Chapter 5 #2
“Thousands of years ago, each god sent an incarnial to the world. They were all-powerful beings with command over everything in their god’s domain.
They could feel the steps of every being across the land, and control the tides, and know all truths, past and present.
But…” I wag my finger. “Dreams can be tricky. Delvara wasn’t clear about what the incarnials were here to do.
Some people believed they were just meant to care for the world the gods created.
Others believed they were like kings, meant to rule it. ”
“So what’s the answer?” Ana asks. “Who was right and who was wrong?”
“No one knows. The gods all faded a long time ago, so they can’t tell us now.”
“That’s not true! I know the answer!” Bowan jumps in. “Ignarians have the right to rule because the sun keeps the world alive.”
It’s not an answer from the gods, but I just skip the nuance and nod. “That’s what everyone decided.”
They go back to Bowan’s game. Elva is granted Nyvos, land of wind and flying things. It’s just as shadoward as Arastos, but she seems satisfied anyway.
I leave them to it for a few moments to go and fetch their snack from the kitchen. I pass a footman and a maid as gray as Malda chatting in the corridor. I offer a smile, but they drop their voices as I pass.
I purse my lips and keep walking. The staff has been distant since I arrived, averted eyes and quick hand-offs the limit of our interactions. It’s saved me from having to answer questions about my background, but I also haven’t been able to learn anything about Norville.
As comfortable as it would be to keep my mouth shut as the cook hands me a tray, I force myself to try again.
“These look delicious.” I keep my smile pleasant, even though her frown deepens. “How long have you worked here?”
“Decades. Silverware is just there.”
I collect three forks. “You’ve served the lord a long time. What’s he like?”
She grunts and points to the scones. “Those are hot.”
She turns to the sink, the dismissal clear. I take the tray and go.
Am I doing something wrong? Is my accent off, or my posture too straight, for a servant who claims she grew up in Trellis?
Earlier this week, I found a footman polishing a bust and asked him about the family’s ancestry. He claimed to be finished and scurried away. When I asked the laundress directly whether the lord does many readings, she told me not to concern myself with such things and shooed me off.
No one wants to talk to me.
Maybe it’s just the position. A governess sits between family and staff, belonging to neither. The laundress might resent me for eating at a better table. The footman might think I’ll report him for idling.
Regardless, I’m isolated, left without answers about Norville or updates from Illios. Has the emperor sent riders to the provinces? Are there proclamations nailed to doors in every port town describing a missing pale-haired princess? Or is my father dealing with my disappearance quietly?
I need to re-color my hair. The soot has faded to a pale gray. I bring the children their scones, guide them through the rest of their day, and then to bed. Once the house is asleep, I sneak into the kitchen to collect charcoal from the hearth and some scissors.
The corridor is dark on the way back, sconces flickering.
A door creaks open ahead of me, and a woman steps out.
She’s tall, in a pale nightgown, barefoot on the stone.
Long, tight curls fall past her waist. I freeze as she turns.
Lady Rodania. Malda was right; I haven’t seen her at all.
I only recognize her from the family portrait in the entry.
“Lady Rodania,” I say, curtsying. “I’m Portia, the new governess. Sorry to disturb you.” I glance down at my scissors and my sack of charcoal, wondering if this warrants an explanation.
When I look up, she’s zigzagging toward me, stumbling over her own feet.
“Can I…help you?”
I’m not sure if she even sees me. Her expression is glazed, glassy eyes locked on something in the distance. I take a step back, alarm running cold tingles down my spine as she draws nearer. Her wide gaze lands on me…
“Lady Rodania!” a voice hisses. The grayed maid emerges into the hallway at a hobbling run.
She glances my way but doesn’t address me. “This way, my lady. You’re alright. This way.” She gets an arm around Rodania and guides her back through the door she came from. The door thunks shut, followed by the snick of a latch.
Chills creep over me the rest of the way to my room. Lady Rodania is not well. Is this why the staff is so cagey with me, an outsider? I know better than most how power prefers to keep imperfect things private. I’m not going to gossip.
Still, I have trouble calming down, the fear behind my ribs stirring with even the minor shock of a woman stumbling through the halls.
I charcoal my hair, then lie awake, reminding myself I escaped.
I made it away from the palace. The charcoal clings even better than the soot.
No one will discover who I am and make me go back there.
The next day, my eyes are heavy. During garden time, sitting on a bench in the sun, I rest them for a moment.
“Are you sleeping?” Elva’s high voice startles me.
I scooch into a more upright position. “No, I was just thinking. Why aren’t you playing?”
Her serious expression looks out of place on her chubby, childish face. “Did you dream about me?”
“I wasn’t asleep,” I repeat, not wanting word of it getting back to Malda.
“I dreamed of you, before you got here.”
That wakes me up all the way. I study her but see no mischief in her luminous violet stare.
“You did?” I say slowly.
“Yes, and you looked different.” She wrinkles her little nose. “Kind of funny.”
“Funny how?”
“Your hair was long, and different colors, and you looked kind of like…” She stretches her brows high, lets her mouth hang, and stiffens her back.
I blink, skin turning icy in the afternoon sun. It looks like a child’s pantomime of panic.
“Elva!” Bowan shouts. She drops her expression and whirls toward him. She screeches something shrill and takes off after him, her short legs working twice as hard to catch up.
But the image of that strange expression sticks in my mind.
Why would Elva say she saw me with different hair, if it wasn’t a real vision from before I cut it? What else can Elva see?
That night, the dreams start.