Chapter Twenty-One:
She rode with Sidriel in his chariot back to the palace, the people cheering and throwing flowers. They acted like he was a returning conqueror. She supposed in a way he was.
When they entered the palace gates, both lord and laewin ran to greet the emperor. Marie watched him in awe. He commanded his people easily and with such confidence. Everyone clung to his every word. It was an amazing display of power.
“Lord Jeirin, please inform Lord Trinian of my return. He should come to Melei-Argalla to meet with me.”
“Yes, My Lord. Right away.”
“Undeliel, have Master Aurney report to the Academy to meet with Master Illeiön.”
“Of course, My Lord. It will be done immediately.”
Another man approached. And so it went for several minutes, servants and lords appearing to quiver before the emperor.
At last Sidriel turned to Marie. “My lady?” He offered his arm.
Marie took it, smiling weakly. She could feel the bands of muscle beneath his long purple robe.
Sidriel led her into the palace, but even inside they couldn’t escape the throngs of worshippers. Courtiers, advisors, and servants rushed to them from all over, greeting and praising Sidriel. Marie for her part remained largely unnoticed. The only people to acknowledge her presence were the young ladies of the court, who shot her looks of utter loathing. Marie was too anxious about her fate to pay them any attention. She didn’t kid herself: she was completely at the emperor’s mercy.
They entered a part of the palace that Marie, despite her wanderings, had never seen before. It was so opulent Marie didn’t even know how to describe it. It made the Visitors’ suite look like a rundown hostel. As they strode through it, the number of followers slowly decreased.
“Where are we?” Marie breathed, awed, gazing around with wide eyes.
Sidriel’s eyes flicked to her. “My wing of the palace. Few are allowed here.”
Of course. Who else could such luxury be for? They passed below a crystal and silver chandelier, and the last of the admirers slipped away, leaving Marie and Sidriel alone.
Marie’s heart fluttered. Her eyes flickered up to the emperor’s face repeatedly. He remained impassive, leading her in silence through twisting corridors and up elaborate staircases, empty except for sharp-eyed guards, who bowed deeply as he passed. What did he plan to do with her? Marie wondered. Why had he kept her alive?
At last Sidriel slowed, and Marie stumbled, already used to his quick, gliding pace. She tore her eyes away from his face and to the scene in front of her.
They had stopped in front of a smaller door, an intricately carved thing with strange green framing. The door had no handle, and when Marie saw this, she stared at Sidriel quizzically. He ignored her and fiddled with something on the doorframe. The door swung open.
Sidriel swept into the room, but Marie hovered outside, biting her lip. What did Sidriel have in mind for her? He stomach twisted. What did he want? Surely he had come up with some use for her; someone as clever as him always found a use for everything. But just what was that use? What if she didn’t like it? Her stomach lurched again. She hated being so completely at another’s mercy.
Sidriel reappeared in the doorway. “Come, Marie. We have much to discuss.”
He slipped inside again, and Marie lowered her eyes. He had said they were going to discuss things, hadn’t he? People usually didn’t discuss things with people they planned on killing or enslaving, did they? Her stomach settled a bit. At least she knew those two were unlikely options.
Still she hesitated, reluctant to follow Sidriel. At last, however, her curiosity overrode her fear, and with one nervous glance down the hallway, she stepped inside.
The room was long and low. The far wall opened into the gardens, and the scent of the late afternoon blossoms filled the air. The room was furnished to seat a large number of guests. Low, luxurious sofas were arranged in clumps, and a clump in the center of the room drew Marie’s attention. On a small dais, two scarlet daybeds sat opposite each other, a small table between them. It was beside these daybeds that Sidriel waited for her.
“Please, Marie. Sit.” He motioned to one of them.
Marie sat stiffly, nervously, folding her hands onto her lap, her thoughts whirring, her heart racing.
What does he want?
Sidriel sat across from her. His eyes did not leave her face. “Please relax, Marie. I mean you no harm. You will not meet the fate of your fellows.”
Marie swallowed. So many questions burned on her tongue, but she was too nervous to ask most of them. Barnabas’s deceit she had suspected; Max’s she had not. Naming Max Sidriel turned him into a stranger. At last she managed, “And what is the fate of my fellows? The ones at the camp?”
Sidriel smiled coolly. “They are being dealt with, but I warn you I will not be merciful. Many will be executed. Others will become slaves. Some will fight in the arena.” Marie’s thoughts flickered to Dustin. She felt a twinge of pity, but not much. He had betrayed her as well.
“How did you capture them all?”
Sidriel’s eyes flicked over her face thoughtfully. “There is a plant in this world whose leaves have unique properties. Those leaves, when burned, produce a sleep-inducing smoke. I sent someone to your camp to burn them.”
Marie blinked. “And…what happened to that person?”
Sidriel considered her, tilting his head to the side. “He is fine. I sent in agents with face coverings to retrieve your fellows; he was retrieved as well.”
Marie’s eyes fell to her lap. Her stomach twisted. Her hands knotted the cloth of her dress. She would rather talk about anything but this, but she had to know. “When you were my laewin,” she started haltingly, “you heard everything. Everything I thought.” Her cheeks burned. She had never felt so vulnerable. “You know more about me than anyone else.”
