Marshall caught his friend’s eye, nodded in greeting, and spoke to him, magically. Is all well?
As well as can be expected in this hole of death.
“Get my office in order before I return,” Grik commanded.
“Yes, sir,” Jerrett said.
“Drive,” Cark ordered.
“Sir? Your destination?” Marshall asked.
“There is no destination. Just drive.”
With a flick of his whip in the air, the Oathtaker urged the horses forward, directing them to a roadway leading out of the camp.
“I suppose you’ve heard about his intended visit,” Cark said.
“He’s coming here?” The report clearly pleased Grik.
“Yes, to dedicate the newest addition to my estate when it’s complete.” Cark chuckled. “Brilliant. What a brilliant plan.”
His fellow officer laughed along.
“You’ll recall he didn’t initially take to my idea, but I think he’s come around. I’ve convinced him that it’ll give us added authority over the men.”
“Nothing like control of the women to control the men,” Grik said with what sounded distinctly like a giggle.
“You’re such pigs,” Chaya said out of nowhere.
Marshall visibly jumped at the sound of Cark slapping her—hard.
“Shut up,” he ordered.
She did not cry out. A moment later, she spoke again. “Such a big man you are.”
The sounds of another blow sounded out.
Why does she taunt him? Marshall wished he could stop the coach and show both men what he thought of them, but instead, he ground his teeth to keep silent.
“Really, I might stay silent if you hadn’t already proven to me that there’s no difference in how you treat me whether I speak or not.”
Marshall longed to look back to watch the exchange, but dared not.
“Watch out,” Cark warned.
“Or what? You’ll beat me?” She laughed, though there was no mirth in the sound. “Again?”
He leaned toward her. “Maybe I won’t beat you. Maybe I’ll just kill you the next time.”
“Promises. Promises.” She cleared her throat. “The truth is, you can’t afford to.”
“Or maybe I’ll just sell you. No, I know—I’ll offer your services to the highest bidder. Maybe we’ll start with Grik here.”
His companion said nothing.
As Marshall turned at the next crossroad, he snuck a peek behind, but he couldn’t see Chaya’s face well enough through the shroud she wore.
They traveled for several more minutes in silence.
“Stop here,” Cark suddenly ordered.
The Oathtaker pulled the wagon to the side of the road where he stopped at the edge of a prairie. Then the men lumbered down.
“Stay here,” Cark ordered. “We’ll be a while.” He started off, then turned back. “Oh, and I advise you to ignore her,” he said, motioning toward his wife.
Marshall watched the men walk into the meadow. He surmised that Cark chose this spot so that he could go a distance to speak privately with Grik while still keeping an eye on Chaya. Fortunately, it also meant that Marshall could keep watch on the men. Unfortunately, they stood too far away for him to pick anything up from their conversation, despite his attendant magic that enhanced his ability to hear things from long distances.
When certain they were sufficiently far away, he spoke. “Why do you challenge him as you do?” Glancing in Chaya’s direction, he discovered that she’d pulled her shroud from her face. On sight of her, he froze. But for the massive bruise on one side of her face, she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. Her ebony hair, cut short around her ears and at the nape of her neck, glistened. Her butterscotch skin shone. But it was her eyes, the color of a bluebird, that when she turned his way, took his breath away. They seemed to spring out from their surrounding darkness, catching him by surprise.
“I figure if you know about Sinespe, then perhaps I’m safe in your presence,” she said. “Besides, I’ve watched you over the past weeks. Whatever else you say, one thing is clear: you are not one of them. Not really.”
He stared.
“Mansur?”
He said nothing.
“Your name is Mansur. Right?”
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Still, he seemed drawn to those eyes, to the sound of her voice. “Yes,” he finally admitted.
“It’s nice to feel the sun on my face. It’s a luxury I don’t often get.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”
“Mrs. Cark,” he corrected himself.
“Gracious, that’s even worse. Please, call me ‘Chaya.’ Nothing but ‘Chaya.’”
“Chaya, then,” he whispered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?” Following his gaze, she ran her hand over the bruise on the side of her face. “Horrible, isn’t it?”
He tore his eyes away, then momentarily glanced Cark’s way. “Sorry. No, nothing’s wrong. And yes—it is horrible. The bruise, I mean.” Once again, he glanced at her.
Her eyes closed, she tipped her face up. “The days are cooling, but the sun is still warm.”
He said nothing.
She opened her eyes.
“Why do you do that? Why do you taunt him?” Marshall repeated his earlier question.
“Who? Cark?” She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not as if it makes any difference. To him, I’m just something to punch.”
“But how— Why—”
“How did I end up with him?” she interrupted. “Why does he treat me as he does?”
“Well . . . yes.”
She looked toward her husband. He and Grik stood, deep in conversation. Noticing that Marshall also gazed at the men, she said, “They go out like that to make sure no one can overhear them.”
He nodded. “So, you were saying?”
“You asked how I ended up with Cark.”
“Yes. How could that have happened?”
“Why, my parents sold me, of course.”
“Sold you!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now I’m sure of it. You’re not even a Chiranian, are you?”
He raised a brow. “Why do you say that?”
