‘I do, don’t I?’ His grin was far less innocent than his face. ‘I’m Seonu Sang Ki. And you’re Lady Nethmi, of course. My father’s told me all about his bride. He’s absolutely delighted with you, but I’m sure you know that.’
‘Your father,’ she said carefully. ‘Thilak?’
‘Naturally. I’m told I look a lot like him.’
He was right. She’d thought exactly that at the wedding feast. His eyes had the same sharpness and if the fat were melted from his face she was sure his father’s strong bones would lie beneath.
But Thilak had never been married before, and this man’s name belonged to a savage, not a shipborn Ashane. She saw the sickly pale tint to his skin, the way his odd, oat-coloured hair hugged the contours of his ears and the assessing, sly look in his eye, and she guessed who his mother must be. Her stomach churned with a nauseous sort of anger.
‘It seems there’s a great deal Thilak has chosen not to tell me,’ she said, her voice shaking.
Her obvious anger didn’t seem to worry him. He shifted his bulk into a more comfortable position in the armchair, then said, ‘My father can be close-mouthed when it suits him. But he has it all planned out, you see. Sadly, he couldn’t marry my mother. I was born on the wrong side of the sheets, as perhaps you’ve guessed and are too polite to point out.’
‘A bastard,’ she said coldly.
His lips thinned a little, but then he laughed. ‘Well said. You’ve got spirit. I like that, even if my father doesn’t. And you’ll be mine after you’re his. He’s an old man, after all, and I’m still in the flower of my youth. Once you’ve whelped him an heir and he’s moved on to whatever life awaits us after this one, I’m to wed you. I’ll raise his heir as his regent. Do you see? That way both his sons get to be lord here. And I get –’ His covetous eyes looked her up and down. ‘Well, I get some recompense for my inability to inherit. Is that all clear now? Do you feel adequately informed?’
He was baiting her, so she made herself bite back her words and simply nodded her head. ‘It’s entirely clear,’ she said when she could trust herself to speak. ‘Thank you for your honesty.’
Back in her room she sat on her bed in silence. It would be time for dinner soon and she was expected to attend, but she couldn’t face it. She imagined Thilak, charming and uncaring, and his woman, looking at her with eyes that she now understood held triumph, not resentment. Before Nethmi had even arrived in Winter’s Hammer, her rival had won every battle they might fight. And then there was Seonu Sang Ki, who looked at her the way a woman caressed fabrics at market. No, she couldn’t do it.
After an hour or so there was a knock on the door, then a rattling of the handle when she didn’t answer. But she’d locked it when she entered and after a few moments whoever it was went away. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. She’d let herself hope for … She wasn’t sure what. A loving husband? A new ally she could persuade to join her in revenge against her uncle? A man she could trust at last? Yes. And why had she ever thought her uncle would arrange for her to have any of those?
A little while later there was another knock on the door. She ignored this too, but the doorknob rattled again and then there was the grate of a key turning in the lock. When the door opened, Thilak was framed in the light of the entrance and Nethmi realised she’d allowed the lamps in her room to burn themselves out.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
‘Which would explain why you’ve missed dinner. However, I can’t allow you to miss meeting my new guests – I think you’ll find them entertaining.’
She could hardly stand to look at him. ‘Why? You don’t need me for anything except the bearing of a son, it seems. Just leave me in peace and I’ll do my duty when I must.’
‘Ah.’ He frowned and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Would I be correct to think that my son has been speaking to you?’
‘You would,’ she said flatly. But she found she couldn’t keep up the mask of controlled disdain and hissed, ‘Why didn’t you just marry your whore? Why drag me into this?’
The slap against her cheek echoed in her dark chamber. It hurt, it hurt terribly, but she put her hand against the burning skin and glared at him, refusing to give in to tears. After a moment he sighed and resumed his previous pose, leaning against the doorframe.
‘You mustn’t speak of Seonu Hana that way. She’s a fine woman and as noble as they come in the Fourteen Tribes – her parents lead the Flint Band. But unfortunately, the mountain honours mean nothing in the lowlands, and I need an heir who’ll be able to inherit Winter’s Hammer and not have it challenged. That’s where you come in.’
