Marit Unsanctioned

By L. Ryan Storms

As an Unsanctioned, sixteen-year-old Marit Tempi-Himche spends her days in hiding and her nights working the land of her mothers' farm, but her many years of hiding prove futile when the Guard discovers Marit's existence and she's hauled to the auction cells to be

• Language: English
• Publisher: RaineStorms Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781732849297

L. Ryan Storms

L. Ryan Storms is a writer, photographer, traveler, and dreamer. She's a member of the Eastern Pennsylvania chapter of SCBWI and the Alliance of Independent Authors. She has written articles featured on the front page of local newspapers, but mostly she writes novels near and dear to her heart. She holds a B.S. in Marine Science from Kutztown University of Pennsylvania and a Master's in Business Administration from Marist College, but writing young adult fantasy has always been her true passion.Her first young adult novel, A Thousand Years to Wait, placed first in the Young Adult category in the 2021 Royal Dragonfly Book Awards and was an award-winning finalist in American Book Fest's 2019 Best Book Awards. Most recently, Temper the Dark was a finalist in both the 2023 Chanticleer International Book Awards OZMA division for Fantasy Fiction and the Young Adult Category of the 2024 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.Storms lives in Pennsylvania with her cancer-survivor husband, two children, and a "rescue zoo" of ever-changing furry and feathered animals. When she's not writing, reading, or keeping her teens in line, she enjoys hiking, photography, and planning the next big adventure.

Book preview

Marit

Unsanctioned

A riveting journey…this engrossing tale of discovery.

— Kirkus Reviews

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

MARIT UNSANCTIONED Copyright © 2024 by Lorraine Storms. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without prior permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published by RaineStorms Press, 2024.

The paperback edition has been catalogued as follows:

Name: Storms, L. Ryan, author

Title: Marit Unsanctioned / by L. Ryan Storms

Description: Electronic file (eService)

Summary: When a girl who shouldn’t exist ends up with powers meant for the highest of nobility, she, a nobleman’s son, and their motley crew of friends race to discover the truth behind the long, bloody history of a powerful council that wishes them both dead thanks to the mix-up. ISBN 978-1-7328492-8-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7328492-9-7 (ebook)

Subjects: | YFC: Children’s / Teenage fiction: Action & adventure stories

| YFH: Children’s / Teenage fiction: Fantasy & magical realism |

YFB: Children’s /Teenage: general interest | BISAC: YOUNG ADULT

FICTION / Fantasy / General | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Action &

Adventure / General | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / General

www.lryanstorms.com

Cover art by AK Westerman, more at www.akorganicabstracts.com © 2024

Internal map, chapter header artwork by Cae Storms © 2024

For Vanita,

my very dear, lifelong, introverted, HSP friend,

who reads all the things, still gives honest feedback,

and who graciously agreed to lend me her

name for this book.

(Not that I gave you a choice.)

And for Kavi,

who helped bring to my awareness

a toddler’s love of rice and beans.

Thanks for the inspiration.

Keep being awesome!

A map of the world with a compass Description automatically generated

1

Marit

Of all the times I’ve been kidnapped, this one is the worst. I glare hard at Torin as I push up a sleeve, then turn my gaze downward to examine a skinned elbow. The skin is raw and pink. It might sting for a while, but it won’t bleed.

Really? I say. Couldn’t you have broken my fall a little better?

It’s not my fault you won’t tuck and roll when you hit the ground. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it. He stands tall, brushing dried grass from the sleeve of his shoulder, picking a clump of it from the mud-colored mess of a mop that passes for hair on the top of his head. He won’t apologize.

I should know better than to expect him to. I should be grateful for his efforts. It’s the hundred and twenty-third time he’s broken me out of my veritable, stinking hellhole of a room. Or is it the hundred and twenty-fourth? I squint, debating. Does the time we got caught halfway out the window count?

Anyway, it isn’t a hellhole, and anyone living in truly awful conditions would be appalled to hear me describe it that way, but when all you want to do is breathe, there’s nothing worse than four suffocating walls.

