Misery's Child (The Cadian Chronicles) (20 page)

“Certainly not,”
Lendenican spat over her shoulder, dragging Lillitha away. “Her robes are
filthy, her veil and wimple shredded and you let her stand there! Where is your
mind, woman?”

Lillitha risked
one backward glance, hoping against hope to catch Scearce’s eyes. But people
clamoring to hear him tell what had happened surrounded the young prince on all
sides.

Ersala was arguing
with the cadia as much as she dared, refusing to let go of Lillitha’s other hand.
“Sister, she is my daughter, I’ve more a right—”

“Come with us,
then! But she has to be examined, immediately, then bathed and purified—”

Lillitha turned
red as she realized what kind of examination the cadia intended. She wanted to
make sure no violation had occurred. Then another thought, even more horrible,
burst into her mind. She was not Lendenican’s charge.

“Where’s Yanna?
Muma, where is Yannamarie?”

The withered cadia
spoke before her mother could answer. “They took her. At least it appears that
way—”

“Your father and
the other men have been searching for you and she both,” Ersala said quickly.
“We had hoped she was with you—”

Lendenican pushed
her into a tent. The old woman shouted for water and food at those lingering
outside.

It was dark inside
the tent. For a moment Lillitha could not see.

“You’re all right!
You’re safe,” Iafrewn was saying. “I heard all the shouting and was so afraid
it was the bandits again—”

“I told you to
stop fretting,” Lendenican said curtly. “They had their chance. They won’t be
back. You’re both safe now. No need for hysterics.”

The shadows seemed
to sway around her and her head felt strangely light.
Yanna, gone?
Oh, it wasn’t possible!

The last sound she
heard was her mother’s voice, calling her name as from a great distance.

***

“How is she,
wife?” Rowle had hovered outside the tent for more than an hour before Ersala
emerged from the heavy folds.

“She is well, Oman
be praised,” Ersala whispered, motioning for him to follow. “She fainted dead
away, poor thing, but there seems to have been no real harm. Her robes are a
complete loss; we shall have to burn them. She’ll have to put on her
conscecratoria burlang, terrible for traveling but there’s no help for it, she
has nothing else—”

“By the beard,
slow down! Why do you walk so fast?”

“Because I can’t
bear the thought of leaving Lilli alone with that dreadful woman—Oman
forgive me—longer than I must! I would have sent Marta for her things,
but as usual she’s not where she might be useful—”

“Wife, you’re
babbling—”

“There’s no
telling what Lendenican will say, she seems not the slightest concerned for
anything but Lilli’s virtue—”

“Intact, thank
Oman?”

“Husband, you’re
as bad as that cadia! Didn’t I say she was unharmed? The poor thing has had a
dreadful shock and
all that
woman can do is keep
asking her the same questions over and over. Where did the bandits touch her,
for how long? When did she last see Yannamarie? Did Scearce try to touch
her—
”

“Scearce!” Rowle
roared, grabbing his wife’s arm and forcing her to stop. “He saved her from
them! What kind of filthy-minded question is that?”

“It’s the cadia’s
kind of question! Scearce is a grown man and she was alone with him for a whole
night!”

Ersala was crying,
sagging against her husband. He could hardly make out the strangled words.

“What will that
woman tell the tribunal? What if, after all of this, they don’t accept her as
consecratia?”

“By Oman’s beard,
woman! Would you have rather had our daughter violated and murdered? Carried
off by heathen who do not even know His Name?”

“Do not even say
such things!” Ersala’s head snapped up and she pulled away from him. “You don’t
know how many horrible fates I imagined! I am overjoyed that she is alive and
unharmed. We owe Scearce more than we can ever repay. Which makes it even more
worse, that somehow by saving her life he may have cost her the chance to
become shallana
breda
.”

“Could they
really—refuse her? Surely they will understand—”

“I don’t know,
husband.” Ersala wiped her eyes and straightened her spine. “I suppose it all
depends on that awful Lendenican, and what face she puts on the facts when she
tells them.”

***

The rest of the
journey passed in a haze of heat and dust and half-shed tears. Lillitha rode
with Lendenican and Iafrewn. Her own litter’s axle was splintered and Rowle
thought it hardly worth the time it would take to repair it. Though the
Gezana’s conveyance was far more comfortable than her own, Lillitha scarcely
noticed. She was too bewildered by the loss of Yannamarie and too stunned by
the realization that she had found Scearce again only to lose him forever.

The mixed emotions
made her sick to her stomach. She could hardly keep down the rich foods with
which Weodjic and Leodric tempted her. The vidor and vidoress of Gezana fussed
about her constantly, out of pity, sympathy and thankfulness that their own
precious daughter had escaped such a harrowing experience. She was grateful for
their kindness but all she really wanted was to be left alone.

Lendenican swelled
with importance now that she had two consecratia under her care. She did not
allow either Lillitha or Iafrewn a moment’s respite; it was as if the three
were bound by invisible chains. Lillitha could hardly stand the way the old
woman’s eyes seemed to pry into her very soul, but even worse was Iafrewn’s
constant chatter. The poor girl was starved for companionship and conversation,
neither of which Lillitha had the energy for.

Lillitha pretended
to sleep most of the time, huddled in the corner of the litter with her veils
drawn over her face. She was ashamed for it, but she couldn’t help it. She had
not known how dependent she’d become on Yanna’s steady, silent presence until
it was gone. Now she felt like an anchorless ship set adrift.

She prayed. For
Yanna, wherever she might be, whatever might have happened to
her.
Not knowing was a torture. Her mind conjured all kinds
of horrors. Was she dead? Or had the bandits taken her back into Tor Abat? Or
worse, could she be hurt and alone somewhere, perhaps even dying?

