The Well of Prayers

by Anne Boles Levy

  “I’ve always gotten under your skin,” I said. “From that time you looted our home, even.”

  “I was under orders. And as I recall, I nearly cut you down where you stood.”

  “Empty threats,” I said with a shrug. “You like it when I make you angry.”

  “I hate it when you make me angry.”

  “But I can make you angry. I bet most women can’t say that.”

  He threw up his hands in mock despair. “This is your idea of friendship?”

  “Are we being honest? Neither of us is the cuddly sort. I think this works.”

  “No sooner do I figure out where I stand with you, then you change the rules on me.” He looked genuinely irritated. “You should worry about how that seems.”

  “You nearly died, and I was there to see it,” I said. “Do you know how that seemed to me? Like I was going to lose the one person in the whole Temple of Doubt who mattered to me.”

  The lumpy bit that all men have on their throats—the textbook called it a laryngeal prominence—rose and fell several times. Hard.

  Then he reached over and fingered a stray curl that had fallen loose from my head wrap. He twirled it absently while staring into my eyes. I didn’t shy away at the gesture, though probably there was some rule saying I should.

  “I know what you did for me,” he said. “I remember everything.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “You held my hand, you stayed with me.”

  “I was losing you. Other Feroxi didn’t make it.” I bit my trembling lip.

  “Then maybe it was the human half of me that proved too stubborn to die.”

  I punched his sleeve, even though I felt like crying. “You! We shouldn’t be friends. You raided my home. You dragged me to a gallows. You stabbed my neighbor! You’re everything I ought to fear.”

  “I know. I am all of those things. And I get under your skin.” It was his turn.

  “What? No. Of course not,” I lied. “Not usually. Just … sometimes.”

  “Often.”

  “Never.”

  “Always.”

  “Are we haggling? You’re impossible.”

  He stood and held out a hand to help me up, which I took.

  “I have what I came for, I think,” he said.

  “And what’s that? Bringing me to the point of utter confusion?”

  “No, I came seeking clarity. I have it now.”

  “And what’s so clear?”

  “We’re friends, Hadara. I have a lot of comrades, buddies, mates, whatever you wish to call them. But I don’t have many friends. You don’t see the prince, you see me. Me! And that makes me happy. If our fates would let us have more, I would go to your father right now. But this is what we can have, and it’ll have to do.”

  Anything I could’ve said just then fell back into the lump in my throat. I gave his hand a short squeeze but didn’t drop it, my eyes welling. He wanted more. I wanted more. And yet we’d gone as far as we could without angering our families. If I could see him just one more time, and make my plan work, if I could somehow pull this little act of disobedience off, I could settle for friendship. Couldn’t I?

  We walked the short distance back to my gate, hand in hand, whispering with our heads close. I told him when and where to meet me later, much later, but not why. He was on full alert, not for any danger, but for every word I spoke, every movement of my lips or eyelids, the crook of my head, the lifting of my chin. His eyes followed all of it, as if he were mentally mapping my face and its contours.

  My plan was the worst idea ever. I’d made it on the fly while distracted by Valeo’s regal self. My plan relied on a constellation of events aligning perfectly: my parents being asleep at their usual time, Valeo being in place, and nothing going wrong, which never happened. Once I had whatever I needed from the warehouse … and … and … oh my.

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. I had yet another someone to talk to— another to goad and coax and cajole and likely argue with—who was also vital to all this. Bugsy. The Gek had a role to play, and a rather large one, come to think of it. Because if I got what I thought I needed—some sort of record, a ledger book, a stack of papers, something—then how to get it all back out? Oh, there were too many pieces of this plan!

  And my hand felt so right in his.

  Stay on the path, Hadara. It wasn’t the certain path—more like the crazy path. Starting something was tough. I’d never planned anything other than dinner before, and my brain was reeling.

  But other people were dying for Nihil, and Nihil was a demon, and as long as those things were possibly true, nothing I tried could be worse than doing nothing.

