Bleddyn opens the door with more force than necessary, and it slams against the outside wall of the kitchen with a sharp crack.
The door opens out onto a grassy pasture. Bleddyn grabs a lantern that hangs on a hook next to the door. It’s not raining anymore, but everything remains damp and cold, and I can feel the icy moisture of the grass seeping over the edges of my fancy shoes.
Frost will come soon. I can smell it on the early-autumn air.
As we trudge in the direction of a series of low barns and livestock pens, I find myself yearning for my mother’s quilt and a warm, dry room.
Soon. This day will be over soon. And then Rafe and Trystan and Gareth will be here, and they’ll help me make sense of all the terrible things that have happened.
The storm clouds are breaking up into slender, dark ribbons, a portion of the full moon appearing, then disappearing and appearing again, like some malevolent eye going in and out of hiding. With all the moving clouds and shifting light, the sky seems very large and oppressive, and I feel small and exposed. I think of the Icaral, out there somewhere, hidden like this moon, waiting for me, and a chill courses down my spine.
Bleddyn’s fast pace is creating a yawning distance between us, and I hurry to catch up, not wanting to be caught alone in the darkness.
I follow Bleddyn into one of the barns where pigs are being kept in a series of clean, spacious stalls that smell of mud, fresh hay and food scraps. It’s poorly lit, and I can barely see my way around.
Bleddyn opens the latch on the gate to one of the stalls. She points to a far corner, where a long trough stands, along with a sow nursing a number of snorting, snuffling piglets jockeying with each other for position.
“There,” she says, gesturing toward the trough. “Dump the scraps in there.”
I tighten my grip on the two scrap buckets and walk into the stall, my shoes sinking into something soft. I make a concerted effort to ignore it.
I’ll clean myself up later. And besides, I don’t want this stern Urisk girl to think I’m some pampered Gardnerian who can’t pull my weight. They’ll soon see that I’m as hard a worker as any of them.
As I pull up one foot, the shoe makes an unpleasant sucking sound.
A hard kick to my rear sends me sprawling.
I fall forward into the mud and pig manure, the scrap buckets falling out of my hands and tumbling over, food remnants scattering everywhere, one of my shoes coming loose. The pigs oink excitedly as they frantically scramble about for the food.
I push myself up onto my knees and round on Bleddyn, my heart racing. “Did you just kick me?” I ask, incredulous.
Bleddyn is leaning against a wall, smiling darkly at me.
“Why did you kick me?” I demand as I pull myself up.
The blonde Keltic girl who was standing with Bleddyn in the kitchen walks in.
“She kicked me!” I exclaim to the blonde girl, pointing at Bleddyn.
“I didn’t kick her,” Bleddyn sneers. “She tripped. She’s quite clumsy.”
“I did not trip!” I vehemently contradict. “I was kicked!”
The blonde girl shakes her head from side to side. “Isn’t that just like a Gardnerian? Blaming the help.”
“They’re all the same,” Bleddyn agrees. “Bunch of black Roaches.”
I flinch at the racial insult. It’s a horrible name that mocks the black of our sacred garb. “Get away from me!” I spit out, turning to retrieve my shoe.
I should never have turned my back on them. Another kick sends me flying back down into the muck.
“Why are you doing this?” I cry, scrambling around to face them, my heart pounding. A curious piglet comes over to snuffle at my skirts.
“I cannot believe she tripped again!” Bleddyn exclaims.
“She really is dreadfully clumsy,” the Kelt agrees.
“I think she needs a new labor assignment.”
“Something that doesn’t require walking.”
They both pause to chuckle at this.
I’m stunned. Why are they being so cruel? I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
“Oh, and look, she’s soiled her pretty, pretty dress,” Bleddyn observes.
“Leave me alone!” I insist as I pull myself once more to my feet, every muscle tensed. “If you don’t get away from me, I’ll... I’ll report you both!”
“Shut up!” the Kelt girl barks as she bursts into the stall, fists clenched.
I shrink back from her.
“Now, you listen to me, Gardnerian!” she snarls at me. “Don’t think we don’t know why you’re here!”
“I’m here because I need money for University!”
A swift slap across my face sends me flying backward and into a state of shock. I’ve never been struck in my entire life.
“I told you to shut up, Roach!” she bellows.
Bleddyn stands behind her, smirking.
“How stupid do you think we are?” the blonde girl continues, her tone acid as I cradle my cheek.
“About what?” I cry, bursting into angry tears. “I’m here so I can pay my tithe. Just like you!”
“Liar!” she snarls. “They sent you here to spy on us, didn’t they?”
Spy? What kind of strange world have I landed in?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I choke out at her.
I think of the books. The maps hastily cleared away. What are they all involved in here?
“Look at me, Gardnerian!” the blonde girl demands.
Afraid of being struck again, I comply.
The blonde girl points an unforgiving finger at me. “If you so much as mention to anyone that you saw a child here, or any books or maps, we will find you, and we will break your arms and legs.”
“I think it would be quite easy,” Bleddyn observes, sounding almost bored. “She’s very weak-looking. So willowy.”
“Very willowy,” the Kelt agrees.
“Not much she could do about it, either. She’s a Level One Mage, did you know that?”
“How embarrassing.”
“Her grandmother would be so disappointed.”
I feel a spark of anger rise at their mention of my grandmother. I push it down and watch them carefully.
They eye me for a long moment. I wonder if they’re done beating on me as I cower by the wall, exhausted, filthy and fighting back the tears.
“Anyway,” the blonde girl finally says, “I think we’ve made ourselves clear. See you in the kitchens, Elloren Gardner.”
“Bring back the buckets,” says Bleddyn as they both turn to leave, “and try not to trip again.”
After they leave, I sob for a minute or two before my anger sparks anew.
They can’t treat me this way. They can’t. I roughly wipe the tears from my face. I may be powerless, but I can report them to the Kitchen Mistress. I won’t let them scare me into submission.
My outrage burning away at my fear, I take a deep breath and drag myself back to the kitchen.
*
I enter and am met by the same unified silence I departed from.
Bleddyn and the blonde Kelt girl stand bracketing Fernyllia and are both glaring at me menacingly.
Yvan looks momentarily stunned by my appearance.
Fernyllia and the others seem shocked, too, but they quickly recover, masking their dismay with carefully neutral expressions.
Only Yvan’s eyes remain a storm of conflict.
I notice that the child is gone, and so are the books and maps that were on the table.
“They tripped me and slapped me!” I tell Fernyllia, my voice breaking with emotion as I point at Bleddyn and the Kelt girl.
“Now then, Mage, you must be mistaken,” Fernyllia says in a conciliatory tone, but there’s a hard edge of warning in her eyes. “I’m sure Bleddyn and Iris meant you no harm.”
“They beat on me and threatened me!”
“No, Mage,” Fernyllia corrects. “You tripped.”
I gape at her, stupefied. They’re all a united front—united against me.
Head spinning, I grasp for what to do. I could go to the Chancellor and turn every last one of them in. But first I have to get out of here safely.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, Mage Gardner?” Fernyllia offers, but there’s a hint of a command behind her polite, subservient tone. “Get yourself settled in. Your shift here tomorrow begins at fifteenth hour.”