by Amber Argyle
Zura slowly faced Cinder with an expression that almost resembled pity. Then she turned and said to Farood, “Let her go. She’s Jatar’s problem now.”
Durux came forward even as the thug reluctantly released her. Cinder tried to whirl and run again, but Durux wrapped her up in his arms. She cringed away from his body pressed against hers. He started dragging her back. “What have you done with my Luathan, clanwoman? I want her back.”
“I don’t know where she is.” It was true. Cinder doubted the smugglers would have kept the girl at the Sand Snake.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll remember,” Durux told her.
“What do you want with me? Of what importance am I to you?”
“I’m not after you, slave,” Jatar answered as she was shoved to the front of the chariot. He slapped the reins across the horses’ backs. The chariot shot through the city, people leaping out of its way. Cinder couldn’t help but watch for Darsam. Surely he was out of prison now and looking for her. He promised he would do anything for her.
They passed the city wall, crossing dozens of orchards fed by the province’s ingenious irrigation systems. Cinder stared out into the fields and tried to count the people hurrying to plant the last of the seeds before the rains came in earnest. But the numbers kept slipping away. Clannish and Luathan men and women glanced up at the coming storm and then went back to work, their bodies bent as they prepared for a crop of which they would never taste the fruits.
The chariot shot past the workers’ housing, nestled within an orchard. Six long rows of dilapidated buildings with bolted doors and no windows. Cinder dully wished this was the life that now awaited her—endless days of picking fruit and planting crops. Because whatever the slavers had in store for her would be much worse.
Soon, they left the fields and orchards behind and approached a circular wall. Cinder knew if they crossed that wall and Darsam still hadn’t come for her, he probably never would. She closed her eyes as she passed beneath its shadow; she swore she could feel the oppressive weight of the stones arching above her.
At that moment the rains came, lashing at her from the side and making her new tattoos sting. Squinting through the water running down her face, Cinder watched as the chariot climbed toward a sprawling mansion. She didn’t think it was possible to feel more afraid, but she did. Whatever Jatar meant to do with her would be worse than anything she could imagine.
Jatar stepped past her, into the mansion. Durux took hold of her arm. “May I play with her, Father?”
Father? Jatar is Durux’s father? Cinder thought as the water slipped down her skin. She looked at the men and saw nothing to tie them together, from their looks to their temperaments.
Jatar rubbed his forehead. “Why don’t you go play with your new man for now—the city watchman. What was his name? Grez?”
Cinder went cold all over.
“Can I kill him?” Durux asked with a sick eagerness.
“Not yet. He hasn’t suffered enough.”
Durux pivoted, a lightness to his step—like a child about to play with a new toy.
“You’re the one who beat up Laz,” Cinder choked.
Jatar unwound his dripping cloak and tossed it onto a chair. “Oh, we did much worse than beat him up. His sister is a beautiful girl.”
Cinder clenched her fists. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
He chuckled. “Come along.”
Afraid he would call Durux back if she didn’t, Cinder trailed after Jatar, leaving puddles of water behind her to mark her path. She wondered if a servant would come along later and wipe it up, or if the water stains would stay a few days as a testament that she had been here.
Jatar led her through the extravagant mansion to the back kitchens. Thirty-eight steps later, he opened a door, releasing a puff of incense, and motioned for her to go ahead of him into what appeared to be a dark cellar. Every muscle in her body clenched. When she hesitated, he gripped her shoulder and shoved her. She stumbled down the stairs, one hand braced against the rough wall to steady herself.
She tried to comfort herself that at least Yula was free. Darsam would make sure she stayed that way.
At the base of the stairs, Jatar gave Cinder one last shove. She barely managed to catch herself from falling. Breaths coming too fast, she found herself in a wine cellar, the shelves of which held more scrolls than wine. It was chilly below, and with her wet clothes, she immediately began to shiver. There was a table in the center littered with paper. All along the perimeter, bowls of crumbling incense burned, the smoke strong enough to sting her eyes and the back of her throat—just like at the Idaran temples. Some people burned incense to keep fairies at bay. Zura had never liked how the smoke had dirtied her walls, so it had never been used at the House of Night.
