Bound by Blood and Sand (2 page)

Jae hesitated, torn. She wanted the help, anything to make the work go faster. Anything that would keep Lady Shirrad from deciding that Jae hadn't done a good enough job. But at the same time, she knew what Lady Shirrad wanted Tal for. The same looks and charm that won him relative freedom came at the price of him having to hold his smile when she brushed her fingers over his cheek.

Tal caught her gaze, gold-flecked eyes sincere. “Don't worry about me. I can handle the Lady,” Tal said, then stood and offered Jae a hand up.

She ignored it and stood on her own, guilt warring with anxiety in her gut. Accepting Tal's help would practically offer him up to Lady Shirrad for the evening, but without his help she'd be working all night. All she wanted in the world was to rest. But Tal was her brother.

“Jae,” Tal finally said, barely audible. He wasn't smiling at her, pretending things were fine. He was as tired as she was, but he was still waiting for her. “Ask me if I mind helping you.”

She shook her head. She didn't have to ask; he wouldn't have offered to answer if he didn't mean it. And while he might find ways to twist the words of his answers when Lady Shirrad asked him questions, he wouldn't do that to Jae, so she nodded, trusting him.

Tal helped her for as long as he could, until Lady Shirrad came out to find him and lead him away. He brushed a hand against Jae's shoulder as he left, a silent goodbye. That left her on her own, working until the moon rose and the temperature dropped, and finally there was nothing else that had to be done immediately and the Curse would allow her to rest.

The Closest's quarters were dark and quiet. They were tucked away in a corner of the house, rooms with low ceilings and few windows, where the Closest ate, slept, and gathered in their few free moments. The rooms had housed paid Twill servants once, but as the drought had gotten worse, fewer Twill had been willing to stay at Aredann. Jae had occasionally overheard some of the Avowed complaining that it was disgusting to allow traitorous bloodlines to live under the same roof they did, yet somehow, she'd never heard them complain about having Closest slaves to replace their servants.

The Closest's main room had ancient, stained squares of carpet covering most of the floor, layered over one another so that no one would have to sit on the bare stones. There was a small fire pit where they could cook, and a stone cistern that sat empty. People gathered near enough to the fire to see each other, close enough to hold murmured conversations.

Tal was kneeling in front of an old woman named Asra, her hands in his—Jae had to walk close before she could see he was applying a salve to burned skin on her hands. Jae had no idea how he'd gotten it, when he couldn't even speak to ask Lady Shirrad for it, and she didn't dare ask him. She didn't know whether he was really stealing, and as long as she didn't find out for certain, that was the truth she'd be able to tell if she was ever asked.

Tal saw her and mouthed “Hello” then stood. “You might as well keep the rest of that, in case you need it,” he said to Asra, and then joined Jae. “I'm assuming you haven't eaten yet. Come sit with me and Gali while you do.”

Jae helped herself to a small portion of the stew that had been left near the fire, then sat with Tal and Gali, another of their friends. Tal was cross-legged, but Gali knelt facing the wall, her fingers brushing across it, painting it with ash and charcoal. The walls in here were plain tan bricks and had been covered in designs for years and years now, drawn over each other, blending together to cover the bricks almost all the way up to the ceiling. It wasn't like the brightly colored Avowed art that adorned most of the halls and rooms in Aredann. Avowed art was always a celebration, eye-catching and beautiful, meant to be kept forever. Closest drawings were subtle, nothing but grays and black, nearly impossible to make out. It would be washed away if they ever had water, and drawn over again and again in the meantime.

Jae sat with her brother and Gali and reached out to lightly touch Gali's elbow. She looked over at Jae and nodded tiredly before getting back to her drawing. This close, Jae could see it was a person in profile—Tal, probably, judging from the hair.

“I was going to go looking for you soon,” Tal said. He wasn't loud, but he didn't whisper, either, and a few people glanced over at them. “I was starting to worry you'd never be done.”

“So was I.” Now that Jae was sitting, her feet throbbed. The idea of standing up again, even just to walk to the smaller room where her sleeping mat waited, was unbearable.

Gali added a detail to the wall. When Jae studied it, she could make out the sharp lines of Tal's nose and jaw. “Today was long,” Gali said.

