Finder: First Ordinance, Book One (11 page)

Going back to the mirror, I turned to the side and caught my first glimpse of the nubs growing there. Sadly, they resembled ugly, plucked chicken's wings and caused me to hang my head in shame. Those nubs would now be exposed to all I encountered, and if tradition continued, they'd be the cause for much ridicule and many a joke.

Putting those thoughts away, I found something more at the bottom of the clothing pile and determined it was clothing to sleep in, consisting of loose, silky trousers and a matching top that tied around my neck and waist, covering only my small breasts and ribs. I'd never had anything so soft against my skin and savored it as I dressed for bed.

* * *

"Write a letter for me, I'll pay to have it sent." Orik, captain of the Sea Hawk, stood inside Sofi's tailor shop. Sofi stared at the captain—she hadn't seen him since the girl had repaired his ankle.

"All right. Who is it for?"

"For Prince Amlis," Orik sighed. "Might I sit down? This is a sad tale and worse for the telling of it."

* * *

The bump on my head was very sore the next morning, but I was up and dressed long before Gurnil knocked on my door. I'd made up the bed, tidied the room and even scrubbed the tiled shower before his arrival. There was still not much hair on my head to comb through, but I combed it anyway and was as presentable as I could be when the Master Scholar came to my door.

"Much, much better," Gurnil nodded approval and led me down the hall toward the Library door. "Normally I would fly down, but as you can't," he saw no need to finish the sentence and truly I did not require it. I could see easily enough how being without wings in this place was a decided disadvantage.

Likely, the basket I'd ridden inside was the only way in or out on the outside, and once at the bottom, there were no boats in which to sail away from a narrow strip of sand. Because of its location, the glass palace was a sanctuary for those with wings.
Built as the ultimate defense, long ago
, my senses informed me. Stifling a sigh, I followed silently behind Master Gurnil.

The kitchen when we arrived was a noisome place—more so, even, than Wolter's kitchen in Lironis. Pots clattered, voices shouted, laughed or talked and there were no fireplaces anywhere. All of the workers—every single one, had yellow wings. Those wings were either held away from bodies to cool off or clamped tightly against backs as things were stirred or chopped or kneaded. And every Yellow Wing, male and female, eventually stopped talking and stared directly at me.

"What's that doing here?" One large male, brandishing a meat cleaver, pointed the sharp instrument in my direction. An angry frown darkened his face, which was round and normally might have held a sunny smile. Nothing close to that was aimed in my direction. "Send it to the King, for extermination." He chopped furiously at a leg of lamb, venting his obvious displeasure at my presence.

"The King sent her to me last night, after the Orb appeared and prevented her death. Twice." Gurnil's words were clipped and angry. "She is here, now, by the King's decision. If she does not work out, then bring her back to me and I will search for another post."

"How long?" The words were punctuated by heavy chops into the flesh of a young lamb.

"At least a moon-turn. Mind you, she is to be treated like any other Avii while she is in your kitchen."

"Our laws do not protect that filth."

"Our laws were designed around them. I ask that you recall your history." Gurnil snapped his wings and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving me at the mercy of nearly two dozen angry Yellow Wings. And, since Gurnil had not stayed long enough to give any name for me, I was called girl the rest of the day. But that was not the worst of my troubles.

"You got them killed," a woman hissed in my ear as a tray piled high with filled plates was handed to me and I followed other servers to a wide dining hall, where many Black-Winged men and women waited for breakfast. All were seated on long, communal benches and tea or coffee was offered, in addition to fruit juice, something I'd seen little of during my lifetime.

Counting quickly, I moved past the server before me and began serving past what she held enough plates to feed. When my tray was empty, I returned to the kitchen for another load, then another, until I'd made five trips. Seven others served with me; four of the seven were female, three were male. These were younger than the others in the kitchen, but the eldest of the servers was still older than I.

