by Gregory Ashe
Chapter 44
Vas burst into the kitchen, eyes flitting about the room to settle on Siniq-elb. The stout man scurried to Siniq-elb’s side, where he sat peeling and dicing pears, and flopped to the ground with a sigh.
“Well?” Siniq-elb said. He kept his eyes on the pears; besides not wanting to cut himself, it was important that one of them, at least, looked as though nothing were different. Dakel had been missing for two days; the su-esis might be dead, if Khylar had caught onto his snooping, or perhaps he had fled. Either way, Siniq-elb had convinced Vas to put their plan into motion.
“It’s done,” Vas said. “I did it. Just like we talked about.”
“This is a bad idea,” Siniq-elb said. “What if he takes it with him? What if he locks it up?”
Days before, Vas would have retreated into himself, his eyes going distant. He would have mumbled a reply. Now, he met Siniq-elb’s gaze. When he spoke, his voice still carried his nervousness, but he did not hedge words.
“We went over that,” Vas said. “You know I’m right.”
Siniq-elb bit off his retort and speared another pear. Vas was right; that was part of the problem. The other part was that they just did not know enough about Khylar. What would he do when he found that his tub no longer held water? Would he take the brachal to the public baths? Or would he lock it up, as Vas suspected? Siniq-elb’s stomach turned over, and the sweat outlining the muscles in his back had nothing to do with the heat of the cook-fires. He felt like he was riding into battle on a dark night. Blind. Sitting backwards on his horse.
“How’d you do it?” Siniq-elb asked. He had always talked to Natam before a battle, swapping stories or jokes—at least, until the time came for silence. Now, though, Natam was far away, and Siniq-elb would have nothing to say to the man as it was.
“Two ways,” Vas said. A smile crossed his face; were it anyone else, Siniq-elb would have said he looked smug, but for Vas it was a rare sign of confidence. “I smashed the plug on one side, so it won’t fit tight. Then, just to be sure, I pried up the copper ring and twisted it with the blade of the knife. The water will drain out of that thing like a sieve.”
“Let’s hope.”
Vas said nothing in response, and Siniq-elb returned his attention to the pears. The dark-haired man was a poor replacement for Natam, at least in terms of conversation, but Siniq-elb prayed to the tair that Vas would make up for his lack of good stories with an abundance of loyalty. Time dragged by as Siniq-elb worked at the pears; the dinner meal had started, and Jela had the kitchen working to prepare the caramelized fruit that would be served at the end. Vas popped a few pieces of pear into his mouth, chewing and letting out appreciative sighs, until Siniq-elb’s glare put an end to his filching.
Footsteps sounded over the noise of the kitchen. Both men’s heads shot up, the pears forgotten. Within a dozen heartbeats, Mece appeared in the doorway. Dark stains ran down her tunic, and a handprint, bright red against her pale cheek, marked her face. Her lips quirked up in a grim smile, and she gave Siniq-elb a nod as Jela hurried over. Running her hands through thinning hair, the head of the kitchens let out a high-pitched gasp and started fussing with Mece’s cheek.
Siniq-elb glanced at Vas, and the dark-haired man heaved himself to his feet and darted from the kitchen. Someone needed to watch for Khylar at the public baths, and Siniq-elb did not trust Vas to carry out the last bit of the plan. The distraction had been Siniq-elb’s idea, carried over from his experience in the army, and Vas had been horrified. Only Mece’s support had finally convinced the stout man to let Siniq-elb carry out his plan—although Siniq-elb would most likely have done it anyway.
Jela’s imprecations eventually faded, and Mece took a seat next to Siniq-elb, cutting open vanilla beans and scooping the insides into a small clay bowl. The smell—soft and rich, as though to match the cost of the foreign beans—filled the air, mixing with the gritty freshness of the pears and the smell of autumn leaves that followed Mece everywhere. He tried to focus on the fruit in his hands, on the knife, but his eyes drifted back to Mece. The curve of her neck, shaded by strands of white-blonde hair, perfect for brushing aside, perfect for kissing.
Mece let out a giggle.
Heat swept through Siniq-elb’s face; she had seen him staring. He thought his face might catch fire, and he turned his gaze back to the cutting board and the pears. Tair and Father take him, of course she would laugh. Why would she be interested in a cripple?
The giggle deepened, threatening to spill over into the rich laugh Siniq-elb remembered from before, but something held her back. Sharper edges that marked the strain of the evening, perhaps.
“You should have seen his face,” she said, running the back of her hand over her red cheek.
It was like popping a bubble; Siniq-elb stared at her, caught off guard.
“What?”
“Khylar. You should have seen him, when I spilled the soup. Tair help us, it was like he’d seen the Father himself. Then he let out this sound, like a pig in heat.” The giggle overwhelmed her, and Mece dropped her head over the fragrant bowl. Her autumn-light hair swung down between them, a curtain that hid her lavender eyes. When the laugh passed, she shook her hair back, and Siniq-elb realized he had been holding his breath.
He let out a weak laugh. “I would have liked to see that.”
“It was something,” Mece said. “I thought I should get some on myself, of course; he would have beaten me bloody otherwise. As it was, though, I don’t think he even knew what was happening. Tair help us, if he can walk before the week is out, it will be a miracle. Boiling soup, right in his lap.”
Another laugh, this time one that Siniq-elb shared.
“Sounds better than I had hoped,” he said, when they had finished laughing. Some of the tension had left his shoulders, and though he still felt the coiled worry of an upcoming battle inside him, Siniq-elb realized that he did feel better. Calmer, as though the tension were a focus, now, instead of a distraction.
“I was very motivated,” Mece said. “Khylar has done more to humiliate me than any other three eses combined. You’d think that he enjoyed it, the way he treats people in the Garden.”
