Naondel by Maria Turtschaninoff EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Maria Turtschaninoff
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Dark Fantasy eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Kabira
THERE ARE FEW WHOM I HAVE LOVED IN my overlong life. Two of them
I have betrayed. One I have killed. One has turned her back on me.
And one has held my death in his hand. There is no beauty in my
past. No goodness. Yet I am forcing myself to look back and recall
Ohaddin, the palace, and all that came to pass therein.
There was no palace in Ohaddin, not to begin with. There was only my
father’s house.
Our family was wealthy; our ancestral estate was of long standing and
comprised a spice plantation, several orchards and extensive fields of
okahara, poppies and wheat. The house itself was beautifully situated in a
sloping dip at the foot of a hill which gave shade in the worst of the
summer’s midday heat, and protection from the harshest of the winter’s
rainstorms. The ancient walls were of thick stone and clay, and from the
roof terrace there spanned a far-ranging view over our grounds and those
of our neighbours, all the estates and plantations, and the Sakanui River
snaking down to the sea. In the east one could see the pillars of smoke
rising from Areko, the capital city of the realm of Karenokoi. The city of
the Sovereign Prince. On clear days one might glimpse the ocean like a
silvery mirage on the south-west horizon.
I met Iskan at the spice market in my nineteenth year. As daughters of a
wealthy family, it was certainly not the responsibility of my sisters, Agin
and Lehan, and I to sell the estate’s yields of cinnamon bark, etse and bao
spice. This was undertaken by the overseer and his little pack of
labourers, under the supervision of Father and our brother Tihe. I recall
the procession of carts laden with sacks of bark and bundles of bao and
gleaming red heaps of etse pods. Father and Tihe rode up front on wellgroomed horses. Each cart was flanked by two labourers, on foot, at
either side of the horses’ heads; both a sign of Father’s status and as
protection against thieves. Mother, my sisters and I travelled in a carriage
at the back of the caravan, with a green-silk baldachin over our heads as
protection from the heat. The gold-embroidered fabric let through a
pleasant glow of daylight, and we jostled along on the uneven path and
talked. It was Lehan’s first journey to the spice market and she was
brimming with curiosity and questions. Halfway to the city, Mother
produced steamed dumplings of sweet-spiced pork in soft dough, fresh
dates and chilled water flavoured with oranges. When the carriage drove
over one of the larger of the path’s potholes, Lehan spilt meat juice down
her new yellow-silk coat and received a scolding from Agin. It was she
who had embroidered the orange blossoms around the cuffs and neckline.
But Mother only looked out over the okahara fields, now in bloom, and
did not involve herself in the girls’ quarrel. Suddenly she turned to me.
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