The entire time I carried heavy trays, I wondered at the woman's words and wondered even more about who
they
might be. In my recollection (at least past the age of three or four), I had never willingly participated in any death, so my curiosity was aroused as to why she would think that of me.

I was set to loading dishes into a dish
machine
, as the woman called it who now supervised my every movement. The moment came while I was heaving rather large pots into the wide maw of this metal monster, the moment I'd expected from the beginning.

"Half-blood naked wing," was sung at my back, accompanied by a thwack from a wooden spoon that landed between my shoulder blades. Ignoring the second blow that landed, I kept loading the dish machine until it was full, added the powder that I understood would make the dishes clean and shut the door, starting the flow of water that sprayed from multitudes of tiny openings inside the machine itself.

"What's the matter, can't talk? Did they cut out your tongue?" The young man backed away when I turned to face him.

"Wouldn't surprise me any," my supervisor said, setting more dishes onto the wide, wood-block table next to the dish machine. "They're barbarians, plain and simple. Probably can't read, either. I hear they're not educating anyone, these days. Doesn't matter, they'll all die in the mud and slop, and good riddance to them when they do." Another pile of plates was thumped onto the table.

I watched the woman carefully as she spoke; she looked young but my senses told me otherwise. Her age surprised me when I searched for it—she was nearing three hundred turns and looked less than one-tenth that amount. It frightened me so badly that I refused to search ages on anyone else for a while.

My day went much the same, with taunts, insults and questions about my breeding coming into play, in addition to several blows while the Master Cook wasn't looking. I was sent away after serving an evening meal—those who came on duty before the midday meal would stay and clean up.

Grateful to get away from the noisy kitchen and those inside it who thought so little of me, I made my way through the halls, intent upon reaching the Library. Unerringly, as was my gift, I made my way, arriving just in time to find Gurnil leaving it.

"I thought I'd have to guide you back," he was quite surprised to find me there. "Have you eaten?" I shook my head. I'd not been offered food or drink the entire day. Punishment for some offense attributed to all Fyrisians, I'd decided. I'd been given an apron, at least, so my clothes were mostly clean although I did smell as if I'd worked inside a kitchen all day, with cooking smells clinging to skin and fabric.

"Well, come with me, then. Your work kitchen is the one that feeds the guard and army. I'll take you to the one that serves the Guild journeymen and artisans." I followed Gurnil down a different path, arriving in a smaller dining hall where I gaped at the different wing colors present.

"I see you haven't been taught, so I will tell you now that the wing colors represent what each one does," Gurnil pointed me to a chair at a table. These tables were not long and had individual chairs instead of benches lining each side. I settled into the seat indicated, while Gurnil sat beside me. Shockingly enough, Daragar the Larentii appeared and somehow, making a chair on the opposite side much larger to fit his size, sat as well.

"He doesn't eat, he just prefers to observe. Occasionally he talks," Gurnil smiled at me. I stared open-mouthed at the Larentii. He didn't eat? How did he live?

He must have read my expression, as he suddenly smiled. The white of his teeth was like sunlight breaking through clouds on a rainy day, it was so dazzling. "I consume sunlight," he informed me gently. "It feeds me. Therefore, I do eat, after a fashion."

"Quin, I've never gotten that much information from him before. Usually he's as silent as a fish twenty fathoms down." Gurnil winked at me before turning to Daragar. "How do you consume sunlight?"

"When Quin speaks, she may ask." Daragar wasn't going to answer Gurnil.

You don't have to answer, I already know
, I silently informed him. Daragar blinked at me before smiling again. I did know. As soon as he'd said he consumed sunlight, I realized it soaked through his skin and fed his energy.

"The little one does not consume meat of any kind," Daragar said, causing Gurnil to stare at me. "You should inform the servers accordingly."

"I'll do that," Gurnil rose from his seat and went toward the kitchen door.

