Untalented (10 page)

The head groom shouted at her from the door to the barn.

“Just me luck—His Majesty returns tonight and we have no carrots. He dotes on that stallion of his … Cook says the kitchens are out as well. Go to market to fetch me a dozen.”

What luck! Saroya treasured these excursions. She only got one free day a month, and used it to explore the city. If she was quick, she could complete her errand and visit the library without leaving him the wiser. She wiped her face with the cloth she used to polish the saddles and took the coin pouch the groom held out.

“Don’t dawdle. You’d better account for all the coins I gave you. And behave. Your own personal … situation is bad enough—I don’t know what possessed Weeda to think taking on an Untalent was a good idea.”

Saroya gritted her teeth. The groom’s incessant sniping wore thin. Saroya knew she stood at the bottom of the pecking order. She’d had it with his need to rub it in.

“What does my ‘personal situation’ have to do with anything? Everyone here is in the same boat.”

His normal expression of contemptuous disdain hardened with fury. “You dare? I am nothing like you. Come from a long line of proper weavers, I do. I’ll get back into the guild when I’ve paid my penance.”

Saroya gaped at him. “But—”

He cut her off. “Cook’s a proper member of the Chef’s Guild, Danno the coachman is a builder whose designs are simply not in fashion—or so he says—and Breea can no longer be a tanner since she breaks out in hives when she gets near the tanning vats—not her fault she can’t do what she was born to.”

Saroya squeaked out, “I’m the only Untalent here?”

“And anything you do in castle livery reflects on all of us. Now fetch those carrots.”

Saroya stood stunned in the courtyard, staring at the groom. The castle servants were not Untalented, but instead, failed Talents. Failed Talents were unheard of in Adram Vale: so few people lived in the village that the need for whatever Talent a child demonstrated allowed a failure to get by. Apparently failure as a Talent did not confer greater empathy for the plight of an Untalent.

It came out of Saroya before she could stop it. “Does it make you feel better?”

The groom frowned.

“About yourself. Does bringing me down somehow make your own failures bearable?”

He glared at her and slammed the stable door.

Saroya darted out to the courtyard. It had taken her a few weeks, but she now understood the castle’s labyrinthine layout. A simple rectangular structure enclosed the central courtyard. The complex network of stairs, corridors and arcades housed all the living quarters for the royal family and their servants, storerooms, and stables. Not to mention all the offices of the government, and the Hall of the Great Circle of Houses, which she had yet to see. She made her way to the west gate and set off down the road to Market Square.

As she walked she turned the encounter with the groom over and over in her head. If Untalents in the city couldn’t even be servants, how did they live? She’d heard tales of the poverty and squalor in the Vergal Quarter. Perhaps it was just at the castle that Untalents weren’t allowed. Which didn’t bode well for her reception once she’d exposed Martezha. If she ever stood in Martezha’s place, she’d make other Untalents welcome at the castle. After all, wasn’t she now proving herself just as capable as the other grooms? Saroya smiled to herself as Market Square came into view.

Resisting the fascination of the constant bustle of the market, she made short work of the carrot purchase and trotted back along the main road to the Manor District. U’Veyle Library perched on a knoll within view of the castle. The imposing building dwarfed the many guildspeople who passed through its doors, researching their various fields. She hoped her castle livery would suffice instead of a guild crest. She crossed the entrance, the smell of musty paper assailing her.

Success had eluded her in accessing U’Veyle Castle’s own collection of books and scrolls. Master Doga, the castle librarian, looked askance at her request, and summarily denied it. Saroya suspected he would keep even the royals out of the stacks if he could. He seemed distinctly possessive of his books.

The U’Veyle city library was another matter. Some tomes, due to age or deterioration, were accessible only to guild members who could prove a need to view their contents. Even then, a librarian supervised to ensure no further harm came to their precious charges. Most recent books were available for perusal in the reading rooms. Saroya researched the queen, to find some hint to the identity of the elusive Veshwa. This proved difficult—few histories of Queen Padvai were available, her death being so recent. She gleaned a few small pebbles of information: the queen’s maiden House was Roshan, and her sister was the woman Saroya and Nalini had interrupted with Eiden Callor.

Today, Saroya wanted to find out if any of Nalini’s builder relatives had drawings filed with the library. Castle stable rat was fine for keeping a roof over her head, but she could have stayed in Adram Vale for that. The only way out of the pit of Untalent was acceptance into a guild. She needed a sponsor into the Builder’s Guild, and if Nalini wasn’t willing to supply her with one, then she’d find one for herself.

“I don’t pay you to come back empty-handed.”

The man standing in Loric’s study shrugged. “I can only bring back what I saw. She went to the library.”

“What was she looking for?”

“You ’spect I followed her in? Ain’t nowhere to hide in there, and I don’t even know how to pretend to read. She’d’ve spotted me right quick, that one.”

“Maybe I should find someone who can go anywhere, then,” Loric said, but grudgingly handed over a small sack of coins. This effort to track the girl on her castle excursions was getting expensive.

