Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter XIV
Idabel
“I cannot leave Esset. Not with Edrianne here.”
Kol’s message that one of the most powerful and dreaded mages of the present age, Revon Evershade, had left seclusion and was somehow in Orrendale, while she and Trebor were a hundred miles away, had nearly undone Idabel. In terms of political importance, the twins were safe enough, but her two younger children and her little sister—visiting for the summer—were back home. Thankfully, Sani had had all three spirited away to a nearby family lodge upon the mage’s arrival, but her family was fractured, and becoming more so every day. She felt it.
“I know,” her husband mused. “Nor can I. It’s increasingly important that we press our interests here, at the center of things.”
A pile of fine cloth had been delivered earlier that day, for the Festival of Light—an event which would also serve as Edrianne’s official introduction to Dabdagan, the Counsel, and her peers. Idabel had had it ordered before their arrival.
It seems an age ago.
She ran her fingers over the different textures, barely recognizing the brilliant colors, her mind uncharacteristically lacking in creativity. On any other day, in any other place, she would have already designed an enviable gown for her daughter. A dress fit for the girl’s delicate beauty. Today, it seemed that Edrianne would be fortunate to have a gown at all.
Enough. Idabel let the cloth fall and sat down into a chair across from Trebor. She sank, leaning her head back, exhausted for no good reason. He looked surprised.
“Done?”
“For now,” she sighed. “And you? How were the day’s meetings been? I hadn’t asked.”
He nodded. “Good—in business terms. Old contracts renewed, and all that. But everyone is vying for position, given the possiblity of a mortal throne,” he admitted thoughtfully.
“What?”
“I worry.”
She leaned her chin her hand. “Why?”
“The details on the issue are light, no matter who I ask. It could very well be a distraction.”
Idabel hummed. “That had occurred to me.”
“What better way to quell our displeasure at the unclaiming of so many houses, but to give us a chance at ruling over the rest,” he said with disgust. “And yet here we all are. Every one of us.”
Downstairs, the front door slammed open. Heavy, flopping footsteps took the stairs two at a time. Someone knocked, was granted entrance, and Edric pushed his way into the room. Whereas Edrianne had not minded coming to the capital and now found herself trapped there, Edric had disdained the trip and now found himself quite entertained. Some kind of match or sport was always happening on their side of the city, and getting from one inlet or peninsula to another was rather simple with the dozens of regular water ferries. Once he had happily failed the dreaded testing for dreams, the boy had figured out how to get from place to place, and spent his days keeping their guards very busy.
His nose was burnt, his hat was gone, and he stank of sweat and city grime. Trebor chuckled at his son, looking him up and down with reasonable pride. Edric was tall and strong, and confident to a fault. With the proper education, he would make a compelling Lord of Orrendale.
“Well, what is it now?”
“There is a halfblood fight happening in the pits tonight,” the boy panted. “But a guardian must attend with us. And Kol isn’t on our list.”
Kol appeared in the doorway then. The halfblood had always had a scarce smile, but Edric never failed to bring it out of him. He leaned against the jam.
“I should be heading back north—”
“Oh no!” Edric cried. “Not so soon.”
“—to check on things,” he finished. “Sani’s been on her own for a few days now. I’m sure my return would be appreciated.”
At Kol’s knowing look, Trebor stood, taking the halfblood’s hand. “Yes, you’re quite right. Thank you, Kol.”
Kol bowed in Idabel’s direction then turned to Edric: “Be careful in the streets and be home soon, young lord.”
Then he was gone. He would be halfway to Orrendale in no time at all. In spite of everything, the thought gave Idabel a measure of relief. Edric huffed.
“Will you come, father?” The boy was singular. “They’re already started.”
“Yes. Go downstairs and wait for me.”
Edric glanced around the room. “Where’s Edrianne?”
“Staying with my aunt,” Idabel said. “Until tomorrow.”
“Still mad then.”
Idabel shushed him and waved him out but didn’t deny it. Her normally gentle daughter had been quiet and brooding ever since she’d learned that Dabdagan was to be her home for the next few years, and had opted to spend a few nights away from the family. Several invitations for evening events had come in, and Edrianne had rejected them all. It was her way, when she was angry.
