(Hidden Necromancer 02) The Accused Dead [A] Page 3

  “What does this all mean?” he asks, pointing to the items on the table.

  “My capabilities. What I’m able to do. What I can offer,” I answer, forgetting what I’m actually supposed to say.

  “I see,” he replies.

  I wonder if he even took the time to look at the other Potential Brides since he made an agreement with my father.

  He leans down to examine the shirt I made. “Good stitching. My Ma’s eyesight is going and I need some new clothes.”

  “A good wife will take care of that,” I answer, and hope with all my heart that wife won’t be me.

  With another nod, he takes a pastry and bites into it. “As good as your pa’s bakery.”

  “He taught me everything I know about baking,” I reply.

  “What kind of stew is this?”

  I start to protest him serving himself but think better of it. Let him believe I’m a terrible cook. “Beef and turnip.”

  I watch the man my father has chosen to be my husband take a bite and flinch.

  “Spicy,” is all he says before taking a token from the bowl. “All right then.”

  He nods, then walks away without another word.

  I sigh and brush the sweat from my lip. Though Crofter Beckett is a fine-looking man, I don’t want to end up his wife. With my father’s business proposal as a lure, there is a very good chance I might if Quade doesn’t show up.

  As more men file past my booth and the din of voices grows louder, I start to worry. I expected Quade to show up immediately, but he doesn’t appear. My back begins to ache and my legs cramp, so I switch my pose. More men walk past, not even bothering to look in my direction. I start to wonder if the laughter I hear coming from nearby is related to me. Is one of the cruel girls from my class warning the men about me?

  Thunder roars above, reminding everyone of the bad weather. A few girls cry out in alarm, and male laughter follows.

  A tall man with ebony skin, broad shoulders, and raven hair in tight coils around his head stops to survey my table. A long, dark brown duster sweeps the tops of his boots and he clutches a battered wide-brimmed hat in one hand. He’s almost pretty with sculpted cheekbones, a wide jaw, and nicely defined plump lips. His black eyes rise to stare at my name for a few long seconds and then at me. I steel myself for his mockery. Instead, he takes a token and walks away without interacting with me. I’m a little surprised and not certain if I’m flattered.

  The passing of the hour is marked by the chiming of a bell.

  My feet ache in my new shoes and my legs cramp from standing in one position. Inwardly chastising myself for not giving into my rebellion earlier, I sit down on the floor, curling my legs to one side. It doesn’t matter what any of these men think of me as long as Quade arrives.

  Another hour drags by.

  A few men stop to gawk at me seated on the floor, shocked by my misbehavior. I regard them openly and smile and that’s enough to send them away.

  My sign might as well say fornicator/murderer/necromancer on it.

  The final hour of the observation ticks by. Unease fills me. Quade had seemed so determined to help me I find it hard to believe he would change his mind. My paranoia starts to spin out all sorts of scenarios where he’s prevented from arriving. What if they found out he’s from the Chantry? What if he changed his mind? What if he realized I’m more trouble than he cares to deal with? What if he realized it would be too expensive to win the bid? What if he doesn’t want to spend his money?

  As the rain patters on the domed roof and the hour winds down, a heavy lump forms in my throat and tears threaten to come. If Quade doesn’t come, I’ll most likely end up married to Crofter Beckett and trapped in the Atonement Settlement until I’m discovered as a necromancer.

  I lower my head to pat at my eyes with the underside of my skirt, angry with myself for giving into my fears and crying, but I can’t help it. It feels as if the entire world has turned against me, and I’m powerless to save myself.

  “Strawberry or cherry?”

  I look up to see a friendly and familiar face. Quade stands at the table in his long black duster. Underneath he’s wearing a white cotton shirt that’s buttoned at the throat and held in place by a bolo tie.

  “Quade!” I exclaim, relief filling me.

  Winking at me from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, he picks up a pastry, his many silver rings flashing in the light.

