I was absolutely alone. No one spoke to me when they entered to bring my food and take away the tray, or light or extinguish the lamps. Neither did I speak to them.
My hands shook now when I attempted to do anything, such as light a lamp, or brush my hair. It was because I was not eating. I could not eat. I was tired of bread and cheese, yes, but now I could not even swallow. Meals at home were so different—we never ate alone. We gathered together for each meal, especially dinner. In fact, dinner time was a great event. Family and friends would crowd around a long, well-lit table, we would feast on the game and fruit of the day, and tell stories and riddles. I would sit beside my sister, whisper in her ear, and giggle about William, or the antics of our little cousins.
Eating in solitude and silence day after day made me as sick as if I had been poisoned.
And there was something else. Something worse. In this isolation where I lived, in the deathly silence and dark, the image of my fallen father, filled with arrows, would rise up unbidden before my eyes and then refuse to leave. Sometimes, it caught me off guard, and I would stagger to my bed and clutch the post of it to keep from falling to the ground in a swoon. Other times, the vision swelled up in my mind as I sat on my bed, staring into the blackness of the extinguished lamps, and sobs would wrack my body so hard that the muscles in my chest and stomach felt as if they were tearing.
I knew this feeling. It had overwhelmed me during the journey here. But then, before it could pull me under, I had been distracted by my arrival, and all the new sights and threats and mysteries. Now, there was nothing to keep my head above the surface.
One such day, I sat on the bench in front of my vanity, watching myself in the mirror as I slowly blinked. My skin was white, I had dark circles under my eyes, and my hair was limp. I had been wearing the same green dress for three days. I had not eaten anything in that long, and I had only had a bit of water. My hand stroked the edge of a wooden comb. Otherwise, I did not move.
Knock, knock.
I lifted my head. It felt heavy.
“Come in,” I croaked, my mind dull. The door opened. I made my eyes focus on the reflection of what was behind me.
It was Rajak, wearing black again. I could barely see him—how many lamps were lit? He leaned around the doorframe and watched me for a moment. I said nothing.
“I have been informed that you are not eating,” he said. “You do remember what I told you on the way here, do you not? The same rule still applies.”
I blinked. My gaze drifted from his reflection to the reflection of my own eyes.
“I would eat the food if I could eat it. But I can’t eat it so I don’t eat it,” I muttered. I felt his frown.
“The cheese and bread are very mild, and water is swallowed easily enough.” He paused. “What is wrong?”
I closed my eyes. Weary tears fell. I felt them trail down my cheeks. Rajak went silent. And when I opened my eyes, he was gone.
LLL
That evening, I sat in my customary place—curled up, leaning back against the headboard of my bed, staring at the doors, waiting for Ayah to come in and extinguish the lamps.
Knock, knock.
I just raised my eyebrows. A voice came through the thick wood.
“It is Prince Rajak—may I open the door?”
“Yes,” I managed.
The latch worked and the door swung open. Rajak stood there, clad in a black tunic edged with red, and trousers and boots. He looked at me for a moment, then turned back out to the hall and beckoned to someone outside. He then pressed himself back against the doorframe as two male slaves bearing a short-legged table shuffled in. They set it on the floor to my right. Rajak snapped his fingers, and the slaves bowed and left. I sat up, taking a deep breath through my nose as I ran my eyes over the contents of the table. It was a covered silver platter and a pitcher of water—but whatever-it-was in the platter did not smell like any other Badi food. I glanced at Rajak.
“It is a desert bird—I am not even sure of its name,” he said. “It’s rare that we eat it, but I thought perhaps it might tempt you more than the beetles.” A crooked smile crossed his face for a moment. I did not say anything. He reached for the handle of the door to close it.
“I shall leave you to it, then. Except…” He frowned at the platter, then met my eyes. “Do you mind if I try it? It was prepared with wine instead of spices, and I would like to know what it tastes like.”
I swallowed, then shrugged. He hesitated.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the threshold. I watched him for a moment, then nodded once. He stepped inside, went to the table, and sat down on the floor cross-legged. He lifted the lid of the platter, and steam poured into the air, along with a delicious scent that almost made me fall out of bed. A small game hen, done with some sort of red marinade, sat on a bed of leaves. My mouth started to water.
Rajak set the lid aside and reached over to pull at one of the wings. He jerked his fingers back and licked them, then tried again. This time, he succeeded in picking off a bit of meat and sticking it in his mouth. His brow furrowed as he chewed, then he nodded with increasing decision.
“This is good.”
I was on my feet before I knew it. My legs shook, barely taking me to the table, but I sank down across from him, eyeing the juicy bird. I felt his gaze follow me. I stretched out my hands and tore off the wing. My fingers burned, but I did not drop it. I brought the meat up to my mouth and took a bite.
I closed my eyes and sighed as I chewed, taking another bite before I had swallowed. It was not spicy, nor strange. I could taste the wine marinade, and the meat was a little gamey, but nothing worse than some of our winter chickens back home. In fact, that was what made me sigh with delight.
