Page 10 of The Concubine King
“Stop!”Yorith exclaimed, as though Ethyr hadn’t immediately done so.The priest plucked the metal from his hand for good measure.“You do not need to apply so much pressure,” he scolded.
“How was I supposed to know?”Ethyr snapped back.They’d always had to use force to carve letters into clay.
Yorith pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.After a deep breath, he opened them again.“Watch me carefully,” he admonished.Ethyr crossed his arms, sullenly watching as the old man put on a patronizingly dramatic performance of writing.
They spent far too long on the task.After Ethyr got a handle on the action of writing, his ‘hand was unacceptable,’ according to the priest.There was supposedly a correct way to write each letter that he had to learn and then practice.He had always just copied the inscription from the study tablet that Lifaya kept for all the village kids, and she had never admonished them for writing wrong, but praised them for getting the letters legible at all.
Ethyr tried his best, but when his legs were stiff as wood and his head wouldn’t stop pounding, he threw the pen down in the middle of a letter and struggled to his feet.
“What are you doing?”Yorith demanded.“Sit down at once.”
“This is pointless,” Ethyr said, hissing in pain as his knees unfolded like rusted-shut hinges.“And if I sit here another minute my legs are going to fall off.”
To his surprise, the priest gave a resigned sigh and wave of his hand.“Very well.Poyut, escort His Divinity for a stroll around the boat.”
“Yes, sir.”Poyut dipped her head, then looked expectantly at Ethyr.He gladly walked out of the oppressive room and into the sunlight.
He inhaled the fresh air, just as hot as inside but somehow lighter, and started down the side of the boat, Poyut dutifully following.
The endless stone of city was gone.The river had widened and the water had slowed, its muddy banks obscured by tall reeds.Beyond them, stone structures bigger than any house Ethyr had ever seen dotted the landscape.Between those were squares of tilled earth lined with even, straight rows of greenery.They looked almost like trees, but the trunks were too perfectly straight to be natural.
“What are those?”Ethyr asked, pointing.
“Those are vineyards, Your Divinity.Where wine is made.”
“I thought wine was made with berries.”
“It is.I imagine you’ve had wine made with wild berries from bushes.These ones grow from vines, and have been bred to be juicier and sweeter.”
Ethyr gripped the railing, pressing his stomach against it to peer down at the ripples of water pushing the boat along.“Is that why the wine last night was so good?”
“I imagine so, Your Divinity.”
“Do you have to call me that?”
“It is your proper title.”
Ethyr groaned and rolled his eyes.What was the obsession with ‘proper’ things?“Can you call me Ethyr?Just Ethyr.”
Poyut didn’t answer right away and he glanced over his shoulder to see her contemplating.
“When not in the presence of the High Priest, I will,” she finally acquiesced.
Ethyr grinned.“Poyut?”She raised her eyebrows at him.“I like you.”
She lowered her face, bringing a hand up to scratch her nose, but he saw the flush of her freckled cheeks.“That is kind of you to say, Your Div—Ethyr.”
He turned around and leaned his back on the railing instead.“Are you a palace guard?”
“No, I am your personal guard.”
Ethyr blinked, taken aback.“Why?”
His question confused her as much as her answer had confused him.“Because… I have been assigned to be, Your Divinity—Ethyr.”
“But why do I need a personal guard?”
“You are the most valuable thing in the kingdom now.”The words brought a strange tingle to the back of his neck.“You must be protected from anyone who wants to steal or harm you.”
