The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 18: The Doyenne's Counsel, Part 3

 The stair led to the center of a great columned hall, vanishing into the distance both before and behind them. Awaiting them a few yards from the foot of the stair was a woman identical in shape to the mist-figure that had confronted them above. Her robes were a deep midnight blue, adorned with glittering stones connected by slender threads of gold to sketch out the shape of constellations. The longer one stared at it, the more it seemed those constellations moved and changed, just as the night sky will do if observed long enough. The hood that concealed her face was similarly adorned, but its fringe was also hung with charms similar to the ones that dangled from the brim of Ammas's hat. She leaned heavily on a polished wooden staff, though her reliance on it seemed to stem more from the crookedness of her back than any weakness in her legs or hips. Around her circled a trio of airy spirits, larger and more robust than the one in Ammas's silver cage.

"Doyenne Sulivar," Ammas said, bowing low and removing his hat. "I am pleased to see you are well." He straightened, unconsciously raking his fingers through his hair. "It has been far too long. If I may introduce my client -- "

"The Princess Carala of the House of Deyn, yes, I know her." Othma Sulivar slid back her hood with one gnarled hand, the charms jingling softly. Above those robes floated the hard and ancient face of a woman who had seen more than all six of them combined, one eye milked over with a cataract and the other bright blue and gimlet. A smile twisted her lips, revealing yellowed but strong teeth. Her hair might once have been blonde, twisted into a thick braid, but now it was a striated blend of straw and ivory, by turns brittle and wispy. "A Deyn has not set foot here since her brother burned our kinsmen alive. Let us see the others."

Rapping her staff on the stones, she marched along the group with astonishing swiftness. "Barthim of Siranesh. Vos of Nythel. Denisius Gallis Lord Marhollow. Do any of you understand the honor done to you by walking with this man?" She sneered, rapping her staff on the floor again, the sound a thundercrack that made them flinch. Ammas did not flinch, but his expression was inscrutable. Perhaps he was waiting for (or dreading) Barthim to correct Othma on the matter of Vos's name, but for a wonder the Beast held his tongue.

"The only one of you I do not know," Doyenne Sulivar said as she turned on her heel, gazing down at Casimir with a smile, "is this one. Apprenticed to you, is he?"

Ammas laid a hand on Casimir's shoulder. The boy looked immensely relieved at his master's touch. "He is, Doyenne Sulivar. And he has proved himself highly capable."

"Forgive me for not crouching down, my boy. What is your name?"

"Casimir, milady." His voice was stronger than Ammas expected, but he could hear a faint quaver in it.

Othma cackled. "Polite boy! But no lady, Casimir. You may call me Othma, if you like, as your master may. The rest of you will kindly be satisfied with Doyenne Sulivar, even if that title means nothing in these times." Her good eye lingered on Carala for a moment. Carala did not look away, though she could feel her cheeks flushing. "Come, all of you. I'm sure the journey has left you tired and hungry. I eat simply for I usually eat alone, but there should be plenty of stew for all of you, and fresh bread besides. We shall eat and talk, for I am sure Ammas has a fascinating reason for swearing himself to the House of Deyn."

"I have not sworn myself to the House of Deyn," Ammas said. His tone was mild but there was something fierce in his eyes. It seemed to amuse the Doyenne. "I have sworn myself to this woman, and her alone."

"Serve one and you serve them all, Ammas Mourthia. I hope you will bear this in mind."

"Interpret the vows as you will, Othma, and I will do likewise."