The Seekers of Fire (31 page)

Linde paid her heed. The thin girl seemed to have elevator problems herself, her face still and pale, her fingers white where they gripped a support-handle. Somehow Jenne managed to step closer to her and pat her hand.

"A few minutes, Linde dear, and we are up. You can hold on for a few minutes, right? Right, I am sure. I am the same, you are not alone. The elevator gives me the creeps, even though I never minded the elevators in Tremayne."

Not that she simply had not minded them. In Tremayne, the elevators had been happiness itself. Not only had Jenne not felt imprisoned when the door to an elevator's cabin was shut in Tremayne, but her stomach had experienced much different flutters. She had felt as if she were flying when the Tremayne cabins shot up their shafts towards the Tremayne higher floors. She'd even had
aberrant
thoughts—she had imagined herself a bird shooting up to the sky.

Linde gave Jenne a weak smile and tried to pat Jenne's own hand, but only found the strength to do it clumsily. Rianor saw that, and he had perhaps heard Jenne's words to Linde as well, even though he had been engrossed into the document Desmond had handed to him in their suite. Now Rianor himself reached towards Linde, but then stopped as he saw that Jenne had wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders. This was how it should be. Let the High Lord read documents while Jenne comforted his apprentice. Documents were a High Lord's duty, while it was a woman's duty to comfort another woman. Right now Jenne felt older, more experienced than Linde, and—a new feeling—stronger.

"Hold on, Linde," she whispered in her ear. "Just a little longer. The elevator weakness happens to every new lady in the House, did you know? We'll get used to it, Nan says. She says lady Eleora herself was like this twenty-five years ago."

That lady Eleora had not taken more than thirty days to get used to Qynnsent, Jenne did not mention. The Qynnsent servants must be by now whispering whenever lady Jenelly, formerly of Tremayne, turned her back to them. She used the stairs to go anywhere but to the Council Room, and she would have walked all the way to the Council Room, too, if there
were
stairs. But the only staircase at the tower did not have an exit for the Council floor. The servants, some having come to the House more recently than Jenne herself, used the elevators without problems, and Jenne was certain that many did not even know where the stairs were. Jenne herself had not known where the stairs were in Tremayne.

"Is this a Scientific device, Jenne?" Linde's so-far glazed eyes had suddenly become sharper. "Like the chair I talked to you about," she urged when Jenne did not immediately reply. "I have never seen an elevator for people before, did not know such existed."

"Oh!" Now Jenne understood Linde's question. "No, dear, of course not ... I mean, I don't know? It is an Artificery device, right? This is what old lord Arnold—Tremayne's First Counselor, that is—told me. The elevator systems are made by the same Ber lords and ladies that make the wristwatches, he said. I guess it is not a Scientific device, then, Linde. A Scientific device has no Magic in it, is that correct?"

"Yes. It does not," Linde whispered, her eyes glazed again, her voice shakier, feebler.

Yet, a few moments later Linde raised a hand to remove a lock of hair from her eyes, and the motion was not weak. It was casual and certain with the certainty and strength of someone who did something without sparing a special thought. The girl's eyes were still glazed, but they were glazed differently from before.

Jenne sighed inwardly, her own feelings of superior age, experience, and strength slipping away. This time she did not even feel much better when the cabin finally halted its disturbing motion and the door swung open, allowing the four of them to exit the elevator's shaft.

Linde, however, did feel better. Her hand now on Rianor's elbow (where the High Lord had put it himself), she crossed the cabin's threshold almost stably. She stopped to stare at the huge metal ropes and other things that extended from the top of the cabin—the ones that were visible only from the outside of the cabin and only on some of the floors reached by an elevator—but then she seemed to remember that the High Lord was waiting for her. He was watching the same thing she watched, while they had the Council to go to and were almost late.

They all went, then, Jenne still faltering somewhat even though she now held Desmond's arm—but Rianor's apprentice strode as if a whole new well of strength had suddenly emerged inside her, her eyes cast far, far away.

Jenelly

Evening and night 79 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

Entering the Council Room felt, as usual, like entering into an especially bleak and hostile night, even though outside the last daylight had not yet fully left the sky. Like in Tremayne, there were no windows in the Council Room. The silent darkness was interrupted only by the still silhouettes of waiting people and the shadows cast by the single sleep candle on a wall.

