Gambit of the Gods Read online

  Her best friend, Indraelis, chimes in as she always does whenever Lyrielle says anything.

  “Yes, let’s eat. I feel as if I could almost eat a whole pig by myself.” She glances meaningfully at Casilloria, gives her a drunken wink, then lets loose a very unLadylike snort as the Elders all head toward the food tables together. Lyrielle copies her, and soon they’re having a snorting contest between sips of sparkling wine.

  “How dare you!” cries Casilloria in mock affront, whose girth is admittedly as wide as her sense of humor. “I’ll have you know, I can devour two pigs and still have room to knock back half a keg of your finest ale!”

  The three of them laugh uproariously, interspersing their laughter with pig snorts, much to the embarrassment of the other Elders. Shaylie whispers to them to stop and they quiet immediately, looking unrepentant.

  I spot Kella standing with Karyl, Ellarin and some other girls their age exactly where she stood in her dream, at the railing of House Jemleyn’s back deck, but they all hurry down the stairs to the food tables when they see the High Elders approaching. No one is allowed to eat until the High Elders have served themselves, a throwback to the first days of the Queensrealm when food was scarce.

  Kella had hoped to surround herself with her cousins and friends today, thus making it impossible for Ellarin to ask her what she has decided, but I can’t tell from her emotions whether she’s been successful or not. I glance around, wondering if or when Jaereth might make an appearance, but see no sign of him, thankfully.

  When the High Elders reach the food tables, everyone nearby bows their heads in prayer.

  “Dear Goddesses,” Jalessa prays, her voice pitched to carry, “we thank you for this bounty laid before us. We thank you that in your wisdom you have blessed each of our Houses with abilities and resources the others lack so we may be united in striving to do our part for this great realm you have given us. We ask that you continue to bless and watch over us, for we are your humble servants. Amen.”

  “Amen,” everyone else echoes, scrambling to get in line behind the High Elders at the first table. Karyl turns to Balexa.

  “When I was watching the match last Fifth-Day, I noticed a weakness in the Sparrowhawks’ game play that could be used to advantage.” She drops her voice to just above a whisper. Balexa leans in, her interest clearly piqued. “Their Team Leader’s horse is afraid of getting hit in the head by a netstick. I saw her flinch away three times, which turned her from the ball as well. Don’t tell this to anyone outside of your team, please. I’d hate to have this get back to them and thereby lose the advantage.”

  “Of course. If it’s true, I owe you one.”

  I sense Kella’s annoyance, perhaps because Karyl is taking a risk in trusting the other girl with this information since they will be playing the Sparrowhawks soon themselves. But I understand and applaud Karyl’s motives. Cementing loyalty between the southern Houses is important at all levels. Balexa is a Third-Daughter, in charge of House Beltarra’s primary resource campaign, and as such, she would make a very powerful friend and ally. Next to that, a slight advantage in the matches means little.

  Karyl would have made a top-notch High Elder, I muse, though I’m grateful she will not be ruined by the power, pride and plotting that eventually destroyed much of the goodness I once found in Kassyl and Kylara. Not that it will matter, if the uprising tomorrow is successful. My heart constricts at the thought.

  I turn away just in time to see Kella, her plate full, walk over to her sister Kliara. In the space of a thought, I’m there beside her.

  Kliara is sitting alone in a chair under a tree, eating and rubbing her slightly hooked nose absently. Glancing up in mild annoyance when Kella clears her throat nervously to get her attention, her eyes soften when she sees her youngest sister. Kliara is usually too proud to notice her, but ever since Kella became the youngest Team Leader in House Klia history and the Kestrels have won two of their first three matches handily this season, Kliara has shown her more respect. I just wish it had more to do with sisterly affection and less to do with winning Horse-Dancing bets.

  “Forgive the strange question, Kliara, but…you look so radiant today. Could it be that you’re, ah, pregnant?” Kella blushes slightly but stands her ground.

  Kliara looks surprised, but thankfully, not angry. “Did Mother tell you?”