  Abandoning all etiquette, I scramble to my feet and hurry to the table. Realizing I already made a mistake by calling out his name, I lower my voice to say, “I was worried.”

  His eyes dart to one side. I look down the row to see a warden watching us from near another Potential Bride’s booth.

  “So... strawberry or cherry?”

  “Strawberry.”

  Quade takes a big bite and chews. I envy his ability to look casual and not affected by circumstances.

  Where were you, Quade? Are you okay?

  I had trouble getting here. I was delayed.

  Why?

  Quade takes another generous bite while pretending to look at the shirt I sewed for this stupid event.

  I was being questioned by Elder Alvus about the Beloved Dead gone missing from the Perdition Sanctuary.

  I try not to gape at him in horror, but it’s hard. I am not a very good actress.

  Ilyse, close your mouth.

  I snap it shut and fuss with the bowls and spoons, reorganizing them.

  What’s going on, Quade?

  It seems that quite a bit of them have been going missing for the last few days, but this didn’t surprise me since they’ve been appearing in my garden.

  I remember what I heard the wardens discussing earlier. Of course, I’m the obvious suspect, but I hadn’t considered they might be leery of Quade.

  What did you do with them?

  I’ve had to put a few down and bury them. It’s only a matter of time before the bodies are discovered. I buried them in someone else’s field, but it’s clear Elder Alvus is suspicious of me.

  Quade shrugs.

  I don’t understand how he can be so calm. Is the necromancer trying to kill you?

  I think the necromancer is trying to warn me to stay out of their business. And that business is you.

  The thought of the necromancer attacking Quade over and over again infuriates me. He’s only trying to help me, which seems to be what the necromancer doesn’t want. At the same time, she keeps telling me to save myself.

  Quade finishes his pastry and lifts the lid to the pot. He winces at the smell of pepper.

  I was sabotaged. There’s a group of people here that are trying to keep me from finding a husband.

  Making a point of serving himself some of the stew and eating it, Quade gives me a wide grin.

  I’m not scared off by pepper.

  Or the dead.

  Or necromancers. We’ll deal with this. We just have to get through this really weird Bridal Auction. Which reminds me...

  Quade plucks a token out of the jar.

  The sight brings a smile to my face.

  So how stiff is my competition?

  Just you and Crofter Beckett. Oh, and this other guy I’ve never seen before.

  Quade’s smile vanishes.

  What did this guy look like, Ilyse?

  You think they might be working with the necromancer?

  I suddenly feel so foolish for not considering that option before. It makes terrible sense. The necromancer might be keeping track of who I’ll marry to keep tabs on me.

  Possibly. What did the guy look like?

  I quickly tell him, trying to remember all the details of the man’s features and attire. My stomach flutters with anxiety. If the man is working with the necromancer, what does he want with me?

  Pocketing the token, Quade grabs one more pastry. “It’s nice talking to you, Ilyse. I’ll see you later.”

  With a wink and a grin, he struts away.

  I notice a few of the other Potential Brides w
atching him curiously. When he doesn’t even glance their way, they look even more confused.

  Not even caring anymore about protocol or the Bridal Auction, I sit on the floor next to the table and eat one of my own pastries.

  The storm continues to rage outside while the tension builds within the room as the final Potential Grooms exit.

  The bells chime again.

  It’s time for the Bridal Auction.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Bridal Auction

  I cannot believe that I used to dream of this moment. Prudence and I once spent hours speculating about what it would be like to participate in the Bridal Walk. It seemed so magical to us. We imagined what our dresses would look like, how we would wear our hair, and how many Potential Grooms would bid on us. We were both convinced we’d find husbands of Good Standing and live comfortable lives. We never even entertained the idea that we’d end up Unclaimed.

  We were so naive.

  Prudence now lives in the house of the Unclaimed while I’m hoping that I don’t end up with the most eligible Crat in the settlement.

