Free Secret Sacrament by Sherryl Jordan Page B

though he tried to smother it. “It’s not usual for keepers to eat with disciples,” he said. He had a heavy accent, but Gabriel could not place it.
    â€œWe’ve got seven years here together,” Gabriel said. “By the end of that time you’ll have seen the very worst of me and, I hope, the best. I’d feel easier about that if you were a friend rather than a servant.”
    Slowly Ferron smiled. “If that’s your wish.”
    â€œIt is. So won’t you get another plate, and eat with me?”
    Ferron nodded and went into his sitting room. Looking through the doorway, Gabriel glimpsed walls covered with paintings, all scenes from a country unfamiliar to him. He was still staring at them when Ferron came back, a pottery plate and goblet in one hand and a cushion in the other.
    â€œDid you paint your walls?” Gabriel asked, sitting down on his own cushion by the table.
    Hesitantly, as if not quite comfortable with the arrangement, Ferron placed his cushion at the table across from Gabriel and sat down. In answer to Gabriel’s question, he said, “Yes. I’m employed here as an artist as well as a keeper. Though I painted my walls for my own pleasure, of course.”
    â€œThey’re beautiful,” said Gabriel, offering him the bowl of fruit. “The pictures are of your country, I guess. Where are you from? Sadira?”
    â€œAmaran.”
    â€œMy father was a merchant,” said Gabriel. “He often went to Amaran, brought back glass and metalware. He said Amaranians were a nation of craftspeople. Were you an artist in your own country, before you came here?”
    â€œI was only a child at home, before the Navoran army overran my country. I was twelve when I was enslaved. Eshtemoh, my brother, was eight.”
    â€œHave you seen him since?”
    Ferron shook his head. He began peeling an orange. There were scars around his wrists, much lighter than his skin.
    â€œWhere were you before you came to the Citadel?” Gabriel asked.
    â€œI was in the palace for five years, before Salverion gave me my freedom and offered me a place here.”
    â€œWhat’s the Empress like?” asked Gabriel,pouring them each a goblet of wine.
    Ferron thought for a while before he answered. “From a slave’s point of view, terrifying. But I think you’d get along well with her. You have a direct and honest look. She likes people around her to be confident and to look at her straight when they speak to her. She doesn’t tolerate indecision, or clumsiness, or fear. Challenging, for a nervous slave.”
    â€œChallenging for a nervous novice healer, too,” said Gabriel, and they laughed.
    â€œSalverion told me that you’re a skilled swordsman,” remarked Gabriel.
    â€œWe have an excellent gymnasium here, if you like exercise.”
    â€œI do. I run every day, if I can. I’d like to run later, barefoot, on real grass. I’ve never done that before.”
    â€œIf you do go outside,” said Ferron, “please stay on the lawn just outside your own rooms here. I’m afraid the rest of the Citadel is forbidden, until you’ve taken your vows.”
    â€œHow many of us will be taking our vows?”
    â€œOnly three tomorrow. There are several others elected, but they come from other parts of the Empire, and their ships haven’t arrived yet.”
    â€œWill you be there, at the ceremony?”
    â€œNo. Don’t worry; Salverion will explaineverything. You won’t make a blunder.”
    â€œThat’ll make a change,” said Gabriel, and Ferron looked amused.
    After the meal Ferron showed Gabriel where the washrooms and latrines were, farther down the spacious pillared porch connecting all the apartments. Later, when Ferron had cleared away the remains of the meal and returned to his rooms, Gabriel went outside into the garden. The night was humid, the grass warm and slightly damp