  “No, she wouldn’t—I mean, I had a dream about it last night—”

  “Mmm hmm,” Kliara breaks in, swallowing a bite of roasted chicken and gesturing with her empty fork. “Just don’t tell anyone, all right? I want to tell everyone myself.”

  “Of course, I’d never breathe a word to anyone. I’m just so happy for you.”

  Kliara smiles, something she doesn’t do very often.

  “I am too,” she admits. “Lyssla,” she says in greeting as High Elder Lyrielle’s oldest daughter joins them carrying a full plate. “Here, sit with me. My sister was just leaving,” she adds, waving her fork again in dismissal. Kella obeys, looking a bit dazed.

  “Sera?” she whispers, glancing around as if she might be able to glimpse me. At last, I exult.

  “Who are you talking to?” Ellarin says from behind Kella, making her jump. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she cries, grabbing Kella’s plate as it wobbles dangerously. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No, it’s all right, I was just, um, talking to myself,” Kella lies, gesturing for Ellarin to sit with her under another tree where two chairs are currently unoccupied. When Ellarin goes ahead of her, Kella glances quickly behind to see where Karyl is, since she’d promised to interrupt them if Ellarin got her alone. But Karyl has her back to them, still chatting happily with Balexa and a captive audience of younger girls. Sighing, Kella sinks down beside Ellarin and begins picking at her food. Stepping into her to send her tendrils of calming energy, I sense her mind churning furiously.

  Ellarin, knowing her best friend well and sensing her anxiety, says gently, “I’m not here to pressure you, Kella. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I lost your friendship over this.”

  “Don’t be silly. Your friendship means so much to me. You’re more a sister to me than any of my own sisters.”

  “Do you think you could ever come to feel about me the way I feel about you?” Ellarin asks wistfully.

  Kella hesitates, then nods slowly, though I sense her head and heart do not agree.

  “I am sure I will. I’m just dull-witted, as you well know,” she says, smiling wryly, making Ellarin smile faintly in return, “but we’ve always been so close, it only makes sense.”

  “May I refill your glasses, Ladies?” a deep voice inquires from behind them. Kella jumps again and turns in her seat, desperately trying to shutter her guilty feelings.

  Jaereth bows deferentially, proffering a decanter of sparkling wine. He has traded his grey Beltarra tunic for an ill-fitting, orange Jemleyn one, I note with great amusement. Wilde stands behind him with a wry look on his face. He reaches for me mentally, and I collapse into his mental arms with a happy sigh.

  “Yes,” Ellarin replies, holding out her glass. Jaereth pours carefully. She doesn’t look up, instead watching her glass fill.

  “He’s a cunning boy; I have to give him that,” I tell Wilde. He nods, folding his arms to watch his Chosen, his pride in the boy bubbling over.

  And you, my Lady?” Jaereth inquires of Kella, placing the slightest possible emphasis on the word ‘my’. His eyes on hers dance with teasing irony. Ellarin has already turned away, oblivious, her attention on her plate.

  “Uh—y-yes,” Kella stammers, clearly flustered. She hadn’t been expecting to see him today, but especially not in the middle of such an intimate, awkward moment. She holds out her glass, her hand shaking slightly.

  “Your hand is trembling, my Lady,” he murmurs, steadying her hand with his. His smile widens when he feels her pulse under his thumb drumming wildly. As he pours, his hand caresses hers, then lets it drop away when her glass is full. Bowing again, one c
hestnut-colored eyebrow raised maddeningly, he turns and saunters away.

  Wilde grins, raising his eyebrow at me just as Jaereth had, making me giggle. Jaereth’s mentor, Kisto, is usually serious and sober, so it’s not hard to guess who Jaereth gets his sense of humor from, even though they’ve never met. I wonder if I’ve affected Kella similarly.

  Kella watches him go, admiring his lithe stride for a moment before catching herself and turning back to Ellarin. Her fast-beating heart is awash in confusion and frustrated desire, both of which she locks away deep inside.

  “I’ll visit you later this evening,” Wilde promises, and follows after his Chosen.

  “Are you ready for the Arrowtails match?” Ellarin asks before taking another bite, her eyes mild. I sense her determination to keep the rest of their conversation light.

