Valeo grunted. “I should’ve known better. Is there some particular power you have over me?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You didn’t have anyone cast an enchantment on me, did you? A something-more-than-friends spell?”
Too bad he couldn’t see me roll my eyes in the dark. “Don’t be silly. I’m learning to heal hearts, not break them.”
“I guess I should be relieved.” The edge in his voice told me he was anything but.
“I am sorry. I’ll tell her to go.” I turned and made a signal to Bugsy, one she’d been waiting for. She scampered away, in the opposite direction from home. Valeo didn’t have to know that.
He clamped a hand on my shoulder.
“Any other tricks?” he said.
I flinched and wriggled free from such a decidedly unchaste touch, but my drape got stuck under his hand and didn’t move with me. My hair broke free of its linen prison, tumbling down my back as a sea breeze lifted lengths of curls and sent wisps flying behind me. Valeo caught his breath. His hand reached up and I felt his fingers lacing through my loosened locks. I didn’t try to stop him. It occurred to me I probably should, but those fingers felt sweet entwined so gently in my hair, and it didn’t seem like a threatening gesture. Just the opposite.
He whispered, deep and breathy. “Then again, this whole night will be worth it if only for this moment.”
“Valeo, I …”
“Why do we ask women to hide one of Nihil’s most dazzling gifts to them?” He bent over and nuzzled my locks. I closed my eyes, feeling his warm breath against the back of my neck. “You’ve lost your wild smell. I noticed it earlier.”
“Pardon?” I smelled wild to him? I felt oddly flattered.
“That first time I saw you, you smelled like flowers and the outdoors and other stuff I can’t even name. Exotic stuff,” he said. “Now you don’t.”
“Oh.” I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? “I’m sorry, I guess.”
“I miss it.”
“I … oh. I don’t go to the fens anymore. Since, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Too bad. I liked that smell a lot. I’ve dreamed about it.”
Men dream about the way women smell? I was learning a lot tonight. “But the first time you smelled me, wouldn’t that have been when you were ransacking—”
“This is the second time today you’ve mentioned that. You’re holding that against me after all these six-days, are you? After everything we’ve been through together?”
“No, no, of course not, but you—”
“Once. Again. I was obeying orders. And I wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“I heard that other guards—”
“I’m not other guards.”
“Yes, that I know. I wouldn’t be here if you were. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
He ran his fingers through some of my curls. “It’s a beautiful, moonlit night on a tropical island and I’m with the prettiest woman here. Let’s walk.” He offered me his elbow.
I took it, unable to speak for a moment. The prettiest woman? Really? So far, sneaking out had been a great idea. I’m the prettiest! I suspected the whole compliment was an outrageous lie, but it didn’t matter one copper. I wanted him to keep saying it. “What happened to your Feroxi warrior brides?”
He laughed. “Another thing you keep bringing up. Yes, there is such a woman in my future. Though an arranged marriage didn’t exactly work out for my parents. They’re estranged.”
That was a startling admission to make to a woman he barely knew. He’d once told me he had no family at all. I didn’t point out the contradiction, since in his mind, perhaps there wasn’t one. He was obviously beyond pretending his home life was normal. I decided I liked his candor. “How sad. For your parents, I mean. And for you.”
“I think they’re much happier without each other.”
“And you?”
“This makes me happy.” He reached for my hand and we strolled that way, our bodies close together, along the stretch of the Grand Concourse with its reflection of two crescent moons.
“We have no future together,” I reminded him.
“Then we enjoy the present.”
Valeo was pleasant company after all, describing how his mother had been elected queen by all the other noblewomen and acclaimed again just last year. He was proud of her, and he liked strong women. All Feroxi did, he said. No weak females in his race. He tried to get me to picture the vast halls of Ferokor and the fierce women who provisioned and defended them. I’d never seen stone fortresses, so I told him I could only picture stucco and thatching. That brought more deep laughter. That wouldn’t last long, he’d said, against pitch and flaming shot.
