Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 3
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She shook her head. She didn’t have to ask; he wouldn’t have offered to answer if he didn’t mean it. And while he might find ways to twist the words of his answers when Lady Shirrad asked him questions, he wouldn’t do that to Jae, so she nodded, trusting him.
Tal helped her for as long as he could, until Lady Shirrad came out to find him and lead him away. He brushed a hand against Jae’s shoulder as he left, a silent goodbye. That left her on her own, working until the moon rose and the temperature dropped, and finally there was nothing else that had to be done immediately and the Curse would allow her to rest.
The Closest’s quarters were dark and quiet. They were tucked away in a corner of the house, rooms with low ceilings and few windows, where the Closest ate, slept, and gathered in their few free moments. The rooms had housed paid Twill servants once, but as the drought had gotten worse, fewer Twill had been willing to stay at Aredann. Jae had occasionally overheard some of the Avowed complaining that it was disgusting to allow traitorous bloodlines to live under the same roof they did, yet somehow, she’d never heard them complain about having Closest slaves to replace their servants.
The Closest’s main room had ancient, stained squares of carpet covering most of the floor, layered over one another so that no one would have to sit on the bare stones. There was a small fire pit where they could cook, and a stone cistern that sat empty. People gathered near enough to the fire to see each other, close enough to hold murmured conversations.
Tal was kneeling in front of an old woman named Asra, her hands in his—Jae had to walk close before she could see he was applying a salve to burned skin on her hands. Jae had no idea how he’d gotten it, when he couldn’t even speak to ask Lady Shirrad for it, and she didn’t dare ask him. She didn’t know whether he was really stealing, and as long as she didn’t find out for certain, that was the truth she’d be able to tell if she was ever asked.
Tal saw her and mouthed “Hello” then stood. “You might as well keep the rest of that, in case you need it,” he said to Asra, and then joined Jae. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet. Come sit with me and Gali while you do.”
Jae helped herself to a small portion of the stew that had been left near the fire, then sat with Tal and Gali, another of their friends. Tal was cross-legged, but Gali knelt facing the wall, her fingers brushing across it, painting it with ash and charcoal. The walls in here were plain tan bricks and had been covered in designs for years and years now, drawn over each other, blending together to cover the bricks almost all the way up to the ceiling. It wasn’t like the brightly colored Avowed art that adorned most of the halls and rooms in Aredann. Avowed art was always a celebration, eye-catching and beautiful, meant to be kept forever. Closest drawings were subtle, nothing but grays and black, nearly impossible to make out. It would be washed away if they ever had water, and drawn over again and again in the meantime.
Jae sat with her brother and Gali and reached out to lightly touch Gali’s elbow. She looked over at Jae and nodded tiredly before getting back to her drawing. This close, Jae could see it was a person in profile—Tal, probably, judging from the hair.
“I was going to go looking for you soon,” Tal said. He wasn’t loud, but he didn’t whisper, either, and a few people glanced over at them. “I was starting to worry you’d never be done.”
“So was I.” Now that Jae was sitting, her feet throbbed. The idea of standing up again, even just to walk to the smaller room where her sleeping mat waited, was unbearable.
Gali added a detail to the wall. When Jae studied it, she could make out the sharp lines of Tal’s nose and jaw. “Today was long,” Gali said.
Jae gave her a concerned look, not daring to hint that she’d like to know more. Gali had been selected to join the household because she was pretty, and when her days ran long, it was usually because she’d been called to someone’s sleeping chamber, another order the Curse wouldn’t let her disobey, another punishment for crimes that had been committed generations ago. It happened to all of the Closest who worked in the household.
When Lord Rannith had summoned Jae, it had been the only time she’d fought to disobey an order, struggled against the Curse’s grip—not that struggling had done any good. If she ever had even a heartbeat free from the Curse, Rannith was the person she’d seek out with her cactus spine. But Gali caught her glance and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” Gali said. “The Lady wanted everyone’s sleeping mats cleaned, and all of their blankets. It’s the first time in weeks. And there’s no water.”
“It’s the same everywhere, even the garden, I think,” Tal said.
Jae nodded. “I was told to use whatever I need. But I don’t know where she thinks the water will come from.”
“The Well will provide, as long as the Highest rule,” Gali intoned, rolling her eyes as she mimicked the serious tones Lady Shirrad’s advisors used when they said that. And they always said that. Even now, in the midst of a drought and with their reservoir dropping lower and lower.
The Highest still ruled, but the Well barely seemed to provide anything. Maybe that was what the Highest intended, at least for the Closest, but the rest of Aredann wasn’t descended from traitors. Jae couldn’t believe that an Avowed guardian like Lady Shirrad would be left to suffer.
“Listen.”
The word all but echoed in the room. There was no compulsion behind it from the Curse, but the entire room went silent. Jae scowled as she turned to look at Firran, the Closest who’d spoken and who was now standing by the fire pit. Years ago, Lady Shirrad’s father had appointed Firran their leader, so that the Lord would only have to speak directly to one Closest. Firran had snapped up that scrap of power like one of the dogs Lady Shirrad’s family used to keep. When he spoke, it was always loud and demanding—orders like most Closest would never give one another.
Even aside from the order, he wasn’t exactly polite. Closest always shared what they knew with one another; it made all of their lives easier. But they didn’t go demanding and interrupting, or speaking in the loud tones of the Avowed.
