Demon's Arrow

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  “Uncle Asafar is not well?” Abbas asked in a low voice. The queen clutched his arm and didn’t let go, looking back at Isika, her eyes darting to the large cats that walked on either side of her. The queen clutched something in her free hand. After a moment, Isika realized that it was a knife. She eyed the cats.

  Behave yourselves, she said.

  We always behave ourselves, the mother said.

  Somehow I doubt that, Isika replied.

  The healer’s tent was small, and this time, when Isika asked them to stay outside, the cats didn’t deign to reply, but settled themselves on the ground outside the tent. She breathed a sigh of relief and gave Abbas’s mother a look of apology, which the queen responded to with a glare that would fry ziti greens. Isika sighed again, feeling small and completely out of her depth.

  What had she thought? That hers was the only kingdom worth anything? The only kingdom with righteousness and pride? She was flooded with shame as she realized that was exactly what she had thought.

  She ducked into the coolness of the tent, determined to keep it together until she could be alone, find a tree somewhere in this desert and recover herself, or at least a body of water to hide the tears she wanted to cry.

  But as soon as she entered, Asafar spoke from his bed, his voice vibrating with magic.

  “Oh,” he said, “it’s you. It’s happening then.”

  Isika began to shiver. Asafar lay on a pile of cushions at the back of the tent. His face was gaunt but startling in its calm. An almost beatific look came over him as he spoke and Isika shivered harder, her teeth rattling. Keethior let out a long wailing cry.

  “Two sisters, a boat, and a road

  Heart broken, lies taken

  Grip of evil grip of pain

  One will die for the other’s gain

  The world cracked open

  The old voices return

  One lies dead, the other in shame

  Out of the night comes the way

  The land cries out, the Shaper turns

  One will die for the other’s gain.”

  “Well,” Isika said, when her shivering had stopped. “That doesn’t sound good.” They sat in silence for a while, and then she smiled. “And it’s certainly different from the song you sang, Olumi.”

  Chapter 19

  Herrith walked behind the king, darting glances at Aria, using every bit of self control within him to keep his face blank and still. He cursed the king for insisting that they walk with hoods off during the procession. He needed the safety of his hood now, to think, to allow ideas and thoughts to pass through his mind without having to focus on keeping them off his face. But years of careful work in the king’s presence had trained him, and he was able to walk carefully behind them, keeping his eyes trained on the back of the king’s head, only occasionally darting glances at sweet, sweet Aria.

  She did not look well. She was thin and obviously exhausted, though the king’s false energy was keeping her head up now. She needed food, a bath, and sleep and Herrith hoped desperately that the king wouldn’t make her do too much before he allowed those things for her. He didn’t believe for one second that Ikajo had any real love for her. Mercy would not come naturally. He would allow his poison arrow to make her feel as though she was doing well, even though she was near death.

  Were they going to her private quarters? Or to the king’s audience chambers? He had his answer when they turned down a corridor. The audience chambers. Herrith clenched a fist. He would need to intervene.

  She looked so much like her dear mother. Amani would weep to see her daughter back in this palace when she had fought so valiantly to get her children away. And Aria had simply walked back into her father’s trap.

  Herrith had tried, as he sensed Aria getting nearer, to turn her away. He had lifted the deception of the arrow so she could feel its true pain, cleared her mind as the king tried to fog it. It was dangerous work. Surely the king noticed the lack of deception as he first touched her. But one touch from Ikajo had clouded the girl’s mind immediately. Tears pressed behind Herrith’s eyes.

  Oh, Amani, what would you have me do? he thought. She has walked right up and put her head in the lion’s mouth. There is almost nothing left of her. How can we help her?

  First, he thought, to keep the child from dying of lack of sleep or nutrition. What was Ikajo thinking? he wondered angrily, as the king steered her toward the dais at the front of his audience chamber. He wasn’t thinking, that was it. His own magic was so powerful that he hardly needed rest or sustenance. Herrith thought quickly.

