Untalented (12 page)

The three master builders studied her from behind a long table. The one in the middle, Master Dila, fingered her application. Then, glancing at his two colleagues, he set it aside.

“Mistress Bardan, I must admit I was skeptical of your qualifications. It is not often that a potential Talent first comes to our attention at your age.”

Saroya stared him straight in the eye. One of his eyelids drooped. “I understand, Master. When my mother took ill, I abandoned my studies to take care of her.” The easiness of the lie surprised her.

“And now that she has passed away you wish to resume your learning?”

“Yes, Master. I know I will need to work hard to catch up, but if you will just give me a chance …”

The builder on the left pursed fleshy lips. He looked as though he had spent his life building taverns and then overindulging in their wares. He cleared his throat.

“Builder Goha Ferlen is impressed with your skills. You are fortunate he felt moved to write you this letter of recommendation.” He turned to his colleagues. “I see no reason to delay any longer.”

Master Dila nodded. “Have your possessions delivered to the guildhall. You begin your advanced classes as soon as you are able.”

Saroya wanted to rush up to him and hug him, but she only permitted herself a demure smile. She thanked the committee, bowed, and left the room, resisting the temptation to steal one final look at the letter on the table.

It wasn’t until she was outside the guildhall and around the corner that she collapsed against a wall and let what had happened sink in. They had accepted the letter!

The biggest risk of her plan—and it worked! Nalini hadn’t wanted to approach her family for her, so Saroya forged her own reference letter. After researching the famous Ferlen clan builders and rejecting those who were too well known, or dead, she settled on Goha Ferlen, a builder of small repute, but well respected as a teacher. He lived in Galon Ford, far enough away that she could be reasonably certain he wouldn’t suddenly appear in U’Veyle. She located some of his signed plans for a tax collection office stored in a little-used section of the library. From there, it had been, while not simple, at least achievable after much practice to forge his signature.

It pained her to go behind her friend’s back. Without an avenue to appeal her final Testing, Saroya couldn’t see any other way to create the opportunity she needed. One small signature, in exchange for the chance to show the Adepts how wrong they were about her Untalent. Saroya felt sure Nalini would understand once she’d proven herself. Who knew? Maybe once she’d shown them all how good a builder she could be, doors would open for other Untalents too.

The Builder’s Guild! Saroya took a shaky breath. No more manure duty. No mines. No more worrying if Martezha lurked around every corner. With luck, one day, a little respect might come her way. At least she’d be better positioned to research Queen Padvai and House Roshan.
 

She headed to the castle. She’d have to make up some explanation for her departure for Mistress Weeda. If anybody at the castle got wind of this, they would report her to the guild.

Two weeks after she’d moved into the guildhall, Saroya still waited for her life to get easier. In her make up classes with the students who would receive their apprenticeships next year, the high standards daunted her. Never her strong point at the Cloister, the drafting class was her biggest nemesis. Her teacher remained less than impressed with her skills. The excuse of caring for her ailing mother would have currency for only so long before the guild became suspicious. She put all her effort into studying as hard as possible, but too often when she tried to focus on the minutiae of building, her mind presented her with some new idea. She’d come to her senses an hour later with tons of interesting off-topic doodles and notes, but no closer to finishing her current assignment.

Today, on a class field trip, the instructor pointed out the street network, linked by bridges crossing the canals and the arms of the river delta. Ditches lining the edges of roads carried rainwater and offal to the waterways. Flagstone and cobbles paved major streets. Smaller cross streets consisted of hard-packed dirt. Except for today. After the night’s rain, thick mud mixed with waste sucked at Saroya’s shoes. The odor made her gag. That, and the sight of the rats feasting off the trash lining the alleys. Saroya jumped sideways as a housemistress tipped a bucket out a window, the slop hitting the street with a wet splat. A wayward splash trickled coldly down Saroya’s shin. She trailed after her classmates, the sight of the brown, turbid canal water reminding her not to be tempted into a swim.

They arrived at a large lake: U’Veyle’s reservoir. She listened to the builder drone on about the aqueducts that fed the city its drinking water, funneling clean rainwater into the fountains. She let herself daydream about letting go of all the worry and splashing about in a fountain herself.

“Mistress Bardan?”

Saroya stared at the instructor, nonplussed.

“You didn’t even hear my question, did you? Why do we drink only from the fountains and not the underground cisterns?”

“I—uh …” Well heads in the squares accessed underground cisterns that also trapped rainwater runoff. For a moment she blanked.

“No self-respecting cook would use cistern water for cooking. Why?”

You know this.
The skin of her shin tightened where the offal had dried. “The garbage?”

“Correct. Water, and waste, flows down.” As a result, the citizens only used cistern water for washing.

Saroya wondered if aqueducts could also be used to keep the streets cleaner, while still allowing the river to make off with most of the waste. She mentally kicked herself.
You’re here to study the aqueducts, dummy!
She filed away her idea for another day, when she was more established as a builder. Right now, the less attention she drew to herself, the better.

Loric stifled a yawn. Enduring Urdig’s new proud father routine—really, it was too much. The noble Houses of U’Veyle had each received an invitation—Loric viewed it more as a summons—to Martezha’s first official function: a concert and speech at the opening of the new arboretum. He applauded desultorily as her aria drew to a close. He did not hold much of an appreciation for music, but Isolte assured him the new heir was quite good.