As Edric’s footsteps receded, Trebor began to ready himself for an appearance at the pits, a series of arenas made to exhibit halfbloods in the Counsel’s service. Idabel had never been keen on watching the fights, as too many ended in horrible bloodshed, but she knew better than to argue on whether Edric should attend.
“Now that Kol is on his way back, I can give you the rest of his news.”
Idabel frowned a little, not sure what to expect. “What—what news?”
Trebor unbuttoned the day’s linen shirt and threw it into their shared washing basket. He was a fine, sturdy man. She watched him in the mirror that hung above their shared vanity and clothing drawers.
“Revon Evershade wasn’t alone when he arrived in Orrendale. He had a prisoner with him.”
That wasn’t exactly a surprise. Revon Evershade had been a deadly and effective enforcer in his time, assuming the stories were true. She had no doubt that they were. Idabel braced herself for the worst.
Another unclaiming. “Do we know them?”
“No. It’s not anyone anybody would know,” Trebor said, meeting her gaze in the wavy reflection. “Sani said she was a free-mage, from the other side of the western mountains. Kol smelled it, too.”
A free-mage. That was as rare as rain in the desert and far more valuable, even without the point about her origin. That, too, was an intrigue. From the wilds.
“To Sani’s guess, he’s bringing her here.”
Now standing with her hands on her hips, Idabel caught her own, widened eyes in the mirror and forced herself to blink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Trebor’s brows dropped. “Because I didn’t want word to get out before Kol could return to Orrendale,” he went on, pulling on a fresh shirt. “That kind of knowledge would endanger Sani, our people, our home. It should only be repeated preciously.”
In that moment, an old itch came creeping back. The itch to know things others shouldn’t, to hear the whispers spoken in corners, to find people overlooked by everyone else. It was the one thing Rhienne had been right about—Idabel had been exceptionally good at the game in her youth, and thank goodness. Without that fact, her family would have fallen into lasting ruin. Her father’s death would have merely left her mother, her sisters, and herself to scrape the bottom of the barrel for marriage prospects. They could have very easily become Counsel wards, serving breakfast to visiting lords and ladies, like the girl on the terrace at Dabdagan. The thought, even now, made her face warm with determination. Idabel had seen to it that that hadn’t happened.
She would see to it again. Hope sparked.
“We must use this to our advantage,” she murmured, turning to the open side of the room, which overlooked the river. “But not too soon, or they’ll know who brought the news. We’ll have to wait, until more people might know.”
Shirt now buttoned, Trebor said, “I like that.”
Idabel glanced back at him. “What? The plan? It hardly counts as—”
“Your devious look,” he interrupted, donning a long summer coat from the hanging rack. “We need as much of that as we can muster, my love.”
Before he went to the door, he came over to her and took her by the shoulders.
“Now, do me a favor, and design our daughter a dress that will dazzle,” he murmured, kissing her squarely on the forehead. “Can you do that?”
She kissed him in reply. She most certainly could.
“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”
Idabel had the design for Edrianne’s dress in hand the next morning, as she ventured several inlets over, to the same home where she had spent much of her childhood. It had fallen into a measure of disrepair in her aunt’s old age, but the golden memories would forever color it. The front atrium was flooded with fresh morning light, the same enormous bird cage fluttering with activity and chatter on one side. Aunt Loena received her as quickly as she could, her steps shorter and less steady than Idabel remembered. Had it been that long?
How things change in sixteen years.
“My sweet, sweet Ida,” the old woman cried, pulling her in with stiff, surprisingly strong hands. Idabel’s throat grew thick. She should have come sooner. “Tea?”
“Yes. And my daughter?”
“Waking. Slowly,” Aunt Loena clucked, leading her into a rounded sitting room overlooking a wide and busy water way. The guards who accompanied her made their way to the servants’ quarters, where they could dine freely. “Did you finish the dress?”
Idabel held up the drawing, tucked into a leather sleeve. “And come to get the final word,” she whispered, pulling off her coat. “I only hope she hasn’t been sulking about.”
Loena turned to face her niece, frowning slightly. “Her life is no longer what it was, Ida. Have a care—she’s being forced to grow up rather quickly.”
“As was I, once,” Idabel hissed, lowering her voice at the sound of footsteps. “We all must make do.”
