The association of asha had thirty members, half of whom were mistresses of asha-ka. A quarter of them were chosen delegates among owners of the cha-khana, and the rest represented the numerous florists, ateliers, apothecaries, and hairdressers within the vicinity of the Willows. I couldn’t see much of a distinction then; all were gray-haired women of an age between seventy and eighty-five, with elegant, flowing robes wrapped about their wizened persons, and their hair sorted into appropriate buns. I don’t know whether they were selected because of their similarities or if their similarities became apparent after they were chosen, but I could only tell them apart from the hua they wore. All looked hostile.
I stood before them, hoping I could somehow melt through the floors, away from their accusing gazes. Did they look on every asha aspirant with this kind of bitterness, I wondered, or did they reserve this kind of special hate for asha like me, who caused so much trouble even before they made their debut?
I was nearly fifteen. It had only been a week since the darashi oyun, and Mistress Parmina was true to her word. Aside from a temporary suspension of all my lessons, I was forbidden to attend parties for another month. I had to turn down both Councilor Ludvig’s and Prince Kance’s offers, though Lady Shadi told me that the prince inquired frequently about me at the cha-khana.
I had to clean the outhouses. I was made to kneel on the street before the elders’ association and remain there, unmoving, from noon until four in the afternoon. These were still not the worst sanctions the mistress could have meted out to me, and I suspected Lady Mykaela had convinced her to moderate my punishments.
“You are here because Mistress Parmina has petitioned you for the rank of asha,” said one.
Should I speak up, or should I simply nod? Lady Mykaela had said nothing about this. I inclined my head, not trusting my voice at that moment.
“This is an unusual matter. Apprentices require at least another year of mastery. What skills do you believe you possess that makes you believe you deserve exemption?”
I was sure now that they were going through the motions, falling back on questions they gave other novices since time immemorial, because the whole city by now knew what skills I possessed, not all of them necessarily welcomed.
“I am well versed in all my current lessons, miladies. I can dance songs at a grade above my level, and I hold a third tier in combat. I am familiar with the culture of all Eight Kingdoms, including those from the Yadosha city-states and from Drycht. I am fluent in the language of flowers. I can treat wounds and read heartsglass. I have attended over fifty parties under the watchful eyes of my sisters and have always strove to obey my elders.” That last part was a bit of a stretch, but none of the mistresses batted an eye. I don’t think anyone had blinked since I began speaking.
“Very well. You may begin the first part of your test. The piece we have chosen for you is “Waves at the Shore.” You may begin.”
I bowed and positioned my hands and feet accordingly. Somewhere behind the women’s seats, someone began to play, and I moved across the floor, letting the music seep into my skin, my mind blank as I focused on nothing but the song and my response to it.
I allowed all the worries and fear that had plagued me in the days leading up to this moment to melt away, to block Fox’s constant presence in my mind the way I was taught to, until little remained but me and the music.
I danced, and for those several minutes, I was nothing more than a crest in the sea, a swell among the tides that crashed into the rocky seashores of my mind, leaving pain as I rolled and ebbed against the sand, aimless against the vastness of ocean and at peace.
The dancing hall was quiet when I finished and bowed again. The mistresses held themselves too rigidly for me to guess at what went on in their heads.
“Sing ‘A Village Feast,’” one of them instructed.
I was on less confident territory here, despite it being one of the simpler songs in the repertoire, but I sang nonetheless. Instructor Teti had given me enough training to learn how to modulate my voice, to pitch it in the same range as the instruments to maintain the harmony, but unlike my dancing, I knew there was nothing special about it. Once that was over, I bowed again, awaiting the next set of instructions.
“Name me the eight types of surgical procedures available to us.”
“Incision, bloodletting, stitching, probing, cutting, scraping, puncturing…” For a moment, I panicked, the last answer not immediately coming to mind. Breathe, I told myself, relying on the meditation Instructor Kaa had taught me and the techniques I had come to rely on to calm myself. “…and excision.”
“Name me five uses of enderroot.”
“To treat gout, to congeal blood on open wounds, to relieve the pain from bonesmelt disease, to alleviate symptoms of stone cough, and as a remedy during the initial stages of progressive blindness.”
“Give me the names of five nobles whose lineages descended from the Great Heroes.”
“Prince Kance of Odalia, Duke Maurion of Tresea, Prince Yesta of Daanoris, Baron Selan of Istera, and Second Minister Kisling of the Yadosha city-states.”
“You mention the prince of Odalia but not his father, who is the king. Why is that so?”
I cleared my throat, hoping my cheeks had not reddened as I replied, “Ah…given the testimony of King Randrall the Quiet, whose corpse was recovered due to…unexpected circumstances, it was shown that King Parthan, King Telemaine’s own father, was not King Randrall’s descendant at all but a descendant of Queen Liset and Commander Bosven of the royal army. He therefore cannot claim descent from Koshti, one of the Five Great Heroes. However, Prince Kance is a descendant of Koshti from his mother’s family, whose ancestor married into the Latvell family.”
“Ah.” The woman shuffled a few papers in her hand. “I see. History that has only recently come to light…very well. Twenty feet above your head, there hangs a silver hoop five inches in diameter, attached to a piece of string. Use any one of the runes at your disposal to bring it down.”
I paused, stunned. No one had told me about this part of the test. Had I been any of the other asha, it could have been easily accomplished—a Fire rune to burn through the string, a strong enough gust of Wind to snap at the line…
Hastily, I drew in the Dark and cast my mind below us, at the ground. I found nothing. No taste of bone and decay, no hint of death. I threw my mind lower, burrowing through.
Impossible. There was always a dead mouse or insect, some decomposing animal no matter how little or unimportant, that I could reach out to with my thoughts and find contact.
Faces watched me, knowing. Their heartsglass gleamed silver in the gloom.
They had planned for this. I could not wield any other rune but the Dark, and so they had made painstakingly sure that it would not be easy for me. I could tunnel through the ground for years until my ears bleed and still find nothing. And that left me with only one last recourse.
“I can’t do it.” The words echoed throughout the hall, the finality of them ringing in my ears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.”
“Is that the answer you would like to submit?” The old woman’s voice sounded mocking.
I swallowed. “Yes. I can’t.”
“The test has concluded. Return to the next room to await our decision.”