I flinch. “He wanted to know where I trained, that’s all.”
“Mm-hm.” She taps a foot on the ground like she’s impatient with my stupidity. “Do you know his grandmother set up Garon Stable just for him?”
I blink, startled by her cutting tone.
“Do you know his maternal uncle is the Illustrious Southwind?”
“Yes.”
“He made his reputation at Asander Stable and yet by one means or another was convinced to transfer to a fledgling stable without a single victory to its name. For Garon Palace to set sail on such a daunting venture means they think they can make some kind of brilliant profit from all this. What profit they make does not include folk like you and me. You are swimming in dangerous waters, Jessamy. Maybe you have been thrown into the Fire Sea without a raft, for which I am sorry, but do not involve me or mine.”
I shrink back, head ducking. For four years she has trained and encouraged me, and now I just wish I could vanish into a hole in the ground. “I’m sorry, Honored Lady. I meant no harm.”
“A polite and handsome lad, I’ll give him that. If he smiled at you I suppose it would have been hard to refuse.”
I take in several sharp breaths rather than admit she is right. “I had to let him win at the trial. Giving him your name was my way of apologizing because he knew I lost on purpose. Anyway, he’s desperate. They won’t truly let him train like other adversaries. They want him to go into the army.” I’m babbling because I cannot bear the way Anise stares at me as if I’ve failed her.
She lifts a scolding hand. “Don’t tell me secrets that aren’t yours to share.”
Behind us the adversaries flow through the transition from the ambitious flight of the firebird to the creeping death of the tomb spider, the last of the forms.
Taking hold of my hands, she turns them over to examine my calluses and scars. Then she looks up into my face. “I promised your mother I would do my best by you.”
“My mother talked to you?”
“Of course she talked to me. She would never have taken the risk that you might be harmed when you went out of the house on your own. You are the best I’ve trained, Jessamy. You have the intelligence, the stamina, the strength, and the flair, and most importantly you have the discipline and the fire. But as long as you train at Garon Palace, you must never come back here again.”
21
Despite having died in disgrace and in debt, Lord Ottonor must be allowed a final procession to the City of the Dead because that is the prerogative of a lord who was head of a clan and thus must be honored by burial in an oracle’s tomb.
We assemble for the funeral at dawn. The royal carriage, the seven noble palaces, and all the lordly clans with their retinues are required to accompany the procession. Tana pushes me into line with Gira, Shorty, Mis, and the cook’s girl, filling in a row of five.
I lean toward Gira. “Why did Talon stay behind in the stable?”
She steps on my foot. “Stop talking.”
We march in time to the mournful pulse of funeral drums. I have never before worn formal household livery because my sisters and I never officially belonged to Lord Ottonor’s household. The adversaries of Garon Stable wear a version of the parade uniform worn by Garon soldiers. As we walk I adjust my knee-length sleeveless vest. Its back is stitched with the horned and winged fire dog that represents Garon Palace. Three buttons close the bright yellow silk across my chest, allowing it to flow open to either side. Beneath the sleeveless vest I wear a knee-length tunic cinched at my waist with a lacework of three belts. Loose trousers are tucked into boots. The color of the processional scarf marks the occasion: we all wear long, narrow white funeral scarves.
Anise’s harsh words haunt me. Whatever it is Garon Palace wants, it will not hesitate to trample anyone who stands in its way.
By the time we get to the bottom of the King’s Hill I am sweating all over. Father told us stories of his childhood and how it got cold in a season he called “winter,” but I don’t understand why Patrons wear all these layers of clothing in warm Efea. Even my eyelids are sweating.
As all the households reach the Avenue of Triumphs, they line up according to status. Clans whose animal talismans bear no wings naturally give way to palaces, whose talismans do. Among the palaces there is a further hierarchy, depending on who stands highest and who lowest in the royal favor. Although every lord’s clan we meet halts to let us pass, we are required to give way to all six of the other palace clans. How Lord Gargaron must hate having to let another palace go ahead of him! Finally we take our place.