Page 22 of Elvenbred

Nora looked as though she were going to reply. She clearly thought better of it, shaking her head just a tiny bit. Triana noted that she worked to move the talk back onto safer ground.

“Here is a nice warm spot,” Nora said, pointing to a patch of sunny grass near a water feature. “Let’s sit for a minute, and work on your vowel transitions … more practice and the easier it gets.”

They practiced for a good while, with Nora slowly building the complexity, then circling back to reinforce places where Triana struggled.

Triana let it lie for a time, but she could see a thought lingering behind Nora’s eyes. If it was to be a row, best to have it out. “We were discussing the slaves,” she said. “Animals. Animals that we don’t eat, but animals nevertheless. They can be trained to carry out orders, but the moment you leave them to themselves, they revert to their basic nature, and believe me, it is very basic indeed. You have never seen them and have no experience in dealing with them. How can you possibly understand what you have no experience with?”

Nora looked uncomfortable.

Triana bored in. Best get it over with. “Is that a problem?”

“No, dear,” Nora said after a very long pause, “It’s just that from the histories. The low-borns. The ones who were to be sent through the Gate first … that is how you were described. As little better than animals. Disposable. We used exactly those same terms for you.”

Triana uttered a humorless little laugh. “Believe me, if you had seen these hoomans, you would understand how wrong you are. Even the lowliest of the Elvenborn is a thousand times more intelligent than one of these.” She shrugged, realizing an unbridgeable gulf. “I understand. It is perfectly natural to look for comparisons. But there is no comparison.”

Nora frowned, still clearly uncomfortable. “Then … let’s work more on your vocabulary. So that no one makes a … comparison.”

Triana let her change the subject, but had found the first gap in Nora’s facade, the tendency to avoid conflict, and to try and slip the topic away from difficult subjects. Probably a result of having to correct and instruct those who were superior to her in status without offending them. She smiled. In the end, a servant remained a servant, subject to the will of her betters.

Triana didn’t drag Nora back into those rocky shoals for the rest of the day, and remained content to let Nora lead the conversation. They settled into a rough pattern. Pieces of intense work, pushing Triana’s knowledge and requiring all of her thought, with lighter segments, where she could gossip about the elven lords back home while drilling on some task that Nora set. The guard remained some distance away, clearly bored, and at one point whacking the tips off of flower buds with his truncheon, until a glare from Nora made him stop. Nora said something to him then, too rapid for Triana to follow, but it sounded like she’d chided the guard for “destroying future food,” which made very little sense at all, given that this was a garden, not a farm field.

They had lunch on the grass, taking pity on the guard so that he could return to his mess for his meal. Nora made Triana swear an oath to the guard (with completely straight faces) that she would wait for the guard to return before trying to escape. He gave them both a sour expression, but made for his lunch anyway, allowing them a few moments alone.

Triana did consider making a bolt for it … but Nora’s comment held truth. To where?

Still, she used the time walking around the courtyard and the smaller adjacent garden to work out how to cross both in the dark, and how to escape. She took quick glances at the corners, the overhangs, the places where the estate’s wall crumbled, and handholds that might exist that would help her scale it, if need be. She fitted these small details into the bones of her escape plan. The key remained the Gate. She had been brought through that way … she could damned well get home the same way. Once she knew the secrets on how to operate it. Break the problem into pieces, and solve each one in turn.

Nora gave her a little time to enjoy the day. Triana used it to lie back, and pretend to nap in the sun while she worked out the bones of an escape plan.

First, get out of the damned room, or least get to the point where no guard was kept on her. Then, find where the Hearthmaster kept his records. She knew his type … they always kept records. The tower overlooking the garden seemed like a good start. Slip out of her room, across the garden, and up into the tower. Hopefully, find what she needed there … and get a good look around. Then, once she had learned how to operate the Gate, then she would work on getting access to it. She knew where the passage came up that led to the underground room, but not the twists and turns. One thing at a time.

Nora roused her a bit later. The two women worked through the afternoon, until Nora walked her back to her room. Triana, still feeling her freedom, paused as they got closer. She didn’t know the word for “cage,” so had to work around it. “Feels a bit like a … box. A box a thing is held in.”

“This will pass,” Nora replied, not quite answering. “Once your language improves, then we’ll set a place for you at the table. I’ve heard the Lord Gatekeeper is a generous mas— … umm … host.”

Triana felt the hairs on her neck rise. No intent for her to go home. They either couldn’t … or wouldn’t. The comfortable room with its pleasant yellow walls felt very much like a cage at that moment.

Nora clearly expected a response. “Yesss,” Triana replied, hoping the lie on her face covered the sudden turmoil of her heart. She wanted what was hers back … her estate, her home, her slaves, even the clustered braying of asses that were most of the elven lords. She wanted that back before someone realized she was gone and moved in to take her place. She had no heir, after all. The old Council could appoint someone else as Lord Falcion. Or the rebellious Young Lords could take over the place—it would be easy, with no one there to give orders to the contrary. Or one of her underlings could decide he might as well take over. That was the likeliest. Her seneschal was the craftiest, but probably didn’t have the guts to try. The Slave-master, though, had the guts, and probably the ambition.

Or … her own slaves could rise up in rebellion and join the revolt.

At that moment, she knew she would give up almost everything, including revenge, to get what was hers back again. “I hope so.”

She knew the last had no meaning. Just words to fill the silence, but it seemed to satisfy Nora.

Triana went into the room. In her absence, it had been cleaned, with fresh sheets, clean towels and new clothing on the small alcove by the chamberpot … or as Nora had taught her to call it … the water-closet.

Triana realized then that the outing had not truly been as spontaneous as Nora made it sound. They wanted her out so they could come in, and do whatever it was that they wanted to do. She had the sneaking suspicion that had been to do more than change the sheets.

“Where are my clothes?” she said, “The ones I came here in?”

Nora looked puzzled. “Clothes? The ones that smelled of soot, sweat and swamp? I think they were taken away to be cleaned. I’d expect you’ll have them back once they have been refreshed.”

Her clothing had not meant much to Triana, right up to the moment it went missing, and now she found herself quite upset about having it taken away without anyone asking. These ephemeral objects were her last tangible sign from home, the proof she had that this was the dream, and not where she had been before. She started to make a tart remark, then began to choke up. Damit. She was not going to cry over a stupid set of too-large hiking togs.

Nora could see her distress. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” Triana replied, with a sniffle, “Can you get my damned clothes back? Please.” Then, words came out of her mouth she had not intended to speak. “They’re all I have.”