Jae gave her a concerned look, not daring to hint that she'd like to know more. Gali had been selected to join the household because she was pretty, and when her days ran long, it was usually because she'd been called to someone's sleeping chamber, another order the Curse wouldn't let her disobey, another punishment for crimes that had been committed generations ago. It happened to all of the Closest who worked in the household.

When Lord Rannith had summoned Jae, it had been the only time she'd fought to disobey an order, struggled against the Curse's grip—not that struggling had done any good. If she ever had even a heartbeat free from the Curse, Rannith was the person she'd seek out with her cactus spine. But Gali caught her glance and shook her head.

“I'm fine,” Gali said. “The Lady wanted everyone's sleeping mats cleaned, and all of their blankets. It's the first time in weeks. And there's no water.”

“It's the same everywhere, even the garden, I think,” Tal said.

Jae nodded. “I was told to use whatever I need. But I don't know where she thinks the water will come from.”

“The Well will provide, as long as the Highest rule,” Gali intoned, rolling her eyes as she mimicked the serious tones Lady Shirrad's advisors used when they said that. And they always said that. Even now, in the midst of a drought and with their reservoir dropping lower and lower.

The Highest still ruled, but the Well barely seemed to provide anything. Maybe that was what the Highest intended, at least for the Closest, but the rest of Aredann wasn't descended from traitors. Jae couldn't believe that an Avowed guardian like Lady Shirrad would be left to suffer.

“Listen.”

The word all but echoed in the room. There was no compulsion behind it from the Curse, but the entire room went silent. Jae scowled as she turned to look at Firran, the Closest who'd spoken and who was now standing by the fire pit. Years ago, Lady Shirrad's father had appointed Firran their leader, so that the Lord would only have to speak directly to one Closest. Firran had snapped up that scrap of power like one of the dogs Lady Shirrad's family used to keep. When he spoke, it was always loud and demanding—orders like most Closest would never give one another.

Even aside from the order, he wasn't exactly polite. Closest always shared what they knew with one another; it made all of their lives easier. But they didn't go demanding and interrupting, or speaking in the loud tones of the Avowed.

Still, the rest of the Closest now gathered around Firran, knees touching, sweaty shoulders brushing, as closely as they could. Firran didn't mind raising his voice, but the rest of the Closest preferred the quiet.

Except Tal.

“What is it?” he asked, smirking a little, meeting Firran rudeness for rudeness. Closest didn't order each other around, and they
never
asked each other questions.

Firran glared at him as he was compelled to answer, “I know who Lady Shirrad's visitor is.” He waited a moment, and when no one else interrupted him, he continued in that same booming, pompous tone. “He is the son of one of the Highest, the grand warden of all reservoirs—Elan Danardae. His father sent him to tour Aredann to see our plight.”

“They already know our plight,” Gali muttered, not quite loud enough for Firran to hear—but Tal stifled a laugh. Jae stayed silent but had to agree. The Highest were the ones who'd cursed them, generations ago, when the Closest's ancestors had rebelled. If they were sending someone to visit Aredann, it definitely didn't have anything to do with the Closest's desperation.

“No wonder the Lady was in such a tizzy today,” one of the others said. “But it's good news, if the Highest are finally coming to our aid.”

“But they aren't,” Firran said, some of the bluster dropping from his voice. “Lord Hannim told Lady Shirrad that there are other estates like Aredann, where the reservoirs are going dry. There's not enough water, not even in the whole Well, so some estates are being cut off.”

“But there's
always
been enough,” Asra said, voice creaky and unsure, as someone else said, “They can't just cut off whole estates,” and someone else snapped, “I don't understand; talk sense!”

Firran held up his hands, waiting for the commotion to work itself out. “They say there are too many people in the world now, more than ever before, and that's why there's not enough water anymore. All of the wardens agree, the Well can't sustain everyone. So some estates…The Highest have decided to leave some estates entirely, take their Avowed and even the Twill and leave the rest of us here to die in the drought.”

