by CS Sealey
Eventually, she moaned softly and Rasmus sat forward a little in his chair. She reached up with one hand and pressed her long fingers to her temple. Then the girl murmured a few words he could not understand before opening her eyes. Seeing Rasmus, she gasped and held her hands up protectively. Then a long stream of foreign words issued from her lips.
“No, it’s all right, I – ”
The girl continued to speak quickly and her dark eyes grew larger, laced with fear. She began to gesture frantically with her hands.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he said. “Just hang on a minute! I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Do you speak any of my language?”
“Back!” she cried. “Get away from me!”
“Ah, right! Yes, you can. Look, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What you want, I will not do,” she said frantically.
“No, it’s all right.” He sat back in his chair and raised his arms. “I’m not going to lay a finger on you.”
The girl regarded him warily and then began to study the room, her gaze returning to him every few seconds.
“There was a fire at the Gifted Rose,” Rasmus explained. “I found you upstairs and brought you back here. It’s closer than the infirmary at the barracks. Probably cleaner, too. Are you all right?”
“You are a guard?” she asked, spying his sword, which he had placed on top of his chest of drawers.
“From the Rose? No, I’m a soldier in the infantry. I’m only wearing my uniform because of the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?”
“You know, for Queen Zennia.”
The girl’s puzzled expression did not change.
“The queen. She died a couple of days ago. Everybody in the city heard about it.”
“I – I was in a warehouse.”
“A warehouse?” Rasmus asked, his own brow furrowing. “Why were you – ? What do you mean?”
The girl looked at him sadly. In response to his question, she loosened the cords at the front of her scorched dress and pulled down the neckline. She slid it over her left shoulder and revealed a very fresh looking brand, small but raw. Rasmus gasped and approached to examine it but the girl shied away, pulling the dress back up.
“That man bought me this morning.”
“Then those screams I heard – I had no idea! Well, you don’t have to go back there. I don’t think anyone saw me leave with you.”
“No matter where I go, I will always be a slave now.”
“Scars fade. I should know. I’ve had my fair share of them!” he said. “There are quite a few embarrassing ones on my, uh…rear I wish would go away, though! Might take a few more years before I can forget about those!”
For a moment, he saw a twinkle of amusement flash in the girl’s eyes and his smile widened. He extended his hand. “My name is Rasmus Auran, captain of the Fourth Battalion Infantry.”
The girl paused, then cautiously took his hand. “Angora.”
“Never heard that name before.”
“And I have never heard yours.”
“Is there anything you need – food, drink? I have some fruit and bread in the other room and water as well. I don’t have anything stronger, I’m afraid.”
“Water.”
“Right.”
He rose. In the dark living room, he tripped on the rug covering most of the floor and almost fell. Chastizing himself, he navigated the room with greater care and found an empty jug. He moved over to the balcony door, unlatched it and filled the jug up to the rim with rainwater from the barrel outside. The water was pleasantly cold and he splashed his face with it before returning inside.
Angora was sitting cross-legged on his bed, and accepted the jug with a small, grateful smile. Rasmus sat back down in the chair beside the bed and watched as Angora brought the jug to her lips.
“Sorry, I haven’t got round to buying myself any mugs yet. I’ve never really had guests before and they supplied all the utensils at the barracks before I moved here.”
“You live alone?”
“I intended to share this place with my mother, but she didn’t really take to living in the city and has gone back home. Don’t understand why. Nortica really is the worst city I’ve ever lived in. It’s cold, rains most of the time and nothing happens there. There’s no markets worth mentioning, no ale worth drinking and the women! Too many dogs, too. Uh, could I…ask you something?”
“Of course. I am in your debt, Captain Rasmus Auran.”
“What? Oh, just Rasmus. And, no, you owe me nothing.”
“You saved my life.”
“It was my pleasure. Just ask my brother – I have a certain weakness for damsels in distress.”
“What are damsels?”
“Pretty young ladies in need of aid from handsome, brave strangers. Well, it certainly helps if the ladies are pretty, and you, wow…Uh, but your accent, you’re not from the mainland, are you?”
“No.”
“If I had to guess,” he said, grinning, “I’d say you were from one of the Kalladean islands. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“And your language?”
“Eita petran at mor arasai…?” The girl smiled then and her face became all the more enchanting. Her eyes sparkled and softened, and her pale cheeks flushed slightly with color. “I am not surprised you have not heard my language,” Angora said, then grew sad, “but I doubt you would truly like to know where I am from.”
“I wouldn’t ask if that were the case. Come on.”
Angora’s eyes drifted to the window. “Keep your fists to yourself, if you can.”
“What? You think I will want to hurt you?”
“My journey to this city was…unpleasant.”
“Look, what those men did to you was wrong…terrible! But I’m not like that.”
Angora looked at him for a long while. Her gaze was so piercing that he felt his ears growing hot. Eventually, she nodded, moved closer to him and drew out a necklace that Rasmus had not noticed. It was simple, an amulet made of bone on a thick leather cord.
“This was my mother’s,” Angora said, bringing it over her head and holding it out. “She gave it to me when I was five. When the man who bought me tried to take it off, I – I bit him. He hit me, but let me keep it.”
