"I apologize for my tardiness, Master Saelis. It seems I overslept. I will submit to whatever penance you see fit." There was no regret in
Ythnel's voice. It had been an honest mistake. She knew the importance of discipline, though, and did not fear punishment. Even a minor transgression like this received some sort of flogging back at the manor.
Prisus waved her off as he lifted a glass of water to his lips.
"Perhaps if you did not stay up all night casting spells, you would be able to get up with the rest of us," Iuna chided.
Water sprayed from Prisus's mouth
"What?" Prisus yelled, all color draining from his face. He turned to Ythnel. "Is this true?" Without waiting for a response, he turned back to Iuna. "I don't care," he continued, "I do not want such things spoken in this house. Ever! Am I understood?" Iuna nodded sullenly.
"I was not casting spells, Master Saelis," Ythnel said evenly. She looked straight at Iuna, but the girl would not meet her gaze. "I pray every morning and evening as part of my daily devotion to Loviatar."
"Be that as it may" Prisus paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, "why don't we all just forget about the whole affair? I'm going to be in my study for most of the morning. I suggest you two finish morningfeast and begin Iuna's lesson." He excused himself and left.
Ythnel and Iuna continued their meal in silence. Ythnel efficiently cut up her sausage and ate each piece with a bite of egg. Iuna lethargically stirred her food with a fork for a few moments then sighed. Pushing her unfinished plate away, she got up from the table. Ythnel stabbed the last piece of sausage with her fork and shoved it in her mouth. She used the napkin to wipe off her face and followed Iuna. They climbed the stairs, Iuna seemingly unaware of Ythnel's presence behind her. At the top, Iuna surprised Ythnel and instead of continuing down the hall to the parlor next to Ythnel's quarters, turned to the right and walked straight to her bedroom, closing the door.
"Iuna?" Ythnel called through the door. "You heard your father. We should begin your studies." She waited, but there was no reply. "Iuna open this door."
Sudden anger at Iuna's disrespect welled up inside Ythnel. She wanted to fling the door open, charge in, and spank the girl. Undisciplined punishment teaches nothing, Ythnel told herself, pushing the emotion back. The vacuum was quickly filled with uncertainty. She felt as if she stood on the edge of a precipice as doubt fought with years of indoctrination. Her mind knew Iuna needed to be taught her place, but Ythnel's heart hesitated, questioning if it was her responsibility, if corporal punishment was the correct solution.
This is the reason I'm here, she mentally affirmed. Pain brings strength of spirit.
Ythnel opened the door and stepped inside. Iuna stood there, facing her with her arms crossed.
"I did not give you permission," she said defiantly.
"I don't need your permission. I am not a slave. Your father has employed my services to help raise you," Ythnel said sternly. "Now it is time to end this game."
Iuna's eyes blazed, and her arms went rigid at her sides, her hands balled into fists. "How dare you! You are not my mother, you pile of troll dung!"
Something stirred in the back of Ythnel's mind. A memory rushed back, sweeping her away.
Ythnel slumped at her desk, her head resting on her folded arms. Her stomach had been hurting since the morning, when she had discovered some blood in her undergarments. Sister Larulene, Mistress of Initiates, had told her it was a sign she was entering womanhood. It had done little to comfort her, and she was in a foul mood. All she wanted to do was go back to her room and curl up in bed. Instead, she sat in class, listening to Sister Yenael describing dwarf anatomy.
"Who can tell me the five most sensitive spots on a male dwarf?" the sister asked. The following silence was soon broken by the click of boot heels approaching on the hard stone floor. Ythnel slowly lifted her head to find Sister Yenael looming over her. "Answer the question, Initiate."
"I don't know," Ythnel sighed.
"Are we not feeling well?" Sister Yenael asked, her voice full of compassion. Ythnel nodded. "I don't care! Answer the question." The sister brought her fist down with a crash on the desk. Ythnel jerked upright in her seat.
"I said I don't know. Look, those two are raising their hands. Why don't you go ask them?" She glared are the sister.
Sister Yenael's eyes narrowed, and the two became locked in a battle of wills. From the corner of her vision, Ythnel saw something fly at her. She turned toward it instinctively but was not fast enough. She was struck across the cheek by the sister's hand. The blow knocked her out of her seat, bursts of light filling her vision. She started to cry as Sister Yenael walked back to the front of the class.
Iuna sat on the floor, rubbing her right cheek. Ythnel held her hand poised for a backswing.
"You.. you hit me," the girl sobbed in disbelief.
Then she started to scream. "Papa!" Ythnel heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and turned to see Prisus running down the hall toward them. "What is going on in here?"
Iuna got up and ran past Ythnel into her father's embrace. "She hit me, Papa." Prisus bent down and cupped his daughter's chin gently in his hand, examining the red mark emblazoned on her cheek.
"I was disciplining your daughter, Master Saelis. She refused"
"I thought. I told you I didn't want Loviatar's teachings in my house."
"But Master Saelis, Iuna needs"
"Enough! How dare you tell me what my daughter needs," Prisus roared. His face was flushed, and he was shaking. Iuna peeked out from behind her father, grinning maliciously. Prisus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I apologize for losing my temper like that. Obviously, I didn't make my expectations clear from the start. I hope they are now." Ythnel nodded.
"Good. Now why don't you two head into the parlor and start your lessons. Go," he gently pushed Iuna, ignoring her frown. She took two steps then turned and tried again.
"But, Papa-"
Prisus shook his head and pointed to the parlor entrance. With a pout on her face, Iuna stomped into the room.
"See," Prisus said to Ythnel as she, herself, headed into the parlor. "You can get her to listen without beating her."
Ythnel looked at Prisus but gave no response. Apparently satisfied that she understood his point, he turned and went back downstairs.
The parlor was a well-appointed room obviously used to entertain guests. A beautiful but modest crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. Colorful, oil-painted landscapes hung at intervals along the walls, their woodworked frames tactful enough not to draw attention from the brush-stroked canvas. Thick velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal a floor-tceiling window set in the far wall, supplying a view of the city. A single-keyboard harpsichord sat in front of the window, basking in the sunlight, its lid propped open to showcase the strings inside.
For now, the parlor was set up as a classroom. Iuna sat behind a small, portable writing desk, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Ythnel closed the door behind her and strode over to the lectern that stood a few feet away from the desk. She sorted through the lesson plan she had prepared last night before going to bed, reviewing the subjects she hoped to cover. Ythnel felt her stomach clench and realized she was just stalling. There really was nothing to do but get on with it.
"I thought we might start with something easy," Ythnel began, "something that will give me an idea of your level of knowledge and give you an idea of my teaching style."
Iuna raised her hand.
"Yes."
"Have you ever taught before?"
"I don't see how that is relevant"
"I just want to be sure that your 'level of knowledge' is sufficient to"
"Don't be rude," Ythnel snapped. With a deep breath, she regained her composure. "Your father has confidence in my skills. That should be enough for you. Now let's begin." Iuna gave her a mocking smile but remained silent.