I had almost finished the wing before I realized that Rajak had pulled the other wing off and was eating it right along with me. Silence fell. My stomach tightened because of that silence, and threatened to reject the food. I then noticed a large scrape on Rajak’s hand—an opportunity to make him speak again.
“What did you do?” I asked, not lowering my meat. He glanced up, questioning. I pointed to his hand. He looked at it, then put the wing down on the edge of the platter and twisted his wrist so he could see his wound better.
“I fell off my chariot while hunting this bird.”
My eyes went wide.
“You shot this?”
He nodded, picking up the wing again and biting into it.
“All your trays were returning to the kitchen without being touched,” he said. “At first I supposed that you were still angry. And then Commander Hashim’s head wife suggested that you may not like the food.”
“Wise lady,” I muttered.
“Mm,” he grunted. “I had to stand just behind the cook and threaten to cut off his hand if he put his favorite peppers anywhere near this while it roasted.” He smirked. “He said it might be worth it.”
I almost smiled. Instead, I turned to the water.
“How am I supposed to drink this? Out of the pitcher?”
He swallowed, then cast a look around the room.
“You ought to have goblets in here somewhere…”
I set my meat down and moved to get up. He held up a hand.
“No, stay there,” he ordered, and got up himself. He opened my wardrobe. I tensed, throwing out a panicked prayer that he would leave it alone—my knife still hid in my dress…
But finding nothing there, he shut the doors and turned to my vanity. It also yielded nothing. This irritated him, and he moved to the door.
“I will go have the servants bring some—”
“No.”
I protested before I thought. He turned back and looked at me. But I did not retract what I had said. The sound of another human voice—any human voice—filling this room, had banished the ache in my stomach and loosened my throat so I could swallow. If he left now, I would not be able to eat any more. Worse, I may get sick.
I could sense his curiosit
y, so I just picked up the pitcher and drank from it. The water was cool and pure, and increased my appetite. I set the pitcher down, and pried off another bit of hot meat from the bird. Rajak observed me for a moment, then came back and sat down again, and peeled off his own piece. He ate it, then picked up the pitcher himself and took a drink. When he put it back, our eyes met for an instant. He swallowed, started to take another bit of meat, but did not put it to his mouth. He watched his fingers, and spoke.
“What else is wrong?”
I did not answer. I just tossed a bone down on the platter and pulled off more meat. His eyes stayed low.
“Perhaps you are confused by our vows. Their meaning, and your role as my wife now.” He lifted his gaze to me. Again, I said nothing, but I swallowed and did not eat any more. He took one of the leaves from beneath the bird, wiped his mouth, then sat up and looked me right in the eye.
“The type of ceremony I ordered the Marryer to give us has not been performed in several generations. My people believe in the marriage of many women to one man, to increase his status and to bless him with many children. The fuller the household, the happier it is.” Rajak lifted his chin, and his mouth tightened. “My father had the most wives of any Badi king before him. Over one hundred.”
My eyes flashed.
“Where are they?”
Rajak cleared his throat and glanced down. When he lifted his eyes again, his expression closed.
“My father first began to encourage me to marry when I was fifteen,” he went on. “The wars in Seshem distracted him enough that for five years I have been able to evade his…encouragement.” Rajak glanced toward the door, an eyebrow arched. “But six months ago, he gave me a double-edged ultimatum: conquer the Highlands and choose a wife before he returns from the Northern Marshes, or be stripped of everything but my title.”
I could only listen, watching every movement of his face and every flicker of his black eyes in the lamplight. He took up another leaf and used it as a napkin on his hands.
“My father is a man of blood and lust. I knew the two futures he had in mind for me.” He shrugged one shoulder. “One I would not have minded. But the other…” He frowned and shook his head. “The other, I could not fulfill and keep my honor.”
“What was that?” I asked, my voice soft. Rajak put his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. The intensity in his voice and eyes closed my throat.
“My father left none alive on the plains of Seshem,” he said. “He slaughtered everyone—women and children as well.” His tone lowered. “They say the Neg river ran red the day his army marched through.”
I swallowed.
Rajak sat back and tossed the leaf down on the platter.
“I am not afraid to kill a man in battle, nor take off his head if he endangers my men.” He met my eyes. “But I will not butcher women and children. My father, on the other hand, calls that cowardice.”
A suspicion began to rise in my mind. I leaned forward as I listened, hardly believing this could be possible.
“My army beat back the Highland army without much effort,” he said. “And when we broke through the defenses at the Black Stairs and brought down the Watchtowers, I knew it was over and the mountains were ours. But that alone would not satisfy my father. And so I decided to kill two asps with one stone.”
My eyes narrowed. He looked at me.
“The beauty of Aeletha, daughter of Peliar, is renowned throughout all four kingdoms,” he said, halfway smiling. “The princess with hair like gold and skin like pearl and eyes like sapphires. She is exactly the opposite of what my father would have desired for me. But that kind of beauty intrigues me. I decided to make a treaty with the queen of Hilrigard: I would take her daughter for my wife, sparing the people of the Highlands from the destruction my father would have brought.” He frowned slightly. “It did not happen exactly as I had wished, but well enough.”
