Sworn To Raise: Courtlight #1 (7 page)

Ciardis gave a weak grin. She was excited, she really was, but she couldn’t help but remember all those ancestors mentioned in the book whose gifts hadn’t ever manifested. What would happen if hers didn’t?

“Now,” said Serena, ticking off points on her fingers, “Before the Patron Hunt, you’ll need to take Dance, Defense, Manners, and Practicals. I’ll hire a transfer mage to copy the Sahelian language in you, as well. These tutorials will be crucial to your success at the Patron Hunt. You must impress viable candidates with your composure. What are your personal attributes?” asked Serena, beaming.

“I have no idea what you mean by that,” Ciardis said without hesitation.

Frowning Serena rephrased while moving her hand in a encouraging manner, “What are the things that you’re
good
at?”

“Reading,” said Ciardis quickly.

Serena flicked off the example. “Oh, so boring! The correct answer is ‘hunting, darts, and riding.’”

Ciardis stared at her in wide-eyed horror.

Laughing, Serena said, “Really, dear, we must buy you a sense of humor. Just a little joke. But seriously, we’ll have to come up with a better list than just ‘reading.’”

Serena stopped, looking over Ciardis’s shoulder. Ciardis looked around, raising her hand to shade her eyes from the sun’s glare. The bright rays shining down made the castle sparkle with waves of pink, but she wasn’t fooled. The glare felt ominous, like the stone walls held secrets that were creeping up on her, step by step, while blinding her with its beauty.

A small, slender man was gliding toward them across the sand. He wore silky gray pants and a tan vest over a long-sleeved white shirt. Serena was clearly appreciating his physique, and Ciardis couldn’t help but think,
He must be so warm in that outfit.

As he approached, Serena said, “Ciardis, may I present your tutorials instructor for the Patron Hunt, Damias Lancer.” At his shallow bow, she continued, “Damias is the finest tutorial instructor in the Guild. If anyone can get you prepared for the Patron Hunt in three months’ time, he can.”

A small smile eased onto Damias’s face. “Lady Serena exaggerates, but I will do my best to make you the greatest candidate presented at the Patron Hunt this season.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, shall we get off this dreadful sand? We’ll begin with your Dance tutorial inside.”

They headed off the beach and into an empty ballroom, where Ciardis proceeded to learn the first ballroom dance steps for what felt like hours. It was surprisingly exhausting, and the dances were completely unlike the sprightly village dances she already knew. When they finished, after several encouraging remarks from Damias—although she swore she heard Serena mutter from the sidelines something about storks who couldn’t dance—they transitioned to Defense.

Defense was probably better described as “how to hide pointy things in your dress and curtsy without stabbing yourself,” but it was actually quite fun. They went over how to conceal knives in various garments, keeping sharpened needles tipped with sleeping potions in her hair, and Ciardis’s favorite: a fan with spikes that extended outward with a push of a button. Damias cautioned her that the fan was an absolute last resort in battle, and would be given to her only after she’d mastered the
katas
, the formal military dances associated with its use.

“The Manners tutorial will be held over lunch,” Damias said when they were done, “Serena and I will instruct you in the etiquette of noble meals, while feasting on the finest dishes offered in the Guild.”

Damias picked up two clear goblets and set them before her. Then he laid out five eating utensils along with two napkins.

“The napkins I understand, but why do I need two goblets and five pieces of silverware?”

He picked up both goblets, holding one in each hand. “The slender goblet will always be for wine. The larger goblet will take water for you to drink with your meal. If you wish to signal a server that you desire no further refills, simply place the smaller napkin upon the glass.”

Serena said, “And, of course, each of these utensils serves a purpose.” She picked them up one by one as she explained. “These are the salad fork, the meat fork, the dessert fork, the carving knife, and the butter knife. If you happen to need a spoon, it will be served with the appropriate course.”

“In Vaneis, we only had one utensil besides a knife,” said Ciardis, carefully memorizing the name and placement of each utensil. “It was round-bottomed with three tines.”