I tug my sleeve back down to my wrist and stand, brushing red dirt from the knee that assisted an elbow in breaking my fall. There’s a pin-sized hole in the pant leg. Mama Elnor will be furious. It’s not easy to get clothing for a girl who shouldn’t exist.

Are you coming or what, Princess? Torin is already halfway down the first terraced plain of millet. I step between the stalks and hurry to catch up.

Princess, I say with a snort. Torin likes to goad me with the nickname—says I’m like the storybook princesses in their storybook towers, waiting for a handsome prince or a fierce, young knight to save me. But princesses don’t have callouses on their palms, and they don’t farm by moonlight.

Princess of Millet, maybe. Lady of the Maize, I say. I grip the sleeve of his tunic as I reach his side. Or wait…what about the Countess of Temporian Squash? No, the Duchess of Escolian Sugar Cane! I send myself into a fit of giggles. It isn’t funny, but if you can’t laugh at your own brand of imprisonment, what can you laugh at?

Keep at that volume, and you’ll be the princess of four walls again when your mothers hear.

I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder, but the only sign of life behind me is Jonas, who perches in my window, his yellow eyes accusing. His tail angrily flicks back and forth since the drop is too far for the apprehensive cat to attempt, and he can’t use the bedsheets as we did. He’ll forgive me later when I bring home a handful of catmint for him.

Torin and I cross three of the terraced plains before we can be sure we’re too far away for anyone to overhear us. You should have brought your hat, he says. You’ll burn before the sun sets.

I bat a hand at him. The sun is almost down. I’ll be fine for an hour.

It’s probably true. Even if it isn’t, the sunshine is worth burned cheeks and a peeling nose. I’m not going back for a hat.

That’s not to say I never go outdoors. I actually spend too much time either planting seed or watering crops on the terraces, but being in the sunlight always feels like a special occasion. I farm by the moon—well, that and lanterns, of course—which might suit me fine except for the fact that, as an Unsanctioned, I spend my days in hiding.

Whenever the Aktarian Guard comes knocking for the monthly tallies, I hide deep in the bowels of our little house in a mud-walled room partially built into the mountainside. They’re usually gone within a quarter hour or so, but last time, they took Mama Elnor up on her offer of tea, and I had to settle in for almost two hours.

I passed the time by etching drawings of winged reptiles into the hard dirt walls. When they finally came to tell me it was safe to come out, Mamey was less than thrilled with my creative use of time, but Mama Elnor laughed and shook her head. I think she liked that I made the creatures carrying off humans in their sharp talons. If they didn’t want my artwork on the walls, they should think twice about inviting the AG to tea.

Torin and I reach the lowest millet plain and then begin climbing the rise to the next mountain plateau, where the squash and sugar cane have recently been planted. There’s a swath of land that’s perfect for watching the stars come out, and that’s where we usually go when he bails me out. It’s quiet and peaceful, with soft grass to lay our heads and enough birdsong to keep us from forcing conversation when it stills. Plus, it has a small patch of catmint I can grab for Jonas so he can roll around in a stupefied daze like the blissful idiot he is. I love that cat.

Most days, no one comes up here. Not unless they’ve been sent to water or harvest, and usually, that’s my job. Since I planted the squash and watered the cane last night, there’s no reason for any of the farmhands to head this way.

Why’d it take you so long to spring me out? I ask Torin as I find my seat on the ground and lay back. The temperature has already dropped in the twenty minutes since we’ve been out, but the skin on my face feels tight and warm against the rapidly cooling air. I scrunch my nose. Torin is right. I’ve already burned a little.

He looks at me, hooded eyes assessing whether or not I’m serious. I’m not. Torin spends a lot of hours working with his father, and as much as Mamey and Mama Elnor pretend not to notice, they always know when I’ve been gone. And they always worry.

You’re something else, Torin says, shaking his head.

I take a deep breath of cool air and let it out in a sigh, sinking further into the grass. How mad do you think they’ll be this time? My fingers idly pluck strands of grass from the ground.

They’re not mad, Mar. They worry about you.

