Untalented (26 page)

“No. Not Urdig.”

A wave of nausea swept up her throat.

“You’ve known all along.” Every word she said sounded stupid and naïve to her ears.

“That Padvai’s child was also mine, yes. That you specifically were that child, no. Martezha is certainly ambitious enough to come from my side of the family.”

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

He sneered at her. “What, and let the world know I fathered a worthless bastard? No, you’re much more useful to me exactly as the world perceives you now. Now tell me how you beat the plague.”

My mother slept with Loric? Betrayed both her husband and her sister?
Saroya’s world shrank to a small, miserable point. Blinded, she dropped the ring on the floor. It tinkled as it bounced underneath the desk. He despised her. He was only interested in using her to achieve the throne. She wasn’t even a person to him, just a means to an end.

“I’ll tell him.”

Looming in front of her, Loric grabbed her by the chin. The pressure of his fingers hurt her jaw. A wave of revulsion swept through her at his touch.

“I don’t think so.”

She glared up at him, anger seething through her shock.

“It won’t save his throne. Either he’s fathered an Untalent or he’s been cuckolded. Either is enough of a scandal to bring him down, now that the plague weakened his popularity. Keep your silence and you’ll live in comfort for the rest of your life. Betray me and you’ll stay bonded. And I won’t keep you here in the manor. I’ll ship you off somewhere distinctly less pleasant, I assure you.” He shook her head roughly before releasing her. She lost her balance and fell to her hands and knees. “Do we understand each other?”

Saroya nodded. Then, before he could react, she darted from the room. Loric shouted behind her, but she nipped down a servant’s short cut and lost him. She cared not if the servants of House Dorn witnessed her escape. Once free of the house and grounds, she hid, shivering, behind a hedge until the clatter of hooves told her Loric’s men had passed her by. Then she slunk through the streets of the Manor District, avoiding horsemen, until she reached the Dalcen Canal and could see the castle. Yet even the castle was no longer a safe haven. There was nowhere to hide from the truth.

“How could you lose her?”
 

Loric resented Daravela’s tone. “A small matter. One I shall soon put to rights.”

Daravela sniffed. “What was she wearing?”

Loric described Saroya then continued. “I didn’t come here to discuss minor setbacks, Eminence. I thought you should know—the plague is curable.”

Daravela set down the letter sealer she had been toying with and gave Loric her full attention. “Were that true, it would be most welcome news indeed. In the right hands, of course.”

“That is why I hastened here, Eminence. The girl caught the plague, but didn’t die from it. She claims she received the cure in a Vergal almshouse.”

“And you don’t know which one.”

Loric did not rise to Daravela’s jab. “That is where the Order comes in. I’m sure you wield considerable influence with the Healer’s Guild.”

Daravela concurred.

“Then you also agree that Urdig must not be the first to announce this news?” Loric asked.

“I’ll speak to the healers.” Daravela summoned her assistant. “Fetch the heads of all the guilds. And the chief magistrate. I need a search conducted.”

Loric relaxed. The girl couldn’t possibly escape an all-out search by the magistrates.

In the distance, Saroya could just make out the arch of the bridge where she’d spent so many cold and miserable nights. She’d tried to get to the Healer’s Guild in the Market District, in the faint hope that Nalini might help her, but a magistrate stood at the foot of the span crossing the Aghrab River. Even though she still wore her fine silks, he’d stared at her suspiciously. Uneasy, she turned away. Did Loric have enough power to set the magistrates looking for her?

The small stone bridge that had been her home seemed like the next best place to wait out the night. She neared the gap in the stone that allowed her to get underneath, but a magistrate stepped out of an alley. Instinctively, Saroya turned in the opposite direction, but bumped into two gray-robed Adepts.

“Excuse me,” Saroya said. The Adept on the right started to bow, mistaking Saroya for a noble, then his eyes widened. He grabbed Saroya’s arm, shouting for the magistrate.

“It’s her! It’s her!”

Before Saroya knew what was happening, someone thrust a burlap bag over her head. She kicked and screamed, but rough hands tied her arms behind her back and a man heaved her into the bed of a barque then sat on her. Saroya couldn’t breathe, much less fight back.

The terrible pressure on her chest only eased when the barque pulled up to a water gate. The magistrate dumped Saroya out of the barque then led her through a doorway. She splashed through puddles left by the high tide, her stumbling footsteps echoing off the stones arching overhead. Her captor yanked her up several flights of stairs, before leading her into a quiet room. Saroya tripped on the edge of a carpet before he pushed her down into a chair. He unbound her hands and ripped the hood off her head. Saroya blinked in the sudden light and resisted the urge to scratch at her nose where the burlap made it itchy. The magistrate exited the room, leaving Saroya alone with its only other occupant.

“Do you know who I am, child?”

Saroya stared at the wrinkled old woman behind the desk. The massive block of wood made her look tiny, as though she had shrunk like a wool blanket accidentally washed in hot water. The woman wore a plain gray robe. An Adept. Saroya kept her counsel. She was tired of strangers calling her a child.