Still, the rest of the Closest now gathered around Firran, knees touching, sweaty shoulders brushing, as closely as they could. Firran didn’t mind raising his voice, but the rest of the Closest preferred the quiet.
Tal helped her for as long as he could, until Lady Shirrad came out to find him and lead him away. He brushed a hand against Jae’s shoulder as he left, a silent goodbye. That left her on her own, working until the moon rose and the temperature dropped, and finally there was nothing else that had to be done immediately and the Curse would allow her to rest.
The Closest’s quarters were dark and quiet. They were tucked away in a corner of the house, rooms with low ceilings and few windows, where the Closest ate, slept, and gathered in their few free moments. The rooms had housed paid Twill servants once, but as the drought had gotten worse, fewer Twill had been willing to stay at Aredann. Jae had occasionally overheard some of the Avowed complaining that it was disgusting to allow traitorous bloodlines to live under the same roof they did, yet somehow, she’d never heard them complain about having Closest slaves to replace their servants.
The Closest’s main room had ancient, stained squares of carpet covering most of the floor, layered over one another so that no one would have to sit on the bare stones. There was a small fire pit where they could cook, and a stone cistern that sat empty. People gathered near enough to the fire to see each other, close enough to hold murmured conversations.
Tal was kneeling in front of an old woman named Asra, her hands in his—Jae had to walk close before she could see he was applying a salve to burned skin on her hands. Jae had no idea how he’d gotten it, when he couldn’t even speak to ask Lady Shirrad for it, and she didn’t dare ask him. She didn’t know whether he was really stealing, and as long as she didn’t find out for certain, that was the truth she’d be able to tell if she was ever asked.
Tal saw her and mouthed “Hello” then stood. “You might as well keep the rest of that, in case you need it,” he said to Asra, and then joined Jae. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet. Come sit with me and Gali while you do.”
Jae helped herself to a small portion of the stew that had been left near the fire, then sat with Tal and Gali, another of their friends. Tal was cross-legged, but Gali knelt facing the wall, her fingers brushing across it, painting it with ash and charcoal. The walls in here were plain tan bricks and had been covered in designs for years and years now, drawn over each other, blending together to cover the bricks almost all the way up to the ceiling. It wasn’t like the brightly colored Avowed art that adorned most of the halls and rooms in Aredann. Avowed art was always a celebration, eye-catching and beautiful, meant to be kept forever. Closest drawings were subtle, nothing but grays and black, nearly impossible to make out. It would be washed away if they ever had water, and drawn over again and again in the meantime.
Jae sat with her brother and Gali and reached out to lightly touch Gali’s elbow. She looked over at Jae and nodded tiredly before getting back to her drawing. This close, Jae could see it was a person in profile—Tal, probably, judging from the hair.
“I was going to go looking for you soon,” Tal said. He wasn’t loud, but he didn’t whisper, either, and a few people glanced over at them. “I was starting to worry you’d never be done.”
“So was I.” Now that Jae was sitting, her feet throbbed. The idea of standing up again, even just to walk to the smaller room where her sleeping mat waited, was unbearable.
Gali added a detail to the wall. When Jae studied it, she could make out the sharp lines of Tal’s nose and jaw. “Today was long,” Gali said.
Jae gave her a concerned look, not daring to hint that she’d like to know more. Gali had been selected to join the household because she was pretty, and when her days ran long, it was usually because she’d been called to someone’s sleeping chamber, another order the Curse wouldn’t let her disobey, another punishment for crimes that had been committed generations ago. It happened to all of the Closest who worked in the household.
When Lord Rannith had summoned Jae, it had been the only time she’d fought to disobey an order, struggled against the Curse’s grip—not that struggling had done any good. If she ever had even a heartbeat free from the Curse, Rannith was the person she’d seek out with her cactus spine. But Gali caught her glance and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” Gali said. “The Lady wanted everyone’s sleeping mats cleaned, and all of their blankets. It’s the first time in weeks. And there’s no water.”
“It’s the same everywhere, even the garden, I think,” Tal said.
Jae nodded. “I was told to use whatever I need. But I don’t know where she thinks the water will come from.”
“The Well will provide, as long as the Highest rule,” Gali intoned, rolling her eyes as she mimicked the serious tones Lady Shirrad’s advisors used when they said that. And they always said that. Even now, in the midst of a drought and with their reservoir dropping lower and lower.
The Highest still ruled, but the Well barely seemed to provide anything. Maybe that was what the Highest intended, at least for the Closest, but the rest of Aredann wasn’t descended from traitors. Jae couldn’t believe that an Avowed guardian like Lady Shirrad would be left to suffer.
“Listen.”
The word all but echoed in the room. There was no compulsion behind it from the Curse, but the entire room went silent. Jae scowled as she turned to look at Firran, the Closest who’d spoken and who was now standing by the fire pit. Years ago, Lady Shirrad’s father had appointed Firran their leader, so that the Lord would only have to speak directly to one Closest. Firran had snapped up that scrap of power like one of the dogs Lady Shirrad’s family used to keep. When he spoke, it was always loud and demanding—orders like most Closest would never give one another.
Even aside from the order, he wasn’t exactly polite. Closest always shared what they knew with one another; it made all of their lives easier. But they didn’t go demanding and interrupting, or speaking in the loud tones of the Avowed.
Still, the rest of the Closest now gathered around Firran, knees touching, sweaty shoulders brushing, as closely as they could. Firran didn’t mind raising his voice, but the rest of the Closest preferred the quiet.
