of spirit.'
Prisus shook his head then motioned her to lead on. They went up a flight of stairs and entered a small parlor. Red velvet drapes hid the hard stone walls, and plush sofas of crimson shared the floor with piles of dark red pillows embroidered in gold thread. Prisus had heard that the church of Loviatar often recruited from the ranks of the wealthy. It certainly explained the extravagance.
Yenael lounged across the pillows, leaving Prisus to his choice of sofas. A robed man entered shortly, carrying two goblets on a tray. He offered first to Prisus then to Yenael. She rose partway to take the cup and whispered something to the servant, who bowed and left. Prisus sniffed the drink, a honeyed mead, then took a sip.
'I hope your trip went well, Master Saelis. No sahuagin attacks?' Yenael took a deep draught as she waited for his answer, her eyes never leaving him.
'No, no attacks.' He shifted on the sofa, uncomfortable under the stare. He desperately wanted to get past small talk to the business at hand and return to his room at the inn. 'Um, I'm not sure… I don't think you're quite what I was looking for.'
Yenael gave a small laugh. 'All business, I see. I like that. Master Saelis, I apologize for the confusion. I am not the one you will be hiring.' She set her goblet down then snapped her fingers. The servant returned, this time with another woman in tow. Nearly as tall as Prisus, she wore a simple linen dress that blended with her pale yellow skin. The left side of her head was shaved. A tattoo of a nine-tailed serpent ran the length of her exposed scalp, its open mouth framing her left eye. The dark hair that remained was pulled into a long, thick braid that hung to her waist.
With confident strides, she brushed past Prisus to stand next to the reclining Yenael, who dismissed the servant with a curt, 'Thank you. You may leave us.' She turned to Prisus. 'Master Saelis, may I introduce Ythnel.'
Prisus stood as the servant departed. 'I am pleased to meet you, Ythnel.' The young woman gave a small curtsy in reply. 'May I ask a few questions?' Prisus requested, looking at Yenael.
'You may speak directly to me, Master Saelis.' There was no defiance in Ythnel's voice or eyes; it was just a statement of fact.
'Ah, yes. My apologies, then. Very well. If I may begin by asking how old you are?'
'Twenty-one summers, this Eleasias.'
'Tell me a little about your education.'
'I have studied the regional histories, lifestyles, and societies of Thay and its neighbors: Aglarond, Rashemen, Chessenta, and Mulhorand. I am also versed in the literary and performing arts.'
'Remarkable.'
'So, do you find her acceptable?' Yenael asked.
'If I might ask one more thing?' Prisus hesitated. His eyes bounced between the women, waiting for a signal. Both stared at him stone-faced. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Ythnel. 'Why are you interested in becoming a governess?'
'I have lived my entire life within these walls,' Ythnel said without pause. 'I want to see with my own eyes what I have only read about in books. I wish to put to use what I have learned.'
Prisus frowned. 'I don't mean to offend, but I will not allow the dogma of Loviatar taught in my house.'
'Do not fear, Master Saelis,' Yenael said, finally standing. 'Loviatans do not evangelize. Those who are interested seek us out.' She smiled, but there was no warmth in it this time. 'Is there anything else?'
'No, I think that is all. Here is the gold I promised as a commission.' Prisus untied a swollen pouch from his belt and handed it to Yenael.
'The terms are agreed upon,' Yenael announced. 'You are free to go.' She led them back to the entrance. 'You may return in the morning for her things.' Yenael opened the door. 'Good night, Master Saelis.'
'Good night, Sister Yenael.' Prisus turned and led Ythnel away.
Yenael watched Prisus Saelis and Ythnel disappear from view then closed the door. 'Good-bye, daughter,' she whispered. It felt strange to think of the girl in that way. Yenael stood there for a moment, her hand still on the latch, wondering why the thought had even occurred to her.
