Misery's Child (The Cadian Chronicles) (24 page)

So she bit her
tongue with more than just annoyance. Marta had never liked her sister much,
even before the whole consecratia thing began; Lillitha bored her with her
shyness and blushing, and Marta could not respect anyone who couldn’t say two
words for herself. But her reasons for avoiding Lillitha’s company now were
more compelling than ever.

All her life, the
thoughts of others had sometimes slipped into her head, but since her first
blood two summers past, it happened more often and more intensely. It was worst
of all around
Lillitha
.

Marta didn’t like
it a bit. There was nothing to be gained from peeking inside
Lillitha’s
mind, only a miasma of grief and fear that
threatened to suck Marta down into it unless she concentrated all her mental
energies on blocking it out. That in
itself
was exhausting,
and it had gotten so much worse since arriving in
Shallanie
.
At night, with their sleeping quarters separated only by the thin sheets of the
tents, Marta would wake with tears on her cheeks, not from her own dreams, but
Lillitha’s.

Marta was amazed
and angry that no one else could see how desperately unhappy Lillitha was.
Oman’s beard! Misery rolled off her sister like the stench from a roadside
carcass. Why was she the only one who felt it? She had no desire to become
responsible for Lillitha’s well being.

Marta found
Lillitha lying on the cot alone. She looked around in surprise. “How did you
manage to get rid of the hag and the drag?”

She meant
Lendenican and Iafrewn, of course.

“Iafrewn’s
physical examination is today. They should be gone until late afternoon, may
Oman be praised for His small mercies.”

“Fie, sister! Is
it possible that you and I agree on something at long last?”

“I know I’m being
hateful but I can’t help it.” Lillitha stared at the ceiling of the tent and
sighed. “They just make me so...tired.”

“Aye,” Marta
agreed, plopping down on the edge of the cot. “Iafrewn is a complete ninny. And
Lendenican!”

When Lilli didn’t
respond, Marta poked her. “Come on, sister...aren’t you even going to tell me
it’s wrong to make fun of Oman’s cadia?”

A bitter taste
flooded Marta’s mouth as she caught a flash of something hard and metallic. She
knew the taste instinctively, but could hardly believe it.
Anger—from
Lilli?

She had often
wondered if Yanna and her sister conversed without words in the same way the
cadia had spoken to Marta that long ago night at the dinner table. Cautiously,
Marta lowered her guard and allowed her sister’s thoughts to flood over her.
They came in a slow, cold tide of wretchedness that was difficult for Marta not
to fight. This kind of despair was antithetical to every fiber of Marta’s
being.

Why are you angry?

Lilli’s eyes flew
up in surprise and she stared at Marta for a long time. Then she closed her
eyes once more as if deciding none of it mattered very much anyway. She laid
her arm over her face.

I’m not angry.

Yes, you are. I can feel it. I thought you were
just unhappy and afraid, but now I can feel that you’re angry as well. The
unhappy and afraid part, I understand, but—

Do you really think you do? Oh, Marta....

The last was
nearly a wail, causing water to well in Marta’s eyes.

“Talk to me,
Lilli.... Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why should you
care?” Lilli rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the cushions. “I
know what you think of me.”

“You’re right. You
were always such a ninny and always so scriving perfect. Well, now you’re
miserable and not very perfect and I feel sorry for you. Besides, your
unhappiness keeps...I don’t know...leaking over into my head and I’m sick of
it. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since we got here.”

Lilli lifted her
head. She sniffled, curiosity momentarily distracting her. “Really? You can
feel it that strongly?”

Marta nodded.

“Maybe it’s
because we’re sisters. Yanna always said it was one of the strongest bonds. But
I never heard of two in the same family being tadomani.”

Marta frowned.
Lillitha was doing it again, wandering off into cadian foolishness instead of
confronting the reality at hand.

“I’m sorry,”
Lillitha
said, “I never knew that annoyed you so.”

That annoys me, too. The way you’re always
apologizing for everything. Stop it.

All right.

That’s better. I can see why I’d be angry in your
place, but you? I thought you loved the idea of being
cadia
.

“Oh, I do
....and
yet I don’t...I don’t know anything any more. Why do
you say that you’d be angry in my place?”

“By the beard,
Lilli!” Marta’s voice was a whisper now, her eyes sneaking glances at the flap
of the tent, anxious lest Ersala return unexpectedly. “They’ve taken your whole
life away from you, don’t you know that? I never understood why you let them do
this to you.”

Lillitha’s face
took on an expression of coldness that Marta had never seen—or expected
to see—on her sister’s face. Strangely, it reminded her of Yannamarie.

“And just how do
you suppose I should have stopped them? Do you think I ever had a choice in any
of this?”

“You went through
with the dedication ceremony, didn’t you? You seemed pretty happy about it
then.”

“I was twelve
summers old—what did I know about any of this?” Marta watched in amazement
as Lillitha climbed from the bed and paced about the tent as if it were a cage.
Her face was bright red against the white of her wimple and veils, and her
hands clenching and unclenching by her sides. “And you, who spend so much of
your precious time whining and puling about the wretchedness of our lives in
Kirrisian, do you think you’re the only one who feels the weight of poverty?
Sweet Mother, I thought I could make things better by becoming consecratia! Now
all I’ve done is make a mess of things.”

“Is it just
Yanna,” Marta asked softly, “or is it Scearce? Or both?”

Lillitha burst
into tears and sank into a puddle on the dirt floor.

Don’t even mention his name! Someone might hear
you— What could you possibly know about him? Why do you say that?

I know that you’ve dreamed about him, and when you
do, the longing in your heart is as sweet and as heavy as darma petal perfume.
Besides, you’ve had a fancy for him ever since that summer in Jeptalla.

