Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  Goddess

  Book Three of The Percheron Saga

  Fiona McIntosh

  For Steve Hubbard…slainte!

  Contents

  Map

  Prologue

  The man took her elbow gently and guided her. It…

  1

  Herezah slapped away the ministrations of her slave.

  2

  Boaz glumly leaned against the balcony of his private salon.

  3

  Ana stepped into the chamber with trepidation, afraid of what…

  4

  Ana sat, feeling nervous as she watched Arafanz reach for…

  5

  Pez saw Boaz burst through the courtyard doors, and watched…

  6

  Ever since the night that Arafanz had told her of…

  7

  Five moons later…

  8

  Herezah was fuming, unable to settle down. She’d snapped at…

  9

  Maliz was fuming. He slammed the door behind him as…

  10

  Ghassal of the Percherese Protectorate was providing the Zar with…

  11

  Boaz had summoned all of the Pecherese officials and dignatories–anyone…

  12

  Ana was leaning comfortably against Arafanz’s chest as he reached…

  13

  Iridor flexed his wings to let them dry. So this…

  14

  Herezah awoke with a start and a hammering heart. She…

  15

  Iridor flew. He was not ready to consider himself entirely…

  16

  The beaming men of the Khalid had arranged cushions around…

  17

  Arafanz was sitting by her side. “Should I fetch someone?

  18

  “Lazar has been a long time,” Maliz said sourly.

  19

  Herezah was restless but thoroughly enjoying the newfound freedom of…

  20

  Word had come back from the Galiseans but it was…

  21

  As early as it was, Herezah winced at the ferocity…

  22

  Lazar had been following Iridor’s directions implicitly and they were…

  23

  Ana’s pains had become a distant rumble, reminding her that…

  24

  Maliz didn’t need to see Boaz’s face to know that…

  25

  They had come upon them with such terrible silence that…

  26

  Lazar, Boaz, and Ganya had ridden uncomfortably strapped to the…

  27

  Iridor had not been able to hear most of the…

  28

  Herezah could feel the tension in the city escalating. It…

  29

  Lazar had kept his face lowered. He had cocooned himself…

  30

  Ganya remained hidden behind the camels. She still wore her…

  31

  He heard her cries, roused himself from the stupor, and…

  32

  Herezah and Bin had spent what was left of the…

  33

  Lazar closed his eyes and rode the tide of Ana’s…

  34

  Iridor flew after the riders, his keen night sight a…

  35

  Alzaria cradled the infant under Harras’s watchful gaze. “He is…

  36

  Outside, whilst the proud “grandparents” admired their new royal, Lazar…

  37

  She watched him pace, the quishtar she had ordered and…

  38

  Who is this boy? Beloch asked as he carried Lazar…

  Eight Years Later…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise

  Other Books by Fiona McIntosh

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  PROLOGUE

  The man took her elbow gently and guided her. It was a polite gesture, but there was no choice; Ana would go wherever he chose to lead her because she was his prisoner, in his fortress, amidst his private army. And this time there were no Elim to rescue her, nor any of Boaz’s elite mute guard…and she was a long, long way from Spur Lazar’s protection.

  Ana was alone for the first time in her life since she had been found as a newborn in the desert after a Samazen storm.

  She had been here by her reckoning perhaps three moons. She couldn’t be sure, for her existence had been solitary. She was kept in a locked chamber that was positioned high within some sort of fortress. The monotony of hot, stifling days and freezing nights was interrupted only by the twice-daily delivery of simple but surprisingly nourishing meals and fresh water and the removal of her waste pail. Treatment had been mostly silent, broken solely by her barrage of questions at the various robed men who took care of her simple needs. The men were rotated constantly, she assumed to ensure that no relationship developed between prisoner and keeper. A single brief but courteous inquiry as to her health was a daily ritual and Ana had been tempted several times to claim she was ill in the hope of a change of scenery or to engage any one of her captors in conversation beyond the cursory question. But experience had taught her that lying rarely led to the desired outcome, and so she erred on the side of caution, leaving alone as best she could the minions and waiting instead for the man who had taken her captive, their leader, to make his move.

  He finally had done so, on this day, fetching her himself, leading her silently through a maze of chambers and corridors and many sets of stairs until they were out into the searing heat of the afternoon. She was blinded by the intense light and dizzied by the sudden inhalation of fresh air and high temperature. Her gloomy chamber with its tiniest of windows, affording her the barest of drafts, had its advantage in being cool by comparison.

  Blinking beneath the ferocity of the sun’s brightness, Ana was struck by the irony of her situation. Isn’t this what she had craved? Wasn’t the tantalizing lure of freedom a drug for her…something she had risked her life for in the past? And yet here she was, free from all palace constraints for the first time in more than a year of her young life, and she was trembling with fear as the mysterious Arafanz led her out onto the rooftop of his fortress.

