Untalented (30 page)

“But … Really?”

Saroya nodded. If Nalini believed this story, all the rest would fall into place. Nalini looked back and forth between Saroya’s copper locks and Dhilain’s ginger hair. Then she smiled and hugged her again.

“And they’ve accepted you?”

Saroya couldn’t summon her voice to answer. She nodded. Nalini’s smile spread from ear to ear. She reached out and wiped a tear from Saroya’s cheek. She turned to face the portrait of Queen Padvai that hung on the far wall. “Your mother would be proud.”

Saroya stared at her. “No, you don’t understand …”

“Oh, I think I do. Maybe one day when we’re both old and gray you can tell me all about it. Looks like the healers are leaving. I’d better go—Master Healer Brinnig probably has a few choice words for me. When you’re settled, send me a note.” She squeezed Saroya’s fingers and then rejoined the knot of healers. Callor and Dhilain strode up to Saroya.

“She believed you?” Callor asked.

Saroya looked at them both. “If she didn’t, she won’t say anything.”

Dhilain smiled. “Come, you must be tired. I’ll have Guffin send over any possessions you might have. My wife is eager to meet you.”

Saroya didn’t know what to say. No one had ever been anxious to see her, ever.

Saroya blinked as she raised her head off the fluffy down pillow. She listened to the soft patter of the rain on the cobbles in the courtyard. For an instant, she wasn’t sure where she was then remembered her arrival the previous evening at Manor Roshan. Kasturi, Dhilain’s wife, had folded her into her arms and shown her to her room—not a garret, but a suite in the family quarters.

She swung her legs onto the carpeted floor, stretched, and shrugged on a tunic. It might be raining but her heart felt sun warmed. She traipsed off to the kitchen in search of breakfast then went hunting for Dhilain. He had told her to find him after she had rested.

She located him in his study. In contrast to Loric’s gloomy room, large windows overlooked the manor gardens, books lined the walls, and colorful tapestries offset plush furniture. Dhilain offered her a glass of lemon cider.

“Doesn’t me being Untalented cause problems for you?” Saroya asked.

“Do you feel Untalented?”

“The Adepts say so. But my Testing …”

“Let me guess. Almost perfect?”

Saroya nodded. She blurted, “I think I know how to prevent the next plague, or at least stop it from spreading too far.”

Dhilain smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Really? Most people do doubt me.”

“I’m not just humoring you, Saroya. There’s a reason the Adepts want you to think you’re Untalented.” He settled back into his chair and steepled his fingers.

“Three hundred years ago, as today, one could be a Talent, or an Untalent, but also a third class of person—a Visionary. The last Roshan to sit on the throne of Veyle, King Pallen, was also the last Visionary who ruled.

“Visionaries were, and still are, what one could call multi-Talented. They might not know everything about any single Talent, but they know enough—in that field, and usually several others—to have insights that other people would not. They make connections and inferences that a Talent might overlook.

“I believe you are a Visionary. It’s how you figured out the importance of that well, and probably why you have these ideas about the next plague.”

“So I’m not Untalented.”

“You might be, but I doubt it. True Untalents are extremely rare; almost everybody has at least one skill. House Roshan has never produced a true Untalent, and Visionaries run in the family. Isolte and I are Talents, but Padvai was a Visionary herself.”

“But why haven’t I heard of Visionaries before?” Saroya caught herself as more and more questions came to mind.

Dhilain sighed. “Three hundred years ago, people respected Visionaries. Not that they’re better than Talents, but they bring something different to the table. The noble Houses often chose a Visionary to lead the kingdom.

“Then the plague hit. People were dying in the streets. Factions jealous of Visionary power saw an opportunity—the guilds of Talent and the Adepts, and those noble Houses without Visionaries in their lines. The Order classified Visionaries as simple Untalents, and ostracized them. Pallen was assassinated. Our House was lucky to survive. We cultivated greedy Adepts and bribed them to certify our Visionaries as minor Talents. We toed the line—we’d lost too much to fight for our beliefs in the open.”

“Why hide still? Three hundred years …”

“The Adepts control Testing and the old histories are forgotten or rewritten. We bide our time. My father carefully selected Padvai’s marriage—Urdig has a more open mind and we hoped she could sway him into an official softening of the laws. She just didn’t have time.”

Horror hit Saroya like a brick in the chest: how many of the Untalents she’d seen penned were also Visionaries? People just like her? People forced into captivity because they didn’t conform to the Order’s idea of Talent?

