by Zoe Marriott
“Welcome!” he cried, spreading his hands wide. I saw the black glove on his left hand and shivered. That was the one thing I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell Sorin about. Somehow it made Abheron and me too alike, as if we were linked for ever by the same pain, marked by the same tragedy. I didn’t like that feeling.
“Welcome, welcome!” He came to a stop before us, and looked at us expectantly. We looked back at him.
“If you’re waiting for us to bow, you’ll wait a long time,” Sorin said quietly.
Abheron arched a brow, conveying amused patience, then laughed loudly for the benefit of the watchers.
“Zahira and Sorin, my dear niece and cousin. Now that you’re here, the true entertainment can begin.” He clapped his hands and the musicians struck up a new tune. It was slow and rather beautiful, and horribly familiar. I could remember my mother humming it.
“My guests of honour must open this ball with a dance. If you will consent to accompany me, my dear, I will provide a delightful partner for your husband.”
As he spoke, a woman detached herself from the crowd and came forward. She was clad in a grey dress decorated with mother-of-pearl discs, her pale hair shining through a smoky gemmed veil, and elaborate jet and pearl beads dangling at her ears. The dark, exaggerated lines painted around her eyes and the bright red of her lips changed her features so much that I did not recognize her until I felt Sorin stiffen beside me.
“Hello, Anca,” he said expressionlessly. “I see you’ve come up in the world.”
Anca.
I stared at her in disbelief. The woman who had taught me my wedding vows; the woman who had giggled and argued over my dress; the woman who had served me all this time…
“And you have fallen somewhat, my lord,” she said primly as she executed a flawless curtsy. “Luckily some of us still have loyalty to our own people.”
“Anca is a dear friend of mine,” Abheron said. “She will suit your husband admirably, I think.”
In the shock of dawning comprehension I let him take my arm and lead me unresistingly out into the centre of the craft. The crowd watched us in silence, the lap of water and the low, sad music filling the air. Anca…
I came to myself with a start when Abheron turned to face me and placed one gloved hand on my hip, clasping my fingers with the other. I pulled back instinctively, but he tightened his grip on my hand, halting the movement.
“Stay with me, Zahira,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of all these people, would you?”
I heard the subtle threat and reluctantly complied, allowing him to pull me into motion.
One day you’ll dance, your hair all braided with pearls and jewels, and all the lords and casadors will fight to be your partner.
Oh, Indira. You didn’t know what you were saying…
“No wonder you found out about our plans,” I said bitterly. “You had a traitor in our inner circle.”
“Traitor?” He tutted, a picture of injured innocence. “Harsh words against your faithful servant. She was only there to take care of you, which she did superbly, judging by your appearance at the wedding. I only wish I had been able to spare her this evening. What on earth have you done to your hair?”
He lifted his gloved hand from my waist to touch one of the wild curls. I jerked my head away and saw, for an instant, that pulse of darkness at the back of his eyes. Then it was gone, and he replaced his hand at my waist. I could feel the weight of the metal framework inside the glove pressing into my skin.
“You should have worn the dress I sent you,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “I can’t imagine what you intended with this bizarre raiment. You look like a savage.”
“I look like what I am,” I said. “Rua.”
“Half Rua,” he corrected. “Never forget that, Zahira. Like those lovely blue eyes you inherited, your Sedorne blood is dominant.”
“What do you hope to achieve by all this?” I demanded, sick of his verbal fencing.
“Why, nothing. I only wish to give you a glimpse of the life you will enjoy once you become my heir.”
I treated that with the contempt it deserved. “Whatever you’ve got planned, it won’t work, Abheron. I won’t give you what you want.”
He tugged on my arm and guided me into a whirling movement. “Do you like this dance?” he said inconsequentially. “I find it quite refreshing.”
“You’re a monster!”
“Yes. I am. But I am still your uncle, Zahira. Flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood. Your only family. And you will do what I want, in the end.”
I heard feminine laughter behind me, and tore my gaze from Abheron. Sorin was dancing with the still laughing Anca, his movements completely lacking their normal grace as he allowed her to steer him across the floor. Where was his cane? How much of that jerkiness was due to his struggle with his legs, and how much to emotion? As they turned, I saw that his face was set in the blank Sedorne mask. What had Anca said?
I looked back at my uncle. “If you hurt him—” I began.
He patted my hip, intending to soothe. Instead I flinched as the sharp edge of one of his metal fingers pinched my flesh. “Nothing will be done without your knowledge,” he said. “I’ve already told you that. You can trust me.”
I looked at his earnest expression. He meant it. He really thought he was being reasonable and kind. He would keep his word – for now.
But what would happen when he realized he’d never get what he wanted from me?
The sad music ended. Abheron and I came to a stop in the moment of quiet. Then the musicians began playing again, this time a quick, lively tune. The guests on the sidelines surged forward onto the dance floor, flowing around us like a multicoloured river. Abheron released me at once, stepping back into the crowd and, with that unexpected speed that had unnerved me so much earlier, disappeared.
