by Unknown
Shadi grinned.
I flushed, embarrassed by her assumption, and ashamed, too, at having been so easily duped by Dieter in the first place. I summoned the words, practised them first in my head: He hexed me. He branded me to remind me of it, and he holds my life in thrall to his whim; but when I opened my mouth to speak them, no sound emerged.
‘Well?’ Roshi demanded.
He bound me with shadows, and holds my life hostage, I tried to say, but the words which emerged were, ‘He didn’t touch me. He left me alone.’
Shadi reached over to pat my hand, but I snatched it away, cutting short her pity.
He can kill me whenever he wants simply by erasing a single symbol branded on my forehead, I wanted to say, but, ‘We haven’t spent the night together since,’ came out instead.
I snapped my teeth shut on my damning words. It seemed Dieter’s hex not only held sway over the pulse of my life, but also controlled my tongue and blocked my words like a weir across a river.
Perhaps if I unbound my veil, I thought desperately, but my hands gripped each other until the knuckles seemed fused and I couldn’t pry them apart. I wanted to scream with the frustration of it, but my throat was still locked. The extent of Dieter’s trap threatened to overwhelm me.
How could I ever unlock the hex if I couldn’t find a way to speak of it?
FIFTEEN
I SPENT OUR remaining days with the Skythes in a haze of misery and frustration. Each anxious night huddled in Dieter’s tent robbed me of rest, and each day I walked by his side as we went among the Skythe tribe, building the foundations of an alliance. Here Dieter’s weapons were diplomacy and words, and he wielded them with skill, charming my mother’s people, forging friendships and shaping relations.
He had taken the Turholm and my throne through force and bloodshed, but he took my mother’s people with geniality and assurances. First he reinstated the agreement my father had made, ceding them the right to winter in Sueben lands in exchange for protection from the raiding of other Skythe tribes.
Then he went further. He promised them access to trade among the Turasi. He pledged military aid, and bolts of silk from the Ilthean empire, and steel spearheads from Turasi forges. In return he won the alliance he needed, the promise of Nilofen aid should he call.
And all the while I must hold silent. For no matter how hard I tried, the words which would damn Dieter and dissolve the alliance turned, like chameleons, into secrets I would never willingly speak aloud.
‘I wish for a life of anonymity,’ I confessed to Roshi when she fetched me one morning. ‘I want to be inconsequential. That’s true freedom.’
‘Pretend you’re a goatherder while you eat buapi’s eggs, then,’ she said, screwing her face up.
Our final day with the Nilofen drew on to a calm blue evening. To mark the alliance and bid us fair speed, they prepared us a feast. A great fire built midway between the two camps sent showers of sparks leaping for the stars before drifting downwind. Haunches of goat, marinated in a honey and nut glaze and stuffed with goat’s cheese, were wrapped in great mats of woven grass and buried over a bed of coals. The rich, tender scent released on opening the buried ovens was intoxicating.
Dieter presided over the feast with an easy grace, firelight casting a rosy flush on his cheeks. Frightened of what might slip from my mouth, I kept silent.
There were gifts, of course. Dieter presented the Nilofen with three pairs of magnificent foals from my stables. ‘They’re of Skythe stock, primarily,’ he glibly repeated what he’d learnt from me en route. ‘But we’ve bred a little of the Trakkan line into them, to increase their stamina.’
Briefly, I dared hope it would offend them. But the man led a charmed life, the Skythes’ deep bows indicating appreciation of such a kingly gift.
As well as gifting me my newfound cousin, Roshi, as a companion, the Skythes presented me with a half-dozen men to serve as my honour guard. They all wore a new symbol sewn to the lapels of their goatskin tunics: a spear-headed swan. Shadi must have copied the design from my necklace.
Hope flared bright, and I had to duck my head to hide it. For the first time since the nightmare that had begun at Aestival, I would be guarded by people loyal to me, not Dieter. These people wore my emblem.
‘You are our daughter,’ said Ardas, noting my happiness. ‘We send you back to your throne represented as such.’
