I tried again to count, then gave up. It had been about two weeks, I thought, but it might have been half that. Or twice that. I didn’t know.
One time, instead of food, a ladder unrolled, and two guards descended with a lamp. As I shaded my eyes against the dazzling light, a blow to my stomach caught me by surprise. A lash cut across my back, tearing through the linen dress. They asked no questions, and by the time I wanted to offer information—anything—to stop the beating, I couldn’t get the words out.
Then it was over, and they were gone, until the next time. My stomach lurched when the trapdoor opened again a few hours later, but it was just my dinner. I had little appetite today, but I was thirsty; I drank the water and curled up on the floor. Sleep came easily, despite the fear and the pain, but I couldn’t find the borderland—nothing beyond thick darkness.
Even in the darkness, the fever burned in my blood. I paced around and around the tiny circular shaft, pretending that somehow this was taking me closer to Tamar. How many steps would take me back to where I belong? Sometimes the fever told me that I was going to die here. Months might pass; years. I might go completely mad alone in the darkness, until I died an old woman, forgotten even by Tamar. Other days hope seized me with a violence that made me sob. I would escape; there was a way out of here. Prometheus had been bound to the side of a mountain, his immortal liver torn out daily, until Arachne had found him and they had freed each other. Spiders liked darkness. Arachne is here; her messengers are close at hand. I thought I could hear them, when the fever burned strongly enough. Or the djinni. The djinni will help me. I am the gate. Their gate. A djinn could get me out of here. If I wait. If I hold on.
Prometheus had been freed, but there was also Zeus. The story said that Alexander had imprisoned him under a mountain when he conquered Olympus. Though some believed that anyone who found Zeus and freed him would be granted immortality in gratitude, in nearly a thousand years he had not been found. I am not going to live that long.
Then I woke one morning and felt the darkness settling in around me like a blanket of snow, and knew that the hope I’d felt had only been the fever that was now leaving me. There was no reason to hope. No reason to continue. I left my food and water untouched. There is a way out of here. One way. And with no Tamar here to force me to eat and drink, it shouldn’t even take all that long.
Perhaps a day after that, the ladder unrolled. I waited, curled in the corner, for the guards to descend, but no one did. “Lauria,” someone called from overhead. “Come up the ladder.”
Stay here, the melancholia whispered. Let them drag you up if they want you that badly. You’re tired, weak from hunger, you don’t have the strength to climb the ladder.
“Come up,” the voice said again.
Curiosity won out. I stood up, steadied myself against the wall as my head spun momentarily, and climbed up the ladder.
There was lamplight above; it dazzled my eyes, and I couldn’t see much. The hands holding me were female, but I could hear a man’s voice—Kyros. I heard him say on my authority and then I’ll make it worth your while. Then his hand was on my arm and he was steering me out of the room, up the spiral stairs, and out into a courtyard.
It was day. If the lamplight had dazzled me, the sun blinded me completely. My knees buckled and I couldn’t open my streaming eyes. “You need to come with me,” Kyros said, pulling me back to my feet. “Your eyes will recover in a few hours. Just keep them shut for now.”
It was galling to be so helpless. At least I’m out of the pit. I felt the sunlight leave my face as we passed inside into a cool hallway. Down a short flight of stairs, then out to another courtyard, under some sort of overhang that shaded me from the sun even as it let in a summer breeze. Inside again, up a spiral stair, and into a room. “Sit here.” Kyros lowered me into a chair. I heard the rustle of curtains. “You can open your eyes now.”
Kyros had closed the curtains, but even the thin lines of sunlight around the edges made my eyes water. I put my face down on my folded arms. “Let me get you some tea,” he said.
I sat and waited; gradually my eyes adjusted, so that I could look around the room without tears pouring down my cheeks. It was small, but with a comfortable bed, a table with chairs, a wood door with a latch on the inside. Hangings with pictures of olive trees covered the walls. It was desperately ordinary. I nearly sobbed with relief. “Why did the magia change her mind?” I asked when Kyros returned. My voice was hoarse.
