She threw her head back and laughed, her boisterous belly-laugh, so like a man’s. “And the Imperial Palace of Dasnaria—was that a safe place for you?”
Cold sweat bloomed all over me, blasting me with dark chill despite the sun. My stomach rebelled abruptly, expelling the hearty lunch I’d eaten after the baths. Dashing for the wash basin, I barely made it before emptying the contents of my roiling stomach into it. Kaja, not one to soothe, waited until I finished, then handed me a cloth and a cup of water. But she took the basin herself to empty it, the sweet sea breezes sweeping the room clean of the stink.
“Better to get that out,” she advised when she returned with the clean basin. “Don’t allow yourself to pretend, to fall for your own pretty lies. Danu demands we be honest with ourselves. Clear heart. Clear mind.”
I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. “How old is Jesperanda?” I asked, my throat stinging with acid.
“Seven.” A smile softened Kaja’s face, an expression I’d never seen on her. “She is my pride and glory, my victory prize.”
“I was seven,” I volunteered, as I hadn’t before, “when I learned I wasn’t safe. It was a… hard lesson.” When my mother had me beaten and then poisoned, so I would learn who held the power.
Kaja nodded somberly. “When your brother taunted you because he’d learned about elephants and you first understood he’d be educated but you wouldn’t be?”
I’d told her that story after I’d had too much wine aboard the Valeria, and flushed a little now to remember it. “I know that sounds silly. And then when I traveled to my new home and asked my hostess at the castle where we stayed if she had elephants.” I laughed at myself, drinking more water to clear my throat of the bitterness. “Oh, I was such a fool. Even more so than now, if you can believe it.”
“How could you know?” Kaja replied reasonably. “If you’re done puking, come over here and I’ll show you how to sheathe your sword.”
I came over to her obediently, studying how she changed her grip for sheathing. “The elephant thing—that started it. But then my mother took me in hand. She taught me the importance of obedience, of keeping my mouth closed over secrets. She made certain I knew that she held my very life in her hands.” It felt funny to tell the story to someone. At the time, of course, everyone in the seraglio had known. There were no secrets in that small, confined community.
Kaja came behind me, her forearm in line with mine. “Hold like this for an opening stance. Change to this to sheathe it.” She guided my hand to slide the sword home. “Reverse the technique, to draw. You must practice this, to make it smooth.” She guided me through it one more time. “Good.”
To my surprise, she pressed a kiss to my temple, sweet, even affectionate. “You are a warrior at heart. You will show them all.”
* * * *
The days flew past, as I worked harder than I ever had in my life. That might not be saying much, as I’d never attempted anything like this. But Kaja drove us mercilessly—sometimes Kaedrin working with us also—until my body wept with exhaustion and my hands literally bled from the blisters that formed, burst, formed, and burst again.
“Pain now saves you worse pain later,” Kaja would intone without the least sympathy or remorse. “Toughen up, little mouse.”
Perhaps it had been recalling those early lessons from my mother, remembering being seven like little Jesperanda, but those days of training so intensely with Kaja felt like a sort of mirror. Some things were the same: I had bruises, my body ached, I often felt ill, and I had no hair. But they were different, as if I’d walked to the other side of the mirror. All the pain came from my own hard work, not from beatings. I felt ill from exhaustion, not poison. And I had cut my own hair.
On the final day, when I went to take my vows, it seemed I might have attained something of the mental and emotional clarity Kaja had urged me toward. In physical striving, I had found a kind of purging. I didn’t think so much about the past, or about my fears of the future. In sparring with Kaja, I’d learned to concentrate on the here and now, as she took advantage of the least distraction.
They held the ceremony at noon. Kaja and Kaedrin planned to ride out afterward, heading north. My ship would leave on the morning tide. I’d packed all my things, what I wasn’t wearing, which was most of it.