Roshi drew my attention with a hand on my elbow. ‘Come,’ she said, leading me away from the thick of the feast.
On the far side of the bonfire, glimmering and dancing in the night-cloaked plains, torches mounted on staves driven into the ground marked out a circle. Shadi stood in its centre.
Memories that weren’t mine prompted me to bow to Shadi once I stepped into the circle.
‘Mother of my mother,’ I said, my voice firm, ‘I remember the days of your life.’
Torchlight cast a yellow gleam in her eyes, a sparkle which didn’t touch the depths of her gaze. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suspected as much. Beata was a woman of many talents.’
Over my shoulder she addressed Roshi. ‘Back to the feast with you, child. There’s time enough for your new duties on the morrow.’ She turned back to me. ‘You must be gentle with her, child. It is a great pain to her to leave.’
‘Let her stay, then,’ I said, an easy enough offer given my cousin’s moodiness and scornful words over the past days. ‘I don’t mind. I have maids aplenty back home.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Shadi. ‘The choice is made.’
‘If she doesn’t want to –’
‘Who said anything about not wanting? The girl asked to accompany you,’ said Shadi, dismissing the topic with a flutter of her fingers. ‘Come closer, child, we must get you ready. Tonight you will be Nilofen – if a somewhat wire-haired specimen.’
She had clothes for me, a slit-skirted dress of wool dyed a brilliant red. The bodice sported an elaborate pattern worked in beads, bones and claws. As she dressed me she explained the meaning of each, a complex interpretation of colour, placement and original owner.
The dress felt strange against my skin and cut off my air after Shadi cinched the goat-leather belt around my waist. My head swam with the familiar disorientation of a vision. The flames of the torches turned to spears, darting up and down, in and out, until I didn’t know which way was up.
Hoofbeats drummed in my ears and a herd of horses galloped at me from all directions. Tall and spare and gleaming in the stabbing torchlight, every horse in the herd bore a whip-thin serpent with bright green scales twined around its neck. The drumming built to a dazzling crescendo, clattering and bouncing around inside my skull, as the horses trampled my old clothes into the ground, then vanished in a cloud of dust which wouldn’t settle.
I drew in a shuddering breath as the spears of flame, the horses, the dust, all melted away and it was just me and Shadi, alone in a circle of torchlight.
‘Do they always take you by surprise, child?’ said the old woman, peering at me.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘A dizzy spell is all.’
‘Oh yes, a dizzy spell. Of course. Well, if the time comes when you need to deal with those, have Roshi bring you back to me. I will teach you.’
‘Buapi,’ I said, the Skythe word for grandmother familiar in my mouth now, as if I’d always used it, ‘was it you who worked the hex on Beata? The one to pour your memories into her head?’
She nodded. ‘Beata permitted it, of course. No one can enspell you against your will if you’ve the knowledge to stop it – which Beata had.’
Pity she hadn’t passed on that knowledge, I thought, then I wouldn’t have a brand on my brow or the voices of two old women in the back of my head, planted in the folds of my consciousness without my knowledge or consent.
‘Perhaps it’s the source of your dizzy spells,’ Shadi suggested slyly. ‘Beata’s gift, I mean. If you didn’t fight it, it might not hurt so.’
‘You don’t understand –’ I began.
‘I understand this much. You mustn’t fear. You’ve our blood in you, and you mustn’t smother it in your walls of stone. You don’t have to live on the plains to commune with the sky. Seek high ground, child, where walls can’t impede you. Then you’ll find your strength.’
‘I have no strength, not the way you’re talking about,’ I said, crossing my arms.
‘When you change your mind, come back and visit old Shadi again, eh?’ she said, then picked up a brush, its tip gleaming with ink, and gestured me closer.
Memories of my wedding night rooted my feet to the ground.
‘To finish the outfit, child,’ said Shadi, holding my wrist as she set to work on me.
The paint was cool, not warm like Dieter’s had been; a few swift strokes across my cheeks and Shadi was done, indicating her satisfaction with a curt nod.
‘Now, let’s back to the feasting,’ she said.
