Fantasy of Frost (The Tainted Accords Book 1) (3 page)

Over the next couple of weeks I feel lighter than I can ever remember being. I do the same things; see the twins, train with Aquin, visit the orphanage and spend time with Kedrick and my brother. But I’m happier. Telling Kedrick had been the right choice, though Olandon tells me it was a mistake.

The day is so hot, the air warps my view of the landscape in front of me. On days like today, designated groups of villagers comb the rotation for spot fires which start up for no other reason than it being too hot. They also work to clear leafy debris from the forest floors closest to the village and the palace before we reach the third.

I sit on the stairs in the shade of the Kaur wall with the twins, looking over the training yard. The other delegates are joining in the training today. They are stripped down to just their trousers in the heat. Our guards keep on their full attire, consisting of long-sleeved loose tunics and full-length trousers tucked into knee-high laced boots. Straps cross over their backs and underneath their arms to hold a chest plate tightly in place. Wide belts circle their hips with spaces for daggers and swords. They look very smart, but I wonder at the practicality of all of it in this heat.

There’s more than just friendly competition going on from what I can see. The delegates are pouring with sweat, I feel a little sorry for them. Malir and Rhone, the huge, muscled men who usually tail Kedrick are impressive fighters. If I had fought Malir, who was one of the older delegates, before now I would have seriously underestimated him. It had taken me a little while to understand Rhone and Malir were following Kedrick to guard him. Even my mother only took her Elite when going out to the village. Otherwise, our guards were for discipline and also acted as a safeguard against invasion.

“Lina.” Oberon’s voice breaks my daydream of joining in the fighting below me.

“Yes.”

“Our names all sound the same,” he says.

“Our names start with the letter ‘O’, it looks like this.” I draw an ‘O’ in the air. Ochave comes to sit on my lap, but his attention does not waver from the guards, who are practising archery today.

“Why?” Oberon asks.

“Well,” I say, “on Osolis, anyone who is unmarried has an ‘O’ at the start of their name. Do you remember what being married means?” Oberon nods. This had been one of Oberon’s questions from last week.

“When you get married you lose the ‘O’ at the front of your name,” I say. “So when I marry. My name will go from Olina, to Lina.” I try to imagine getting married and Kedrick pops into my mind. I push the image away. That will never happen.

Oberon creases his eyebrows as he ponders this. “But we call you Lina now,” he says.

They had actually called me ‘Eena’ for years.

“Family can call you by your name without the ‘O’ if the person says it is okay. It is a sign they love you very much.

“I love you, Lina,” Ochave says, turning in my lap. He has been listening after all. My heart melts a little at the innocent words coming from his young face framed by the curly mop of chestnut hair they both have. The colour is inherited from my mother. If they grow to Olandon’s height, they will be very sought after when they are older.

“I love you too, Ochave,” I say with a small smile.

“You gotta call me Chave now.” He stands up to his full height, which is level with the height of my eyes in sitting.

“Thank you, Chave, I am honoured,” I say with a dip of my head. My boys do not understand this yet, but it is considered one of the biggest compliments to allow someone to use your shortened name. Oberon is quick to echo Chave’s offer to call him Beron, and I repeat my thanks to him.

I walk to dinner with Olandon later. There is the usual murmur throughout the dinning ring that night. A few heads are held close together, whispering. Others talk in larger groups.

As I pass the table of blue-robed delegates, Malir hits a red-haired Bruma over the head.

“Fuck that hurt!” The younger delegate shouts, rubbing his head. A general hiss of disapproval sounds from the Solati court. It is echoed by my brother beside me.

The other Bruma delegates either think his words or our reaction is amusing. I smile as they roar with laughter. One of them is hitting their plate on the table. Mother will be having a seizure.

“Disgusting,” Olandon says. I frown and then tread on his foot as he waves at some young women. He elbows me in return and I laugh as his face heats.

Kedrick is already at the middle ring talking to Adnan, another of the Bruma. Adnan is much more reserved than the redhead who had shouted out. I enjoy hearing of his inventions back on Glacium and of the ideas he has had since being on our world. If mother and Uncle Cassius were not present, I would be interrogating him about ideas he may have had to improve Osolis. But I wish to live until I am at least twenty, and that won’t be achieved by revealing my large obsession with becoming Tatum.

I finish eating my regular green apple and dip my fingers in the small dish of water, using the napkin to dry my hands. As I prepare to leave, the Prince speaks.

“Tatum Avanna, I wondered if you could spare Lina tomorrow. I would like to see the Kaur forest here before we return.” I half turn to hear her answer, but freeze, a bit confused as gasps fill the room.

