Chapter 35: [12.3] A Shade of Blood

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When they entered Mistress Hanopol's office the next day, Isla knew something was wrong. The tester was waiting for her, a silver basin cradled in the crook of one hand. A new bowl was sat in the plinth, clean and awaiting its next victim. Even looking at it sent small bumps crawling across Isla's skin.

'You intrigue me, Lilja Shapor,' said Mistress Hanopol as she took the basin she carried and extended it out for Isla and Bartol to see.

The bloodrune sat inside; no longer colourless, but a deep purple chunk that sparked under the light.

'Do you know much about theurgy?'

'None at all, Mistress.'

'In that case, allow me to edify you but a little. Theurgy lies within a spectrum ... corresponding to a gradient of shades, which we testers use to match whereupon that spectrum each theurgist lies.'

Where is this going? 'That much I do know.'

'Theurgy of first-rank results in a bloodrune so dark, its colour can no longer be determined.' Mistress Hanopol nodded at the bloodrune in her basin. 'Your particular shade represents the second ranking of theurgy.'

Did she say second-rank?

'How does a late-bloomer reach second-rank?' Mistress Hanopol's eyes thinned to a slit.

'There has to be some kind of mistake ...' She had anticipated third-rank, but second? 'You say it's a ... a spectrum ... perhaps you ... misidentified it ...'

'Indeed there may be incidences where theurgists are erroneously ranked. Take for instance a low-performing third-rank, misidentified for a higher-ranged fourth ... in such cases one's potential and ability are similar enough that it makes no effect beyond prestige.'

'So I'm probably a ... a high functioning third-rank, or whatever you want to call –'

Mistress Hanopol's chin lifted ever so slightly. 'This has been my field of expertise for decades, Shapor.'

'What are you saying?'

'Your shade sits right upon the centre of second-rank. There is no misidentifying it.'

'Maharaj Khaisan is also a late-bloomer.' Bartol came to Isla's rescue with a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'And he settled at first-rank.'

'You compare your baseborn daughter to the Maha Rama's grandson?' Mistress Hanopol's eyes turned upon him. 'Besides the small distinction that he has Grace flowing through his veins, it took him six years to settle. His first blooding was at seventeen, whereupon he was a decided lower fifth-rank. He did not jump six tiers straight to first, which your daughter may as well have done.'

Isla found no answer, and the sweat on her brow had little to do with the room's temperature.

'Outside of early-bloomers, it's almost unheard of for a baseborn to reach second-rank.'

'Almost unheard of.' Isla latched on to the word.

'I have come across a few, in my three decades of tenure. Though none of them had been late-bloomers.' Mistress Hanopol sighed. 'I've consulted our records. It is rare ... extremely rare. Yours will have to be added to the annals, though I will need some information regarding your bloodline. Have you any trace of highborn blood?'

Wonderful. Now I'm contributing to historical inaccuracies. 'No.'

'I will have someone consult the ancestry archives, of course. It may be your line has been lost through the ages.'

'Doubtful.' Bartol snorted. 'But please do. I'll be happy to learn otherwise. Maybe my newfound uncle twice removed wouldn't mind sharing a bit of land.'

'Have you ever come across any first-ranks?' asked Isla. 'In your line of work, I mean?'

'What a foolish question.' Mistress Hanopol furrowed her brows. 'Of course not. Not outside the monarch ... and even they are declining.'

'So it's true.' Isla added a touch of sadness to her voice. 'Much of them are barren.'

'A price for the sins of their fathers. They should not have taken the Laws lightly. It's a lesson learnt too late. At this rate, the kingdom will be in a state of emergency. Which is why we must all play our part, and prepare.'

A state of emergency. Isla liked the sound of that. It might come to her benefit, after all. The less first-ranks amongst the royal brood, the less for her to worry of.

'That brings us to the matter of your ranking,' continued Mistress Hanopol. 'You realise you are obliged for the conscription.'

Bartol tensed beside her, but it was Isla who spoke. 'What will they do with me?'

'There is no need to fear. A woman with your rank of theurgy; it's simply astonishing you have not yet caused anyone great harm! This is for your own protection. You will be trained and guarded, so that your powers will not harm those around you.'

It's just as Noi always said. The kingdom wanted to keep a close eye on girls like her. This was exactly what her father had wanted to avoid. Yet here I am, handing myself right into their claws.

'You will be joined by other conscripted girls,' Mistress Hanopol added, as though it would make her feel better. 'You will meet here at the turn of the month. My assistant outside will hand your summons. You will need to keep this, and bring it to your next blooding. I've re-scheduled it to be performed in Kathedra, as that's where you'll be.'

The royal palace. Isla took the bloodrune from the tester's extended basin. The stone was cold and hard in her palm, tinged slightly red when she turned it just at the right angle. Hanopol could be wrong. We'll see what the second tester says.

'Take care no one else inadvertently handles that.' She looked up at Mistress Hanopol's voice. 'Its touch is corrosive to all but its rightful owner.'

Isla left, considering its possibilities.

