Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

3

"Oh!" Koreti smacked his forehead. "I'm sorry, Mother. Rest well. I shall come to see you tonight, to see how you fare. 'Bye, Mher!"

Jassa waited for Mhera at the door. The girl turned to glance back at Esaria before walking out into the hall. The empress sat staring out her window into the gardens of the palace, massaging her temple with slender fingers and looking very tired.

Madam Gella was waiting for Mhera back in her chambers. She was settled with her afternoon tea, a basket of mending at her feet.

"I was wondering when you would be back, my lady," Gella said. She dismissed Jassa with a word of thanks and beckoned Mhera to sit down.

"Good afternoon, madam," Mhera said. She took a seat next to Gella, eying the pile of mending with trepidation. Although such work was typically reserved for servants, Gella liked to do her own; she seemed to be of the mind that the quality of her work far surpassed that of the palace maids. Furthermore, Gella found it wasteful to replace garments for a girl of Mhera's age; she insisted Mhera mend the clothes she abused until she grew out of them, thereby cultivating more respect for her belongings and a steadier stitch for fine work at the same time.

"Here, child." Gella had Mhera's sewing box ready at hand. She passed it to the girl, along with a folded dress. "Set yourself to mending the hem you tore last week. Go carefully, mind, so your stitches are even. Just this today, and then you may occupy yourself until dinnertime."

Mhera forced a smile. "Thank you, madam. Have you any blue thread?"

Upon choosing the best color, Mhera applied herself to her task without relish. She thought learning to sew was a waste of time when there were servants to do such work. Mhera tried to imagine Empress Esaria mending her own clothes. Esaria loved to embroider, but mending? Likely not.

But Mhera was only a girl, and Gella was her keeper, and so she mended. It took the better part of an hour, but once the hem was mended to Gella's satisfaction, she kept her word and allowed Mhera to put her sewing box away.

Eager to escape before Gella could change her mind, Mhera went out onto her balcony. The white curtains billowed around her small figure and the spring scent of snowblossoms drifted by on the breeze. Down in the gardens, Mhera could see her cousin Kaori sitting on a stone bench, reading a book. Butterflies fluttered over bushes that hung heavy with red roses. Kaori's dogs were playing at his feet, yipping and biting at each other's ears.

Mhera watched the dogs for a while. Unlike Kaori, who was too old now for games, the dogs seemed to be taking full advantage of the beautiful day. After several minutes, they must have caught wind of something—perhaps a rabbit or some other quarry. One barked sharply and bolted. The other ran close behind.

"Bull! Rin!" Kaori shouted, standing. But the dogs did not heed him. As he rolled his head back in frustration, Kaori caught a glimpse of Mhera from afar. He raised a hand in friendly salutation, shaking his head at the same time as if to say, Those dogs!

Mhera waved back, wiggling her fingers daintily like a real lady. Then, as soon as Kaori was out of eyesight, she slumped against the balcony, resting her chin on her hands with a sigh. Left to her own devices, Mhera was bored.

Two guardsmen in imperial livery came walking past the row of rose bushes. The emperor's device was emblazoned on their sky blue tunics: a blooming red rose encircled by a ring of silver stars. One of the guards was carrying a spade over his shoulder. The other had something under his arm, a sort of swaddled bundle.

Mhera watched with interest as the men walked toward the rose bushes, where one began to dig. The other stood at his side and glanced up and down the path. Mhera's curiosity stirred. She leaned forward over the balustrade of her balcony.

It took a long time for the man to dig a hole of a satisfactory size, but Mhera watched, trying to imagine all sorts of uses for the hole. Was he planting something? Why, when there were legions of gardeners to tend the palace lawns? Was he hiding something? But if he wished to bury a treasure, why bring someone else? Then again, Mhera thought, she would tell Koreti if she hid a treasure. He was her best friend. Perhaps this treasure was a secret better guarded by two. The guards were small at a distance—smaller than dolls. Mhera pretended to hold the minuscule men between her thumb and index finger, squinting to see them.

At length, the hole seemed to be finished. The digger spoke a word and walked a couple of feet farther along the path, looking this way and that. He seemed to be keeping a lookout. His wariness fanned the flame of Mhera's interest. What could the secret be?

The second guard stepped quickly to the mouth of the shallow hole. He shifted the bundle from under his arm. It was something swathed in white cloth, something small. He tossed the thing into the hole.

As it fell, the cloth caught on the guard's sword belt and pulled away, and Mhera saw it: a baby, tiny and purple and wretched. Although she was standing on her balcony high above, she heard the dead thudding sound of its little body hitting the earth as clearly as if she were standing next to the makeshift grave. She smelled the scent of the soil, rich but cold. The shroud fell unceremoniously after the creature, and she watched as the guardsmen began kicking and shoveling the dirt back in over the hole with hasty efficiency.

They left no grave marker. They said no prayers—not to the Mother, nor to Nelae, the Reaper.

There was nothing to ease the pathetic thing's passing into the realms beyond.