by Becky Allen
“I know, I know,” he said. “Traitor’s blood means a lifetime of toil. But you can’t toil if you die of sunsickness. So you have to drink. She might as well have ordered you to.”
Jae shook her head. If Tal explained that to Lady Shirrad, the Lady would laugh and let him drink what he wanted. If Jae tried to explain it, the best she could hope for was that Lady Shirrad would roll her eyes and tell her to get back to work. Jae knew full well what the lady had meant by her order.
But Tal was right. Lady Shirrad hadn’t actually ordered her not to drink, and Jae couldn’t work like this. If she got dizzy again, she’d probably spill all the water she had left, and that really would be a waste.
Hands shaking, she brought the skin up to her lips, telling herself that Tal was right. If drinking allowed her to obey, then drinking was obedience.
The Curse allowed her to drink. When it didn’t immediately punish her, she swallowed greedily, nearly draining the whole thing before she stopped. It was like breathing for the first time all day.
When she was done, Tal pulled the skin closed and set it aside for her. She shot him a grateful look but said, “I still have work to do. The front path is a mess.”
“I’ll help.”
“The Lady will see you out there,” Jae said.
“She’ll find me eventually anyway,” he said, his head so close, it nearly touched hers. “I might as well help you in the meantime.”
Jae hesitated, torn. She wanted the help, anything to make the work go faster. Anything that would keep Lady Shirrad from deciding that Jae hadn’t done a good enough job. But at the same time, she knew what Lady Shirrad wanted Tal for. The same looks and charm that won him relative freedom came at the price of him having to hold his smile when she brushed her fingers over his cheek.
Tal caught her gaze, gold-flecked eyes sincere. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle the Lady,” Tal said, then stood and offered Jae a hand up.
She ignored it and stood on her own, guilt warring with anxiety in her gut. Accepting Tal’s help would practically offer him up to Lady Shirrad for the evening, but without his help she’d be working all night. All she wanted in the world was to rest. But Tal was her brother.
“Jae,” Tal finally said, barely audible. He wasn’t smiling at her, pretending things were fine. He was as tired as she was, but he was still waiting for her. “Ask me if I mind helping you.”
She shook her head. She didn’t have to ask; he wouldn’t have offered to answer if he didn’t mean it. And while he might find ways to twist the words of his answers when Lady Shirrad asked him questions, he wouldn’t do that to Jae, so she nodded, trusting him.
Tal helped her for as long as he could, until Lady Shirrad came out to find him and lead him away. He brushed a hand against Jae’s shoulder as he left, a silent goodbye. That left her on her own, working until the moon rose and the temperature dropped, and finally there was nothing else that had to be done immediately and the Curse would allow her to rest.
The Closest’s quarters were dark and quiet. They were tucked away in a corner of the house, rooms with low ceilings and few windows, where the Closest ate, slept, and gathered in their few free moments. The rooms had housed paid Twill servants once, but as the drought had gotten worse, fewer Twill had been willing to stay at Aredann. Jae had occasionally overheard some of the Avowed complaining that it was disgusting to allow traitorous bloodlines to live under the same roof they did, yet somehow, she’d never heard them complain about having Closest slaves to replace their servants.
The Closest’s main room had ancient, stained squares of carpet covering most of the floor, layered over one another so that no one would have to sit on the bare stones. There was a small fire pit where they could cook, and a stone cistern that sat empty. People gathered near enough to the fire to see each other, close enough to hold murmured conversations.
Tal was kneeling in front of an old woman named Asra, her hands in his—Jae had to walk close before she could see he was applying a salve to burned skin on her hands. Jae had no idea how he’d gotten it, when he couldn’t even speak to ask Lady Shirrad for it, and she didn’t dare ask him. She didn’t know whether he was really stealing, and as long as she didn’t find out for certain, that was the truth she’d be able to tell if she was ever asked.
Tal saw her and mouthed “Hello” then stood. “You might as well keep the rest of that, in case you need it,” he said to Asra, and then joined Jae. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet. Come sit with me and Gali while you do.”
