Gallel's Heir Chapter 7.1: Gently Sleeping

ghostwriter (63)in #story • 7 years ago

Sleep is a wakeful death,
Temporary and bittersweet.
Nightmares terrify, and we stir relieved at dawn;
Pleasant dreams give us hope,
Only to be dashed to pieces at the rising of the sun.
—Sirah Anath Sorrel Albandor of Dunaya

Two days later, Canúden stepped irritably over Logan Bridge towards the north side of Gallel. He had spent his day off drawing and taking care of Ma, and would find little time to draw while working. A long day loomed ahead of him; he pushed through the vines of Dylin's garden gate and sighed.

Color and shape danced before his eyes within. Sunlight glanced on autumn leaves that shimmered red and gold and purple, like nothing untoward could ever happen. He considered how he would shade one leaf, obscure that line, brighten that corner to translate life onto paper.

He entered Gallel through the north servants’ entrance. Any time he saw one of the kels in the corridor, he turned aside as casually as he could manage. Still, kel Sinclair gave him a warm hello, which Canúden returned and then hurried down a narrow passage that led to a staircase near the library.

Treasurer? Where had that come from? Dylin had once told him that Tutang sometimes had random whims, sometimes dangerous, like when he had purchased the meanest dog he could find in Galia just to see what kind of hunter she was. Unfortunately, the dog had to be put down after it was found that she enjoyed hunting children as much as she did rabbits and fowl.

Canúden would gladly leave all the pomposity, if not for Gallel’s books. Nowhere but in Gallel could he have access to such a variety and quality of books.

And now, Dylin.

She was in the villages often enough. Perhaps he could leave a note for her, and they could meet somewhere. She could bring him any book he wanted. That might be a little less awkward than meeting anywhere in Gallel surrounded by pretentiousness.

He stopped at the landing where Anath’s statue stood. She had actually spoken to them, claimed to hear their prayers. Emotions from that vision, of flying over the ocean, of joy and love, filled his core and he continued up the stairs to Dylin’s rooms. They lay nearly at the top of the palace, on the north side, where she could overlook her gardens. Only the storage attics stood above them. She probably preferred the seclusion this far corner offered, away from the pomp of the other sirans, away from Tutang. The Kel and his other wives situated their chambers on the south side of Gallel, with balconies overlooking Vishall, where the royals could stand above the people of the city and glory in their own greatness.

Sunlight filled the final corridor through large windows overlooking the Amethyst Mountains to the left, long white lace drapes hanging open. The décor here was relatively simple as compared with the rest of the palace. The pale marble floors were the same, but the long rugs were plain Neran wool, deep indigo with sea green flecks throughout. Rather than gilded moldings and gold-threaded tapestries, wood-framed watercolors and oils of landscapes graced the walls under dried flower garlands. Fat white candles stood atop polished silver lamp stands. It felt fresh and comfortable, like what Ma might put together.

As Canúden progressed down the corridor, something affected his eyes, coming on gradually so that he was unsure when the stinging began. The corridor smelled itchy, like something was burning that shouldn’t be. By the time he reached Dylin’s door, he could not keep his eyes open. He paused before knocking. It was foolish of him to present himself in such a state. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

After returning the handkerchief and wiping his hands distractedly on his pants, he knocked. Silence answered. His heart skipped, and he glanced out the corridor’s window. He knocked again, then tried the door. It opened. His eyes burned.

The table was set for four, with flowers in a vase at the center. Something bubbled in a cauldron in the fireplace, the source of the itchy fumes. White lace fluttered from the breeze of an open door behind it. Fresh air led him outside, where he found himself on Dylin’s balcony.

She lay asleep on a cushioned bench. Sunlight glittered on her skin, shined even through her henna-colored dress, and he stared, timid as though he had trespassed into an Ancestor’s sanctuary. A book he had given her lay dropped onto the tiles, next to an untouched naya. Unsure what to do, he took a step toward her, and she awoke. She smiled, and flushed as she sat up. His face heated.

“Canúden!” she managed. She waved her arm loosely to the table inside. “Come in and sit down. The girls should be up with breakfast any minute.”

Transfixed, he offered his arm for support as she got up. She smiled and grasped it willingly. His muscles tightened. His heart swam at her touch. He did not dare to touch his own hand to hers. “My Lady...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say; You are an image of Lady Anath herself sounded silly, even forward. “May we sit out here for a while? Something in there is making my eyes burn.”

“You must be allergic to mason root. It happens sometimes. I’ll gladly lay out here in the fresh air. I’m not strong today.”

“What happened?”

“Tutang. It’s never pleasant with him, but this time he was very angry. When he’s angry, my wari disappears. I don’t want to talk about it.”

When he touched her arm, he felt linen under her long sleeves. Bandages. Healers used mason root for flesh wounds; but actual water mages, healers who used wari, had no need for such medicine, except for themselves. He shivered, and not from the cool of an autumn morning. It seemed she cut herself during times of stress. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head coyly. “I heard what happened yesterday with kel Sinclair.”

“It seems it’s one of Tutang’s random whims?” he said.

“Maybe.” She contracted her shoulders.

His stomach tightened. “You don’t think the Kel was angry with you because I refused the council position?”

“No, of course not,” she said, lightly enough that he doubted the truth. “He must just be tense about Turbia. And here, I intended to have half your book read so we could discuss it.”

“My Lady,” he began, “there’s plenty of time for that.” He sat next to her; sunshine danced on her skin. “How are your patients?”

“Sick.” She laughed. “Oh, they’re doing better. It’s nice to have Ophy around.”

