Chapter One: Childhood And Its End
I am called Ysaline, and nothing more. If my father left aught of himself in me, it was in my height, my fair skin and whatever other traces of his blood flow in my veins, but not in a name. The unplanned get of a tryst between a stranger and a lady of the night, I do not believe he even knew of my existence. Nor, in truth, do I know much of his, though my mother spoke fondly of him the few times she yielded to my childish curiosity, describing a man with hair like spun silver, eyes of the sky and a gentle manner. If there was no great love in their union, nor do I believe there were ill feelings between them over it. There is beauty in great passion as there is in great love, as long as it brings joy to the hearts of all it touches. He gave her a token before he left her, a small pendant in the shape of a rose on a silver chain. To this day, I wear it at my throat.
Of my mother I remember a little more. If what she told me of my father is true, I cannot imagine a pair more different in nature, nor indeed in appearance. My father may have shone with the gentle beauty of Ausir, but Mother blazed with the intensity of the sun. I remember her as a woman of great passion with long auburn hair, so much deeper than my own burnished gold locks. Her mood could change on a moment, from jovial to raging, then the rage breaking a moment later, a laugh restoring her good humor. If she were at all deficient in her maternal duties, I blame her young age and my unexpected conception rather than the woman herself. Certainly, she was fond of me, often stroking my hair like a doll's and telling me what a pretty child I was. She let me brush and comb her own hair for her, and help her choose her jewelry for her before descending into the parlor of the House each night. I recall her resplendent in green silk, a spray of jasmine in her hair as she kissed me on the brow. She smelled of camellia flowers, a delicate, subtle scent, and she was deliriously happy that night. It is probably my most vivid memory of the woman who gave me life, for she left to be married soon after. Looking back and remembering her mood, I am almost certain she had a rendezvous with the man she would marry that night, for I cannot recall ever seeing her in better spirits.
It caused a stir, my mother's marriage. Oh, the romantics will tell you love will and can blossom anywhere, and I believe them with my whole heart, as I have seen it for myself. Still, it is not as common as some might believe, for a patron to fall in love with a scarlet lady, as I have heard them called. The Madam of the House was sorry to lose my mother, for she had been a great favourite of more than a few patrons, men and women alike, but she let her go with considerable grace. Even in the oldest profession there is kindness, as there is honor and prestige. Make no mistake, such things matter, and to be a lady of a House such as my mother was elevated her above those who ply their wares on the cold streets by moonlight.
Even among the Houses, ours was respected and patronized by those with a taste for the luxuriant. I credit this entirely to the Madam, a woman as shrewd and cunning as she was good of heart and strong of spirit. She had been a belle de nuit herself in her youth, one of the ladies once whispered to me, so it was no surprise she ran her House with such an easy grace. It is a talent and a necessity to read the desires of your patrons, and our Madam knew that many of ours craved status and prestige more than they craved any baser pleasures of the flesh. And so while our patrons played at being courtiers, our ladies played their courtesans and the parlor of the House was always bright with beauty: silks and rich brocades, flowers, flickering candlelight, and sweet tea and dark wine served in china and delicate glassware. If I close my eyes I can still hear the sounds of the evening: the clinking of cups, the rustle of silk, and everywhere the whisper of hushed conversation and laughter.
Let it never be said that the Madam was unkind to me. When my mother left to marry, she left me in her care. The Madam summoned me to her quarters then, offering me tea with milk and a plate of cookies. As I have said, if our patrons were not truly noble they were at least very wealthy, and even on the darkest days of the times of clouded skies we suffered less than many. I was a very young child then, and her presence awed me. The touch of age had been light upon her, and though her hair had silvered, what had been lost in the fullness of youth had been replaced by an uncommon degree of dignity and elegant grace. She looked on me with compassion, called me by name--something I cannot recall her doing before—and spoke to me like an equal. She told me what had happened, and assured me I was still welcome in her House. I had been conceived under her roof in a union she had received coin for, and her honor would see me protected and cared for until I came of age. I ate my biscuit and listened as she laid her plan before me. I would run errands, help in the kitchen, mend gowns and even serve tea and wine, but I would never earn my keep as her other ladies earned theirs. This arrangement would continue until my eighteenth birthday, at which time I might choose either to depart into the world with her blessing or take a place among the others of her House for as long as I might wish to stay.
