Kyros had leaned back with his cup of tea. “Yet you don’t expect me to trust you.” He nodded at my bound hands.
I looked down as if I was just noticing that I was bound, and let my shoulders twitch a little. “I have been living on the wrong side of the law for a good long while,” I admitted. “Do you mind?”
For a moment I thought he was going to. But then he met my eye and shook his head with a faint smile. “Lauria, I had you watched.”
Watched. “By . . . whom?”
“By my new aeriko. I had a hunch you might have gone to Casseia, and come spring, it found you on the road. You left Sophos’s head on my desk. Perhaps you freed his slaves to win your way back into the graces of the Alashi—it pleased your companion, after all. But I know from my watcher that leaving my friend’s head on my desk was your idea.”
“He raped me,” I said, my throat thickening against my will. “You sent me to him, and he raped me.” I struggled to get control of my voice, and thought frantically for what to say next. “I thought I’d make sure you knew I’d taken care of it.”
“Yes. But then you had yourself sold to a mine. Surely, my dear, if you thought you could turn to me, you wouldn’t have chosen such a risky way to free one slave.”
“You didn’t think I’d be able to get out?” I narrowed my eyes. Another thought occurred to me. “If you knew I was there, what I was planning, why didn’t you intervene?”
“The mine was tapped out. The men who worked there . . . unreliable. Besides, we lost track of you for a time.”
“I’ve been sitting outside the city for two days. Why didn’t you just come find me if you wanted to talk to me?”
“I was waiting to see if you would come to me. Which you didn’t.”
“No. My companion is a shaman. Djinni do favors for her sometimes. I always have to assume I’m being watched.”
“Even in your dreams.”
“Especially in my dreams.”
Kyros sighed. “Lauria, I wish I could believe you. But I’ve been in contact with the Sisterhood. The high magia believes that you’re no longer loyal to us. She ordered that if I could lay hands on you again, I was to have you executed for banditry.”
I caught my breath. He can’t kill me. Not Kyros. He met my eyes; he could see my fear. I wet my lips. “You always said I was your most trusted servant. What will the others think? Myron, your other servants? If you have me killed—if you refuse to trust me—”
Kyros had a faint smile on his face. I knotted my icy hands into fists. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I tell you what. I’ll take you to Penelopeia, and let you speak with the high magia yourself.”
He’s not going to kill me. Relief flooded in; my bound hands trembled. But—“Penelopeia?”
“I’ll send the high magia a message, and I expect she’ll send a palanquin. As much as I hate flying, it’s the only reasonably efficient way to get to Penelopeia.” He clasped his spell-chain, whispering under his breath. The chain looked familiar, but I definitely recognized the djinn. It was indeed the chain Zivar had made. I wondered if he knew this probably meant that the Sisterhood considered him unreliable. I couldn’t hear the message, though clearly the djinn could. “It will take some hours for the palanquin to arrive.” He rang a bell that rested on his desk. “In the meantime, why don’t you go get some rest.”
A guard appeared at his door—a stranger to me, to my relief. I stood up, awkwardly, and just before the guard escorted me out, Kyros gestured for him to wait. He drew a sharp knife, and cut the rope that bound my hands. “I’m sure you’re not going anywhere tonight,” Kyros said.
I was escorted to—of all places—my own room. It had been aired out, and the bed made up with fresh sheets and a warm quilt. Lamp in hand, I took a moment to look around. Everything was where I had left it, even my leather-bound book of paper, which rested on a shelf beside my bed. A cup of warmed wine waited on my desk, but I left it untouched; the last thing I wanted right now was wine.
I peered out the window. I saw no one out there, and for a brief moment considered climbing out my window and trying to escape. But surely Kyros wasn’t that stupid. There would be a dozen guards; my attempted escape would be final proof that I’d changed sides. Though since Kyros was not at all stupid, in fact, surely he knew that in any case. I wondered why he hadn’t executed me, as the high magia had ordered. Did I have information he wanted? That the high magia wanted? Or was it fatherly sentiment that had caused him to spare me?
