Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter IV

Idabel

The carriage stank of horses and dust and miserable, sticky travelers. Whenever the waxed curtains were drawn, they couldn’t breathe. Yet, as soon as they opened them, the dust came blowing in. Idabel was almost of a mind to walk the rest of the way to Esset, but they were still many miles out from the capital’s limits.

Patience, she told herself. You’ll be there soon.

Every spring since he’d become Lord of Orrendale, her husband had been invited to the Great Conclave. As lord of the largest crop-house in Arras, it was his chance to report on the state of farming and the management of their land, to address certain concerns, settle house-to-house disputes, and bring otherwise-unheard complaints from smaller crop-houses to the Counsel. She had never been but knew that meetings were conducted over extravagant meals, attendees were treated to the most fantastic entertainment, and the ten days culminated in a ball known as the Festival of Light. Having had very young children for most of her marriage, Idabel had always been relegated to the keep at Orrendale. But her youngest had turned seven last winter, and her oldest—the twins—were just fifteen. So this spring, after sixteen years, she was returning to the city of her youth.

“It’s so dry,” Edrianne murmured, one hand keeping her veil down. “Just golden hills and twirly oaks.”

Edric grunted. His eyes were closed, his head lolling as he half-napped. He’d long since lost interest in their surroundings. His distaste for the journey as a whole had been made known from the very beginning.

“What happens first? When we get there.”

Idabel smiled at her daughter’s furrowed brow, visible even under her veil. Edrianne was always thinking about what would come next. It was her way.

“A bath.”

Edrianne hummed thoughtfully, missing her mother’s humor. Edric grinned, his eyes still closed. In all honesty, Idabel didn’t know what would happen. Her husband had gone ahead, to prepare for their arrival and arrange a few business meetings. Every lord in Arras would be there. He would need to make the most of it and renew old friendships. Idabel herself had a list of people she hadn’t seen in a decade.

“I just wish the little ones could have come,” her daughter admitted. “It’s been so boring without them.”

“They’re better off at home, Edie,” Edric said, sitting up and stretching. “I rather wish I’d been left behind.”

Idabel had been content to let her children blabber but that was quite enough.

“I don’t think either of you appreciate how important this is.”

Her son looked away, suddenly interested in the world outside the carriage.

“But why did we have to come this year, mother? You couldn’t leave Sisi or Aleskar last season, but we’re old enough to care for them now.”

Edric watched his mother, waiting for her answer. His arms were crossed. His jaw was tense. His face gave little away. Edrianne looked between them.

“If Edric is to be lord one day, and I’m to have my own house, we ought to practice,” she finished, uncertain. “If you think about it.”

Her daughter had posed a good question, one that was difficult for Idabel to answer honestly. Even as far as Idabel herself was concerned, while she missed the capital’s bustling nature, the milder seas of the southern region, the food, the fashion, the sense of being at the center of everything, none of these reasons were why she had come. And they certainly weren’t why she—and many others, no doubt—were bringing their brightest children of betrothal age to the capital of Esset.

There were deepening rumors that the Counsel intended to reinstate the mortal throne, an institution that had been disbanded since before the current age. It was a political move, obviously. The recent banishment of house Binashar had been viewed by many as unnecessary and oppressive, considering that they had sworn ignorance about the halfbloods hiding in their caves and had never committed an infraction against the Counsel in the history of their house.

“Anyone could have made such a mistake,” her husband had said. “We’re spread too thinly to have such expectations.”

 The rumors of a mortal throne indicated that the Counsel had seemingly heard the growing discontent and was taking it seriously. No one knew when or to what degree a king—or queen—might rule, but every mortal house had begun positioning itself. Under Idabel’s careful eye, Orrendale would not be the last to do so.

“Your father and I wanted you to come. That is all you need to know,” she finally said, eyeing her children. “You will listen, learn and represent our house well. And be thankful, for goodness sake,” she finished. “This is a great honor.”

Neither of her beautiful children looked convinced. They’d grown up running through the fields and groves and vineyards of Orrendale, along the shores of Lachslo and through the friendly burgh of Lachslead. They were country children on their way to the largest city in the world. Sometimes, she forgot that they didn’t have her upbringing.

“Why do you love it so much?” Edric asked, honestly bewildered. “They can’t grow things. There’s no water. It’s grim.”

“This—” Idabel gestured at the rolling hills outside the carriage. “Is not Esset, dear. This is the midcountry.”

He sniffed. “Still.”

