by Sharon Hinck
“No!” His voice was edged with panic. “Would you stop?” He swatted the girl’s hand away as she walked her fingers over his biceps.
She moved in closer. Really no more than a girl, all huge eyes and myriad black braids, she leaned in and gazed up at him. “Don’t send me away. The king would be displeased with me.” Behind the overt sensuality she’d been taught to portray, fear edged her words.
Kieran pushed her back. “Tell him whatever you want. But you can’t stay here.” There was definitely heightened color over his cheekbones.
Her eyes pooled with sudden tears, and Kieran scrambled around the common room table, adding more distance between them.
Amusing as Kieran’s discomfiture was, I took pity on them both and stepped into the room. “What’s your name?”
“Ria.” The girl spared a glance in my direction but returned to studying Kieran.
I put an arm around her and guided her to the couch. “Ria, you know that Kieran is here to teach your people.”
She nodded, finally pulling her attention away from him. I poured orberry juice from the pitcher on the low table and gave her the mug. She took a long drink, her hands shaking. “King Zarek is grateful. That’s why he sent me.”
Kieran made a strangled noise, but I ignored him.
“That was generous of him. But Zarek doesn’t understand the things the One asks of us. He asks His people to keep their bodies pure. To only give them to one person—and only in a life-bond of marriage.” An annoying blush warmed my face as I struggled to explain this while Kieran hovered in the background.
Her eyes widened. “But the hill-gods want us to give our bodies to them. It gives them power, and then they give us power. Or did. Until the king closed the shrines.”
Poor child. “Ria, were you working in the shrines?”
She shook her head and the narrow braids bounced around her face. “Not yet. My parents sold me to our shrine in Trezold, but when that closed, I was sent here.” She dropped her chin. “This is my first assignment. If I’m sent away, Bezreth will give me to the prison guards . . . or worse.”
Like a darting minnow, she slipped past me and threw herself at Kieran’s feet. “Please keep me.”
He choked and managed to free one leg, pulling back as she clung to his other ankle. “Let go. Look out for my bootknife.” He threw me a pleading look. “Do something.”
Now he wanted my help? Yesterday he’d told me he didn’t need strategic advice from an immature songkeeper.
Forgive me, Holy One. I’m supposed to humbly serve. As Kieran dragged a few steps back, bumping into a side table, giggles welled up in my throat.
Nolan bounded in the open apartment door. “Linette, one of the messengers asked—” He pulled up short. Kieran’s skin mottled, and he reached down to pry Ria off his leg. She clung like a stubborn strand of waterweed. Nolan’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “Who’s she?”
Laughter strangled me, but I covered it with a cough. “Her name is Ria. Your father is trying to explain the Verses to her.”
Nolan looked ready to comment, but Kieran shot us both an icy glare. “Enough.” The bite in his voice finally convinced Ria to release his leg, but she remained huddled on the floor, crying into her hands.
“Am I to presume we aren’t having our scheduled meeting?” Royan’s gravelly voice came from the doorway. My laughter died as he cast a withering sneer at the sobbing girl and Kieran’s red face. The songkeeper from Blue Knoll had criticized every aspect of Kieran’s work in the past seasons. Now he’d have more to complain about.
I hurried over to Ria and coaxed her up from the floor. “Shh. It’s all right. We’ll figure this out.”
Kieran raked a hand through his hair, leaving short black tufts standing on end. “Come in. I want the report on—”
“No.” Royan crossed his arms. “I fail to see any way that this is helping our goals here.” With a sniff, he turned on his heel and left.
I groaned.
Kieran looked ready to fling a dagger after the retreating man. “This gets better and better.”
“Really, who is she?” Nolan’s eyes lingered on Ria’s bare shoulders.
I angled her away from him. “A gift from Zarek.”
“A gift that we’re returning,” Kieran added quickly.
Nolan’s large, dark eyes gleamed. “If you don’t want her, can I have her?”
Kieran turned and grabbed Nolan by the scruff of the neck, jerking him toward the door. “Go tell Royan and Havid that we’ll meet tonight during supper. I need their report on their trip outside Sidian.”
Even with his father’s forceful shove, Nolan had trouble tearing himself away. Once he was out of sight, Kieran faced us. Shards of black obsidian glinted in his eyes. Ria shivered, but his glare targeted me. “Any ideas?”
“You can’t send her back. Who knows what would happen to her?”
“You’re not suggesting I keep her.”
“Of course not. I’ll take care of her.”
“Good. And keep her away from Nolan, too.” The tightness of his jaw eased. “Thank you.”
Of course he could relax now. His problem had just become my problem.
“I’m happy to help.” Tempted to storm off like Royan, I managed to cover my irritation with placid songkeeper sweetness, although the effort nearly strangled me. Don’t complain. It’s why you’re here. Songkeepers serve where they’re needed. No task too small. No task too large. Lukyan told you that a hundred times.
I forced a smile onto my face. “Come, Ria. You’ll be safe with me until Kieran can explain why he can’t accept the king’s gift.”
