Untalented (14 page)

“How could you?”

Saroya didn’t have an answer to Nalini’s question. They sat in the garden of the Healer’s Guild. Saroya had decided it would be best to spill the sorry tale of her brief foray into the Builder’s Guild to Nalini before some other offended Ferlen got to her first.

“I’m sorry, Nalini. I didn’t think it would hurt anyone. I know it was wrong, but—”

“This is my family’s name we’re talking about. You’ve made a laughing stock of Ferlens everywhere.”

“Nobody’s laughing, believe me.” Saroya wondered how being laughed at could be worse than how people treated her.

“Why would anyone believe anything you say anymore?”

“Nalini—”

“Give me one reason why I should still be your friend.”

“Even Goha Ferlen wasn’t as angry as you are.”

“If he’s willing to forgive you, it’s not to your credit.”

Through her shame, Saroya repressed a surge of indignation. She’d apologized, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t Nalini see? See how hard life was for her? “It’s not like I stole from him.”

“Stealing isn’t just about money. You stole my name. You stole his. Just because you don’t have a family doesn’t mean you can get away with disrespecting mine.”

“But they don’t even respect you.”

Nalini sat back as if Saroya had slapped her.

“I love my parents. My sister warned me to cut you out of my life a while ago, but I thought I should give you a break.”

“Oh, so now I’m some pity case, is that it?”

“I could put up with a lot from you but not lies. And certainly not taking advantage of the people I love behind my back.”

“But—”

“Get out.” Nalini stood and pointed at the door. Saroya left. She regretted her words, but there was no taking them back. How had her apology spiraled down into such bitterness? Who was she angrier with: Nalini or herself?

Saroya parlayed the funds from Goha Ferlen’s small gift into a dingy lodging above a tanner’s shop. With the rent due weekly, she needed to find a paying wage within the next two weeks if she wanted to stay off the streets.

She relentlessly canvassed the neighborhood, but none of the tradespeople would take her on without a recommendation from a guild. She had no luck convincing any of the small, family-owned shops that she could add to their business. She stopped telling potential employers about her stint at the castle; when she could not provide a reasonable excuse for leaving such a plum assignment, their interest turned to suspicion. Every night she returned to her tiny room footsore and discouraged, her nose wrinkling at the nauseating smell from the tanning vats. Her remaining coins dwindled and she rationed her food intake. Her stomach growled in protest.

Shop owners chased her out with foul language and once even a thrown shoe when they discovered she was Untalented. The only person who’d been even somewhat encouraging, a scribe, gave her a sheet of calligraphy samples. “Come back in two years if you’ve mastered all the forms,” he said. Like that would help her now.

On this particular cloudy morning she roused herself out of bed with little enthusiasm. Though she tiptoed down the rickety staircase, the landlord pounced on her at the bottom.

“Rent’s due tomorrow.”

“Then don’t bother me ’til then,” Saroya said.

The skinny man eyed her pouch doubtfully. “Don’t look like that holds enough coin.”

“Only fools carry all their money with them.” She wanted to take back the remark as soon as it came out; he’d probably search her room now looking for a stash. Not that he’d find anything.

Saroya pushed past him and headed for a fruitmonger. She picked out a bruised apple and, pointing out the blemish, haggled down the price.

At the end of the street, a magistrate rounded the corner. Were they still looking for her? She ducked into a dark, narrow tunnel underneath the second floor of two buildings. The hidden alley opened out into a courtyard bordered on its far side by a narrow canal. Across the water, the pink splash of geraniums spilled over the low wall of an enclosed garden. They gave her something pretty to stare at, her feet dabbling at the canal water lapping against the stone.

She tallied in her head her short list of friends. In time Nalini might forgive Saroya but time was not a luxury she possessed. Saroya could expect little enthusiasm from Mistress Weeda or Master Guffin for a return to castle service. Not that being anywhere near Martezha seemed wise. None of the Adram Vale students would give her the time of day. Oddly enough, Goha Ferlen best understood her predicament. But he had already gone back to Galon Ford. She needed help, and she needed it soon.

Her thoughts turned to Eiden Callor. Even though he disbelieved her story, she still felt he was responsible for getting her the work with Master Guffin. She doubted Callor would see her but there was no harm in trying.

The watchman rebuffed her on sight when she approached the officers’ quarters; what possible business could someone dressed like she was have with the captain of the King’s Guards? Finally, she convinced him to bring Callor a note. She waited in the spartan hallway, avoiding the stares of curious soldiers, for over half an hour.

