“Mother,” R’shiel said with a respectful curtsy as she reached Joyhinia and her companions. “Please forgive me for being so late. I was helping one of my classmates with her studies. I fear I lost track of time.”
Better that, than Joyhinia learn she was late because Georj Drake had been teaching her the finer points of knife throwing. R’shiel could not ever imagine having a need to use such a skill, but it was such an unladylike pastime that she couldn’t resist the offer to learn. R’shiel sometimes worried about her tendency to do things that would deliberately provoke Joyhinia.
Her mother saw through the lie but accepted it. “I hope your classmate appreciated your sacrifice.” R’shiel knew that slightly sarcastic tone from long experience. Her mother turned to the Envoy and said, “Sir Pieter, I would like to introduce my daughter, R’shiel.”
R’shiel dutifully curtsied to the Envoy. He was a solid man with lazy brown eyes and the weary air of a jaded aristocrat. He took her hand in his, kissing the air above it. His ceremonial armor creaked metallically as he bowed to her.
“A charming child,” he said, looking her up and down, making her feel rather uncomfortable. “And a noteworthy student, so your mother informs me.”
“I try my hardest to honor my mother’s faith in me, my Lord,” she replied, thinking that was almost as big a lie as her excuse for being late.
“Respectful and charming,” Lord Pieter said with an approving nod. “No doubt she will follow in your footsteps one day, Sister Joyhinia. The Quorum will soon benefit from two generations of Tenragan women, I suspect.”
“R’shiel will choose her own path, my Lord. I want nothing more for my daughter than her happiness.”
R’shiel did not bother to contradict her. She had less say in her future than the average Hythrun slave, who at least had the advantage of
“You must be gratified to know that you have such dedicated students awaiting you in your new post,” the Envoy remarked to Jacomina.
The new Mistress of Enlightenment nodded somberly, although the look she gave R’shiel was far from enthusiastic. Jacomina might use many words to describe R’shiel, but “dedicated” was unlikely to be one of them.
R’shiel had thought it odd that her mother had taken Mahina’s promotion to First Sister so well, until she learned who had been appointed to fill the vacancy left by Trayla’s death and Mahina’s elevation. Jacomina was her mother’s creature. She probably didn’t have a thought in her head that Joyhinia hadn’t put there.
For R’shiel, Jacomina’s promotion was bound to prove awkward. As Mistress of Enlightenment, Jacomina would report even her most minor infractions to her mother, a situation that could only get worse when she graduated to the rank of Probate a few weeks hence.
A blonde Probate approached them bearing a tray of delicate crystal goblets filled with fine red wine, and Lord Pieter’s attention was thankfully diverted to the ample cleavage of this new arrival. The Probate offered the wine with a polite curtsy, giving R’shiel a look of pure venom as the younger girl accepted a glass. Selected Probates had been ordered to serve at Joyhinia’s soiree, but R’shiel, a mere Novice, was here as a guest. She would probably return to a room that had been overturned or to find all her clothes had been dunked in the garderobe. Being Joyhinia’s daughter might get her invited to social functions, but it did not save her from the pecking order in the dormitories.
R’shiel sipped her wine and remained politely silent while Joyhinia and Lord Pieter resumed their conversation. The room gradually filled with the upper echelon of Citadel society. Lord Pieter answered in monosyllables, apparently more interested in eyeing the young women present. The man had an appalling reputation, particularly for one from a country that was so puritan it was rumored that even thinking impure thoughts was a sin.
Blue-gowned Sisters outnumbered the red-coated Defenders in the Hall, who, to a man, looked stiff and uncomfortable in their high-necked dress uniforms. They did not like these formal occasions. The Sisters of the Blade ordered them to attend so they could flaunt their superiority. At least that was what Georj claimed. R’shiel thought it more likely that they just didn’t like all the bother it took to get dressed. A speck of dust, or a boot you couldn’t use as a shaving mirror, would catch the attention of the Lord Defender faster than a man could blink.
