Jeweled (3 page)

The last of the adepts were Jeweled and welcomed into the hearts and arms of the J’Edaeii. Anatol was included in that group, though men received a much smaller jewel, inset on the back of their necks, under their hair.

The failures, the inept and inferior magick wielders—if they even deserved the title—were sent, weeping in most cases, from Belai. After that, the Czz’ar announced that the customary dinner and ball in honor of the new J’Edaeii would be held that evening.

A prayer was said for the newly Jeweled, a supplication to Blessed Joshui that the magick within them might flourish. Evangeline knelt piously on the ornate floor and shuddered at the thought. If her magick flourished any more, it might overwhelm her. There would be nothing left of herself inside her, only ragged hanks of other people’s stolen emotions. There was barely any of herself left as it was—though perhaps it was better that way.

After they were dismissed, Evangeline filed from the theater with the rest of the new J’Edaeii and back to their quarters.

She entered the small sitting room that connected four of the bedrooms in the House of the Adepts. It wasn’t actually a house, per se, but a wing of Belai. One floor—a block of thirty-six rooms—was dedicated to the female adepts. Another floor with a block of around thirty-two rooms was for the male adepts. There tended to be a higher number of magick wielding females born in Rylisk. The sleeping chambers were cordoned off into little clusters of four rooms apiece. The two other floors of the wing were comprised of chambers for the trainers that lived within the House, and, of course, there were many rooms for practice.

There was no place for education of the non-magickal kind. She’d been taught to read and not much more than that. Magick was the priority here. Though she pilfered books when she could. She’d slept once with a trainer who had a whole collection just to get several history books. Now she had a small library of cherished tomes.

Katya and Melasann, two of the adepts in her quad, were too young to perform this day. Performance Day was reserved for adepts of twenty and older. Pauliane, the fourth resident, had failed in her performance and had not been Jeweled. Evangeline hovered in the sitting room and listened to her weep as she packed her bags.

Pauliane’s magick was incredible when she performed well. She could shape-shift items. An apple into an orange that would truly taste like an orange, for example. However her abilities were uncontrolled and unpredictable. She’d attempted to shift a raven into a dove this afternoon, but had instead ended up with a dead raven. Evangeline had almost felt sorry for her, standing there in the center of the theater with a dead raven in her hands. It had been written on her face; she’d known they would not choose her for the J’Edaeii.

Evangeline entered her bedroom, sat down on the bed, and closed her eyes, finally giving in to her fatigue. She had to muster enough strength for the ball that evening.

Depending on what kind of family the adept had been born to, the rooms could be sumptuous or austere. Her bedchamber was definitely austere. The small area was furnished with a narrow bed with a threadworn blanket covering its thin mattress, a cupboard filled with clothing, and a dressing table upon which sat a pitcher and bowl, her cosmetics, and her jewelry, and her one shelf with all her beloved books.

She hardly spent much time in her room anyway. All her spare moments were spent training. Her stipend money went to practical things like adornments for her body. She might come from a poor family, and her accommodations might reflect that, but her person would not. She’d made that vow to herself long ago when she first started to understand just how much worth lay in her appearance.

She was beautiful and had a gorgeous body—and she could use it like currency. To do that, it had to be embellished properly.

Evangeline opened her eyes, slid off the mattress, and pulled the linen-wrapped gown from beneath her bed. She’d saved a little of each stipend payment every year until she’d had enough to have the gown commissioned from Madame Huey to wear to the J’Edaeii dinner and ball.

Beyond her doorway, Pauliane went out sobbing into the sitting room where Katya and Melasann consoled her in low, compassionate voices. Evangeline brushed her hand over the gown and flirted—briefly—with the possibility of going to her quadmate. Instead she stood and laid the gown on her bed. It wasn’t as if Pauliane were her friend. She wasn’t
friends
with any of them. In any case, she doubted Pauliane would welcome her condolences. She was J’Edaeii now, after all, and could hardly identify with Pauliane’s failure.

She’d had a close friend once. Her name had been Annetka. They’d tittered and gossiped their way through adolescence together. Annetka had shared Evangeline’s talent for drawing—the only other thing she could do besides magick. As children they’d drawn pictures and passed them back and forth. Evangeline still had them tucked away in a box under her bed. When Annetka had died of an unidentified wasting disease, Evangeline had cried for months.

But she had time neither for such memories, nor to indulge in maudlin behavior now.

Soon it was too late to go and say anything to Pauliane. A personal assistant arrived to help Evangeline get ready for the ball. Sorna was a small brunette whose wide, dark eyes darted about as though she were nervous. Perhaps she feared magick? Many of the commoners did.

But Evangeline quickly learned that Sorna’s tiny hands could cajole and seduce her hair into a plethora of beautiful configurations. Sorna created four lovely styles that Evangeline would’ve kept on any other occasion, but tonight she was particularly picky. Evangeline finally declared satisfaction when Sorna piled her tresses atop her head in a cluster of small, smooth knots. One long, lustrous section trailed down from the back and over her shoulder to lie like a precious ribbon of light against her collarbone.

Before Sorna had dressed her hair, she’d assisted Evangeline into her gown. Now Evangeline admired herself in the looking glass. The gown had been hand-sewn by the best designer in all Milzyr. It was white tulle and appliqué embroidered with a design of curling silver branches, with small blossoms accented with gold interspersed within the careful tangle. The gown left her arms bare and possessed a low décolleté, as was the fashion. It had a bell-formed skirt with a small train of sheer white material. The highlight of the gown was that her entire back—down to the very base of her spine—was revealed. She turned and looked over her shoulder. It displayed her jewel to glittering sapphire perfection. She smiled.

