A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1) (2 page)

Her mother’s eyes were green, like hers, although in the sharp lines of her face they looked more angry than enthusiastic. They flashed with disappointment now, in a way that hurt almost as much as her wrist had. Elena dropped her gaze ashamedly to the ground, even as Ele glared daggers at her mother.

“
I’m sorry Mama. I didn’t mean to harm the family’s name,” she said quietly. Her mother put her hand under Elena’s chin and lifted her head until she met her gaze.

“
It’s alright my child. You will pass through this phase someday. You have done more for this family than the past three generations, and one day the Luccianos will be known throughout all of Italoza because of you. It is my responsibility to help you do that, and I can only hope that you do not hate me for it.”

Elena was silent as she climbed into the cart after her mother and Ele.

How could I possibly hate Mama? It’s not her fault that my mind is muddled and crazed. Even if I was sane and just pretending, she’s far more patient than she has to be.
She settled back into her seat and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor of the cart. Her mother thinking her childish was bad enough; Elena couldn’t bear it if Joanna discovered that she was actually mad.

“
I don’t like your mother very much,” Ele stated flatly.

The cart not only moved well on the repaired wheel, it rode even smoother for the rest of their trip. The bumps and jostles of stones and ruts were absorbed by the flexible grain, and the driver looked back and gave her a grin and a thumbs up.

Elena couldn’t quite find it in herself to feel proud.

A gentle hand brushing through her hair woke Elena, and she blinked a few times before she rose from her mother’s shoulder.

“
I thought you would like to see the city, since it’s your first time approaching it,” Joanna said with a smile, and Elena rubbed her eyes and looked out across the quorley. Her mother was right.

Elena realized at once that her assumptions about the city of Milia were entirely incorrect. She had imagined that it would be just like her small home village of Carpi, only scaled bigger. She hadn’t ever thought about it in concrete terms, but she had been preparing for a series of wooden houses and thatched rooftops, of animals roaming in backyards and cookfires burning. A little less farmland perhaps, and maybe a great wooden wall, but essentially the same sort of place she had grown up in.

“
Echo’s shades,” Ele swore under his breath, looking up at the vast stone walls that ringed the city, higher than Elena would’ve thought possible. The stones were a tan that was bright in the evening sun, aligned, clean and straight. In her half-asleep state it looked like a castle from a fairy tale, like something that belonged in the gates of heaven. The capital City of Florenzia had always been the center of the world for Elena, but looking at Milia for the first time she couldn’t imagine a sight more impressive.

By the time the cart rumbled its way beneath the gates, Elena had started to clear the sleep from her system, and was busy letting her gaze rove over the city they approached.

“
How much weight do you think each wall carries?” she asked Ele, forgetting herself in her excitement, “and how did they know how much the load-bearing stones could support when they put in the arches?”

“
I’m sure I don’t know, Elena,” her mother replied, “but I’m sure you’ll find someone with both the knowledge and inclination to answer anything you might ask. It will be good for you to finally meet your own kind of people. You’ll be able to stop pestering your poor mother with questions.”

“
It’s hard to estimate,” Ele said, just as excited as Elena, “but they’ve got some master stone-workers living here, look at the roads!” He gestured at the smooth stones that made up the street around them, as the cart passed the gates.

It was all too much to take in. As Ele pointed out, even the streets themselves were works of art. Each piece was laid into the ground in odd angles, as if they had just happened to fall where they were, but each fit so perfectly with the others that there wasn’t even space for weeds to grow between them. No sooner had she noticed this than Elena’s attention was grabbed by the deep smooth grooves in the stone, worn and clean, that lay on either side of the road.

“
What are the grooves for?” Elena asked. Her mother gave her a disapproving look, but she couldn’t help herself. Without even waiting for an answer her eyes flicked skyward, following the line of precise buildings until they reached the far-off castle that stood in the center of the town, visible even from its edges.

When they stepped down from the cart and began moving through the city on foot, Elena contented herself with drinking in the sights and listening to Ele chatter, as if he could talk enough for the both of them.

