Servants of the Sands, page 40
The daimaina, obviously, was less pleased. “You don’t know how to handle delicate conversations yet!” Nissa said over her shoulder as they left the garden. “I can see that Lord Darden’s training really did leave much to be desired.”
Riss hesitated as they came to a branching of corridors. Nissa kept walking, still speaking, lecturing Riss on proper manners and how she’d gotten in the way of some very important information with her wasteful questions.
Irritation abruptly thickened Riss’s throat. Nissa wasn’t her mother, damnit. Everyone else here treated Riss with at least a modicum of respect. Lord Darden often acknowledged that Riss was working under multiple disadvantages—northern upbringing, homesickness, pregnancy, missing Idisio, culture shock—and regularly praised her efforts. But nothing ever seemed to be good enough for Nissa. Sometimes Riss wondered if she’d have been happier traveling alongside Sela, after all.
Well, if Nissa expected Riss to simply trot along behind, listening to yet another tirade, she could think again. Riss needed a rest from the constant disapproval. Besides, Nissa was most likely headed to check on Lord Scratha, and Riss didn’t want to look at the sleeping man again. Once had been more than enough. He’d barely seemed to be breathing, and his face held the hollow slackness of a corpse.
Riss turned down the other corridor, hoping she could get out of earshot before Nissa realized she wasn’t tamely following.
“Pssst—Riss!” Gria pattered up beside her. “You avoiding her?”
“Yes.”
“This way. I found a spot—”
The two girls fled down the hallway, giggling. Riss felt abruptly five years younger, off on a madcap adventure that would inevitably have the adults scolding her. Gria seemed to be working under the same giddiness, her face lit with a rare enthusiasm.
“Wait,” Riss gasped at last, putting a hand to the wall and bending over. “Gods, I haven’t run in too long.”
As she caught her breath, a sense of guilty shame crept in. What had she been thinking, dashing about like a child? The servants would have seen, and it would get back to Nissa, and then all the ice from all the hells would rain down upon her. Not to mention she oughtn’t to be running at all, she’d been told to avoid exertion. Gods be thanked she hadn’t gotten dizzy and went elbows over arse already.
Gria was leaning against the wall, still laughing in quiet bursts. “Ah, I’m so sick of following all the damn rules,” she said. “Aren’t you? When did we last get to have some real fun?”
Riss straightened, feeling considerably more sober. “Where’s your escort?”
“Slipped away from them,” Gria said, and burst into giggles all over again.
“That’s not good,” Riss said, trying to sound severe. Gria crossed her eyes in a mock-solemn pout, and they both collapsed to the floor laughing. “No, stop, Gria, I mean it,” Riss managed at last. “What the hells are we doing? This is serious. They’ll be combing the entire Fortress for you.”
“Nah. The guards think I’m having a lie-down.” Gria snorted and nearly went over sideways with a fit of the giggles.
Riss coughed, cleared her throat, and brought herself back under control. “Well, we can’t sit here in a back hallway laughing. That’ll only get us found sooner than later.”
Gria bounced to her feet, beaming. “Well, come on then!” she said. “You’re the one that stopped. This way, come on.”
Riss forced a considerably slower pace this time, despite Gria’s prodding to hurry. Giddiness calming, misgivings grew: this was a bad idea for so many reasons. But if she tried to turn Gria around right now, the girl would just charge off on her own and make it all that much worse. Better to go along and try to ease her back to sense, keep her from making too many mistakes while in this absurd mood.
“Gria,” she said, struck by a sudden thought, “Have you been—drinking—or something?”
Gria cast a sly grin over her shoulder. “Something,” she said. “I’ve got some for you, too, don’t worry.”
Oh, damnit. “Uh....”
The hallway ended in a shoulder-high metal gate set into a wide archway. Daylight flooded the open space beyond. Familiar smells floated through the air: straw, dust, guano, manure.
