Suddenly the door next to them slammed open wide, completely without warning. The maid squeaked with surprise and terror. A gaudily overdressed, obviously inebriated Aoife gentleman almost ran into them in his eagerness to leave the room.
“Where’s the head, again?” he asked, swaying back and forth on his feet.
“Down the hall, Master Dorian…” she answered. Teine noticed those worry lines appearing on her forehead again. “Third door on the left, then through the…” Suddenly, she frowned, taking in the Aoife’s bleary eyes and besotted grin.
“Right, then.” he said, tottering down the hall.
Obviously torn, the woman hesitated. “Oh sweet Vuaren, Father of Mercy,” she whined. The helpless tone of her voice contrasted oddly with her strapping size and obvious strength. “If he pisses in that lily again-” She fixed Teine with a stern stare, before waddling off in the same direction as the wayward nobleman. “Don’t move!” she called to Teine, over her shoulder.
Teine didn’t move, even though the door had swung all the way open and was completely exposing him to the crowd of people in the Master’s office. Teine eyed the door, wondering if he should close it. But closing it would require that he move. Despite his concerns about the entire situation, Teine could not help himself. Without moving his feet at all, he leaned forward to get a better view of what was going on in the room.
Master Solmurrian and his older brother Madric were sitting double on the harpsichord bench, and pounding out a lively duet. They were laughing, and elbowing each other, and seemed to be engaged in a bout of musical sibling rivalry. Several Aoife women clapped in time as they danced around the office. Several of the Master’s business associates lounged in the comfortable furniture, puffing their clove cigarettes, and watching the ladies with appreciative, greedy eyes, while a handful of the Doyan Prince’s more flamboyant courtiers played a game of cards at one of the tables. Teine could hear low conversation just outside his field of vision, but could not see the speakers.
One of the card players looked up, and trilled a sharp whistle. “Hey, look who finally decided to join us.”
There was a creak of upholstery shifting, and another Aoife man joined Teine in the doorway. Teine blinked twice, with shock as it took his brain a second to realize what he was seeing. The Doyan Prince himself- acting ruler of the Empyrean- was sauntering toward him. He looked Teine up and down, a smug, superior expression on his face. “He looks just like a calf at the slaughterhouse door.”
Master Solmurrian stood abruptly from the harpsichord, his mouth a straight line of irritation. “You’re late. I summoned you nearly an hour ago.” Taking in Teine’s dumbfounded stare, he sighed, and added. “Oh, come in already. And shut the door behind you.”
Teine did as he asked, wishing he didn’t have to get any closer to the Doyan. Feeling as huge as a blue ox and about as clumsy as one, Teine closed the door as quietly as he could, painfully aware of how he towered over all these dangerous, overdressed Aoife. His relative size brought him no comfort. His cheek still stung from the housekeeper’s slap, and he’d never felt more helpless or out of his element. With every fiber of his being, he knew he didn’t belong here. With the door closed, Teine shuffled a couple tentative steps toward the Lord of Solmurry. It felt as though he was were underwater, with his feet encased in mud.
“You’re Teine?” Master Solmurrian asked, joining the Human boy in the middle of the room.
“Yes, my Lord.”
Cold and practical, Lord Solmurrian looked him over quickly, as if he were nothing more than a piece of livestock up for evaluation. Teine couldn’t have felt more exposed if he’d stood there completely naked. “Your full sibling brought Solmurry a pretty penny at the auction today.” the Aoife remarked.
“An honor, Sir.”
“Isn't he a bit smaller than the one you wanted your boy to choose?” Teine turned to look at the unexpected voice from the corner, and saw Prior Vihah lounging in one of the chairs, his feet up on a settee. The middle-aged Aoife priest was feeding tidbits of smoked caviar on crackers to the Prince’s magnificent white hound. Unlike the courtiers, the Prior seemed interested and amused, his gaunt and wizened face kindly. "But if you don’t mind me saying, I’m certain he'll work out well. It seems your son has inherited his Grandfather's good eye for Human stock.” Turning from the Master, the Prior asked Teine, “You’re in the choir, too, aren’t you, Son?”