“I spent much of my childhood in Esset with my sisters and mother, after our father’s death. We bathed in the sea and spent hours in the great gardens,” she said, remembering those golden days but unable to call the right words to mind. “And anyways, it's of historical importance—the city has stood for a thousand years. It’s the one place where mages, half-bloods and mortals live together, in relative harmony.”

The sounds of the rumbling carriage filled the air again. After a moment, Edric shrugged and, once he’d drawn his mother’s gaze, gave her a faintly defiant look. Then he leaned his head back again, crossed his arms and shut his eyes.

“I’d still rather be hunting with Kol.”

Idabel was weary of chastising the boy for his endless well of defiance and such defiance would serve him well when he eventually took Trebor’s lordship, so she said nothing. The three of them dozed on and off for the remainder of the journey, until a new smell swept through the carriage—a tangy, damp scent that pulled Idabel out of her hazy daydreams. Her children, too, had noticed and awoke a moment after she did. Both scrambled to the eastern side of the carriage, to peer out at the new surroundings. While they’d slept, the road had turned sharply east, leaving the hills and fields of the midcountry, and heading almost straight for the sea. The fresh, salty air swept away the memory of the many miles between them and their inland home, almost like a perfume. A blackish, grey-blue line stretched out endlessly on their left, unbroken but for a distant, shrouded line of islands. Edric pointed.

“Is that the sea?”

“It is, indeed.” Idabel began fixing her dress, a spring gown of light, spun cloth that breathed well in the oft-oppressive heat of the capital. “When we’re closer I’ll—Edric!”

The boy had pushed the top half of the carriage door open, pulled himself up onto the roof and joined the driver. As if she’d been expecting it, Edrianne closed the carriage door behind him amiably, making sure it was secure. Sometimes, Idabel couldn’t understand how such different children could have shared the same womb.

“What were you saying, mother?”

She sighed. “That I’ll point out the more interesting landmarks as we get closer.”

Edrianne smiled, leaning her head to one side. “I’d like that.”

The capital of Esset could best be described as a collection of smaller cities that, over hundreds of years, had become one, eventually blanketing the sprawling Teverene River delta. Those different cities—Osna, Sarqen, Mor-Garial—had in turn become merely quarters within Esset, known for their variances in culture and food and marketable goods. When the tide was up, some of the inlets that snaked through the city were large enough for sea-faring ships to sail along. It was a puzzle of brackish water, bridges and ribboning land, trimmed on the ocean side by a protected harbor that was in turn hemmed in by a long, narrow peninsula. Even from this distance, Idabel could see the spire of the lighthouse. Every time it swung their way, a pinprick of light glimmered through the hazy air. Her daughter squinted at the ocean.

“What’s that bit of water, before the sea?”

“It’s the largest harbor in all of Arras. Ashraine’s Hithe,” Idabel offered. “It was a very popular name for girls, when I was your age.”

“Ashraine?”

Edrianne's eyes were wide. Idabel laughed at her daughter’s horror. The girl blinked and pursed her lips.

“Did you consider giving me that name?”

“We did. But it was going out of fashion by the time you and your brother were born,” Idabel mused. “And it doesn’t sound as pretty with Orrendale as Edrianne.”

Her daughter looked relieved. “I have to agree.”

Outside, their driver began to shout and the carriage lurched a little. The day of travel had overall been quiet, but being this close to Esset meant they now had to share the road. The many characters now making use of the thoroughfare—Shaandi boys with dark eyes and bright hats, fishermen selling dried wares, mule-drawn carts of colorful cloth that fluttered in the breeze, even some singers—made for a far more interesting sight than the distant ocean. Quite suddenly, a pair of curious, young faces popped up in the window, only their eyes and tousled hair visible. A grubby hand reached into the carriage. Edrianne gasped. Idabel hissed and batted it away, and the children melted back into the crowd. Her daughter looked on with shocked concern, now sitting squarely in the middle of her carriage seat, away from the windows.

“Esset is not always kind to the less fortunate,” Idabel offered, remembering her own childhood. “It’s always been that way.”

When they slowed nearly to a stop, Edric rejoined them, hardly looking like the disinterested boy from earlier. As he climbed back into the carriage, his eyes were bright and his nose was reddened from his brief time in the sun. They picked up speed again and bumped their way over the first bridge.

“What’s that smell?” Edrianne asked. “You’ve been eating something.”

Edric held a strip of meat out towards her. “It’s not bad.”

She took it delicately between two fingers and sniffed it.

“Starved,” he groaned, wiping his hands on his trousers. Then, to Idabel: “How far are we?”

“Another hour, I’d say. I see you’re finally enjoying yourself.”

Edric shrugged, taking a breath. “Very different to home. I saw a pair of fighters on the road—I think they’re halfbloods.”

