by R. J. Larson
Property. He made the word sound so cold, yet much too personal, for he was referring to her. Caitria lifted her gaze from the extraordinary floor and allowed him to see her hatred.
Bel-Tygeon continued, unaffected, though he looked at her directly. “Caitria of Siphra, here is your price.” He motioned to a pair of guards, who carried a long fabric-swathed bundle.
Noticing its shape, Caitria trembled. A body? Let it not be true . . .
The guards unrolled the bundle before her as if it were nothing.
Caitria stared at the unmoving form and covered her mouth to stifle a scream.
34
Through her tears, Caitria saw welt-like burns around Mari’s swollen mouth. Had she been forced to drink poison? Whatever had happened, it was lethal. Mari’s blotchy skin and staring eyes forbade Caitria any hope that the young woman might be saved. Choking on a sob, she clutched Mari’s cold, lifeless hand and rubbed it. If only she could return to the instant she’d fled the temple site. Mari would still be alive.
This poor girl’s death was her fault! And the king’s.
Caitria blinked to clear her tear-blurred vision, then stared up at Bel-Tygeon. “Why punish an innocent girl for my decision? Why kill her?”
As if noting the weather, Bel-Tygeon said, “She failed her most basic duty, which was to attend you—my most valuable slave. The next time such an impulse seizes you, lady, you will understand the consequences of your actions.”
Her actions? He’d commanded this atrocity! Caitria screamed, “When will you understand the injustice of your actions? You’re a curse to Belaal instead of its protector!”
His expression bored, Bel-Tygeon motioned to Caitria’s guards, who lifted her upright, forcing her to release Mari’s hand. As the guards coerced her to turn and depart from the throne room, Caitria threw a last look at Mari’s motionless form, then burst into tears.
Dead because of me!
Mari’s swollen, staring face reappeared in Caitria’s thoughts—an image she’d never live long enough to forget. An image she must never forget. Caitria choked down sobs and the longing to scream like a madwoman. Hadn’t Ela warned her?
“Infinite!”
A rush of images chased Ela from her dreams into consciousness. Her heart thudding with terror, she sat up and looked around. Prison. She was still in prison.
She still had time. Infinite, please, let them listen!
Ela scrambled to her chained feet, clattered around her slumbering cell mates, and hobbled to the woven metal door. She rattled the huge grate and yelled, “Guards—help! Warn the king! Send word to Lady Dasarai! Save the king!” Caitria, pray! Only pray . . .
Seated on a cushion in Lady Dasarai’s luxurious antechamber, Caitria stared at the floor, refusing to touch her food. If she stared at Bel-Tygeon, lounging carelessly opposite her, she would spit at him.
Thinking of Mari again, Caitria pressed her hands to her aching head. Help me not to attack this man! “Infinite . . .”
The king’s hatefully amused voice cut into her faltering prayer. “You’ve truly turned pagan. What will the Ateans do if I restore you to Siphra?”
Did Bel-Tygeon have spies everywhere in Siphra? He seemed entirely too familiar with Siphra’s politics. “The Ateans will kill me as they’ve been trying to kill my husband. And that would please you, wouldn’t it?” Digging her fingers into the cushions, Caitria finally looked at the king. If she had Akabe’s daggers, she would throw them now. To her own ruin. Be calm. Self-controlled.
Clearly enjoying his late-night meal—and considering her as entertainment—Bel-Tygeon’s handsome face twisted with a sardonic smile. “If you’ve turned pagan, they would indeed kill you.”
“I’m already a target for the sake of the Infinite’s temple! Anyway, how can I be pagan if I worship the one true God who created all? You’re the pagans, you and the Ateans!”
“My philosophers would love to crush you in a debate. As for myself, I think you’ve turned delusional.” The king straightened and raised his dark eyebrows at Dasarai, who’d just reentered the room from answering a tap at her door, for they’d sent out all the servants.
Dasarai knelt, arranging herself decorously on a cushion. “The prophet is clamoring in her cell, causing unrest among the prisoners. Should she be ignored?”
The king dipped a crisp wafer into a spiced meat sauce, ate it, then shook his head. “No. I intended to tell her in the morning that she will restore my temple as she restored the throne room. It’s just as well that I speak to her tonight. Bring her here.”