Riss followed Gria through the gate, glancing around to orient herself. She’d come into this area before, but not through this entrance. Everything looked different from this angle. A flock of black and red chickens strutted within a fenced-off section to their left, while a pair of white goats dozed under an open-roofed enclosure to the right. Bins of food, bales of straw, tubs of water, along with other implements of animal farming, stood in orderly array around the yard.
“Gria,” Riss said, bewildered. This was very nearly the last place she’d have expected the numaina to consider a good hiding spot.
“Come on.” Gria led Riss into the chicken enclosure, latching the gate carefully behind them. “The servants who take care of this area are asleep right now. We’ve got an hour at least, and nobody will look for us here. Sit down, already!”
She hopped up onto a sturdy bench under a wide, slanted tin roof, pushing lidded feed buckets aside to make room. Riss hoisted herself up with much less grace. Chickens clustered around the bench, squawking impatiently.
“I figured you’d like this,” Gria said, glancing sideways at Riss. “I mean, you took care of horses, right? Well, they don’t have horses here, but this is sort of close.”
Riss absently pried the lid from one of the buckets and scattered a handful of feed for the raucous birds. The servants might be sleeping, but one would definitely rouse and come to check on this much noise if it went on for long. “I suppose so,” she said.
The birds quieted to smug clucks as they hunted down the bits of feed, which looked almost but not quite like dried corn. Riss tapped the lid securely back into place and rested her elbow on the bucket. The air was hot and dry here, heavy with barnyard smells. She rubbed her nose to hold back a sneeze.
Gria held up a small metal jar. “Try this,” she said.
“What is it?”
The numaina opened the jar and tilted it to show Riss the thick, dark paste inside. “Just dip your finger in it,” she said. “Then touch your tongue. It doesn’t take much.”
Riss shook her head, dubious. “I can’t even have ravann right now, Gria,” she said, putting a hand to her stomach. “What is that, and where did you get it?”
“Servants out to here take it all the time,” Gria said, swirling a hand before her own stomach in wild exaggeration of a late stage pregnancy. “I asked. I don’t want you hurt, Riss! It’s safe, especially that tiny a bit. It’s relaxing, is all. It’s a sort of aesa paste. It won’t last long.”
Oh, wonderful. She asked whether it was safe to give to a pregnant woman. That was discreet, considering I’m the only pregnant woman she knows right now. Riss sighed, surrendering, and dabbed up a smidge of the paste.
Gria scooped out a slightly larger glob and spread it across the back of her tongue, opening her mouth wide and tilting her head back. “Like that,” she said, the words blurred.
The paste felt smooth and rich, like an intense, smoky suka candy. It melted away in moments. For a few heartbeats, Riss felt nothing. She was about to ask Gria if she’d taken enough when she realized she’d laid back on the bench—sprawled, actually, with her head hanging over the edge, and was studying the underside of the tin roof as though memorizing each nail.
“Oh,” she said, a long exhale of sound. Gria laughed, hauling Riss upright again.
“You’ll hurt your neck doing that for too long,” the numaina said. “Now look at the chickens. Look at that one, how he’s walking—”
“She,” Riss corrected. “These are all hens. I don’t see any roosters. Actually, that’s strange, why aren’t there any—”
“Forget about the fucking roosters,” Gria interrupted. “Look at how they walk. I mean, come on, it’s like... like a fluffy meatball on sticks. Right?” She broke out into a fit of giggles.
Riss squinted at the birds. “No,” she said. “Not really.”
“Oh, gods,” Gria said in tones of deepest disgust. “You’re not going to be any fun at all, are you?” She flopped back onto the bench, tilting her head over the edge and looking up at the roof in ostentatious mimicry.
“Probably not,” Riss acknowledged, a bit sadly. “Sorry. I suppose I have an immunity or something, from all the dasta Karic fed me.”
“Whatever,” Gria said. “Want to try a bigger dose?”
“No. Thank you.” Riss reached out and swiped the jar from Gria’s hand as the girl brought it out again. “You don’t need more right now.”
“The hells!” Gria said, sitting up and shoving Riss hard. “Who do you think you are, my mother?”