“Far’s I can tell, she doesn’t do much. Why’s she so interesting, anyway?”

“Any more questions? I can send you off to find other employment.”

The man scuttled from the room. Loric pondered his options. His patience was sorely tested, but a hasty move at this point could upset his plans.

Callor met King Urdig’s royal barque as it pulled up to the castle esplanade. Urdig disembarked, and clasped Callor’s arm in greeting. They walked up the stairs towards the gate.

“What news from Adram Vale?” asked Urdig.

“The Adepts report Mistress Baghore was abandoned as an infant at the Cloister.”

Callor handed over a parchment. Dhilain of Roshan’s affidavit attested to the authenticity of the ring—a betrothal gift from his father to his mother, passed down to his sister Padvai on her mother’s death.

“We have no reason to disbelieve Martezha is Padvai’s child, Callor.”

“But is she yours?”

“Straight to the point, eh?”

“Delicacy is not why you made me guard captain.”

Urdig stared at the cobblestones as they entered the courtyard. “I have no reason to doubt Padvai.”

“Then why would she hide the child?”

Urdig shrugged.

“Your Majesty, if she had any reason, I must know. The Houses won’t accept Martezha as heir if they have any doubt about her lineage.”

Urdig glanced around to confirm no servants lurked in their vicinity. “Enough! If I catch wind from any quarter of you pursuing further inquiries into this, I shall exile you to Kurtya, understood?”

Callor stiffened, but acquiesced.

They walked along one of the inner corridors. A tapestry of the Ileggi uprising so many years ago caught Urdig’s eye. While he spent months cleaning up the mess along the southern border, Padvai had summered at the Roshan estate. She had been so happy to see him on his return. He never even knew she had conceived. It was the only timing that made sense.

They approached the arcade leading to the royal quarters. “I will issue a decree to the Houses that Martezha is my heir.” Urdig ignored Callor’s protestation. “The decision is final.”

Saroya got back to the stable to find the head groom in a tizzy. The governor of the southern city of U’Jiam had arrived unexpectedly with his entourage, and twenty mounts to unsaddle and find stalls for. Saroya worked non-stop until sunset, when she changed into clean-smelling clothes and hurried to the kitchens in search of dinner.

There, she found the governor’s presence playing havoc with Cook’s dinner plans. The night’s simple layered flat noodle dish forgotten, the king now required a full banquet. The kitchen helpers scurried about the hot, steamy room with dishes and ingredients. An air of controlled panic wafted about with the smells of roasting meat and seafood.

Cook spotted Saroya and beckoned her over.

“Here, take this tea to the princess.”

“Princess?”

“Just got word it’s official. Now go on.”

“But—”

“No buts. Her Highness has a sore throat and all the maids vanished into the woodwork on me. There’s not a one to be found—Guffin must have them all making beds. If I don’t get her this tisane soon, I’ll never hear the end of it.” She shoved a tray into Saroya’s hands. “Off with you, now.”

Saroya took a deep breath and wandered off with the tray. Until now, though it was the most direct route from the stable to the kitchens, she had avoided Martezha’s wing—she was not prepared to confront her yet—so it took her a few minutes to find the right hallway. The page standing outside the door gave her a warning look.

“She’s in a right foul mood today, miss. Best be done as quickly as you can.” He looked askance at the door, opened it and waved her in. The new princess had not made a good initial impression on the castle servants.

Saroya stepped into the room, her curiosity warring with her resentment of Martezha. The empty antechamber opened on to an inner room through a curtained archway. A portrait of Martezha already decorated the outer room. She must have commissioned it right after their arrival in U’Veyle. What gall! In the painting, the newly minted princess, robed in scarlet velvet, sat astride an opulent white steed, staring coolly at all who entered. Saroya stuck out her tongue at the image, though she really wanted to spatter it with the tea. She shouldered aside the curtain and braved the inner chamber.

Martezha lay stretched out on the canopy bed, with her hand lying across her forehead, eyes half-closed. A handmaiden waved a fan towards the ersatz princess’s face. Saroya searched out a surface on which she could leave the tray. Spotting a sideboard across from the bed, she dipped a slight curtsy at the door, and headed over to deposit the tea. Hoping she had avoided notice, she tiptoed back to the door. She gave her exiting curtsy, but Martezha’s whining croak halted her.

“At least make yourself useful and pour the tea. Or is even that beyond your talents?”

Saroya’s lips tightened, but she kept her annoyance in check, and her head down. She picked up the small porcelain cup from the tray. Her hands shook with repressed anger as the tea flowed out from the pot. A drop splashed onto the tray. Saroya focused on it wobbling and shimmering in the light, then gathered herself and turned to Martezha, who snatched the proffered cup from her hands. More tea spilled onto the bed.

“You clumsy fool, look what you’ve done!”

The handmaiden backed away and made herself as unnoticeable as possible in the corner near the window. Saroya met Martezha’s eyes—a deep satisfaction lurked in their depths. Saroya refused to give her the excuse she was looking for.