Ber, Day 25 of Melia, Solar Eclipse, Year 602
Not much is known of the Locked God. He has no understood visage and is depicted in temples as a blank cube. Mention is made of the Locked God in the Facerum. He appeals to those drawn to his mystery and secrecy. —Divines, a Primer
* * *
Evin cried for hours after Tadyath left her at Craestor.
Her new room was comfortable enough, but empty and quiet compared to her time at the Red Dove, which seemed always to hum with the energy of others on premises.
The registrar had informed them that though courses at the university generally carried through the whole year with no breaks, they were taking a holiday just now in honor of the impending solar eclipse and Emperor Beynon's summer celebration. The whole continent would be celebrating and making merry, and classes would not resume until the following Staos.
Unhappily, Evin accepted that she would lurk quietly about Craestor until she had somewhere to be. She sniffled tragically and sat up on her narrow bed. There was a window on one side of her room, and she got up to peer out. Below her, Craestor's grassy courtyard stretched from one side of the compound to the other. She'd noticed the construction during her first visit. A few people were walking about on the grounds, appearing small to her, like little dolls.
The university had been built in the shape of a hollow square, with a tower studding each corner. On the lawn inside were a few scattered trees and gardens, and she remembered that the open space was where most of the combat classes were held.
Her heart skipped a bit when she thought of that. Fighting—would she be good at it? Would she like it? She thought that she might. She would certainly try her best at everything set before her. Just because she was coming in with hefty financial assistance from the school and less formal training than others did not mean her work had to show it.
Evin wiped her damp face and attempted to breathe in through her tear-swollen nose, which whistled comically as she tried to force air through it. This opportunity that had been afforded her was precious. Not many young people without family—she loathed the word orphans and refused even to think it—were given the chance to attend a premier university with the empire's support. She counted herself very fortunate to have met Tadyath, and to have received the careful if unofficial training from Stacia at the Wheel and Well in the first place.
A cramp brought her out of her reverie, and she rubbed at her belly uncomfortably. Now? What horrible timing. Here she was alone in a strange new place with no friendly folks about, and her menses were starting?
She moved away from the window and back toward her bed, but when she started to sit back down, it started. She was bleeding. Her heart sank. It was slight for now, but with the promise the flow would be substantial later.
"Divines," she grumbled, rummaging in her bureau for a clean eborel cloth. "Womanhood is trench fodder."
Speaking of trenches—she sought the washroom, which was down the corridor a ways. There was no door, just an open archway and a sharp corner that concealed visitors from prying eyes.
Evin went in and looked around. They were the most clean and efficient facilities she'd ever seen. She was accustomed to chamber pots; this room was equipped with a polished wooden bench set into the stonework where people could sit and eliminate waste through the carved holes. It must travel through an unseen chute, she imagined. On the other side of the large room, a stone trench ran the length of the wall—with a conspicuous drain hole off to one side—and two iron pumps stood by like sentinels.
She went to the carved wooden bench, pulled her trousers down, and plopped down over one of the holes. She placed her clean cloth where she wanted it and sat for a moment longer, leaning over on her knees while the flood started in earnest. She was losing great globs of it now.
As the cramps increased, she groaned softly to herself.
"Pinching one off, eh?"
Evin gasped and looked up just in time to see a young man round the corner.
"Excuse me!" she cried, putting all of the effrontery she felt into her voice. She scrambled up, pulling her trousers with her as she went.
He laughed and raised his hands in an expression of submission, saying, "Whoa, there—I didn't mean to upset you!"
But Evin noticed that he wasn't leaving in any hurry. Incensed, she walked right up to him. "Get out!" she yelled at him. "What do you mean by coming in here when I'm trying to—when I was..."
The student backed away from her, his hands still up. This time, his grinning face coloured a little. "I'm sorry, but I've just as much right to be here as you do. The washrooms, like the bedrooms, are co-ed."
Evin frowned. Was that true?
"I can tell you're new here," he said. "You're not the only one to find it strange, but our living situations are simply more effective that way."
The sounds of laughter and conversation echoed through the hall outside, and a girl about her age also entered the washroom, effectively interrupting them.
"Hullo, Jess," the young man said cheerfully to her as she padded on over and took the spot Evin had just vacated.
"Hullo," Jess replied without any hesitation.
Horrified, Evin looked from one of them to the other. Jess smiled cheerfully at her and then began to urinate.
"See?" the male student prodded. His gaze did not linger on the girl, but nor did he ignore her. Evin was the most uncomfortable with the situation she could ever remember being in the course of her life. "I'm Deryk, by the way," he said.
"Evin," she breathed.
"Jess!" called the girl with a grin. When she'd finished, she stood and strode over to one of the pumps to wash her hands.