“I persuaded her to grant you a reprieve,” Kyros said. His voice was gentle. He poured a cup of tea and set it down beside me at the table.
I picked it up; my hands were shaking so badly I had to use both of them to hold the cup. “After all this time?” How long has it been?
Kyros’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. “The magia is actually four women. Or rather, it’s a single office, occupied in turn by one of four women, so that decisions can be made by someone who isn’t too despondent to rise from bed.”
I wondered what happened when one magia didn’t wish to give up her authority. This didn’t seem like a good time to ask.
“The magia you met has given up the gold serpent—she has stepped aside. The new magia was more willing to listen to me. For now, at least, you have been reprieved from the pit. You’re still under guard.” He gestured briefly to the door. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do anything foolish,” he added in a low voice. “I vouched for you. Please don’t make me regret that.”
“Why did you vouch for me?” It was a stupid thing to ask—Do you want him to send you back there?—but I asked anyway.
“Lauria. You’re my daughter. I know that I can trust you.” He stood up. “Let me get you something to eat.”
Despite the darkness that still lapped at the edges of my thoughts, I was ravenous. Kyros brought a plate of sweet rice pudding, as if I were recovering from a long illness, and a cup of cider. I tucked in, relishing the sweet, creamy taste, the silky texture of the rice, the scents of the spices. Kyros watched quietly while I ate, and sent away for more when I finished what I had. I drank enough cider to make me tipsy before I thought to slow down.
“What were you going to say about Lycurgus, before the magia had you taken away?” Kyros asked.
“He’s in league with the Younger Sisters,” I said, my voice still hoarse. “Solon, the steward—he is loyal to the Sisterhood of Weavers.”
“What do you know about the Younger Sisters?”
“Not much. Lycurgus was funneling them some of the goods from the farm. And he summoned a sorceress to help him at one point. I think she might have been one of them.”
Kyros leaned forward, clearly interested. “What was her name?”
“I can’t remember.” I was telling the truth; I couldn’t.
“Try.” Kyros stood up. “For now, I’ll arrange for you to have a bath. Your meals will be brought to you. If you want to go anywhere, you can ask your guard to escort you.” He turned back at the doorway. “If you can remember the sorceress’s name, that would be very helpful.”
Cassandra, I remembered a few hours later, as I soaked in a tub, a slave scrubbing the filth of the pit from my hair. I didn’t really care what happened to Cassandra. Should I give him the name? I didn’t have a great deal I felt willing to offer Kyros. Not even to stay out of the pit. I’d hold on to that for a while, in case I needed it.
At least I’m out of the pit for now. Maybe now I’ll be able to find Tamar in the borderland….
When I was clean and dry, the guard took me back to my room. More food, along with a glass of wine and a pot of tea, waited for me. I filled my stomach and took a hesitant glance out the window. Night had fallen. My eyes might be intolerant of light, but my night vision was no better than it had ever been; I could see little in the shadowed courtyard below. There was movement, however, and after a few minutes of watching I decided that it was not just my imagination: there was, in fact, a guard out there as well as at my door, despite the
fact that it was too far to jump and the wall was too well kept to climb. I watched a few minutes longer, then let the curtain fall shut. In time, they will be more likely to slip.
I ignored the wine—I’d avoided wine for nearly a year, because it tended to remind me of the night when Sophos raped me. I took a cup of tea. Halfway through the cup, I felt sleepy and went and lay down in the bed. Despite my fear, despite everything, I fell asleep almost instantly. A dreamless sleep, again, where Tamar could not reach me. Darkness.
One of the slaves woke me the next morning. Steam rose from a cup of tea on the table by the door. There was also a tray with food—sliced cold meat, soft fresh bread, and yogurt. They had brought a basin and pitcher of cool water, and a cloth to let me wash my face. By the door, someone had set a basket with linen, needles, and colored thread. Again, I nearly wept over the homey comforts. I washed my face and had breakfast, then picked up the basket and tentatively opened the door. “Is there some courtyard…with shade? I’d like to get out under the sky,” I said, my tongue awkward.
