The Law of Isolation (17 page)

For the ten-thousandth time that day, she pulled at the stiff garment that wrapped around her torso under her outer tunic. “Stays,” the court women called it. Nirel called it a nuisance. Her back ached from the rigid upright posture the garment forced her to assume. If she tried to relax even a little, it cut into her waist and bunched up under her arms.

And it was hot. The weather here was like midsummer at home in the mountains, even though it was almost autumn. But the people dressed in enough heavy layers to keep them warm in the middle of winter. The clothes were beautiful in their fashion, Nirel had to admit. But after wearing them all morning and well into the afternoon, she was ready to go back to her old rags rather than continue to suffer in lovely misery.

One of the court women approached. She stayed at least three feet back from the edge of the terrace, eyeing the wall nervously. “Lady Nirel, won’t you come join us?” She gestured to where the ladies of the court and most of the women of Ozor’s company sat in a cluster of chairs near the palace wall. “It’s much shadier there. The servants will be bringing out iced fruit soon.”

“Maybe later,” Nirel said. She scooted an inch farther out on the wall, just for the pleasure of watching the woman flinch and turn pale. The steep fall from the terrace down to the rocks of the coast below didn’t frighten her. Looking down gave her a delightful shivery rush in her belly, like she got when she climbed high in the ship’s rigging. The wall was thick and strong, a perfectly safe perch. But all the court women acted as if the slightest breeze would send her plunging to her death. “Iced fruit sounds good. Come and tell me when it arrives.”

“As you wish, my lady.” The woman bowed her head and bent her knees in that way they had, sending her bell-skirts billowing out around her, and retreated with an annoyed expression.

Nirel returned her attention to the harbor. Captain Yosiv’s ship was moored next to theirs. Swarms of people scurried around it like ants whose nest had been disturbed. Sacks and crates and barrels of provisions passed from hand to hand and made their way down into the holds. At this rate it would be ready to sail before the week was out. The Matriarch was serious about bringing a wizard from Tevenar as soon as humanly possible.

Across the terrace, the door leading into the palace opened, and Nirel heard a commotion of voices. Was it the servant with the fruit? Her mouth was dry and her undergarments were soaked with sweat. The fruit sounded wonderful, and the shade of the potted palms looked inviting. Perhaps she’d spare the court woman from coming out to the edge again, after all.

Nirel hopped down from the wall and ventured toward the cluster of women. To her disappointment, it wasn’t the servant with refreshments. It was Gevan, accompanied by a slender, pretty girl in one of the broadest bell-skirts Nirel had seen yet. Only the Matriarch’s had been wider. She must be the daughter he’d promised to introduce to her.

Nirel sighed. So far all the women she’d met in Ramunna impressed her as a useless bunch. None of them cared about anything except the way they looked, and making sure everyone behaved within the extremely narrow bounds of what they considered proper. Other than the Matriarch herself, they deferred to the men the way children in Tevenar deferred to their parents. This girl was probably like all the others. Maybe Nirel could steer her off to discuss clothes and hair with Tifla and Dayrine. But first she’d have to engage in a few minutes of conversation as a courtesy to Gevan. The translator was the only person she’d met in Ramunna who she actually liked. If she was lucky he’d stay a while and she could question him more about his homeland.

But Gevan didn’t even take a seat. He bowed to Nirel as she approached and indicated the girl. “Lady Nirel, may I present my daughter, Lady Kevessa Navorre. Kevessa, this is Lady Nirel of Tevenar, a guest of the Matriarch.”

Kevessa sank nearly to the floor, her skirts puffing out in a great shimmer of fabric. “Lady Nirel, it is my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nirel gave a stiff little bob of her knees, as close as she could manage to the Ramunnan greeting. “I’m happy to meet you, too.” How long would she have to sit and talk about boring things before she could escape back to the edge of the terrace, where at least the view was interesting?

“I’ll leave you ladies to your diversions,” Gevan said, bowing again. He followed a servant into the palace. Nirel envied his freedom to come and go as he pleased.

Kevessa smiled at her and went to take a seat among the other women. She settled with a great rustle and flutter into a delicate metal chair made up of curlicues and flowers. It all but vanished under her skirts. She gestured for Nirel to take the vacant seat beside her.

