The Vixen Trials

Don't Judge Me

"Dance with me"

Keilah

"Afraid?" Dakkoul asked.

Keilah did not meet his eyes. "A lot rests on this going well. Alyssia, I'd like you to pray for me to your god that my grandmother accepts me."

"Yes my lady." Alyssia bowed her head. They were silent until she lifted it back up.

Dakkoul smirked at Keilah. "Can't you pray?" 

"I don't want to," Keilah said with dignity. "It seems improper to petition a god you are not committed to and I won't do the ceremony until I'm ready, no matter what Jagur says."

Dakkoul raised his eyebrows. "Is that the condition? The condition you need to fulfill before he'll marry you?"

"Yes."

Dakkoul sniggered. "Poor Jagur. He has too many principles for a comfortable life."

Keilah's breath hitched. She glared at Dakkoul. How dare he mock Jagur, who had sacrificed himself for her so gallantly. "He doesn't want a comfortable life."

"Perhaps not," said Dakkoul. "I'm guessing Keilah does though."

"Keilah does," she agreed. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, my Lady," he said in hitch-pitched simpering voice, so at odds with his usual gruff tone that she saw the corner of Alyssia's mouth twitch.

"Meaning, you think everything. Sometimes you just like to spoil my fun. Can't I enjoy this?" Keilah waved her hand in the direction of the lavish marble building that towered before them, lavish in its ornamentation.

"Your father didn't and your mother hated it."

Keilah tossed her head, expecting for a moment the feel of her hair on her forehead, then remembered it was trapped in a top knot. "I intend to. All my life I've been labelled a Wayvolkan when I hardly knew what one was. I'm finally going to a place I can be accepted as an ordinary person. Don't judge me for that."

"As you wish, my lady," said Dakkoul in a neutral tone and she saw him head towards the door, heard his feet marching up the steps.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she trapped her breath like it was precious bird, valuable for its rarity. When the pressure in her head got too much, she released it. "Wait, once you open that door will I see you?"

Dakkoul paused, his face hidden in the shadow of the building. "Not often, I think. Sometimes your uncle parades me about. Otherwise I keep to myself. I'm not like the other slaves."

"What do you mean?"

"I am given the freedom to set my own schedule, more or less. I'm expected to train to fight every day, to study in the library, all to make me better at what I do. I'll not be scrubbing your floor Keilah."

"I wouldn't want you to," she said, stung. "Can you visit me?"

"Drop by, you mean, like a friend, like an equal? No."

The word exploded out of him with such force she shrunk back. "So I'll be in the same house as you and not see you?" A wind of sadness swirled over her. Had she found him again, only to essentially lose him?

"Welcome to my life," he said.

"Can't I just ask for your freedom?"

"No," he said with a firmness that was as sharp as a slap. "Your uncle will never let me go with a compelling reason. Don't think of asking. It will just arouse suspicion," and he knocked on the door with a rhythmic bang, announced her then stood aside.

She held her chin upright and drew herself tall.

"I am Lady Keilah," she said to the bulky bald man who blocked the ornate wooden door like his life depended on it. "The Hattavah will escort me to my grandmother," and she walked straight at the guard so that he side-stepped to avoid touching her and she was in the house. Dakkoul took the lead, not allowing her a chance to peruse the hallway which was larger than her stone cottage home and opulently decorated with life-size paintings of fierce men and women, some of whom resembled her mother, and even, she realized with a jolt, her. He was almost running, loping along in a controlled way that to an indifferent glance would disguise the speed at which they were going. Keilah scrambled to keep up with him and appear like an elegant lady at the same time.

"Dakkoul," she hissed, "Slow down."

"Your uncle mustn't see you first," he threw back to her, not slowing at all. "He will know by now of your arrival."

Her throat tightened and she threw all her remaining energy into going faster, aware of the sharp breaths of Alyssia behind her jogging to keep up. They had reached a stairway now and were climbing stairs higher and higher. The walls that enclosed them were drab. Slaves' stairs, she surmised. They reached the top and she could hear the sound of a bright harmony being sung by several voices. The entrance to the room was sectioned off by a purple curtain, embroidered with gold. Dakkoul dragged the curtain across and gestured for her to enter.

Keilah stepped in, then stared. The room was flooded with the light of oil lamps and incense burners that hung from every crevice and cranny, and there was a wide space in front of her that was empty except for a dancing woman, skeletal and wrinkled but dancing, twirling round and round the floor until she ended with a halt in front of Keilah, her wide long tunic swishing to a stop afterwards. The singing continued, made by the three slaves in the corner. She wondered how they could bear to sing with the lavender aroma that thickened the air.

"Melisane, how nice of you to join me. It's been a long time, my dear," said her grandmother holding out her hands to Keilah, who took them, feeling the sharpness of her bones. "Dance with me," she said and she pulled Keilah forward with surprising strength. Keilah stumbled next her trying to copy her movements, sure that Dakkoul was sniggering at her lack of grace, but when she was able to turn to look behind her he was not there. Only Alyssia stood at the side of the room, her shoulders hunched in, her head bowed. Keilah threw herself into learning the dance and when the music ceased, she found her grandmother looking at her approvingly.

"You show promise, my dear, but who are you? You can't be Melisane."

"No, I'm Keilah," she said, as the curtain was yanked aside and a dapper aristocratic man emerged, like her father apart from the trim grey beard and the protruding nose. From a distance he looked distinguished, closer up his there was a rawness in his face, a darkness in the eyes that perused her with an intensity that did not seem natural or kind. The singing ceased.

"She's Melisane's daughter. I wonder very much why she is here."

"Uncle," said Keilah, and before she could stop herself the words tumbled out. "You sent the Hattavah to my mother."

"Of course, my dear," said her grandmother, her voice approving.

Keilah let out a quick breath. "But he was given orders to kill her!"

Baba stared at her curiously. "Did your mother not explain? It the way of all Wayvolkans. To die in an undignified manner does not become us. At the proper time, a trusted person is sent to end well a valued life. In time he will come for me too, but until then he is not permitted in my chambers. It would give me too much of a fright," she said and let go a peal of laughter that echoed around the room. "When I saw him there with you, I nearly wet myself."

"Uncle sent him to kill me also, grandmother."

"Call me, Baba, dear," she said and frowned, highlighting the pockets of saggy black under her eyes. "That was a mistake, my son. You should have discussed that with me first. Melisane was considered the most Fox-fair woman in the whole of the land when I was young. Keilah resembles her. Can you not see her potential? Especially now that the Prince has returned?"

Her uncle tightened his lips. "And my daughter? What of her?"

Baba cackled. "The prince dislikes her. A fresh pretty Fox-face he might bend for. It is the perfect time to make amends."

Keilah shivered. Amends for what? What would she be required to do?