“I didn’t take you for a religious man,” Cinder said with a cough.
Jatar chuckled. “I’m rather the opposite of religious.” He turned to two guards as they came down to stand at the base of the stairs. “Remind the men at the wall to signal us the moment they see anything.”
One guard nodded and turned to go. The second squared himself in front of the stairs. Jatar circled around to the other side of the table and looked over some scrolls. He tossed them aside in frustration before finally looking up at Cinder. “Tell me about Darsam.”
She set her jaw. “I’m not telling you anything.”
Jatar leaned forward, bracing his weight on the table. “There probably isn’t much you can tell me that I don’t already know.”
She huffed in disbelief. “I doubt that.”
He smiled at her. “I know that Lord Bahar has been working for years to underhand the slave and pleasure guilds. I also know that his son only pretends to be a fop. Darsam and his tribesmen friends are really spying out slaves to rescue.”
Cinder lifted her chin, trying to be brave even though her she was really shivering and terrified. “If you really knew that, you’d have killed him a long time ago.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve come close to doing just that,” Jatar assured her. “But I’ve waited, because he was the key.”
She tried to quell the desperation rising inside her. “Key to what?”
Jatar squinted at her. “Come closer, so I can see your expressions.”
When she didn’t move, the guard came forward and dragged her in front of the desk before returning to his post.
Jatar studied her. “At first, we tried to infiltrate Darsam’s network. But my spies would always end up dead. Darsam is careful about those he works with—always tribesmen and always infallibly loyal. Until I realized Darsam’s weakness. He has a blind spot for those who are helpless. They are the only ones who can come close enough.
“And then you came along. The way he watched you, the way he followed you around, I knew I had to have you as my own. Durux even arranged to bring Darsam running and then have a little trollop push you in front of his chariot, just to prick at the perfect little conscience of his. Zura already owed me enough money, so it wasn’t hard to convince her to buy a slave on credit. I even picked out the Luathan girl myself.”
“It was all a show?”
“We were certain you’d try to run. Who wouldn’t? Zura planted a little tip for Ash about a smuggler who helped slaves. Dutiful mother that she is, she set off immediately, and you even followed her.” He chuckled. “When Darsam made a fool of himself at the auction, we knew we had him.”
Cinder bowed her head, letting the clumps of her damp hair fall forward to cover her face so Jatar wouldn’t see her crestfallen countenance. So he wouldn’t know how afraid she was now.
“Even in my wildest schemes,” he went on, “I never imagined the fool would fall in love with you.”
“He’s not in love with me,” Cinder said, knowing she had to do what she could to protect Darsam.
Jatar shook his head. “Not what my spy heard from that jail cell you two happened to have shared.”
Fi
re and burning, Jatar did know everything. “What do you want me for?”
“Weaknesses, Cinder. The goddess has precious few. My men and I have tried to bring her down before, with disastrous results. She is powerful beyond words, well insulated, and has managed to heal herself from what should have been a fatal blow more than once.”
Cinder felt the blood draining from her face. “You’re going to try to kill the goddess?”
A wicked smile curved up the corners of Jatar’s mouth. “No. You are.”
She gaped at him and then started laughing, the sound maniacal and desperate. “Me? Have you lost your mind?” Cinder had no more training with a knife than slicing a mango, and none at all with a sword.
“At first, we tried to buy off Nelay’s men, but they are loyal to a fault,” Jatar explained. “We’ve tried killing her from afar, but she seems to know we’re coming before we do. It was then we learned of her spies, the fairies. Our attacks became more secretive, more complex. We’ve learned to hide underground and use incense to keep the fairies at bay. We even managed to put a bolt through her once. By the next day, she was airborne, and my men burned.