The remnants of fear still drummed through me with every quickened heartbeat. My feet dragged as I followed her, the noise of the feast growing with every step. By the time we’d made our way into the wash of light thrown out by the great fire, the noise was thrumming through the back of my head like a migraine.
The sight which greeted me did nothing to dispel my apprehension. The Skythemen who’d been gifted to me, my loyal kinsmen, sat in the midst of a throng of Dieter’s men, laughter and alcohol transcending any language barrier. Roshi was there too, as rowdy as any of the men, her smile brighter than the glow of the firelight on her cheeks. I should have known better than to think Dieter would leave me any advantage. It had taken him less than an hour to prise this newest gain from me.
The Skythes looked up at my return and immediately sent a volley of calls and cheers into the crisp night air, oblivious to the fact that the Turasi would not regard my new costume with the same enthusiasm.
Dieter hid his reaction behind quiet mockery. ‘Ah,’ he whispered, ‘the barbarian heiress.’
‘I think I shall retire for the night,’ I replied, taking my leave with a dip of my head.
Dieter laughed, his point scored. ‘I’ll see you shortly,’ he said, still keeping his voice low enough not to carry, though the glimmer of his gaze was unmistakable.
The nearby Skythes banged their fists on the ground and raised tumultuous cries as I walked away in my borrowed foreign finery.
To my surprise, Roshi climbed to her feet and followed me, weaving only slightly. My escort of Skythemen dutifully followed as well, their features suddenly sombre. I wondered how long it would be before their sense of duty fell before Dieter’s wiles. Tonight, however, it seemed they were still mine.
Changing direction on a sudden impulse, I headed for my tent instead of Dieter’s. Amalia looked up when I appeared, a cup halfway to her mouth. After taking in my appearance, her eyes flicked to Roshi, and to the shapes of my guard visible outside the tent. She made no move.
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to sleep elsewhere tonight, if my company is so odious.’
‘And leave you alone with your precious cousin?’ she sneered. ‘How long do you think Diet would allow that? It’s either me inside with you, or Mathis and Gunther. Take your pick.’
I held silent as Roshi measured Amalia with a long, calculating stare. ‘You’ve abandoned your headcloth,’ she said.
Scowling, Amalia snatched up her makeshift veil, then changed her mind. ‘So?’ she said, tossing it aside, though her voice couldn’t match her casual gesture. ‘Only Matilde is so modest she wears it even to sleep,’ she added, sending a vicious smile in my direction.
Tonight it couldn’t touch me. With Roshi between me and Amalia, and my Skythe guard outside, I finally slept.
SIXTEEN
YET AGAIN, I woke to anxiety.
Today we were to journey home. Bitter as the truth was, I feared it, dreading also the gadderen which would shortly follow. Time was short, and my resources were sparse.
Nothing in the journey allayed my fears. Dieter’s men constantly blocked my Skythe escort from me. The Skythes, however, seemed neither perturbed nor frustrated by it. It wasn’t long before they grew accustomed to the arrangement and stopped trying to jockey closer. Each night brought revelry – food and drink flowing around the campfires, Turasi and Skythe voices racketing across the land long into the night.
Roshi showed little inclination for my company, preferring the midnight festivities to our tent. Amalia had clearly been instructed to let me be, and she and I settled into a routine of ignoring each other.
I had never felt so alone.
On the third day we rode further south than necessary, stopping when the wooden walls of a holding greeted us. I sat clenched so tight in the saddle my horse skittered beneath me, sawing at the reins. Janek, the thane of this holding, had long been loyal to House Svanaten, but the ease with which Dieter sat his horse, and the smiling arrival of Janek, told me his loyalty had shifted.
Janek bowed to Dieter as he dismounted, then cast me a nervous glance.
Mindful of the lesson I’d learnt when I tried to reveal Dieter’s arcana to the Skythes, and weary of games I couldn’t win, I kept my mouth shut and ignored Janek’s welcoming patter. The temptation was strong, however. If I could only reveal Dieter’s use of the shadows, Janek’s loyalty would flip faster than a jackknifing hare.