This time, no one seemed to know what to say. It made a sickening, twisted kind of sense. If there were too many people in the world, then of course the Closest would be the ones left to die, to bring that number back down. Their ancestors had been spared all those years ago, allowed to live as slaves, so long as they were cursed so they could never rebel again—but the Highest would never hesitate to trade Closest lives for the rest of the world.

“That can't be,” Tal said finally, standing, but even he sounded shaken. “Lady Shirrad would never leave Aredann to be abandoned.”

“You mean Lady Shirrad would never leave
you,
” Firran said. “They certainly won't take the rest of us Closest.”

“She would never leave
Aredann,
” Tal repeated. “And the Well will provide. It has to. The Highest will make it.”

Firran shook his head. “Believe what you will, but I know what I heard. If the Highest order it, Lady Shirrad will have to obey. They'll send the water somewhere else, Aredann will turn to dust without it, and we'll all die here.”

Tal shook his head, but he didn't argue. There was no point. Firran was telling the truth as well as he knew it. He spent more time with Lady Shirrad than any of the rest of them, even Tal, and he overheard all of the Avowed's business. Jae didn't like him, but she also didn't doubt him. And if what he'd heard was true, then soon—maybe only days from now—all of the Closest at Aredann would be left alone, without the protection of the Well, and with no water, in the middle of a drought.

“Come to bed,” Gali murmured, wiping her sooty hand on her dress and leaving a smudged handprint, a new stain on a garment that hadn't been cleaned in months. She offered that same hand to Tal, who accepted it but looked at Jae. He nodded toward the chamber they shared with a few others.

Jae followed them slowly, stiff and sore in a hundred different places, still thirsty and too warm after her day in the sun. Tomorrow would be just as bad, or worse. And so would every day after—somehow, it always seemed as if things got worse. Every day was hotter, drier, and longer, and the Curse had no mercy.

She thought about that as she lay down on her sleeping mat, a few hand spans from where Tal and Gali were now intertwined, exchanging comforting words so low that Jae couldn't make out what they were saying.

Without the Well's protection, the Closest would die in days, of sunsickness if not thirst. But if the Avowed all left Aredann, then there would be no one to give the Closest any orders. For those few, precious days, it would be almost like they were free. And maybe a few days of freedom would be better than a lifetime spent as a slave.

Elan Danardae slumped in his saddle and looked at the desert through the mesh across his face. Brown and orange rolled on in front of him endlessly, broken only by rock outcroppings. He'd have thought they were lost and wandering, if not for the occasional trees that had been planted to point the way—if they could even be called trees. They were only trunks, leafless and twisted into odd shapes, stunted reminders of better times before the drought, back when there had been enough water for everyone. Now the trunks were all that marked the way to Aredann, the edge of the world.

“Highest! Look!”

Elan squinted, barely able to see through the sun's glare, despite the mesh that covered his face to keep out the worst of the sun and sand. At first, he couldn't make out anything, then just a speck that grew more distinct as they came closer: cultivated land, and the Aredann reservoir and estate house.

As they drew closer, his tutor—his watchdog—Desinn drew up next to him and said, “I suggest you prepare yourself. We're nearly there.”

Elan rolled his eyes, knowing Desinn wouldn't be able to see it from under his hood, but nodded. Not that he could do much to prepare in the saddle, and he refused to stop just to change clothes, with Aredann finally so close. After four days of camping, sand caked his travel robe and the loose garments under it. It had worked its way inside his clothes, too, fine grit rubbing his skin raw. His demeanor, not his appearance, would have to impress Lady Shirrad Aredann.

“You should be aware. The messenger your father sent will surely have started rumors about the abandonment, and the Avowed at Aredann will turn to you to ask questions. Your role here—your
only
role—is to be your father's warden, and remind them they must obey.” Desinn paused, smugness dripping from him like sweat. “Try to remember your vows.”

“I will,” Elan snapped, and turned his attention back to the dry, dismal landscape.

As they approached, Elan found that Aredann wasn't any more impressive up close than it had looked from a distance. He could see most of its layout—the mage-built house, tiny compared to buildings in the central cities, but larger than anything else out here. There was a smattering of a town around it, no more than a handful of dull tan buildings. The fields and orchards sat off to one side, closer to the minuscule reservoir. It was the reservoir that most drew his eye, glistening like a blue jewel, but infinitely more valuable.