Dhilain gazed sadly out the window.

“So the only reason she hid me was because of Loric.”

“She loved Loric once, but our father felt Urdig was the better match. When Urdig couldn’t father a child, I think she chose with her heart and only afterwards realized her error.”

“Loric hates me. Because I’m Untalented.”
And because I remind him of what he could never have
.

“Some people can’t see beyond what they’ve been told all their lives.”

Dhilain looked at the ring at Saroya’s throat. He lifted the leather thong over her head, undid the knot, and replaced the leather with a new gold chain.

“I still don’t understand why she hid you from our House, but if I had to guess … Isolte would never forgive Padvai for her transgression with Loric, had she known.”

Dhilain clasped the chain with its ring pendant around her neck.

“Why don’t you explore the grounds and think on things for a bit. We can talk more later.”

The Manor Roshan grounds were smaller than Manor Dorn, but more intimate. A gravel path with flowering vines arching overhead led down to the canal promenade. Saroya strolled along the flagstones, not really seeing the barques floating by. She found herself at the stables, and reflected on how far she’d come since Durin offered her a position caring for the Cloister horses.

The clatter of hooves distracted her. To her surprise, Eiden Callor dismounted in the stable yard.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my grandmother.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Kimila. She’s a servant here. Won’t leave no matter how often I offer to pay for her own home. She says this is home.”

Saroya remembered Kimila’s long ago comment about some Untalents going far. Something clicked. “You’re a Visionary too!”

Callor looked around, worried someone would overhear. He took her arm and led her into the garden.

“Does Urdig know?” Saroya asked.

“No. My grandmother raised me after brigands killed my parents. Airic of Roshan recognized me for what I was, and convinced me to throw my last Test in favor of one skill. I had enough military know-how for him to get me a posting with the cadets.”

“And my mother?”

“A few years ago she became my patron.” He shrugged. “It didn’t hurt that I saved Urdig’s life a few times on the battlefield.”

Saroya stared at this man who’d been so maddeningly elusive ever since she’d met him in Adram Vale. Sometimes helpful, often angry. She saw him in a new light.

He stopped midstride and turned her to face him.

“I recognized something in you. Right from the start. Something of myself. But I couldn’t be sure, and I couldn’t jeopardize Urdig. Not after all he and Padvai did for me.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “You did enough.”

Eiden clasped her hand, shook his head. “I know too well what it’s like to have to hide in plain sight.” He bent, brushed his lips lightly against her forehead then walked up the path to the house. Saroya stared after him, trying to calm the sudden racing of her heart.
 

Later, in the library, Dhilain offered Saroya a goblet of wine.

“My wife and I are childless. We discussed the matter and, with your permission, would like to adopt you as our own,” Dhilain said.

Stunned, Saroya collected herself. A real family, after all this time—one that didn’t think that she was Untalented, that didn’t view the label as cause for shame.

Dhilain, seeming to understand her discomposure, changed the subject. “Tell me your thoughts on the plague.”

Saroya explained to him how she’d collected so much data in tandem with her search for Veshwa. She spread out one of her maps of the Vergal on the table before her.

“These are the first places with plague, and the ones with the most cases.” Saroya pointed at the port, and the granaries. “Rats thrive in all those places. And near refuse.

“I think the rats carry it and help its spread. It explains its presence in the port even though the first ship was quarantined—rats can get off via the mooring lines. The Vergal quarantine failed because there’s no way to stop the rats from crossing the canals.”

“You’ll never get rid of all the rats.”

“No. But …” Saroya told him about her ideas for ratproofing the granaries, and her scheme for an aqueduct system separate from the water supply to remove offal from the streets.

“You realize that outside this House, you are an Untalent. You’ll have to shepherd these ideas along from the background.”

“I understand.” But she was already toying with the problem of Visionaries in general, and how to discredit the Order of Adepts. “But I know a receptive builder, and Urdig might help with official approval.” She went on, outlining her plague-prevention solutions in detail.

Dhilain smiled and she looked into his interested, attentive eyes. Never again would she feel ashamed when someone sneered at her and called her Untalented. The word meant so much more to her now. Ideas whirled through her head and she no longer struggled to fit them into a single line of thought. It was enough to know that when she finally wove them into something greater, someone would be willing to listen.

A book doesn’t get written without a lot of help. First and foremost, thanks to my husband, Guylain, for his love and support.