  He walked with such deliberate slowness, my only thought was the appointed time would arrive before I walked the short block home.

  “I’ll be there early,” he said. “Just in case.”

  I forced myself to stay put and not jump around with glee. I kept my voice to a murmur, reminding him of the details I’d only just invented. Valeo’s expression didn’t change from one of studied concentration.

  When I finished, he leaned in close. I jerked my head back in case he decided to kiss me. “My father’s inside.”

  “You’re in no danger,” he said. Then his voice dropped low, almost to a growl. “Golden eyes.”

  I tensed. I remembered the last time he’d called me that—in his delirium.

  “Golden eyes,” he said again. “The face scores of men saw in their visions.”

  I didn’t feel terribly flattered to know that. After all, their visions had been nightmares. “You’ll come alone?”

  Valeo nodded again and dropped my hand, which felt endlessly empty now. He backed away and gave a slow, sweet chest-thump, as if he were saluting me very, very politely, and turned down the dusky alley.

  14

  A nestling never forgets the smell of home.

  —Gek saying

  “Look out!”

  I dodged in time before a wooden bowl dropped on me. I looked up to see Bugsy stuck to our ceiling, cradling a dozen kitchen utensils. She was flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. She was also flinging things. A mixing spoon nearly clipped Mami’s forehead. Mami had been the one to shout the warning.

  Behind Mami, Amaniel and Rishi sought cover behind a divan. Rishi had a pillow over her head.

  At least I didn’t have to explain where I’d been, or with whom.

  “Dare I ask what’s going on?” I said, ducking a ladle.

  “You ask her!” Mami said. “She won’t talk to any of us.”

  “Where’s Babba?”

  “He’s barricaded himself in the cupboard so she can’t reload. At least she’s down to utensils now. We’ve lost a few urns. “

  I stared around our sitting room, littered as it was with spoons, bowls, a frying pan, pottery shards, even a broken glass or two.

  Ouch!

  A soup spoon hit the back of my head.

  “She won’t say what’s wrong?”

  “Like I said, daughter, she’s not speaking. Her hands have been full of missiles, mind you, so there’s not much in the way of signals happening. You’re welcome to try.”

  I shooed everyone from the room. Bugsy skittered across the stucco ceiling to a far corner and hissed at me.

  I signaled back. “Is there something I can get you?”

  “HOME,” she howled. It came out sounding more like a mash cat than a lizard.

  Ah. Yes. Well, she’d been with us since mid-summer, and it was early autumn outside. I’d be homesick, too.

  I signaled back. “Why now? Yesterday, you were fine.”

  “Yesterday, I didn’t smell them.”

  “Smell who?” I sniffed several corners of the room, but all I smelled was oily wood polish.

  Bugsy dropped to the floor, turned a rainbow set of colors, all clashing and mismatched, and cowered behind a floor cushion.

  “Smell who?” I repeated. “Is there something dead in the house?
Or outside?”

  “No! It is best you don’t know.”

  “Best for whom?”

  “Best.” She scrambled up the wall and across the ceiling again. “You have to let me go.”

  “We let you go every day. You yourself do not wish to pass our gate.”

  “You have to come with me.”

  “Come where? And why?”

  “You’re the undoer. You have to undo.”

  Undoer again. Did she speak with S’ami? No, that was impossible.

  I picked up the ladle. I waggled it in her direction instead of replying. Maybe she’d understand my extreme annoyance. I wasn’t the undoer, not for Bugsy, not for the Azwan. I was a good girl from a pious home with an important apprenticeship. I was no longer the girl who followed her beautiful rebel of a mother out into the wilds. Mami was no longer a beautiful rebel. She was a loyal wife and seemed fine with it. Rebellion for anyone in our family was out of the question.

  Undoer. Never!

  Even if Nihil wasn’t a god, I wasn’t one either. I had one simple—alright, complicated—plan to put in place and then I was done interfering with the Temple of Doubt and its wicked god. And to make it all happen, I needed this half-grown lizard-child to stop throwing things at me. I had some haggling to do, apparently.