A delicate crease fretted Dasarai’s forehead. “She will need a bath and clean clothes after being in the prison—not to mention delousing.”
Taking another bite of the bread and meat concoction, the king shrugged. “Order her here. We’ll speak with her in the corridor. I’ve endured enough today—I’m tired.”
He’d endured enough today? Caitria sniffed.
While Dasarai glided away to do her god-king’s bidding, the false idol frowned at Caitria. “Eat. That is a command. Otherwise, I’ll feed you myself.” Bel-Tygeon studied her now, interested. “Actually, I might enjoy carrying out that threat.”
Caitria took one wafer, crushed it to bits on the empty gold dish, then ate one crumb.
The king lifted an eyebrow. By the time Dasarai returned, Caitria had eaten three crumbs. Bel-Tygeon shoved a gold dish at her, its gelatinous dark red contents quivering with his sudden motion. “Enough! Eat, or I will do as I’ve said, and more.”
She ate. Disgusting substance—too highly spiced. Eyes watering, Caitria reached for more wafers to settle her stomach and the fire in her mouth. When she finished, the king smiled. “You look better already.” He tossed a fine linen cloth onto the table and stretched. “If I sell you to Siphra, I will demand the DaromKhor Hills and two hundred thousand Siphran coins. The ones you call gold nobles.”
Caitria gripped her hands tight in her lap, hoping she hadn’t revealed the depths of her shock. He wanted the DaromKhor Hills? But . . . according to her history lessons, those hills were Siphra’s natural border against Belaal. Remove all the border lords, then give Bel-Tygeon control of the DaromKhor region—with time to gather his forces—and he could overrun Siphra! Could? No, he would.
As for the payment in gold nobles . . . She swallowed, calculating.
Her father’s household, large as it was, required six hundred nobles to sustain itself comfortably for one year. The average highborn household required four hundred. Bel-Tygeon was demanding enough gold to sustain one highborn Siphran family for five hundred years!
Did Siphra’s treasury contain so much gold? Likely not, considering Siphra’s years of strife. Queen since spring, and she’d cost her country a fortune. “I’m not worth such a price.”
“Then I must keep you.” He smiled again, beautiful and horrible. “Belaal needs a queen. You might bear me a son.”
Akabe. Oh, Akabe . . . For an awful instant, her eyesight dimmed and a humming welled inside her head, threatening to blot out consciousness. Caitria huddled down, hiding her face in her hands. Trying to breathe. The best thing to do . . . the best thing for Siphra and Akabe . . . was her own death. How? Think!
Would Bel-Tygeon kill another innocent slave if Siphra’s queen took her own life? Poor Mari! Caitria swallowed a sob.
Furtive rapping at the door summoned their attention. Followed by Dasarai, Bel-Tygeon stood and sauntered from the room—a god-king who was mightily pleased with himself.
“Infinite? Help me.”
Unchained, but surrounded by eunuchs and four big, stolid female guards, Ela waited in the opulent corridor outside the Lady Dasarai’s apartments.
Infinite, may Your will be done. Please let them listen!
The door opened, and the guards straightened as Bel-Tygeon and Lady Dasarai stepped into the corridor. Dasarai, ever the head of the Women’s Palace, frowned at Ela’s rough braid and the plain linen robes provided by the jailors. Ela off
ered the great lady a placating nod, then snapped her attention to Bel-Tygeon.
The king crossed his arms and glared at her. “Do not think you are forgiven for today’s events! You will restore my temple, on my terms this time, not your Infinite’s!”
“But who will restore you, O king?” Before Bel-Tygeon could interrupt, Ela rushed to explain. “I was prepared to remain in Belaal, in prison for as long as necessary—for years if need be—but that is not His plan. As soon as I fell asleep, the Infinite woke me again with a dream. A blood plague has overtaken this palace. I’ve been sent to warn you, sir, because you are the plague’s instigator.”
His upper lip curved with obvious disdain. “I am the instigator?”