I roll my eyes. Of course they worry about me—I’m their daughter—but that won’t stop them from being mad. I say as much to Torin.

Sometimes I don’t think you realize how dangerous it is to be Unsanctioned, he replies.

"Really? I ask. Come on. I’m Unsanctioned. And you’re telling me I don’t know what it means…that I don’t understand the danger?"

Torin backpedals. It’s not like I think you don’t know. I mean, I know you know. I just… You don’t understand what it’s like in the towns, Marit. You haven’t seen it.

I hear it all the time from Mamey and Mama Elnor. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what goes on and why they want to keep me hidden away like a shameful secret.

Mamey was pregnant with me when she was forced to flee her life after her husband—my biological father—was killed for something she refuses to talk about. A revolt, maybe. She ran to Mama Elnor’s farm, eventually fell in love, and the rest is history. I was born an Unsanctioned child in an Unsanctioned marriage.

Not that that’s the only way to be Unsanctioned. Gods, no. There are hundreds of ways. Don’t have money to pay your taxes? Unsanctioned. Too many children born to one family? Unsanctioned. Shame your family in a way that can’t be atoned for? Unsanctioned. Dare to resist the order of the world? Unsanctioned.

Torin sighs. Can we drop it? I’m sorry.

This is what Torin does when he wants to avoid confrontation. He bails. He’s been like that as long as I can remember…well, for the four years we’ve been best friends. Torin’s family are fog farmers, and they supply the water for our crops, which need more than mist to survive. We live above the cloud line, which means we never get a full rain. The sun is fierce and hot on a regular basis, not that I get to experience it.

When he was twelve, Torin’s father brought him along for negotiations, trying to introduce him to the family business, but he showed little interest back then and instead ended up wandering to our koi pond, which is where he found me. We didn’t have koi, but we had minnows, and I liked to feed them sprays of millet piece by piece, watch them inhale a head of it, spit it out, then inhale it again until they’d broken it down to manageable-sized grains.

I’d snuck out of the house while Mamey and Mama Elnor were busy making arrangements for water delivery with Mr. Alorkao. A few months shy of my twelfth birthday, I’d grown tired of altering clothes and waiting for the sun to go down. So I threw down the needle and thread, escaped out the back door—the one in the cellar—grabbed a handful of millet sprigs, and followed the path to the tiny pond where I could lie on my belly on the warm rock above the water and watch the minnows pick at the millet seed by seed.

I’d just tossed in the fourteenth bit when a boy’s voice cut through the silence. I thought you grew millet to provide for people, not fish.

I so rarely heard any voices outside of Mamey and Mama Elnor’s that I jumped from my place on the rock and perched like a feral cat, unsure whether to run or to strike. Torin was scrawny then, and his voice hadn’t yet dropped, so he wasn’t very threatening as he stood, palms out, hands splayed wide, recognizing my desire to run.

Sorry, he said. I didn’t mean to scare you.

You didn’t, I said too quickly. I avoided meeting his eyes by throwing another seed into the pond and watching the fish go wild for it. Fifteen.

Do you live here? He asked. I haven’t seen you before.

No, I—my pulse leaped in warning— I’m visiting.

Will he report me if he finds out?

Can I sit? he said, pointing to the rock I occupied.

Warily, I nodded, my gaze flicking back and forth between the boy and the reflection of an osprey on the surface of the pond. I didn’t know it at the time, but Torin was as far from a snitch as anyone might ever be, and he guarded my secret well over the last four years. By the end of our first meeting, I’d not only confessed where I lived, but I’d convinced him to help me escape for weekly visits.

Of course, they’d turned out to be more like every two weeks, but given that he’s my only friend, who am I to judge?

Now, as the sky darkens, Torin sits back and watches the air above, a troubled crease between his brows. He’s biting the inside of a cheek again, which he does whenever he gets nervous.

What color? I ask. What Color is a game we’ve played since the early days of our friendship. I once told Torin that moods have colors. We’ve used that to gauge each other’s feelings ever since.

Oh, gosh. He thinks for a moment. Maybe olive? Or more like moss.