I made my way off the dance floor to an unoccupied corner of the flat boat and scanned the crowd for Sorin. I spotted him attempting to remove Anca’s fingers from his cane as she leaned towards him, speaking persuasively. He yanked the piece of black wood away and turned his back on her without answering and, catching sight of me, began to struggle through the crowd. Behind him, Anca met my eyes. Her smug expression wavered and she gave a helpless gesture with her shoulders and turned away.
“What was she saying?” I asked as Sorin reached me.
“She was trying to persuade me to divorce you,” he said rather breathlessly, leaning on his cane. “It seems Abheron told her that we’re only a threat to him if we’re together – and that she’d be a strong candidate for a replacement wife. She doesn’t know about his plan to get rid of me completely.”
“How did she manage to get into the fort?” I asked, trying to keep my voice free of reproach. “I thought you said you knew everyone there.”
“Anca came with letters of recommendation from a very old and trusted friend of mine.”
“Forgeries?”
“No. The letters were real. Unfortunately they were stolen from the real Anca en route to Mesgao. The poor girl was disposed of and this one sent in her place. Apparently there’s enough of a resemblance that Vittoria, who knew the real Anca when they were children, was convinced, and vouched for her too.”
“So carefully planned,” I whispered. “He must have been desperate to get someone into the fort.”
“Yes.” Sorin looked at me. “He wants you very badly, doesn’t he?”
I nodded, managing a smile that felt horribly twisted on my face. “He thinks I can save his soul.”
We looked at each other hopelessly, in our bubble of quiet. Then I glanced away, searching for something to distract myself.
“Is it normal to be ignored like this?” I asked. Despite the fact that this was supposed to be a ball in our honour, not one person had attempted to approach us. People weren’t even looking in our direction. It was as if we weren’t there.
Sorin made a sound that was half s
igh, half laugh. “They can feel a storm coming, and they’re taking shelter as best they can. Ten years with Abheron for a king has made people very sensitive.”
I sighed, then tensed at a noise by my elbow. I turned to see a Rua servant waiting humbly at my side. The man bowed deeply and wordlessly – the bow of a subject to his reia – and then held out a tall golden goblet. I accepted it with some surprise and watched him disappear into the crowd again.
“I hope no one saw,” I said. “It could get him into trouble.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t think of that,” Sorin said thoughtfully. He took the goblet from me and stared into it, then pulled something white from the cup. “I think this is for you.”
I took it from his hand. It was a white canthus blossom, freshly picked, its tiny petals just opening into their starburst pattern. White canthus was the sign of the royal house of Elfenesh, symbolizing peace.
And hope.
“A message?” I whispered. “From whom?”
“I don’t know; maybe it means we’re not as alone here as we thought.” He took the flower from me and tucked it into the hair over my ear.
There was another loud blare of music and I jumped. The guests, obviously better informed than me, immediately began filing away from the food and the dancing area, forming orderly lines as they streamed onto the walkways away from the central vessel.
“What’s happening now?” I muttered.
Before Sorin could answer, I sensed a presence behind me and turned to see the gourdin captain I had noticed earlier, and another, lower-ranking gourdin, waiting on the deck. They nodded respectfully at us.
“His Majesty is going to make his announcement now,” the captain said. “He wishes you to join him.”
I glanced quickly at Sorin, and saw the sudden tension that he was fighting to hide. What was Abheron going to announce? He gave both of the soldiers a long look, and then nodded.
“Very well. Lead on.”
The captain, blank-faced, stepped back and indicated that we were to precede him and his silent colleague.
We went where the gourdin wanted, moving deeper into the drifting pattern of boats as we crossed walkways and smaller, empty craft. Finally we stepped onto the vessel where everyone else had gathered. It was the furthest boat in the arrangement, at the peak of the outer half-circle. Beyond it, the water, trees and mountains blended into solid darkness. The craft was rectangular in shape and almost as large as the central one where we had danced, with a double-peaked gold canopy from which dozens of lanterns hung. The guests parted for us without protest as we came to a halt in the middle, the guards still at our back.
At the far end of the craft, on a low platform, a small contingent of armed gourdin stood. I could see a dark shape on the floor behind them, but their closed ranks made it impossible to tell what it was. Abheron stood near them, hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at his feet. He looked different. It took me a moment to realize why.
For the first time, he was wearing a crown, a simple red-gold circlet. It was the same one that my father had worn all his life. I stiffened as a dreadful sense of foreboding seized me. I lifted my hand to the canthus flower in my hair, and touched the delicate petals. Hope.
I willed Abheron to look at me. Just a glance, anything, to give me some idea of what he was thinking, what he was up to. Suddenly he looked up and met my gaze. I went cold. The merciless ice of his eyes held a grim mixture of determination and … apology. Then he looked away over my head.
Holy Mother – what is he going to do?
The tense, subdued muttering that had filled the space died away the moment Abheron rested his eyes on his guests. They look and act more like cowed children than lords and ladies, I thought. He’s broken them. Now he wants to do the same to me.
“My lords,” he began, “you have gathered here today to help me celebrate the discovery of my niece, Zahira Elfenesh, and to bless her marriage to my loyal subject Sorin Constantin – or Sorin Mesgao, as he likes to be known. Thank you for making my little party a success.”