Remember, please, I cannot have been more than five or six years of age at the time. I listened to her plan for me, but I cannot truly say I comprehended it in full then. Instead, I asked her, in all my childish innocence, why my mother had left me behind. The Madam fixed her kind grey eyes on me then. I think my question reminded her of my tender age, for she did not say what she must have been thinking: that a five year old daughter, undesired souvenir of a casual assignation, might bring a quick-killing frost to a blossoming romance. Instead, she told me that my mother had been pricked by Ilsare's arrow, and there was no stronger force than that pleasant wound--even a mother's love for her daughter. I remember considering this as I returned to my room and flounced down on my bed, clutching a stuffed doll one of my mother's patrons had given me. I wondered at a goddess whose arrows could pierce the hearts of commoners and queens alike. I wondered at love, and the power of a force that could level a kingdom, start a war, mend a feud, fuse two hearts into one ... and tear a mother from her child. I resolved there and then to hold neither Ilsare nor my mother to blame for what pain I might feel over my loss. Love's arrows fly wild sometimes, and I know of no armor that can shield one from them: not duty, nor reason, nor great distance, nor even time. If Ilsare's arrow had brought my mother happiness, there was nothing to do but feel grateful she had been so blessed.
For the next six or seven years, I passed my time in much the same manner that the Madam had proposed. Having no patrons to cater to, I had ample time to aid in the chores of the household. If silk or brocade was torn in a moment of passion, mine were the nimble fingers that drew the edges of the rent back together with thread and needle when I could. I helped in the kitchen, ran messages and fetched parcels, and helped the ladies dress. I became quite adept at twisting their luxuriant tresses into elaborate arrangements, securing them with carefully selected ornaments to match their gowns. I took pride in my work, and always smiled to see the looks of desire they garnered from the men and women who visited our House when I carried fresh tea or a tray of wine goblets into the parlor. This task of serving tea and wine was mine until I was perhaps twelve. I had grown tall and fair by that time, and began to attract some attention among our patrons—though mostly from those who (it was rumored) preferred to sample beauty in bud rather than full blossom. I heard later one such gentleman discretely inquired of the Madam whether or not I was available one evening after I had passed through the parlor collecting empty glasses. She looked at me then with her shrewd gaze, and after that found other tasks to fill my time.
One of the new tasks I was given was the administration of healing salves and ointments to those requiring them. I should be quick to note that no one was treated unkindly in our House, nor aught done against their will. However, Katherian's denizens are of many tastes, and in the city of wine the Xeenite faith is strong. I have known more than a few followers of the Mistress of Pleasure and Pain in my days, and it is true that their desires burn strong. There were those among our patrons who enjoyed the flow of blood as much as they enjoyed the blood of the grape, and there were those among our ladies who delighted in the kiss of the whip as well as the lip. When they discovered I had some skill with healing, the care of those suffering from more than sore muscles come morn passed to me. I cannot say I ever understood it, nor that I did not shudder to see the marks of their passion written on their skin, but I respected their choices. One assured me that there is a word known to both halves of such a union that will stop everything if it is uttered by either party. Knowing this eased me somewhat, and though I winced still whenever I was called upon to perform my duties, I understood a little better how passion touches each of us differently.