I’m reluctant to believe him. He doesn’t give green vibes right now. Green says peace and serenity. Torin’s vibes are more gray than green.

Spit it out, I say. What’s bugging you?

What would you say to getting married? Torin blurts, and it takes me a full minute to comprehend what he’s said.

"We’re sixteen, I tell him, as though he doesn’t know. Also, Torin doesn’t think of me that way—at least, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t—and I couldn’t think of him that way if I tried. Why he would suggest such a ridiculous notion is beyond me. Are you out of your mind?"

I don’t mean—I just feel like if you were married, we could appeal your status. Think of it. You wouldn’t be Unsanctioned anymore. You could have a life, Mar. A real life. He swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing with the movement. I can’t stop staring at him in the fading light, wondering if he’s lost his ever-loving mind. I mean, it’s not like we like each other like that, but with you in hiding all your life, who’s going to ever find you? No one else will ever have a chance to propose. You’ll be in hiding forever. What kind of life is that?

I blink at him, angry and confused at once. At least he admits we don’t feel that way about each other. The admission is a relief. And also a sting.

Before I can respond, he continues. "At some point, Da is going to expect me to choose a wife. Once I do, I won’t be around to rescue you from your four walls anymore. Then what? What will you think of your isolation then?"

He’s right. When he marries, whenever that is, I’ll lose the only friend I’ve ever had. It might be worse than if I’d never known him at all.

I’ll still have Mamey and Mama Elnor, I retort.

But the excuse rings hollow even to me. They’ll eventually pass. Then what? I’ll be a middle-aged woman alone, in hiding. I’ll be forced out of the only home and land I’ve ever known, into the wilds, where I’ve never been. I won’t survive.

Forget it, Torin says. I knew I shouldn’t have brought it up. Just…forget it.

But I can’t. I’m angry. Angry at Torin, even though I shouldn’t be. Whatever unpleasantry the future might hold is hardly his fault. I wish he hadn’t brought it up, sure, but it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, even obsessed over it from time to time. And yet. I’d rather pretend and live in the present moment. Torin’s mind has never been in the present, though. He’s always thinking about what comes next.

I seethe.

Don’t be mad. Marit, please don’t be angry with me.

I don’t want to be, but the stupid oaf has gotten me riled, and now I just want to go home. Mamey always says my temper is hotter than a burn bug in a chili patch.

The stars begin to dot the sky, and I’m going to have to start planting the far plain with maize tonight. It’ll be a long night, which is probably for the best because I’ll be able to blow off some steam.

Let’s go. I sit up and brush the dirt and grass from my rear and the back of my tunic.

Torin doesn’t argue. He’s going to sulk now, but he can stew in it for a while. I’m not interested in making amends. He’s the one who brought up the idiotic proposal anyway.

He walks behind me, the distance between us growing until I reach the house. I turn and nod to him in the dark. He puts up a hand in goodbye (which I ignore), then pivots and follows the path that will take him to his own house on our side of the mountain. I’m too harsh on him. I know I am, and yet I’m emotional tonight. And I’m mad that he’s the one who made me feel this way.

His huddled form fades into the distance. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and I’m kind of surprised he isn’t retreating faster, given his level of humiliation, because Torin will feel terrible about this for months, maybe years. I, on the other hand, will fume quietly for a few days and let it be by the next time he comes to bail me out.

It’s only as I turn the knob to the front door that I realize I’ve forgotten to grab Jonas’s catmint. I sigh. He’ll be mad at me now, too. Just what I need.

But when I step across the threshold, I’ve got bigger problems than a cat with attitude. Mama Elnor stands at the counter peeling potatoes, and Mamey sits at the table with her arms crossed, a foot tapping impatiently on the floor. The ledger is out, but she’s not really reviewing it. She’s waiting for me.

She looks up at me expectantly, her face a mix of relief and anger. Before she can launch into a tirade, I hold up a hand and start speaking.

Yes, I know, I say. But I’m home in time for planting.