My mother looks between Kedrick and I with wide eyes. She never shows any expression on her barely wrinkled face, so I know something has shocked her deeply. I repeat his words over in my mind and inhale in horror, realising what he has said.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears, the sound is so loud it must be pulsating through the entire circular room. He has used my shortened name. Calling me Olina would be bad enough. But it was nearly unheard of for an unattached woman to let a male use her shortened name. And certainly not by a Bruma. By calling me Lina, he has implied we are lovers.

A hand grips my leg under the table. Mother is only a little taller than me and slim, but she is strong. Her nails dig in and I do my best to keep still, thinking fast.

I laugh. The nervous sound rings through the dining ring. “I am not married yet Prince Kedrick. That means I still have an ‘O’ at the start of my name. I know this is very different to Glacium. You also may not know when you are widowed, you have an ‘A’ at the front of your name.” I babble a bit as the deadly silence gets to me. I snap my mouth shut.

A hum of whispering starts. The nails dig in a bit more, I bite down on a whimper.

Kedrick’s eyebrows raise high on his forehead. “Oh, I beg your forgiveness, Tatuma. I fear the heat must be getting to me.” Some of the court laugh at this.

I take in a shallow breath. “We cannot expect you to come to a foreign world and know everything there is to know.”

I almost cry out as she removes her nails. The feeling is like removing five splinters at once. It is impossible to stop my shoulders from hunching slightly. I bite down on my lip to stop any sound from escaping.

Kedrick frowns, I don’t know if he realises what she was doing. “You are most understanding, I am sorry for the mistake.” Kedrick nods deeply at me and then at mother. I wince as he gets this the wrong way around.

Whispers and hushed talk start up again. Olandon lets out a breath beside me and grips my shaking hand underneath the table. I peek sideways at my mother without moving my head. She is leaning forward talking to an advisor, blissfully forgetting me for the time being. Unfortunately, this means Uncle Cassius is in my line of sight. He watches me with an eerie smile, as though someone else is holding strings and is pulling up the corners of his mouth. He only smiles for one reason. I will be getting a visit later on.

Rising, I walk out of the ring with measured steps, keeping my head high. Usually the court just whispers as I pass, but tonight they fully turn in their seats to watch the Solati who would let a Bruma use her shortened name go by.

It would be talked about for the rest of my life.

Blood drips from my nose onto the rug. The rug looks new. I grin around a split lip, hoping it is. I wonder how many blood stains it covers. This room, like the rest of the palace is made of black Kaur, the only wood able to withstand the fires of the fourth. In my childhood, I had named this the torture tower. The circular room had no openings to the outside, probably so nobody could hear the screams.

Mother and Uncle Cassius sit on the viewing balcony, have watched my punishment. Cassuis’ laughter is still ringing in my ears. I am glad he has not joined in the beating, he likes to hit the same spot over and over.

“Thank you, Rian. You will do well here,” Mother calls down. The guard still standing behind me steps back into place around the rounded walls of the room.

My confusion at the lightness of my beating clears. Rian was probably rather shocked at having to beat the Tatuma on his first day in the Elite.

I place my hands on my knees, pushing into standing. I always do this because I am convinced it angers mother. Like the blood on the rug, it is a small act of defiance. The only size manageable under her rule. I tilt my head back as my Uncle walks to the front of the balcony, willing him to fall over the side and land on his head. Imagining his demise is one of my favourite pastimes.

Cassius is tall, taller than my mother. They have both aged well, though I know it’s not all real. Olandon told me mother colours her chestnut hair with berries. Still, both of their faces are sculptured and they each have deep brown eyes. They would have been stunning in their youth.

“Be grateful for the Tatum’s continued mercy,” Uncle Cassius booms. I roll my eyes, but bow to my mother seated on the Throne behind him. I turn on my heel and stride out of the opened door with my head high and only slightly limping. There are several things I’d like to say, but having learnt this was a good way to get beaten again, I keep my lips pressed together. A tapping sounds at the door not long after I’ve reached my room. I toss the coarse material of my veil deftly over my head, already knowing who it will be. I grab the wooden band next to the washing bowl and push it down over my head. Feeling for the ends of the veil to check it is in place.

Olandon stands outside, his dark robes blending into the shadows.

When I crack the door open to admit him, his gaze moves immediately to the bloody water on the stand. My room is so bare it is impossible to miss.

He stands in front of the opening. I watch the light between his fingers disappear as he clenches his hands.

“I am fine Landon,” I reassure.

“I am sure you are,” he says, jerking his hand in the direction of the bloody mess. I glare at the damning bowl. I hated worrying my brother, but this wasn’t my only concern. The older Olandon got, the harder it was to convince him not to stand between mother and I. So far he had respected my wishes. I had no wish for the wrath of my mother to be turned on him.

I shrug. “The guard who beat me was new, his heart was not in it,” I say and move forward to sit on the chest.