“No,” Riss said, “I’m your friend. Shut up and quit hitting me.” She fended off another shove. “Gria. Listen. You can’t do this.”
“I can too,” Gria said, sullen. She crossed her arms. “It’s not illegal here, Riss! And I’m numaina, anyway, I should be able to relax once in a while.”
Riss considered that gravely, then said, “Are you still having those nightmares?”
Gria shut her eyes, turning her head aside. “Yes,” she said in a muffled tone. “The... the aesa stuff makes it so I don’t think about that day all the time. Riss—listen, I’ve a good idea—a great idea—let’s leave! Let’s just—” Her face lit up, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “We can be gone before anyone knows. There’s a gate to the outside from here, and nobody will be watching. We can—I mean, if you want to go get some of your stuff, we can wait until tomorrow this time, but we can leave.”
“Gria—”
“I know, I know, I’m stuck here, you don’t want me to screw everything up, but you can go. I’m scared for you, Riss! I don’t want you to... to....” Gria’s animation faded, her face turning grey and distressed. “I don’t want you to die,” she said in a very small voice. “I don’t want you to go away forever, which is just the same from where I’m standing, but I’d rather know you were at least alive.”
Riss looked at the jar in her hand, grimacing, and found herself tempted to take another swipe of the paste. She tried to make herself say something reassuring, like I’m not going to die, you’re being silly, this is a big honor. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth.
“See,” Gria said, squinting at Riss assessingly. “You know I’m right. None of this makes sense. Why would the... the....” She waved a hand at the ground vaguely, apparently unable to form the word at the moment. “Why would it want you? I mean, you’re northern! You’re... you’re nobody special, you don’t have any of those abilities it likes, so why would it want you if not for a no good purpose?”
Riss looked down at the chickens, once more clustering round their dangling feet. She scooped out another handful of grain for them, hoping she wasn’t doing more harm than good.
“I don’t know, Gria,” she said then, surprised at her own calm in the face of Gria’s agitated tirade. “I don’t know why it wants me. All I know is that if I try to leave, Lord Scratha will be punished in ways I can’t even imagine. He doesn’t deserve that. He saved my life.”
Gria stared, mouth open, blinking rapidly. Riss studied the birds, her mood a somber contrast to their cheerful activity.
“You sound like that northern priest,” Gria said at last. Riss couldn’t tell if the numaina was impressed or annoyed. “Why does his life matter more than yours?”
Riss lay back, shifting to support her head this time, and looked up at the tin roof. “I don’t think it does,” she said. “But my life isn’t more important than his, either. I think... I think it comes down to choice. I wouldn’t give my life for Karic, or for... sorry, Gria, for Sela, or even for the daimaina. But Lord Scratha... he’s different. He’s a desert lord. He’s sworn himself to something larger than either of us can ever understand.”
“He’s sworn himself into the service of demons,” Gria said thinly.
Riss sat up, frowning at the numaina. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s true! What godly creature would ask for a pregnant woman as a sacrifice?”
“The Northern Church did worse than that,” Riss retorted. “Don’t fling godly at me!” She reached out and flicked a finger hard against one of Gria’s wrists. “Take a look at those ugren cuff scars before you argue which side is more kindly!”
Gria gave a disgusted snort. She heaved herself off the bench, snatching the jar from Riss’s hand, and stormed out of the enclosure.
Riss watched her go, not in the least tempted to follow; looked down at the chickens and said, ruefully, “So much for relaxing.”
Chapter 48
The land to the west of Scratha Fortress was rough, the road in worse shape even than the track leading north. And this time, nobody had been through before them to bridge the gaps and smooth over the holes. Azni helped Ishru scramble over and around obstacles as often as he helped her.
By the time they’d gone five miles, they were both panting, soaked with sweat and filthy. Azni was on the ragged edge of snapping at Ishru with real venom, just to vent her irritation on someone. That Ishru wouldn’t take it was the only thing that stopped her. His temper was obviously strained, his face set in the harshest expression she’d ever seen on him.