He didn’t say so, but I imagined those lady warriors defended themselves from humans. There must be another side to those border skirmishes that animated dinner conversations around Babba’s table. However, Valeo dwelled mostly on his childhood in the Feroxi capital, Ironhills.
He didn’t notice when I steered him away from the waterway to a spot behind the Customs House until he looked up and saw where we were. Either I worked up the courage to take the next step or I really did have to go home.
Valeo lifted his arm from my shoulder. His voice held a note of irritation. “Why’d you pick this place?”
“This place?” I blinked big eyes at him.
“You’re one lousy liar. We wound up in the ugliest part of the city? Behind not just any warehouse, but this one?”
I didn’t dare say anything. Let it play out, Mami always said.
Valeo went on, a disappointed tone creeping into his voice. “Well, I didn’t think it was my good looks that made you notice me. But did you think I have a key? Or how did you expect to get in?”
I twisted out from under my satchel strap and emptied its contents on the cobblestones with a clatter. It wasn’t much as tools go—a small metal nail file and some hair pins, a few nails, and a long skewer I’d lifted from the pantry. “Think any of these would work?”
Valeo’s jaw dropped and he stared from the pile at me feet, up to me, and down again. “You had this all planned?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. I wasn’t going to do it but then I thought I should at least try, don’t you think?”
“Don’t I think what? That it’d be a very romantic evening helping a lady burglar do a little looting?”
“How do you know that’s what I’m here for?”
“Because you’re not in front of a rotting warehouse to show off the city’s architecture?”
“Well, if you were me, what would you do? While everyone you knew was afraid for their lives? While the Temple was executing people because of poetry scrolls and silly wooden dolls?” I sounded a lot more cross than I felt, but I couldn’t help myself. It was all falling on me and I couldn’t stand it another moment. Someone had to hear me out and understand.
“Silly wooden … you’re kidding,” Valeo said. “Scriptures are clear on the subject of graven images. Paganism—”
“Is worth getting killed over?”
“Your people are in paradise compared to the mainland. Do you have any idea what Nihil’s putting them through there? The ongoing war between Feroxi and humans that benefits only one man?”
No, I had no idea what was going on there or how it benefited Nihil. That was the only correct answer. I stood quietly instead, stunned. “I’m sorry. I’m not Feroxi but I’m trying to defend my people, too.”
He snorted. “It won’t help. And it’s more foolish than brave.”
There was only one thing left to do—beg for mercy. Modesty be damned. I flung myself at his chest, wrapping my arms around that narrow waist, pressing my cheek into the caressing silk of his shirt. I’d never hugged a man who wasn’t Babba, though I’d thought about it just about every moment of every day lately. This wasn’t Babba and his lanky frame. This was flesh wrapped around steel, all hard muscle that stiffened when I hugged him. Had I made a m
istake? I closed my eyes and pleaded.
“You don’t remember calling me an ignorant island girl, back when we first met? Maybe I just want to know why this is happening to us.”
I felt his arms wrap around me, and thrilled at the rangy contours of his muscles under my own palms, warm and firm. He nuzzled my hair with his cheek, and there was a distinct note of sorrow in his voice. “You can’t be beyond his reach. No one can. Everyone’s tried. Everyone. Even the Feroxi.”
“But you all help him. Willingly.”
“It’s to our advantage.”
I remembered our teacher reaching for Amaniel’s hand to strike instead of mine. Sister against sister; that was the Temple’s way. I nodded. Valeo nudged me away and spun me around to face the warehouse’s double doors. They were of splintered, weather-beaten wood, the latches bound by iron chain.
“No getting in,” he said. “You could try. The moment you succeeded, I’d have to arrest you. Orders. Duty. Whatever you want to call it. But you could try.”
I bent over and picked up a few of the tools. When I stood, I noticed Valeo had stayed behind me and fallen silent. “You alright?”
“Admiring the view,” he said.
“You can see the water from here?”