"Marit Amelia, you know full well you are not to jump out the window like some escaped convict. For crying out loud, we have a front door! You’ve just used it to come back in, so I know you’re aware of how the door works. This isn’t a prison, girl! Stop acting like it is."

Oh, boy. She’s on a tear. I know better than to offer an argument, but I do it anyway. Except that when I try to use the front door, you always think up some convenient chore that keeps me in the house! I’ve tried the door thirty-eight times this year alone. It’s no wonder I prefer the window. At least I know I’ll make it out of the house that way! I shout back.

It’s stupid, and I don’t know why I’ve said it, even if it’s true. Mamey’s just trying to keep me safe. Guilt creeps in. I cover my mouth with a hand.

I’m sorry. I am. I wish my temper wouldn’t always get the best of me, but it does more often than not these days.

A knock at the door prevents Mamey from replying. Figuring Torin needs to apologize again because he can’t ever let anything go, I fling the door open even though I never answer the door.

Two AG guards stand in olive-green uniforms with decorative red buttons on their cuffs and lapels. For a moment, I want to turn around and yell at Mamey that it’s not a very funny joke. But it’s not a joke. The Guard is standing at our door.

But…

The Guard already came this month.

I step back involuntarily.

Elnor Himche and Raji Tempi, the Unsanctioned child you’re housing must come with us, one of them reads from a small piece of paper. You have not sought the proper channels to obtain a child, and thus, the Unsanctioned child is hereby property of the Heart of Aktaria.

No! Mamey cries, standing so quickly her chair clatters backward to the floorboards.

Three potatoes roll to the floor as Mama Elnor runs to Mamey’s side. My eyes follow the tubers across the floor until they stop rolling, and I can’t seem to pull my gaze upward again. I hear the conversation as though I’m kilometers away.

You can’t take her! Mamey says as she clutches Mama Elnor to keep upright. We’ll apply for a license.

They’ll never get one. It’s why they never bothered applying for approval to begin with. As two women, the Heart doesn’t acknowledge their union. They’d never approve the birth of a child into an unsanctioned union. It’s another dumb way to keep us down.

You’ll have your chance to purchase her at the auction next Tuesday, the guard replies. He shows no hint of emotion. How many times has he done this today? How many Unsanctioned has he removed from their homes over his whole career? My stomach twists at the thought, sour acid clawing at my throat.

Mamey grabs my arm to pull me into a hug—or tries to. The guards have already begun escorting me from the only home I’ve ever known. Mamey grabs at the air as Mama Elnor holds her back, kissing the top of her head fiercely. I have to wonder if everything is happening in slow motion or if it just looks that way.

Mama Elnor’s eyes brim with tears she’s too stubborn to shed, but her gaze holds mine as she embraces Mamey, who has crumpled to the floor. We’ll come for you, she says. We’ll bring you home. Marit, I love you! Be strong.

I nod, but I’m not sure they can see since the guards are already shuffling me out the door and down the path. I should have said something. I know this, and yet I’m still moving along, dumbly mute, until we reach a caged cart with half a dozen other kids my age and younger.

A rough hand on my back pushes me into the cart. Amidst the sniffles and tears of those around me, I find a seat on the bench to the right. Based on the half-empty cart, I’m not the last haul of the evening. There’s going to be a lot more sobbing before the morning. Oddly, my own eyes are dry, and I can’t figure out why. I always thought I’d be a mess if this day ever came.

Maybe I’m in shock.

We’ll come for you, Mama Elnor said. But they don’t have the money to buy me back. I’ll never see home again. I should have waved goodbye to Torin.

2

Greyson

I stare at my parents, burying my thoughts deep inside my head, hoping they don’t show on my face. Because I am a horrible liar.

Or maybe my mother is really good at plucking my thoughts from my head.

Even while her sharp eyes analyze my face, she gives a slight nod, seeming satisfied with what she finds.

Who will it be? I ask, hoping the girl the Council has chosen for me is at least my age. Please don’t let it be Nel Tamberk. Please, not Nel. Anyone but her.

Naomi Zilius, Councilman Jerrod’s daughter, my father answers, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. You know her.