“
Do you see how all the shops have signs of about the same size? I’ll bet that’s a regulation so that no single sign overwhelms the street, but it’s also forcing each shop owner to be unique to catch the attention of passersby,” he noted as they walked through the merchant district.

“
Mortalis merchants,” Joanna sniffed, staring straight ahead as she walked, her chin raised ever so slightly. Elena thought it a little unfair given that their family had always been Mortalis merchants themselves, selling all kinds of goods until she had come along.

“
I had kind of hoped your mother would get lost so we could see more of the city before we reached the studio. She must’ve gotten her hands on a map,” Ele said.

Elena’s Aunt Jiani had visited them once a year every year before she had passed away, and she had regaled Elena with stories and information about the large city. Because of her Elena knew that the city was shaped like a gigantic wheel with the palace at its center. Eight of the wheel’s spokes were Milia’s artisan streets, home of the eight studios in which the Master Artisans of Milia lived and worked, the highest callings in the city.

Not that every Master Artisan was at the same level, of course. It was well known that there was a certain hierarchy to the Masters of Milia, that some were more favored by the palace than others. The merchant shops they passed now all seemed to be high-end, their storefronts decorated subtly and tastefully. Clearly the merchants who operated here on the artisan streets tended to play up that hierarchy.

“
Look, look!” Ele had run ahead and was standing at the street corner, just beneath a small yellow signpost that marked the Street of Yellow Artisans. His face was alight with uncharacteristic awe as he called back to her. “It’s so beautiful!” Elena’s pulse quickened, but she maintained a dignified pace next to her mother as they made their way past the storefronts.

It wasn’t just beautiful. It was a painting, a sculpture, a song and a home all at once. Not a speck of dirt marred the surface of the street, and the few small homes and outer buildings that ran along either side of the street were a uniform light stone, but Elena’s attention was arrested at once by the giant studio that lay on the other end of the street; the workshop of Master Bernardo De Luca. Its tall walls of white stone seemed to shine out light instead of just reflecting it, every line of its arches and embellishments speaking of its purpose.

Even with her mother walking beside her, Elena couldn’t help but let an undignified skip slip into her step.

Finally, after so many months!
she thought,
I’m so close to meeting Master De Luca, it barely even feels real!
She didn’t notice the other people that filled the street, and she wove her way around carts and crates without really seeing them.

“
Elena, look to your left,” Ele interrupted her reverie. “It’s a Rhetor!” Even with the studio in front of her Elena turned to look. The woman was surprisingly normal, tall and delicate with pale skin and golden hair. If not for the contraption of black metal that covered her mouth, she might’ve passed for a regular human.

The mask she wore was thin. It covered the entire lower half of her face and was strong enough to hold her mouth shut firmly. Her vibrant green eyes, the only feature that could be seen, seemed to shine with mystery and secrets. Elena realized with a start that the woman was staring right at her, and a shiver went down her spine. If it wasn’t for the Rhetorguard who stood close by, identifiable by the armor that matched her mask, Elena would be terrified.

True, he was speaking to someone in front of the house, not paying attention, but if he wasn’t there, what would prevent the woman from taking off her mask?

“
Her eyes are pretty,” Ele remarked as they walked past the woman and her Rhetorguard. Elena stopped herself from rolling her own eyes. When they were next alone she would have to tease him about finding a Rhetor attractive.

It happened in a single instant, so quickly that Elena almost missed it. The Rhetor turned her head towards the pair and winked at Ele. Ele froze in the middle of the street, staring in a mix of shock and horror, and Elena felt as if someone had poured ice-water on her.

There had been no one walking behind Ele, no one even in the general direction. In all her life, for the past eighteen years, no one had ever been able to see or talk to him. Elena had decided she was mad many years ago, simply accepting her friend as a part of her madness and living her life with it as best she could. The Rhetor’s green eyes were fixed on her now, and even with the mask it was clear that the woman was smiling.