I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. Could he see into my dreams? It didn’t matter; I still had to try to talk to Tamar. I touched my talisman as I tried to sleep, and after a little while, actually succeeded in drifting off.
I had come to think of the borderland as a shadowed, misty place, but tonight, like the night I had met the djinn, it was dazzlingly bright. I’m seeing it like the djinni see it. But where was Tamar? Then I glimpsed her, like a mirage of water on the endless plain. I opened my mouth, but all that emerged was a whisper.
Tamar was speaking, but I couldn’t hear her. I tried to picture her by my side, whispering in my ear, and for a moment the borderland rippled, but then I felt a jolt and we were far away again. She cupped her hands around her mouth to shout, and a moment later the words reached me: “Come back to the Alashi. They will take you back!”
“Kyros has me,” I said, but knew she couldn’t hear me. “It’s too late.”
Tamar started to shout something again, but the dream was coming apart like crumbling clay. The light was scattering around me, dazzling my eyes; I could hear a roaring in my ears like rushing water. I clenched my fists, trying to draw the world together again by pure strength of will. Instead, it began to spin around me. I focused on my most important goal—reaching Tamar. I needed to speak with her, and something told me that this might be my last chance.
Then all was still. I stood in Sophos’s courtyard, holding my torn shift around me, the wind freezing my feet. Tamar faced me, the strong-willed but terrified slave child she’d been that night. Our eyes met, and I knew that I had one heartbeat more to say whatever I wanted to say.
“I love you,” I said.
A servant came to wake me while it was still night; I was already awake, sitting quietly in the chair by my old desk. Kyros waited for me below, in the courtyard. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Well enough.” Remembering my own lies, I said, “It’s nice to be home.”
Kyros raised an eyebrow at that. “Indeed. Well, perhaps we’ll be back here soon.”
I forced a smile. Kyros had given me a home, once; I’d believed myself bereft of it when I’d turned against him. Now—Tamar was my home, wherever she was.
Playing the stoic, tolerant father rather than the boss or the prison guard, Kyros shepherded me to an elaborate palanquin of violet silk. The palanquin I’d ridden in with Kyros before had been a tiny, spare device by comparison, with its cushioned seats and curtained windows. This palanquin was like an enclosed flying room. The floor was carpeted, the walls hung with silk, and we would recline on cushions as we traveled. “You’ll get to see Penelopeia from the sky,” Kyros said, nodding toward the curtain on the side, tied back with a ribbon. “I expect you’ll enjoy that.”
Penelopeia. The home from where the Weavers had sprung forth. Casseia might be a city built by the Weavers, but Penelopeia was the city of the Weavers.
Surely, whispered the mad flooding river part of my mind . . . Surely, this is where they will keep the spell-chain that binds the Syr Darya.
Because the rivers are meant to return.
And you are the one who is meant to free them.
This is the madness talking, I thought, stepping into the palanquin and sitting down on the silk cushion across from Kyros. This is the cold fever, which I know is racing through my blood just as it takes Kyros’s wife, and Zivar, and all the failed apprentices of the Weavers as well as the sorceresses themselves.
Perhaps it is madne
ss.
But I’m going to free them anyway.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my excellent editor, Anne Groell, and to Jack Byrne, my agent.
For ongoing critique, encouragement, and camaraderie, I’d like to thank the members of the Wyrdsmiths writing group: Eleanor Arnason, Bill Henry, Doug Hulick, Harry LeBlanc, Kelly McCullough, Lyda Morehouse, and Rosalind Nelson.
For a hands-on lesson in jewelry making and an introduction to synesthesia, I would like to thank Elise Mathesen, whose stunning necklaces helped to inspire my image of the spell-chain. CuChullaine O’Reilly of The Long Rider’s Guild answered questions for me about horses and long trips on horseback. And Dr. Lisa Freitag answered questions for me about food poisoning (as well as various other medical things). Of course, all the things I screwed up anyway should be blamed on me, and not on any of the generous people who took the time to answer my questions.