When a familiar voice said from above, “Took you long enough,” Ishru very nearly uncoiled, like an angry snake, leaping sideways and up, grabbing handholds, swinging himself lithely across a gap, striking out hard. A lean, dark-haired man tumbled down the rocks and lay crumpled at Azni’s feet.
She stared up at Ishru, perched atop the shelf of rock from which he’d just thrown a full desert lord. Her mouth was open, no words coming to fill the moment. He glared down at her, breathing hard, then shook his head and began climbing back down rather more slowly.
Irrio stirred, pushing to his knees and then to his feet with several grunts of aggrieved pain. “Fucking ta’karne,” he muttered, squinting at Ishru as the kathain rejoined them.
“Don’t startle my kathain,” Azni said dryly, recovering her wits. “It hasn’t been a good day. What the hells are you doing here? I told you to go back to Darden.”
“I listen to you about as well as you listen to me,” he retorted. He felt along his right leg, wincing, and glared at Ishru. “You owe me for this. An apology, at the least. This fucking hurts.”
“I was protecting my lord,” Ishru said, folding his arms over his chest. “I offer no apologies, Lord Darden. You should know better.”
“How was I presenting a threat? I said hello—well, more or less.” He smirked at Azni.
“Don’t be an ass,” Azni said. “You knew perfectly well what you were doing. Why don’t you offer us an apology for trying to play a game that turned around on you and let it rest there?” She delivered a severe glare. It produced absolutely no impact on him.
He curled his lip at her, shaking his head. “At least you finally left,” he said. “I was about to sneak in and drag you out by the hair.”
“I would not have allowed that,” Ishru said, voice flat and most definitely hostile now.
“You think you could have stopped me, kathain?” Irrio sneered at the boy. “I’m not one of the crippled half-lords you’re used to dealing with.”
Azni caught Ishru’s arm as he shifted his weight forward. “No. We’re not even off Scratha lands yet. You’re not indulging in a brawl. Irrio, if you’re coming along, shut up and walk. We’ll need all our breath for this sorry excuse of a road. If you have any energy left once we clear the boundary marker, you can beat each other silly while I catch up on my sleep.”
Azni could still hear the door slamming between herself and her twin, the day the messenger from Kallaisin arrived. She could still see the ambition in his eyes even as he tried to present selflessness. He’d leapt at the offer of status, at the chance to be reinstated as part of a valid leading line, while protesting that he was only thinking of her safety. She’s going to reinstate you as legitimate Aerthraim, Allo said. Even Rosin won’t dare to touch you if both Darden and Aerthraim recognize you.
He’s killing desert lords! she shot back. How does this help my safety?
He’s killing desert lords who are sneaking in to kill him, Allonin countered. He won’t reach past the city borders to drag you in. It’s too aggressive a move. Azni, I have to go back. Our names will be in the bloodline books again. You won’t be in disgrace any longer. Don’t you understand how important that is? I’ll find someone in the village to help—there must be someone trustworthy there—
She’d been heavily pregnant, and far from rational. Rather than throwing anything at his head—far too undignified, with the messenger watching—she’d gone into her room and shut the door with a bang.
Allonin and his belongings were gone by the time she came out. A single white flower from her favorite rosebush rested on the table. That had been their last conversation.
Now she stood at the border of Aerthraim land, looking at the tall pole that served as marker and warning, reading the various symbols burnt into the weathered surface, and trying to think about facing her brother again. She couldn’t. She tried to picture facing Kallaisin, and came up with a flatly blank haze. She could imagine the head Aerthraim loremaster’s reaction: His reluctant courtesy, his incipient sneer, the subtle jabs he’d undoubtedly take whenever possible.
“This is such a bad idea,” she muttered under her breath.
“It won’t get you killed,” Irrio observed at her shoulder, his tone sober enough to make it a serious comment rather than a jest. “It might inconvenience you, and it will inconvenience us, but it’s not a lethal danger. I don’t think it’s all that bad of an idea.”