“Yes,” said Sidriel thoughtfully. “Probably so.”
Marie hated the indifference with which he said it. He had been privy to all her thoughts, fears, and frustrations, and all he said was “Yes. Probably so?” Her eyes snapped upwards and narrowed.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do not be angry with me, Marie. The reason you are still alive right now is because I know you so well. Since I was your laewin, I knew you knew nothing of the plans against me.”
Marie’s eyes darted away. Her anger transformed back into embarrassment. She was sure her face would never return to its normal shade. Sidriel the Clever had spent hours listening to her mindlessly prattle away about subjects like Rheidan, clothes, and Rheidan…She had never felt so stupid. “Didn’t you ever get bored?” she blurted out. “I mean, listening—I—” She fell silent. Her blush had probably traveled from her face to the rest of her limbs. She could barely look at Sidriel.
Sidriel tilted his head. “No,” he said thoughtfully. “I was never bored. You provided information about your world I probably would have never have thought to ask, information about social customs and commodities. You mentioned these things called movies and malls several times.” He smiled slightly. “But furthermore, you were an interesting person to listen to, Marie Nettleson, not only because of the information you provided but because of the way you view the world. I see from your expression that you must think your concerns inane, but they are not. You think in a way that is very different from the way most Maretzian women—or men, for that matter—think. You were fascinating to listen to.”
Marie eyed him uncertainly, unsure how to take that. She thought he meant it as a compliment.
“Were you upset when you found out it was me you’d be serving, instead of someone like Barnabas?”
“At first,” Sidriel conceded. “But I found it was not difficult to listen in on Barnabas’s conversations anyway, and you provided a greater insight into your world than Barnabas would have. I believe it turned out for the best.”
Marie thought about it. She acknowledged she was probably more interesting tha
n, say, Hannah. She had enough self-pride to recognize that. Still…
“How did you find out about everything?”
Sidriel considered her. “By eavesdropping I put together most of the plan. Did you notice that all the laewins in your suite looked similar? I am sure you did. You actually pay attention to slaves. I engineered that so I could occasionally change places with other laewins and listen in on the others’ conversations. None of your party paid much attention to us, so they never noticed the difference.” He smiled wryly. “But you, of course, would notice if I was not there to serve you, so I always had to respond to your call, which I had not expected. I had to train other spies so I could be kept up to date.
“But you also ended up helping me, Marie, when you returned to sneak into the suite. I stood outside Cristaña’s room long enough to have my suspicions confirmed. Even had you not been taken into the city, I would have acted last night.”
Marie stared at him for a moment. Then something clicked. “You understood what Pamela was telling me when she tied me up in the room. That’s how Rheidan knew to follow and rescue me.”
“Yes.”
“You can speak English.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you spied yourself. Because you knew our language and your normal spies did not.”
“Yes.”
Marie’s mind buzzed from the revelations. “But…how did you learn English?”
Sidriel smiled. “SpiritStar has been sending people into Maretzia for years, Marie. Almost all of them are loyal to the company, but there was one person who was sent here that was not, and he was more than happy to help me.” He leaned forward and pressed a lever on the table between them. A small bell chimed.
Sidriel leaned back. “I am curious,” he admitted, “as to how you will react to this.”
Marie eyed him warily. React to what? How many more ways could she be deceived?
“What do you mean?”
The door to the room swung open. Marie craned her head around.
She thought her heart had stopped beating.
The man who had entered was tall, haggard-looking, and dressed in long robes that fit loosely around his frame. His salt-and-pepper hair hung limply around his ears, and his pallid skin stretched tightly across hollow cheeks and a skinny, protruding nose. Honey-colored eyes found Marie’s.
Tears welled. She rose unsteadily. “Dad,” she choked.
“Marie,” her dad breathed.
“Dad!”
She flew across the room and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly he could crack her ribs. She buried her face into his shoulder. Though it had been years since she had last seen him, his scent was still familiar.
The two broke apart, and they stared at each other. Her father’s eyes drank in her features. The delight on his face made him seem ten years younger than he was.
“Dad,” she murmured disbelievingly, running a trembling hand along the side of his face. How could he be here?
“Marie,” he said happily. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“I’m so glad you’re alive! SpiritStar told me you were dead!”
“Ah, yes.” Her father rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, SpiritStar thought I was, but instead I was SpiritStar’s first successful transfer to this world. They didn’t know it at the time.” He grinned. “I landed here, in this very palace. Sidriel had me taught Maretzian, introduced to the culture here, and provided with a comfortable living space. In return I told him what he wanted to know about Earth.”
Marie both cried and laughed. She clung to her father, her emotions confused and chaotic, completely overwhelming. She peeked over her father’s shoulder at Sidriel. He had watched the whole exchange thoughtfully. “My father taught you English?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s another reason you spared me. Because of my father.”
“Yes.”
Marie looked back and forth between the two of them. She suddenly felt giddy. Her father was alive! “So what now?”