  It took time. A long time. I’d already slid all the doors closed, but I didn’t know how long before someone got too curious or simply wanted the sitting room back. I must’ve been struggling with a weepy, croaky, hissing Bugsy for a full turn. At last, we seemed to have come to an understanding. She’d clambered down and crouched beside me as I sat cross-legged on a cushion. I reached over to stroke her head.

  Bam! Bang! Clangety clang!

  I jumped.

  Bugsy fled.

  A metal spoon pounded against a copper pot. Babba burst through the door, using the pot as a drum, sending Bugsy scurrying up the wall, out the open door, and to some faraway corner of the house—all in the time it takes to blink.

  “What by all three moons are you doing?” I shouted, fingers plugging my ears.

  “Rescuing you,” he said. “She didn’t bite you or anything?”

  I rolled my eyes. Of all the idiotic ideas and terrible timing. Babba was trying to play the drums just when the last piece of my plan was lurching fitfully into place.

  But poor Babba! He just wanted to be my hero. It was pathetic, to be sure, but also kind of sweet. How awful that I was going to betray his trust tonight. A queasiness rose up in my throat, as it always did when I was anxious. I was risking all kinds of trouble.

  It was for the best.

  No, it wasn’t. How could I risk something so flagrant when Babba had done nothing but try to defend me? Because I was the only one with Nihil’s blessing, the only one with all doubts removed from my name, the only one who might get away with defying the Temple just this once. That blessing meant nothing more than that—a chance to do something without getting myself hanged.

  I had to get to the warehouse.

  Just a few more turns of the sun, then of the moons, and I’d be on my way, for better or worse.

  I plucked the metal spoon from his grip.

  He shrugged. “Your Mami thinks that creature is going through puberty. I’ve already lived with two girls going through the life change, thank you, and that’s more than any man ought to endure.”

  “She wants to go home.”

  “I won’t argue. You’ll recall I didn’t want her here to begin with. Though she did have to pick the cook’s day off for her tantrum. Cookie has the best luck with her.”

  Why did my father have to be so exasperating? Then again, at least he was being honest, unlike his eldest daughter.

  My spirits sunk to somewhere around my feet. How could I sneak off like some common hoodlum with Babba making jokes and scaring off Bugsy to save me? He’d be furious with me. I’d be putting myself in danger, and I’d put him through enough already. I felt like the rottenest child in world history. Here was Babba with all his new responsibilities and his endangered city and his would-be thief of a daughter. This wouldn’t do at all.

  I sighed. Valeo would be waiting alone in the dark tonight. That made me feel awful as well, but what could I do? Poor Valeo. Poor me! I wouldn’t get to see those shoulders. No! No! I wouldn’t get to put my plan in place. Yes, that’s it. Plan. Not shoulders. I’d have to think of something else. Plan-wise, that is.

  “If you’re sure she’s bent on leaving, then open the gate for her,” Babba said. “I don’t want her sticky footprints all over our wall. She can come and go like anyone else.”

  Oh? We rarely left the gate open. Here was a chance, my only chance. If I didn’t take it, when would be the next time I could go? He didn’t know the invitation he’d just extended. If only my plan weren’t so complicated. If only I knew for sure it would work. How was I to pull it all off, anyway? It was a terrible, terrible plan.

  There was only one thing to do.

  I did as I was told and opened the gate.

  15

  It is one of the great ironies of love that rarely does one set out intentionally to steal a man’s heart. You may purloin his affections with so much stealth that even you do not realize a crime has occurred until the victim confesses the deed.

  —from Lady Infikta of Ferokor’s Manual of Love Stratagems

  My cloth slippers made only a mild shushing sound as I crept out. I’d decided if Amaniel or Rishi had trouble sleeping—we all had our own beds now—I’d stay inside tonight. That was all the incentive I needed to change my mind back to being a good, pious daughter. But my sisters slept like stones. So I got dressed slowly. If I couldn’t find my best Sabbath dress in the dark, I wouldn’t go meet Valeo and set my plan in motion. But the dress was atop a pile of folded clothes, right where I’d left it. If the small satchel I’d packed earlier made a clanking noise, I’d set it down and creep back to bed. But it made only a mute thud against my side.