  She felt the dry caress of the breathless desert heat kiss her grubbied skin whilst reminding her that it did not love her, did not love anyone. The desert’s treacherous welcome was one of death if you were naive or careless, as the royal party had surely been when Arafanz and his men had stormed their camp. She realized now that she had always been their target–Arafanz and his Razaqin had intended to abduct her; the killing and the humiliation of the royal party, and especially Spur Lazar, had been nothing more than sport. She remembered how many of Arafanz’s own men had died; from her recollection of that night, he had not so much as blinked in sympathy. Clearly this man was ruthless, so there would be no escape, not into this seemingly endless panorama of parched emptiness.

  It was as if he could read her thoughts. “Look out here, Ana,” he said in flawless Percherese, his free arm sweeping in a wide arc to encompass the wilderness stretching out before them. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “It is. The desert frightens many, but not me.”

  “That is because you belong to it.”

  Despite her anxiety she liked the sound of that sentiment. “I was born in the desert, the day of a Samazen, I’m told.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of your story. It wasn’t just any day, though, Ana. It was midsummer’s day. An auspicious day.”

  “Because of the superstitions surrounding it, you mean?”

  “They are not idle. It is the boundary of sunlight and shadow, when the night is no longer than
day. That is the day when powerful magics are rampant, can leak through one world into another.”

  She nodded, distant memories surfacing. “Where the sea meets the land it is most potent, I believe.”

  “The edge of worlds,” Arafanz said, his voice heavy with portent. Then his tone lightened and he swept a hand in a wide arc. “Isn’t this what you have hungered after for so long?”

  “I have craved freedom, this is true,” she said with care, tearing her gaze from the sweltering landscape to focus on the narrow, softly lined face of her captor. It was hard to tell his age behind that closely shorn beard, but a glance at his unblemished hands told her he was likely of an age with Lazar, perhaps slightly older. A bead of perspiration slipped down her back and she couldn’t be sure whether it was only the heat that provoked it. Fear was coursing through her.

  His gaze, dark and rarely still, briefly danced upon her before moving to another point over her shoulder, returning to her in an instant. “I give you this,” he said. “I have freed you from the entrapment of the corrupt royals and their debauched ways.”

  “But I am not free, sir,” she said. “I am as much your prisoner as I was of the palace.”

  “No one here will force you to lie down with a man.”

  “But you do oppose my will.”

  “I ask only your obedience.”

  “Then are you so different from Zar Boaz, sir? He asks nothing more from me.”

  Beneath the beard a smile ghosted across his surprisingly generous mouth and she was struck instantly by how that small gesture changed his intense expression from severe to almost welcoming…almost. “Perhaps not, except that I win absolute loyalty from those who surround me, unlike your precious Zar.”

  “He is not mine, although we are married. He belongs to his people and they are all loyal.”

  “To the death?”

  “Who can say until they face it?”

  Now the creases in his face deepened as genuine amusement touched his restless gaze. “Well done, Ana. That was truly the right answer. Come. I wish to show you something.” He walked her to the very edge of the rooftop and Ana looked down, not to the sand as she expected, but to another rocky roof below them. Twenty or so men were assembled in neat, silent rows. They wore the dark robes she remembered and, as before, she could not see their faces. “These are some of my loyal subjects,” Arafanz said.

  Ana remained quiet but felt a fresh tingle of fear climb up her spine.

  “I wish to demonstrate what true loyalty is,” Arafanz continued. “Choose one of these men, Ana.”

  “Why?” Her voice shook.

  He shrugged. “I want to explain something.”

  “Can you not simply tell me?”

  He gave a short laugh. “I was told you were clever with words.”

  Ana swallowed, hoping to steady her voice. “Forgive me, sir, I wish only to understand.”

  His eyes glittered now, their gaze finally resting upon her at length, turning into an intense, unsettling stare. “I want you to understand in a way only something visual can explain. Choose one of these men, Ana.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I cannot.”

  “Give me a reason.”

  Ana knew there was no rational explanation, for hers was an irrational fear. She gave an excuse instead. “I do not know them. I cannot even see them.”

  “Would it make it easier if you did or if you could look them in the eye?” Arafanz didn’t wait for her answer, immediately barking a harsh order in an ancient language that Ana recognized and that chilled her despite the heat.

  She watched the men instantly move at his command, waiting in awkward silence during the minute or so that it took before they emerged onto the same rooftop that she and Arafanz shared, arranging themselves once again in straight rows.

  “I will have them take off their headdresses.”

  “No. Do not.”

  “But you said–”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “I want you to choose a man,” he said smoothly, his tone untroubled by her lack of cooperation. “Walk toward one, pick one. He will thank you for it, I assure you.”