“Nelay’s only weakness is her family, which has proved impenetrable. But you—you can get in. Darsam cares about you. He’ll take you where he knows he can keep you safe, back to his palace.”
Cinder felt all the blood drain from her face. “So if I help you, what’s in it for me?” She wouldn’t, but it would be foolish to say so.
Jatar’s eyes lit up. “Freedom. For your family. For you.”
She was ashamed at how much that offer tempted her. “And if I refuse?”
“Durux has taken an interest in you. He’s impossible to live with if he doesn’t have his . . . needs met.”
“You’re as mad as he is.”
“My son is not mad. Just evil. But I’ve found a way to channel him, to leash him. He is quite useful.” Cinder shuddered. “When the queen comes to visit,” Jatar went on, “you will find a way to give her this.” He held up a glass vial filled with a clear liquid. “It’s tasteless and odorless. It will make her feel sleepy. And then her heart will stop in her sleep. It will be an easy death.”
Cinder shook her head. “I can’t.” I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
“I thought you might say that.” Jatar called out to his guards. The door came open. Storm and Ash walked in, propelled by Durux and a handful of guards.
“Cinder,” Ash gasped.
Cinder’s breath hitched, panic catching in her throat. Her gaze darted over her mother and grandmother. They didn’t appear to be hurt. But Cinder didn’t believe that would last long, not with men such as Durux and Jatar.
Durux walked around her family and approached Cinder. She backed away from him but he was fast, his hand snaking out to grab her face. “I will carve furrows in your skin. You will be my masterpiece.”
“Leave her alone,” Storm cried.
There was a struggle and then ringing silence. Not daring to take her eyes off Durux, to see what had been done to her mother and grandmother, Cinder felt a sob building in her chest.
“Only if she refuses, Son,” Jatar said. “If she fails, you can have the older women to play with for as long as you please.”
Durux grinned, his teeth flashing.
“I’m not afraid of you, or of him.” It was a lie, but it felt like bravery to say it.
Jatar’s face was emotionless. “You should be.”
Durux licked the tear rolling down Cinder’s cheek and released her, his hands out to his sides. “I am a god.”
Tears streaming down her face, Cinder moved to stand before her mother and grandmother, who held onto her as if they would never let go. “You promise to leave them alone?”
Ash shuddered, but Storm said, “I don’t mind dying, Cinder.”
A sob slipped from Cinder’s mouth and she barely managed to swallow the others storming behind it. “But Grandmother, he will do so much worse than simply kill you.”
Jatar came around the desk to stand before the older woman. “It’s all about weaknesses, as I was telling your granddaughter.”
“Whatever he wants you to do, don’t do it,” Storm said to Cinder. “Do you understand me? The only way this ends for any of us is with death.”
“Show her, Durux,” Jatar said.
Durux backed Storm against the wall and held his blade to her throat. Cinder bolted to stop him, but Jatar pinned her against him. Cinder writhed and kicked in Jatar’s arms, wanting to hurt him so badly, to break free and rip Durux’s limbs from his body. But Jatar held her as if she were nothing.
“The old ones have tougher spirits, but weaker bodies,” Durux said. “You have to be so, so careful if you want to keep them alive.” He trailed his knife down Storm’s cheek, leaving a livid welt. “So, so careful.”
“Stop it!” Cinder sobbed. “I’ll do what you want. Just leave them alone!”
Jatar released her and held the vial between them. “Find a way to put it in Nelay’s food. Then get out. My men will be watching for you. They’ll bring you to your mother and grandmother. As soon as word reaches us that the goddess is dead, I will see you on a boat back to the clanlands myself.”
Cinder had to work her mouth a few times before she could make it form any words. “How do I know you’ll keep your promise?”
Jatar took her hand. She didn’t resist as he set the vial, still warm from his skin, into her palm. “I am a man of my word, Cinder. Darsam will come for you. My men will put up a fight, just enough to make it look good. The queen will be in the city for a few days—at least until her son is well enough to be transferred back to Thanjavar. Find a way to kill her before then, or your family dies.”