‘You’ve bought a thoroughbred for your breeding stables.’
‘If you want to look at it that way. There are other ways. I know how things stood between you and your uncle. That’s why I chose you, of course: no family at home you might complain to about the arrangement. But think of this as an opportunity. Here you’re far away from him. You can make your own life and your own place. You’ll be honoured; all that’s required is for you to behave with honour. Do you think you can manage that? I can see that you’re spoilt and selfish, but that’s to be expected. You’re also clearly intelligent – and very beautiful. Your future is yours to shape. What will it be?’
She wanted to throw his words back in his face. Behave with honour? As if there was any honour in a man breaking his vows on the night of his wedding and every night after. But he was right about one thing: she would make her own fate here. And she couldn’t afford to have Thilak as her enemy.
She smiled. It was tense and false, but then that’s what he must expect. He wasn’t asking for affection, only submission. ‘As you say, my lord. Now, who was it you wished me to meet?’
He flashed a delighted grin with the same suddenness with which he’d struck her. His expressions shifted like the surface of a lake when a gust of wind ruffled it. It was as if none of his emotions ran very deep, or as if the real feelings beneath them were never revealed.
‘Oh yes – our prisoners!’ he said. ‘These two have been a thorn in the Oak Wheel’s foot for quite some time. They had the gall to speak treason in Ashanesland itself, because they travelled under the protection of Smiler’s Fair and thought themselves safe. No shipfort lord wants to anger the fair, you see, or it won’t visit again. All that trade lost. But Smiler’s Fair never journeys here and the arrogant fools didn’t post a guard as they travelled through the Blade Pass. My men took them in the night and brought them here this morning. I thought you might like to join me as I question them.’
The jail was on the lowest level of Winter’s Hammer. It was the same in Whitewood. Down here, captives were below the waterline. They could listen to the slap of the waves against the wall high above their heads and know that the only escape was death by drowning.
Nethmi felt herself shaking with tension as she descended the stairs. Speaking treason in Smiler’s Fair? It didn’t seem possible Thilak could mean the boy preacher. It felt too much like a sign, mere hours after she’d been staring at his moon god’s face. She told herself it must be some other traitor, a rebel tribal leader. But when the guard unlocked the thick wooden door and gestured them inside, she saw instead a middle-aged woman and a boy.
They seemed less impressive close up than they’d looked striding about so confidently in front of the crowds. Both were white-skinned, paler even than the mountain savages, and had the same brown hair, curled on her and straight on him, and the same pronounced cheekbones and narrow nose. Their eyes were different, though, hers a muddy brown and his almond-shaped like those of a tribesman and almost the same green as spring grass.
The boy watched them calmly, but the woman’s gaze skittered nervously away from hers. Nethmi saw that she had a large bruise on her left cheek and held herself as if there were more under her clothes. She was shivering and an unhealthy sheen of sweat stood out on her skin. The cell was filthy. The straw on the floor smelt of urine and something �
�� a rat, a cockroach – scuttled beneath it. The boy hardly seemed to notice his surroundings. He held himself as if he’d been granted an audience in the great hall.
She felt a sudden jolt of terror. What if he’d seen her face in the crowd? What if he told her husband that she’d listened to his treasonous talk? With the right words, this boy could ensure that she ended up in the cell beside him. ‘Who are they?’ she asked Thilak with studied innocence.
‘They are Vordanna and Jinn,’ he said. ‘Formerly of the company of Worshippers of Smiler’s Fair. And their crime is sedition: fomenting rebellion against King Nayan.’
‘Sedition?’ She stared at the boy, willing him to remain silent.
He smiled a little, as if he knew very well who she was. But then he moved his gaze to Thilak. ‘I did preach against your false king. Someone’s gotta speak, even if it’s just a boy – even if I’m the only one. I’d rather speak the truth than live a lie.’
His mother cringed and reached out towards him, but the boy gently brushed away her hand.