Teine nodded and smiled back gratefully at the Priest, recognizing him from his many visits. Prior Vihah adored Solmurry’s volunteer choir, a club Teine had belonged to as long as he could remember. Although Teine was beginning to suspect the unpleasant truth about what he was there for, it did seem as though he had at least one ally in a room filled with otherwise unfriendly faces.
Master Solmurrian made a non-committal grunt, reaching for a file on his desk. He grabbed the embossed leather binder, flipping casually through the papers while periodically glancing at Teine. Trying not to fidget or get caught trying to read the papers, Teine did his best to stand still while looking both patient and wise. His stomach, however, churned slowly with a combination of unsettled nerves and hunger. “It seems everything’s in order here.” he muttered.
“I still think you should give him a girl.” volunteered one of the card players. “It'd be more... educational. And you’d get a better tax break on the gift.”
The courtiers and their women erupted with bawdy laughter, and Teine's ears felt like they'd caught fire. Master Solmurrian ignored them, and the Doyan merely gave the other Aoife a mock-stern glare. “There will be no tax breaks on my watch!” The raucous sniggering and catcalls momentarily drowned out Madric’s solo harpsichord performance and also the soft rap on the door.
“Come in!” Master Solmurrian, Madric, the Prince and Prior Vihah called in unison at the second, louder, rap. Their unintended chorus set the ladies to giggling again, as Dorian returned with the same pregnant Human maid that Teine had met earlier.
“Begging your pardon, Your Excellency, Your Lordships” she began, holding the door open for the drunken Aoife courtier she'd addressed as Dorian, earlier. With a firm hand on his unsteady shoulder, she propelled him through the door. “I wanted to return good Master Vondereen to you and tell you dinner will be served shortly.”
“Did he spare the poor lily, this time?” Madric asked, a sardonic grin twisting his features, as he fingered out a quick, comic tune on the keyboard. "His visits are hell on the houseplants." Dorian chuckled right along with the others as the flustered maid nodded her assent.
Master Solmurrian began rounding up the gaggle of Aoife women, herding them toward the door. “Why don’t you go on, Ladies? Phoebe, here, can take you to get freshened up, and we’ll see you at dinner.”
Most of the women obediently allowed themselves to be herded, but one ruby lipped blonde in a dress to match, hung back. “But, Alain,” she whined. “I want to stay with you.”
The Aoife Lord didn't quite scowl, but Teine could see the look of irritation on Master Solmurrian’s face. Teine had a brief moment where he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved that someone was taking the focus away from him, or alarmed that the Aoife woman was managing to annoy the man who held his entire fate in his hands. “It’s time for the men to do business, my dear,” Master Solmurrian told her. Taking a firm hold on her arm, he steered the dramatically pouting female out the door, putting her in line with the others. Before she could object, he closed the door to the office in her face. “Why do you insist on bringing them?” he snapped at the Doyan.
The Prince smiled, but Teine recoiled from the coldness he saw there. “Ah, but they are decorative. And not without their charms.” He eyed Master Solmurrian, taking in his scowl and clenched fists. “Come now, Alain.” he added, inflecting the Master’s given name with the same cloying familiarity the woman had just used. “I’ll forgive your little temper tantrum- just this once- if you can make a better effort the rest of the night and apologize to Haneesha.”
“Fine.” To Teine’s eyes, it seemed Master Solmurrian looked just as surly as the woman he’d ejected from his office.
The Doyan Prince raised one impeccably groomed eyebrow. “Fine?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “Fine?”
“Yes, your Highness." Master Solmurrian agreed. His eyes were flat and lifeless, Teine noticed, and his heart didn't seem to be fully in the concession. "I will apologize to the woman and behave myself for the remainder of the evening.”
Apparently satisfied with the half-hearted acquiescence, the Prince turned away and wandered over to the card game. Teine shifted nervously on his feet, anxiety coiling even tighter in his innards. He was certain Master Solmurrian was less than pleased after being dressed down in front of everyone, and would be looking for someone to take his ill temper out on.
“So,” Master Solmurrian said, closing the door to his office. “What are we going to do with you?”