  “They’re the toughest team in the realm, as you well know, but I believe we are,” Kella answers, relieved to switch to a subject they both love. “Their arrogance is their weakness. If we can set them back on their heels from the beginning, they will over-play, lose momentum, commit fouls, and bury themselves.”

  “That’s a big ‘if’”, Ellarin warns, tugging on her braid. Kella nods.

  Both of them catch sight of Karyl looking around for them and wave at her. She catches sight of them and hurries over, grinning.

  “Come on you two, they’re choosing teams!” She waves the striker in her hand excitedly. The other two girls jump up, their plates and glasses forgotten, and run, giggling, over to a group of their friends.

  Later, Kella leaves them to visit the outhouses spaced some distance away from the activities. I sense she isn’t here for the outhouses, though; she needs time away from the others to think and sort through her conflicting emotions.

  Choosing a tree just out of sight of the festivities but still far enough away from the outhouses to avoid their odor, she sits down on the grass with her back to the trunk. When she reaches within herself for the power to call the wind, it comes, rippling the long grasses around her. She causes loose pieces of grass to dance in the air, then drives sharp blasts into the ground in concentrated bursts, making the turf explode in increasingly larger showers of dirt and grass, venting her frustration.

  “Impressive,” Jaereth says from behind her. Wilde comes over to stand with me.

  “I thought you didn’t want to endanger me,” she calls without turning around. “So why did you come here today, speaking to me where everyone might see?”

  Jaereth comes closer.

  “Because I couldn’t stay away,” he answers, all of his usual bravado stripped away. “I’m drawn to you, no matter how much I try to fight it.” He actually looks vulnerable, I note with astonishment.

  “I see,” is all she says. She plucks several strands of long grass from beside her and begins to plait them together absently, avoiding looking at him. Her heartbeat is elevated, but surprisingly, I sense she’s less confused than before.

  “Do you have feelings for your friend?”

  She considers the question for several moments, head cocked in thought.

  “No. I have feelings for someone else.”

  He sits down beside her, watching her weave the grasses in her lap.

  “Does the person you have feelings for know about it?”

  “I find myself drawn to him, no matter how much I try to fight it.” She still doesn’t look up or stop weaving and un-weaving the grasses.

  He smiles at her words, so closely mimicking his.

  “Do you know what people do when they lose a fight?”

  She shakes her head, at last turning to look at him.

  “They surrender.”

  He reaches out and takes her hand. The two sit that way for a long moment, their emotions speaking for them.

  At last, Jaereth sighs. Placing a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, he stands up.

  “Until the next time we are drawn to one another, lovely Lady Kella.” With a last, longing look, he turns and walks away into the trees.

  Neither of them see the flash of white, but Wilde and I do. Ellarin had seen the two of them together. How long she’d been there, I don’t know. But from the look on her face before she schools her features and comes around the corner to ‘find’ Kella, I’d say she at least suspects the truth.

  Chapter 21: Little Squirrel

  Cresting the last hill and looking down on my Village, bathed in late afternoon sunlight, I’m surprised to find tears welling in my eyes. Spark and Artan pretend not to notice as I wipe a stray tear away with my sleeve. I've only been away for a few moons, but after what I endured, it feels like much longer.

  The Village itself is surprisingly quiet for late afternoon. I suppose the hunters are out seeking game worthy of tonight's Quest completion celebration. Tonight, I’ll be recognized for the first time as a woman grown, able to wear my hair however I wish it, and ready to choose a mate. I will also be given my true Clan name by the Council of Elders and be known as Little Squirrel no longer.

  But all these things pale in comparison compared to my wish to find Miklos and throw myself into his arms. I may be a woman grown now on the outside, but inside, I’m still a little who needs her father, at least right now. This morning as we traveled, I told Spark and Artan more about my conversation with Mah’ue, but they just looked at me as if I was relating a dream I’d had. Father will believe me, and will know what to do.

  I reach out to my new animal friends, sending them a warning to stay hidden. The feeling I get back is one of amusement—of course they know to stay away from men. A hawk drifts on the winds above the Village, and for a moment I see myself through his eyes. They will be watching over me.