“Should’ve done more than bite him,” Rasmus muttered.
“This is a single tooth from a Castlemaine sand shark,” she said, gesturing to the amulet. “They are very difficult to catch. We wear these to show the Goddess we are strong.”
“Goddess? Then your culture worships only one spirit out of many?”
“Yes,” she said, absently running her fingertips over the amulet.
“I know little of the cultures of the islands in the Kalladean. But as far as I know, only one of the islands believes in a single deity.”
Angora met his gaze, then lowered her head. A chill ran down his spine.
“You’re Teronian?”
“Yes.”
“Gods…Why in the world did you come here?”
“I never wished to.”
Angora tucked her necklace back inside her dress and plucked at her long hair with anxious fingers. She began to tell him of the last few months of her life. A storm had washed a young man onto the shore of her island and she had befriended him. However, when the storms had subsided, he had left, promising to return for her, yet he never had. The following weeks had been hard. She had tried to repair her aching heart but all the progress she had made on the road back to happiness shattered when her mother had taken her own life. Believing the death had been Angora’s fault, her father, Chief Mercudus, had beaten her over and over. Eventually, alone and wracked with sorrow, Angora had also looked to the sea to find an end.
Rasmus listened in stunned silence, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. He had heard the most terrible stories sung by bards in the taverns and around the campfires while on campaign, but none had affected him as acutely as her tale. Angora did not wee
p or tremble. It was as though she had already cried herself dry. When she had finished, Rasmus gathered himself together and forced a kind smile to his lips.
“Regardless of where you came from or what brought you here, you are safe with me,” he assured her. “Your heritage doesn’t bother me. You may stay here as long as you wish, as my honored guest. I will provide for you.”
“But you speak to me as though I were…an equal. A friend.”
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“I am Teronian and a slave.”
“In this city, you can be whatever you wish to be.”
There was a pause in which Angora looked around the room once more. Rasmus watched her, suddenly wishing he had thought to decorate his bare apartment with pictures, hangings and other ornaments.
“You…visit those places often?” she asked, turning back. “For women?”
Rasmus laughed nervously, feeling his cheeks growing very red. “You can blame my friend for that! I only wanted a drink, I swear.” He paused. “What did you say before, in your own tongue?”
Angora smiled slightly.
“Eita petran at mor arasai?”
“That’s it.”
“It means: Do you ever stop smiling?”
Rasmus grinned. “Oh, very rarely.”
CHAPTER 9
Rasmus woke early. He had collapsed on the unmade spare bed in the living room, usually reserved for either Elroy or Cassios after a late night at the Berri. Yawning widely and discovering he had fallen asleep with his clothes on, he rose stiffly and began to undress, pulling off his thin cotton shirt and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. He crossed the room and gazed sleepily out of the window over the stirring city. He lived on the top floor of the complex in a corner apartment and enjoyed the best view of the city. Since the houses in front were merely single-story dwellings, he could see right down to the docks and farmland beyond the outermost city wall. The morning breeze was fresh and carried a strong scent of baking bread. He breathed in deeply and stretched his stiff shoulders and neck, letting the wind glide pleasantly across his bare chest and sides. From his window, he spied the lower city’s dockland temple and heard its distant chimes signaling the dawn. As he watched, a flock of gulls rose up from the tower rafters, disturbed by the bells.
He heard the creak of floorboards in his bedroom and suddenly remembered Angora, cursing quietly as he snatched up his shirt. No sooner had he tugged it back over his head than the door opened and the girl emerged cautiously. She was wearing the clothes he had set out for her but looked anything but comfortable.
“I am not sure I am fit to go out,” she said, looking down at herself.
Rasmus laughed; he could not help it. The clothes were much too large for her and she was holding the trousers up to prevent them from sliding down over her hips. The sleeves were also too long and she had rolled them up several times to free her hands. For a moment, Angora stared at him but then she seemed to brighten up.
“But at least they are not burnt.”
“Well, we have two options,” Rasmus said thoughtfully. “Go as you are or I can fetch you something from the market myself.”
“I have no money.”
“But I do.”
A confused expression came over Angora’s face.
“I get the feeling that you don’t take to gifts very well,” he said.
“I was taught from a very young age to always distrust mainlanders.”
“And I was always taught that Teronians were pirates and barbarians with not an inch of grace between them all,” Rasmus admitted, then shrugged. “I guess both our teachers were wrong.”
*
Captain Rasmus Auran did not leave until the afternoon. He made for very interesting company and Angora listened intently to every word he spoke. Her grasp of the mainland tongue had improved very quickly in the short time since she had been swept up on the Metaille beach and she was glad of it. Rasmus laughed and joked with her and she found herself laughing with him, sometimes simply because his laughter was infectious.
Once alone, Angora investigated every corner of the apartment. After discovering how to unlatch the balcony door, she stepped outside and looked out across the sloping city. From there, she could see roofs of every shape and size – flat and sloping, spires and parapets. She had never seen such diversity. However, the longer she stood there, the more she came to realize that, despite its impressive scale and architecture, she could find very little beauty. A few oak trees rose up between the roofs but she could smell nothing but industry and people. She felt a pang of sadness when she realized she missed Teronia.