Teine opened his mouth, then closed it quickly, realizing it was a rhetorical question and no response was required. The Master glared at him as if he was disappointed he couldn’t scold him for speaking out of turn. Madric, Master Solmurrian's elder brother, abruptly ended the piece he'd been playing the harpsichord. The magician tugged on his formal ceremonial robe absently as he turned to watch the exchange between his younger brother and Teine. The room was still as the first few big drops of rain splattered on the glass of the Master’s conservatory windows.
“Oh, do get on with it,” muttered the bored Prince. He scowled, leaning forward to get a light for his clove cigarette off Dorian’s.
“We're waiting on the Notary,” Master Solmurrian answered. "He's probably finishing off paperwork for people who are leaving now."
Sighing his annoyance, the Doyan took a drag on his cigarette, then picked up a shot of whiskey sitting on the card table and downed it. “I’ll notarize, if I must. Just get it over with, before I expire from hunger. That's an executive order.”
Teine’s eyes darted to the Prior, who was still placidly munching his way through the tray of dainty consumables. The priest looked completely unconcerned, and still mildly amused as he slurped down a sea dragon larvae garnished with a spring of parsley, then eagerly crunched on the whole wheat cracker that was left over.
“As you wish, Your Excellency,” Master Solmurrian turned his attention back to Teine, and stepped forward to close the distance. Suddenly, he smiled. Teine blinked, surprised by the sudden change of demeanor as the Master began speaking to him in an almost personable manner. “Teine, my boy, I’m sure you’re well aware of the many traditions of excellence we nurture, here at Solmurry.”
Nodding wordlessly, Teine listened. The Master's joviality was obviously superficial and seemed to be a part of some internal script he'd prepared for the occasion. Teine pasted an expression of polite, rapt attention on his features. It was a trick all Humans learned nearly as soon as they could walk- to feign interest in anything any Aoife had to say. But never before had Teine needed to squelch back fear and uneasiness at the same time.
“As you probably already know,” the Lord continued, without skipping a beat. “My Son is the sole heir to Solmurry."
Teine willed himself not to look at Madric, the Master’s elder brother, to see how Solmurry's rightful Lord was taking his younger brother's proclamation of inheritance. However, Teine's eyes betrayed him. His gaze flickered to the side. The magician’s expression was tranquil, but his angular jaw was clenched tightly.
When Teine glanced back at the Master, he realized his faux pas had been noticed. Lord Solmurrian’s face had turned an alarming shade of furious red, his veneer of goodwill gone as quickly as it had arrived. However, he continued his diatribe. “And has recently celebrated his centennial birthday. As is customary, he has the privilege of choosing his first manservant from my private stock. To my chagrin....” he raised an eyebrow, a jaded, twisted smile marring his otherwise handsome features. “He chose you.”
Teine could only nod, solemnly, while fighting the urge to sit down on the floor and bawl his eyes out, like a nurseling.
“In addition to your duties as manservant, you’ll also be trained for Display.” the Master added, oblivious to Teine’s mental state. “Display training is physically intense, but not time consuming. You also won’t be eligible for the right Display classes until your sixteenth year. You should be able to continue your studies and extracurricular activities, if Marne permits it.”
“He’s in the choir, too,” the Prior added, giving Teine a kind smile. “You can probably count on that.”
“And, your manservant duties will only be part-time, at best. After some consideration, I’ve decided to leave your full-sibling Leis on as Marne’s sole nanny, since your Amagi is retiring.”
“Nanny?” muttered one of the card players. “He’s of age- why a nanny?”
Teine wondered the same, but didn’t dare ask. Lord Solmurrian either didn't hear- or pretended not to. Teine supposed he could ask Leis if the boy was deficient in some way, the next time he saw her. Perhaps he was being a little fatalistic, he thought, but given the turn his luck seemed to be taking, nothing would surprise him at this point.
Meanwhile, the Master had gone back to flipping through Teine’s record. Madric, as if taking a cue from his younger brother, had resumed his harpsichord playing, as well. His nimble hands danced along the keyboard, weaving a complex but soft and moody tune that Teine recognized as one of Amagorra, his grandmother’s, favorites.