Thilak just laughed. ‘They’ve been at this for years. I’m told they’re very popular out on the plains. But my tribesmen aren’t impressed by their nonsense.’
‘Your tribesmen?’ the boy said. ‘People can’t be owned, not in their hearts. Do you know what’s in these people’s hearts, Lord Thilak? Have you ever asked?’
Remembering In Su’s talk of the moon god, Nethmi thought he had a point. Had Thilak ever asked about the face on the rocks? Or had he thought it too unimportant, a part of this conquered people’s superstitious ways? He certainly didn’t seem troubled by Jinn’s words now. ‘You see,’ Thilak said to her, ‘they incriminate themselves from their own mouths.’
Nethmi couldn’t tear her gaze away from the boy. Up close, his eyes were the most compelling she’d ever seen. ‘If King Nayan is false, then who do you say is the true king?’
‘Yron’s heir, the risen moon.’
‘The moon is dead,’ one of Thilak’s guards said sharply.
Thilak snapped him an irritated look and the man shut his mouth and looked away.
‘You’re right,’ Jinn said. ‘Yron the moon god died, but now he’s reborn in the false king’s son. His human father wanted to kill him, but his mother sacrificed her life to save him. He’ll return one day to claim his birthright. He’ll change everything.’ His green eyes studied her, seeming to see inside her. ‘He’ll change your life. I know it’s bad now, but it can be better.’
She heard Thilak shift behind her, and then his hand was on her shoulder. ‘I think we’ve heard enough, don’t you?’
He started pulling her towards the door, but she kept her eyes on Jinn even as she was forced to leave the cell. ‘Yron’s heir will change everything,’ he said, as the door was slammed shut. ‘You’ll meet him soon. I know it.’
12
Marvan’s legs felt as weak as water and he had to pause in his climb. He dumped his victim on a rock and sat beside the body, panting and looking at the view below.
Smiler’s Fair was on the move at its usual sluggish pace. From up here, the massive carts and the beasts pulling them looked like children’s toys. If he reached out he should be able to lift and rearrange them. The red rectangle he knew held the House of Ill-Repute could be swapped with the long white string of wagons that carried the Gambler’s Paradise. The dots of people clustered around the furry black lump of an ice mammoth might like to ride on the horses that were drawing the Jolly Maid through the mountain pass. He could shift the Queen’s Men behind the King’s and watch the perennially squabbling companies fight. He’d be god of them all, deciding their fates.
He sighed, looked up briefly at the cloudless blue sky and then down to the corpse at his side. Its eyes stared back at him, as blank and empty as the sky. He’d caused himself enough trouble deciding just one person’s fate. It was foolish – insanity really. The Blade Pass was long, it was true, and Smiler’s Fair wouldn’t stop on the ancient road. Too few people lived nearby and the local Seonu were known for neither their dissipation nor their wealth. But the broad grasslands lay only a few days away now and they’d make their pitch there, drawing others of the Fourteen Tribes to lose their gold and their morals for the pleasures the fair offered.
He could have waited five days and found strangers aplenty to choose from, but the urge had come upon him, stronger than ever, and he’d found he had to act on it. He’d strangled Jaquim as the apprentice left camp to piss and spent the rest of the night dragging his scrawny body up the mountain. Marvan knew the folk of the fair wouldn’t have taken the same delight in watching him kill one of their own. But Lucan the clerk had warned him to stop killing strangers, and what choice did that leave him? Only to stop killing altogether, the one thing he seemed incapable of doing.
Jaquim’s corpse was beginning to stiffen and Marvan didn’t know how much further he could carry it. The thin, pimply face stared at him, no more attractive in death than it had been in life. Marvan looked back down at the valley and the slow procession of animals and men. A little further, he decided.
He groaned as he hoisted the corpse on to his shoulders. It rested awkwardly, one leg sticking out at an oblique angle and an arm stretched in front, reaching for something it would never catch. Marvan’s back cracked as he rose to his feet and his legs almost collapsed under him. Just the next ridge, he told himself, and forced his body into motion.