A raucous, high-pitched laugh caught R’shiel’s attention, and she turned toward the source. Crisabelle Cortanen was Mahina’s daughter-in-law – a chubby, crass woman who had married Mahina’s son Wilem when she was sixteen and had not managed to age mentally since that day. Crisabelle wore a frilly yellow dress that emphasized, rather than concealed, her bulk. Commandant Cortanen stood beside her, his expression one of long- suffering embarrassment. Refused a place in the Sisterhood as a child, Crisabelle was beside herself with glee now that her mother-in-law was the First Sister.
The main door was thrown open, and Lord Draco, the Spear of the First Sister, entered the Hall, followed by Mahina. Draco was tall, dark, and stern. To R’shiel, he epitomized the rank he held, but she found it hard to think of Mahina as the First Sister. She still looked more like a peasant than an autocrat, even in her beautifully tailored white silk dress with its seed-pearl bodice. Mahina accepted the bows and curtsies of her subjects with a maternal wave and approached Joyhinia, Lord Pieter, and Jacomina.
“My Lord. Joyhinia. Congratulations on your appointment, Jacomina. You honor us with your presence in the Quorum.”
Jacomina replied with some inane comment that R’shiel did not catch. She had managed to step back out of the circle of people surrounding her mother and closer to the tall stained-glass doors that led onto the balcony, which had been opened to take advantage of the balmy evening. She was wondering what her chances of being able to slip outside and escape were, when the door opened and Lord Jenga, accompanied by a number of his officers, arrived.
As the men stepped into the room, R’shiel was stunned and delighted to see her brother among the officers walking behind the Lord Defender. Every eye in the room was on him and the Lord Defender as they walked through the Hall toward the First Sister. The Senior Probates stopped serving and stared at him openly. The others in the room gaped for a moment and then quickly looked away. R’shiel could almost see their ears straining to catch what was about to be said.
Tarja had been banished to the border by Trayla more than four years ago, although the reasons why had never been clear to R’shiel. When he was sent away, all Joyhinia had told her, in a cold and angry tone, was that he had offended the First Sister. Judging from the startled looks of the gathered Sisters, he had done more than just offend her. Even Mahina, who had always had a fondness for her brother, looked shocked to see him, which meant it was obviously not she who had recalled him. R’shiel wondered if her appeal to Jenga had been the reason for Tarja’s recall, then decided it wasn’t. Jenga was not the sort of man to be swayed by a smile and a heartfelt plea.
“Your Grace,” said Jenga with a bow to the First Sister. “Lord Pieter. Sisters.”
“Lord Defender,” Mahina replied. She turned her attention to Tarja and gave him a long look. R’shiel glanced at her mother and was not surprised at her thunderous expression. Joyhinia was not pleased to see her son.
“Welcome home, Tarja,” Mahina said.
“Thank you, your Grace,” Tarja replied with a bow, then he turned to Joyhinia. “Mother.”
“I wasn’t aware that you’d been recalled, Tarjanian,” she remarked coolly. “I trust your time on the border has taught you something useful.”
“More than you could imagine,” Tarja assured her. He caught sight of R’shiel, and his eyes widened with surprise.
“This is your son, Sister?” Pieter asked Joyhinia, as he took Tarja’s measure. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”
Joyhinia’s expression did not change. “Tarja has been fighting on the southern border these past four years.”
“Killing Hythrun, eh?” Pieter chuckled. “A worthy cause, Captain. And just how many did you dispose of?”
“More than I care to count,” Tarja replied glibly. “Now, if you will excuse me, my Lord, I see that my sister is anxious to welcome me home. First Sister. Lord Jenga. Lord Draco. Sisters.” Tarja walked through the small gathering to R’shiel, took her arm none too gently, and led her away. He didn’t stop until they were through the stained-glass doors and standing on the balcony. As soon as they were out of the hearing of the gathering inside,