  “Brilliance,” he said, a sneer in his voice. “May I have a word?”

  The king turned to look at him, blinking as though he had forgotten that anyone else was there. His eyes were fever bright. Herrith would need to tread carefully here.

  “You may.”

  “Alone?”

  “No,” the king said. “You may say it here.”

  Herrith took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hurt the girl, but he pushed the thought away. There was much more at stake than her feelings or her opinion of him.

  “The girl smells, Brilliance. She reeks of the Maweel, of the desert. Surely we can persuade her to bathe and rest before we hold any court events.”

  The king’s nostrils flared. Herrith held his breath. He needed to tread the right line between dislike of the girl, for the king disliked her, and deference to her. It was an impossible task, but his whole life had been an impossible task.

  Herrith looked at the beloved child, and she blinked at him, clearly stung, then turned to lift adoring eyes to her father.

  “Yes, fine,” Ikajo said, his lips curling as he took in the sight of her. “Take her, assign her rooms and servants.”

  He looked around, obviously frustrated. “Everyone be back here tomorrow so I can truly welcome my daughter,” he said. And then he kicked at the slave who approached to offer him a drink, tripping her and sending her flying.

  Herrith wasted no time. He gestured for some of the slaves to usher the girl along behind him. Who could he assign as her servants? He had given it some thought, but that was before he had seen how frail she was, how the arrow had taken nearly everything from her already.

  He had few allies in the palace. That was purposeful, because people talked, people always talked, and they couldn’t risk it. The Circle, the resistance would be useless without him. So there were only four of the Circle in the palace. Did he dare assign Lena to her? He glanced back at her and saw her sway.

  Yes, he did dare. He had decided against it, but no one else would keep her alive. He cursed the king under his breath.

  “Send Lena, Ola, and Keer to me,” he told a nearby slave. “The princess will stay in the east wing.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to keep her in the west wing? Closer to the king?” one of the upper servants interjected.

  “He doesn’t want to be disturbed by a bratty child,” Herrith spit out, alarmed. He wouldn’t have thought the man had argument in him. “She is a princess, but she is a child, she needs to know the proper order of things.”

  She turned then, to him. “My father is happy that I am here,” she enunciated clearly. It obviously took all her strength, and it was the first time he had heard her speak.

  Oh, Amani, my darling. She is so brave.

  “He will be happy if he has some space from you,” Herrith said. “And you will like these rooms, princess.”

  She looked at him for a long minute, then nodded. Herrith let out a breath and continued along the corridor, touching the dark torches to light them as he went. The magicians didn’t make it as far as this corridor often. It wasn’t used as much as the king’s quarters, which is why he wanted Aria here. Oh, he needed to keep her safe, he shook with the need to keep her safe. What a strange day this was. One of Amani’s children was back in the palace, and it was more than his heart could bear. So much hope and grief combined in him that he stumbled. He kept his face perfectly still, and thank
fully, at that moment, they rounded the corner and came to the doors to the suite of rooms he had chosen for the girl.

  The king would never come here, which meant that he could take the time he needed to make it as comfortable as possible for her. He didn’t want the king to know his heart, so he needed to be careful, but he knew the king would never come to the child’s rooms. He didn’t really care about Aria. She was bait, to him.

  Lena, Ola, and Keer were already there, bowing low before the princess, and Herrith spoke to them.

  “She is your charge, now. Lena, you will be her handmaid. Ola and Keer, you will serve and clean for her.” The three women straightened and though Ola and Keer looked toward the girl they would be serving, Lena looked at Herrith for a brief moment, a question in her eyes. He made a tiny motion with his hand. Later. They would have to meet later.

  And now he had much to do, because he must get to the hearth of the old woman by nightfall, and he must fight for Aria’s life before then.