“This way,” my guard said, and I trailed her outside to a garden.
Summer had come while I was in the pit. I was relieved that at least it hadn’t passed. It was hot and sunny, though still reasonably pleasant in the shade. I took a seat in the shade of a tree and threaded a needle. I’d always hated embroidery, even among the Alashi. If I ever get back there—when I get back there—I’ll have another vest of sister cloth to embroider. Maybe I’ll try to make a picture of a horse, so I’ll be able to do it right next time.
The garden was fully enclosed. The walls were high, but enough sun made its way in to sustain a couple of olive trees and some golden flowers. A fountain bubbled up in one corner; a slave dressed in white linen drew water out of the fountain in a blue pitcher to pour over the flowers and the roots of the trees. A white cat sat at the edge of the fountain, washing itself; after a while, I let my untouched linen drop to my lap and watched the cat as it licked its paw, then rubbed its paw behind its ears. It saw me watching, jumped lightly down from the fountain edge, and came over to say hello.
I scratched its bony little head with a fingertip; it lifted its nose and purred, then arched its back and settled itself into my lap, on top of the embroidery. I closed my eyes and stroked the cat.
My guard nudged me out of my half doze to bring me inside for lunch. Kyros had sent up a message: let me know if you need anything. I left the note on the table, reminding myself that he was my keeper, my prison guard. Nothing he did was for kindness, but because he wanted something. Still, somewhere in the dark cellars of my own soul lurked the Lauria who had once been Kyros’s willing servant, and she whispered to me now. You can trust Kyros. Kyros freed you from the pit. Kyros will never betray you.
CHAPTER FIVE
TAMAR
Zhanna wants to know what’s wrong,” Janiya said over breakfast.
I choked on my tea and said, “What do you mean?”
Janiya raised one eyebrow. “She hasn’t been able to find you, what did you think I meant? So she came looking for me, instead. I hate having people meddle with my dreams—I’m no shaman. So. What’s the problem?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said to my tea.
“Hmm. Well, do we need to go to an inn and get you a bed? Because I like having my nights for myself.”
“A bed wouldn’t help.”
“What would help?”
“I don’t know.”
Janiya sighed. “Well, all right then. I’ll let Zhanna know that the next time she barges in. If she has some ideas, I’ll pass them on to you.”
Alibek was listening, his eyes flicking back and forth between us. “Couldn’t someone talk to you?” I asked him.
“I’m no shaman,” he said. “Janiya and Zhanna were probably once lovers, and that’s why Zhanna could find her.” He glanced at Janiya, whose ears had turned bright pink. “I have no blood brother, no old lover, no family other than my sister.”
“You have a sister?” I asked. I remembered a moment later that Lauria had told me about her once.
Alibek narrowed his green eyes. “I told Lauria about my sister when she took me back to Kyros. She never told you?”
“She did,” I said. “I remember, now.”
He went on with his story anyway. “Gulsara and I were both born in Kyros’s household. She was five years older than me. When we were young, we worked in the stable. Gulsara liked that job, because it was easy to stay very dirty and avoid being noticed by anyone. But eventually she was noticed anyway, and Kyros took her for his harem. She was there for, oh, perhaps a year. Then one night a door was left open and she slipped out and escaped.”
“Good for her,” I murmured.
“Yes. Good for her. Kyros sent out searchers, of course, but they returned empty-handed. When he gave up looking for her, he sent for me. I was eleven years old then and still working in the stable. I was terrified when his guards came for me. They took me before Kyros in his office, and he smiled at me and said that since my sister had run away, he would take me as her replacement. As I watched, he summoned one of his djinni, and told it to find Gulsara and tell her what he’d done. Gulsara was never particularly kind to me, but our parents were gone, and she’d been my protector for years. Had she stood before him bound and in his power, there was nothing he could have done to her that would have been worse than hurting me.”