There were five days before next turn, but it came in the blink of an eye. Mother Shapor indulged her with her finest meals, Persepa grilled into her all the fashionable styles the syarong could be worn ('Just in case' she had said with a wiggle of her brows), and Bartol took her out to bay one last time for a final gaze at the freedom Lilja Shapor so longed for.

It was midday when once again Isla found herself congregating in front of the testers' office; a sullen group of girls and Bartol fidgeting with his pipe. When Kusuma took Isla's hand, her eyes were red and caked with tears. 'Don't forget our lessons,' she said. 'Remember, the Maha Rani is the sovereign queen; the rajini are the –'

'– queens consort. I remember, Kusuma.' Isla smiled.

'You laugh now, but I hear they're very sensitive to these things. Refer to them in the wrong way and you're lucky if they let you keep your tongue.'

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of hooves clopping against the street. A wagon rolled down the road, drawn by two lean horses. The coachman reared them to a halt just as they reached the building. Its only passenger was a tall, wizened old man sitting in the open carriage; his hair white and wild, as furious as the sunburns on his bare shoulders. Two soldiers escorted the vehicle, sitting proud and rigid atop their mounts.

'All right.' Mistress Hanopol's assistant clapped her hands for attention, and the crowd fell into silence. 'Make your farewells, and make it quick!'

Only two other families were there besides the Shapors, and their farewells could not have been more different. Where the first fell into quiet sobs and tight hugs, the other embraced their daughter with stern words and taut faces.

Isla's view was disrupted by a yellow blur as Mother Shapor took her into her arms. 'You take care,' she said before allowing the rest of her daughters to each bid Isla farewell.

It all went so fast she could barely tell who said what. All she remembered afterwards was Eppi's sombre face, Sabri wishing her luck in that soft voice of hers, and Persepa fussing over her syarong before hugging her farewell.

'This is it.' Kusuma was wiping her eyes as she shook Isla's hand one last time. 'We'll visit when we can.'

'No – that would be too dangerous,' Isla whispered back.

'It's too late for that.'

Isla's heart sank at the resignation in Kusuma's voice. She was right. The Shapors had tied their name to Isla's, now. If Surikhand discovered her deception, it would lead them right back to Bartol and his family.

Speaking of which. Isla looked around and found the fisherman loading up what little bags she had onto the wagon.

'I'll send you letters, whenever I can.' Isla turned back to Kusuma and forced a smile. 'Take care of your sisters.'

Kusuma's reply was drowned out by the assistant's shrill voice as she called out several names from a list. Isla studied each girl as their respective names were called. Their faces were pale under the clouded sun and Isla twisted with pity at the sight of them. She knew this was coming. She had walked herself right into this summons. But these girls ...

Phrae Damari was the first one called. She had done her face in colours, but there was no masking her youth. The corner of her eyes were outlined in black; her lips tinged deep red to complement the dark powder on her jawbones. Her hair was pulled back and coiled into an elegant roll, offsetting the girlish plumpness of her cheeks.

The other was Rinju Nwen, who could not have seen more than ten summers. Isla did not need two guesses to conclude what the young girl had been summoned for.

'Lilja Shapor!' It took three calls before Isla remembered herself and responded accordingly.

'New sisters, huh?' Eppi nudged her with an elbow.

'I already have more than I know what to do with.'

'You'll always be our eldest. Don't forget that.'

'Never.' Isla gave her a quick hug before stepping away towards the carriage, the assistant rushing them on in the background.

Isla stopped by the back step. Bartol was busying himself on the wagon – lifting the seat cushions to reveal the storage compartment, carefully arranging her bags inside. Isla cleared her throat and he made a great pretence of surprise. The fisherman jumped off the carriage, dusted his hands, and offered it out for Isla to shake. 'You take care of yourself,' he said once she took it. 'Make sure you keep your valuables on you at all times.'

'Thank you, Bart.'

'Send us a message once you're arrived and settled.'

'I will.'

He dropped his voice to a whisper, low enough that the old man sitting in the wagon would not hear. 'And if things start going south, you know what to do.'

Isla knew their exit strategy well, but there was not a chance in all the epps that she would ever call for it, no matter how badly things went. Not if it meant involving Bartol's family right into the thick of things. She smiled and climbed onto the wagon, taking the seat across and as far away from the old man as possible.

Bartol joined his family by the front steps; Isla's stomach churned at the sight of them gathered there and waving. A warmth crawled up her shoulder, and before she had a moment to weep, Pepper had settled in the crook of her neck.

'It's just you and me, Pep,' she said quietly.

The wagon creaked and sunk as the second girl clambered on and plopped next to her. Phrae, she reminded herself. Names were important if she was to spend a significant amount of time with these girls. This one was a lovely creature, but she returned Isla's curious observation without so much as a smile.

One of the soldiers gave a shout of command, and the coachman whipped his horses to a start. A man came running behind them, carrying the last passenger – Rinju – and with tears in his eyes mounted her onto the seat across the two girls.

The man chased after the wagon, offering his daughter some last words of comfort. Behind him, in the growing distance, the Shapors called out to Isla and she waved back at them until they disappeared behind the sloping road.

The horses picked up speed and Rinju's father fell behind. Isla wanted to comfort his daughter, but her own heart was heavy and no words came.

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