The Gantean (Tales of Blood & Light Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

In Gante community was all—you did not let your thoughts stray from prescribed paths. There was only one truth, and it was the truth shared by every Iksraqtaq. Adrift amongst the southerners, I could think whatever I liked; I could form my own impressions without first weighing them against every Gantean rule. I found this unshackling of my mind a foreign and unexpected consequence of my situation, and I did not dislike it.
    I began to see why so many Ganteans who left the isle never came back, why our Cedna never returned. It was not only the ease of southern life that was addictive; it was the freedom, too.
    When I returned to the mews from the estate tour, Tiercel presented me with a list, written on paper, with my daily chores—simple things like sweeping, giving the birds water, fetching meals from the Big House. I cupped the vellum in my hand, shocked again by southern luxuries. Paper in Gante was rare and precious. Here in the south they treated it as expendable, writing down chores for a slave on it.
    I leaned over the sheet, carefully sounding the words in my head. Opportunities for reading in Gante had been scarce. My too-large dress slipped from my shoulder, exposing the slightly tender spot where the southern mage had hurt me when I arrived.
    Tiercel glared at my shoulder. “She didn’t!”
    I craned my eyes to see what he saw, but I could not.
    “Someday Malvyna will go too far,” he said. “I am sorry.”
    “For my slavery?” Few Lethemians showed scruples about the practice, as far as I could tell. Even fewer showed the gentleness and kindness that my new master did.
    “Slavery is a common state in Lethemia,” Tiercel said. “Even those who do not sell themselves into service with one of the great houses are still bound, vassal to lord, in some fashion. No, I’m sorry for the mark. Magemarks cannot be removed, and they can be used to track you. Such a barbaric practice! I’ve never approved of it.” Tiercel shook his head while I tried harder to see the mark my shoulder. I could just make out dark green edges that prickled my sense of magic. “It infuriates me!” Tiercel went on. “Damned Malvyna—that’s Lady Entila to you, of course. She has no sense when it comes to that blasted island. Hates every single Gantean on principle. You’d best be careful. If you try to run with that mark on your shoulder, she’ll hunt you down.”
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    A s the days passed Tiercel showed me nothing but kindness. My hours in his mews passed with ease, though he left me alone day and night at odd hours.
    At first, vague plans for an escape crossed my mind, but two thoughts curbed the urges: the magemark that itched on my shoulder and the question of where I would go? I had been tasked to survive and find the Cedna.
    You know what must be done, Leila.
    Queenstown seemed as good a place as any to start my quest. The Cedna was not on Gante, that much was certain. I had patience. I had time. The Hinge had gorged on the deaths of my clan, and it would lie quiescent for moons and moons, possibly even years, after such a rich satiation. I approached my task like a Shringar, waiting for the currents of my life to pull me whichever way they would. Paths would open; I trusted magic enough to know that much.
    I went about my daily tasks, cleaning Tiercel’s rooms during his erratic absences, examining his bookshelves while I dusted. I could have spent the whole day admiring his books and figurines. My fingers loved to smooth the soft, silky coverlet on his bed and the fine jackets in his wardrobe. For a bird-master, he had very fine things.
    Lethemia continued to shock me with its wealth and beauty. Everything—from the mageglass wall sconces to the groomed hedges outdoors—was tame and cultivated. Everything contrasted with Gante’s starkness. I missed the wide, cold spaces of my home, the blank tundras, the crisp edges of cliff against water and snow against stone. Those sharp delineations kept Gantean minds clear