Jenne shivered and hoped that Desmond would not notice, but he scowled. He always noticed everything. At least, this time they had come with the High Lord himself, and Inni, Nan, and Master Keitaro were already here. This time, at least, the dark wait would not be too long. Her hand still on Desmond's arm, Jenne trudged the steps to the furthest wall, then let go of her husband and placed her hand on her own fireswitch.

As the First Counselor, Desmond was first. He pressed his fireswitch and, while his candle slowly glowed into full brightness, Desmond fell to his knees.

"High Lord of Qynnsent, my light is yours," Desmond alleged in his deep voice. "The Master has blessed me to be a lord of your House. For the good of Qynnsent and Mierenthia itself, you may take everything from me."

Rianor bowed to Desmond. "Lord Desmond of Qynnsent, First Counselor of the House, I accept your light. May it burn inside you long and bright. Rise now."

Desmond's words had been distinct, strong, uttered so that they resonated in the whole room—words that, from the deep of Desmond's heart, had meaning. The perfect First Counselor; Jenne was so proud of him at times like this. Rianor's words, on the other hand, had been rushed, uninvolved. The High Lord seemed to be thinking of other things. Linde was beside him, her hand still on his elbow, and she was staring at the rising Desmond as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads.

She should not be standing by the High Lord like this. She should indeed not yet be here. She should be waiting outside until the Council Commencement was complete, and then someone not noble, Nan or Master Keitaro, would bring her in for her Inauguration as a Qynnsent lady. And then, for next Commencement, she should take her own place by a fireswitch of her own. It was not and would not be right for her to stand where she stood now.

Jenne tried to swallow her discomfort. The Qynnsent High Lord was so unlike her own father; he paid so little heed to the rituals. Why, today he even seemed adverse to them. Why would he? The rituals—the sameness and familiarity of them, even in a House so different from her other one, the security of them—were all that made it possible for Jenne to go on sometimes. Even the elevator, disturbing and frightening as it was, was still an elevator. It was made by the same Bers. How would Jenne have felt if there were something else instead of it? She shuddered and tried to chase the uncomfortable thought away.

Inni was next to kneel, while Linde still stood by Rianor. It would disturb Inni, Jenne knew. Still, Jenne was surprised when Inni's voice shook and she stumbled through half of her own Dedication, before she took control of herself and finished the words in her usual calm, clear and pleasant voice. Inni had never stumbled through a ritual before, as far as Jenne knew. Rituals existed to praise the Master and to prepare humans to best live in the Master's world, to make humans be the best they could be. Most people knew that, but Inni knew it
in her heart.
Mentor Octavian, the Qynnsent Mentor, said that Inni herself was an example of the best a person could be.

Mentor Octavian was not here now—yet another difference between Qynnsent and Tremayne. Whereas High Lord Klaus would sometimes invite Mentor Gloriana to Council, High Lord Rianor never invited Octavian. It made sense, for Octavian lived further from Qynnsent than Gloriana from Tremayne, and Octavian himself preferred to only come once every thirty days for the nobles' Prayer and servants' Confession. And yet ...

Once again, Jenne chased her thoughts away, for her own turn had come.

She did the Dedication as usual. She was not particularly stumbling through it, but her words were neither calm and peaceful like Inni's nor impressive like Desmond's.

After she was done, Desmond raised a hand, just before Nan would have lighted her own candle.

"No, Nan, wait. You know the rules. Next is lady Linden." He paused. "Lady Linden
of Qynnsent.
"

Inni clasped a hand to her mouth at that, and Jenne's own eyes widened in surprise. Linde did have a watch with a Qynnsent symbol on her wrist, how had Jenne not noticed so far?

No. She had noticed the existence of both a watch and a symbol, but she had not paid attention to the symbol itself; had thought it another House's. But Linde could not have had one, for she was a commoner, was that not right? Had been.

How?

Some time ago Linde had released Rianor's elbow. Now, something flashed in her eyes, and Jenne did not clearly see what it was but was glad that it was not directed at her.