Rowle
had assured Lilli that if the latter were the case
,
the posse would find her
.
A party of five soldiers, recruited from the troops of the noble houses, had
stayed behind to search for the cadia.

And she prayed,
too, for herself. Without Yanna, her mind writhed with doubts and fears; alone,
her role as consecratia seemed pointless. Like some sort of idle daydream. How
could she go through this without her cadia-techa?

Surely if Yanna
were beside her, she would not keep thinking about Scearce’s warm eyes or the
way his muscled forearms had gleamed in the firelight....

And those
horrible, horrible questions Lendenican had asked her, over and over. The old
woman wanted to hear word for word, gesture for gesture, everything that had
passed between them. He had been perfectly honorable, gentle and kind. As she
repeated the tale over and again, it seemed a violation.
A
betrayal of all his kindness.

Did Lendenican
hear the guilt beneath her words? Nothing worthy of reproach had happened, yet
something unmistakable had changed inside her heart. Could the old cadia detect
the change in her pulse, the air she breathed in and breathed out?

Mother Leah, hear my prayers and carry them to the
ears of Oman. Let Yanna be found alive and I will never think on Scearce again.
I’ll
give him up with a glad and grateful heart
,
only let Yanna be alive
.

Even that was a
sin, she knew. Who was she to barter with Oman? As if she had any choice in the
matter. Scearce was lost to her forever. Perhaps Oman had seen the true nature
of her feelings even before she herself admitted it; perhaps He had taken Yanna
as punishment. A warning. Or maybe it was her fault anyway for not having
stayed in the litter as Yanna told her to. If she’d stayed hidden inside,
perhaps Scearce would have saved Yanna instead.

Oh, how could she
have let this happen? Yanna might be dead and it was her fault. She loved
Scearce and it was her fault, too.

What of Scearce?
Did he wonder what she might have said to make the old woman so suspicious? Did
he understand that she had said nothing to tarnish his
honor,
that
it was only the cadia’s duty to ferret out any possible appearance
of indiscretion?

Perhaps he hated
her. Perhaps he wished that he’d left her to the bandits and spared himself
this indignity. She would never know.

By the time she
reached Shallanie, she was certain the entire charade was a terrible, terrible
mistake.

 
Chapter 12: The Isle of Omana Teret

Excerpt from
The Breda Histories
by Cadia Harwe:

Lillitha
of Kirrisian was said to be the most beautiful
consecratia the Isle had ever seen; the reports of the priests were unanimous
in this opinion, yet divided by her beauty’s effect. Some said her radiance was
a sign from Oman, a symbol of his favor. Others said that kind of beauty could
not possibly exist without vanity and foolishness of spirit. Consequently, they
lapsed into the age-old philosophical arguments about beauty and balance, much
to the disdain of the cadialana, who found the entire matter irrelevant.

     
Upon Lillitha’s
initial presentation to the priests, Bene Ecklar flew into a rage. He accused
the girl’s mother and cadia-techa of applying false lashes and rouge. Whereby
he pulled forth his own cloth to remove the paint and was amazed to draw away a
clean handkerchief. The old priest even tugged at the girl’s lashes before he
was convinced they were her own and in no way augmented.

Shamonoza, the
capital city of Shallanie, laid squarely in the middle of the province on the
banks of the Great River that flowed from one end of the Realm to the other.
Second in size only to Glisenheath in Modan, Shamonoza was the oldest city in
the realm. It was built upon the ruins of Belah’s own fortress, of which
survived only a single wall.

The grandeur of
the older structures was lost on Marta, who saw only the crumbling stonework
and statues all but erased with time and the elements. She wondered with
annoyance why the Shallanie didn’t tear them down, but didn’t dwell long on it.
These relics only existed in the core of the city, Shamonoza having grown
several thousand jackles in all directions, even to the other bank of the
river. There were plenty of things to look at that Marta could appreciate,
things that took her breath away. As soon as her parents were occupied with
establishing their tents in the section of the fairgrounds designated for
consecratia and their families, she slipped away to explore alone and
unhampered.

She understood now
why people called Shamonoza “the White City.” Who would have believed that so
much marble even existed in all of Omani, let alone one city? The sun reflected
so brightly off the glistening white stone that she could hardly keep her eyes
open in the glare. But except for the size and the material, the buildings
looked much the same as those at home in
Jennymeade
,
though perhaps better kept. Some of the structures were three or even four
stories high; her neck hurt from looking up at them. Many had the most cunning
little walled gardens tucked between them. She spent the longest time with her
face pressed against the gate of one such garden, marveling at a statue of a
fish that spouted water out its mouth into a pool where real fish swam. Only
these fish were like nothing she’d ever seen; they were brightly colored in
red, blue and yellow. Did the people who lived here eat these fish? Or were
they something like pets? Surely they were too small and too pretty to be
eaten.

The streets were
paved with smooth stones that looked as if they’d been dug out of riverbeds.
Marta greatly approved of this even if she did stumble once or twice on the uneven
edges. It was far nicer than the dirt, dust and mud she was used to. No wonder
the Shallanie wore such fancy shoes; they could afford to.

The Shallanie
people didn’t look any different than Kirrisians or Gezanas or Jeptallans,
except for their funny shoes and the purple sashes they wore in honor of the
Single Moon. To Marta they appeared disappointingly ordinary and more than a
bit smug. Some of them didn’t bother to hide their annoyance at so many
strangers descending on their city.

“Look where yer goin’,
missy,” one old woman grunted.

“Eh, country tart
by the look of her,” said her companion. “Stop gawking and get out of the way,
girl.”