I watch him run his hands through his hair. I cannot see it, but I know it is black. The same colour as mine, though his is short and mine falls to my waist when undone. After washing it in the springs, I confine it in a braided bun at the base of my neck. The similarities ended there. I was a year older, but my brother already towered over me. This height difference between male and female was normal on our world.

“Fight back,” he says. I sigh at the old argument, but I think of how I’d feel if I were in his position. “We could do it together.”

“Tell me what would happen if I fought back. If we fought back,” I say.

He falls silent, we both know what would happen. Exile or death.

Before I can stop him, Olandon stands and punches the wall. He draws back his fist again and I rush in to grab it on the backswing. I turn the rest of his body towards me and rub a hand over his grazed knuckles.

“One bruised person is enough,” I say, mostly to myself. I walk to the opening to spare him any embarrassment, hearing his breath is catching a little.

I lean my head on the side of the opening and look out at the Kaur forest. I take as deep a breath as my bruised ribs will allow and renew my silent vow to be impenetrable like them. Mother will not destroy me, or her insane brother. I will survive this and when I rule, it will all be worth it.

“I hate seeing them do this to you. How much can you bear before you break?” He must be truly upset to have asked me outright.

I place a hand on his arm. “I am strong. They have not succeeded yet.”

The stiffening of his shoulders tells me what he thinks of this reply. I know what he needs.

“Thank you for being here brother,” I say and put my arms around him. He sighs after a minute and hugs me gently. “Always Lina.”

Once he is gone, I walk over to the fan and pull one of the weighted cords to start its motion. The bouncing weights create their familiar rhythmic thudding sound in time with the throbbing in my jaw. There is not really enough smoke yet to warrant the fans use, but I find the regular thudding soothing.

When I finally fall into an exhausted sleep, I have wonderful dreams of a life without my mother.

I lay on my stomach, my body aching, waiting for the bell signalling the morning meal.

My eyes keep closing.

I get up, moving in careful increments, and start stretching my body, knowing the next few days will be easier for it.

I take up my favourite position by the arched opening of my room. The wood on the side I sit is more polished than the rest of the opening. I love Osolis during the day, when the smoke is gone and the world is cast in the soft orange glow of the firelight. I watch the activity of the milling people below me. Lattices of cracks are already visible in the bone-dry brown ground. These will only grow bigger as we rotate further away from the cold of Glacium.

The bell rings, reverberating through the wood of the palace. I make my way down to the dining ring to sit with my tormentors.

I crunch at my apple painfully, ignoring Kedrick’s gestures. I am not meeting with Kedrick. It would be disastrous if we were caught and I’m not eager for another beating. I’ll go to the orphanage today since I cannot train.

Two girls around my age walk in front of me as I head out to the front of the palace.

“She was wearing yellow! I felt sure it would be green.” One of them whispers. I roll my eyes, my mother was dressed in yellow robes today.

The other girl is dressed in yellow robes herself. “Yes, it was a lucky guess. But your hair is almost the same style she’s wearing,” she says. They catch sight of me behind them and hurry away with deep nods.

The court’s bright colours and quiet ways could be mistaken for tranquil and elegant. But it is so contrived and ostentatious it makes me grind my teeth. 

Villagers skitter away and bow as I pass. I know it’s my mother’s title and her reputed hate of me which keeps them away. And they still remember the girl I once played with. Sometimes I see them running a finger across their throats to each other. They probably tell the story to their children late at night, to scare them. No one wants to be associated with me, unless they are desperate or too young to know.

I reach the orphanage and sit with a young girl who stares up at me with huge grey eyes and her thumb in her mouth. Most of the children in the orphanage have lost their parents to fire or smoke inhalation. The dangers of Osolis are great and every time I visit these children, I’m reminded of just how dangerous fire is. Nothing is more feared on Osolis.

“You’re hungry,” I say. She nods. Picking up an apple out of a large crate, I begin slicing it into chunks, trying not to laugh at her unwavering attention. She accepts the pieces I hold out after a cautious moment. I watch her crunch away. Apples always remind me of this place, it is why I love to eat them.

“Why you wearing that?” The small girl points to my head. I am so used to this question from the orphans by now, it hardly bothers me. Though the first time I was asked I’d nearly run out of the place.

“I don’t know,” I reply. She nods at this and resumes her apple. I work the rest of the day, staying longer than I usually do for reasons I don’t want to examine. I clean and play with the children, keeping my guard up for hands trying to grab at my veil. If mother knew what happened here I would be locked away forever. She thought I read stories to them. The matron knew what to say if she was ever asked.

I stand and move through the small orphanage and call goodbye to the Matron.

“Thank you Tatuma,” she says, but does not curtsey. She has only just stopped after three years of me requesting it. She still refuses to stop thanking me, which has always felt backwards to me. I always feel I should be the one thanking her.