He took a cup of wine from a passing servant and positioned himself so that he could survey the garden and wait for his quarry to approach. It wouldn’t do to appear to seek her out. He sipped the drink, and nodded politely as his glance crossed that of the head of House Maghra. The fool still had no idea that Loric was behind the man’s loss of the trading rights to Ileggi grain.

Loric was feigning interest in the latest succession issues of House Biali when Martezha sashayed past. He extricated himself from the conversation and touched her arm. Martezha turned and gave him an appraising stare. He bowed, and reached for her hand. “I am remiss—I have not introduced myself yet. I am your uncle, Loric of Dorn. My wife Isolte was your mother’s sister.”

Martezha dipped a slight curtsy in return. He noted the precise height and had no doubt that she was fully aware of its significance with respect to their relative stature. She wasted no time learning the protocols, this one.

“A pleasure to meet you, Uncle Loric. You do not come to the castle often?”

He smiled. How aware was she of the political undercurrents of U’Veyle? He doubted she had enough experience yet to suspect his aspirations. But he resolved not to underestimate her. The wide green eyes hid a cunning mind. He had already witnessed how quickly she could snatch at opportunity when it arose.

“No, my House duties keep me away, I’m afraid. I enjoyed your delightful program for us. You are a great Talent in your field.”

“An uncle who flatters—should I be wary?”

“You are adjusting well to castle life, I see. It must have been quite a shock for you at first.”

“Yes, far different from Adram Vale.”

“I am honored to welcome you to the family. Whatever assistance I may provide, please feel free to ask it.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I am most grateful.”

“Your fellow students—how have they taken the news?”

“Oh, surprise, by and by. My friends were so happy for me.”

“What of your enemies?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Some among your peers were not so pleased … For instance, one young woman was quite upset, I gather.” Martezha shot him a veiled glance, though he saw her difficulty maintaining her composure.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come now. You have nothing to fear from me. But—given her allegations, I am surprised you have not kept a closer eye on her.”

“She’s a servant in the castle. How much closer could she be?”

“So you know who I mean. But you misspeak. She was a member of the castle staff, but no longer.” His surveillance of the Untalent had paid off.

“Weeda kicked her out, did she?” Martezha smirked.

“I’m afraid not. I’m told she’s found a place with the Builder’s Guild.”

Martezha shrugged. “Good riddance. Better she rot in their kitchen than mine.”

“I suppose.” Loric smiled and turned to go, then swiveled back as though sharing an afterthought. “But she’s not in the kitchen. The guild gave her full entry. It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear, but I must consult with Lord Garric on the state of his timber harvest. I’m sure we will be seeing much of each other.”

He left her to mull over his news, but took up a station behind a screen of shrubs, where he could observe Martezha’s reaction as she joined Urdig and the other officials prior to her speech.

In the heat of the day, she stood in the shade of a large oak tree. Martezha brushed away a seamstress making last minute adjustments to the hem of her dress. Urdig turned away from the scene as the buildmaster standing next to him cleared his throat. Loric could just hear them conversing.

“We are so pleased that Her Royal Highness is able to dedicate the new park,” the buildmaster said. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. His pudgy fingers worried the corner of the cloth after he stuffed it back into his pocket. “We are ready, Majesty, if Her Highness is so disposed.”

Urdig turned to fetch her.

“Martezha? It is time.”

She slapped away the seamstress’s hand fussing with a drape of fabric at her waist and made a moue. “My hair?”

“Lovely. Come.”

“Wait! That lily.” She pointed towards a bed of flowers next to the tree and waved the seamstress over again. “Sew it to my belt.”

“But Highness—”

“Do it!”

“My dear, a little more graciousness towards the help would not be uncalled for,” Urdig said. He continued, “They are waiting for you.”

“If the jeweler you sent me had known his trade—but he didn’t, and I have no decoration. The lily sets off my skin.”

From his vantage point, Loric noticed her trembling hands.

Urdig must have noticed too, because he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine, yes. I’m fine. Just get me the flower.” Martezha smoothed the irritated frown from her forehead, swallowed and took several deep breaths while the seamstress sewed the requested flower to her belt. If Loric didn’t know better, he would have said she was suffering from incipient stage fright. The seamstress indicated she was done, so Martezha gave her arm to the man she now called Father. “I’m ready.”

Loric followed as they made their way down the graveled path to the open-air rotunda where the buildmaster and agronomist awaited them. A crowd of nobles bowed as the pair came into view. Martezha glided up the stairs and took her place on the dais. The buildmaster presented her with a gilded key, meant to represent the opening of the park’s gates. The agronomist rolled a small cart carrying a flowering tree to a position next to her. “A gift for Her Highness.”

Martezha, looking shaky, gave her prepared speech. When it was done, Loric observed her escape to the refreshment table and sidled closer. The buildmaster offered her a glass of sparkling wine. “Highness, we are most grateful you graced us with your presence today—such an honor.”

“The honor is mine, Buildmaster Dila. Your work is a credit to the realm,” Martezha said. Loric felt the rotunda looked heavy and awkward. “I have a question for you,” Martezha continued. Loric held his breath.