“That’s what this is all about,” Siniq-elb said. “Beating us down, breaking us. Chastisement so that we can be remade into faithful servants of the tair.” He couldn’t keep the edge from his words.
“Do you really believe that?” Mece said. “Do you think this is about being a believer, or about serving the tair? Do you think that somehow you’re an exception, and that the rest of us are heretics?”
He stared at her. “Dakel told me why I was here. I know what I did—nothing. The commander of the army of Khi’ilan sold me out. Sword-bearer Qilic owed the temple for something, so he gave them me.”
“And why in the world would they want you? Do you think that they’d been mistakenly hunting you as a heretic, and that Qilic had been defending you? That he gave you up to protect himself?”
The words sounded too similar to his own thoughts.
“And me?” Mece said, her voice sharp. She raised her mangled fingers. “You didn’t deserve what they did to you, but I deserved this. And Vas? He deserves to be here too?”
“They didn’t do anything to him,” Siniq-elb said. “And he’s as much as admitted to being a heretic; you heard the books he’s read. Tair help us, it’s no surprise the eses wanted him in here.”
“You honestly believe that?” Mece said. She slammed the clay bowl down so hard that it cracked. “They practically broke him; you saw what he was like when you arrived. He didn’t think he was worth anything. Vas is the gentlest person you’ll ever meet; if he’s a heretic, tair bless him for being kinder than any believer. And just because he reads books that the temple doesn’t approve of, that doesn’t mean he’s a heretic.
“Father take you if he ever hears what you think of him; you’re the only reason he’s gotten any better. I thought you were different. I saw the way you changed thin
gs. Agahm, then the hog-women, Ishgh, Vas. I even felt myself changing. I thought that you understood. Now I find out you’re a bigger fool than everyone else in the Garden. We might have given up on ourselves, but at least we didn’t assume that everyone else really did deserve to be here.”
She scooped up the bowl and swept from the kitchen, slowing only long enough to pass off her work to Shehr. Siniq-elb could think of nothing to say to her. None of them were heretics? It seemed impossible; why else would the tair have the Garden? And yet her words made sense—it was ridiculous to think that he was the only exception, that somehow the temple had made a mistake in his case. So why was he in the Garden? Why had Qilic given him up, and what did the temple want with him? The thoughts swirled in his stomach like rotted food, but worse was the look of Mece’s face when she had held up her mangled hands, the pain in her voice when she had spoken to him. Pain, not anger.
“He’s there,” Vas said. The stout man sat next to him, a smile tugging at his loose jowls. “And he didn’t bring the brachal. He must have left it in his rooms—I was right!”
Siniq-elb tried to smile. “You were right. You were right!” Vas’s smile grew at the praise. “Go to the rooms and get working on the door; I’ll be right behind you.”
“Don’t do this,” Vas said, his smile vanishing. “Please, Siniq-elb. People could be hurt. The eses are drunk in the dining hall; some of them might not waken in time.”
Siniq-elb examined Vas. This man was an all but confessed heretic, a man who had practically memorized the books forbidden by the temple. A prisoner of the Garden, humiliated, abused. And he worried about the men who held them captive, worried about harming people he did not know, who did not care a whit for him. A hot flush of shame ran over Siniq-elb, and he realized Mece was right. Siniq-elb was a fool. Whether Vas was a heretic or not, he did not deserve to be in the Garden.
“I have to,” Siniq-elb said. “It’s the only way to buy us time.”
“It’s not the only way,” Vas said. “We can figure something else out, another distraction—”
“We’ve been over this,” Siniq-elb said. “You couldn’t come up with anything better before. We don’t have time for this now. Go to his rooms. Work on the door. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Mouth drooping, jowls trembling, Vas shook his head one last time and left the kitchen. Siniq-elb did not waste any time. He pulled himself to his feet using one of the tables, gathered his crutches, and carried the diced pears over to one of the cook-fires. Jela stood over a cast-iron pan filled with a bubbling, brown goop. Burnt sugar, if Siniq-elb was not mistaken; Vas would have known for sure. He passed the pears to the balding woman.
Jela took them, a rare smile running across her pink face. “Good work,” she said. That was all, but the words filled Siniq-elb with a mixture of pride and shame; she had been good to him, helped him when no one else would. He offered a silent prayer to the tair that Jela would escape the building safely.
When she turned her attention back to the boiling sugar, Siniq-elb moved down the line of fireplaces. He stopped at the last one and knelt, the stone hearth hot under his bare flesh. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, Siniq-elb lit a piece of kindling and then awkwardly stood. Slowly, trying to conceal the brand while maneuvering with the crutches, Siniq-elb made his way into the storeroom.
The fire gave the dark storeroom a strange cast, sending long shadows toward the back. Siniq-elb’s heart hammered; this was it. From here, there was no going back; if they caught him, he could not hope to get away with a beating. They would kill him.
He tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his tunic. Then, with the knife strapped to his thigh, Siniq-elb worked the cork free from a barrel with Setin markings. It popped out, surprisingly loud in the stillness of the storeroom. He dipped the strip of cloth in; when Siniq-elb pulled it out, the cloth was dark and shiny, and the floral scent of olive oil met his nose. Then, moving quickly so that he would not have time to second guess himself, Siniq-elb laid the cloth across the top of the barrel, its end hidden under the olive oil inside, and set the brand against it. The oil-soaked cloth burst into flames, and smoke tickled Siniq-elb’s lungs. It would take only moments before the barrel burst into flames, catching the rest of the storeroom on fire. Siniq-elb needed to run.
He turned, crutches under his arms, and looked straight into Zeyn’s eyes.