The main street they rode down was also the only street, aside from some tiny sandy lanes. A few Twill gaped at him from the glassless windows of their houses, so he tried to look regal, like his father. Worn tracks led them to the estate's outer wall, with an enormous stone gate that was pulled open by guardsmen as they approached.

A small crowd waited inside, the girl at the front wearing a vibrant red robe with gold embroidery, much nicer than anything anyone else had on. It took Elan a moment to realize she was Lady Shirrad—he'd expected a grown woman, not someone close to his own age.

Growing up among the Highest families had taught him to school his expression, so he was careful not to let his surprise show as he pushed the hood and mesh from his face. No one so young should have been the Avowed guardian of an entire estate and reservoir. Something must have happened to her parents, but he couldn't remember Desinn mentioning it.

The riders finally halted, and as Elan dismounted, Lady Shirrad fell into an elegant curtsey. With that cue, everyone else who had gathered bowed, as protocol demanded.

Elan tucked his gloves into his belt and stepped forward. He stood in front of Lady Shirrad and held out his hands, sand falling from his draped sleeves. Someone handed Lady Shirrad an elegant cup, intricately carved, with damp spots dripping from the top. Lady Shirrad ducked her head as she handed it to him, an offering of loyalty to the Highest. Elan accepted it and drank. The ceremony only required him to take a few mouthfuls, but he was thirsty enough to empty the cup entirely.

He nodded when he was finished, handing the cup back. “My thanks, Lady Guardian.”

“All I have is yours, Grand Warden,” she answered, and gestured to the arched gate of the inner wall behind her. “And I'd be pleased to show you all that this estate offers.”

“Highest is fine—or Lord Elan,” he said, though he was inwardly pleased she'd used his full title. He was young to hold it, but carrying out his father's will and upholding order was an honor. And, despite what Desinn thought, it was a role he was perfectly capable of handling. “Before anything else, I'd like to change into something less travel-worn.” He brushed sand from his robe, not that it did much good. “And I'm certain my traveling companions would like to do the same. Ah, Lady, I should introduce you….” He glanced over at Desinn, now dismounted and following them as they walked toward the house itself. Desinn wasn't as good at keeping his feelings off his face, and right now it clouded with impatience. “This is my tutor, Lord Desinn Loerdan, one of my father's most trusted stewards for many years now.”

“I'm very glad to meet you, my lord,” she said, almost stumbling as she looked back at him while leading the way.

“Lady,” Desinn answered, amused. Shirrad's cheeks reddened, but that could have been from insult as much as embarrassment at her misstep. As the guardian of an entire estate, she certainly outranked Desinn enough that he should have bowed. But then again, Desinn was close to Elan's father, which was a kind of power all its own.

“Highest, we haven't had our evening meal yet,” she said after a moment. “I'm sure you must be exhausted from your trip. Why don't you rest before dinner, and we'll eat in private when it's ready?”

“Certainly,” Elan agreed. “Perhaps I'll bathe while I wait.”

Her smile went tight but didn't waver. “Of course, Highest. I'll have a servant draw a bath for you immediately. And of course, here, ah”—she turned down a hall—“the finest rooms in the estate.” She opened a door and stood aside politely.

The room was nicer than he'd expected, with high ceilings and bright orange-and-yellow walls, an intricate tile design that proved that, poor though this place was, the house had been built by mages. No one since the War had constructed houses where the walls themselves were art.

The sleeping mat was on a raised platform and draped with lush, bright blankets and pillows, with a carved stone cistern in the corner, several more cushions for guests to sit on, and a padded bench in front of the window. The room's decorations weren't as intricate as the ones in his father's house, but the blankets and cushions all looked just as comfortable and equally embellished, and he was sure these were Lady Shirrad's quarters. Giving up her own rooms for him was beyond the politeness required from a host, but she scurried off before he could thank her for it.