Nirel plopped into the chair and tried to get comfortable. The metal ornamentations dug into her back when she tried to lean against them, and she reluctantly straightened. In Tevenaran, she said, “Your father said you can speak my language?”

Kevessa’s eyes widened. In Tevenaran, she replied, “Yes, I have studied Ancient Marvannan.” She used the same odd pronunciations as Gevan, but Nirel understood her easily.

“Good. I can speak a little Ramunnan, enough to know what the court women are saying and get them to understand me, but they keep looking at me like I’ve got three heads.” It was such a relief to talk to someone who listened with comprehension in her eyes.

“Ah.” Kevessa put her head to one side. “Father said you learned to speak our tongue from Captain Yosiv?”

“And the others on his ship.”

“I think I may understand the problem. Speak a little to me in Ramunnan, as you have to the women here.”

“All right.” Nirel thought for a moment, and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but do you have any skirts that aren’t quite so big? No, I’m sure no one wants any more blankets. When will we be eating? Please, the Matriarch promised to send a tailor to make something for Shonika. No, she won’t change her mind and wear a skirt.”

Kevessa nodded. Her smile was polite, but Nirel got the distinct impression it concealed a smirk. “Father was right. You pronounce your words with the accent used by the common sailors and dockworkers. It’s quite different from the way those of higher status speak. If you wish, I will teach you the proper way to form the words.”

“Sure.” Nirel tried to keep resentment out of her voice. It wasn’t enough that she had to learn an entirely new way of speaking, but now she found out she sounded like some stupid yokel to these people. No wonder they kept looking down their noses at her. “But later. Right now can we just speak Tevenaran?”

“Of course.” Kevessa folded her hands in her lap and looked expectantly at Nirel.

“Um… So how is it that you can speak my language, anyway?”

Nirel wondered if the question was too nosy, but Kevessa answered promptly and easily. “My father is a scholar at the University. He studies the accounts of ancient Miarban, from the time when the wizards ruled Ravanetha. He wished me to be educated in the classic literature of those days, so Mama and Papa provided tutors for me from the time I was a young child. I have studied hard, because I wish to please Father. As well as Mama and Papa, of course.”

“Wait… If Gevan is your father, who are your Mama and Papa?” Nirel wondered if Kevessa actually understood the language as well as she thought she did, or if the names for family members had changed in the intervening thousand years.

But Kevessa seemed to understand her confusion. “They are my aunt and uncle, actually. But they have raised me all my life, so I call them Mama and Papa, just as all my brothers and sisters—cousins, really—do. My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father’s sister took me in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have asked; it must be a painful subject for you.”

“It’s all right.” She shrugged. “It’s a common arrangement. Many children lose their mothers.”

Nirel frowned, puzzled. “Really? Why?”

Kevessa returned the frown, equally puzzled. “Womb fever, like my mother, or other perils of childbirth. Surely such things are known in Tevenar.”

“Well, yes, but mostly only way back in the mountains, where a wizard can’t make it in—Oh.” Nirel felt stupid. “I guess that’s the way it is for everyone here, even in the cities. So people who get sick just… die?”

“Often. Though we have excellent physicians that can cure many diseases.” Kevessa leaned toward Nirel, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Your wizards can heal any illness?”

“Maybe not everything, but most of them.” Nirel leaned back in her chair again, trying to ignore the metal blossoms digging into her spine. In the mountains where she came from, the people seldom had a wizard’s aid, but at least you always knew one would be around once or twice a year to deal with things that came up. And if something was really bad you could travel to one of the cities and go to a Mother’s Hall. But here there could be no help, ever, even if you were desperate. “I guess I understand why the Matriarch wants to bring a wizard here so badly. It must be awful to see your people dying and not be able to do anything about it.”

Kevessa shook her head, leaning close. “The Matriarch seeks to ease her own troubles, not those of her subjects.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

Kevessa kept her voice low. “It’s said the Matriarch would turn the world upside down in order to bear a daughter to inherit her throne. She would allow half of Ramunna to perish if necessary, to gain that.”