She retreated inside once more. After closing the door behind her, she heard distant voices carrying up the stairwell outside Rasmus’s apartment door.
“But why would they employ someone so young?” a man asked.
“Perhaps anyone older would arouse suspicion,” another man replied, his voice deeper than the first.
“But really, now! She could hardly enter politics or seriously converse with members of court without attracting unwanted attention! Hell, even if she was trained as a healer, there’s only so much our soldiers can tell her.”
“Regardless,” a woman said, “I know what I saw. It’s up to you to deal with the situation. No, the next floor up, Emil.”
“This is so strange,” the first said, “my own brother bought an apartment in this very complex! And, just think, he’s living only yards from an Ayon spy.”
Their footsteps drew closer as they climbed the stairs. Angora heard the top step creak and then their footfalls move across the landing to stop right outside the door. There was a pause. She stiffened.
“What? No, you’ve got to be kidding!”
“I am sorry, Tiderius.”
“No. I won’t believe it. Rasmus wouldn’t! He’s not – ”
“There’s no time to argue about this, Tiderius. You have a key to this place, don’t you? I suggest you use it.”
“But, Emil – ”
“Just do it, unless you wish me to use other means.”
Angora felt her blood chill and her limbs began to quiver. She was confused but her instincts were unclouded – these people would assume she was the Ayon spy if they found her. The mere thought of it made her furious.
She threw open the balcony door, stumbled outside and then shut it behind her as quietly as she could. The height from the balcony was too great to consider an escape, so she pressed herself up against the wall beside the balustrade, making herself as small as possible. With Rasmus’s water barrel between her and the door and the gathering darkness of evening, she prayed she would be adequately concealed.
The door of the apartment opened and the three strangers stepped inside. The door was closed and bolted. She heard the deeper-voiced man commanding the other two to split up and search the rooms. A long period of anxious waiting and listening followed, when she heard nothing but the passage of feet across the floorboards, the opening of doors and the moving of furniture. Her heart beat quickly and anxiously in her chest. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears and her breaths were frequent and shallow. Pressing her chin into her knees, she tried to calm herself. Could she talk her way out of it? Could she convince them she was merely a friend? No, her accent would give her away in seconds. If she had heard correctly, one of the men searching the apartment was Tiderius Auran. Rasmus had mentioned his younger brother a few times but she had not gleaned much from his description. Regardless of whether Tiderius believed his brother was hiding an Ayon spy or not, he was searching with his companions without further protest.
The balcony door opened and her heart sank. Angora crushed herself against the balustrade, hoping beyond hope that she would remain undetected. She heard the light tap of shoes as they stepped onto the balcony and then stopped. Angora held her breath and clenched her teeth tight. She heard the lid of the water barrel being lifted and then replaced. Then she heard a slight shuffle of footsteps and a sigh.
“Hello, there,” the woman said, looking down at her. “I believe we have a few questions for you.”
Angora released her breath in a moan and looked up into the face of the young Ronnesian woman. Her hair was very blond, almost white, and her eyes were dark. Yet, despite her unsmiling mouth, her tone had not been cold.
“Why don’t you come out from there and we can go inside?”
Angora shook her head.
“We only wish to ask you some questions.”
Again, Angora shook her head. The woman sighed again.
“Emil, Tiderius, I’ve found her.”
Within a few seconds, the two men joined her on the balcony. One man was tall with sun-browned skin and dark braided hair. His chin was dotted with stubble and his brow permanently creased from frowning. He had strong shoulders and a shortsword hanging from his belt. His clothes were somewhat strange to Angora. Had he been unarmed and had shorter hair, she may have mistaken him for a monk, for his robes were brown and plain.
The second man was evidently some kind of soldier. His surcoat was primarily gray with flashes of deep blue, and a proud silhouetted eagle had been intricately embroidered onto his chest. From his weapons belt hung a decorative longsword and two ornate daggers. This must be Tiderius. His hair was short and somewhat disheveled, a lighter shade than his brother’s, but the similarities in their faces were unmistakable.
“Girl, come here,” the first man, Emil, commanded. “There’s nowhere to run. Cooperate with us and you shall be treated fairly.”
“I – I am not what you think,” Angora said, her voice small and wracked with fear.
“And what is that?” Emil asked.
“I heard you,” she said, her eyes wide. “I am no spy.”
“We shall be the judge of that,” he said sternly. “Now, get up. I am not afraid to use force.”
“Please, I am not! Rasmus…he offered me shelter.”
“I said come here!”
Emil’s booming voice made her tremble but she could not move. Her fear had frozen her into place, her arms clutching her legs, her chin pressed into her knees. But, suddenly, she felt a sting of pain rip through her as a coil of white light burst from Emil’s outstretched hand. It wound about her wrists like a snake choking its prey, burning and flickering. She screamed and tried to pull free but the terrifying light held her secure in a grip stronger than iron. Magic! The thought flew into her mind like lightning. Who are these people?