"The wings are divided thus," Daragar said after Gurnil disappeared inside the kitchen. "Yellow, the most common wing color, becomes a servant, a cook or a kitchen helper. Black Wings are born to be guards, warriors and officers. Gray Wings are farmers, herders and butchers. Brown Wings are blacksmiths, artists and artisans, including weavers, tailors and such. Green Wings are healers, healer's assistants and chemists. Blue Wings are scholars, librarians and teachers. Red Wings, well, Red Wings are royalty. At this time, there are only five of those, and of those five, only one is female. Jurris wishes to make Halthea Queen, but Justis, his brother and former Captain of the Queen's guard, insists that Queen Elabeth refused to name Halthea heir and so Halthea stews over it. So far, Justis has managed to hold his brother the King off, saying that a Queen will come for the Avii. Jurris grows tired of waiting, little one. If a Red Wing female does not come soon, then Halthea will be placed on the Avii throne."

"They're preparing vegetables for Quin," Gurnil sat beside me again. Too bad he hadn't gotten the information I did from Daragar. The Larentii became quiet when Gurnil returned.

Plates were brought out before long; vegetables for me, tender roast for Gurnil. Staring at the greens on one side of my plate, I carefully avoided them as I ate everything around them.

"What's the matter, don't you like greens? Those are very good, with salt and butter," Gurnil urged me to eat them.

"Then tell your kitchen staff not to spit in them next time," Daragar said and disappeared again. I shoved my plate away at Daragar's verification of what I'd already known.

"I'll blister their ears," Gurnil pushed back his chair. I gripped his arm and shook my head at him.

"It will make it worse next time, won't it?" he settled into his seat. Wordlessly, I nodded. "Did Daragar tell you? I understand he has mindspeech. Camryn and Elabeth had it too, and they spoke to another Larentii who visited during their time. Well, all that is over, now. We have Jurris, who has no mindspeech. Are you ready? You look weary."

I nodded at his question and meekly followed him away from the dining hall. Most of its occupants had quieted when we walked in and voices were raised the moment we walked out.

* * *

Two weeks in the kitchens saw no improvement in my treatment. Insults came every day, food was refused and blows were delivered when no one of import was watching. Mostly they were dealt by a young man named Jadin, who was quite adept at hiding his misdeeds from the others.

Several Black Wings refused to be served by me after a while, so I avoided them. Still, I was shoved by one guard or another as I made my way down the lengthy tables, handing out plates of food. At times, it became a balancing act as I wobbled this way and that after a shove, just to keep from spilling the tray of food onto the floor.

The day came, however, as it surely must, when I did drop my tray, and it wasn't from a shove or an insult or even from a wooden spoon between my shoulder blades. No—on this day, one of the Black Wings decided to pull a nub. Had I known it would be so painful? My vision went black from the hurt of it, the tray went crashing onto the floor and I right behind it, bent double from the agony in my back.

"Do that again," a voice hissed above me, "and I'll have you court-martialed. Do you hear me?" The voice's owner had jerked up the one who'd grabbed my nub and was hissing a threat in his face as I cowered at their feet.

"Yes, Commander Justis." The answer was stuttered—the offender was terrified of Commander Justis. If I hadn't been rocking in pain on the floor, covered in food and broken pottery, I might have recalled that Daragar had mention Commander Justis. Only he'd called him the former Captain of the Queen's guards. With the absence of a Queen, he'd chosen to command the Palace guards, instead.

"Girl," I was lifted from the floor by a hand on my arm, "Go to the Healer's Wing and ask them to look at the injury. Tell them Justis sent you." I stared into eyes as black as his wings and hair. This was the King's brother, after all, but Justis' face held none of the cruelty belonging to his red-winged sibling.

"She can't speak, Commander. Hasn't, anyway." That, from one of my fellow servers—a female.

"Then go with her. You," he poked the offender in the chest, "You'll clean up this mess and then help serve. Do it now. I'll be watching." Commander Justis stalked away while I waited for the Yellow Wing to come with me. The clatter of broken crockery being piled onto a tray sounded behind us as the girl led me away from the dining hall.