“Because if you were, you’d not be surprised. It’s common practice here.”
“For people to sell their children?”
“Not their children, Mansur. Their daughters.” She shivered as a cool breeze passed. “They’ll likely be a while. That’ll give me time to explain things. Maybe next time you can tell me how you—a non-Chiranian—ended up here . . . and in Zarek’s guard.”
“Next time?”
She grinned. “Occasionally, I need to get out. That’s when I remind him,” she gestured her husband’s way, “that everyone has to sleep sometime.”
“Ma’am?”
“Chaya.”
“Yes. Sorry. Chaya. What does that mean?”
“It’s simple, really. Cark doesn’t fear me for my size, but there are other ways to . . . take a life. It would be easiest for me to do so when he’s unaware of his surroundings. So, I remind him from time to time, that even he requires sleep.”
The Oathtaker grinned. The woman was either incredibly brave, or shockingly foolish. “You were saying?”
“Oh yes, about my parents selling me.” She sucked in a long, deep breath.
Moments later, Marshall lost himself in the sound of her voice.
“My parents were people of power and influence in Chiran for many years. They chose to remain childless. It wasn’t like my mother couldn’t get pregnant or carry a child to term. She simply didn’t want children, so she did whatever she could to avoid the possibility, and I believe she aborted one or more children before she became pregnant with me. By then, she was nearing the time when having a child would no longer have been an option—or a curse—or whatever it was she thought it might be.”
She closed
her eyes. When she reopened them, she met the Oathtaker’s gaze. “Over the years, my parents assisted Zarek in his plans for Chiran—in his plans to expand Chiranian influence in the world. As you no doubt know, the emperor . . . Well, he doesn’t think anyone should live anywhere unless they live in the manner he desires.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wants to control everyone and everything. And to help, he’s created a common enemy for his people—an enemy on which he can blame anything that goes wrong in Chiran.”
“What’s that?”
“Oosa.”
Marshall flinched.
She smiled, slowly. “I thought as much.”
“What?”
“You’re not Chiranian. You’re Oosian.”
“Why do you say that?” Chaya’s eyes mesmerized him. He fought to lift his gaze from them.
She smiled, and when she did, her eyes lit up. “Just by looking at you. You’re different. You speak differently. You hold yourself differently. You remind me . . .” She bit her lip. “You remind me of my childhood nanny.”
“Your nanny! I must admit that I didn’t expect that.”
She laughed lightly, the sound soothing, like wind chimes tinkling in the breeze. “My nanny was Oosian. She was . . . different. She held herself as one who knows her place in the world—her worth. She taught me a great deal.” Chaya closed her eyes. “But she wasn’t able to get me out of Chiran before it was too late.”
“Too late?”
She sat back, seemingly lost in thought. “Like I said, my mother carried me in her later years. She’d been on a mission for Zarek when she got pregnant. For some reason, she didn’t recognize the signs until she was so far along that terminating her pregnancy would endanger her own life. And come what may, she would not do that.” Chaya sat quietly for a moment.
“When I was born, I’m told that my mother was distraught. She’d hoped that at least she’d have born a boy. But when that wish was not met, she came up with an incredible idea—one so good, she eventually created a business around it. Zarek, impressed with her foresight, moved her up even further in the ranks of his advisors. In Chiran, few women fill such roles at all. Those who do are, like my mother, ruthless . . . heartless.”
Marshall glanced out at Cark and Grik, who remained engaged in an animated discussion. Arm gestures flew between the two. He turned back.
“Did I mention that my mother’s name is ‘Tanith’? It means ‘snake lady.’” Chaya frowned. “I guess her parents named her well, anyway.”
“What was this idea of hers?”
“On the day I was born, my mother decided she’d have as little as possible to do with me. She arranged for my nanny, Ophelie, to raise me. Of course I lived in my parent’s home, but I rarely saw either of them. Ophelie was responsible for my every need.”
“What of your father?”
“My father?” Chaya shook her head. “Huh . . . My father was rarely home, and when he was there, he avoided me. The truth is—I’m not sure if I’d even recognize him if I saw him today.”
The Oathtaker’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Tell me more.”
“I remember the first time I learned of Tanith’s plans for me.”
“You call her by her first name?”
The question seemed to shock Chaya. “I only ever called her ‘mother’ once.” She went silent, lost in thought.
“Go on,” he finally urged.
“Oh, where was I? Oh, yes. When I first learned of my mother’s plans for me, I was probably about . . . five, or six, maybe. She came into my nursery to inquire of Ophelie why a local physician charged her for services rendered on my behalf. Ophelie explained to my mother that while she was away, I’d taken ill. Tanith was furious. Do you want to know what she said?”
He nodded.
“She told Ophelie that the physician’s charges were, as expected, twice what they’d have been if I’d been a boy. She said, ‘Ophelie, you must use care. I don’t know what price she’ll bring in the future, and now there are further expenses to recoup.’”
Marshall said nothing.