I had expected a statue of Danu, and elaborate ceremonies, but the rituals were as simple and straightforward as Kaja herself—and as sparsely populated as the temple, with only Kaedrin and Kaja attending. The altar had nothing on it but a sword, laid across a podium of black stone. Priestess Kaedrin presided, and at her instruction, I laid my hands upon it and fixed my attention on the crystalline star embedded on the white wall above. It looked like both a star and the sun at its zenith, the rays spiking out in every direction. All those times since I left the seraglio that I’d stared at the bright sun until spots formed in my eyes, perhaps I’d been looking for Danu without knowing it.
I focused on the star, asking for Danu’s blessing. At Kaedrin’s prompting, I drew my own sword—and even managed to do it smoothly—going to one knee and swearing my blade in service to the goddess.
Then I spoke the words of the vow of chastity, promising to consecrate my sexual desires to Danu, channeling the cravings of my body into building muscles and sinews to fight for Danu’s clear-eyed justice. Then I took the vow of silence, the last words I’d speak until I decided otherwise.
When I said my final words, I’d become Ivariel: fighter, follower of Danu, and priestess in training.
Kaedrin had helped me pick the name—as it turned out it was traditional for a priestess taking the vows to also take on a new identity. I’d suggested “Valeria,” for the ship who’d become my role model. I liked the meaning, which was to be strong. But that would be too close of a connection to my escape, Kaja thought. So Kaedrin suggested scrambling the letters and arrived at “Ivariel.” The sound and spelling were uncommon ones, coming from a language different from both Dasnarian and Common Tongue. It helped to confirm my foreignness, something I could never hope to hide, while pointing impressions in the wrong direction.
They inscribed the name for me on a silver disk that also marked me as having taken a vow of silence, so that I might show it to explain why I didn’t speak. It hung suspended by a set of loops from another disk I hung around my neck that proclaimed the vow of chastity. That way I could uncouple them as I chose.
That struck me as perhaps the strangest aspect of these vows—that it would be up to me to decide if and when I would break them. Danu teaches self-reliance, decisiveness, and seeing clearly. Thus the goddess leaves it to Her followers to make decisions for themselves.
Kaedrin embraced me and wished me well. And then Kaja kissed me goodbye, striding out the doors of the Temple of Danu, the high, hot sun gilding her with golden light.
~ 7 ~
I lingered a while at the temple, mostly because Kaja had cautioned me to make certain she had traveled a distance before I emerged, so we wouldn’t be connected. I was welcome to stay as long as I liked, one of them now. A strange thing, to become part of a sisterhood with no more requirements than making a promise.
If I wanted to, I could stay longer. Forever, even. No one of the few priestesses at the temple would force me to the Robin, to sail off to yet another new place. I could forfeit the passage easily, as I possessed plenty of coin now, and Kaja had taught me the value of it, how to count and make change. A simple power there, but one that made me giddy. Kaja had even taught me the ways people had of attempting to cheat, and how to spot them. I’d surprised her by being a quick study in this. Though we hadn’t had currency in the seraglio, all sorts of cheating, surreptitious behavior, and sleight of hand had been constantly practiced.
But I wouldn’t stay. Priestesses of Danu didn’t linger long in one place, and though I might not be a true priestess, I’d do my best to behave l
ike one. I would go, not because Kaja had told me to—though I believed her advice to be good—but because I wanted to. Me. I would continue my journey, sailing to Chiyajua, which Kaja had promised I would like.
I left the Temple of Danu at Ehas on a sunny afternoon with daggers at my belt and my sword at my side. I held my head high, meeting the gazes of the people I passed.
Like drawing a sword I’d sheathed by claiming asylum at the temple, I reversed my journey, wending my way downhill, past the beautiful homes of the people of Ehas. They lived in them as large families, I’d learned, often with four or five generations under the one roof. Men and women lived together. Boys and girls took lessons together. An amazing land.
As I passed one house, a young couple emerged. She wore a pretty gown in shades of yellow that complemented her brown skin and brought out the golden lights in her deeper brown hair. He handed her onto a horse, help she clearly didn’t need but bestowed a kiss on him for giving. Then he swung up on his own horse and they rode off, talking about something with enthusiasm and broad smiles.