Before Cinder could answer one way or another, a knock sounded on the door. “Yes?” Jatar called.
The door opened to reveal one of his men. “They’ve been spotted, sir. Six of them. Just crossing the river. And the other guild leaders are waiting for you.”
Jatar’s suffocating presence stepped back, and Cinder could breathe again.
“Good. Send them down.” The man retreated. Jatar motioned to the guard at the base of the stairs. “Take the older two back to their cells. The girl to Durux’s rooms. Dress her in something scandalous—Darsam won’t be able to resist coming for her then.” Jatar sat behind his desk, even as six men and women wearing fine clothing and the mantles of different guilds—slaver, pleasure, entertainer, even the seamen’s guild—slipped downstairs.
The guard took hold of Cinder’s arm and hauled her to the top of the stairs. Two more men dragged her family into the dark, stormy night. Cinder latched onto the doorframe to keep from being dragged away. She and her mother and grandmother screamed for each other, reaching for each other, but the men holding them were too strong. The door slammed shut. Ash and Storm were out of her reach. Realizing she might never see them again, Cinder collapsed, her sobs breaking loose.
“Good evening, my friends,” Jatar said from below as he addressed the guild leaders facing his desk. “The plan is in place. At my signal, we will begin our coordinated attacks through all the cities of Idara, starting—” The guard shut the cellar door, cutting off any other words he might have said.
The guard hauled Cinder up and took her to another room in the house. An older woman waited there next to a steaming bath. A silk dress with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side hung over the door. Cinder’s terrified mind caught up with why they were bathing her and putting her into such fine clothing. But no matter what she wore, she knew Darsam would do whatever it took to save her from becoming Durux’s personal toy.
As she was forced into the tub, her mind went back to the words she’d heard earlier. Coordinated attacks on all the cities—this wasn’t just about killing the goddess. This was about all of Idara.
Cinder stood before the open window, blinded to the night by the room lit with dozens of lanterns. Outside, it was raining, great sheets coming down. The spray of water
bouncing off the balcony had her damp and shivering. Dressed in cream silk that did little to hide her body, she stood with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. The guard was just off to the side, making sure Cinder stayed where she could easily be seen through the window.
Despite the coolness, she was sweating, drops sliding down the back of her neck. “You know Jatar means you to die,” she said softly to the guard, who was barely more than a boy. “When Darsam comes, he’ll kill you to free me.”
“Not if I kill him first. Durux said you were a companion. So sing. It might help your lover find you easier.”
“I don’t—”
The guard set his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Sing!”
Cinder swallowed hard, trying to bring up a bit of moisture. But she couldn’t think of a song, any song. “I can’t think—”
“That song the clanwomen always sing—the one that makes you shiver. Sing that one.”
She knew which one he meant. The song about the Southron, a river that cut through most of the clanlands. Cinder began to sing. She knew her voice was nothing special, but the song was. It began with the river feeling the soldiers of Idara cutting through as they invaded. Of the blood that had poisoned its waters, of the bodies it had taken to the sea. Of the ships that had made it to the sea only to go down, bodies and weapons sinking softly into the still depths.
It made Cinder long for all the things she had never seen, but that were part of her, woven through the fabric of her being.
When the song ended, the guard said softly, “What does it mean?”
“It’s a lament. The sorrow of the river, a silent witness.”
“That’s stupid. Rivers can’t witness—” His voice cut off in a gurgle and he staggered, trying to turn. A shadowy form shoved him to the ground. Instinctively, Cinder stepped back, but the figure whipped off his cloak, and the lamplight caught his face.
Darsam. Cinder had begun to hope he wouldn’t come, that he wouldn’t risk himself or his men for her. But if she refused to go with him now, Jatar would have no use for her. Darsam and his men would die. Cinder’s family would die.