Nirel thought of the heavily made-up face and imperious manner of the woman she’d met. “Isn’t she too old?”

“Not yet, by all accounts, though that day approaches swiftly.”

“Why does she need a daughter? Can’t she pass the leadership of Ramunna to anyone she chooses?”

“No, the laws of inheritance are strict. If she dies without issue, she has a cousin in Marvanna who will succeed her. And according to the rumors I’ve heard, her cousin is a fanatical Purifier. She will seek to make Ramunna like Marvanna, with all their harsh laws. Balls and dancing would be forbidden, the University would be closed, and all the Dualists would be expelled, just as in Marvanna.”

Nirel’s head spun with all the unfamiliar words and concepts. What was a Purifier? Why would they object to those things? But what caught her attention most forcefully was the last detail. That strange word, that had provoked such a strong reaction from her father last night. “I’m sorry. You lost me.” Nirel had the uncomfortable feeling that the political situation Kevessa’s words hinted at must inevitably affect her situation, along with the rest of Ozor’s company. The better they understood what was going on, the better they’d be able to navigate the dangerous waters they’d sailed into. Ozor would be pleased with her if she could discover fuller details about this strange land.

But even that prospect paled beside the chance to please her father by finding out more about the subject that had seized his attention. “I heard something about Dualists last night. Your father said they don’t believe in the Mother?”

“So it is said.” Kevessa looked around her and leaned even closer to Nirel. “Might we go somewhere more private?”

“Sure. I was sitting on the wall, before. We could move over there. Unless you’re afraid of heights.”

“Oh, no. I love being up high. Let us go.”

Kevessa gestured for Nirel to rise, and Nirel jumped to her feet. Just then servants came through the door bearing trays of the promised iced fruit. Kevessa and Nirel paused long enough to obtain bowls. Nirel dug her spoon in as they walked to the parapet. Somehow, in the midst of this baking heat, the Matriarch’s servants had obtained snow, as pure and white as drifts on the mountains in midwinter. Crystals of ice mixed with some unfamiliar but delicious orange-fleshed fruit to create a delightful burst of cold and sweetness on her tongue. “This is wonderful. However did they get ice in the middle of summer?”

Kevessa described ships that brought great blocks of ice packed in straw from the frozen wastelands far to the south, and caves where it was stored through the hottest part of the year. She listened in turn to Nirel’s tales of winter snows, exclaiming in wonder. From there the conversation ranged over a dozen more subjects before Nirel remembered why they’d sought solitude. “You were going to tell me something about Dualists.”

Kevessa scooped the last trace of ice from her bowl. “You must not share this with anyone. I would not wish Nitha to lose her position because of me. But one of the servants at my house is a Dualist, and she’s told me something of their ways.”

“Why does she have to keep it a secret? How did you find out?”

“It’s a serious violation of the law. The Dualists are required to live only in their own quarter of the city. For a follower of the Mother to be discovered harboring one under his roof would be a great scandal. Even one like Nitha who no longer ascribes to their beliefs. So you see why you must never repeat this.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

Kevessa gave Nirel a long searching look, then nodded. “Nitha was sick during the Springtide celebrations. That’s the only time the servants accompany us to the main Temple; on Restdays and the other holidays they attend one of the smaller city Temples. No one else noticed anything suspicious, but I remembered that she’d been sick the year before, also, and I wondered. The next Restday I watched the servants leaving, and she wasn’t among them. I asked her why, and she told me. She knew she could trust me to keep her secret. And I have; I’ve never shared it with anyone else before you.”

Nirel felt uncomfortable under the weight of Kevessa’s trust, but she only repeated, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know. Nitha told me her people worship the Lord of Justice. They believe he has a sister, the Lady of Mercy, the one we call the Mother. At first they ruled the universe together and created all things: the world, the skies, the seas, plants, animals, and last of all humans. They say in her weakness the Lady pitied humanity. She pled for them with her brother, and when he refused to grant her request, she betrayed him and acted alone. She entrusted humans with a burden too great for them to bear—the ability to choose for themselves between good and evil. And so they chose evil. Only a few remained true to what was good. The Lord of Justice could not revoke her gift. All he could do was punish those who did evil, and reward those who did good.