Deryk took a step closer to Evin. "It's all right. I know it's strange at first, but you get used to it. That's just the way it is here." When she didn't answer, he continued. "It's almost time for supper. Why don't you come down and eat with us? You look like you could use some fortification. I hear it's rabbit tonight..."
Evin blinked at him. "Maybe," she said hesitantly.
"Oh, do come," said Jess. "We can introduce you to everyone. I heard there was a new student coming in—and now I get to meet you first!" Evin turned to study her. She had long, dark, glossy hair and sashayed her hips self-consciously when she walked. She looked precisely like one of those students who would never speak to Evin again after this moment.
Deryk was tall and lanky, with a fair, freckled complexion and a head of thick, dark hair. "I'm going down now," he offered. "Want to come?"
Evin knew if she said no, she'd huddle in her room all night, hungry and forlorn. She might occasionally sneak out to the washroom to change her cloth, and she'd probably sleep badly. They hadn't hurt her. Maybe she should just go.
"I want to stop by my room first," she said conditionally.
Deryk shrugged. "I'll walk you there."
When they arrived at Evin's door, he laughed. "You're my suitemate," he said. "I wondered how long that room was going to stay empty. I was worried it was haunted."
At Evin's concerned look, he laughed again.
The whole rest of the evening felt strange and wrong, as if she dreamed it rather than lived it. There was a dining room downstairs situated near the huge kitchen where students and masters gathered to eat. If others weren't staring at her and her clothing, they were asking her inane questions.
"Where are you from?"
"Liminey."
"Where's that?"
This exchange happened about fifteen times during the course of her meal. The cooks set out platters and baskets of succulent repast, but some of the flavours were unfamiliar to her and she tried to chew slowly, taking in her surroundings and trying to appear normal. This is fine, she kept thinking to herself. You're fine. She knew the smile on her face was wooden, but endeavored to keep it there anyway.
As odd as it was to join this community so abruptly, she knew it would have been worse to cower in silence in her room.
Evin felt as though she'd become an entirely different person; that this expression of herself was as new to her as it was to the others. She'd never thought of her personality as quiet or shy, but she fell easily into a passive, responsive sort of role in shared conversation. Speculatively, she thought that some wine might have helped.
Deryk and Jess were there, of course. And she met a young female student named Bela and her friend Pikkia. There was a loudmouth who kept joking and complaining about the food—his name was Diarmad. He tried to flirt with her initially, but left her alone when he couldn't wring a reaction from her. She didn't see her friend Ger from the temple.
One corner seated several masters, and she noticed Colin Slager among them, his bulk palpable at the conventional table.
She caught his eye and he gave her a wave, which she returned.
Evin gnawed on some cold poultry, figs, and soft, roasted ruveo—flaky and buttery. When her plate was empty, she helped herself to a roadweed salad replete with scattered blooms. If she allowed herself to think too hard about it, she became self-conscious about eating in front of strangers. But that was silly. She was hungry; she ought to eat!
"Leave some roadweed for everyone else," Deryk said beside her, laughing.
She felt her face grow hot, and a few students around them giggled.
She looked up at him reproachfully, and he sighed in response.
"I'm sorry if I'm teasing too much," Deryk said under his breath. "You remind me of my younger sister, and that's how we talk at home. I've been at university for two years already, and I miss her."
Evin sketched a nod at him. She supposed that was all right.
Luckily, the rest of the meal passed quickly, and by eight bells or so, her eyelids had begun to droop. She took her dishes to the kitchen as the other students did, then mounted the staircase.
Her room was strange in the darkness, and Evin was relieved she'd occupied herself for the evening—now she was too tired to think about how the shadows curved oddly and the shapes of discarded clothing in the space recalled strangers slumped over in the gloom.
She fell asleep, and did not dream.
* * *
He couldn't wait to get into the water.
Beynon went often to visit the baths in Daitak Keep, and after a physical training session with Kreen out in the courtyards, it was a necessity.
Today they had worked with broadswords, concentrating on focused targeting of an opponent. Beynon found he had the propensity to strike hard and well, but often hit near his intended target rather than in the center of it.
"Aim small, miss small," his Kreen called out over and over again.
The Master of the Hunt suspected it had something to do with the lost outer shell of the emperor's ear.
After all Beynon had been through as a child, he was lucky he could still hear out of it. At times, he did find the injury affecting his balance, though that was rare. More common was an inability to tell the direction sounds were emanating from. It made him rage-angry when Alisia would call insistently out for him to come to her—as he couldn't discern for all his life where that might be.
It was easy to blame his missing ear for challenges in the training grounds.
Beynon shrugged to himself.
Most likely, he was simply being lazy and needed to tighten up. Nothing existed on Heladrith that could not be improved upon with a little hard work.