“Yes, but you knew from a young age that you would have to make sacrifices,” her aunt went on, pulling the bell for a servant. “Until a few days ago, Edrianne was a country girl, in a country castle. Be patient and she may surprise you. She’s stronger than you think.”
I do hope so.
Edrianne entered a moment later, her brilliant red hair free and her morning dress loosely tied at the shoulders, covered by a light shawl. At the sight of her mother, she hesitated, but made her way over to the dormer side of the room and sat lightly. Edrianne really was one of the loveliest girls Idabel had ever seen. She held out the drawing, shaking it when her daughter merely stared, confused.
“The design for your dress.”
The girl took the leather sleeve and pulled out the first drawing. “It’s pretty.”
“You haven’t even looked,” Idabel replied. “Edrianne.”
With quiet defiance, the girl slid the drawing back inside the sleeve and held it out to her mother. “I’ve said it’s pretty and I will wear it.”
A pair of servants entered then, with a tray of piping hot tea and a number of breakfast dishes. Edrianne set the drawing on the cushion beside her. The three women fell silent until the servants left. Then Loena cleared her throat, pouring the tea slowly.
“You two had better have this out, before it goes too long. Ida?”
It had been twenty years since Aunt Loena had dared use that tone with Idabel, but the effect was immediate. Idabel shifted in her seat, accepting the first cup.
“This is not how I would have liked to introduce you to Esseti society, but I don’t have a choice. Your father and I are in a delicate position.”
“I know that,” Edrianne said, sweetly yet with an edge. She hadn’t yet tasted her tea. “But you could have asked.”
Idabel sipped the flowery drink lightly. “My dear, we would have liked to consult you but there is nothing to discuss. You have the gift of dreams,” she sighed. “And the Counsel requires that you train that skill, for a time at least.”
Grave disappointment was etched into her daughter’s face. “But father is one of the wealthiest and most respected lords in Arras,” she cried, her desperation finally coming through. “Surely, he wouldn’t be made to leave me here—if I am not inclined to stay.”
It was painful to discover that ones’ parents were mortals.
“The fact that he is wealthy and respected makes him less likely to protest,” Loena piped up. “Not only does he have more to lose but, when other people look to you, what you do is more important to those who govern, child.”
She was right. Idabel took a breath, realizing that her daughter had been trained for a country life and not a political one. She had brought Edrianne and Edric to Esset intending to introduce them to the capital, wear fine clothes, attend important functions, meet their counterparts from the far corners of the country, and return home with a taste for the city of her childhood. In her heart of hearts, Idabel never even imagined that either of them would be a contender for the throne—assuming that promise ever materialized. But, with the latest turn of events, Edrianne was about to endure a sharp reeducation.
“You know that houses are being unclaimed—large, powerful houses like Binashar. No one thought it could happen to them and it did,” she said firmly. “All eyes are on us. We must do our best to work with the Counsel.”
Edrianne’s shoulders drooped. She nodded, but her face glistened with tears. Loena gestured sharply to Idabel, and she set her tea cup down. Softness had never been her strongest suit. Softness had not served her. Ever.
“I just—” The girl sniffled, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how I can be here alone, without Edric and...I miss home. Already.”
Idabel went to sit by her daughter, pulling her close. “Edrianne! I had no intention of leaving you here.”
She sobbed wretchedly. “You didn’t?”
“The little ones are old enough to be without me for a while, and they’re safer where they are,” Idabel said, drawing back and pushing her daughter’s hair out of her face. She realized then what Edrianne must have been going through. “You really thought I was going to leave you here, with these people? Strangers?”
Edrianne nodded, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Idabel had already told Trebor she wasn’t leaving. But she meant it more now than ever.
“Never.”
They parted and Idabel picked up her tea again, ignoring Aunt Loena’s pleased expression. She gathered herself. If they were to survive this and somehow gain a measure of control, much less the upper hand, things would have to change.
“I see now that I have failed to prepare you for the complexity of capital life. Things will be expected of you, by peers and by family,” she began, her stomach turning as she accepted what she had to do. At her uncertain glance, Loena gave her an encouraging nod. She took a breath. “I suppose I should start by telling you of my own childhood.”
Her daughter’s eyes widened. She was listening. Idabel never spoke of those years.
“Then perhaps you will understand how things are to be from now on.”
Okie - enough exclamation points. I’m done now. Thanks for reading this far. <3