Watching them, I felt a strange emotion. Not at all certain what it might be. Perhaps I envied their easy companionship. Imagining myself as that girl, however, was both impossible and made my stomach turn. I had never been so innocent as she, with her carefree happiness and easily given kisses.
Or if I had been, I couldn’t recall it.
Even when I’d dreamed of my future husband and the marriage we might have, the fantasy had been overlaid with the calculation I learned at my mother’s knee. I hadn’t pictured cozy conversations and sunlit outings on horseback. Of course, it wasn’t until after I was wed that I even saw the sun.
Last season’s snowmelt, Kaja would say. I was in the sun now, and I was, if not exactly happy, at least free. I turned my face up to that sunshine, enjoying the heated play of it on my skin. Maybe that’s how happiness felt. How did one know? I’d always been told that I would find happiness in marriage and the power that brought—so that was no measure.
As I wended down the road, leaving the grand houses behind and entering the shopping district, I half formed a notion of buying something. I could. I could purchase anything that took my fancy. It didn’t sound as fun as it should, and I realized I missed Kaja. That was this hole inside, the burrowing sense of aloneness.
You could, what—be my faithful sidekick? My kept lover?
I should have offered to be her kept lover. She had wanted me that way, and Kaja, at least, would have been gentle with me. She had no taste for cruelty or pain. Not that kind of pain, anyway. I smiled to myself at the thought. I could have made myself go through the intimacies. I’d gone through far worse.
I could still find her. How many roads north could there be? I could buy a horse and ride as fast as I could. I’d ridden before, through the snowy mountains when Harlan and I escaped. Riding on a road would be much easier. I’d come galloping up behind her, a glad smile on my face, and she would…
She wouldn’t welcome me. She’d know I only pretended so she’d take me with her, because I was lonely and afraid to be alone. Kaja was different from anyone I’d known that way. She wanted the real thing or nothing at all.
I passed that café where I’d seen the ladies dining, and my footsteps slowed. As before, the servant—no, the proprietor, I’d learned—called out, inviting me to take a table. This time, I nodded. He asked me a string of something in Common Tongue about more people, maybe, and I showed him my new disk, with the vow of silence and my name.
He bowed slightly. “Blessed are we to welcome Danu’s chosen. My best table, Priestess Ivariel.”
Just as well that I couldn’t correct him, or I would have said I was neither chosen nor a priestess. But, as I sat at a small table at the high end of the patio, realizing it gave me a fine view of the city falling away below, and the many ships in the harbor, some streaming in with bright sails billowing, I felt blessed.
A server offered me a choice of red or white wine, and I gestured to the white. It tasted bright and clear as the cool sea breezes. The meal turned out to be a seafood casserole, delicately spiced and creamy. None of the other patrons bothered me, though the gazes of several lingered in my direction.
I enjoyed it perhaps more than any meal I’d had in my life.
Until I spotted the Dasnarians.
I froze, the mouse Kaja named me, desperately hoping in my stillness that the cat would pass me by. A troop of Dasnarian soldiers marched up the street, sorely out of place in every way, from their rigid armor to their towering height to their militaristic formation. Amid the ferns, flowers, and palm trees, they looked like invading beetles. And they had to keep adjusting their ranks for the steep curves of the narrow street and the obliviously unconcerned passersby who blundered into their path.
The leader had his helm up, the face within obviously flushed even at a distance, from heat or frustration or both. It wasn’t Kral. Nor was it my former husband. Part of me relaxed, though it made no sense. These men would be just as much of a threat to me. The leader shouted orders to march, adjust, barking at a group of ladies to give way, and I imagined him gnashing his teeth at their failure to obey. I could’ve told him they wouldn’t scurry aside even if they could understand his words, but I only thought of escape.
Why had I stopped to eat in such an exposed place? Or stopped to eat at all! I hadn’t been hungry. But I didn’t dare move, to call attention to myself. The troop marched right past me, the leader’s eyes scanning each of us.
Landing on me.
I tensed to run.
But his gaze moved on, landing on a group of ladies strolling past, staring at them with obvious fascination. He halted the troop, calling at a pretty blonde to stop. She ignored him, of course, and he grabbed her arm angrily, demanding to know her name.