Elan stretched, sore from the journey and too warm, even in here. He loosened the cord that fastened his robe at his neck and tossed the robe off. As he walked to the window, he absently tugged the neck of his shirt down, allowing his fingers to trace the well-healed brand below his collarbone, near his heart. A circle, divided into four sections—one for each of the Highest families; one for each of the elements. It was a mark of his rank, given to him when he'd taken his vows of loyalty to his father at thirteen. All Avowed wardens and guardians had one, including members the Highest families—the guardians of the Well itself. The brand was a reminder of the vows they'd all taken.

He pushed aside the curtain and gazed out at a dusty courtyard. It wasn't much of a view, but he supposed that was to be expected. There was nothing to look at in Aredann, because there was nothing
to
Aredann. As its water supply dwindled, so did Aredann, and soon it would be left to the desert, battered by wind and sand until it crumbled into dust.

Elan ran a hand over the decoration in the tiles, staring down at the empty, ugly courtyard. It was hard to believe that the last battle of the War of the Well had been won here.

Aredann may not have looked impressive, but its history was worth saving. It wasn't just the battle, or the fact that the great traitor had been born here. No one knew for sure why the Highest's ancestors had seen fit to build a reservoir so far removed that it didn't support a city or even farming lands, but legends said the estate had actually been a way-marker. Aredann was supposedly the last reservoir before the Well itself, out to the west somewhere. No one was sure that was true; no one had ever found any proof.

But here Aredann was, and here Elan was, too. They were both out of favor with his father, and Elthis rarely forgave. He certainly never forgot, and his respect, hard enough to earn in the first place, was all but impossible to win back after it was lost. So while Aredann turned to dust, Elan would spend years struggling to prove that he deserved the grand warden title he'd so nearly lost. Unless, somehow, he could prove he deserved it while he was here.

If Aredann was a signpost, the last reservoir before the Well, then maybe, hidden somewhere in this forgotten, desolate estate, there was a map or a clue or a key to finding the location of the Well itself. If there was, and if Elan could find it, that would be a service to his father large enough that all of his misdeeds would be forgiven. His father would accept him back with open arms, would trust him the way he trusted Elan's older sister and so few others.

Elan wasn't naïve enough to believe it would be easy, but if there
was
a secret hidden at Aredann, he was determined to be the one who uncovered it at last.

Much like Lady Shirrad's chamber, the room where they were dining had high ceilings and enormous windows, but that was where its grandeur ended. Low shelves had been built between the windows, stacked with books and a few decorative mugs and plates. There were some large, faded mosaics hung higher up, but the cushions around the table were plain and, frankly, didn't look particularly comfortable.

Not that it mattered. Elan still settled himself on one, cross-legged in front of the low stone table, as a servant brought in their meal. He didn't expect much, but was pleasantly surprised by the smell and then the sight of the meal: a well-baked bread with herbs, cheese, and even goat meat. He hadn't thought there was enough cultivated ground out here to keep animals, and this was much, much better than he'd expected from such a water-poor estate as Aredann.

Lady Shirrad watched him nervously as he ate, waiting for some kind of reaction. He smiled, nodding to her. “Delicious, especially after days of eating while traveling.”

“I'm so glad you like it,” she said, smiling too hard.

Desinn was watching for her reaction, too, even as he ate. He didn't seem particularly appreciative of the meal, though it must have taken a great deal of time to prepare.

But that was why, Elan realized. As Desinn had warned him, Shirrad knew full well why Elan was visiting, and what that would mean for her future. When Aredann was abandoned, Shirrad would lose her standing as guardian. Her only hope was to be given a decent new title by Elan's father—and a good word from Elan would smooth that along.

No wonder Desinn didn't seem impressed. The play for their favor was obvious. But while Desinn sneered, Elan smiled. Desinn had nothing to lose if he was obvious about his disdain, but Elan wanted Shirrad's help, and he didn't want Desinn to know about it. So let Desinn be rude, and let Shirrad resent him for it. That would make it even easier for Elan to ply her.

He changed the subject from the meal. “Aredann has been beautifully kept—I could swear mages still walk the halls.”

Shirrad tittered nervously. “Well, we do try, Highest. I know it's only a small estate, but I take my duties to it very seriously.”

“And it shows. Don't you think, Lord Desinn?”

Desinn shot him a sharp look, but said, “Of course. It's as nice as one could expect, being so far away from civilization.”