“
Are you well, miss?” Standing in the middle of the street, Elena had gained the Rhetorguard’s attention. He seemed friendly, but his gaze flicked back and forth between her and his Rhetor, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

“
Elena, come along.” Her mother was fixing both the Rhetor and Rhetorguard with a contemptuous stare, but for once Elena didn’t mind her mother rushing her. She hurried after her mother without answering the Rhetorguard. Her mind was suddenly occupied with much more than her upcoming appointment.

***

When they entered the studio, the overbearing autumn heat melted away, as did all of the noise from the outside. Walking into the cool quiet of the studio antechamber was like entering a god’s private world, which, Elena reasoned, it almost was. Two girls and two boys sat on the long marble benches that lined two walls. On the third wall was a single doorway and a large clock. The slow-turning cogs showed that it was half-past twelve stroke, a little after midday.

“
Your appointment isn’t until thirteen stroke,” Joanna said briskly, her voice breaking the antechamber’s peaceful silence. “You wait here, and I’m going to go collect from that cart-driver’s master the money that he owes us.”

“
Mother he doesn’t owe us any-” Elena began, but her mother had already left. She sat on the very edge of one of the marble benches, casting a sidelong glance at the other four in the room. They were all roughly her age, though they seemed much more comfortable in their city clothing. On the other end of her bench, a very tan young man with short dark hair leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. A little closer to Elena, a girl with similarly black hair tied up in a ponytail fidgeted, her leg bouncing up and down restlessly.

The boy on the other bench wasn’t paying attention to anything around him, his head bowed over a sketch he was drawing with a nub of charcoal. Next to him sat a young woman with long blonde locks and a paintbrush stuck behind one ear, who was fixing Elena with a look of such frank and open curiosity that it made her smile.

“
Hello,” Elena said. The word seemed to bounce off of the walls of the quiet room, and suddenly she had the attention of everyone present. Even the boy who leaned against the wall opened his eyes and fixed them on her. Elena felt very aware of herself again, and wished she hadn’t said anything.

“
Hello!” the girl with the paintbrush said, smiling so warmly that Elena felt emboldened.

“
My name is Elena. Are you here to petition Master De Luca as well?” Elena asked.

“
Oh no, I’m just here with him,” the girl with the paintbrush gestured towards the boy who had returned to his sketch. “All three of us are with him actually, a bit of moral support on an important day. He’s more confident when he has other people around; it forces him to pretend he’s not terrified.”

“
I don’t need to pretend,” the sketching boy muttered, “you three are the only ones who seem to think I won’t get in.”

“
I’m Arta, by the way,” paintbrush girl ignored her friend, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Elena. And what’s your name?”

“
Um...Elena,” Elena repeated, “you just said it.”

“
Oh, no, I heard you,” Arta laughed, “I was asking him.” She pointed next to Elena’s bench, where Ele stood with wide eyes.

Elena’s heart raced as if she had been running. She sat frozen on the cool marble bench, trying to fit Arta’s statement into a context that made sense. In all the years Ele had been her companion, no one in the village had been able to hear or see him. When she was a little girl her neighbors and family would humor her, but the older she got the less endearing they found it.

“
My name is Ele. I’m Elena’s friend,” Ele said slowly, searching Arta’s face.

“
It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ele,” Arta smiled, and Elena shook her head once as if she could snap herself out of a dream. How many dozens of people in Carpi had treated her with scorn until she had learned to pretend she couldn’t see him? How many inventive and effective punishments had her mother devised before the lesson had sunk in?

Elena rubbed her wrist; now that she was thinking about it the dull pain from earlier in the day had returned. The restless girl, the sleeping boy, and the boy who sketched with charcoal were all treating the conversation as if it were small talk, like they were discussing the weather.

“
Can...can everyone in the city see him?” Elena ventured a guess.

“
Everyone?” The restless girl at the end of her bench had stopped shaking her leg, and was instead staring at Elena with raised eyebrows. “Do you not know...you don’t know about Echoes do you? How small
was
your town? Haven’t you ever met another Stormtouched before?”