A door opened across from the lounge and an aide beckoned to her. She followed him into the room. Two battle-axes hung crossed over the door, and maps of the kingdom lined the walls. The ornate crest of the King’s Guards inlaid into the granite floor reinforced that she came as a petitioner. The aide motioned at an inner door then retired to his desk in the anteroom.

Crossing the threshold into Callor’s office, Saroya squinted at the glare from the window. Callor stood silhouetted behind the desk. He did not come forward to greet her and she could not make out his expression. She stopped a few feet from the desk, not knowing how to begin. His continuing silence made her feel more and more like a supplicant. She needed him to think well of her, yet what she came to ask would lower his opinion of her. Sensing his impatience, she cleared her throat.

“Captain Callor, thank you so much for agreeing to see me.”

“Please get to the point.” His chilly tone discouraged her even further.

“I need work,” she blurted, then felt her cheeks coloring.

“I went to some lengths to get you a perfectly decent position at the castle. You could not hope for much better, yet you threw out the opportunity like so many dinner leavings.”

Saroya looked at her feet. “It was stupid and ungrateful of me to leave the castle, yes. But I wasn’t ready to give up on finding … some thing, some way of making my own mark on the world.” She searched out his eyes but the sunlight pouring in the window behind him stymied her. “Surely you can understand this.”

“And now you are ready? To give up?”

No, but how to explain? She needed to eat. “No one will have me. I’ve tried, and tried.” Her voice shook as all the humiliations of the past month pushed through. “I’ll take anything.” She could taste the sourness of those words. “Anything, as long as it’s not here at the castle.”

“Why come to me? And why not the castle?”

She swallowed. “Because you know the city better than anybody else I know. Everyone from Adram Vale has disappeared into their guilds, and even the ones who don’t despise me are too busy to help.”

“You haven’t answered my second question.”

“Martezha—I mean, Her Highness—she and I, we don’t … she doesn’t …” Resignation tinged Saroya’s smile. “She would rather not be reminded I exist.”

She fidgeted with a strand of hair. She sensed Callor come to some decision, and held her breath.

“Those who leave their stamp upon history and the world don’t give up at the first setback. Leave me now. See Mistress Weeda on your way out—she has a letter for you.”

She had been judged and found wanting.

The cold knot of desperation tightened in Saroya’s chest. It had been growing since the initial numbness after her meeting with Eiden Callor wore off. Many times since then, she’d examined herself with his eyes and did not like the view.

Worse, the parchment handed to her by a stern-mouthed Mistress Weeda proved to be the long-awaited reply from the doyenne in Adram Vale. Its contents had not lived up to her expectations. Of the note and ring, none could remember.

Saroya checked her coin pouch—empty. Her stomach gurgled, just as empty. She looked around the small room. It wasn’t much, but with the rent overdue, it was no longer hers. She reached for the latch on her way out again, but a sharp rap on the door made her flinch. She snatched her hand back as if the hasp had burned her. Surely she was not being kicked out of the room now? So stupid not to slip out unnoticed.

The weasel-like face of her landlord greeted her when she opened the door.

“Pay up. That’s three days you owe me.”

“I don’t have the money.”

He grabbed her arm. “I don’t run an almshouse. Pay up or I’ll bond you. You can work off what you owe.”

Indenture! Saroya swallowed. How could she possibly lose her freedom over three days’ rent?

The landlord dragged her roughly down the stairs, and Saroya panicked. Tales flashed through her head of people bonded over minor debts remaining indentured for years, slaves of their owners. She couldn’t let this happen! He yanked her out the door into the darkening street. She tripped and fell, breaking his grip. He snarled and lunged for her, but she scrambled up. She took off running.

“Stop her!”

A passerby tried to get in her way but she darted around him, the landlord hot on her heels. She could hear him wheezing for breath. She picked up speed, aiming for the maze of streets around Market Square. The black coat of a magistrate loomed before her. Saroya veered left into an alley. She careened through a tiny square surrounded by dingy buildings. Footsteps pounded behind her. At the far end of the square, she slid to a stop. Buildings loomed on two sides, and canal waters lapped at her feet. Saroya peered back the way she had come but the landlord and a magistrate blocked the alley. Cornered! Without thinking, Saroya dove into the canal.

Loric took a cup of wine from the steward. He ignored the vapid chatter of the woman seated to his right, instead watching the activity at the head of the table. Dinner drew to a close, and his anticipation mounted. It was always entertaining to watch someone squirm.