Now, he strode back inside out of the beating sun, his thin eborel shirt clinging to his back with perspiration. His arms felt good—heavy, somehow, and his palms itched from the impact of sword against sword. He loved it that Kreen never held back from him, but pushed him to react faster and fight with deeper conviction.
When the heavy leather training armor had come off of him, he'd sighed in relief.
The inner corridors of Daitak Keep were cool and dim after his time out in the blinding sun. He moved slowly past the dark sconces and woven tapestries, savoring the rolling feel of his hips and joints and the pliant way they flexed under him. This was the body of a man who had moved well and hard.
He smelled the baths before he saw them. It was a peculiar scent—the Capital's staff treated the water with a mixture of herbs; peppermint, coakum, cinniswood, and something sharper and more acidic that he couldn't discern.
At one end of the giant Keep, the corridor ended in a large wall of inlaid stone that went all the way up to the ceiling. One could walk around it on either side however, and follow a new, curved hallway that led into each side of the baths. There were two—one for men and one for women.
A unit of four armed guards patrolled the hall silently, looking bored.
Beynon took the left side and felt instantly cradled by the insulating warmth of three stone walls around him. It was short-lived, though, and he emerged into the wide, sunny bathing chamber.
There were two pools, one cool and one heated—both shaped into perfect squares a few gerds across and neatly tiled at the edges with polished stone. They were both completely still, and soft, curling wisps of steam rose gently from the warm pool. A few sets of finely wrought cedar benches with slots for drainage stood like little soldiers around the perimeter of the room.
He rolled his neck a few times, enjoying the sensation as he peered up through the large windows in the chamber. They took up nearly the whole wall and occurred up high—higher than a man's head, so bathers might see out, but no one could see in.
It was one of the things he loved about the baths. Whatever time of day it was and however calm or tumultuous the weather, it was all perfectly framed—like a tapestry high up on the wall. Late at night, it was like looking at a painting of the glittering stars. Now, great storm clouds were beginning to roll in, and heat lightning pulsed silently behind a particularly large cluster. Beynon watched, fascinated by the simple beauty of it. Something was coming. Something powerful.
He disrobed, discarding his boots first and then peeling his damp clothes from his body and tossing them limply onto one of the cedar benches. The shirt landed sloppily with one of the sleeves dangling down to the stone floor. The trousers missed.
His body was still flushed with activity and he took some time to slow his breathing. The stones were rough on his bare feet.
Beynon plunged himself into the deliciously cool water and submerged his head, savoring the feeling of the weighty water rushing in over his sticky hair. Immediately, the fevered temperature of his skin began to balance itself. He broke the surface, then relaxed and lay back in the water, allowing himself to float.
The ceiling of the bath chambers were inlaid with colourful stone and then fixed with resin, which gave them a glossy sheen. The image depicted by the thousands of pieces was that of the Five Deities of Healing arranged in a circle, with their heads nearest the center of the ceiling. Each goddess was holding in her hands something that represented her area of expertise. Orea carried a small vial of what looked like blood, Udea a thin, white bone. Ceftyx clutched a plate of fresh food. It was green and looked like a salad, but Beynon could never tell exactly what it was. Dota brandished a large, open book, and Seltia cupped a mortar and pestle in her dainty hands. The incredible mosaics that comprised each figure were staggering in their intricacy and beauty, but made the subjects stoic and wooden and somehow abbreviated. They didn't suggest the same emotional intelligence so prominently displayed by expressive paintings or sculptures of the gods, which made the sight cryptic, sacred.
Utterly satisfied, Beynon drew in a long, deep breath and thought about the rest of his morning. His summer celebration would take place in three short days, and there was much preparation to be done. It was quite the to-do every single year, with dignitaries and special guests flooding the capital, sumptuous meals and unparalleled performers. This year, though—and he grinned to himself.
This year would mark his twenty-fourth summer, and there was nothing the council could do to stop it.
He was a little surprised; he'd been very outspoken about his views on the universities funded by the empire and what he intended to do to sever the relationships there. The nobles were divided on the subject—the church as well. But Beynon surmised he could count on roughly half of his kingdom's strong support, and he would either convince or compel the rest.
After all, he was the emperor. His will would be done.
But he wondered if it would be as easy as he expected it to be. Could it really be that his opposition had not bothered to set new statutes and amendments in place to keep him from enacting his new plan? If it had been done, it was handled covertly and without his knowledge—which would have been illegal. And punishable. But if he knew his council the way he thought he did, it simply wasn't possible. He didn't think them ambitious enough. Or bright enough, when it came to that.