“Yes.” Ela braced herself. “Because you took what didn’t belong to you, the Infinite will allow the plague to take you. Unless you forget your pride and—”
“I should have known you’d return to this!” Bel-Tygeon interrupted, his icy disdain becoming contempt. Careless of the branch, he leaned toward her, furious, his chin lifted in regal defiance. “It’s clear you’re referring to yourself and Siphra’s queen! But I’ll take whatever I please. You’re both my property and that will never change! As for your Infinite, what if I admit that He exists? Why does He hate me? I’ve done nothing that my ancestors would not have done to consolidate their reigns!”
“But there’s the point! You’ve done what none of your ancestors dared to do. You’ve declared yourself the only god, sweeping all others from your lands. Ultimately, you’ll threaten your people with their lives if they disagree.” The branch now shone metallic and severe, throwing harsh light over the king’s pale face and burning eyes.
Ela continued. “Your Creator loves you, sir! Never doubt it. But you’ll destroy others who love Him—and you are destroying yourself with your pride. What should any loving Creator do to gain your attention?”
Bel-Tygeon turned from her in obvious disgust. Watching him, Ela also glimpsed doors closing all along the corridor. Every woman roomed along this corridor had been watching and listening to their dispute. The king yelled to the would-be onlookers, “Do not open your doors until you’re commanded to do so!”
He spun around to face Ela again, pointing at her. “Let your Creator do as He pleases—you will obey me!”
Lady Dasarai’s terrified gasp cut through the air. “Ty!” She snatched at his gold-embroidered sleeve, lifting it from his forearm. Ela knew what she would see on the king’s arm, but she looked again at what she’d been shown in her dream.
Huge dark blisters lifted over Bel-Tygeon’s arm. As they all stared, a blister broke, dripping blood at the king’s feet. Sickened, Ela tottered, then knelt. “Sir, these blisters will move inward—even to your heart. Please, please listen. You can halt this! The Infinite commands you to return me at once to Siphra, with the queen, for I am not your prophet, and she cannot be your wife! The instant we cross the border, you’ll recover. Obey Him. Send us away, or you’ll slowly bleed to death!”
“Go!” Dasarai ordered. To a eunuch, she cried, “Give the prophet and Siphra’s queen everything they need and be sure they’re safely returned to their husbands!”
“Majesty!” Another eunuch’s thin cry echoed down the corridor. Gasping, the man halted some distance from Bel-Tygeon. “Blessed One, a plague has struck two slaves. . . .” He stared at the king’s dripping arm, then knelt shakily, weeping. “Oh, save us! The plague’s found you.”
Remarkably composed, Bel-Tygeon adjusted his sleeve to cover the blood, and he spoke to Ela. “I will give the order now. You and the queen will leave at once, with full honors.” Quietly, he added, “Pray to your Infinite that I recover.”
Her Infinite. Not his. All right. At least Bel-Tygeon admitted the Infinite’s existence. Obedience and a partial admission were enough for now. “I will, Majesty. Thank you.”
Akabe helped Kien to his feet, glad to listen as his friend complained. “The muscles in my leg seem permanently tightened, and I’m so weak, I’m useless!”
“You’re walking,” Akabe argued. “And your fever is down. That’s what we’ve prayed for, isn’t it? Let’s move you into the sunlight and—”
Scythe’s threatening huffs and stomps from outside made them both turn. A long trumpet call resounded from the gatehouse where Flint kept watch. Akabe waited, fearing another warning blast. It rose high and piercing through the evening air, accompanied by distant battle cries.
Kien grasped Akabe’s arm. “More Ateans have found us. Help me to that wall, give me your old sword, then do whatever you must to survive, sir! Forget I exist—I’ll manage.”
“Not for long with your wounds!” Akabe half dragged Kien to the nearest wall. “Lean here—I’m running for more weapons!”
“Lady.” His armor clattering and glinting in the afternoon sunlight, Commander Rtial Vioc bowed his head as he drew his horse up beside Ela’s. “Are you well?”
She couldn’t help smiling at his earnest tone and the sincerity behind his question. He knew she was pregnant, and he’d been hovering near for the past two days as if fearing she’d be too fragile for such a rushed journey through these tortuous hills. “Yes, commander. The queen and I are both well—only tired and eager to reach our husbands.”
“We’re in Siphra,” Vioc told her. “My men and I will accompany you to the fortress.”
“Thank you, commander.”
“My duty and honor. Prophet.” He nodded, then rode ahead to speak to Caitria.