  If my parents’ door was open even a hair, I didn’t dare try and tiptoe past. That would be the end of my sneaking around. The door was firmly shuttered. I was hoping the house would be completely soundless so I couldn’t risk making any noise getting out. But Babba’s snoring could deafen anyone, so there went that excuse.

  My last hope was the creaky iron gate, which I’d left ajar as Babba had asked. Maybe a breeze had shut it. The gate was still open, waiting for skinny me to slip through. Now all I needed was to spot a constable or a drunk or someone strange looking and I’d turn right around and march back to my room.

  Callers Wharf was entirely empty.

  I peered around shuttered stalls looking for Valeo, but he was nowhere to be seen. Well, that did it. I was going home. I’d been stood up, right? I decided to make sure and did a hasty survey of the square, right and left, around corners, down alleys, and then toward Pilgrim Bridge. There he was, leaning against the end of the bridge, arms folded against his chest, staring at me.

  I paused. Valeo wasn’t wearing his armor, of course, but I’d assumed he’d show up in the same clothes as earlier. I couldn’t have been more alarmed if he’d shown up naked. Even by the light of the tallow lamps, I could see richly embroidered layers of silk. How much in the way of clothes did one soldier get to own? I felt a pang of self-consciousness. Maybe it wasn’t too late to run home. All I had to do was get my knees to stop wobbling and I was sure I could make a run for it.

  I should’ve worn my silk dress, the gift from S’ami. Instead, I’d worn the same dress as earlier, a dark shift I thought might camouflage me at night, and felt outclassed. A prince. I was standing on Callers Wharf with a prince in silk clothes and it was night and we were alone and why had I worn such a regularly nice dress instead of a spectacular one? Where was my head? I should’ve stayed in bed.

  I wasn’t supposed to care about him being a prince and his fancy clothes. So why had he worn them? We were friends. Who held hands. This wasn’t getting any easier just standing around sec
ond-guessing myself. I’d been spotted, so I may as well make the best of it. I held my breath and strolled from my hiding spot as if I did this every night. He made no move to greet me.

  “You made it,” I said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

  “You’re not alone,” Valeo said. He stared past me to where a pair of green eyes could be seen glimmering between two stalls. I hadn’t forgotten about Bugsy. I was just hoping he had. Wrong. I’d promised to get her home all the way to the swamps in return for helping me tonight. It felt wrong to be tricking Valeo, and I had to hope that either he wouldn’t mind, or he’d join in once he understood what I was really doing and why. All the pieces had to fall into place: Valeo going along with a plan he didn’t yet know about, Bugsy playing her part, and me getting her back to the swamps. One more trip couldn’t hurt, I suppose. Thinking that gave me the tiny copper-weight of confidence I needed. I had a promise to keep.

  “That’s Bugsy, my chaperone,” I said.

  “You have a Gek chaperone?”

  “You’ve already met her, in fact. You killed her mother.”

  He gave a start and pulled back his left arm defensively. I could see the tip of a jagged scar on the skin, where Bugsy had once tried to gnaw free of his steely grip.

  “I told her to keep her distance,” I said.

  “I don’t like it. There’s blood between us.”

  “Exactly. That’s how I know you’ll be a gentleman.”

  Valeo leaned in to study my face, and I studied his in return. By moonlight, the shadows cast his face into sharp relief. The prominent nose and deep-set eyes beneath that sharp brow ridge made his face look as if it’d been battered into rough shape with axes and picks and left to set that way. I worked at not noticing the strong jawline, noticeable even in the moonlight, or I’d never get farther than this bridge.

  He grunted. “I’m not turning my back on that thing.”

  “She’s unarmed.”

  He held up his scarred arm again. “She doesn’t need weapons.”

  I put on my best “I’m sorry” face and said simply, “Please.”