“Here’s how your transfer works,” the Master said, abruptly. “Tonight, once His Excellency notarizes the paperwork, you become the sole property of my son, Marnariel Emerys Solmurrian, to do with as he pleases. He may choose sell you, keep you, change your name, pay for your additional schooling, show you in Display or stud you out- but from that moment on you are his. Is that clear?”
Wordlessly, Teine nodded. In the background, he could hear Madric changing the music, skillfully improvising it into something darker, more sinister.
“There is only one exception to his absolute and total rule over you, and it’s written in the transfer agreement. Until his age of majority on his one hundred fortieth birthday, I may exercise my right as head of Demesne and have you castrated if you prove to be an unworthy sire for our ongoing Solmurry line. In that case, I might also choose to have you sold into heavy labor or even put down, if you are deemed disobedient or violent.”
Teine felt his mouth go dry.
“Do you wish to see the clause in your paperwork?” Master Solmurrian asked, extending the paperwork toward Teine, his eyebrow raised as if daring him to take a look.
“No… no, Master.”
The tune, now turned dark and dramatic, increased in volume to a crescendo, and Master Solmurrian turned to snap at his brother. “Oh, do stop it, Madric! I’ll not have you make me out to be some comic villain!”
“No, you definitely don’t need me for that.” Madric agreed, his expression mischievous and flushed with amusement. The magician made a point to catch Teine's eye, and for the briefest second Teine thought he saw some sympathy there.
With an extravagant flourish, Master Solmurrian approved the paperwork, passing it seamlessly to the Doyan Prince, who looked it over briefly before adding his own mark. He offered the folder back to the Lord, but instead the Aoife pointed to Teine. With a shrug, the Prince pushed the folder into the stunned boy’s hands. “There you go, boy. Don’t lose them.”
“You can deliver those to Marne when you see him this evening.” Lord Solmurrian added. To the his guests, he cried “We’re done here, let's go celebrate!”
“Great!” Dorian enthused. The inebriated Aoife wobbled to his feet using the card table for support. “Let’s eat!” Madric also rose from the keyboard, pecked out a quick “shave and a haircut” tune then swept out of the room without saying anything or even waiting to be excused.
“Well, that was rude.” Prior Vihah blustered, visibly taken aback by the Magician's slight.
Teine blinked, feeling utterly and completely lost.
“Go on then, kid.” nudged the Prince, giving Teine's back a shove toward the door. “Go bring honor to the Solmurry line, or some such nonsense."
Glancing at Master Solmurrian for direction that never came, Teine swiveled on his heel to follow the mass exodus from the Master’s office. He was about to file out behind the courtiers, when noticed the Prior struggling to get up from his low, overly padded chair. Without thinking, he offered the Aoife a hand up.
“Thank you, my Son.” Vihah muttered, groaning to his feet. The Prince’s beautiful hound danced around Teine's legs. She shook her soft white coat and grinned at Teine with an almost Human expression of approval. Teine could not help himself, and reached down to stroke the hound's silken head and folded ears. “That’s a good, strong lad.” the Prior added.
“Where should I go?” Teine asked Prior Vihah, feeling like he should capitalize on the cleric’s goodwill. It seemed he'd probably need all the friends he could get.
“To pack a bag, I believe.” Straightening his robes, Prior Vihah spent a moment putting himself in order at the mirror by the door before stepping out, while he considered Teine’s question. “If rumor serves me, I believe young Marne will be making a rapid exit to stay with his Uncle this evening.”
Puzzled, Teine frowned. “Why? That doesn’t make sense- it's dangerous to travel during these storms, especially with a Magician!" He paused, thinking about all that he'd heard through the Solmurry rumor mill that day. Then he added, "Besides, isn’t the young Master ill, as well?”
“It is a mystery.” the Prior agreed. Something in his voice sounded both ironic and cryptic as Teine weighed it in his mind. "And it's not the only mystery. Perhaps you can find out, and let me know.” He kindly patted Teine on the shoulder with one spidery, veiny old Aoife hand, then tottered off down the hallway after the Prince and his retinue.
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The Gilded Shackle is the first book in The Evermancer Saga, a series of online serial novels. Go go right to the most recent chapter, go to www.evermancer.com.
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