  Ana felt hope flare inside. She looked away from Arafanz to the gathered men, anonymous behind their head-to-toe robes. She moved hesitantly.

  “Take your time, walk amongst them. One will call to you for one reason or another,” he urged. “The choice is yours alone.”

  Did she hear cunning in his voice? It mattered not; she was on a path now from which she couldn’t step aside. If she refused, she was sure there would be recriminations–Salmeo had taught her this, if nothing else–and it was clear she was not in a position to deny Arafanz anything.

  She passed down two of the rows of men before a flash of brightness caught her notice, sunlight glinting off a curved blade at his hip as one of the men lifted his chin, shifted position at her approach. In that small movement he had drawn her attention, unwittingly committed himself to her.

  Ana stood before him, stared up into dark eyes that did not see her, would not look at her, and with a heart filled with dread, she raised her hand and laid it against his hard chest, hoping somehow to reach his heart through her touch. “I choose you,” she said, feeling faint with fright.

  “Return to my side, Ana,” Arafanz said, and she did as she was asked. He switched to the ancient language. “Are you prepared?” he said to the chosen one, his voice taking a more sonorous timbre.

  “I am, Master,” the man answered.

  “Show yourself, then!”

  The man emerged from the rows and peeled away the linens that covered his face and body. He undressed to billowy dark pants and soft boots. His hair was tied loosely back, accentuating a face whose youth was not very well disguised behind a sparse mustache. He displayed proudly his lean, hard body, burnished from the sun.

  He undid the scimitar from his side and handed it to Arafanz with a reverential bow. “What is your command?”

  “Do you see that blade, wedged between those rocks in the distance?”

  The man squinted slightly to pick out the weapon and Ana swallowed hard, her legs shaking as she, too, followed his line of sight to where Arafanz had pointed. She could see the blade winking at them ominously.

  “I do,” the man said.

  “Good. I wish you to impale yourself upon it.”

  “It is done, Master,” the man said, turning briefly toward Ana and bowing. “Thank you,” he said, before striding away across the rooftop from where the men had first come.

  “What?” Ana screamed, using the ancient tongue. “He’s to kill himself?”

  Arafanz did not look at her. “I am impressed that you understand. We shall discuss that later. Now watch, Ana.”

  “No! This is madness.” She ran to her captor, beat at his chest. “Stop this! You cannot do this.”

  Arafanz was unmoved. She could feel how strong and wiry he was beneath her fists. He turned to her. “As he said, it is done. And as I promised you, he knows only gratitude to you. Look.”

  Ana wheeled around, desperately wishing she could shield her eyes but knowing that respect was the least she could give this man she had chosen to give his life. She watched, nausea threatening to overwhelm her, as she saw the man running blindly at the blade, howling a war cry not dissimilar to a chant of prayer. His devotion to Arafanz became complete as he thrust himself as hard as he could at the vicious blade, its tip expertly parting flesh, bone, sinew, and organs in its cruel passage through his body, finally breaking through the skin of his once strong, flawlessly sculpted back.

  The man’s body halted against the boulders but it didn’t rest, trembling and twitching for an agonizing few moments until his brain accepted that his heart had stopped beating. The initial burst of blood slowed to a trickle, its stain already bright against the golden sand as the young man slumped forward.

  Ana choked back a sob. “What was his name?”

  “What does it matter?” Arafanz replie
d. “He is happy. He has gone to Glory.”

  “Glory?” The despair was still evident on her pale, unveiled face, despite her contemptuous tone. “Glory, did you say? I think not, Master.” Ana loaded his title with every ounce of derision she could pull together. “I think he has gone nowhere but to hell, on your orders. There he is, heaped against the unforgiving rock. You make a mockery of his young, beautiful life, whoever he was.” She was breathing hard and knew she must sound as if she were babbling.

  Calmly he turned to her. “He didn’t think so.”

  “How would you–”

  “Choose another!”

  Ana stared at him, mouth agape. She could feel a ringing in her ears and the blood pounding through her head. She glanced over at the corpse. The man’s helplessness–and courage in the face of it–reminded her of Lazar after his whipping and she felt rage rise within her, quashing her fear and steadying her nerves. She turned back to Arafanz. “No. I refuse you.”

  “Then you shall die.”

  Her courage intensified as she laughed at his threat. “Do it!” Ana had been prepared to die for many moons. The thought of it did not scare her. But even as she baited him, she knew in her heart that Arafanz had not brought her to this place, wreaked so much havoc, revealed himself to the royals and to Lazar, simply to kill her. He could have done that back at the camp–he could have killed them all.

  “I had heard you have spine.”

  “From whom?”

  “Someone I trust. Someone who walks the corridors of the Stone Palace but goes unnoticed.”