“Ophelie was distraught—practically inconsolable. I remember that she held me and cried. Over and over again, she said she’d do what she could to keep me safe, to get me out of Chiran and to Oosa before Tanith could sell me.” She dropped her head into her hands. A moment later she lifted her haunting bluebird eyes back up at him. “From that day, I was frightened nearly to death any time Ophelie left my side for anything, or if she took ill.”
“But she didn’t get you out of Chiran.”
Tears welled in Chaya’s eyes. She wiped them away brusquely with the back of her hand. “No, she didn’t. She taught me everything she knew about Oosa and about freedom—the freedom to think your own thoughts, speak your own mind, come and go as you please, enjoy the fruits of your own labor—” She stopped short.
“What?” he urged, sensing there was more.
She smirked, though the expression portrayed only sadness. “She taught me about Ehyeh, the Good One.”
He bit his lip. He knew he risked a great deal, but found he couldn’t help himself. “Freedom is a great thing.”
“Freedom is the only thing.” She glanced her husband’s way. He, still deep in conversation, hadn’t moved. She turned back and looked Marshall in the eye. “And I intend to experience it one day, no matter what I have to do, or I swear . . . I will die trying.”
“I understand.” He pulled back, stretched his shoulders, then leaned forward and tied the reins to a hook at the front of the wagon as the horses skittered. “Why didn’t Ophelie get you out of Chiran?” he finally asked.
She breathed in deeply. “One day,” she began, and then her memories, her story, fully engrossed her thoughts—and his attention.
Chapter Eleven
Chaya’s heart hammered. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and her palms grew sweaty. “What do you mean Ophelie’s not here?” Her caretaker had intended to run with her before the special event Tanith planned for Chaya’s sixteenth birthday, though she’d needed time away to put the last of her plans in place. But now, the day had arrived, and she’d not returned.
“I said, ‘Ophelie is not here,’” Tanith repeated, “and you should not expect her any time soon.” She threw a towel at her daughter. “Come on now, let’s go.”
Breathing in short gasps, Chaya caught the towel. “Where are we going?”
Her mother stood at the door, her hand on the knob. Though petite of build, her presence filled the room. She wore her raven hair pulled up tight, revealing a deep widow’s peak. Her features appeared pinched.
Chaya shuddered, thinking about how she’d never seen the woman smile, nor heard her laugh.
“You ask too many questions.” Tanith’s eyes glared. “I should beat you,” she said, as though in afterthought. Then she cracked a wicked smile. “But I guess it’s your lucky day. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination just now. We’ve things to do.” She opened the door and then stepped out.
Fighting back her tears, Chaya followed.
They walked down the dark wood-paneled hallway. Candles on the sconces, flickered. Shadows danced on the walls.
Tanith approached the door to her personal maid’s quarters. “Sabra!” she called as she marched in, unannounced.
“Ma’am?” The woman, sitting at her desk, looked up.
Chaya hated Sabra, who acted as an emotional appendage to Tanith. If her mother was in a foul mood—which was nearly always—so too was Sabra. A petty woman, not above using her close relationship to Tanith to get her way when she dealt with others, the woman exuded wickedness.
“It’s time. I’ve ordered Yemina to send a bath here immediately. Bisma will see to her hair and Cenka to the other details.”
“I understand, madam.”
“She’s in your care now. You’ve got until dinnertime.”
“And Ophel
ie has her assignment?” Sabra asked.
“Ophelie will not— Ophelie’s been sent away,” Tanith said, disdainfully.
Chaya gasped. “Sent away!”
Tanith turned her way, her lips set in a hard line, her nostrils flaring. “You do as you’re told. If Sabra or the others have any problem with you, you’ll answer to me,” she said, pointing to herself. She turned her attention back to her maid. “See to it!” she ordered, and then, she left.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“Ma’am?”
“Everything off. Hurry! We haven’t much time.”
As Chaya undressed, a knock came at the door.
“It’s Yemina,” a voice called out, “here with the bath.”
How Chaya withstood the next hours, she could never recall. Her only connection to anyone who’d ever looked after her, who’d ever cared for her, was gone. What had Tanith done to Ophelie? And why now, when Ophelie had been so close to taking her away?
Willing herself not to cry, she withstood her handlers.
Sabra bathed her, none too gently, scrubbing at her skin until it went pink, then washing her hair. After brusquely wiping her dry with a rough towel, the maid massaged into Chaya’s skin, a spicy perfumed lotion. Its intense scent left her head reeling. Then she slipped a robe over her, just as Bisma arrived.
Chaya hugged the covering close to herself. She felt violated and vulnerable in her state of near undress.
Bisma ordered her to be seated, then commenced combing tangles from her hair.
“Ouch!” she cried when the comb stuck in a nest of tangles. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
The woman scowled. “It’s none of your concern,” she scolded.
After she’d removed all of the tangles, Bisma crafted numerous braids in Chaya’s hair, then pulled it all up on her head and clipped it in place. A few short dark strands fell forward. Bisma trimmed them neatly to frame her face, then turned the young woman over to Cenka’s ministrations.
Cenka applied a smoky shadow to Chaya’s eyelids and a wide liner at the base of her lashes. Then she brightened her cheeks with a bit of rouge. Finally, she applied a cream to her lips that made them glisten. When through, she stood back to look.
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