Page 8 of Insolence (Eisha’s Hidden Codices #1)

Itissa

I arrive at the bathhouse first thing the next morning. Barely awake, I’m greeted by Brigit and Kiera and introduced to another handmaiden I don’t yet know.

“Tiss, this is Ana. She and Kiera will take care of you this morning.”

I’m led through the familiar hallway with its marble floors and cedar-planked ceiling. The bathhouse is pure luxury compared to the rustic communal washrooms on each floor of our residence.

I’m deposited in a private dressing room and told to undress, then led next door wearing nothing but a towel. A massive copper bathtub occupies the center of the room, the soapy-sweet aromas of lavender and rose filling my nose.

“Be quick about it,” says Ana. She and Kiera leave me to it.

After I’m scrubbed clean, I’m led back to the dressing room and seated in front of an impressive vanity. Ana sets about fixing my damp hair, her nimble fingers plaiting a tidy braid that begins at the crown of my head.

“About the sisters,” I say, hoping to get them talking. “Is it just me, or can they be severe at times?”

“It’s not just you,” says Kiera flatly, lingering by the door.

“There’s no need to be rude about it,” says Ana. Sleeves rolled up, tiny freckles dust her fair skin. Perspiration plasters bits of mouse-brown hair to her face and neck.

“You know it's true,” argues Kiera. “They’re more than severe. They never like the new initiates, and they’re cranky with us, too.”

A protective instinct flares inside of me. “The sisters aren’t mean to you girls, are they?”

The handmaidens share a glance through the mirror, Ana subtly shaking her head. Lips pressed thin, Kiera’s reflection flashes a small smile at me. Probably meant to be reassuring, it very much is not.

“Why do you ask?” Ana’s hands weave back and forth in a well-choreographed dance, pulling my hair taut.

“I saw something two evenings ago. Someone slapped a girl in the gardens by the compost shed.” I debate mentioning the blood but decide against it.

Kiera makes a small sound in her throat. Ana secures the end of my braid before pulling a length of black satin ribbon from one of the drawers, not bothered in the slightest.

“Do either of you ever notice things like that?” I press.

“Sometimes—” starts Kiera.

Ana turns a caustic glare on her. “Don’t you have someone to check on?”

“I’m caught up at the moment.” Kiera’s voice is small, but she squares her shoulders defiantly.

Ana turns back to me with a huff. “Did you see who hit her, Tiss?”

“Sister Kerrigan.”

Behind me, Kiera goes rigid. Hands tucked into the folds of her dress, she scrutinizes the floor.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t concern myself with the sisters’ business.” Ana’s tone conveys boredom, but it seems forced. She draws the ribbon around my finished hair like a headband, looping the ends into an off-center bow.

Kiera shifts her weight. “But you know that Sister Kerrigan—”

“Go check on your charges ,” orders Ana, her tone resonating sharply.

She watches Kiera’s reflection as her counterpart exits, waiting for the door to shut before continuing.

“Listen, Tiss, if it doesn’t involve you, then don’t worry about it.

Just keep your head down and mind the rules.

Everything will work out as long as you do that. ”

I nod, my gut twisting into knots. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

It seems the Second High Priestess isn’t the only evasive one around here.

O ur second orientation class takes place in a long, cold room connected to one end of our residence by a wide hallway.

Tall tables and stools occupy the Learning Annex, spaced in tidy rows and holding two students per table. Even with the roughly thirty of us present, there are still many more stools and desks than bodies to fill them.

Sadrie and Cordelia share a table while I sit alone.

Ghisele sits by herself too, occupying the table to my right. A botanical illustration sits in front of her, along with a tin of pigment sticks. She’s working on a cluster of winter gentians, their brilliant blue petals and oval leaves exquisitely rendered.

She doesn’t wear quite as much jewelry as the priestesses, but her wrist bears an identical silver cuff bracelet to Elodie’s. I also notice an amethyst and silver necklace with coordinating earrings.

Rosalie slouches in the back row. I stare when I first see her, unable to figure out how there’s not a mark on her.

I know it’s been a few days, but there should be some sort of welt or bruise from Kerrigan’s slap.

A thin, silver collar necklace rests above her clavicles; I’m certain she wasn’t wearing it two days ago.

Meanwhile, Cara sits in the front row, also blemish-free. There’s nothing to indicate what sort of injury transferred so much blood to Rosalie’s face, or why the latter said she wouldn’t “do it again.”