I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but as I’m still under my mother’s scrutiny, I hold back. Instead, I nod. I do know her—or rather, I know of her. Naomi Zilius is a year older than me, tall, lithe, and ridiculously attractive in an almost-too-perfect kind of way. Aside from the obvious reason, I’m not sure why the Council paired her with me.

You’re the last Councilman’s son to come of age, my father says proudly.

Ah, the obvious reason.

Honestly, I’m surprised Naomi hasn’t been chosen for the last two pairings. She was eligible both times. I guess I should be grateful she’s still around…or I might have ended up with Nel Tamberk.

I suppress a shudder at the thought.

Nel’s been chasing me for years. Because her father is head of several Council committees and she has two brothers on Council, she thinks that makes her a special prize. She’s special, for sure. Just not in the way she wants to be. It takes a special sort of person to remain utterly clueless about what’s going on around them. And Nel is clueless. Worse? She’s intentionally ignorant.

But she’s not going to be my other half. Naomi is.

We’ll meet with her family tonight and have you both sign the contract. The ceremony will take place in two weeks, my mother says. Well, gosh, if Mama’s not careful, she might fall over and swoon from the romance of it all.

Which will be perfect timing since we haven’t had a full Council in decades, my father adds.

I swallow and nod, knowing that this is what they want to see, that they don’t want an argument, that I’ll fill the last open seat on the Council—a seat that hasn’t been occupied in nearly sixty years. They’ll have a full Council—and the power of a full Council—for the first time in what most of the Heart can remember.

My father claps a hand on my shoulder. I try not to wince as his fingers dig into the muscle beneath my shirt. You know how important this is.

I hope he can’t feel the nervous sweat building in my pits. I give a crisp nod again.

My mother’s eyes shine with pride. She holds back from pinching my cheek. You’re the keystone, she says. You’re the last piece of the puzzle. The Council will be able to take control of the strayed colonies again, true control. Return order. She presses a hand to her mouth momentarily. I’m so proud, Greyson.

I play my part and say the words they want to hear. I’ll do my best, I tell them. It’s an honor I never thought to receive. Not really. I mean…you know.

This is only partly true. I was always in the running to fill the last seat. Until now, Council seats have only been promised to a handful of Council sons. The rest of the spots were up for grabs since the high child mortality rate in the Heart never guaranteed that any of us would make it through to adulthood unscathed. It’s the way of things.

In fact, up until three and a half months ago, I wasn’t slated for a seat at all. All of that changed when a bad case of the bloodsludge plague reduced Andimun Tempko to a drooling mess with the mental capacity of a two-year-old. No one else had come down with it as he’d been away overnight when it struck, trading for goods with his mother and sister. Miraculously, none of them caught it, though the village they’d been in had exposed them to a raging epidemic. Everyone in the Heart was just relieved they hadn’t brought it home.

Since Andimun is currently relearning how to hold a spoon, I slid next in line for a Council seat. I’m still not sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

Don’t let Dhiren’s stories about the ceremony intimidate you. You know he exaggerates, my mother says.

My brother definitely exaggerates. Usually for the sole purpose of scaring the hell out of me as much as humanly possible. This is why older brothers exist. Dhiren and I will be the third pair of siblings on the Council, and I’m pretty sure he was hoping I’d be locked out. Odds are good I’ll be hearing ceremonial horror stories from him soon.

My father issues some words of encouragement, false assurances that he always believed I’d make it, and my mother hovers nearby—that’s the best term for it since I swear her feet are barely on the ground with excitement. Finally, they leave, and I’m alone in my room, breathing the biggest sigh.

I sprawl onto the bed, facedown on the mattress, arms and legs splayed wide. The bed doesn’t feel as big as it used to. My arms can touch either side, and my legs almost hang off the edge, even when my head touches the wall. My room isn’t nearly as big as it once was, either.

I rub my fingers back and forth across a loose thread in the quilt and wonder if it will always be like this, if I’ll always be surprised to have outgrown what’s familiar.

My mother’s words echo in my ears. I’m not concerned