  “Come, princess,” he said, not stopping to see whether she followed. How he wanted to tell her who she was, that she was safe and loved, but he couldn’t risk it while she was still poisoned. All her allegiance was to her father. He hoped Lena would see his example and follow it, and she did, catching his eyes and giving him a swift nod to show she understood.

  “Ola, she needs food quickly. The kind for an uneasy stomach. It has been a long journey. And Keer, fix a bath.”

  Keer was already moving toward the bathroom. Herrith glanced at Aria and saw her turning in a slow circle, taking in the grandeur of the rooms. She looked ready to faint from exhaustion, but there was awe and pleasure in her face.

  There were four rooms: a large bedroom with a huge bed, low to the ground and covered with cushions; an even larger room for eating and sitting; a bathroom with a deep pool of a bath; and a room that the servants would begin to fill with tunics and dresses, shoes and lotions to make a wardrobe for a princess.

  “Lena,” he said, still keeping his face very still. “She needs food, a bath, and sleep, in that order. She may need help to sleep.”

  Some of the intent of the demon’s arrow was to keep the girl awake and fretful, with racing heart and eyes. He knew this poison. The king had used it many times. On him even. But Lena had skills. She could make a tea that would help Aria sleep. In the morning, when she was stronger, Herrith would see if he could help with the arrow. But not yet. He needed to meet with the Circle as quickly as possible.

  “The evening will be long,” he said to Lena. “Take care to finish your duties quickly.”

  This meant that she needed to meet him at Mara’s hearth. Her eyes widened before she turned to Aria.

  “Brightness, here comes the food. Can you eat a little porridge? It will settle your stomach after a long travel. Then let’s get you out of those filthy clothes and into the bath.”

  Aria’s eyes softened and she nodded, her shoulders slumping in relief. Herrith left the room silently, nodding to the guard who remained outside the room, then continued the difficult job of pretending everything was normal for the rest of the day.

  It was only when he was alone in his own quarters that he finally cracked, holding his face in his hands and shaking with sorrow and worry. Tears came, but he couldn’t let them fall for long. He needed to attend the king.

  The evening felt as though it stretched on forever. He received a message from Lena that said Aria was sleeping well. He told the king she was resting and would doubtless sleep through till morning. (Lena’s teas were very good.) He listened to the king rant about Isika’s refusal to come and how she would soon come running.

  And then it was finally time, and he was slipping through the streets, hood down, his long braid out with the gold cord gleaming in the light that came from nearby homes. He tapped on the door and was let in. Lena was already there, as was the warrior princess and the two bricklayers, with their wives and children. He gave Mara the rose he had taken from the king’s garden, and she took it from him, scolding and laughing, but the tension in the room was high.

  He looked at Lena.

  “I was waiting for you,” she said softly.

  “She’s here,” Herrith said, and there was a hiss as everyone let out the breath they had been holding. Questions rang out, and Herrith, exhausted, held up a hand.

  “Let us sit and think this through. This is what we have been waiting for, because the king’s plan is our plan too. We need the World Whisperer here, to fight with us and take this city back. But Aria is in the balance and we cannot let her be harmed. Oh, I wish there was another way. I tried to turn her back, not even sure that it was right to do, but she would not be turned.”

  He lifted his eyes to Mara, the old grandmother. “You should see her. She looks so much like her mother.”

  The old woman shuddered like a tree in a strong wind.

  “Shaper, this is too hard,” she whispered.

  “It is not,” the warrior princess said, her voice strong. “I know she is dear to you, but we have been losing people dear to us for years now, more people than you can imagine. You know it is time for this, you know this is the way. You need to be strong now for the sake of all the lands. How long do you think the Maweel can hold out against him without some strong show of might?”

  The grandmother sucked in a breath.

  “You are not wrong, princess,” she said. “But have a little pity on an old woman.”

  The princess stabbed at her food with her knife.

  “The shipment will go out within the next moon. We must stop it this time. It cannot go on like this.”