I have heard many express some surprise that I found my childhood a happy one, growing up in such a place. To them I say this: of what can I complain? I was treated kindly by all who passed through our doors, I had ample food and drink even in the time such things were scarce, I was given leave to fill my free time as I wished, and I was surrounded by great beauty. I still catch my breath to think of some of the ladies our House sheltered in those years. I do not know how Madam found them, but some came a great distance to our parlor. There was merry Vinya from Lor, who could set any patron laughing, and gentle Lina from distant Corsain, who could soothe even the most troubled of hearts. There were many more, of course, and I am sorry I cannot remember all of their names. Yes, it was a good place, though many cannot believe this. I was at peace there, and when I woke in my bed at night I was always reassured by the gentle rhythm of the house. Each union has its own heartbeat, and listening in the dark I would sometimes catch those cadences. They never failed to lull me back to sleep within a few minutes.
However, my greatest love in those years did not come into my life until I was fourteen. I was nearly as tall then as I am today, and was sometimes restless in the House, still being excluded from so many of its happenings. Having exhausted most of our modest library and having no great love for needlework, I often found myself plagued with boredom when not busy with household chores. The Madam had endeavored to give me what education our circumstances allowed, and I had had several tutors. From childhood, I had been schooled in history, geography, the written word, and several of the arts. Indeed, I received a far better education than most other children born to my station would have. I even read and spoke passable elven by the time I began to garner attention from our patrons. If elven is a beautiful and complex tongue that flows like silver from the mouths of its native speakers, it is also a language of prestige. In a House that catered to the pretentious, it was not uncommon to hear the dulcet tones of that tongue from human and elf alike, and the Madam judged it an important point of my education. If I had modest success with elven, though, I cannot say the same for all my other studies. To the great disappointment of both myself and the patron who took it upon himself to tutor me in the lute and harp, we discovered I have no great gift for music. Thanks to his diligence and patience, I can pick out a passable tune on a flute or stringed instrument and I have been told my voice is pleasant to the ear, but that is as far as his tutelage brought me.
Ah, but I am getting away from the heart of the story. I was speaking of boredom, and how restlessness led me to my greatest love in those years. Having tired of ambling around the House, I had taken to going for walks in the city each afternoon. For those who have never seen it, Katherian is a beautiful city, and wide. There was much to see, and the opulence and awesome architecture of the place astounded me. It was on a warm Junar afternoon during just such a walk that I stumbled upon a garden. There was no gate, just an open archway, and no one in sight. Birds trilled from several trees I could not name, and water gurgled from a fountain nearby, the spray refracting the sunshine in a rainbow. I would say the garden was a riot of colours, for truly I saw almost every shade I could have imagined, but this would be to speak falsely. There was nothing disorderly about the garden or the arrangement of its blossoms. Indeed, it looked to me like an artist had come by and painted a canvas with flowers instead of oil. Even the butterflies, flitting from rosebush to lilac tree to a low bed of late spring annuals, seemed to sway to a mysterious but perfectly choreographed waltz. I could not help but enter, delighting in the supple green grass on either side of the white pebbled path and the soft crunch of the stones under my feet.
I found a bench by the fountain, and I admit that I was overcome by drowsiness as I sat there, lulled no doubt by the susurration of the breeze as it stirred the leaves, when an amused voice spoke behind me in elven and startled me from my reverie.
“Are you enjoying my garden, then?”
I turned and spied a beautiful woman, with skin and hair like gleaming copper. I had read of sun elves, but never seen one before. I stood, awed and embarrassed, and began to apologize and explain in my imperfect elven that I had not known it was a private park when I heard a second elven voice, again from behind me, just as amused as the first had been.
“Forgive me, dear Salienn, but did I hear correctly? Your garden, my sweet? And who was it who tended this place through the dark years and kept the frost away, and used magic to provide enough meager light that it might survive at all? Who dirties his hands each day pulling weeds while you pore over your dusty texts?”
Turning, I spied another figure behind me, who had clearly come upon us both very quietly while I had been profusely apologizing. He was just as beautiful as the woman, cut from that same fine cloth, though with subtle differences. His skin was darker than the woman's, more bronze than copper, and his eyes were a gentle grey while hers were a fierce blue. Looking from one to the another, I began the recitation of my apology anew when he interrupted me.
