Page 47 of The Gilded Ones

To my surprise, White Hands gives a full-throated laugh. “Well, that certainly is good to hear. And much better than you moping around in the wagon. It quite put me off my feed. Carambola?” She offers me a plate of the delicate yellowish-green fruits shaped like stars.

I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I say respectfully.

“We’ll take it,” Braima says, a greedy gleam in his eye as his fingers reach.

“No use letting a good fruit go to waste,” Masaima adds.

White Hands smacks their fingers. “Not for you,” she says sternly. “You may go eat over there, test the figs on that tree.” She points.

As the equus pout and canter away, she turns to me. “Here’s a lesson for you, Deka. When someone – particularly your elder – offers you food, you eat. This is the way of the Southern provinces.”

I nod and hastily take the plate. “My thanks, White Hands,” I say. As I carefully sit across from her, I have a thought. “Why are you here? Did you bring more girls to the Warthu Bera?”

I glance through the garden gate over to the courtyard, where the moon shines down on the statue of the emperor. There’s only one wagon there – the same one that brought us all the way from the North.

White Hands shakes her head. “No, the Warthu Bera has enough girls.”

Now I’m confused. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I teach here, of course,” she says.

“Teach?” I echo.

“The Lady of the Equus is being modest, so as not to impress you with her grand stature,” Karmoko Thandiwe says as she walks towards us. “She oversees the Warthu Bera, in addition to all the other training grounds.”

I feel my mouth slackening as I turn to White Hands. “You—”

“Oversee all the training grounds? Yes, I suppose I do.” She shrugs, then places a slice of cheese on my plate. “Try this, it pairs excellently with the carambola.”

I shake my head, still in shock. If she oversees all the grounds, that must mean she’s a noble – only the rich and powerful are given tasks as important as that. “I can’t eat with you,” I say. “It wouldn’t be respectful, you’re—”

“Your new karmoko? Of course I am,” White Hands finishes smugly. As my head whips from her to Karmoko Thandiwe, she continues: “I occasionally take on a student or two to prepare them for the most…demanding raids, which is, of course, why I brought you and Britta here. Although your friend Belcalis also fascinates me, as does the ever-angry Gazal.”

I frown. “You know Belcalis? And Gazal?”

“Undoubtedly. I keep my eyes sharp for promising students. You four will be my first new trainees. Lessons start tomorrow.”

“You’ll report to her after dinner,” Karmoko Thandiwe adds. “Promptly.”

I bow to her. “Yes, my lady,” I say.

“You mean, yes, Karmoko,” White Hands corrects, smiling at me. “Well, that’s that. Unless you want to remain here and smoke with us.”

The very thought appals me. I rush upright. “No, Karmoko,” I gasp, then I bow and scurry away, leaving White Hands in the garden, Karmoko Thandiwe standing behind her.

I’m halfway back to the common bedroom before I understand what bothered me about Karmoko Thandiwe’s words. She said Mother ran away the last week of the rainy season. But I was born in the month of the silver wolven, more than ten months after that.

I’ve watched Karmoko Thandiwe recite entire passages from memory in class. She’s always correct when it comes to dates. But the timing she gave me isn’t humanly possible. If she’s correct, Mother was pregnant at least a full month before she met Father. There’s no way I’m his natural child. There’s no way I’m natural at all.

So why am I turning her words over in my head, wondering if there’s something there?

When I arrive at the lake the next evening, White Hands is seated on a small carpet, a bronze goblet of the potent local palm wine in hand. It’s been a warmer Hemairan day than usual, and the smell of night jasmine wraps everything in a haze of sweetness. The scent so intoxicates me, it takes some seconds before I see the weapons laid out beside White Hands, their metal glinting in the low evening light. Panic beats a heightened pulse in my veins, pushing away the thoughts that have been plaguing me all day – my conversation with Karmoko Thandiwe, my doubts about who my father is…

All I can see now is those weapons, gleaming sinisterly in the fading light. Neophytes are required to use wooden weapons for the first two months, and the end of my second month isn’t even near yet. I’m only supposed to use metal weapons in the third month, as I prepare to go out on raids.

And yet here is an array of metal weapons, clearly meant for use.

A thousand questions suddenly flit across my mind. What exactly did White Hands mean when she said “the most demanding raids”, and why has she chosen us four – Britta, Belcalis, Gazal, and I – to accomplish them?

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