Free Recognition by Ann Herendeen Page B

years left
. One man put
forth a generous opinion.
My aunt gave birth at
forty-seven
. Another contributed a fact in my favor.
Yes,
but not her first
, a third argued.
No
, the nephew
answered.
Her tenth. Was it healthy? Gifted?
others wanted
to know.
Oh yes
, the nephew assured them.
Big and
strong, and handy with the prisms—you know my cousin
Arturo
—
she died birthing him
.
    I spun around, glaring at the callous men and
their unspeakable thoughts. A group of them turned away, hastily
closing off their minds from me.
    Dominic’s reassuring presence was with me.
They are pigs
, he said.
Barbarians. Don’t let them
frighten you. I will make sure they keep their distance
. He
stood up, his hand moving toward the weapon at his hip.
    One of the men glanced over his shoulder, saw
Dominic and signaled the others. They fell into an uneasy silence,
although one was bold or careless enough to let a dangerous thought
escape him.
It’s all right for you
, he groused at Dominic,
with your adopted heir and your natural son
.
    Dominic moved so swiftly I was as surprised
as the man was when he looked up to see his adversary almost on top
of him. “Shall I make you eat your words here and now?” Dominic
spoke in an undertone. His sword was halfway out of the scabbard.
“Or would you prefer to rephrase your sentiment?”
    The man had gone pale with Dominic’s sudden
approach. He was a large, powerful-looking individual, yet he
seemed terrified of Dominic’s abrupt challenge. “Margrave, I meant
no offense.” He smiled a shit-eating grin. “It is only natural to
wish to share a windfall.”
    The scrape of Dominic’s sword being pulled
from its sheath startled me; the swoop of it cutting the air inches
from the man’s face made most of us jump. “That was not the
retraction I expected,” Dominic said.
    The Viceroy had been calling for quiet for
some time. “Margrave Aranyi,” he said. “Whatever the offense, I
request that you permit Sir Mikal Hattori to live another day.”
Despite his mild tone, the words were an order.
    Dominic glowered at the Viceroy but bowed his
compliance. “Until tomorrow,” he warned Sir Mikal in a whisper as
he returned the sword to its scabbard. “Enjoy your last supper
tonight.”
    Sir Mikal was regretting his foot-in-mouth
disease. “I will apologize later, Margrave,” he promised.
    Lord Zichmni resumed control. “Thank you,” he
said when he could be heard at last. “Some of us would like to be
done in one day.” He used the familiar, kind voice to me as he
explained what would happen next. There would be a period of
debate. Every member of a ‘Graven family was allowed to express an
opinion; only those who held a seat in the Assembly could cast a
vote. Yes, that I possessed
crypta
and should be treated
as ‘Graven; or No to both propositions.
    For what seemed like the hundredth time I was
escorted by Dominic’s guards, minus the gifted one who must stay
for the debate and vote. Once again I sat alone in Dominic’s rooms.
I barely had time to admire the array of weapons arranged in
swirling patterns on the walls before I was called back to hear the
results.
    I stood before the Assembly, heard the
verdict that was like a finding of guilt. Gifted, status uncertain.
A split decision. Like them, but not really one of them. Not even
the most skeptical had doubted the power of my gift, but they had
deadlocked on the next step.
    “You have no family, young mistress?” Lord
Zichmni inquired in an afterthought. “No brother, not even a
cousin?”
    My negative answers were a formality, taken
for granted.
    “You see,” Lord Zichmni continued, “as an
unmarried woman, not ‘Graven by birth, you have no ties of kinship.
We are eleven families here, twelve if we include our absent
contingent from Andrade.” He nodded at the section of empty seats.
“None of us has the right to be your advocate until we can decide
on the best place for you.”
    I turned to look at Dominic. He had