“There is no need for that, beautiful child. You are welcome here, as all are. Indeed, you bring as much beauty to my garden as any of these passing butterflies. Tell me, my dear, what is your name?”
I gave it to him, conscious of his appraising gaze as he took note of my fairness and the burnished gold of my hair. He looked at me curiously for a few moments before speaking again.
“Tell me, Ysaline, was one of your parents uncommonly fair? Do you feel the cold at night if you venture out without a cloak?”
I told him what I knew of my father, and though the question about the cloak surprised me I confessed I rarely felt chilled, even when others complained of the cold. I saw him exchange a knowing look with the woman then. Later he confessed that this was when he marked the presence of celestial blood in my veins. He had known of another of my kind many years ago, and knew the signs. At the time, though, I did not know what it meant, and quickly forgot it as he invited me in for tea, gesturing to the house that stood half-concealed by a trellis of climbing roses. I blushed again to see it there, chastising myself for my mistake, but the woman, Salienn, took me by the arm like a sister then and guided me up the path, the man following close behind.
And so I met the twins, as I later learned they were. At the time I took them for a married couple, and must have mentioned something to this effect during that first tea, for I remember flushing hot with embarrassment at Salienn's laughter and Nadieu's gentle correction. I went away from that first meeting with my head spinning from their banter and easy laughter with an invitation to return again soon. I think I had begun to love them even then.
After that, I no longer paced the House in boredom. When my chores were done each day, I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of visiting the twins, and once I was within the walls of their garden there was never an absence of things to do. If I was not helping Nadieu tend his beloved flowers, I was with Salienn in the house. She showed me her library, and I caught my breath at it. Next to the volumes that covered the walls of her room, the Madam's collection looked like a few mouldering books that had been saved at the last moment from the dustbin. Although I owe my fluency in elven to both of them, it was Salienn who took greater pains with me. It was she who lent me book after book, forcing me to read aloud to her, impatiently correcting each tiny mistake or irregularity in my accent. She was not a gentle teacher, but she was an effective one, and if she was hard on me I know it is because she saw what I could be and was determined to draw it out in me. From her, I also learned much of what I know of elven history and lore.
From Nadieu I learned many things. His store of knowledge was just as great, though more unpredictable. He taught me how to breed flowers, using a paintbrush to dust pollen onto the blossoms while they are still in bud, plucking the anthers from them so as to ensure you control the parentage of their offspring. I understood then how he had obtained such a brilliant palette for his garden. He taught me how to graft roses too, an art I have never forgotten and one that made me wild with awe when he showed it to me. I think of love when I think of that lesson: the cut branch or scion carefully embedded in and bound to the root stock. I think it is no coincidence that the place where they meet is known as the union, and it is a marvelous thing indeed to watch the two stems knit together to become one plant. He knew many other things, though: natural history, art, music, the names of all the stars and constellations. He taught me to recognize the birds and butterflies in the garden by their jeweled tones and call them by name, just as he taught me stanza after stanza of elven poetry and song. If I did them poor credit with my unremarkable voice, he gave no sign of it. I think of him and his melodious poetry recitations whenever I spare a coin for a bard.
Though my companions and tutors generally overlapped little, there was one subject they both taught me. Although Nadieu was a priest of Ilsare and Salienn only a devout follower, I do not think it fair to say I learned more from one than the other any more than it is to say I loved one better than the other. Though they were not always in agreement, they complimented one another, and between them I learned the beginnings of all I know of Ilsare. Beauty, music, art, dance ... they showed it all to me. When we were not within the garden walls, we visited other gardens, the homes of wealthy collectors of sculpture and paintings, or sat through concerts, performances, and dances. And passion, well, passion I saw much of within the walls of my own House.