As if this was a cue, everyone burst into enthusiastic applause. I kept my hands firmly at my waist.
“Thank you.” Abheron lifted his hands, and the clapping stopped dead.
“Finding that the child of my sister is alive has caused me to think seriously about the succession to the throne of Ruan.” He dropped this piece of information lightly, ignoring the worried rustle it caused among his guests. “I have not been blessed with children, and in latter years this has troubled me often. When I die, who is to lead this nation? The answer, now, seems obvious. Lady Zahira is blessed with royal blood from both her mother and father, and is my only living relation.”
What is he doing? I thought wildly, glancing at Sorin and the gourdin waiting behind him. He promised he wouldn’t do anything unless I agreed. What is he doing?
“However,” he went on, now addressing me directly, “my niece is blessed with great modesty and delicacy of mind, which cause her to baulk at this idea. I cannot chide her. These very traits will make her a worthy queen. We must simply undertake to persuade her that agreeing to be my heir is the only acceptable path.”
More rustling filled the space as the guests hastily nodded and made gestures of assent. I looked at them contemptuously. Sorin’s face was grim.
“Other traits that Lady Elfenesh possesses are a strong sense of honour, and compassion. Commendable, I’m sure you all agree.” Abheron lifted an eyebrow, his eyes resting on my face. “And thinking on these, I have devised a plan which I believe will persuade her to do as we all want.”
He gestured at the men beside him. The front row of gourdin stepped back, while those behind them bent and dragged something forward into the light.
There was a gasp from the guests. I clapped my hand over my mouth to hold in a cry of horror. Sorin swiftly reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, holding me steady as I stared at the woman on the platform.
She seemed barely conscious. Her face was a swollen, pulpy mess, black and purpling bruises forcing one of her eyes completely shut. A great open gash across her nose bled sluggishly. Through rips in her clothes I could see welts and wounds all over her body. One of her arms dangled uselessly at her side, clearly broken; the other was secured behind her, forcing her to slump on the ground. She had been beaten almost to death.
The woman was Rashna.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“Dear God,” I whispered, tears welling up uncontrollably. “Dear God…”
Sorin’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Courage, love. There’s worse to come.”
“There is a custom,” Abheron said. “An ancient custom of the Sedorne. It says that when a king chooses his heir, his people, rich and poor, noble and common alike, are given a holiday, a day of freedom to rejoice. On such days, all prisoners must be pardoned – no matter what their crimes – and let free to live.”
He walked across the platform and bent to crouch beside Rashna’s huddled form. She jerked convulsively as he reached out, but he only laid his gloved hand on her head as he studied her.
“This woman is a Rua traitor who infiltrated my staff, no doubt in an attempt to harm my person. When she was found out she attempted to escape, and killed three loyal gourdin before she was arrested. As I’m sure you all know, these crimes are punishable by death.”
He looked at me again, and now his voice was low so that few besides Sorin and I could hear it. “If you agree to become my heir – and to all the conditions which I have already laid out – then this woman may be pardoned under the ancient custom. If you do not…” He lifted his hand, and stood again. “Then she must be executed for what she has done. The choice is yours, Zahira.”
Tears trickled down my face and I bit my lip, hard. Rashna had risked everything for me; she was lying, broken and half dead, at the feet of my enemies. Yet if I agreed I would be betraying Sorin, and all my people, condemning Ruan to suffer under Abheron�
��s rule for as long as he lived.
I looked at Rashna’s poor, battered face in anguish. Suddenly her good eye flickered open and met mine. The force of her will bored into me as if she had screamed in my head, Don’t you dare cave in! Stop snivelling and face him!
I knuckled the tears out of my eyes and pushed away from Sorin to stand on my own. Conscious that every eye was on me, I stepped forward and slowly bowed to Rashna – the deepest bow, of a servant to her reia. She jerked her head painfully in acknowledgement.
“What is your decision, Zahira?” Abheron demanded.
I looked up into his face and saw expectant confidence. I longed to smash that face. I will smash it. God help me, one day I will.
I lifted my chin, and spoke so that everyone could hear. “No.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No? No what?”
“I won’t be your heir.”
Disbelief crossed his face, followed by grudging respect. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he said softly. “You will make a magnificent queen.”
“You’re mistaken,” I ground out. “Badly mistaken. I’ll see you dead for it.”
Metal gauntleted hands closed hard over my shoulders, pinching painfully at my skin. I struggled, but the gourdin captain simply lifted me off my feet and clamped his arms over mine. I heard a shout and craned my head in time to see Sorin brought down by a hard blow to the back of his legs with the other soldier’s pikestaff. His cane clattered out of his hand as he staggered and fell to his knees. The gourdin twisted the pike round and pressed the blade to his throat. Sorin looked at me in mute anguish, helpless.
“Gently now,” Abheron said to the captain who held me. “If I find a single bruise on her I’ll reopen that hole in your shoulder.” The captain’s grip on me eased slightly, but he didn’t put me down.
Abheron looked at me. “I am sorry, Zahira. Remember, this was your own choice.” Then he turned to one of the gourdin standing over Rashna’s slumped form. “Proceed.”