Canúden’s tongue caught in his throat when Dylin looked at him; he took a sip of juice from a canister on an ironwork table. “My Lady,” he began, “I’m worried about my ma…” Muscles tight, he fingered his cup.

“Oh?”

“If you have the time, would you visit her?”

She smiled. “I’d love to. What are her symptoms?”

“She was fine until she fell last week. She has constant aches and tires easily. Her work takes longer than it should.”

“Where are her aches?”

“In her leg, mostly," he said. "Her knee was broken a long time ago. Then she slipped and fell last week.”

She touched his hand. “I’ll drop by tomorrow morning. I’m sure I still remember how to get to Gizelle’s old place, though it’s been a while. I have other appointments in the afternoon.”

He grasped her hand. “Yes, thank you.”

Boreck met him in the west hall’s corridor after breakfast. Canúden greeted him stiffly as a matter of propriety, wishing himself as invisible as crystal in water. Before he could move on, Boreck grabbed his arm. “Kel Tutang wants to see you.” The guard turned without letting go of Canúden’s arm; Canúden grunted and followed.

Tutang’s office lay in the middle of the north of Gallel’s hexagonal center, opposite the front entrance. The foyer's gold and marble extravagance, and thick, elegant rugs would have caused him to smile if he had not been irritated. Tutang's office would be even more blastedly extravagant. Dylin’s simple preferences appealed so much more.

He waited without expression as the guard knocked gruffly on Tutang’s door. Boreck opened it after a muted grunt from the other side.

The Kel sat behind a wide darkwood desk and barely glanced up as they entered, busy jotting some note on a piece of paper, referring to a large black book open on the desk. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guard. He continued writing, and Canúden’s stomach tightened.

A portrait of the Kel in his finest embroidered green robes hung on the wall between two curtained windows. In the picture he sat on a carved wood chair and wore a serious expression. He appeared to be about fifteen years younger, and looked to one side as if he peered into the glorious future he would create. He held a book in his heavily ringed right hand, and his black, not yet balding, hair hung plaited to his shoulders in intricate patterns that the artist had painted with detail. His chin and fat lips wore a goatee, which gave Canúden the impression that the Kel sucked on a particularly tart orangeberry.

Intricately patterned, gold-embossed wallpaper and carved darkwood moldings masked the plaster under heads, bodies, and skeletons of game animals. Darkwood shelves of books covered the wall next to the door. To the left of the windows hung a large map of Galia and its neighboring countries, with the ocean to the east.

In the corner on a wooden pedestal by the window to the right stood a buffalo calf. It must have been a mere few hours old when it died, with two heads joined at the skull, and extra appendages that stuck out in odd ways. The heads seemed to be struggling to separate from each other, and its four brown glass eyes seemed to plead with you to love it even though it was a freak of nature. Its black and brown speckled fur stood in all different directions. Two mouths, hardly four inches apart, hung frozen slightly open as if it were baaing for its mother.

The Kel finally looked up with a broad smile. “Well, Canupen.”

Canúden stiffened.

“I see you’ve come. That’s good, because I have an offer for you. How are you at math, boy?”

He should’ve known Tutang wouldn’t let this go. “Tolerable, sir.”

“Oh, I’ve heard you’re quite a marvel, what with calculus and all that. Though, figuring Galia’s finances will hardly need for something so advanced…”

“Sir?”

“Well, yes, of course. Why else do you think I brought you down here, boy? Kel Sinclair chatted with you yesterday, and perhaps he failed to make my point clear. I need an adviser, someone who can manage the money.”

Canúden formed his lips to speak, but Tutang brushed the unspoken comment away with a swoosh of his hand. “Oh, my boy, I haven’t asked for your opinion yet. I’ll tell you when I want it. It’s not a matter of if I’ll appoint you. It’s a matter of what you want in return for the honor.” The Kel stared at Canúden expectantly.

“Sir?”

“I’m speaking Gungali, boy, how can I make it more plain? Our land will go hungry if the Turbians continue this war. We need to protect our gold. As much as I don’t like it, my coffers aren’t infinite. You’ll know what to do with my money, boy. I want to come out on top, and you’ll help me get the better of Tamil.”

Canúden tried to remain expressionless, though irritation twitched his nerves. The man was crazy or a fool. A vicious fool if Dylin was any example. The book on the Kel’s desk lay opened to a chapter called, “How to keep your gold.” Canúden considered how to phrase his answer. “If I understand correctly, sir, kel Sinclair has more than twenty years’ experience in managing your gold, and is happy to continue advising you. I am but a humble village boy, as you have so… eloquently… stated. How could I be your adviser?”

“Oh, I don’t have to tell you my reasons, Canupen…”

Canúden flinched.

“…start ‘em young, I say… I just expect you to do as I say.”

Canúden breathed deep as his fingers clenched. He proceeded carefully. “Thank you for your offer, sir, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Tutang’s open smile strained. “How can you refuse, Canupen? I need your brains, boy. Your potential. Any normal young man would jump at the chance to be my adviser.”

Canúden’s insides heated up. He stared at Tutang. He had gained enough weight since the portrait behind him that the image of the two together was a bit disconcerting. The same face, one handsome, the other blubbery. The Kel looked at him for a moment longer, and in a mild tone and a flick of his fingers said, “Well, I’ll let you think about it, then. I’ll make it worth your while when you decide in my favor, boy. You are dismissed.” The Kel resumed his reading and note taking without saying another word.

Canúden backed out of the office, relieved, though he didn’t like the Kel’s attitude. He made his way to jen Albey’s office to confirm his duties for the day.