“No.”
“Do you belong to Damaes?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Maggie.”
She blinked. “Never heard of you.”
“I’m not important.”
“Are you a mage?”
“No.”
“Then how did you break the spell?”
I shook the water off my fingers, reached into the pocket of my dress, pulled out my incantation, and showed the paper to her.
“In the name of Damaes, be whole. Let that which was shattered be healed.That fucking bastard.” Isadau held up the paper. “There are three misspellings in this. It should’ve killed you. How are you alive?”
“I’m Maggie the Undying.”
Isadau stared at me and shook the paper. “Where did you get this?”
“I wrote it down from memory.”
“How?”
“She knows things. That’s what she does,” Shana told her. “You’ll get used to it. Look, I understand you’ve been through a lot, but it’s past midnight and we have a full day tomorrow, so how about you shut up and let me finish washing the dead lice out of your hair? You have lovely hair. It’d be a shame if the powder ate through it and turned you bald.”
Isadau clamped her mouth shut. I got up, picked up a bucket, and emptied it over her head.
CHAPTER38
REDBERRY8
My dancing teacher was tall, with striking ash-blond hair cut to flatter his handsome face. He wore a tailored black doublet, black pants, and black boots, and as he entered our courtyard, he moved with easy, smooth elegance. A young woman in a yellow gown followed him, carrying a wens, a stringed instrument similar to a zither.
Lute trailed them, with Tzeri perched on the pauldron on his shoulder. He’d discovered that she really liked seedrocks, a hard candy made from honey and sunflower-like seeds. Lute had been giving her little bits of it as training aids and over the past week she had finally stopped screaming every time someone came near. The way to a mordok’s heart was clearly through her bottomless stomach.
The dancing teacher was Clover’s idea. She’d informed me that he was highly sought after and expensive, but worth every den. I was getting worried about Clover. After we cleaned up Isadau and situated her in a spare room, I had gone to check on Clover before heading off to bed. She was still in the kitchen, and when I woke up, she was back in the kitchen again. I wasn’t sure she had even slept. Fingers crossed that the dress took the dye, because I really didn’t want her to have a breakdown.
The dancing teacher approached me and executed a beautiful bow. “My lady, my name is Erodel. I’m dapchel and a ranowen. You may address me as he and him. It is my privilege to serve you today.”
Ah. In Rellas, like in every society, some people didn’t fit the stricter definitions of gender roles. Dapchel were designated female at birth but lived their life as men, while darchel were designated male at birth but lived as women. Both identities embraced the feminine and masculine parts of themselves as one harmonious whole, not one gender but rather both. It was a complex philosophy centering on acceptance.
Dapchel often worked as ranowen. The word meantbattle brothersin the Old Tongue, but their actual duties were much more complicated. They served as escorts in a strictly nonsexual sense. They were well educated, had impeccable manners, and were highly skilled in combat arts. If you had to attend a social event where bringing a bodyguard wasn’t appropriate or just needed a sympathetic ear without any judgment, you would schedule a date with a ranowen.
“It is my privilege to benefit from your instruction.”
“We will begin with simple stretching,” Erodel announced. “Listen to the music Ruana plays, my lady, and try to find the rhythm.”
The stretching took a full fifteen minutes. Apparently, I had a good sense of rhythm and was flexible, but my footwork would need major improvement. We progressed into making small circles around each other, with strategic turns and arm raising.
“Our time is limited, so we can only concentrate on a single dance,” Erodel said. “Luckily, we only need one. Although joedurars include dances, the main point has always been conversation.”