“
Of course I have!” Elena bristled at the girl’s pitying tone, “Carpi might be small, but we’re not so small as all that. The General of our standing reserve is a low-level Lanisti, and my great uncle is a Faberi, just like me.”

“
And neither of them could see Ele? Neither of them had anyone who always hung around with them? Are you really from such a backwater that
no one
knew
anything
about Stormtouched?”

“
Isadora,” the boy next to Arta looked up from his sketch, “don’t be mean. If they didn’t have any Stormtouched before-Elena, was it? -then how would they know?”

“
We
did
have Stormtouched, I just told you,” even though the boy had defended her, Elena was starting to dislike the entire group, ‘Isadora’ especially. “Uncle Chroli couldn’t see Ele, and I’ve never spoken to the General, but I’m sure he couldn’t see Ele either. You’re the first, besides...” Elena lowered her voice without thinking, “...besides a Rhetor we saw in the street today. Do you think a Rhetor could’ve done something to make Ele suddenly visible?”

“
Elena, no,” Arta was clearly choosing her words carefully, trying to be gentle. “The Rhetor saw Ele because she is, by definition, a Stormtouched. If your uncle and General couldn’t see Ele, it means they aren’t Stormtouched.”

“
But-”

“
It makes sense when you think about it,” Isadora interrupted, “they picked the two Storms that are the easiest to fake. I feel bad for all the Carp who overspend on your fake Faberi’s fake goods and your fake Lanisti’s fake leading.”

“
Now listen-” Elena stood up to face the girl, but her mother’s sudden sharp exclamation from the doorway broke her diatribe before she had even started.

“
Elena,” Joanna’s voice was quiet, but it always seemed more dangerous that way. The single word conveyed volumes of oft-repeated lectures, scoldings about how a Lucciano should act, about never losing her temper. Elena’s wrist throbbed as she sat back down without a word.

“
Hello, miss!” Arta said brightly. “You must be Elena’s mother! We were just talking about how Elena is the only one in your village who is actually Stormtouched. You must not know much about the subject since you never talked with her about it.” Elena sucked in a breath at the disrespect, but Joanna didn’t so much as blink. She sat next to Elena, sliding through Ele who scowled and moved to the other side.

“
You see?” Arta said. “Normal humans. They can’t see us, hear us, touch us. To Mortalis, we Echoes don’t exist.” Elena had composed herself by this point, hands folded in her lap, mind racing. Arta was one of these “Echoes”, like Ele? How many others in the city were there? Would Elena have to be careful of
everyone
she spoke to from now on in case she risked making a fool of herself?

“
Don’t look so miserable! Aren’t you glad to know you’re not crazy? Isn’t it vindicating, having proof that everyone in your village was wrong and you were right?” Arta’s voice was soothing, but Elena couldn’t quite muster the relief that the Echo-girl was expecting of her. Ignoring someone other than Ele felt strange, being in this huge city felt strange, and she suddenly wished that she could be back at home where everything was familiar and safe.

But if I did that, I wouldn’t be meeting Master De Luca today,
Elena reminded herself.
I wouldn’t have the chance to become his garzona.
An apprenticeship was the first step on the road to the courts; first a garzona, then a journeyman, then an artist in her own right. From Milian courts she would work her way up, until finally the Queen of Italoza herself would be Elena’s patron.

I can handle strange, if it means reaching my dreams.
She tried to avoid looking at Arta, who was fiddling with the paintbrush behind her ear.
At least discovering that Ele is real is the strangest thing that will happen to me today.

“
Miss Joanna and Elena Lucciano? I am Master De Luca’s page, Pietro. I believe you have an appointment to see me.” Elena looked up from her musing to meet the eyes of a young boy, and she cursed her thoughts. The boy was dressed in very fine clothes, a velvet cap with a feather sitting jauntily in it. Every inch of him, from his eyes to his skin to the perfect curls of his hair was carved out of fine white marble.