  Spark takes his leave at the main fire pit and goes to find his family, promising to find me later. Artan and I hurry over to our family hut and duck quickly inside.

  The first thing I see is Twitching Whisker holding a knife to my little sister's throat. I stop abruptly, gasping, and Artan runs into me from behind.

  "What's—" he says. Peering around me, he sees them. Shy Mouse is trying to be brave, but her chin quivers above the knife.

  There are several other young men in our hut as well, lounging on our beds and looking our way as if they live here and we are the intruders. They have red and black ribbons on their shoulders and stripes of red and black paint drawn across their cheekbones, I notice. But my heart-father isn’t here, and his walking staff and bedroll are missing. Something inside of me breathes a sigh of relief. He must have foreseen this and fled.

  "We've been waiting for you, Little Squirrel," Whisker says matter-of-factly, nodding with a smile to my sister. She does not return his smile. Her eyes are locked on mine like I’m her only hope. Maybe I am. My mind runs through scenarios: Artan left his walking staff outside, and Whisker could easily slit my sister’s throat before my animal-friends could find their way into the tent. His mind radiates smugness like a choking fog, making me want to gag.

  "How dare you," is all I can think to say, a deep rage taking root inside of me.

  Artan puts his arm around me, whether to offer his support or to calm me, I don’t know or care. He knows better than anyone that I don’t get angry easily, but once I get there, I’m an implacable enemy. When I was only five summers old, a girl a couple of summers older taunted me in front of everyone for being an Outsider. I had her down on the ground, pummeling her mercilessly with my sharp little fists, before she could react. But I must step carefully here.

  "How dare I?" he replies. "You and your brother attacked me for no reason while I was out checking my traps, using some kind of evil Outsider witchcraft. I’m merely protecting myself and the good people of our Village from grave danger. From you."

  "The Elders will never stand for this," I scoff.

  "Ah, but there are no Elders anymore, Little Squirrel. You will find that a great many things have changed in your absence. The Higher Path rules here now. The Old Ways are finished. You will be tried for using wit
chcraft against one of The Three and taken to see the Lady to face her punishment."

  "The Three?" Artan asks, his voice hard.

  "The Three are the new Elders, if you will, chosen by the Lady to stand for justice in her name among the People. I am one of The Three," he explains, a triumphant leer on his face, "and we will take you before the others now. Don’t fight us, please. I’d hate to have to slit your sister’s pretty throat."

  He chuckles when Shy Mouse swallows hard. Artan and I exchange glances. I shake my head, and he nods in grim agreement. We have no choice.

  The four young men behind him pull their knives from their sheaths, approaching Artan and me cautiously. Whisker must have told them what we’re capable of because they empty Artan’s pockets and throw his staff into the woods. Then they take out hemp rope and tie our hands behind our backs.

  When they twist me around to tie my hands, my eyes fall to the table. I see a brief note in Miklos’ hand in the intricate written language of Civitas Dei. It says, “Going to get help. Be ready.” Something tight in my chest loosens a little.

  They lead us out of our hut, with Whisker following closely, his knife still near my little sister's throat. One of his followers trails Whisker with his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and pointing at Shy Mouse’s back. I send a quick thought to Naira, warning her to stay away.

  As we walk through the Village, I realize why it was so unusually quiet when we arrived. Each family is in their hut, though they start spilling out as we walk by. Some few, the families of the Elders mainly, have armed guards with them, but most appear to follow us as if they approve of what they see. No one meets our eyes. All I sense from most of them is a sense of cautious anticipation. The children, finally freed from their confinement, run and play, laughing as they dodge past us as if nothing unusual is happening.

  I glimpse Tika’s dappled feathers in a nearby tree when we go past, her hooded eyes tracking us. In the bushes all around the Village, many more animal minds buzz with anger like bees around a shattered nest. In my mind, an image forms of predators spilling out from among the trees and attacking my enemies. I send them the image of my sister, Whisker’s knife at her throat and the arrow trained on her back. This only seems to confuse them, so I send them a firm “No”. The buzzing dims somewhat, but the confusion lingers. They will wait for my leading, but it’s clear they think my hesitance very unwise.