There was snow on the ground up here, fallen several days ago and frozen into an icy crust. It crunched beneath his boots. The vegetation crunched too, skeletal plants that looked barely alive. Everything up here was brittle. Even the air felt fragile, as if it might shatter in his lungs.
He had to use his hands to clamber over a pile of rocks, scraping his palms and almost pulling his shoulders out of joint as Jaquim’s corpse was caught by one of the spindly, ugly bushes. When he’d topped the rocks he looked up and saw only another ridge ahead of him, more rocks and an abundance of snow.
This would have to do. He released Jaquim’s arm and shrugged the corpse off his shoulders. It fell to the ground and landed awkwardly, one leg bent at the knee and an arm reaching out to him in pointless pleading.
No one ever came up here. He could probably leave the body to the buzzards and the wolves. But … He looked back down and could still see Smiler’s Fair, winding its way through the pass. What if they’d seen him? Someone might have watched him carry his burden up here. They might think he was hiding some prize and come to seek it for themselves. The people of Smiler’s Fair were known for many vices, and greed was one of them.
He sighed, rubbed at the small of his back and then stooped to begin collecting rocks to pile over the body. They made a dismal cairn, a monument no one would see for a boy nobody had much liked. Marvan felt melancholy envelop him as he worked, stooping, lifting, dropping, the kind of manual labour Jaquim himself had probably once done before he’d run away to Smiler’s Fair to find a better life.
It was several minutes before he realised someone was watching him. When he did, the figure seemed to coalesce suddenly out of the mountain, grass becoming hair and pebbles eyes. Marvan cried out and took a startled step backwards. But the man made no threatening move, just stood and stared at the rocks barely covering Jaquim’s body.
Marvan wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that the man seemed to be a local, with the light skin, almond eyes and straight, jet-black hair of the Fourteen Tribes. It was definitely a relief to see that the man held a bottle of whisky in one hand, and that it was nearly empty. Marvan could smell it from ten paces away and, now he looked more closely, the man did seem to be wavering a little on his feet.
On the other hand, if Marvan had brought all his weapons with him today, he’d still have had a considerably smaller arsenal than was hanging from the tribesman’s body. He saw two hand axes, a bow slung over his back along with a sword and more knives than he could count. It must take immense strength to carry them all and he was a large fel
low, a roundness at his belly that was clearly fat but a breadth to his shoulders and thighs that spoke of muscle.
Marvan had only brought his twin tridents with him, and he let his hands rest casually on their hilts. ‘How can I help you, friend?’
‘I tell you what, I think you’re the one who needs help.’ The man spoke Ashane with only a slight accent, but the words were heavily slurred. He must be very far into his cups. ‘I’m happy to lend a hand.’
Marvan was careful not to look towards the body. ‘No need to trouble yourself.’
‘No trouble.’ Before Marvan could move to stop him, he’d lifted a rock in each hand and thrown them onto the half-built cairn.
Marvan watched him in silence. The tribesman whistled as he searched for the rocks, tipping forward drunkenly when he reached for them and laughing a little when he dropped them on Jaquim’s corpse. After only a little while, the body was completely hidden beneath stone.
‘Did you want a marker?’ the stranger asked, standing back to admire his work. ‘Something with his name. You know. The kind of thing you people put on graves.’
Marvan let out a slow breath. So the man thought he was burying a loved one. ‘No need. The rain would only wash it away, and I know who lies here – that’s what matters.’
‘If you say so.’ The tribesman dropped a few more rocks on the pile, then seemed to lose his enthusiasm for the work and flopped gracelessly on to a larger boulder, wiping his hands clean against his leather trousers.
‘So …’ Marvan gestured vaguely over his shoulder. ‘I suppose I should go before my home gets too far away from me.’
The tribesman frowned. ‘You don’t want to say some words over the grave? Make a prayer or an offering?’
‘I’ve spoken the words in my heart,’ Marvan said weakly.
The other man nodded. ‘Your ways are not our ways. We don’t bother to bury our enemies – we let them fall and rot where they are. But your people care even for those you kill. I say that’s admirable.’
Smiler's Fair: Book I of The Hollow Gods Page 15