy for Loric—maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. He seemed lost and unsure of what to say, and I interpreted this as gentleness.
“Would you care to sit with us?” I said, the awkwardness of the moment seeping a little into my words.
Loric gave me the smallest of smiles. He sat down on Dayne’s other side, turned toward us, and then there was another uncomfortable moment as each person in the group tried to think of something to say.
Well… Dayne wasn’t trying. He was frowning and somehow also appearing smug—enjoying Loric’s wordlessness.
“Tell me,” I said. “How was the ride to the Arched Cliffs?”
Loric’s shoulders softened, and his smile grew. “It was pleasant, Gentlewoman. The climate in the west suits me fine.”
His voice was deep and resounding. Likely it wasn’t his true voice, but how he’d been trained to speak. Dayne’s voice wasn’t his own either; grainkeepers needed to command with authority.
I studied the potential husband. His brows were straight but heavy, as if he were actually deeply sad and trying to hide it by raising them.
To my surprise, it was Dayne who spoke next. “I hear the sea dogs have been raiding along the east.”
Sea dogs, as I understood them at the time, were demon-cursed creatures akin to seals but with some human faculties.
They organized attacks wherein they stole shiny things and human flesh to be consumed raw.
They had human hands so could carry shields and tie together driftwood islands where they lived in the thousands.
“Aye, they have,” Loric said. “The season is mostly over, but they’ve been keeping us very busy. I—” He halted, as if he were about to say something he shouldn’t. “I have mind to build ships and meet them at sea next season.”
Dayne perked up at the sentiment, though he quickly returned to his performance of disinterest. When he spoke, he was condescending. “A fine idea. Tell me, how many ships have you built before?”
Loric didn’t react to the tone in Dayne’s voice. “Only a few, Gentlesir, but I have been studying what they leave behind and triremes from history. Next season, I hope to put an end to all of this.”
I could tell Dayne was about to say something abrasive and shot him a warning look.
Loric continued, “We must act. Half the farmland on the east coast is ablaze. The people who work the land have no kepens to guard them. If I am to be Grainkeeper of the Hard-Won Kepen, I should like to keep my people free from terror.”
I’d never been privy to these sorts of conversations, so I began to find Loric a little thrilling.
He didn’t seem to think he was having this effect. He grimaced and looked around—first to Emery and Hamon, who hadn’t been listening, and then to me. “Forgive me, Gentlewoman.”
“For what, Sir?”
“Uh…” He scraped his bottom lip on his teeth. “For speaking of work at the table, Gentlewoman.” It was a mild way of saying, for speaking of grainkeeping things in front of a goldkeeper.
“I will bear no grudge over it,” I said.
He looked down at his hands. “I’d come over to… or well—”
He turned his head back to the dais where his father seemed to be summoning him with a wave.
He patted his tunic quickly, before pulling a single, delicate stem from his breast pocket and presenting it to me with just the right amount of awkwardness for the gesture to be sweet. “I hope we will speak more.”
He stood and bowed first to me, and then to Dayne before rigidly making his way back to the dais and his father’s summons.
I stared at the frail gift—a deep green stem decorated with dainty white blossoms. It wasn’t just a flower. It was a blossom from an honesty vine.
Once upon a time, back when the Isle had a crowned king, the king was looking to choose an heir as he had no children.
He gave a vine to each of his knights, asking them to care for the plant for a year.
He told them he would make his choice based on the vine’s health when the time was up, as he wished to select the most diligent and caring from among them.
The following year, each knight brought their vine before the king.
Thirteen knights had beautiful blooms, but the fourteenth had no leaves or flowers on his branches.
The king chose the fourteenth knight to rule upon his death, explaining that the vines only bloomed every other year.
He’d given each of his swords vines that would not blossom, wanting to see if any would seek to deceive him.
I watched Loric for several more moments—he listened to my father and then his father and then my father again. I no longer judged him dim-witted.
“He’s licking your boots,” Dayne warned quietly. “Father’s as well.”
“Pray not,” I said, noticing the way our father and Loric’s laughed together.
They did indeed have the appearance of old friends, and I think it was that moment which made my circumstances feel real to me for the first time.
I was struck by an all-encompassing loneliness, by a type of sickness I now believe comes from choicelessness.
Even in my dreams I was alone, wandering across an endless stretch of dry sand. Yellow as far as I could see.