Untalented (28 page)

“Things are looking up. The Adepts found the Vergal almshouse and the plague riots should reach boiling point in short order.”

He heard Isolte’s skirts rustle as she stood up.

“Have you loved her all this time?”

Loric froze. “The girl? Don’t be stupid.”

“The only stupid thing I ever did was marry you.”

“What’s gotten into you? Worried my affections are wandering? You’re the mother of my child.”

“And so is she, isn’t she?”

Loric twisted around to face his wife. Isolte glared, white faced and rigid. A tiny muscle above her jaw twitched.

“Nonsense. She’s barely more than a child herself,” Loric said.

“Enough! You know I don’t mean Saroya.”

“Then who? Whatever game you’re playing, Isolte, my patience is wearing thin.”

“You know exactly who.”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“Then where did you get this?” She whipped her arm towards him and something hard hit his cheek before bouncing onto the coverlet. He stretched out a finger and nudged the gold band of the puzzle ring.

“It was always Padvai, wasn’t it?” Isolte said.

Loric shrugged.

“I made your estates successful. It was my Talent—mine!—that restored your family’s riches after you gambled them away. You’d be nothing without me. This is how you repay me? By fathering a bastard by that slut? That whore?”

Loric stood up from the bed, walked up to Isolte with a measured stride, and struck her hard across the cheek.

“She was never meant for Urdig. But she would not go against your father’s wishes. Even after Airic was dead, she wouldn’t leave Urdig.”

“I was never good enough for you.”

“If Airic faked her certificate of Talent, neither was she. I suppose he did me a favor by giving her to Urdig.”

Isolte was practically spitting. “You’re the one who was never good enough. My father would never give his pet Padvai to a failed Talent.”

Loric smacked her again. She brushed away a smear of blood from her lip.

“She might have loved you before but it was all over after she learned of your failure. What was Saroya’s conception, then? Did she bed you out of pity?”

Loric refused to admit that to himself. He walked from the room, but couldn’t resist loosing a weak parting arrow. “If I’m such a miserable failure, why did your father give you to me?”

Isolte shrieked as he slammed the door behind him.

For two days, Saroya took all her meals in her room, avoiding company and ignoring knocks at the door. She told the maid Urdig provided her that she was not to be disturbed. She spent most of her time seated at the window in her room, staring at the distant mountain range and wondering if she would have been better off working for the village council in Adram Vale.

The dull ache of rejection filled her body like a physical wound. Since being ruled an Untalent, she had fought hard to prove otherwise, with the hope that her family would accept her in the end. That hope lay in ruins back at Manor Dorn.

No matter how confident Saroya tried to appear before Daravela, she couldn’t avoid the truth: if the Order said Saroya was Untalented, the world would always see her that way. Her Testing results confused her. How could being so right be so wrong? The unfairness galled her. Suddenly Saroya saw every single other Untalent in a different light. How much potential was being wasted, how many other lives ruined? Or were Daravela and the doyenne right? Was she simply too unfocused to ever be great at any Talent? Lying to herself about her abilities only seemed to get people hurt.

It was now past dark and Saroya roused herself out of her introspection, her legs stiff from being cooped up in the room for so long. She had a decision to make and a short walk would clear her head. She shrugged on a tunic and made her way to the castle gardens overlooking the lagoon, avoiding the curious glances of the servants she encountered in the corridors.

She sank down onto the cool stone of a marble bench and inhaled the garden air. The flowery scent wafting in the sea breeze offered a refreshing change from the closed stuffiness of her room, but it failed to clear out the muddle in her head. She was about to give up and head back to her room when a rustle in the shrubs lining the path caught her ear. She looked up as Martezha paused in midstride. Saroya stifled a groan. The last thing she needed now was another of Martezha’s strident attacks. She stood up to leave, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

To her considerable surprise, instead of flying off the handle, Martezha motioned her to sit back down. Saroya kept herself ready for a quick exit.

“You must hate me,” Martezha said.

Saroya held her tongue and waited. Martezha licked her lips.

“I’ve told the king that he needn’t wait for the delegation to return from Adram Vale. I’m quite sure either they or your uncle will report that Martezha Baghore was left at the Cloister by a couple called Idira and Aildeg Baghore.”

Saroya sniffed.
Of course you’re sure
. She continued to stare, not willing to let Martezha off the hook.

“I hated you. When I found out about you, I mean. My parents, they’re like you. Untalents. I was so angry with them. They left me—they worried the stigma would rub off.” Martezha smiled bitterly. “When I found out … The taint would have ruined my singing career. I didn’t know what the ring meant when I stole it. I just wanted to hurt you—get back at them, at any Untalent, somehow. Then when we came here, it seemed like the best way to erase them from everybody’s memory. To let everybody think I was really the king’s daughter.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Martezha shrugged. “It’s over, and the truth is about to come out anyway. You and your kind—I’ll never get used to coming from stock like that.” Her lip curled. “But I’ll have to live with myself. I think a part of me couldn’t live with what I did, because I stopped being able to sing. Best you hear the truth from me.”