“Are you pleased, then, miss?” asked Sorna.

“What? Oh, yes. I believe I am.”

“You’re quite lovely, miss. I’m sure you’ll be earning notice and quite a bit of it.”

Evangeline barely heard her. Instead she curtsied before her reflection, rose, and did a little twirl. Her skirts shimmered and rippled like the surface of a pond on a breezy summer’s day.

“While you’re at the ball, myself and a couple other servants will see that your belongings get to your new suite in the J’Edaeii wing. You’ll have to find Borco when you want to go to bed so he can get someone to take you there. I’ll be in the antechamber if you need me during the night.”

Evangeline would have completely missed everything Sorna had said if the words
your new suite in the J’Edaeii wing
had not received her undivided attention. “Very well. You’re dismissed.”

Sorna bobbed in a deep curtsy. “Thank you. Enjoy yourself at the ball, miss.”

When Evangeline left her room, her quadmates were nowhere to be seen. It was just as well. She hurried down the corridor in her white silk slippers. She’d allowed Sorna to fuss with her tresses a little too long. She reached the staircase leading down to the main part of Belai, and to the grand ballroom, at the same time Anatol did.

He inclined his head and swept his arm to encompass the staircase. “After you.”

She started down the stairs in a rush and the unfamiliar silk of her slipper made her slip on the polished marble. Evangeline would’ve toppled headfirst and broken her neck, or at the very least disgraced herself beyond redemption, but Anatol caught her elbow to steady her.

“Careful.” He released her when she was balanced once more.

She touched her bare skin where he’d grasped her. The few times he’d made contact with her skin-to-skin, the result had been the same. Sexual awareness skittered through her, made her think of sweaty, entangled limbs and twisted sheets.

This strange attraction she had to him was incredibly bothersome. He was her equal; there was no gain in sleeping with him.

She frowned and fidgeted. She supposed she should thank him for catching her. It was odd she was so discomfited by Anatol. Ordinarily she had no problem dealing with people. Perhaps it was his eyes. They were deep and straightforward. The man was a mystery to her in the way he didn’t play Court games, but his eyes were honest and clear. Really, they seemed to look straight into a person’s soul. How . . .
nice
.

It was almost naïve, really.

At Belai it was far more expedient to play your cards close to your chest. “Congratulations,” she said instead of
thank you
, “on becoming J’Edaeii. I knew you would pass before today, but after I saw what you did with that sphere, well, then I knew for certain.”

Not waiting for an answer, she carefully made her way down the stairs, grasping the heavy gilt balustrade.

Anatol descended next to her. “Ah, yes.” He sighed. “The J’Edaeii. I guess I should thank you for your congratulations.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Why wouldn’t you?”

He gave a terse laugh. “I don’t look forward to spending my life doing parlor tricks for the wealthy. We’re like permanent court jesters. In fact, the rest of the country regards us as little more than the lapdogs of the upper class.”

“Why should we care what the rest of the country thinks of us? The only people that matter are here in the palace.”

“Do you really think that?” He inclined his head and gave it a slow shake. “I suppose we are all products of our environments. I simply believe our magick could be used in more effective ways, Evangeline,” he finished.

She hadn’t ever considered the possibility. After all, no one . . .
no one
turned down the chance to be J’Edaeii. It just wasn’t done unless, perhaps, one was touched in the mind. What else could you do with magick other than become J’Edaeii? The entire concept dumbfounded her for a moment. The notion completely dowsed her anger over his ridiculous inference that living at Belai was somehow a
bad
thing.

They reached the end of the stairs and she turned and gave him a disbelieving stare. “Then why didn’t you simply throw today’s performance? You could even now be on your way back to”—she tossed her hand in a careless gesture—“wherever it is you come from.”

Clouds passed through his eyes. “It’s far more complicated than that.”

“Well.” She frowned and fidgeted again, unsure of what to do. Strains of music, emanating from the grand ballroom, met her ears. She would rather be there than here, talking with this man. Anatol had always been different and she didn’t care to know the inner workings of his mind. He could stay at Belai for his “complicated reasons,” or be gone tomorrow. None of it had any bearing whatsoever on her life.

He was intriguing, however. Anatol stood there, staring into her soul, and she felt laid bare before him. She blinked and looked away. “Are you going in?” she asked, finally.

“No. Once the champagne begins to flow they won’t miss my presence. I’m headed off to play a game of strategia with a friend. Enjoy yourself, Evangeline.” His gaze swept down her body, lingering on her cleavage and making her nipples go erect. “You look beautiful. I’m sure you will interest the particular Edaeii male”—he raised an eyebrow—“or female for whom you are eager.”

How rude!

It took every ounce of her willpower to smile tightly and murmur her good-bye in a civil manner. She didn’t know what enraged her more, the fact he’d mentioned aloud her intentions or that he’d noticed them to begin with. Were her ambitions so obvious? And if they were obvious, must he point them out? The man had no ability to dissemble at all.

A quartet of silver and gold-attired servants stood outside the grand ballroom doors. One of them took her name and delivered it to the usher, who announced with much fanfare, “Miss Evangeline Viktoranka J’Edaeii.” She smiled in pleasure to hear
J’Edaeii
in the place of her former commonblood last name of
Bansdaughter
.

She carefully composed an expression of mostly boredom tinged with slight interest—she wanted no one to think her new and naïve, nor did she wish to offend any of the Edaeii—and stepped through the double doors. Evangeline had been in the grand ballroom before, but never during a grand ball. Her jaw went slack and she quickly corrected it, though she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from darting wildly over the large room, much as Sorna’s had roved her chamber.