Indomitus Oriens (The Fovean Chronicles) (5 page)

Her teddy bear, at least so far as training went.

* * *

Glynn had always seen dinner at the Uman-Chi high court as a tedious but necessary part of her nobility.
Sometimes she longed for the tables of Men and Uman, who fed at the board like pigs at a trough, cramming their faces and belching, then leaving every bit as quickly as they could.

Several hundred nobles attended, dressed in the white of Casters, the blue of Merchants, the red of Warriors and the green of Artisans.
Protocols over half a millennium old dictated where they sat, each space defined by their favor in proximity to the King, who entered last, ate first, finished last and left first.

House Escaroth sat sixty-five seats to the right hand, a respectable accomplishment but not spectacular for a High House.
The favor of the Escaroths came into question with the death of her father and her brother ten short years before. Her father had sat seven to the left—left-handed not being optimum but seven seats being very respectable.

House Escaroth boasted no males by birth now.
This doomed the house unless a member of a high house changed his name.

Today she entered the banquet hall to see the entirely unacceptable Earl Vendan Yelf of the Inner City standing by
the Escaroths’ traditional chair. This man’s house had been responsible for the area around the stadium for the Fovean High Council during the Conqueror’s sack of Outpost IX—his earldom had become a shameless failure.

Even if she must be replaced, to be replaced by
that
!

But one place remained open, on the right, four seats away from the head of the table.

No
! Impossible! Four seats?

She walked by the place setting, twirled elegantly, and took a glance at the symbol for the house assigned here.

The Proud Falcon, in the colors of the female. This place had been reserved for
her
.

Such honor stunned her speechless, even if her face described none of it to her own Uman-Chi people.
A Caster remains in control, she reminded herself, even when bone weary.

She took her place behind the seat.
The other nobles chatted and danced, taking mincing steps and buzzing about her, her song, her preparations, her house. They floated before her eyes like a dream! Adriam had not simply smiled, he had positively beamed at her.

             
She spoke to none of them, but held her elegance simple, her chin and her dignity high. To her left at seat five was comfortable Chaheff, her mentor, ignoring her as he swelled with pride at her accomplishment.

             
Without flourish or preamble, in the nature of her people, his majesty Angron Aurelias entered with the royal train.

             
His heir, Avek Noir, followed on the right behind him. He would sit one seat to the right. Next came the former heir, Ancenon Aurelias, who would sit one seat to the left. Both wore the white robes of Casters, however like D’gattis, Ancenon’s robe bore a strange hook symbol and a dot, his in purple.

             
The mark of the Daff Kanaar—mercenaries currently turning Fovea into a war zone.

             
Other members entered in the train, but they were lost on her. Angron wore the ceremonial Black Cloak of Change, reserved for funerals, weddings and those who changed house, but no one had died or would be marrying.

             
However Ancenon wore the Proud Falcon on the golden circlet that held back his hair, in the colors of the male.

             
The next hour passed as a blur. Servants piled food high before them; they picked their favorite portions from their favorite plates. Glynn was voracious; she had extemporized her being several times, and on the last effort Chaheff had spontaneously attacked her, forcing her to throw out his energy into the Bay, making the water boil and the fish die in Adriam.

             
“She is of a healthy appetite,” Angron commented, having waited politely for her to swallow, that she could easily respond.

             
“She fills the air with her power,” Ancenon commented before she could, the proximity of his chair making this his prerogative.

             
Now any other could answer, but did not, and so she did.

             
“I am honored,” she began, in perfect etiquette, “and am graced,” she added, in response to Ancenon, “and remark that the food is excellent. I have found the training exhilarating and uplifting under Chaheff’s tutelage.”

             
Angron nodded, and acknowledged her perfect manners.

             
Angron spoke no more to her during dinner, but from that point on she must consider Ancenon her brother, an Escaroth, and her house saved. Its prestige rose, her prestige rose, her whole life changed with the color of a cloak. Ancenon would address her at a time he deemed appropriate, probably after the meal.

             
She would sing and, in so doing, she might die. Ancenon’s conversion ensured House Escaroth would live on. This told her much about his opinion of her chances and of her abilities.

             
A lot to digest with dinner.

* * *

The girls in the ladies room were giggling—well, like girls. Probably why Melissa hated that expression. However, they got quiet when she came in.

That meant she had to do mirror time before she peed.
She did the obligatory primp and refresh to her own image, and then reached for a lipstick when she saw she was fading.

“So how’s the archeology going?” one of the girls, Amanda, asked her.

Melissa threw her a dark look. “Digging the fossil, you mean? Grow up.”

“I dunno, Melly,” Trina, one of her girls, said.
Trina was a leggy Spanish girl who always had ponytail hair. They shared rent, but she could still be mean if she wanted. “Spending a lot of time with that guy.”

“Yep, sure am,” she said.
She put down the lipstick and checked her lips. They were good. She turned back to the three girls.

“He’s nice,” she said, lowering her chin in challenge.
“He helps people here, which is pretty cool of him.”

“Well, yeah, seeing as he gets paid for it,” Amanda said.

The third girl, ‘lexis, chimed in, “Doesn’t explain you chasing him out to the smokers’ lot.”