“Oh!” Edrianne swallowed the bite of dried meat. “Like Kol.”

Idabel shook her head. “Kol is different. Here, halfbloods are first and foremost servants of the Counsel. They are safe, but not all are warm to mortals.”

For a second time, and likely not the last, her daughter looked troubled. Her face fell at her mother’s words.

“I’m not sure I like it here.”

Idabel pressed her daughter’s knee. “Wait until you see Dabdagan, before you pass judgment. The gardens there are enchanting.”

That seemed to ease the girl’s mind enough. They were in the thick of Esset now, passing through the city’s different quarters and over many bridges. The savors and scents of unfamiliar dishes wafted towards them on the evening air, along with the less pleasant smells that could only be found in a crowded city. Lanterns were lit, and rhythmic lilting music played. Taverns and eateries were filled to bursting. People tried to sell things to them, all in the common tongue but with unfamiliar accents. Some had the demanding sharpness of the north, while others sounded like home, and still others had the low and gentle lilt of those that lived at the edge of the Shaandilar.

The carriage stopped. Outside, two men spoke in hushed tones. Edric was moving for the carriage door when a familiar face poked in.

“Send these country bumpkins back to where they came from!”

Edrianne giggled and swept her veil over her head. “Father.”

The children bundled out of the carriage, accosting Trebor and being accosted in turn with hugs. As she climbed out and stretched to her full height for the first time since noontime, Idabel’s own relief surprised her. They had hardly been alone, of course—four riders and a driver had accompanied them from Orrendale to Esset—but she hadn’t realized how strained she’d felt until now. It wasn’t the same as having Trebor nearby.

“I’ve brought you city ponies,” her husband announced, sweeping one arm at four small horses. “They’ve been bred and trained for the steep city paths. And they’re said to be very clever.”

As Edrianne and Edric made their way towards their new pets, Trebor turned to Idabel and folded her into his side with a kiss. He held her there, for longer than she would have expected in public. He lowered his mouth to her ear.

“Ida, love,” he murmured. “Did you not receive my message to turn back?”

Her elation faded. She shook her head, once. She felt his angst as he sighed against her hair. He managed to retain a pleasant expression when they parted, but Idabel caught the tension in his eyes. The riders who’d accompanied them mirrored their lord’s unspoken disquiet, facing outwards, covering all angles. Trebor looked at each member of the group.

“We will make do.”

“With what, father?”

Edric was watching them from his pony’s saddle—it tossed its head, eager to be moving. Edrianne was still petting the other one, as it leaned into her hand gently. Somehow, they had gone to the right horses on their own.

“We’ll make do with what?”

“With you,” Trebor jested, checking the boy’s stirrups. “Come, let’s take you the pretty way to the house.”

“Can we go by the gardens?” He lifted Edrianne onto her saddle. “Mother says the gardens here are as beautiful as ours.”

Edric sat straight on his horse, looking towards the great fortress. “I overheard some people talking about match-day. What is that?”

As her children began demanding answers about this new city, Idabel could only think about what Trebor had whispered. Fear bloomed in her. She couldn’t imagine why he would send a messenger to tell them not to come to the capital, or why the messenger had failed to reach them in time. Trebor had never been one to panic, so whatever his reasoning, it would be rooted in the truth. Idabel swung up into the saddle of the last pony. Its head and ears twitched when she took the reins, sensing her unease.

Edric and Edrianne were lined up behind Trebor, the children eyeing her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Trebor’s expression was harder to read. They were in a quieter part of the city now, in the locale that preceded the more heavily guarded bridges, finer quarters and fortress itself. The carriage, with the bulk of their clothes and luggage, was already lumbering away. Their belongings would find them by another path. Up ahead, the conical fortress rose against the sunset sky—darker and more looming than Idabel remembered. She set her shoulders and held the reins steady.

Trebor nodded. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Hemmed in by their guards, they trotted through the winding streets towards the fortress, with their backs mostly to the sea. Slowly, the bawdy music and raucous carrying-on faded entirely into the hushed tones of fountains and birds, and cultured laughter. In the shadow of the fortress, the air was cool and damp, rich with the scent of spring. Elaborate lanterns had already been lit, providing a diffused, dreamy light. Trimmed vines crept along walls and gates, flowers bloomed in protected coves, and the cobblestones turned to sandstone slabs. It became harder to tell which paths were public and which belonged to any one of the houses that lined the road, many of them shielded from view by rows of narrow trees.

“Cyfriss and junifer,” Edrianne noted, taking a deep breath. “And citrines?”