As if from nowhere, a pair of city guards materialized. They looked short and effete compared to the Dasnarians, wearing loose white linen instead of armor. The Dasnarian leader ignored the guards’ challenge, pulling the girl away from her friends, ordering her to come with them.
The Ehas guards drew their swords, one interposing herself between the Dasnarian leader and the blonde, and the other completing the extraction, sending the now sobbing young woman to her friends, who exclaimed in anger and dismay. The Dasnarian sneered at the female guard, lifting a mailed fist to backhand her.
And her sword tip was at his throat.
The Dasnarians drew their swords and knives, all far heavier than the weapons belonging to the Ehas city guards. My stomach climbed up my throat, and I feared I’d puke right there. I clamped down on myself. Don’t you dare call attention. It would be a bloodbath, and all my fault, but I didn’t delude myself I had any chance of wielding my pitiful skills against these soldiers.
If only Kaja… No. Kaja is gone. You escaped on your own before. You can do it again.
More of the city guard arrived on the run, quickly outnumbering the Dasnarians. The Dasnarian leader glared at the female guard, explaining to her in our language all the vile, filthy things he’d do to her if she indeed turned out to be dickless under her mannish clothes. She couldn’t understand him, naturally, but his words carried clearly to me, in my own mannish clothes, and I gripped the edge of the table so as not to crawl under it.
A more decorated member of the city guard arrived, taking over for the guard who stepped away but kept her sword ready. In her face I read all the rage I felt, but none of the fear. The Dasnarian leader began explaining that there had been a misunderstanding, half in Dasnarian, half in mangled Common Tongue. He gestured, and his men sheathed their weapons. The city guards, wisely, did not.
Though Kaja would frown at the impulse, I drained my wine, hoping to steady my nerves and keep from bolting. One of the servers—all of whom had gathered outside, along with the growing crowd, watching the scene with fascination—edged over and refilled my glass. I
wanted to wave her away, but she filled other glasses, too, whispering to each that the proprietor offered it as a gift, for their inconvenience.
I might’ve laughed at anyone considering a troop of Dasnarian soldiers an “inconvenience” had I not been so utterly terrified.
Then the Dasnarian leader spoke my name. It seemed to ring up and down the street, like a summoning spell from an enchanter in an ancient tale. My heart hammered in answer, my nerves singing to obey the call of it. The group of men and ladies at a nearby table fell to discussing it, repeating my name among themselves with great interest and no little prurient curiosity. I wanted to scream at them to shut up. I wanted to run. I wanted to crawl under the table and weep.
If not for Kaja’s training, I might have cracked at that moment. In that extremity, it seemed suddenly infinitely easier to fling myself at the Dasnarians and admit to my identity. To have them drag me back and end this flight, the endless suspense of fearing this very thing would happen.
But Kaja’s face hovered before my mind’s eye, and the look of disgust in it held me riveted in place. Are you so weak, little mouse? she sneered. Will you offer yourself up to the beast out of nothing more than fear?
So I held my wine glass in my hands, fixed to the table so the mad trembling wouldn’t show, and I watched along with everyone else as the Dasnarian leader gestured to one of his men and unrolled the scroll he produced. A painting of me. My wedding portrait. The city guard took it and held it up next to the weeping young blonde, still huddled with her friends. With her back to me, and thus the blank side of the canvas also facing me, I could only see the studious expression of the guard as he looked from the painting to the Ehas girl and back again. If he looked to the left, his gaze would light on me.
He shook his head, inviting the Dasnarian to approach, and they studied the pair. Me, no more than half a year ago, with my long, pale hair piled high in a style similar to the Ehas girl’s, but threaded through with ropes of pearls and sparkling with diamonds. I’d worn Konyngrr silver, a cloak with an elaborate collar embroidered with silver flowers, the centers and petals formed of more jewels. The painting was beautifully executed, a study in pale shades, except for my blue eyes and pinked lips.
Exile of the Seas Page 6