“Are you asking me for forgiveness?”

“No. Why should you profit over me? It was just an accident of birth that you weren’t their daughter. To me—you became their daughter.”

Saroya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Martezha—selfish and absorbed to the last.

In the morning Saroya found a warm bowl of oatmeal in her chamber’s anteroom. The two spoonfuls she managed to force down tasted like chalk. She heard a sharp rap on the door, and assumed it was someone come to take away the dirty dishes. She was not pleased to greet Eiden Callor instead. She shut the door in his face but he stuck out his arm.

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

“You’ll see me.” He strode into the room and turned to face her. “Now—Guffin tells me you’ve been hiding here since we returned from the Vergal. Being discreet is one thing, but something’s troubling you and you will tell me what.”

“Guffin’s wrong.”

He grabbed her by the arm and she winced. “I will not see Urdig harmed by you or by Loric. Something happened between you. You haven’t been sleeping.”

She ripped her arm out of his grasp. She felt sick, and reached for the edge of a small table to steady herself. Few people left in her world had the slightest faith in her. Difficult to win over, in the end he helped her when it counted. So many lies. And none of them did her any good. Her walls crumbled and she sagged to her knees on the carpet.

“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice sounded alien to her.

He knelt in front of her and clasped her hand. “Tell me.” Callor’s voice was gentle now.

Saroya shook her head, angry at herself, at how she’d let herself be manipulated by Loric. “Nothing I tell you will help save Urdig. It would have been better for him if you’d never allowed me to follow you to U’Veyle.”

“It’s too late to worry about that now. What happened with Loric?”

Saroya’s voice quavered. “Well, the good news is that Padvai really is my mother. The bad news is that Urdig isn’t my father.”

He gripped her hand tighter. “Who?”

She couldn’t look at him anymore. “Loric,” she whispered.

Eiden Callor rocked back onto his heels, but didn’t let go of Saroya’s hand. Everything spilled out: Loric’s possession of a matching ring, his threats against her and Urdig if she told anyone, his rationalization as to why she should keep silent.

“So why did you tell me?” Callor asked.

“Martezha lived a lie—where did it get her? People look at me like I’m vermin. Even—even you do. What would those looks be like if it all came out a year from now? I couldn’t bear it. Loric could still change his mind if the wind blows the wrong way for him. I’m done with lying, with being something I’m not.”

Eiden stood up. He pulled her to her feet, and when he drew away, she felt bereft.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“I have to tell Urdig, but we must keep this quiet or we risk alerting Loric.” His expression was grim. “You mustn’t speak to anyone, including your friend Nalini. Stay in your room. I’ll send for you when I have news.”

Two interminable days later a page summoned her to Urdig’s private chambers. There, she found the king, Eiden Callor, and a tall ginger-haired man who looked familiar. She dropped into a deep curtsy.

Urdig released her from her obeisance, then introduced her to the man standing next to Callor. “Saroya, this is Dhilain of Roshan. My wife’s brother.”

Of course—he probably looked familiar because she’d caught a glimpse of him that evening long ago at Manor Roshan. This was the man Veshwa told her to seek out, before events caught her up in a whirlwind grip. Urdig spoke.

“Eiden Callor told us what you told him. We know what it must have cost you, and appreciate your honesty.”

Saroya marveled that this man, still recovering from the shock of his wife’s betrayal, could be so gracious. Urdig continued.

“Loric placed both of us in difficult positions.” Some deep emotion altered his voice. “When it became obvious, after many years together, that we could not conceive, I told Padvai that any child she bore I would treat as my own.” Saroya’s eyes widened. “Unfortunately, she chose as father the most ambitious and unpleasant man in the Kingdom of Veyle.” A wry smile twisted his lips.

“Before these witnesses, I acknowledge you as Padvai’s daughter. That said, nobody beyond these walls can ever know.” He raised a hand to forestall her questions. “We spoke to Veshwa. She is a loyal servant and will tell no one the truth.”

“Surely it’s too late not to acknowledge me publicly? Loric knows about the ring.”

“We’ll have to stonewall him. Our word against his. He’s called for a conclave of the Houses.”

“Now?”

“Rumor has it he will formally call for my abdication. We shall address his charges together. Say nothing during the conclave. Dhilain and I will handle Loric.”

Saroya faced Callor. “What about the healers?” She saw from Urdig’s expression that he knew what she was asking about.

Callor shook his head. “Haven’t heard back yet. Strange.”

Urdig raised an eyebrow. “Her Eminence Daravela requested the honor of attending the conclave.”

“Adept interference?” Callor asked.

“Perhaps. Time for you to fetch our insurance, I think,” Urdig said. Callor nodded and left the room.

Urdig addressed Saroya. “Do you have the ring?”