Father’s eyes have darkened with a surging storm-sea of emotion but he collects himself. He is like a man who has been commanded to throw overboard his most cherished treasure and yet will steel himself to do so in order to keep the ship afloat in wave-tossed seas.
“Yes, my lord.”
“You must make a start on getting a son before you depart for the frontier. Let me assure you there is nothing wrong with the girl, no unsightly blemish or defect of character. You will find her appearance pleasing, her manners polished at the queen’s court, and her acumen for matters of business quite up to the mark.”
“Yes, my lord.” Father curls his hands into fists, opens them, and at last fixes them together behind his back in a soldier’s waiting stance. “My lord, the woman… my daughters… it would be dishonorable to just abandon them.”
“It’s not as if you have tossed them into the Fire Sea without a raft! You are a more tenderhearted man than your valor and hard-mindedness on the battlefield have led me to believe. Still, every man has his little flaws and quirks. I will have my stewards make provision for the women so you can travel to the frontier with peace of heart and a calm spirit ready to do battle.”
Father glances at me.
“I will never forgive you for this,” I mouth, and though my words are silent, he understands them and looks away. I pray he is ashamed of the work he has done this cruel morning!
Gargaron smiles. “Gather your arms and armor, Captain, and your military aides and senior staff.” He glances down at the butterfly mask with its bright blue wings and cheerful strong color like a glimpse of the embracing sky. “I have taken a fancy to this mask, Esladas. I will just take it when I go.”
Father swallows, choking down the final shard of refusal. “Of course, my lord. If I may ask…” His gaze darts to me in my shroud. “What of Jessamy?”
“She will come with me now. All the gear and clothing she will need will be supplied at Garon Stable.”
A sob catches in my chest like a knot of whirling winds. “Can I not even say good-bye to them?” I whisper.
“No time for that.” Lord Gargaron claps his hands three times.
I take a step toward the door, thinking to dash to the back of the house just to kiss them for the last time.
Father taps his hand twice against his chest, and I freeze and tap mine in reply, as I have been taught. Obedience traps me. The door opens and three resplendently garbed Garon Palace stewards appear like the dread guardians who defend the gates at the entrance to the afterlife.
My path is blocked.
I take the only road open to me, the one that leads me out of the household where I grew up and into the household of the lord who has just ripped apart my family.
15
I feel dead in my shroud as I walk out of the house. In ancient days in the empire of Saro, a dead emperor was accompanied to his tomb by living servants who were buried with him.
As I step out onto the street my vision blurs and a wave of dizziness causes me to trip over my own feet. I steady myself with the breathing I was taught at Anise’s stable to prolong my stamina. Because I do not know where else to stand, I halt behind the back wheels of Lord Gargaron’s carriage in the same place Coriander would walk behind ours.
Servants hauling carts and leading donkeys trudge along the sun side of the street on errands for other households while the carriage waits on the shade side. A lord has the right to the shade, and now I have stolen a tiny bit of it for myself, as the old saying goes: “The lord’s shade also shelters the lord’s servant.”
Creditors have gathered beside the gate, clutching silver-banded ledgers. They crowd forward when Lord Gargaron emerges with Father beside him.
“Have the shrouds taken down,” he says to Father. “Now that you belong to Garon Palace you are no longer in mourning.”
One of his stewards dismisses the creditors as Lord Gargaron mounts into the open carriage. It needs no concealing curtains like the ones Patron women hide behind when they go out.
Harness bells ring to announce his departure. The carriage rolls forward. My feet scrape on the ground as I follow. At the gate Father stands at attention. Of my mother and sisters I naturally see no sign.
Father glances toward me as I pass. Is that a tear glinting on his face? Hope batters at my chest. He will shout that it was all a mistake. He will run after me and bring me home.
But he lets me go without a word of farewell.
We leave the house behind. It’s like I’m trudging to my tomb.
The worst thing of all is that I understand why he did it. When you run the Fives you make choices in order to win. He will soon have achieved the highest honor a man of his birth could ever dream of. And he has thrown us away to get it.