  The bricklayers nodded and began talking over one another. In one corner of the room, the old scholar sat with his head in his hands. He had wild gray hair from perpetually running his hands through it.

  He muttered to himself, then said, “It is hard, but I cannot see another way.”

  Herrith held up his hands. “Yes, yes. We need a plan. But what?”

  Lena moved in her seat then.

  “Something, brother, that may be of use. Aria said something strange just as she drifted off to sleep.”

  “Yes?”

  “She said, ‘But where is Gavi? Did he make it all right? Is he safe?’”

  Herrith sat back in his chair. He knew that name—they all did.

  “You heard her clearly? You’re sure? But the cart driver swore she was alone, that he picked her up alone.”

  “Maybe he was always hidden,” said one of the bricklayers.

  “Or maybe they made an ally,” said Lena.

  Could she be right? Could the second son of Andar have snuck into the Desert City? If so, everything was different now, and the balances were tipping in their favor. Finally. It had been a long day, but Herrith felt a slow smile creeping across his face, mirrored on the faces in the room. They stirred themselves and began to come up with a plan.

  Chapter 20

  Gavi woke up to the sharp crack of a boot in the ribs.

  “Ouch!” he said, sitting up in the doorway of the bakery he had chosen, only to get a cuff on the head. A man peered at him suspiciously.

  “Worker slave, hey? Running away from your master? Get out of my way, I need to open up.”

  The sky was barely tinged with pink, and Gavi cursed himself for choosing a bakery. Of course it would open early. His body felt as though the cart had run him over rather than simply dropping him off. He hadn’t slept properly for longer than he could remember. Aria had walked slowly but she had barely stopped to sleep, propelled by the wild energy of the arrow. He rolled the kinks out of his shoulders, longing for more sleep, then stood up.

  The man was still staring at him, suspicion strong on his face.

  “My master used to live in the city,” Gavi said, hoping to placate him, “but now he lives in a village a day’s journey away. He always loved your pastry and requested that I bring him some before I return.”

  The baker’s face changed immediately, softening i
nto a smug expression.

  “Oh, well, people do love my pastry,” he said. “What is your master’s name?”

  Gavi searched his memory for a Worker name.

  “Nirloth,” he said, wincing. What if the baker had heard of the priest? It didn’t seem to bring any memories, though. The baker tipped his head to one side, thinking, then opened the door to the bakery, bustling through to get to the baking within.

  “I don’t remember a Nirloth. I do have so many customers though. So, so many.”

  The bakery smelled like heaven, and Gavi’s stomach growled. He glanced down at his hands and frowned. They were black with desert silt. He needed to look for a job at the palace today, and he couldn’t look like this when he did.

  “Do you have work I can do in exchange for a bath? I want to clean up before I go back to my master.” The lies sent twinges of discomfort into his chest. He had never been a liar. But this was a new life. A different person had followed Aria away from Maween.

  The baker stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he turned to look at Gavi. “As a matter of fact, my delivery boy called in sick today.” He looked Gavi up and down. “Bath’s in the back. Soap on the upper shelf. We don’t have fancy hot water here. Come back when you’re clean and I’ll give you work—till sundown, you hear? I’m not giving out water for free.”

  Gavi took a fast bath in the cold water, using a scrub brush and soap from his pack. After, he felt better, invigorated from the scrubbing and certainly cleaner. He used his last set of clothes and felt more like a human being. But soon he would need to wash his clothing and find a place to hang it to dry, which meant he needed a place to stay.

  Feeling better must have made him walk taller, because the baker looked at him funny when he came into the room.

  “Where did you say you were from?” he asked.

  Gavi slouched a bit. He couldn’t walk around like a prince if he was supposed to be a slave. His father had drilled good posture into him from the time he was small.

  “I don’t know,” he evaded. “I left when I was just a baby.” It was partially true. The Maweel had rescued him from the boat when he was around two years old.