Lady Maida calls class into session from behind a lectern. Like Ghisele and Elodie, she wears a heavy amount of jewelry. Pointer in hand, rings flashing, she utilizes a color-coded map hanging in front of the blackboard while Elodie stands to the side.

The priestesses pass the pointer back and forth, discussing the first fortified settlements that sprang up along the Kinvarrea River in the age before the realm was founded.

The lesson turns to violent clashes that erupted between founding clans roughly a thousand years ago. Those isolated skirmishes evolved into two centuries of full-blown war.

“During the longest days of the war, the losses were profound,” says Elodie, her gaze skimming pointedly past me. “The turning point came when plague broke out. Food ran scarce, and the local fauna was hunted to near-extinction. There were tens of thousands of deaths.”

“That’s when truces were struck between the warring clans and the first peace treaties were drafted,” supplies Maida. “There would be many before the war ended, culminating eight hundred years ago in the Indigo collectively they’re called the Five. In partnership with the drūKing, they make up the realm’s governing body.

The drūKing himself is from a sixth noble family: Clan Spillane. So as not to show preference, he and his High Queen reside outside of any one city-state in their sprawling abode—the Grand Arcade.

The priestesses have us trade off reading paragraphs. My attention wanders until our row comes into rotation.

“Clan patriarchs oversee municipal operations in their respective city-states, which function independently of one another,” reads Cordelia evenly.

“The drūKing oversees the realm as a whole, coordinating with the Five. The production and distribution of food and military control lie under the drūKing’s jurisdiction.

Under his orders, one standard form of currency, the tollar, unites commerce across the realm. ”

Sadrie launches into the next paragraph: “Clan patriarchs write whatever municipal laws, codes, and taxes they see fit. Their power is nearly unrestricted in their respective city-states, with the exception of the Inviolable Laws. None have the power to overrule them.”

Maida lifts her chin at me.

“Right. Inviolable Laws.” I turn the page to find what looks like an upside-down city map. “Huh.” I scan the next pages, but my workbook seems to be missing that section altogether.

“It doesn’t need to take all day,” mumbles Ghisele.

“Behave, Ghisele,” sighs Elodie. “Need help, Tiss?”

“There’s something wrong with my book.” I riffle back toward the front.

“Probably a misprint,” says Sadrie, passing hers up to me. “Try mine.”

Her pages are in a slightly different order, and I frown, disoriented and wishing I’d been paying closer attention.

“Gods help you when we get to something that’s actually challenging,” mutters Ghisele.

“It’s not her fault.” Sadrie leaves Cordelia’s side, sliding onto the empty stool next to me. She flips through the book herself, whispering loud enough for others to hear: “Maybe some people ought to concentrate on their little crayon drawings and leave the rest of us alone.”

I snort, stifling the urge to whisper back: maybe some people are extremely insecure.

The redhead swivels on her stool. “I’m working in oil pastels, you barbarian.” Scowling at Sadrie, she indicates the array nestled in her tin container.

“ Enough .” Elodie pushes off the wall she’s been leaning against and prowls up an aisle.

“The Inviolable Laws are ordained by the drūKing and apply to every citizen. The most important laws being murder is a capital offense, theft and violent assault are punishable by imprisonment, women cannot legally own property, and marriage only applies between one man and one woman.” In one seamless motion, she plucks a purple oil pastel from the tin as she passes Ghisele's desk.

She sets it atop the illustration without breaking stride.

Ghisele stares at it, shoulders slumping. I have no idea what strange code just passed between them, but whatever its meaning, dejection rolls off her in waves.

A glance at Sadrie confirms she’s oblivious to the pastel cipher. One look behind me proves Cordelia is reading ahead.

Elodie declares, “That’s enough reading for one day,” and continues the lecture herself. Something about her brief exchange with Ghisele makes me think something intimate happened between them.

I’m instantly ravenously curious as to whether she’s ever taken Ghisele to bed. If she still is. Her words from yesterday come to mind:

“Not only is indulging in each other forbidden, it’s also a very, very bad idea.”

Of course she was speaking from experience. I was stupid not to guess as much, but I was so mortified from kissing her—

Well, kissing her and being rejected. And now I get the sense that Ghisele is somehow good enough.

Envy pricking at me, my gaze flashes to the redhead. She’s leafing through the plant book she’s been using as a reference, her expression distant. Why I should be bothered by who the prickly priestess seduces is beyond me. And yet, I very much am.