Jae helped herself to a small portion of the stew that had been left near the fire, then sat with Tal and Gali, another of their friends. Tal was cross-legged, but Gali knelt facing the wall, her fingers brushing across it, painting it with ash and charcoal. The walls in here were plain tan bricks and had been covered in designs for years and years now, drawn over each other, blending together to cover the bricks almost all the way up to the ceiling. It wasn’t like the brightly colored Avowed art that adorned most of the halls and rooms in Aredann. Avowed art was always a celebration, eye-catching and beautiful, meant to be kept forever. Closest drawings were subtle, nothing but grays and black, nearly impossible to make out. It would be washed away if they ever had water, and drawn over again and again in the meantime.
Jae sat with her brother and Gali and reached out to lightly touch Gali’s elbow. She looked over at Jae and nodded tiredly before getting back to her drawing. This close, Jae could see it was a person in profile—Tal, probably, judging from the hair.
“I was going to go looking for you soon,” Tal said. He wasn’t loud, but he didn’t whisper, either, and a few people glanced over at them. “I was starting to worry you’d never be done.”
“So was I.” Now that Jae was sitting, her feet throbbed. The idea of standing up again, even just to walk to the smaller room where her sleeping mat waited, was unbearable.
Gali added a detail to the wall. When Jae studied it, she could make out the sharp lines of Tal’s nose and jaw. “Today was long,” Gali said.
Jae gave her a concerned look, not daring to hint that she’d like to know more. Gali had been selected to join the household because she was pretty, and when her days ran long, it was usually because she’d been called to someone’s sleeping chamber, another order the Curse wouldn’t let her disobey, another punishment for crimes that had been committed generations ago. It happened to all of the Closest who worked in the household.
When Lord Rannith had summoned Jae, it had been the only time she’d fought to disobey an order, struggled against the Curse’s grip—not that struggling had done any good. If she ever had even a heartbeat free from the Curse, Rannith was the person she’d seek out with her cactus spine. But Gali caught her glance and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” Gali said. “The Lady wanted everyone’s sleeping mats cleaned, and all of their blankets. It’s the first time in weeks. And there’s no water.”
“It’s the same everywhere, even the garden, I think,” Tal said.
Jae nodded. “I was told to use whatever I need. But I don’t know where she thinks the water will come from.”
“The Well will provide, as long as the Highest rule,” Gali intoned, rolling her eyes as she mimicked the serious tones Lady Shirrad’s advisors used when they said that. And they always said that. Even now, in the midst of a drought and with their reservoir dropping lower and lower.
The Highest still ruled, but the Well barely seemed to provide anything. Maybe that was what the Highest intended, at least for the Closest, but the rest of Aredann wasn’t descended from traitors. Jae couldn’t believe that an Avowed guardian like Lady Shirrad would be left to suffer.
“Listen.”
The word all but echoed in the room. There was no compulsion behind it from the Curse, but the entire room went silent. Jae scowled as she turned to look at Firran, the Closest who’d spoken and who was now standing by the fire pit. Years ago, Lady Shirrad’s father had appointed Firran
their leader, so that the Lord would only have to speak directly to one Closest. Firran had snapped up that scrap of power like one of the dogs Lady Shirrad’s family used to keep. When he spoke, it was always loud and demanding—orders like most Closest would never give one another.
Even aside from the order, he wasn’t exactly polite. Closest always shared what they knew with one another; it made all of their lives easier. But they didn’t go demanding and interrupting, or speaking in the loud tones of the Avowed.
Still, the rest of the Closest now gathered around Firran, knees touching, sweaty shoulders brushing, as closely as they could. Firran didn’t mind raising his voice, but the rest of the Closest preferred the quiet.
Except Tal.
“What is it?” he asked, smirking a little, meeting Firran rudeness for rudeness. Closest didn’t order each other around, and they never asked each other questions.
Firran glared at him as he was compelled to answer, “I know who Lady Shirrad’s visitor is.” He waited a moment, and when no one else interrupted him, he continued in that same booming, pompous tone. “He is the son of one of the Highest, the grand warden of all reservoirs—Elan Danardae. His father sent him to tour Aredann to see our plight.”