“You mustn’t ever
breath a word about him, not in front of
Muma
or Da
or anyone.
Especially not Lendenican.
Please, promise
me, Marta! Promise.”

“Don’t be stupid.
I wouldn’t do that. But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Lillitha nodded,
tears still coursing silently down her cheeks. “I’m so afraid that he hates me
now, after all the trouble I’ve caused him. I’ll never see him again and he
hates me.”

“You don’t know
that.” Marta was ashamed of the satisfaction it gave her to know that
darling,
perfect Lillitha wanted something she couldn’t
have. Her conscience made few appearances, but when it did, Marta hated its
power over her. “What if I went to him and explained?”

The eagerness that
shone on her sister’s face made her feel even smaller. “Would you? Would you
really do that for me? Just see him and tell him that I’m sorry, that I didn’t
mean to make trouble for him—”

“Yes, yes. I will
tell him. But you’ve got to get hold of yourself before
Muma
comes back or she’ll take one look at you and know something’s wrong. At the
very least she’ll whack me over the head for upsetting you.”

“You’re right,
absolutely right.” Lillitha wiped at her face roughly,
then
surprised Marta with a sudden fierce hug. “Thank you, little sister. I owe you
a great debt—”

“You don’t owe me
anything,” Marta said gruffly, shrugging off her sister’s arms. “Just try to
cheer up, will you? You don’t even know if you’ll be chosen or not.”

“Yes, this may all
yet come to nothing. I just.... I keep feeling this panic growing inside me.
Every day it gets bigger and bigger—”

“I know. Believe
me, Lilli, I know.”

Lillitha’s face
puckered with shame. “I’ll try to guard my thoughts more carefully.”

“You do that.”
Marta stood up and brushed the dust from her skirts. “I’ll go see Scearce as
soon as I can get away from
Muma
again.”

“Wait, I have
something I want you to give to him.” Lillitha hurried over to her small trunk,
casting things aside until she held up a small pair of scissors from her sewing
kit. She brought the scissors near the curls that escaped from underneath her
wimple.

“Don’t take it
from the front, you dolt!” Marta crossed the tent in two great strides and took
the scissors. “If you cut a lock from the front,
Muma
or the hag might notice and then you’d be in for it. I’ll cut a piece for you
from under the back where no one will see.”

“Thank you. I
didn’t think of that.”

“Well, I’ve had
more practice trying to outsmart
Muma
than you have.”
Marta handed her a small lock of golden hair, about three inches long. “Is that
all right?”

“Yes, it’s
perfect.” From her sewing kit, Lillitha extracted a small scrap of thin ribbon,
which she used to tie the hair in a circlet. “Give him this. To remember me
by.”

Marta slipped the
circlet into her pocket as Lillitha opened her mouth to say something
else.
 

“Don’t thank me
again,” Marta warned. “I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. Now wash
your face or something. You look awful.”

Lillitha nodded as
Marta slipped through the tent flap. Knowing that Marta would see Scearce
brought a small measure of peace to her mind. She heard her mother’s voice
outside raised in a questioning tone.

“Oh,
Muma
, she’s fast asleep! What do you want me to do, just
sit there and watch her snore?”

Lillitha scurried
back to her cot. She curled into a tight ball and within moments, she was
deeply asleep in the first dreamless doze since Yanna disappeared.

***

As soon as she was
far enough away from Lillitha for the sadness to fade, Marta cursed herself for
offering to go on this fool’s errand. She had only the
vaguest
idea where to find Prince Scearce and no idea at all how she might get him alone.
She even considering forgetting the whole thing and lying to Lilli, saying she
had seen him and all was well, but she dismissed that idea almost as soon as it
formed. She could no more lie to Lillitha than she could lie to herself. And as
soon as she returned to the campsite, that horrible, unmitigated sadness would
find her again and she’d regret not having kept her word. Marta had so few
regrets that those she did have plagued her mightily.

Then she saw him
sitting at a table on the verandah of the White City Hostelry. He leaned far
back in the wrought iron chair, one long, booted leg stretched before him, the
other cocked at a ridiculous angle in order to fit under the table. It didn’t
take any magic for Marta to know that he wasn’t listening to a word being said.

He was good
looking enough, she supposed, if you liked that sort of moony calf-eyed look.
He was far too pretty to suit her, though. She spared a moment to think on
Tomack’s rough mouth and heavy-lidded eyes, the callous twist of his lips beneath
his beard.

“Marta, child!”
King Tullus was on his feet, waving to her. “What are you doing so far from
camp and all alone?”

“Muma sent me to
look for Paul,” she lied quickly. “Have you seen him, sire?”

Scearce barely
looked up at her approach, though the other man at the table rose and bowed
with a toothy grin showing through the bush of his gray beard. What was it
about very old men, she thought with
annoyance, that
made them leer so blatantly at her? Did they think her blind?

She picked her way
through the crowded tables until she stood beside Scearce. The smell of wine
was strong and she wondered if he were drunk.

“No, I haven’t
seen Paul since the archery tournament this morning,” Tullus said. “Fine
soldier he’ll make.
He took second prize
,
I’ll be bound
. Didn’t know the little devil had it in him.”

“And you, my lord
Scearce? Did you take a prize as well?” Everyone had wagered on Scearce to take
the cup and laurel in archery this year. His fame as a marksman with the bow
was well known even beyond Jeptalla.

“I’m afraid not.”
Scearce lifted his goblet and drank a deep draught. “Tis a silly game and best
left to boys Paul’s age.”

“Aye,” the older
man spoke up with a laugh. “I lost a whole purse full of coin on his account.”