  I’m gruffly pulled about by the arm by one of the bridesmaids attempting to organize the Potential Brides in numerical order. It’s not without some difficulty, for some of the girls gather in clusters to discuss the men that took their tokens and speculate who will win their hand. Not all the Potential Brides are happy though. A few sit on the floor in utter misery. It’s not hard to ascertain why they’re sobbing. If no one took their tokens, it’s a sign that they may become Unclaimed.

  “You must do a good job in the Bridal Walk. If you do, you might change someone’s mind and get them to take a token,” one of the bridesmaids tells one of the crying girls named Zellie.

  The giddiness of some of the Potential Brides is grating in the face of such despair. I look for Beth as I’m pushed into line. I spot her near the front tugging at the waist of her dress, but I can’t see her face.

  “Hold this,” a bridesmaid says, thrusting a paddle into my hand with my number on it.

  There’s much jostling and admonishments before the bridesmaids finally manage to get all of us on our feet and in line in the correct order.

  Matron Felice appears in the hallway with Jane and a few other women in her wake. She scrutinizes our appearance while strolling alongside the line. She points to flat ruffles, crooked trains, limp bows, and stray strands of hair which are quickly fixed by the bridesmaids. When Matron Felice reaches my side, she looks past me as if I don’t exist. Jane gives me an encouraging smile, but I’m too nervous to take it to heart. Though Quade has a token and is planning to save me, I can’t help but fear that our plan might fail.

  Finally, Matron Felice finishes her review of the Potential Brides and walks to the head of the procession. Clasping her hands before her, she says, “Remember, this is your final chance to make a good impression on the Potential Grooms. Carry yourself with piety. May the Three Gods guide your steps and lead you.”

  The doors on the far end of the hallway open and we’re guided forward by the bridesmaids. Music swells dramatically in the room beyond the threshold.

  One by one, we shuffle forward, clutching our paddles. Two bridesmaids at the door signal when the next Potential Bride is supposed to start her walk. All the other girls seem to know what’s going on, but Matron Nowak never informed me of the details on this part of the day’s events. I’m not surprised since her only purpose seems to be to sabotage me.

  Finally, I stand on the threshold and peer into the room beyond. A raised walkway crosses the room in front of the Potential Grooms seated in rows. There’re more men than I realized waiting to bid on a new wife. Most of them must have skipped my booth, which shouldn’t shock me at this point. I’m a pariah even though I was declared innocent.

  I’m surprised to see that one-third of the men gathered are gray-haired and craggy-faced. A man can remarry after the death of his first wife or if his first wife doesn’t have children during her fertile years. Infertile first wives become Unclaimed and their husbands claim a second wife. Again, I’m struck by the injustice of this tradition and am furious with myself for never having noticed before. How easily I had accepted everything I’d been taught without question

  Since I wasn’t instructed on this part of the event, I watch the girl in front of me march along the elevated platform and memorize the way she takes a step, pauses, then takes another step. One of the matrons sits at the large pipe organ pumping the pedals with bare feet while her fingers punch down on the old, yellowed keys. The music has a distinctive rhythm that’s perfect for a dramatic walk, but it grates on my nerves. It sounds more like music for a funeral than for a supposedly-happy event.

  The bridesmaids regard me with open contempt while I wait. Anger burns in my stomach. I’m so tired of being judged by those around me. I didn’t choose to be what I am. I can’t make my power go away. I may be guilty of killing Bale, but it was in self-defense. Not that it matters to anyone around me. If I told them what he did to me, they’d just see me as a killer and a heretic.

  For a horrible moment, I wish I could bring the wrath of the Unblessed Dead down on the people so determined to destroy my life. The flush of satisfaction the thought brings me is immediately followed by overwhelming guilt. Maybe it is wise to be suspicious of the necromancers when they wield so much power. Maybe power does corrupt just like my father has always claimed. I’m not an evil person. Maybe I’m not truly Pious Standing, but I believe I’m good. Yet, I now understand the temptation of the necromancer power.