Contemplating his words, Ela’s heartbeat quickened. They’d crossed the border. She’d see Kien soon! Another thought halted her exultation. Infinite? Has Bel-Tygeon recovered?
Can I forget My word? Belaal’s king is spared the plague.
Within her thoughts, Ela saw Dasarai and Bel-Tygeon checking his arms, legs, and face for blisters that no longer existed. Ela sighed. Thank You! But what will happen to him now? What about those who have turned to You in Sulaanc? They’ve no prophets, no holy books, no—
Aren’t they My concern?
Yes. I know You are always right—and that You love them. Forgive me, please.
She allowed herself to relax slightly, though Commander Vioc was increasing their pace once more. Why had she been fretting? Of course the Infinite would bring another prophet and His Sacred Books to the new faithful ones in Belaal.
And surely other souls in Belaal would be called by His Spirit. Perhaps even those who’d hated her. Please, please let it be so! She’d seen too much death as the Infinite’s prophet.
Too many souls endangered by their own rebellious natures.
Soon their procession turned onto a narrow winding road, and Ela nearly dropped with relief, recognizing its contours. This road led to Akabe’s fortress home. To Kien!
Ela leaned forward, urging the small horse ahead.
Caitria blinked back tears, seeing the fortress on the hillcrest above. Everything within her wanted to abandon all dignity and run through those woods and up the hill into that battered castle while screaming for Akabe. He’d think she was a wild woman. And if he was wise, he’d run. The thought almost made her smile.
Scanning the walls more closely now, Caitria bit her lip. Where were Akabe’s watchmen? Why couldn’t she see plumes of smoke from at least one or two cooking fires?
Ela drew her horse up beside Caitria’s and stared up at the fortress above. “No banners, no guards on the wall walk, no smoke . . . where are they?”
Distant horn blasts and battle cries cut toward them from the hillside above. Was the fortress under attack? Ela urged her mount forward and called to Caitria, “Majesty, stay here!”
“Not for my life!” Caitria goaded her horse after Ela’s.
They abandoned the procession and urged their horses ahead into the trees as Commander Vioc yelled, “Stop—Majesty, no!”
35
Caitria heard Commander Vioc’s men chasing after her, their horses’ hooves thundering, armor and weapons clattering. Would th
ey try to stop her? Panicked at the thought, Caitria leaned forward, urging her horse onward. “Go!”
She rode after Ela up through the trees, toward the bare hillcrest. As they rounded the final turn, Caitria glimpsed a body falling from the far side of the gatehouse wall to the ground, and her breath caught in horror. The fallen one wore Akabe’s colors. “Oh, Infinite, no!”
An arrow whisked past Caitria, provoking yells from Commander Vioc’s men. Vioc bellowed, “Majesty, lean down!”
Unnerved, Caitria bent, hugging her horse’s neck and scanning the area. Two leather-clad horsemen waited near the gatehouse, guarding a number of horses—none of them belonging to Akabe. One of the men wielded a bow, and he stared straight at her, as a hunter with the prey in sight. Just as he reached over his shoulder to lift an arrow from the quiver on his back, Caitria’s would-be killer was struck with two of Belaal’s arrows to his throat and chest. His companion turned his horse to flee, but was hit by an arrow to his side.
To Caitria’s right, Ela cried, “The gate is open!” She dismounted, branch in hand. “Others have entered the yard!”
Caitria slid off her horse and knelt, removing one of Akabe’s daggers from her boot. Could she use it if she must? Infinite, grant me strength! She started toward the gate.
Vioc roared, “Wait until we’ve secured your path!”
She halted. “Hurry, please! My husband is in danger!” Accompanied by Vioc and his men, she stepped around the horrid skulls and sped after Ela through the gate. They slipped into the yard, briefly startled by a massive mound of soil, piled and piked—a bristling barricade inside the entrance.
Ela rounded the side of the mound, halted and gasped. “Pet—Scythe!”
Lathered and disheveled, the monster warhorse stood amid multiple trampled bodies before the tower’s entry, his powerful jaws clamped tight on the luckless remaining soldier’s arm. Scythe flung the screaming man away, then rushed him again, clearly too overcome by battle rage to pay the least attention to Ela or Caitria.