Thanks to my beta readers: Michelle Herder, Rowan Littell, Catherine McCubbin, Curtis Mitchell, Fillard Rhyne, Bill Scherer, Blake Scherer, and Karen Swanberg.
A very special thank-you to my awesome husband, Ed Burke, who is a phenomenal husband, father, and human being. And hugs and kisses for both my little girls, Molly and Kiera.
Finally, this book is dedicated to my parents, Bert and Amy Kritzer, who encouraged my obsessive reading habit from an early age, going so far as to install a little reading light in my favorite reading nook: behind one of the living room chairs, in front of a heating vent. I first started saying I wanted to get a story published when I was about seven years old. My mother shrugged and said that if I wrote a story, she’d help me figure out how to submit it. It was a few years before I took her up on that, but even at seven, I appreciated the offer.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NAOMI KRITZER grew up in Madison, Wisconsin, a small lunar colony populated mostly by Ph.D’s. She moved to Minnesota to attend college; after graduating with a B.A. in religion, she became a technical writer. She now lives in Minneapolis with her family. FREEDOM’S APPRENTICE is her fourth novel, preceded by FREEDOM’S GATE, TURNING THE STORM, and FIRES OF THE FAITHFUL. You can visit her website at http://www.naomikritzer.com.
Also by Naomi Kritzer
Fires of the Faithful
Turning the Storm
Freedom’s Gate
Praise for the Novels of Naomi Kritzer
FIRES OF THE FAITHFUL
“This far-from-typical fantasy from first-time author Kritzer is like chocolate cake: instant addiction . . . . With habit-forming books like this, you can’t read just one.”—Publishers Weekly
“Exceedingly well done. I couldn’t put it down.”
—Katherine Kurtz
“Entertaining.”—Booklist
“An engrossing book that tells a thoughtful and complex story of religious conflict and oppression. I was completely engrossed in this vividly depicted tale of ordinary people bravely and hopefully stepping forward to reclaim their country. I eagerly anticipate reading the next volume, Turning the Storm.”
—Laurie J. Marks, author of Fire Logic
“Subtly brilliant from start to finish.”—Locus
“Naomi Kritzer proves that music can indeed change the world, for those who have the ears to listen and the heart to follow.”
—Susan Sizemore, author of The Laws of the Blood
“One of those rare stories that grab you from the first page and compel you to keep turning the pages until you realize that you’ve finished the entire book in one sitting . . . . If this first book is any indication, this woman is going to be hugely popular.”
—Barnes&Noble.com
“Naomi Kritzer is a top-notch fantasy writer who combines the storytelling grace of Mercedes Lackey with political subversiveness to rival Ursula K. LeGuin.” —Lyda Morehouse, author of Fallen Host
“Kritzer has created a world that is deep, rich, and wonderfully imaginative, the closest thing to Tolkien for a long time.”
—www.bookshelfstores.com
“Complex and satisfying.”—SFRevu
“One of the best novels by an unknown author I’ve been given to review in quite some time.”
—Talebones
“Kritzer’s characters are well drawn and her plot is engaging and intriguing.”—Voya
TURNING THE STORM
“Mesmerizing . . . With panache and dexterity, Ms. Kritzer weaves complex plot threads and feisty characters into a tight story of political and social intrigue. Nebulous loyalties create fluid allegiances that contribute to the Machiavellian quality of the story.”—Romantic Times (four stars)
“This series is a very promising debut, and I hope to see much more from this writer.”