“We have those here, too,” Damias said with a smile. “Though you’ll rarely see them in a noble’s house, and then only in the lower kitchens. They’re called sporks.”

“What a ridiculous sounding name.” tutted Serena.

“Another thing,” said Damias, carefully wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Always be aware of what you’re drinking. Only accept drinks from prospective patrons or the servers.”

“In the past a few trainee companions have gone to great lengths to ensure a successful match,” interjected Serena, “Actions which we find deplorable were taken – including use of poisons to get rid of potential rivals.”

“In addition to conventional methods like poisoning, several trainees – who have since been removed from the Companions Guild
spelled
a hallway in the guild by pouring their magic into the walls and causing her visual and mental perceptions to distort enough that she believed she was drowning. She believed it so much that she stopped breathing because her lungs couldn’t retain enough air even though the hallway was perfectly normal.”

Damias pursed his mouth in distaste. “I hope I never hear of such a thing happening with you, Ciardis.”

“No, of course not!”

After lunch, Serena escorted Ciardis to the barter station in town. Serena took her up to an older man with rheumy eyes. He wore nondescript clothing and leaned on a cane. Serena said to Ciardis, “This is the only registered copier in ten miles. He’s also deaf.”

Serena leaned over and picked up a small piece of parchment with scribbles on it. She neatly wrote out,
The Sahelian language

Once they have finished negotiating a suitable rate, she paid him one hundred and fifty shillings for two years of knowledge. He touched Ciardis’s shoulder, and she felt the same electric jolt that Sephrane had given her the night before and suddenly she was thinking in the difficult Dragonkin tongue.

As they walked away, Serena muttered to Ciardis, “He’s blind, practically deaf, and getting senile. I’ll be so glad when that recruit, Sephrane, finally masters her copying talent. It cannot come a day too soon.”

Ciardis asked casually, “Masters? Is she not already talented?”

“Oh, she is,” assured Serena, “But she needs the seal of approval from the Talents Guild before she can practice and sell her skills at the Barter station or to private consumers. Though, she only has two more weeks before her Talents exam, since she was selected by a superb patron this past fall.”

Ciardis decided not to mention Sephrane’s unapproved talent transfer from the night before.

“Once you’ve been selected by patron as their companion, you’ll go before the Talents Guild, as well,” Serena said.

From then on, time passed quickly with Ciardis’s Dance and Defense tutorials, measurements for ballgowns, dinner staging, and tutoring in art appreciate, household arrangements and decorative arts.

As her sixth week of tutorials came to a close, Ciardis ruefully remembered her hope for a new life, away from bullies and hard labor.

Today had been proof that everything and nothing had changed.

She’d managed to run into Prima again, and this time, the girl’s telepathic snit wasn’t a small affair.

Ciardis had been minding her own business in one of the outer gardens, practicing the different levels of curtsies given to a person depending on their social status. Her knees were bent and her skirt was spread on the ground, when a stiff breeze unbalanced her. She tumbled to the ground and her skirts flew over her head

As she quickly righted herself and brushed her hair from her face she heard laughter erupt from behind her. In the shadows of the garden entrance, two girls and a young man stood clearly mocking her. The girl next to Prima was mimicking her fall with an exaggerated face and arms milling widely about for balance.

The boy next to her was silently watching as a wind came down from the sky and began to twist around him so that he stood inside his own whirlwind. He watched her with calculating eyes and Ciardis knew that he had been the cause of her fall. The winds around them now and before were nowhere near strong enough to push over a person without a mage’s help.

Ciardis’s faced flamed with embarrassment, but she couldn’t run. They were standing in the middle of the only path back to safety and her room.

With nowhere to go and no way to avoid them, she raised her head high, her chin trembling, and grabbed a bunch of her dress in both hands to keep her hands from shaking with tremors.

“You know,” said Prima with a hint of cruelty in her voice, “If you really wanted to learn how to pay respect to the ground, I would have had Teachene show you.”

Going stiff with ire at the girl’s dig at her friend, Ciardis retorted, “It takes a dirt kisser to know one Prima. Perhaps
you
should teach me.”