I shuddered, trying to shake the image of eleven-year-old Alibek—and of myself at ten—from my thoughts.
“Kyros’s harem is hard to escape. I waited years, thinking I’d try for freedom when he tired of me and sent me back to the stable. Except he didn’t, so finally I found a chance and ran. That’s when Lauria brought me back. Kyros had me beaten nearly to death, then branded. He wanted to destroy me inside and out, to punish me and to punish my sister even though she didn’t know what had happened. Then he gave me as a gift to a friend. I think I was supposed to be an example to the other slaves, in my broken, wounded state. And I probably was an example, but not the kind Kyros had in mind. As soon as my body was healed enough to travel, I ran away again—and this time I made it. I spent the rest of the summer with the sword brotherhood, then met you in the fall, and you know the rest.” He tilted his head up at me and I realized for the first time that he was only a year or two older than I was.
“I was a harem slave, too,” I said. Alibek raised an eyebrow, and he looked me over as if he were trying to decide whether I was pretty enough to be telling the truth. I flushed and stood up. “Can you talk to your sister in your dreams?”
Alibek shrugged. “I spent a full year trying, back when I was eleven. I could never do it. Most people can’t. I suggest you try to figure out what your problem is and fix it.”
Janiya shook her head in disgust—with me, with Alibek, it wasn’t clear. “When Zhanna came last night, I told her what we knew about Lauria. That’s all we have right now, anyway. Let’s get going.”
I knew what was wrong, of course—Kyros. I feared that if I went to the borderland to find Zhanna, Kyros would find me first. I couldn’t tell him anything. But if I refused outright, he would hurt Lauria.
At least it was morning. I had a whole day before I had to worry again about dodging Kyros.
We mounted up and rode.
Was there anything I could tell Kyros? Something harmless? Something that would make him feel like he was getting information but that he couldn’t use against us? Part of me knew he could use anything at all, but…Was there anything he already knew that I could offer as if I thought he wouldn’t know? What did I know that he’d want to know about, anyway?
Well, I knew about our mission to the Younger Sisters, and obviously I couldn’t tell him about that. I knew about the Servant Sisterhood. Kyros might be interested, but that might matter. Besides, I’d liked the woman who’d told me about the Servant Sisterhood—Zivar’s housekeeper, Nurzhan. I’d liked her a lot. If Kyros was willing to torture and kill h
is own daughter, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to Nurzhan.
I knew what Lauria had done with Kyros’s djinni and he’d probably like to know that, but if he hadn’t figured it out, I certainly wasn’t going to tell him.
I could tell him how we freed Sophos’s slaves. Kyros might want to know that simply because Sophos was his friend, but it was nothing he could use against us. We’d brought a trusted slave, Boradai, to our side. If Kyros was clever, he’d figure out on his own that we’d found her old lover and freed him, and that was how we’d turned her against Sophos. Boradai knew Sophos’s household inside and out. She could have killed Sophos years ago if she’d wanted, but she saw nothing in it for her, so she’d stayed loyal until she had a better offer.
Kyros probably had a slave like Boradai—a trusted older slave who kept order, and secrets, and maybe even keys. He probably even trusted her. I smiled. Telling him about Boradai could be fun.
There were risks. He might learn something I didn’t want him to know. But maybe it would be just enough to keep Lauria safe. I pushed away all thoughts of danger and spent the day thinking through precisely how I’d tell the story. Sophos had been his friend. It would be pleasant to gloat.
When I slept that night, I let myself slip past the darkness and into the place that shamans go—the borderland where I could speak with Zhanna, or with Lauria if I could find her, and where Kyros could speak with me. I looked for Lauria first. I held out my hands and thought of the red silk cords I’d seen before, binding me to Lauria…among others. The one that bound me to Lauria had given off a faint silvery light. I found the cord easily enough—Lauria was still alive—but again, it was slack. I couldn’t draw her in. Didn’t she ever sleep? She had slept very little when she was in the grip of the cold fever, I remembered. Perhaps that was all it was.
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