“Never mind.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. All I could see from where I stood were those ugly old warehouse doors. I walked over and tried to stick a hair pin in the bulky iron lock. Sparks flew up the pin and singed my finger tip. I leaped back with a cry.
Valeo peered at the lock. “Spells of warding, presumably.”
“S’ami?”
“He’s an Azwan. He’d outsmart you before breakfast, and twice more by lunch.”
I reached toward the door without a pin. When I’d touched Leba Mara’s gold totem, I’d been nearly burned, but it hadn’t left a mark. Maybe I could safely handle magic on its own. I placed one hand on the lock. Sparks flew from the lock in a stream of colors that must be from S’ami’s talented hand. The static has gathered under my palm but I didn’t flinch. Without the steel pin there, it wasn’t hurting. I let the fizzing and crackling build to a crescendo. I should have pulled away, but after a moment it tickled more than stung. The static kept building into a ball beneath my outstretched palm and then suddenly burst.
My hand tingled. I shook a few sparks free.
The lock fell open with a clank.
Valeo strode over and looked from the lock to me and back again. “How in all Kuldor did you do that?”
“I’m not sure.” It had just happened, just like that. I hadn’t known it would and I wasn’t certain I could do it again—or would do it again. Simply holding my hand in place had taken all the courage I’d ever had. My skin smarted from it, and I rubbed it against my dress.
I looked up at Valeo. “What now?”
He shoved one of the double doors open and nodded toward the black interior. “Alright, I’ll take the bait. After you. But touch nothing.”
I edged sideways into the doorway.
“I mean it,” Valeo said. “Touch nothing.”
“Mmm, can’t hear you,” I muttered.
I was in.
16
By their blood, I shall choose giants for my guards. Let them guard my Temple and my person, let them stand forever tall between my enemies and me as an unmovable wall.
—Verisimilitudes 10, The Book of Unease
We slipped into the stifling darkness. I became aware of shelves piled high with black, bulging masses. I assumed they were sacks of people’s belongings seized in the raids of their homes so many six-days ago. I took a few shaky steps forward and felt the jab of something sharp-cornered against my side. More shelving. Valeo’s hand slipped under my left arm and held me in place.
“Let’s wait. Our eyes will adjust,” he said.
It took long moments for my eyes to focus, moments in which I let his arm wrap around my waist. I didn’t want him to stop, but I didn’t want him to get any braver, either. His hand slid toward my hip and I wondered if I should pull away. That would be the proper thing to do, but it wouldn’t be the fun thing to do. So I stayed put and enjoyed my sudden giddiness while the fabric of my dress slid beneath his fingers. His breath grew heavier, deeper, more labored, and I wondered if he was tired. It was late.
But maybe men got all breathy for other reasons, I wasn’t sure. I’d never thought to ask Mami and it didn’t seem like the sort of conversation to have with Babba. I wanted to say a prayer thanking Nihil for the feel of man hands, and for Valeo’s hot breath on my neck, but I didn’t know if there was a pious man-hands, hot-breath meditation. That brought the schoolmistress’ stern face popping into my memory and I braced for an imaginary whipping where Valeo’s hand rested. Curse that old witch, anyway.
Maybe I should pray for help in the dark. Then it struck me that I’d be praying to Nihil for help defying him. Guilt flashed through me and I quietly prayed for forgiveness in advance, ignoring the small problem that I knew his benevolence to be a lie. The prayer eased my conscience not at all. Then I felt guilty for thinking I wasn’t really repentant and ran out of prayers I could say with any degree of true feeling.
A gray shape slipped through the open doors. Bugsy flashed by in silhouette and vanished into the gloom. Valeo leaped away, his body tensed for a fight.
“That creature’s here, isn’t it.” He was accusing, not asking.
I let the vast room’s silence answer for me, taking in the stale, stinging smell of mildewing burlap and still air. Valeo pulled me by the waist close to him and drew his mouth close to my ear. There wasn’t any affection in his voice.
“You can tell me what you’re up to right now. You’re putting me in a bad spot, Hadara, if anyone figures out I was here. Talk or walk. Your choice.”