The young man at Prima’s side quickly stifled a laugh with a cough into his fist.

Prima’s charming smile transformed into a frown to rival the anger of the legendary Bella Mickness—a girl Ciardis knew from back home in Vaneis who
nobody
messed with. Ciardis cringed and ducked instinctively, ready for the blow to hit her, completely forgetting her defense training.

But she had underestimated Prima. She wouldn’t hit anyone; the risk of marring her manicure was too great.

“At least I’m not some gold digging baseborn bitch,” the girl said viciously. “Go back to where you came from—you won’t find a husband there, either, but it’s better than the humiliation you’ll receive here.”

She turned around, stepped around her companions, and swept off in a huff without a backwards glance, leaving Ciardis with tears running down her face.

Prima’s friends followed right behind her.

After some dramatic dirt kicking, which left the garden looking like a lawn gnome had decided to redecorate, Ciardis went back to her room.

“And to think I thought they’d be nice
here,” she muttered to herself, then sighed and collapsed on her fluffy bed. Spreading her hands over the mattress, she couldn’t help but smile as she remembered her room back in Vaneis. Living in this castle was world’s above the small freezing inn where even with a heat spell the nights were cold and the blankets too thin. Flipping over and putting her hands behind her head she reminisced over the lessons from the past two months. It seemed never-ending - there was always something she didn’t know.

Damias was a difficult taskmaster, but she could tell he was making every effort to prepare her for her Hunt, although sometimes she wondered if he planned for her to die of exhaustion before she even got there.

Hearing a knock at her door, she rolled over onto her back and shouted, “Come in.” Sitting up, she couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t Prima; she didn’t need more trouble today.

It wasn’t Prima, thank goodness. Teachene stood in the doorway, bearing cakes.

“Phew,” said Ciardis, “I’m just glad you’re not Prima…or Sephrane, for that matter.”

She hadn’t seen Sephrane in weeks. After Sephrane had passed the Talents Guild test four weeks ago, she’d moved into an apartment of her own in the city. No doubt she was insanely busy preparing to take over from the ancient Master Copier at the Barter Hall.

But she had been
so
thoughtful and arranged to have a local woman continue to deliver her dirty laundry to Ciardis’s doorstep once a week like clockwork.

Ciardis gave Teachene a grin and patted the bed. They’d become fast friends over the past few weeks.

“Sephrane, I get. She’s got a intense laundry situation, that one. I swear the last pile that woman brought over was taller AND wider than me” said Teachene. “But Prima?”

Ciardis quickly filled her in on that morning’s events.

Teachene set the box of soft cakes on the bed between them and they proceeded to divvy up the spoils. Ciardis went for the delectable caramel rolls—soft cake drizzled with sweet honey and caramel sauce—because they reminded her of winter back home. Teachene preferred the brown ginger cakes for their hint of sweetness and overall snap.

“I saw you dancing with Lord Damias in the solar today,” Teachene said.

Ciardis groaned aloud before Teachene could utter another word. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re not so bad. I mean…you’re getting better!” Teachene said. “Sailor’s honor.”

“You mean I only stepped on his toes three times and tripped him once, right?”

“Yeah,” admitted Teachene with a wry grin, “That about covers it.”

Ciardis rolled her eyes and popped another morsel into her mouth. Through the mouthful of cake, she said, “I don’t know how they expect me to memorize all those dances by the Patron Hunt! I’m going to look like a bumbling fool, I just know it!” Sulkily, she muttered, “Why can’t they just hire a copier to instill it in me?”

“You know why,” said Teachene sternly. “A skill like dancing costs ten thousand shillings, because they can’t just give you one dance—it must be all of them. Besides, there are only two copiers in all of Sandrin presently, and neither of them can dance worth anything.”

“What? How did Sephrane pass her Patron Hunt if she couldn’t dance?”

“Well, technically she can dance to music—it’s just not up to the skill of her sword dancing,” Teachene explained. “The Companion’s Guild decided in her pre-Hunt interview that she should stick to the swords, since her prospective Patrons all professed an interest in the subject.”

“Right,” Ciardis murmured.