I settled the young palace girl in my rooms, then hurried back to help calm the waters with the other songkeepers. When I reached Kieran’s apartment, he and Nolan were sitting alone at the common room table. Nolan crumbled bread into piles on his plate while Kieran glared at a spot on the table. Tension pulled through the room like a rondalin string tuned too tightly.
I took a deep breath, trying to assess who needed help first. “Where are Royan and Havid?”
When Kieran didn’t answer, Nolan gave a sullen shrug. “They’re packing.”
“Again?” I pulled up a chair and sat across from Kieran. “They didn’t honestly think you were keeping a shrine girl here, did they?”
“Who knows what they think?” Kieran’s arm circled his ribs.
“Should I speak with them?”
“Let them leave. They’re miserable here.” He tilted his chair back and glowered at the ceiling. “And you should go back with them.”
A gasp caught in my lungs. He’d lost patience with me, too? Had I made too little progress in my work in Sidian? As much as I’d longed to leave with Tristan and Kendra, I wanted to make a difference here first. I glanced at Nolan, but he kept shredding pieces of bread and staring at his plate.
“No.” The word burst from my lips and surprised me.
Kieran lowered his chin and stared at me.
I met his eyes. “You might not believe me, but I’m seeing some results. And today King Zarek asked me to meet with him.”
His chair’s front legs crashed back to the floor. “What?”
A songkeeper wasn’t supposed to be smug, but Kieran wasn’t the only one doing some good in Hazor. “I’m getting good questions from the palace women and building friendships with the messengers.” I glanced to Nolan for support, and he nodded. “And tomorrow I’ll talk to the king—”
“Send him your apologies. Better send a messenger tonight. Make some excuse. A fever. Some sickness. You’re pale enough. He’ll believe it.”
I tugged the sleeves of my formal robe and folded my hands on the table. “Why would I do that? Zarek is hungry for truth.”
Kieran’s frown grew darker. “Zarek is hungry for a lot of things.”
I stood calmly. “May the One bless your house. Ask Him for favor as I meet with the king tomorrow.”
A string of curses followed me out the door. Good thing Royan and Havid weren’t in earshot.
Chapter
5
Susan
“What’s for supper?” Jon blitzed through the living room, threw himself into a clumsy pivot, and shoulder-checked himself against the wall. How could a ten-year-old make the whole house shake?
I set my fistful of silverware on the dining room table and shook my head. “Jon, not in the hou—”
His foot moved, and a soccer ball flew into the dining area toward my face.
I snatched the ball out of the air. Another second and Mark would have had to replace the glass china-cabinet door. Again. “Stir fry and brown rice. And take this outside.” I hefted the ball to toss it back to him, but the scrawled letters on it caught my eye. Jake. Jon was using Jake’s old soccer ball. My throat clogged.
Only a few years ago, Jake had been the grade-schooler charging through the house shouting questions about the dinner menu. Now he was so far away—
Don’t go there.
Kids grew up and left home. It was a normal part of life.
My daughter Karen’s messy room already sported new piles of college brochures, and even little Anne was too busy to snuggle when she got home from third grade each day.
Jon’s face, capped with a mop of hair, popped around the doorframe of the living room. “Why can’t we ever have cheeseburgers?”
I tossed him the ball and shook off my melancholy. “Stop complaining and call your sisters for supper. We need to eat early. My Bible study group is coming over tonight.”
I went back to setting the table. Five places at supper. Five blue-and-white plates. Six chairs. I tucked forks beside each plate and skirted the extra chair, pausing to rest my hand on the polished maple. What was Jake doing right now? Did he think of us often? Was he safe?
Friends talked about the adjustment they had made when their firstborn headed to college. But at least that was a normal adjustment. If only my pain were that simple. No one besides Mark knew our family’s secret.
Jake could be in real danger, and I had no way to find out. No way to send him a text of encouragement. No cell phone call that could reach him. Mark and I had agreed to wait one month. The month was almost up, and I stared at the calendar a dozen times a day.
“Hi, honey.” Mark’s arms circled me from behind.
I sagged backward into the secure warmth and swiveled my head for a quick kiss. “I didn’t hear you come in. How was your day?”
Mark nuzzled my neck. “Better now.” He turned me to face him. “How are you?”
His question wasn’t a casual formality. He was still worried about me. When I drove Jon to his soccer games, I’d stand in the shadow of the trees on the edge of the park, avoiding the carefree conversations of other moms. When I sat at the kitchen table to help Anne with her spelling, I’d feel her tug my sleeve minutes later and realize my mind had drifted again.
“Susan?”
I blinked. Mark’s grey-blue eyes studied me with concern. A few silver flecks shone in the blond waves of his hair. It had torn him apart when Medea and Cameron pulled me through the portal. I kept reassuring him I would heal, but frequent nightmares undermined my efforts to convince him.
I smoothed a curl at his temple and forced a smile. “I had a good day. Really. Where are you taking the kids tonight?”
“I thought we’d stop at the hardware store. We need washers for the bathroom sink again, and they have some linoleum on sale that might work for the basement.”
My lips twitched. “Jon and Anne will love that. What else are you doing?”
