Medalon

apparent to everyone. Poor Wilem. Just between you and me, I think he resents her mightily. Had it not been for her disgrace, he would have been able to fulfil all of Crisabelle’s fantasies. But he can hardly turn his own mother out now, can he? I mean everyone knows he’ll be here forever. The trouble is, Crisabelle knows it, too.” Teggert returned the roast to the oven and sat down opposite R’shiel, pouring himself a cup of tea as he continued his litany.

“Status is everything to Crisabelle,” Teggert explained. “When she married Wilem, his mother was the Mistress of Enlightenment, a member of the Quorum, and a candidate for First Sister. Being kin to the First Sister was something.” R’shiel nodded. Teggert had no idea how well R’shiel could attest to that fact. “It’s no help, either, that more than one of the officers stationed here at the Grimfield have married their court’esa when they were released from their sentence. And Mahina seems to find their company delightful. She even invites them for tea! Some days, I think Wilem actually envies the prisoners.”

“It sounds very... awkward,” R’shiel agreed, not sure if her opinion was even called for or if Teggert merely liked the sound of his own voice.

“Aye, it is, lassie. But you just keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble, and you’ll be fine. How long did you get?”

“Ten years.”

“Ooh! You must have been a bad girl. You’re going to be here a good long while then.”

Not if I have any say in the matter, R’shiel added silently.

Wilem called for R’shiel later that evening. She had not seen Mahina, but Teggert had taken her a tray before he served Wilem and Crisabelle their dinner, so she knew the old woman was here. She entered Wilem’s study with her head lowered, hoping he would not remember her. After all, she had been a mere Probate and he was a high- ranking Defender. Their paths had rarely crossed in the Citadel.

She was wearing an old red skirt, which had once belonged to Crisabelle, although even with the waist pulled in and the hem obviously let down it still barely reached her ankles. Her blouse was also one of Crisabelle’s castoffs, and it sat far more loosely on her slender frame than it had on Crisabelle’s ample bosom. Her long auburn hair was braided down her back, and her slender arms bore several quite nasty, days-old bruises.

Wilem stood before the crackling fireplace, hands clasped behind him, unconsciously “at ease.”

“What is your name, girl?”

“R’shiel of Haven, sir,” she said with a small curtsy. Not R’shiel Tenragan. R’shiel of Haven.

“R’shiel!” he gasped. It was obvious he recognized her. In his shock, he barely even noticed that her face bore the fading remnants of even more bruises. “Why have you been sent here?”

“I ran away from the Citadel. And I was involved with Tarja’s escape, sir,” R’shiel answered honestly. There was no point in trying to lie to Wilem.

“But your mother...”

“Joyhinia is not my mother. I’m a foundling.”

The Commandant studied her curiously. “So you’re not Jenga’s child, either?”

“I’m nobody’s child, apparently.”

“I didn’t realize who you were this morning when I singled you out. When young Dace reminded me that Crisabelle was looking for a servant, I picked you because you were the youngest. You were the least likely to be a hardened criminal. I hope you appreciate your good fortune.”

Good fortune was definitely a relative term, R’shiel thought. “I’ll try not to let you down, sir.”

“You were always reputed to be a bright girl. Prove it and stay clear of Tarja. Perhaps, if you conduct yourself well here, you may be able to return to the Citadel one day.”

“Not while Joyhinia is First Sister, Commandant.”

“You are not the only one who shares that fate, child,” he said, then shook his head as if pushing away his own disappointment. The subject obviously closed, he studied her for a moment, then frowned. “Where did you get those bruises? On the trip here? Or at the Citadel?”

Wilem waited for her answer. Had he guessed what had happened to her? R’shiel did not take the chance he offered her. She would settle her score with Loclon in her own way.

“I tripped over, sir,” she said.

Wilem sighed. “Then you will need to be more careful in the future, won’t you?” He appeared uncomfortable for being too craven to force the issue and find out what had really happened. “If you continue to please my wife, then I will see that your sentence here is as comfortable as I can make it.”

“Thank you, sir. May I go now?”

“You may, but let me offer you some advice. As my wife’s servant you will have more freedom than most, but stay clear of the Women’s Hall and the Barracks. I will do my best to see that you remain unmolested, but I would prefer not to do it after the fact. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As I’m sure you know, my mother lives with us,” he added. “She is now simply a retired Sister and you will treat her with the respect you would treat any Sister, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may go.”

R’shiel returned to the kitchen to ask Teggert where she would be sleeping. Although unsophisticated, the residence was large, and she was foolish enough to hope that her accommodation would be a bedroom, not a cell. As she opened the door that led from the hall into the kitchen, she heard voices. Teggert was gossiping again, this time about L’rin and from the little R’shiel overheard, her tragic but well-publicized love life.

As she stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, Teggert’s companion leaped to his feet.

“There! You see! Aren’t I clever?” he announced with a beaming smile. He looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, with a shock of sandy hair, clear blue eyes, and a wardrobe that could only be described as motley. “I told them I could help.”

Teggert nodded patiently. “Yes, you’re very clever. R’shiel, this is Dace. He is the one you have to blame for your appointment here. You may want to wait a few days before you decide whether to thank him or throttle him, though.”

“Hello, Dace,” she said and then added curiously, “Who did you tell you could help me?”

The boy’s eyes reflected a fleeting moment of panic before he recovered himself and shrugged. “Oh, nobody. Just some friends. You know...”

“Pay no attention to him, R’shiel,” Teggert warned. “Dace is an inveterate liar and an accomplished thief. He’s probably committed more crimes than half the prisoners in the Grimfield put together.”

The boy seemed to swell with pride. “Teggert, you say the nicest things.”

She smiled at Dace before turning to Teggert. “Do you know where I’ll be sleeping?”

“In there,” Teggert said, pointing to a door leading off the kitchen. “It’s not much, but it’s warm in winter. Come summer, it’s unbearable, I’m afraid.”

Come summer, I’ll be long gone, R’shiel promised herself.

chapter 34

“Mistress Khira?”

Brak glanced up at the bearded man who had called Khira’s name, noticing with relief that he was a captain. They were waiting among the other petitioners – free and prisoner alike – in the cold anteroom of the Commandant’s office for the fifth morning in a row to see Wilem for permission to practice as a physic in the prison town. Brak was dressed as a servant, his eyes suitably downcast. His companion wore an expression of annoyance. A middle-aged woman with a sensible head on her shoulders, she had been a surprising choice to accompany him to the Grimfield. Padric’s good sense triumphing over Ghari’s hot-blooded need for vengeance, he had decided.

“Yes?”

“I’m Captain Mysekis,” the Defender told her. “I must apologize for the delay, my Lady. It has only just come