First I had to free myself of the hex which bound my tongue.
As Dieter’s soldiers dismounted, they resolved into two distinct groups. The smaller group were clearly guests. They waited, reins in hand, to be informed of their billet.
The larger group tied their mounts to hitching rails with the ease of homecoming before greeting the women and children who rushed towards them.
‘It’s fortunate you won me the Skythes as allies,’ murmured Dieter, taking my elbow and smiling down at me. ‘Now I can release these men back to their homes for a spell. Between you and me, they were getting a touch fractious.’
My answering smile was a sickly, pale creature with roots reaching all the way down to my tight-knotted stomach. We continued on, Janek still babbling away, this time about the meal he’d prepared. ‘You’ll find some of the sauces familiar,’ he said, turning to me with an ingratiating smile, ‘since the Turholm’s chief cook is the daughter of one of my thralls.’
‘You mean Leise?’ I asked.
He nodded. What was it Leise had said? My family were wiped out by your mother’s people. Do you see me wailing over it?
‘I know that look, Matte,’ Dieter said. ‘You’re puzzling again. What is it this time? You always notice meaning in such small details.’
‘Sometimes, Dieter, I think you’re the only totally honest person I know,’ I said.
Surprise wiped the humour from his face. ‘That could almost be a compliment.’
‘Let’s just say I’m reassessing the value of frankness,’ I said.
Dieter laughed. It wasn’t his usual mocking tone but a clean, hearty sound.
With Dieter on one side and Amalia on the other, I sat down at the table of a man who’d pledged loyalty to my House yet given aid to overthrow it. The thought was enough to make my head spin and I sprang back up, the legs of my chair scraping on the stone floor. Conversation stilled as faces turned my way, though Amalia kept her nose buried in her cup.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I said, a quaver in my voice. ‘I need fresh air.’
‘Of course,’ said Dieter and summoned Mathis and Gunther to escort me.
Once out of the room I picked up my skirts and ran back through the corridors until I burst out into the courtyard. Twilight had turned it into a place of purple shadows and secret breezes. Despite the breadth of space, it seemed too narrow, closing in on me until I couldn’t draw breath.
Seek the high places, Shadi had said.
My eyes snagged on a watchtower in the centre of the western wall. Squat and blocky, it was still the highest structure in the holding. A plain, iron-bound oak door opened into the tower’s base, stairs looming d
ark behind it. They stretched endlessly ahead of me, winding up and around, step after step, so that climbing them was like a mantra, lulling me into a daze. But when I reached the top and crept out onto the turret beneath the open sky, a brisk wind slapped my face, waking me with a start.
It was then that I glimpsed Roshi, perched in an embrasure as if falling couldn’t hurt, leaning out over the depths like some awkward, wingless heron.
Mathis and Gunther ground to a halt behind me. I made a gesture of dismissal and they retreated back into the shelter of the stairway. After all, I couldn’t escape, and Roshi they judged no threat either, since my mother’s people had clearly shown their preference for Dieter.
Stepping up to the battlements, I rested my palms on the cool, gritty stone. Below and behind me lay the sprawling, random slopes of the holding’s roofs. In front of me, sharply demarcated by the thick battlement wall, the silent plains stretched into the darkness. Janek’s farmers must have had permission to pasture their herds on those grounds, for more than a single flock of sheep milled around the tower’s base.
I pulled the collar of my gown tighter, and looked up at the sky until the sensation of swaying threatened to topple me; only my palms on the wall keeping me steady. Roshi didn’t turn or speak, and silence stretched between us.
The stars had started coming out when Roshi finally said, ‘You do not like your husband?’
For some reason, I remembered the intensity of his gaze and the softness of his callused touch as he’d scrutinised my wounded throat. His reason for wanting me alive: simple prudence.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t like him.’
‘You hesitated.’
‘I respect his power,’ I said, touching the scab on my throat, still raw and prone to cracking if I turned my head too sharply. ‘Why does it matter?’
‘A woman should like her husband.’
‘Whether or not you understand my reasons has no bearing on their validity.’