“I’m sorry, ‘lexis,” Melissa squared off on her, faking real concern, “where were your numbers this week?”

“My numbers?” ‘lexis drew herself up to the challenge.

             
“On the board?” Melissa asked. “You know—the one you can’t make it on to?” She waved her hand. “What am I even wasting my time with you, bitch. They’re gonna
can
your sorry ass.”

             
Trina raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Whoa,” she said.

             
“Really,” Amanda added. “Like, chill out, girl.”

             
“Like,
no
, girl,” Melissa squared off on Amanda next. “You’re right after her. What are you, like, one sale for the week? I probably made that while I was in here.”

             
Trina put her hand on Melissa’s forearm. “Really, girl, what’s with you?”

             
Melissa turned to her. “Well, these bitches piss me off,” she said. “What do they care if I learn from Bill—are they learning from anyone? Can they even
make
it here?”

             
“So, you’re just learning from him,” Amanda backed down. Melissa had a lot of friends here. She went to The Mill three happy hours a week, with and without her girls, and the boys lined up to talk to her. Amanda must have thought to get her props by teasing her and now felt worried she’d find herself on the outside for going too far.

             
“I am
not
just learning from him,” Melissa pushed right back in her face, surprising herself with how angry they’d made her. It had occurred to her this would get back to Bill, and then Bill would get shy, start being afraid of her, and she wouldn’t be able to talk to him anymore.

So better to address it now, and let the right word get around.

“He’s my
friend
,” she said. “I like Bill, and the person who ruins that, I am
not
going to like—I’m not going to like that person a
lot
, bitch.”

She stabbed Amanda right in the collar bone with her right index fingernail, literally driving the point home.

“Do the math, ‘manda,” she said, looking right into her eyes.

Trina immediately changed sides, turning her body to be shoulder-to-shoulder with Melissa.
Trina could be mean, but not stupid. She had also learned a lot from Bill, and she probably liked how easy paying the rent had become.

“If you were smart, you would be listenin’ girl,” she said.
Her Spanish accent usually presented itself when she was angry, and it did now. “Bill puts people on the board. Don’t be messin’ with my meal ticket, ‘neither.”

Melissa gave Amanda a last look, turned and headed for the stalls.
She could retreat, after a few grace-saving comments to her friends, with most of her dignity intact.

Which was good, because Melissa felt the tears coming on, and she didn’t need anyone to see it, hear it or be a part of it.

Melissa’s mother had died when she had been a little girl. Her father didn’t know how to raise a daughter, and didn’t have a lot of places to turn.

It galled him to buy pads, or any of the other things girls needed.
She had to learn how to put on lipstick from a cosmetics girl at Sears. Her monthly cycle had been a trial and miss nightmare. She had no idea how to date.

In the middle of college her sister got busted and her father pillaged her college fund to pay for her defense.
Lysette got five-to-twelve in Warren Correctional Institute and Melissa got to learn how to wait tables.

That’s when she met Mike. He looked so handsome it almost made him beautiful, with a line so smooth she’d been hooked before she knew it. They went from dating to living together to moving to Portland in record time, he pursuing his career and she pursuing him.

Mike had been her first love, which was the only thing they had in common. He cared about himself alone and, when he couldn’t make it in Portland, he bailed with all of their money, and not so much as a good-bye.

She’d had to do some things she wasn’t proud of after that, before she turned her life around and come here.
Three years had passed since then, and she still didn’t trust handsome or young men.

When she was pretty sure that the ladies room was empty, she got up and left the stall.
Who stood at the counter checking her makeup but Eileen?

“You ok
ay?” she asked.

She took a look in the mirror, her mascara a disaster.
She sighed and got out her compact.

“I’m ok
ay,” she said.

“If that’
s an allergic reaction to Old Spice,” Eileen told her, touching up her curly hair with her fingernails, “you better stay away from Bill.”

Melissa laughed despite herself, wiping away the streaked mascara.

“I noticed he was wearing it,” she admitted.

“I know you did,” Eileen said.
She took a sideways glance at the younger girl, one that Melissa didn’t miss. “He is doing a lot of things different. Eating with people, eating better, I think he lost a few pounds thanks to the salads.”

“Well, you shouldn’t let a man eat
the crap he eats,” Melissa said, then caught herself.

She had cared for her dad that way, while she could.

She looked at Eileen, and Eileen focused right on her.

“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” Eileen said, which of course meant that was exactly what she wanted to do.
“But keep in mind that men get funky as they get old.”

Melissa got her eyeliner right and looked at Eileen.
“Funky?”

Eileen nodded, and washed her hands.
“Men get a strange idea about what their chances are and who loves them. A man over forty-five is one hundred times worse than a boy under seventeen.”

“Oh,” Melissa said.
“You mean crushes and junk?”

Eileen nodded.
“Be careful,” she said. “He’s a good guy, and he is scared to death he is going to be made fun of or worse by you kids.”

Melissa knew what she meant.
“I just like him for a friend,” Melissa said. Well, it might not be a complete lie.

“Uh, huh,” Eileen said.
She dried her hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the receptacle.

“Make sure he knows it,” Eileen warned, and left it at that.