“What now, indeed?” murmured Sidriel thoughtfull. He stood and approached them. He looked between father and daughter carefully. “SpiritStar,” he said, “will not give up this world so easily. The promise of fortune is too great a temptation. It has been set back, and its leaders will be angry. They will recognize me as a threat now, I think.”
“But you have a plan?” asked Marie’s father sardonically.
Sidriel smiled coolly. “I always have a plan.”
Marie looked at him. “Do you have a plan for me?”
“Of course.”
Marie rested her arms against the balcony rail and stared down at the gardens below her. “After my mom died, my dad was devastated.” She swallowed thickly. “He and my mom had been inseparable, best friends when they were growing up. He started drinking. He would come home drunk almost every evening...or morning. One night—well, early morning—he was leaving a bar in this contraption called a car—remember when I told you about those? They’re like chariots, but bigger and more dangerous—and he crashed it. The car skidded off the street and slammed into this guy walking his dog. The man’s name was Erik Haff. The dog survived, but Erik died.”
Marie peeked up. Rheidan listened to her intently, his dark eyes fixed on her face. Her gaze fell back to the gardens.
“Back home, that’s a crime called manslaughter. He went to jail for it. He spent most of my childhood in jail. Grandmother raised me. She took me to visit him four times a year—on Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, and October 12th, his birthday, which are all special days back on Earth. He said those were his four favorite days.” Marie smiled sadly. “Then a few years ago, he was released from jail. He was home a month, looking for jobs. But parolees have a hard time getting well-paying jobs. Then SpiritStar came along. They offered him a job. The pay was good. He couldn’t refuse it, no matter how dangerous it was. I think he was thinking of me. When he went off…he sent seventy percent of his paycheck back to me and my grandmother. This lasted a year. Then he died, or so SpiritStar told us. In reality, I suppose, he had just been transported over here.”
She turned. Her eyes met Rheidan’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” she said. “It’s not something I’m comfortable talking about.”
Rheidan nodded. “I understand.” His hand cupped her face. He smiled sadly. “Families can be sensitive subjects.” He swallowed, his throat working. “Mine…”
Marie’s hand covered the hand on her cheek. “You don’t have to tell me, Rheidan. If you’re not comfortable with the idea of it yet, that’s fine.”
“I…” Rheidan closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you.” He opened his eyes again, glanced at the sunset, and sighed ruefully. “I have not been completely honest with you, Marie.”
Marie stomach twisted. Again? From Rheidan? She felt a sudden sinking feeling. What if he didn’t actually like her?
Seeing her expression, he smiled, amusement flashing across his features. “I have not deceive you the way others have, I assure you. The only thing I kept from you is that I was sent to you knowing who you were and where you came from.”
Marie nodded. She had guessed that.
“And that I can speak English.”
Marie stared at him, stunned. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You can speak English?” Her voice had a dangerous lilt to it.
He winced. “Yes,” he answered—in English. Seeing her murderous expression, he added quickly, “I would have told you, except it would have messed up everything, all of the emperor’s plans. The emperor forbade it.”
That, too, Marie could understand. It didn’t make her happy—in fact, she was resisting the urge to punch him—but she could understand. Jaw clenched, she nodded, her eyes at the level of his collarbone. She strained her memory. Had she said anything in English in front of him she hadn’t wanted him to understand? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps. She blushed.
Seeing h
er expression, Rheidan sighed. He leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back rather reluctantly, which made him smile. He ran his hand through her hair, and he gazed at her fondly. “I’ll go and let you stew about this. Terrah told me I’d best give you some time alone.” She nodded jerkily. Terrah was correct. He kissed her once on the forehead and backed away, leaving the room.
After he had gone, Marie slumped against the wall, her gaze wandering around her room. This one was just as beautiful as the last one, and she had another laewin, a young girl—“Her name,” Sidriel had told her pointedly “is Alatea”— who was, Marie quickly determined, truly blind, deaf, and mute. Marie had shouted and clapped and muttered a great variety of things intended to make her react, but the girl hadn’t budged. Marie suspected Sidriel wasn’t the type of person to pull the same trick twice, but still, she didn’t think she’d start blabbering away to this girl. Not in Maretzian, not in English, not even in pig Latin.
Marie’s eyes roved around and landed on a large wooden door in the corner, the door that led to her father’s room. She still couldn’t believe he was alive. She shook her head incredulously as she stepped out onto her balcony. He was alive.
She froze.
He was alive. After several years here!
Her heart raced. Her hand flew to her shoulder. She slid off her sleeve and tugged at the bandage with trembling fingers.
It wasn’t possible. There was no way.
But as the bandage slid of her shoulder, the cool night air tickled her, and her fingers slid across smooth skin. There wasn’t even a scratch. She had healed. She gazed around disbelievingly, bracing herself against the balcony rail.
She had healed. How?
Her mind buzzed. A memory surfaced from earlier that day…Sidriel clapping her on the shoulder, right where her wound had been, and telling her they’d talk later…
Her finger ran over the smooth skin. It wasn’t possible.
And yet…
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