“Hey.” Mark stepped back and folded his arms, pretending to be affronted. “You know the faucet has been leaking again.”
“Yes, dear.” I sashayed back into the kitchen. “Any excuse to visit the hardware store.”
He charged after me and tickled me until I shrieked. I beat him off with a plastic serving spoon, laughing myself breathless.
“Are we eating or what?” Karen’s dry voice sounded from the doorway. “I’m supposed to be at work in an hour.” Slouching against the doorframe with sophisticated nonchalance, my daughter rolled her eyes, but couldn’t completely hide her affection.
We tumbled into chairs and joined hands for a brief prayer. Comfortable chaos burst out seconds later.
Anne piped up first. “Mommy, my guppy died. When can we get a new one?”
Jon’s voice overlapped hers, as it often did. “Dad, the coach wants to schedule an extra soccer tournament. I forgot to bring the papers home, but you have to sign them. Hey! Anne’s foot touched my chair. Tell her to stop.”
“Mom, you really should do something about them. They’re always fighting.” This from Karen, who refused to believe that she and Jake used to act the same way.
I poked at a piece of broccoli and smiled. Food disappeared, a glass of water spilled, Anne howled, Karen sighed. Mark tried to tell me about his day but wasn’t able to finish a sentence without interruption. I savored every second.
Months in Rhusican captivity had expanded my ability to appreciate the bits and pieces of average days.
Suffering crushed the very breath from the body, but somehow in the dust left behind, a space remained for gratitude—especially for the beauty of ordinary moments.
Soon the meal had been inhaled, and Karen helped me shove plates into the dishwasher. She closed the dishwasher door and sighed.
She seemed a little more withdrawn than usual, and I debated whether to ask about it. Approaching a teen was tricky. She might bite my head off, but, then, that was just another scar of motherhood to be worn cheerfully—like stretch marks.
“Sweetie, is anything bothering you?”
She turned away with a shrug, but didn’t leave the kitchen.
I waited.
“It’s lame. I don’t want it to bug me . . .”
“But?”
She faced me, dark brows drawn together. “Jake hasn’t called once since he left for college. And his texts are so short. I mean, I knew he’d be busy and all, but he promised to stay in touch . . . let me know what it’s like.”
Pain squeezed my heart. I’d been so worried about Jake that I hadn’t noticed the toll this was taking on Karen. Jon and Anne cheerfully accepted our explanation that a work-study opportunity had opened up and Jake had left early. When they groused about missing their chance to say good-bye, I distracted them with art projects to give him when he came home. But Karen . . .
“Honey, you mean the world to him. You know how guys are. He’s not the best communicator. And he’s probably so wrapped up in all the new things . . .”
The deceit had to stop. Mark kept Jake’s cell phone hidden in our bedroom closet. He thought answering an occasional text would keep Karen from undue curiosity, but this couldn’t continue.
She shrugged again. “Yeah. Gotta go. See ya later.”
“Let’s talk more when you get back from work.” I caught her for a quick hug.
She pulled back and grinned. “Right. Like you could be coherent after ten p.m.”
“Let’s go,” Mark called from the living room.
Everyone scrambled out the door just as my friend Janet pulled u
p in her mini-van. I always looked forward to our small group study, but tonight I felt desperate for the comfort I gleaned from my friends. I put a kettle of water on the stove while Janet unwrapped a plate of brownies. The doorbell rang and she hurried to let in the others.
“Denise can’t come,” Beth called from the living room. I carried in a tray of mugs and teabags as she tossed her jean jacket across one end of the couch. “Her kids have the flu.”
“They’re sick again?” Janet pushed some magazines aside and set out her plate.
Corina kicked off her shoes by the door and settled into her favorite chair. “We need to pray for her. She must be exhausted. They just got over strep.”
“It’s the back-to-school germ fest.” I ducked out to get the hot water and filled everyone’s mugs. Mingled scents triggered a series of vivid memories in my mind, like a movie trailer: holding a mug of clavo in Shamgar, braided spice trees in Lyric, the cloying smell of wintergreen in Rhus. I coaxed my attention back to the present.
After some animated minutes of catching up, we opened our study guides. We’d moved on from Deborah to study Gideon, Samson, and Ruth. Now we had reached Samuel and David.
Corina read the story of Goliath as we followed along in our Bibles. She grew starry-eyed as she looked up. “What I wouldn’t give to fight battles for God.”
I choked on a sip of tea. My thoughts swirled with images of tense battle plans, impossible odds, clashing swords, blood, and death. Not fantastical imaginings, but memories. Memories as vivid as the solid details of my scuffed furniture and stained rugs.
When faces turned my direction, I kept coughing and waved to the group to ignore me. I used to tell these friends anything, but now my secrets created an invisible wall of loneliness that closed me away and threatened to smother me. Is this what Mark had lived with all these years?
If I told them the truth, they’d call the men in white coats.
Come to think of it, heavy-duty psychiatric drugs held some appeal.
The discussion moved on, and I drew little boxes in the margin of my journal. My pen traced one square over and over until I poked through the paper.