There had never been a familial bond between them. Yenael had always treated Ythnel like another initiate. It was a purposeful decision on her parta kindness, even, in Yenael's mind. There always came a point in a child's life when the parent was revealed to be only human, imperfect. That revelation was often a form of betrayal to the child. In an act of mercy even now Yenael could not explain, she chose to shield Ythnel from this pain. The girl had been raised as a ward of the manor, told she had been orphaned when she grew old enough to ask.
What's done is done, Yenael told herself, and she is better off for it. She does not need the distractions a family brings. They would only hinder her in the task she has ahead.
Shaking her head, Yenael turned down the hallway into the manor. She needed to clear her own head, and performing her evening prayers would provide the focus she required. The only question was which whip she should use.
Ythnel rose from her bed and pulled back the curtains, letting the sun into the room Master Saelis had rented for her at the inn. She removed the shirt Master Saelis had provided as a nightgown, folded it, and placed it on the floor beside the bed. She then reached behind her neck to untie the thin leather strap from which hung a small, ceremonial whip with nine tails, the symbol of her faith. Ythnel knelt on the folded cloth and began a prayer chant. Every few seconds, as the chanting would reach a crescendo, Ythnel lashed herself with the whip, leaving pink welts on her smooth, sallow skin. With each lash, Ythnel felt a tingle of pleasure that transcended the pain.
A creak from the door brought the prayer to a halt. Ythnel quickly stood, just catching a glimpse of someone stepping back from the doorway. Remembering that she was still naked, Ythnel scooped up the nightgown, put it back on, and traded the whip for a towel and her clothes and walked out of the room. Prisus stood across the hall with his back to her. Ythnel tried to slip quietly past him, but he turned as she closed the door.
'I… uh, I didn't mean to.. I mean, it wasn't my intention…,' Prisus stammered.
'Perhaps it would be best to knock first before entering in the future, Master Saelis,' Ythnel said, unable to look directly at him.
'Of course.' Prisus's cheeks were flushed. 'I only wanted to tell you that I've booked our passage. And.. and Leco has your things. I'll have him bring them to your room. We can go as soon as you're ready.'
'Thank you. I'm going to take a bath before I meet you downstairs.' She didn't wait for a response.
They made their way to the docks after morning-feast. The city was already buzzing with activity, but Prisus seemed oblivious to it, lost in his own thoughts. As they approached the pier, Prisus finally blurted out, 'Why do you beat yourself?' Several dockworkers who were loading cargo looked askance at the pair.
The embarrassment from earlier in the morning came rushing back. 'I thought you were not interested in my religion, Master Saelis?' Ythnel raised a questioning eyebrow. She did not want to talk about it, but the deflection failed.
'I'm not,' he replied a bit more discreetly. 'To be honest, my wife was part of a group that dallied a bit in some of the less… exotic rites of your faith. She quit before we were married, thank Tymora. I just… I don't understand what could motivate someone to… to'
'To suffer?' Ythnel finished. Prisus nodded, but Ythnel hesitated, unsure how to answer. She had been told time and again by the clerics at the manor why they served as they did, and had repeated the reasons back just as often, but this was the first time she had been asked to explain to someone unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, with the Loviatan beliefs. 'Why did you come all the way to Bezantur to find a governess for your daughter?'
'Because I love her, of course.'
'And I love Loviatar. She is the only mother I have known. I want to show her my devotion, just as you wish to show your daughter how much you care for her.'
'I don't think the situations are necessarily equivalent, but I guess I can see your point.' Prisus shrugged. The pair walked in silence to the waiting ship and boarded.
For the first two days of the voyage, Ythnel was violently ill. The roll of the ship on the waves of the sea wreaked havoc on her stomach, and she spent most of her time leaning over a rail on deck, or over a pail in her quarters. Master Saelis was finally able to procure some sort of root for her from another passenger onboard that, when chewed, prevented nausea.
By the fourth day, Ythnel was enjoying herself. Gulls soared back and forth with the ship, bolstered by the brisk wind that carried with it the briny smell of the sea. Sail-finned fish leaped from wave to wave before the bow,