“Well spotted,” Trebor said, stopping in front of a heavy-looking, wooden gate. He dismounted and helped Idabel down first. “This is where we’ll be staying for our time in Esset. Go on, have a look.”

Edric pushed through the gate first and Edrianne followed, reaching for the plants around her, smelling the flowers and herbs. Servants appeared and took their horses away. They were in a rounded courtyard with a small pond, and a stone house at the opposite end. Pale curtains fluttered in every window, the fragrance of blue jasmian filled the air, and isydenias grew in shaded corners. It was both groomed yet wild, an ode to the flowers and greenery. A fresh breeze blew through the main room of the house as you entered, sweeping in rich, salty air and the crisp must of river water. Beyond that first room, the back of the house opened directly onto an arm of the Teverene River. Their path had taken so many twists and turns, that Idabel had lost track of it. When she realized where they were, she looked at Trebor. He shrugged.

“You always wanted to stay on River Row.”

Idabel shook her head, stunned.

“Look,” Edric shouted, already down by the river’s edge. “Our own boat!”

“Don’t touch the water,” Idabel ordered. “It’s filthy.”

Edrianne looked confused. “A boat? But what about the ponies?”

“Boats can be quicker than the ponies here,” Trebor explained. “If you know the right routes.”

Idabel hummed, feigning interest. She wanted the children gone, so she could ask the only question that mattered at this moment. With a sharp clap, she drew their attention. Edrianne was already picking river reeds, naturally.

“Go inside and wash up,” she said. “Then it’s supper and bed.” 

Trebor nodded. “Yes, we have an early start.”

There was no joy in his voice.

“You were right, mum,” Edrianne said as she passed with an armful of greenery.

“About what?”

“The bath. Being the first thing we’d do.”

Once the children had gone inside, Idabel turned to find Trebor facing eastward, his face distorted with concern. They looked out over the darkening sea together, the sun setting behind them. Many an evening they had stood together as night fell, but with a very different view. What she wouldn’t give to see the rolling hills and scattered vineyards, the narrow canals and bright green groves of Orrendale. 

“Everyone’s children are being tested for dreams.”

It was a moment before his words made any sense. Somewhere, a seagull screeched. The crash of distant waves traveled back to them on the breeze. Idabel kept her voice steady.

“They said nothing about this in the dispatch.”

“By design, I’m sure.”

Her heart stuttered. She suddenly wanted the twins with them again. She wanted to see them. They were arguing in the upper level of the house.

“We’ll leave. At dawn.”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder, voice low. “The chance to avoid it is past.”

Fury rose in her. “Trebor.”

“Think, Ida,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Fleeing would be an admission and a direct affront to the Counsel.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. If only the letter had gotten to them. Why hadn’t the letter gotten to them in time? She would have taken the twins right back to Orrendale. She felt queasy.

“If they have the dreams, everyone will know that—”

“Don’t,” he said. “We swore we would never say it.”

She remembered. Their first promise to one another, made many months before they had promised their lives, had been to keep a secret. The House of Orrendale had not produced a Drifter for a hundred years and Idabel’s house, Dulac, had never had a Drifter in its entire history. Thus, by all accounts, neither Edric nor Edrianne should have the kinds of dreams that the Counsel prized so highly. Except Trebor wasn’t their father.

And how quickly it all came rushing back. Being a child, with child. Her betrothed dead. No way out. Then Trebor, a very instrument of the gods.

“What will we do?”

He shrugged. “Endure. If they laugh, they laugh.”

Trebor’s honor being questioned was bad enough but, with the Counsel on edge and houses being unnamed, the timing could not be more dreadful. And the mortal throne, while always a long shot for either of the twins, had just gotten farther away. To Idabel’s eye, the trip was all but lost.

“But at a time like this?” She whispered. “Awful.”

“We always knew this day might come,” he said, shaking his head. “We will bear up under what comes the same way we do the seasons.”

They hardly had another choice. She sighed, but nodded. He leaned over and kissed her again, this time more deeply. But they were still outside, for any curious passersby to see. Realizing this abruptly, she broke away.

“Dear gods,” she murmured, checking that her hair was still set. “Really.”

He had a treacherously knowing look. His gaze roved over her briefly. Idabel laughed and turned towards the house decidedly.

“You’re mad.”

Trebor’s eyes danced. “No. Just hungry. And,” he went on. “Given what might be revealed in the coming days, it can’t hurt for us to look—” He pursed his lips, pretending to search for the right word. “Devoted.”

“Indeed,” she quipped with amusement. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to discuss.”

“See?” He came up beside her, tapping his head. “Strategy, Ida. All for strategy.”

She laughed. He always could make her laugh.