  The bridesmaids irritably wave me through the doorway. Again, a flash of annoyance makes my face flush and I can feel the heat in my cheeks. I ascend three steps to the walkway and catch a glimpse of my father seated with the other men waiting to accept the winning bids for their daughters. He gives me a slight nod and I try to smile.

  Keeping my gaze planted on the path in front of me, I imitate the walk of the other girls. The murmur of men’s voices and the rustling of paper programs mingle with the organ dirge. I keep my eyes fastened in front of me and refuse to look up. When I reach the far end of the walkway, I step down to join the other Potential Brides lined against the far wall.

  Beth leans out of the line with a scowl on her face. When she’s sure my attention is on her, she flicks her gaze toward the other Potential Brides and deepens her frown. I halfway believe she wants me to summon the Unblessed Dead to interrupt the proceedings, but most likely she needs someone to commiserate with during this awful ritual. I conspiratorially nod to her and she looks satisfied.

  In spite of my nerves, I dare to scan the faces of the men in the crowded rows. It’s a relief to see Quade in the back row with his wide-brimmed hat set on the seat next to him. Appearing bored, he sits slouched in his chair with his arms crossed. Crofter Beckett sits in the front row in his Wednesday Gathering clothing. He catches me looking in his direction and he smiles with warmth in his eyes. Stubbornly, I refuse to return it. Though he is a nice-looking man with a good reputation, I don’t want to be in his bed tonight. I study the faces of the rest of the men but don’t find the mysterious stranger among them.

  He’s not here, Quad says in my mind, apparently having noticed my scrutiny. I looked everywhere.

  Then why did he take a token? Why would he come here?

  Maybe he changed his mind after reviewing all the Potential Brides. Maybe he decided to wait for the next Bridal Auction. Or maybe he’s working with the necromancer and wanted to get close to you for some reason.

  To see who I marry so he can keep track of me.

  That makes sense.

  The Bridal Walk ends and the men clap as the last Potential Bride takes her place at the end of the line. Matron Felice steps up to a podium, raps on the surface, and announces the rules of the bidding. The Potential Grooms crane their heads toward her to listen while the fathers seated across from us give encouraging smiles.

  The tension in the air is like nothing I’d anticipated. The fu
ll weight of what is about to happen seems to be affecting everyone. The girls beside me fret with their dresses and a few wipe away tears. Even the girls who are whispering with excitement look frightened.

  “Our first potential bride is Nila Argo, number one in your programs,” Matron Felice says in a loud voice as the bridesmaids hush us.

  Nila, a dark-skinned girl with her long dark hair twisted into braids that loop over her shoulders, ascends the steps to the walkway again. Moving to the center, she stands with a dazed look on her face, clutching the paddle with her number on it to her bosom. She was one of the nicer girls in my class who never said a cruel word to me, but she also never tried to be my friend. I feel sorry for her being the first. She looks terrified.

  The bidding starts immediately and at least ten men vie for her hand. I watch with a lump in my throat until one man’s high bid wins. He’s a tall, nice-looking man with lots of red hair pulled into a ponytail and a fuzzy beard. I wonder if he truly is a good man and if he’ll treat her well.

  “Do you accept the bid?” Matron Felice asks Nila’s father.

  “I do,” he replies.

  Everyone in the room applauds as Nila steps down to take her father’s arm. The bridesmaids escort them through a different door into the chapel with her groom trailing behind with a triumphant and happy smile on his face.

  “Lethe Barrows is our next potential bride,” Matron Felice announces.

  One by one, the Potential Brides discover their fate. I’m surprised when some of the more confident girls receive only a few bids. Their startled expressions when the winning bid is far lower than they expected does give me some measure of satisfaction.

  It’s evident that what the men value in a potential wife does not match our assumptions. One girl, Tamara Evins, nearly brings the room to blows as the men anxiously bid on her. Pale, very small, and so shy she can’t even raise her chin to look at the room, Tamara visibly trembles while the bids climb higher.