A new thought occurred to him. Mightn't it be better, once he'd ceased being emperor regent and come into his full title, to systematically replace council members as it pleased him? He could build an altogether more active and vibrant group of diplomats as passionate about the betterment of the empire as he was. Beynon considered whether that might make the council easier or more difficult to control. It was hard to say. He wouldn't rush himself.
After he bathed, he would meet with Grandmaster Li and get an update on preparations for his twenty-fourth summer celebration.
The populace loved it every year. Whenever the emperor deigned to celebrate his summer, every one of his subjects turned a summer older as well. There was a sort of emotional investment that came from the arrangement. It was something his grandfather had devised, and it had proven immensely popular.
For now, he rose from the cool water pool in a rushing flood of stray drops and moved silently to the other, stepping gingerly into the heated one.
This was lovely, too, cupping the corners of his body and the sharp angles of his shoulders and upper back. He reclined, enjoying the feel of the warm liquid. Beynon's head rested against the side of the pool, with the corner of the lip pressed into the curve behind his neck.
Today would be a good day.
* * *
Evin awoke in her new room at the chiming of eight bells.
She sat up, instantly confused and frightened. Where am I? She thought dazedly. Then she looked at the bureau and the feather from Utne she and Tadyath had placed in a corner of her bright window and remembered.
Again, there was nothing to do today, but she imagined she could look forward to a celebration for Emperor Beynon's twenty-fourth summer over the next few days. She'd be—what? Eighteen this year? It would be strange to observe it with her family gone.
She pushed that thought violently from her mind and moved to put her legs down on the floor. She was dismayed to find she'd bled through her cloth and her clothing and onto her clean bedclothes. The frustration was so keen that she momentarily teared up, then schooled her emotions. Plenty of women lived here at the university. It probably happened all the time—there was nothing to be embarrassed of.
And just like that; now she had something to do. She'd seek out where to clean her laundry. Suddenly the day wasn't as dull and empty. If she was too lonely and desolate, she could always seek out Deryk and see what he was up to.
Evin arose and rummaged through her bureau for some clean clothing. She chose a light green tunic of eborel and a new pair of black trousers she'd bought from the market in Craestor square. Hastily, she dressed and arranged her hair in a long braid, securing it with a strip of leather. Then she stripped the sheets from her bed. The mattress was unstained, which eased her greatly.
She'd left her room and run into Deryk before she'd even gotten her bearings.
"Morning," he said huskily to her.
She gave him a shaky smile and responded in kind. Then, "Oh," she said. "Will you tell me where to do my laundry?"
"Of course," he replied. "There are supplies out in one corner of the green. We have cauldrons and fire pits, and the university staff provides us with soap. There's even a drying line outside the West wall."
"Oh, good," she said, relieved.
"Have you eaten?" he asked. "I'm starved."
"No," she replied, shaking her head.
He yawned unabashedly, then suggested, "Come with me. There's a lecture this morning in the library. You should go. You need to meet more people, and this way you can introduce yourself to Master Bombardier Ola."
Her blood seemed to stop in her veins for a moment. Why hadn't she been told? Out loud, Evin said, "I thought classes were suspended until the summer celebration was over."
"Oh, they are," Deryk said in response. "But sometimes our masters give lectures for the love of it. Ola's an expert on Imbuing, and likes sharing his discoveries with the rest of us. We're very keen on advancing our own skills here, and everyone enjoys the lectures. Outside of being informative—they're social, and sometimes we'll all go into Craestor afterward for a drink."
Evin was nodding slowly.
"Come on," he urged.
At breakfast, she had a slightly greasy omelet containing thin, chewy strips of cured pork and strings of shaved green onions. On the side was a hunk of strong blue cheese, soaked greatnuts, and cold mint tea. Deryk helped himself to something like six redcurrant muffins slathered with good, salted butter. They were joined by other students he knew, and Evin met Bale, whom she was surprised to learn was a grown man. He could have fathered her.
Deryk explained later that there were no stipulations as to what age students had to be, keeping their cohorts diverse. Each cohort contained nine students, and since masters certificates took three years to obtain, they were divided into cohorts labeled One, Two, and Three. Deryk was in Cohort Two currently, telling Evin rather bossily that she was in Cohort Three.
The students collected their soiled dishes and left them in the kitchen. That dark-haired student named Diarmad took Evin's from her with a long-suffering sigh and bore them back to where the sounds of running of water and clinking of flatware originated.
Evin frowned, turning to Deryk. "Do students work the kitchens here?"
He nodded. "There are some students here who fulfill staff positions. Some of us work in the library, too. We can volunteer almost anywhere—but to get a paying job, the application is rigorous. Or, you can just be like Diarmad and cause a bunch of trouble. Masters and staff frequently give someone service hours as punishment if they're disruptive enough."
"Oh," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the young man as he disappeared into the kitchen.