I considered a moment, then canted my head.
“What does that have to do with the vows?”
Rajak shifted, and his brow darkened.
“I knew a Hilrigard wife would anger my father. If the wedding was performed the way all of his have been, he would simply kill you and force me to marry another in order to produce an heir, and break the treaty with the Highlands.” His eyes smoldered again. “But this ceremony, the one in which we were wed, is more ancient and solemn than any other. It binds two people together for eternity. If one is killed, the other can never remarry. Ever.” He flashed his eyebrows. “If my father killed you, I could never marry another wife, and I would never produce an heir to inherit his kingdom.”
For a long while, I was silent.
“So…” I finally spoke. “The vows will protect me from him.”
He pulled off more meat and ate it. He nodded.
“Otherwise, I would have made a long, dry trip, saved ten-thousand arrows, two hundred swords and perhaps fifty horses for nothing.”
My jaw tightened as my face heated up.
“That still does not solve your problem of a legitimate heir,” I growled.
He took another drink.
“I am not in a hurry,” he said. “I am not even king yet.”
I clenched my hands in my lap.
“And you will be satisfied with a wife who doesn’t let you in her chamber at night?” I pressed. His eyes met mine for a moment, then he took another bite.
“I will have just one wife. Concubines cannot produce a legal heir, but no one will begrudge me one or two.”
My eyes flashed.
“It sounds as if you are choosing only to obey parts of the vows.” My voice rose. “Did you mean any of them?”
“Did you?” he shot back. My mouth clamped shut. His pointed look held me captive for a moment. Then he put the bone down, took another drink from the pitcher, and got up. “Eat the rest of your bird.”
He crossed to the door, which he had left open, stepped over the threshold, then turned back to me.
“My father will be coming soon. I do not know when for certain, but you need to realize who you are before then. You should bathe, and wear Badi clothes. You are a princess here, and will need to learn the protocol. Chew the leaves,” he pointed at them. “They will clean your teeth.” He started to close the door behind him. He stopped. He lowered his head at me. “When you bathe, lock this door and that of your bathing room.” He rattled the doorknob. I glared at him, letting my fury show for the first time.
“Why? Are you afraid you might change your mind about your promise?”
He was already shaking his head.
“If you were your sister, I would not have made that promise. But as it is, I will have no trouble. My men, however…” he glanced out into the hall. “They may have different taste, and less restraint concerning a foreigner I married for convenience, especially if she continues dressing like a Highland sheep.” He gave me a serious look. “Lock it when you sleep as well. Goodnight.”
He pulled the door shut, and was gone.
I sat alone, the smell of the bird filling the room. I drank the rest of the water in the pitcher, grudgingly ripped off a piece of leaf and chewed it, got up, and dressed for bed. I put out the lamps myself, locked my door, and spat out the leaf on the tray. Admitting to myself that the leaf had freshened my breath, I climbed in under my covers.
As I snuggled down into their warmth, my stomach felt better, and my limbs did not shake. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness sink in, and mulling over all Rajak had said.
He was different from his father—in one aspect, at least. He had orders to slaughter my people, and he had chosen another way. His method did not make me happy, but it made sense, in a ruthless way. However, he had killed my father, purposefully, which was enough to make me still want to stab him.
However, there was now something else to consider: King Niro. If I killed Rajak, especially while Niro was in Nazre, my chances of surviving would almost vanish. Rajak’s death would also eliminate the protect
ive treaty with the Highlands.
I rolled over. Of course, my mother was planning a coup, rallying a resistance army, and calling for aid from her brothers, the Bràithrean. She was not happy with a treaty—she wanted to be free of the Badi forever. But was it worth risking total destruction to get out from under the Badi? From Niro, yes. But Rajak? He did not appear to be the same.
So what should I do? What could I do, when Mother was not here to advise me?
This question made me turn and toss for several hours, tangling up my covers. But something else gnawed at the back of my head—something childish and stupid and distracting. Something that made me sit up and punch my pillow in frustration:
No matter the source, no matter the reason, and no matter the context, no girl wants to be told that she is not even halfway as beautiful as her sister.
Chapter Eight
I wandered down the dark corridor, humming absently, running my fingertips along the cool stone wall. I had walked this way every day for the past week. The train of my red gown—another of my sister’s—trailed on the ground behind me. I had fully memorized the perimeter of Nazre two days ago. I knew both entrances to the feasting hall, and the three staircases that led to the training room. I had found four doors leading to the stables, and had a good idea of the location of the door through which they had brought me when I arrived. But I still had not found what I had set out for.
“I hear the trees—I hear them sing,” I sang, very softly, but the hard walls carried my tones.
“Their voices make harmony with the rivers,
The grass murmurs, guessing at their riddles,
And the sky smiles, as on her children…”
At last, I arrived at the door of Rajak’s empty harem. I had come here every day for the past five days, gone in and sat on the white marble. But the dissatisfaction I felt within its confinement, the longing that the shards of sun and water stirred up within me, always sent me from the room to search again. I always hoped I could find something better than this place, someplace more open…
Linnet and the Prince Page 9