“They already know our plight,” Gali muttered, not quite loud enough for Firran to hear—but Tal stifled a laugh. Jae stayed silent but had to agree. The Highest were the ones who’d cursed them, generations ago, when the Closest’s ancestors had rebelled. If they were sending someone to visit Aredann, it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the Closest’s desperation.
“No wonder the Lady was in such a tizzy today,” one of the others said. “But it’s good news, if the Highest are finally coming to our aid.”
“But they aren’t,” Firran said, some of the bluster dropping from his voice. “Lord Hannim told Lady Shirrad that there are other estates like Aredann, where the reservoirs are going dry. There’s not enough water, not even in the whole Well, so some estates are being cut off.”
“But there’s always been enough,” Asra said, voice creaky and unsure, as someone else said, “They can’t just cut off whole estates,” and someone else snapped, “I don’t understand; talk sense!”
Firran held up his hands, waiting for the commotion to work itself out. “They say there are too many people in the world now, more than ever before, and that’s why there’s not enough water anymore. All of the wardens agree, the Well can’t sustain everyone. So some estates…The Highest have decided to leave some estates entirely, take their Avowed and even the Twill and leave the rest of us here to die in the drought.”
This time, no one seemed to know what to say. It made a sickening, twisted kind of sense. If there were too many people in the world, then of course the Closest would be the ones left to die, to bring that number back down. Their ancestors had been spared all those years ago, allowed to live as slaves, so long as they were cursed so they could never rebel again—but the Highest would never hesitate to trade Closest lives for the rest of the world.
“That can’t be,” Tal said finally, standing, but even he sounded shaken. “Lady Shirrad would never leave Aredann to be abandoned.”
“You mean Lady Shirrad would never leave you,” Firran said. “They certainly won’t take the rest of us Closest.”
“She would never leave Aredann,” Tal repeated. “And the Well will provide. It has to. The Highest will make it.”
Firran shook his head. “Believe what you will, but I know what I heard. If the Highest order it, Lady Shirrad will have to obey. They’ll send the water somewhere else, Aredann will turn to dust without it, and we’ll all die here.”
Tal shook his head, but he didn’t argue. There was no point. Firran was telling the truth as well as he knew it. He spent more time with Lady Shirrad than any of the rest of them, even Tal, and he overheard all of the Avowed’s business. Jae didn’t like him, but she also didn’t doubt him. And if what he’d heard was true, then soon—maybe only days from now—all of the Closest at Aredann would be left alone, without the protection of the Well, and with no water, in the middle of a drought.
“Come to bed,” Gali murmured, wiping her sooty hand on her dress and leaving a smudged handprint, a new stain on a garment that hadn’t been cleaned in months. She offered that same hand to Tal, who accepted it but looked at Jae. He nodded toward the chamber they shared with a few others.
Jae followed them slowly, stiff and sore in a hundred different places, still thirsty and too warm after her day in the sun. Tomorrow would be just as bad, or worse. And so would every day after—somehow, it always seemed as if things got worse. Every day was hotter, drier, and longer, and the Curse had no mercy.
She thought about that as she lay down on her sleeping mat, a few hand spans from where Tal and Gali were now intertwined, exchanging comforting words so low that Jae couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Without the Well’s protection, the Closest would die in days, of sunsickness if not thirst. But if the Avowed all left Aredann, then there would be no one to give the Closest any orders. For those few, precious days, it would be almost like they were free. And maybe a few days of freedom would be better than a lifetime spent as a slave.
Becky Allen grew up in a tiny town outside Ithaca, New York. She works at TheBody.com, an online HIV educational resource, where she is the website director. She lives in Manhattan with her sister, Rachel, and their cat, Lily. It was a conversation with her sister about irrigation that inspired Becky to wonder about a fantasy world where irrigation was fueled by magic and what that would mean. Their discussion became Bound by Blood and Sand and its sequel, Freed by Flame and Storm.
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