If I was happy in the Madam's house, I was delirious with the twins. For four years I rarely went more than a day or two without seeing one or the other. Any longer and I would begin to look for an excuse to visit them, rushing through my duties. Of course the Madam and the ladies of the House noted it, and smiled to see me scamper about. As I have said, I was well loved there. And love ... well, there was love enough with the twins too, in time. I must have seemed such a child to them, though I towered over them both. They never treated me as one, though, and I never asked how old they were. They looked young to me, but I can barely fathom all the things they must have seen.
It was Seliann who gave me my first kiss, shortly after I turned sixteen. I was standing beside her in the library, my arms piled high with books as she added volume after volume to the stack from her place on the stepladder above me. I do not know what impulse struck her as she looked down at me, my arms laden texts, but she bent down and brushed a stray lock of hair from my eyes. I smiled at her and her blue eyes twinkled back at me, and then she leaned down and kissed me. It was a soft, teasing kiss and more sensual than passionate, but I nearly dropped the books nonetheless. Elves live a very long time, and I found myself wondering how many people she had kissed as she pulled away, her musical laugh ringing in my ears. There were many more kisses after that first, of course. I blush now to think how naïve my fumbling embraces must have seemed to her.
My first kiss with Nadieu did not come for several more months. Always the quieter of the pair, he did not seek it out. He had the enduring patience of the centuries and he would never have pushed me towards anything. This was not always clear to me, though. It was not until Seliann made some passing comment as we watched him from the window as we set out the tea one day that the possibility he might feel anything for me even crossed my mind. Were it not for that idle comment, I might have thought nothing of the rose he clipped before coming in and laid at my place. As it was, I could not take my eyes off it all through our tea, my head spinning. A few days later I confronted him in the garden, rashly demanding he confess any feelings for me. I felt very brave and grown up until he fixed me with his kind eyes, smiling gently.
“Lovely Ysaline, you make my roses blush with envy. But it matters not how I feel, dear heart. What matters is how you feel.”
I am not ashamed to say his words made me catch my breath, my heartbeat quickening in pace. What happened next, I have never really been able to say. One moment there was a distance between us, and the next there was not and my lips were on his. He smelled of the garden, the clean, wholesome scent of the earth and the more delicate perfumes of his flowers. He was just as experienced as his twin but in this, as in all things, it would have been impossible to mistake one for the other.
I shall say little else of my romance with the twins, as it has little bearing on the rest of my tale, except that I was concerned for a time that I might drive a wedge between them. I should not have worried. There was no jealousy or awkwardness in the time I spent in Nadieu's garden or Salienn's library, or anywhere else I went with the twins. I loved them both, and I miss them both. When I feel nostalgia for Katherian and home, my mind always comes back to them and those blissful days.
I have so many memories of both of them, but one of the strongest is of Salienn on one arm and Nadieu on my other, just before my eighteenth birthday. I had told them of my plan to swear myself to Ilsare, and they were taking me to a temple across the city. I do not remember what we spoke of as they guided my steps, but I was glad to have them both at my side. My stomach was full of butterflies as we approached the temple, but the kind priestesses and priests quickly set me at ease. Salienn laughed and whispered encouragement in my ear, and kissed me soundly on the mouth. Nadieu merely squeezed my hand and gave me a reassuring smile, watching as a young priestess led me away. She brought me to a room full of steam, a bath room, and left me to undress and cleanse myself in the scented waters. I took my time, luxuriating, then dried myself and pinned up my hair before putting on the red robes she had left for me. Just as I was wondering what to do, she reappeared and led me through to a small courtyard.
It was not a large temple, but it was very beautiful. There was a garden, naturally, and statuary and fountains. At the far end of the courtyard was a shrine to the Lady of Dreams. Incense burned on the altar at the feet of a statue of Ilsare with her bow and quiver. I saw Seliann and Nadieu then, both praying at the shrine. Nadieu wore his priest's robes, and Seliann had changed into a flowing gown of red silk, belted at the waist by a beautifully embroidered sash. She rose when she heard my footsteps and came to kiss me on the cheek, standing on tiptoe to reach. She told me how beautiful I looked, pulling me down to her so she could fasten something around my neck. I looked down and saw the holy symbol of Ilsare at my throat, just below my father's pendant.