“My name is Daravela. You may call me Eminence.”

Saroya stayed silent. What did the Order of Adepts want with her? Jail and a return to her bond, she could understand. But an audience with the head of the Order?

The woman fanned out a sheaf of parchments. “You have an interesting family history.”

Saroya swallowed. Daravela drummed her fingers on the parchment. Claws. Saroya could think of nothing else as she gazed hypnotized at the liver-spotted skin stretched tight around the woman’s knuckles. How much did Daravela know?

“Tell me, why did Padvai hide you?”

“I don’t understand.”

Daravela’s hand came down on the desk with surprising force. Saroya jumped. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know you were at the castle today.”

“I’m Untalented.”

“House Roshan knows how to disguise its Untalents. You’re more dangerous left in place.”

Dangerous? Saroya shook her head.

“An Untalent on the throne would have been Roshan’s crowning glory. Why did Padvai send you away?”

Saroya clamped her mouth shut, the wound of Loric’s rejection too fresh in her mind.

A knock at the door interrupted the interrogation. Daravela shot an irritated glance at Saroya then shuffled out of the room. Saroya heard a latch lock behind her. She couldn’t see another exit. She stood up to check out the window, but the parchments on the desk captured her attention. She riffled through them. They appeared to be old Testing results, all for House Roshan. Her own name scrawled across the top of a sheet caught her eye. Saroya scanned her results. That couldn’t be right …

The clunk of the latch startled Saroya and she turned the paper around so that it appeared untouched, before scurrying back to the chair. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Daravela eased herself back into the chair behind the desk.

“Very well. Perhaps you actually don’t know. You can demonstrate your good will by telling me how you overcame the plague.”

Caution flooded Saroya. Only Loric could have told the eminence about Saroya’s recovery. Daravela sought to use her as well.

“Am I a prisoner?”

“Answer my question and you are free to return to Lord Dorn.”

“That just trades one prison for another.”

“How did you heal yourself?”

“I’m an Untalent, not a healer. How should I know?”

“You fancied yourself a healer once.”

“And I’m paying the price.”

“The plague cure, child. Tell me. We fed, clothed, and educated you for years. You owe the Order a life debt.”

Saroya shot out of her chair. “I owe you nothing. Nothing!”
Least of all the truth.
“You ruined my life.”

“We only told you what you were.”

“No. You denied what I am.” Saroya snatched up her Testing paper, waving it in Daravela’s face. “I only got two questions wrong on the Testing!”

Daravela froze. “You had no business—”

“This says I can be a healer. A builder. Or a merchant. Anything!”

“A Talent must show a clear predilection—”

“Predilection? What about skill?” Saroya leaned over the desk. At her Testing, Doyenne Ganarra had said “too scattered”. It hadn’t meant wrong. Had never meant wrong. Daravela recoiled, while tumblers clicked into place in Saroya’s head.

“You’re afraid of me.” Afraid of losing her power. Saroya felt sick with the knowledge crashing in on her: the Order of Adepts stoked the people’s hatred of Untalents. Daravela fed the fears of the masses so that Untalents would stay weak and never rise up against the Order.

It was Daravela’s turn to stay silent.

“I’m not Untalented. I’m something else. And that frightens you.”

“You are whatever the Order says you are.” Daravela eyes bored into Saroya’s as she grabbed the parchment from Saroya’s hand.

Saroya got a hold of herself. She needed to humor this woman until she could figure out how to escape. Saroya slumped back in her chair, trying to look cowed. A plan took shape in her mind. “I’ll take you to the almshouse.”

Saroya led the party of Adepts to the almshouse where she’d encountered the madman. Daravela stared in disgust at the burned remains in the courtyard.

“They were alive when I left,” Saroya said.

“Liar. This is the wrong place.”

“They fed me broth. Maybe you’ll find something in their stores.”

Daravela ordered the four other Adepts to search the almshouse. When they disappeared into the building, Saroya turned to Daravela.

“I’m leaving. I’ll give your regards to Loric.”

“You’ll stay right here until we find the cure.” Daravela clutched at Saroya’s arm but Saroya shook off the frail woman easily.

“The king won’t take kindly to the Order kidnapping his daughter.”

Daravela’s eyes narrowed but she kept her hands off Saroya. “As kindly as he took to the news of an Untalented daughter? The cure—what is it?”

“Why Eminence—it almost sounds as though you need me. But that can’t be true. Untalents are useless.” Saroya laughed.
 

She walked out the door. Nobody stopped her. Apparently Daravela wasn’t prepared to call her bluff.

“Lord Dorn’s hospitality not to your taste?”

Saroya shrugged. Eiden Callor did not seem happy to see her. When she’d knocked on the barracks gate, the watch captain happened to be the same one she’d spoken to on her first visit; he took her straight to Callor.

“I need to go to the Vergal.”

“Then go.”

“I need some authority to back me up.”

Callor waited for her to elaborate.

“When I was there, I discovered several things that might help fight the plague’s spread. The Healer’s Guild wouldn’t listen to me, though, because of what I’d done.”