Then, it was no more.

"All right," Linde simply said and then slowly knelt, just as Desmond asked if she remembered the words.

"I did hear them three times, First Counselor. I am not mindless."

Jenne tugged at her wristwatch. She often needed to hear something more than three times before she would remember it.

Linde repeated the words quietly, her voice having no emotion at all. Still, she somehow seemed to be struggling. Why? Had she, after all, not remembered the words despite hearing them three times?

Then, before Rianor could say anything, Linde toppled to the side.

Rianor caught her before she would have hit her head, and carried her to a chair by the Council table. Nan followed with her omnipresent wet cloth to put on the girl's face, Inni at her heels. Jenne went after them, too, even though the other two women were better than her and would be of more help.

A moment later, Nan pursed her lips and Inni knit her trembling fingers tightly together. Why? Had Linde fainted?

No. Her eyes were wide open when Jenne came close enough to see them and to hear the High Lord's words.

" ... I don't want
everything
from you," the High Lord was whispering to his apprentice. "I told you last night what I want, and you are giving me more than enough. Hold on. Stay with me."

These were not proper words. This was not a proper ritual at all. Linde had not even lit a candle.

Then Jenne saw her own hands tremble, goosebumps on her skin, when the High Lord turned towards everyone.

"I am not saying any Ber-imposed words to people I care for, and I am not hearing any such said to me from anyone,
ever again.
"

His eyes were so sharp and hard that they seemed to take over his face, as if forcing Jenne to look into them and them only. As if making her cut herself. Even the High Lord's wound, the thin and ominous one that Jenne now suspected had something to do with all this, seemed thinner and less significant with his eyes like that.

Somehow, Jenne was not surprised by his next words.

"The time has come for this House to defy the Bers."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever—until a new, grumpy, voice broke it with, "Just about time, I would say, boy."

Rianor

Night 79 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

If Rianor had ever in his life especially loved lady Mathilda, Qynnsent's Lady-in-residence in Balkaene, it was now. Her grouchy, quarrelsome voice, her scowl and the sharp eyes presently watching him with suspicion—even the gray hair, strands of which always escaped her overtightened bun these days—he loved them all. They did for him what none of the others' various degrees of shock could do.

They pushed his fury back and let him think again.

"I am glad to see you, too, aunt Mathilda," Rianor murmured, and suddenly the others in the room seemed to start breathing again.

"I must say, Rianor, do you dispose of the Ber words only, or of the kneeling, too?" She scowled again. "I must say that, at my age, this is a very important question. You young fools don't believe the likes of me and don't care, but old bones do hurt. They wobble!"

She was at the table now, having stridden in a manner that implied these particular old bones did not know that they were supposed to wobble, and thrust herself into a chair.

"There we have it. Hey, boy?" The last words were directed at Desmond. "Saying no words is all fine with me, but go light my candle, will you? And hers, too." She nodded towards Linden, who was seated beside her. The girl's eyes were not yet fully focused, and a glass of water that Nan had brought was clasped into her hands. "It will not do, disposing of the
light.
"

Obediently, the First Counselor of Qynnsent lit the candles.

"You, girl." This was directed at Nan. "Bring some food for this child at once." She nodded towards Linden once again. "Shame on you, Nan, you are a commoner yourself. Unlike me, you are too young to be forgetful. Do you know what time it is? It is past evening and into night. The commoners have eaten long ago. No wonder the girl would faint ...
What
now?"

Mathilda glared at the uncomprehending faces of mostly everyone. "Ah, you don't know. Of course. Commoners outside, and not"—she waved at Nan—"silly nobled servants who know Mierenthia no better than the silly nobles themselves—Commoners, I was saying, eat dinner before the night has fallen. Always have."

She sighed. "It is difficult to set a table, eat, and wash-up on naught but a sleep candle, you know—and a sleep candle is all they have. No day candles past evening, no lanterns but those in the streets, no matter how much money they earn. That's how the commoners' firepipes and buckets work, when they
do
work." She glared at everyone again. "Commoners, like any sensible people, are afraid of the dark, and with a single sleep candle it
is
dark. Better sleep through it. Not to speak of having to get up early on the next day for work."