Dust and Light by Carol Berg Read Free Book Online Page A

bowed to me, touching his fingertips to his brow. “
Domé
Remeni-Masson, it has been my honor to initiate your contract with Bastien de Caton, Coroner of the Twelve Districts of Palinur. May your service do honor to your gods and enrich the lives of your master, your family, and the kingdom of Navronne. With your permission,
domé
, I shall deposit your share of the year’s fee and your copy of the contract into the safekeeping of your steward.”
    He glanced up to see my reaction to this last arrangement. The delay in turning over the stipend was irregular, but I’d no family members present to take charge of it, and I’d not like carrying a purse of gold—a well-stuffed purse, to my relieved sight—around here all day. And to transport a year’s stipend through the hirudo this evening, when I would be alone and bearing no weapon more serious than my eating knife and some minor defensive spells, would be idiocy.
    “Agreed,” I said. “And this as well.” The same cautions bade me takeoff my father’s ruby ring and pass it to Leander. I hoped the coroner would view it as pureblood custom and not an insult to his honor.
    “Servitor Leander, you have executed your duties with exemplary efficiency, deportment, and
wisdom
. You are dismissed. Go in peace and safety.”
Most especially safety.
    A pall of melancholy settled over me as I watched the four purebloods march away. The initiation of a contract should be an occasion of pride and satisfaction. My parents should be with me . . . and my grandsire. Yet how could I wish them to be in this ignoble place, breathing the fumes of decay as this coarse ordinary glared at my back, waiting for me to submit?
    But I had no choices. The contract was for only one year. I could do anything for a year.
    I spun in place and touched my fingertips to my forehead. “Master, you may show me my duties. . . .”
    “Ready to work, eh, Servant Remeni?” Bastien tossed the contract scroll onto the worktable and propped his backside beside it. Wide, hairy hands gripped the table edge as his gaze scraped me raw from my mask to my finest leather boots. “You’re set to abide by this contract? Obliged to? Every detail?”
    “Yes.” I would not bow or scrape or address him beyond his rank. Though I would wait for a later time to point out that
servant
was not a permissible form of address.
    “You’ll do what I ask of you the best you can, without arguing or mincing or weaseling around some point of law to avoid it? Just as if I were the king himself?”
    “Yes. As long as the task does not violate the terms of the contract.” Registry contracts were very specific about criminal endeavors, excessive risk, or tasks that skirted the bounds of righteous behavior. My stomach shifted uneasily. I wished I’d had the nerve to eat before leaving home.
    Bastien settled his back to the wall, gleaming eyes fixed to mine—both of mine. Most ordinaries attended only the naked half of one’s face, as if the eye peering through the mask was false or fey. His own features worked oddly, the exact expression unreadable, obscured by his excess hair. “And you’re forbid to put a hex on me or use your magic in any way, save what I tell you?”
    My gut tied itself in a knot. What was he planning that he had to make these things explicit?
    “My magic belongs to you alone for the duration of the contract, and I am strictly bound not to spend it without your permission—whether to my own advantage or that of any other person. The contract contains a clause that exempts reasonable spending of magic in defense of myself or my family.” Or it certainly should. That I’d not yet seen the document did naught for my unease. “You’ve been made aware that a pureblood’s reserves of power are not limitless, but must be continually renewed by rest, sleep, food. . . .”
    “Oh, aye. I’ve a notion how it works.”
    I nodded again. “And, naturally, no . . . hexing . . . of my master is