“Our gift to you, my celestial beauty,” she whispered, her merry blue eyes twinkling.
The young priestess of the temple beckoned me forward to kneel at the altar then, beside Nadieu, pressing a prayer candle into my hands. I bowed my head, touching the symbol around my neck, and murmured a brief prayer before lighting the candle, then gazed up at the statue of Ilsare as I swore the vow I had carefully rehearsed, promising to honor love and protect beauty, to patronize the arts when I had the means and to faithfully serve the Archer of Love in all that I did. I had bowed my head again when the voice of the priestess startled me.
“Do you bring a token of beauty for the Lady of Dreams?” She must have seen my confused look, for she hurried to explain. “It is not required, my dear, but some choose to bring an object of art or a verse or song of their own composition as a gift to the temple when they pledge themselves to the Archer. It need not be something of value, only something of beauty.”
I had opened my mouth to say I had not when I felt Nadieu's touch on my arm. I looked down and saw what he was offering me, and my heart swelled with love and pride. It was a new rose that I had helped him breed, of the palest blushing pink. I took it and laid it on the altar by the prayer candle. The priestess smiled at me, as did Nadieu. Somewhere behind me in the courtyard I heard Salienn's musical laugh.
“Be welcome then, child,” the priestess said. “We accept this token of beauty and your vow to the Heart of Gold. May the path of her arrow be true, and you have love and beauty all your days.”
We stayed there for some time, Nadieu, Salienn and I. I had already decided what I was going to do when I turned eighteen, and we discussed the arrangements. Nadieu, I learned, had written to a small temple on Mistone. He knew one of the priestesses there, and she had agreed to take me in for a time and foster me while I found my feet among Ilsare's clergy. Of course, both Salienn and Nadieu had offered me a place in their home, each in their own way, but though I was sorry to leave them I knew the time had come. I had faith that if I needed to return they would be there for me, Nadieu tending his garden and Salienn her books.
The last month was a little bittersweet, as the day of my departure grew near. Salienn teased me, telling me I looked as droopy and wilted as Nadieu's plants when he left them in her care and she forgot to water them. Nadieu just held me and told me I would always be welcome. I had already known that in my heart, but the words were no less sweet for the knowledge. Even the Madam of the house was as good as her word, and when I told her of my plans she gave me her blessing and helped me pack what few possessions I had and arrange passage to Mistone.
My eighteenth birthday dawned and the day of my departure with it. Nadieu and Salienn gave me a beautiful book of poetry when I went to say goodbye that morning. I am not ashamed to say I wept to bid them farewell, nor that I shed many tears to part with the ladies of the house and the Madam who had been so kind to me. I thought of my mother then too, and of the enigma of my father, but mostly I thought of Nadieu and Salienn, and their farewells. One had taken me in a fierce embrace, kissing me more passionately than ever before. The other had merely touched my cheek and whispered a sweet goodbye. I shall not say which was which, but those who know them well may guess for themselves.
I stared at Katherian from the rail of my ship as the wind filled the sails and it receded from my vision. Katherian slipped away like a woman slowly pulling back her skirts, and tears filled my eyes anew to think of the kind souls I was leaving behind. But the sun was high in the sky and it cast a hundred sparkles on the water. I offered a few words of prayer to my goddess, and I felt easier for them. The sun shone bronze like Nadieu's skin in a sky as blue as Salienn's eyes, and I knew there was too much beauty in the world yet unseen to turn back. And so I left the city I was born to and all that I had known, venturing out into the wide, mysterious world, but I was not alone, for I carried all I loved within my heart.