—Center City’s Weekly Press
“Enthralling.”—Locus
FREEDOM’S GATE
“Good and Evil; Us and Them; humankind and demons; freedom and slavery; loyalty and treason—all these dichotomies begin to break down in the course of [the heroine’s] ordeals and adventures, until the world becomes so maddeningly complex she loses any notion what her place in it should be. Since the myths, history and magics here don’t all follow the patterns of our world (or its classic fantasies), Freedom’s Gate should open the way to a fascinating mutual learning experience in the books to come.”—Locus
Don’t miss the thrilling conclusion to
The Dead Rivers Trilogy
FREEDOM’S
SISTERS
Naomi Kritzer
Coming in Summer 2006 from Bantam Spectra
Read on for a special preview.
FREEDOM’S
SISTER
Coming Summer 2006
Tamar
When I rode into the camp of the Alashi spring gathering, I tried to sit tall and hide my fear. You’re as good as they are, I imagined Lauria whispering to me. Look them in the eye. You have nothing to be ashamed of. And I wasn’t ashamed. I was proud of what Lauria and I had accomplished. We’d freed well over a hundred slaves. I took a deep breath and raised my head.
The Eldress had summoned me. But what is she going to do with me?
First, apparently, she was going to make me wait.
Janiya, the leader of the sword-sisterhood that Lauria and I had ridden with last summer, had escorted me back, leaving the rest of her sisterhood as escorts for the mine slaves. We dismounted, let a girl lead our horses off to get water and sat down in the shade near the Eldress’s tent. I glanced around covertly. Lauria and I had arrived at the end of the big spring gathering and left just before the big fall gathering. The noise and activity around me was both achingly familiar and deeply foreign.
Janiya looked me over. She hadn’t spoken much on the ride back. Now she cleared her throat and said, awkwardly, “You look well.”
I looked down at my muddy trousers, and my worn, dusty boots. Lauria and I had bought ourselves new clothes when we’d come into some money; they were worn almost to rags now. My hands were filthy, my nails ragged, and I imagined that my face and hair were similarly disreputable.
“You could use a bath, but that’s not what I was talking about,” Janiya said, and I looked up, surprised that my thoughts had been so transparent. Her lips quirked. “You look very confident. You look like a woman who can stand on her own and defend herself. When I first met you . . . well, you looked like you would be willing to fight until the last drop of blood had left your body, if you had to, but you didn’t look like you believed your efforts would matter.”
I let out my breath in a brief, voiceless laugh. “It’s good to see you again,” I said. Janiya looked pretty much as I remembered—maybe a little more gray in her hair.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Janiya clasped my hand briefly. “I wish . . .” She let the words fade, unspoken. I wish I could see Lauria again, too.
“Why does the Eldress want to see me?”
Janiya shrugged, though surely she knew what this was about. My guess was that this was about the slaves that L
auria and I had freed. The Alashi do not free slaves. We welcome those who free themselves. Maybe the Alashi didn’t free slaves, but I did.
Janiya glanced over at the Eldress’s tent. “It’s time.”
The interior of the tent was dim, and surprisingly cool in the afternoon heat. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When I had arrived with Lauria a year earlier, we had been brought to the Eldress, who had listened to our story and accepted us as “blossoms,” provisional members. Now, though, there were eight old ladies sitting in the dim interior, and five old men. One of them sat directly opposite the door, on a raised, cushioned platform; her white hair was braided and wound in a circle around the crown of her head. She wore a long dress, a vest so richly embroidered you could barely make out the black cloth underneath, and a necklace that looked like a spell-chain, though when I looked for a piece of karenite that would imprison a djinn, I didn’t see one. From the way the others looked at her, and looked at us, I thought that they were probabaly the clan elders. I bowed respectfully; the Eldress gestured to a spot near the door, and Janiya sat down so I sat beside her.
“Good afternoon, child,” the Eldress said, her voice much kinder than I had expected. “You’ve come a long way since I met you a year ago.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I gave her a stiff nod.
“I apologize for bringing you back against your will. Zhanna has brought me the information that you and your blood-sister have passed to her, but I wished to speak with you in person.” She fingered her necklace. “I have been told that when your blood-sister was trying to bind djinni, you were able to stop her. Is this true?”
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