Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse Read Free Page A

concentration and occasionally looked up long enough to bless me with a smile. “Not long now, my darling.”
    My mother taught me things like the proper way to write a letter. If she was writing to an equal like my uncle the king of Caspius she would use sepia, or cuttlefish ink, which was brown and far more expensive. If she was writing to an inferior like the district leaders Thera and Gelesia she would use the cheaper black ink made from soot and glue. It sent a subtle but clear message. The letter’s recipient was acutely aware of where they stood in the social hierarchy. “But if you need to ingratiate yourself with an inferior you might use sepia,” she explained. “Or if you are furious with an equal you might show this by using black ink. For an enemy, you might write in blood.”
    We spent hours poring over maps and examining land and sea borders, listing monarchs and plotting their names and titles in order of rank on a chart pinned to the wall. But perhaps my favourite game of all was masks.
    My mother gathered up her bundle of parchment, tapped it to make a neat pile and put it to the side before turning to me. “What would you like to learn today?”
    I looked around the room. The step leading into the study was worn smooth into a gentle dip like an offering bowl. A high ceiling soared overhead. The marble floor shone from thousands of soft feet gently polishing it over the centuries. “Umm…Let’s play masks.”
    She nodded. She was patient back then, happy to indulge my whims. As repetitive as they were. “It is important for a leader to have the utmost control of her features to convey a desired emotion, to protect herself from misinterpretation. Watch this.” My mother smiled the most perfect smile then ran her hand up her face to hide it. When she removed her hand her face showed an expression of feigned sadness so convincing I made words to comfort her. She laughed and ran her hand across her face again, this time to show mock disbelief. I giggled. “Now you try.”
    This was her diplomacy. Her face was her mask.
    “Even anger must be an act,” she said. “It is no good losing your temper. Rather, anger should be premeditated. Controlled.” She revealed a terrifying expression, her face twisted like an old oak tree. I pulled back in fear. She kept her rage so securely in place that it was only when my bottom lip began to tremble that she wiped it away and grinned.
    Though my mother was a gifted performer she let her disguise slip when she heard of Kratos leaving Tibuta. We were in the Chamber of Petitions. Back then a round table dominated the room. My mother sat facing the double doors. The gerousia flocked around her, preened their feathers, clucked and bobbed their heads.
    Of the gerousia only one woman ever spoke to me. She was aged and paper thin. Her long white hair fell in limp tendrils around a sun-spotted face and eyes were watery blue. She gathered her black peplos in her hands and knelt down, making her knees crack. “And you must be Verne.”
    I curtsied, which seemed to delight her. “Do you know who I am, child?”
    I shook my head, making my pigtails swoosh across my face.
    “I am Maud Lias.”
    I looked at her blankly.
    “High priestess of Tibuta.”
    There was still no recognition on my part but the woman simply laughed. “I am someone of moderate importance. It would be right to kiss my ring.” She held out her hand to me. Blushing, I placed my lips against the shining black sapphire.
    “And should I write to you in black ink or sepia?” I asked.
    The woman laughed. “Whichever you choose, my dear. It makes no difference to me.” After a moment she added, “I hope to be your tutor one day. All monarchs should be well versed in the words of Shea and Ayfra. Would you like that?”
    Though the woman was clearly powerful there was something reassuring about her demeanour, a slight upturn to the corners of her mouth and the presence of wrinkles around her eyes that