“I need only one thing, promise.”
I did need only one thing. I’m a clerk’s daughter. I’ve been in warehouses. A warehouse has an office. An office has records and one of those records must be the ledger or bookkeeping scroll or stack of papers I wanted, the one that listed every item the guards seized in the raids. I needed it. Without it, the Azwans wouldn’t have any way to know which bundle of contraband belonged to whom. Then they couldn’t execute anyone, since they’d have only sacks of junk with no clear owners.
Valeo shook my arm. “What one thing? Something of your family’s? You’ll never find it in this darkness, unless that Gek creature can smell it.”
I shook my head, but he couldn’t see it, so I whispered instead. “I need to find the office.”
“For what?”
“Why? Losing your nerve?”
He dropped my arm and brushed past me. “Touch nothing.”
Was he kidding? I wasn’t here for a tour of the place.
All warehouses were laid out more or less the same, so I could feel my way along the front wall to the corner, where the cube-like office would be. Valeo followed a step behind me, a hulking presence, and every so often a patch of satin would brush against me. Even through my clothes, my skin felt more alive, more aware of his movement. I had to remind myself he was also part of the reason I was here, him and his thousand comrades and their brutish looting.
I found a doorway by listening for Bugsy’s soft clicking.
“What’s in here?” she asked. “All I see are your hemp-weaves for your writing.”
Hemp-weaves? Ah, the hemp roll. Maybe she’d found the ledger. I stepped forward and she hissed. “He’s here! It’s him! You didn’t tell me it’d be him!”
I tried to sign to her that I had, that I’d explained it all to her impatient self before we left. She’d been too eager to explore the wider world with me, too eager for a chance at going home afterward, and too stuck on the directions I’d given her. Or maybe I’d been too hasty. Could she see my hand motions in the dark?
Valeo bumped into me, and I thought I saw a cold glint of steel in one hand. He also hissed. “Where is that thing? If it comes near me …�
��
I couldn’t see Bugsy leap so much as feel it. A clammy mass launched itself in our direction, knocked me aside with a sticky foot and landed, jaws snapping, on Valeo’s chest. He batted it away with one hand, and I saw a metallic flash in the other. I was right. He was armed. It looked like a dagger, but the darkness swallowed it up again.
Bugsy squawked and darted out, Valeo behind her, cursing and vowing to finish her off. I froze. If anything happened to her—or him—I’d be responsible. Sneaking, thieving me. The whole weight of all the shelves filled with sacrilegious rubbish pressed down on my already shaky confidence. Maybe I should’ve waited for Babba to talk to the Azwans, for what good it would’ve done. Then again, no. I was the only one who stood even a slender chance of getting away with this. The Temple owed me something.
Around me in the darkness came crashing sounds, and Valeo stumbling, muttering curses, Bugsy croaking, “Shaman-killer! Nest burner!” and many other things Valeo was better off not knowing about. I had to make this quick before they drew a crowd or, worse, a constable.
I buried my face in my hands and shook my head. No tears came, but the pit in my stomach ached. The crashing sounds grew farther away but more frequent. They were wrecking the place. After a while, I could see a bit better, enough to make out a few battered desks and piles of papers. I felt along the desktops until my fingertips rested on top of a loosely bound book. I bent in close but couldn’t make out a single scribble in the inky blackness. I could only hope this was it.
I crept out into the warehouse proper and softly called for Bugsy. A gray shape formed at my feet, hissing. “This is your fault.”
I leaned down and waved the book. I managed to free a few fingers and form the word please. She grabbed it, and a small sob escaped her scaly slit of a mouth. Her tone changed to a wail. Bugsy was crying again. I put an arm around her and held her close, feeling her slender chest heaving against my shoulder. “I want to go home,” she croaked in my ear. I held her tighter. I wanted to explain everything I regretted, and what she meant to me, and how I wished her beautiful forest hadn’t burned that day. In the pitch-black, my hands were mute and useless.
The Well of Prayers Page 13