The top of my head just clears the door of the orphanage. This building, and other houses in this area, are made from the dried grass harvested from the second. Every revolution these homes burn down and are then rebuilt in the fifth. I cannot imagine always having to do this and think it is a waste of their time, but I understand there must be a certain number of Kaur trees left standing to be able to clear the smoke. There had been incidences in our history where this balance had been upset and resulted in great loss of life.

The village has always had the effect of putting my life in perspective. The thin, weathered people around me wear loose trousers and tunics, dirty with the soot of smoke and ash. They are happy though. Children run between carts and wagons in bare feet, hair unbound, squealing when they are caught. One boy trips and falls in front of me. I crouch down. He must be about a revolution old. I’m reaching to put him back on his feet when he snatches a hand out and grips the bottom of my veil. I whip my hand forward and grip the veil in front of his hand and then pry his fingers off with the other.

I look up.

The village has lost its bustle, every person is watching us in horrified silence. A woman and male sprint out from a thatch building to my side. I let go of the boy’s hand and the woman grabs for him while trying to keep as far away from me as possible.

The man sinks down onto his knees in front of me.

“Mercy Tatuma, please don’t harm my family. I will take any punishment on their behalf,” he pleads with me. He has the accent of the villagers, rolling the ‘r’ in his words. The private tutors hammered this out of me, and I know the court was taught the same in the palace classrooms.

The pair are lean, obviously hard workers from the tired hang of their shoulders. It’s the first time this has ever happened to me. There are so many people watching.

The man is still on his knees. His wife huddles over the boy weeping. If I ever needed reminding of the fear my mother instilled, this was it. The Tatum’s word was absolute and I was the next in line.

I place a hand on the man’s shoulder. He is at least three revolutions older than myself, or appears it anyway. “He is a young boy and did not know any better. I am not going to harm your family,” I say. “What is your name?”

“Turin. It’s Turin,” he stutters.

“Well Mister Turin, return to your wife and your son. There has been no harm done,” I say.

It takes a while to leave. I eventually get away, a bit sickened after they pledge everlasting gratitude and wish me all kinds of good health and longevity. A young girl, maybe another of their children had approached with a small cake which I had politely refused. One of my worst beatings came after mother caught me eating village food.

The houses change as I near the palace, becoming increasingly made of Kaur - the sign of wealth and status on Osolis. Directly outside the palace border, the houses are Kaur with only the roofs being made of thatch. These abodes belong to the wealthiest villagers, such as the Satums and their assistants, who oversee the running of food, resources and regeneration throughout the rotations.

Olandon waits for me in the outer gardens as I pass through the unguarded wall into the palace grounds.

“You have been in the village,” he says.

“I have,” I say with a smile. It was rare that I didn’t spend at least part of a day there. “You should come, too.”

Olandon shudders. Apart from my brother’s ability to genuinely like the court, this was the only issue we really disagreed on. He couldn’t understand how the village held such allure to me. He had come once or twice at my insistence, but I knew he did so reluctantly and with a bit of disgust. He also hates how I’m ridiculed for my village visits by the court. Their laughter has never bothered me though because their ridicule is the only reason my mother allows me to go into the village. She enjoys it immensely. But as I also enjoy my training and going there, I don’t lose any sleep over it.

“Tatuma Olina, well met,” a voice says. I roll my eyes, but stop when I turn and see who the voice belongs to. A genuine smile lights my face.

“Satum Jerin, you are returned from the sixth,” I say, pleasure flooding my voice at seeing him after such a long time. He bows to myself and Olandon.

“Yes, we have just finished removing the Kaur cases from the next rotation of fruit trees there and planting seeds for harvest in the first,” he says with a smile, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing. Jerin is one of the rare court members I will be keeping.

“It is a big job you do for us,” I say, nodding my head. Mother never appreciates him enough, so I always try to praise him. Of the three Satums, he is the only one I like.

He beams at the compliment. “We only lost ten trees this year. The twenty new trees we planted in the sixth rotation last revolution survived the fires.” I smile at the passion in his voice. “With the Tatum’s careful management, we have nearly a whole revolution of food stored,” he continues.

“As long as there are apples, you know I am satisfied.”

He gives me a small bow. “You can be assured they have survived. I always make sure to lock those cases extra tight before the fourth.” I give him greetings to pass on to his wife and children.

Olandon and I discuss the guard’s training on our way to dinner. I tell him of the issues I’ve spotted recently.

Uncle Cassius was technically the head of the guard, but from the odd occasion when I had seen him at training, I knew he was an average fighter at best, certainly not good enough to be Head of the Guard. One of my mother’s Elite unofficially held the position until my brother turned eighteen. I listen to my brother’s stories and force away the threads of jealousy as he talks.

As we approach the dining ring, I see Kedrick standing to the side with the delegates. He turns my way. Several of the court are watching though. I glide past without acknowledging him, my heart sinking.