Daughter of the Flames (12 page)

I slept little that week. At night, as I huddled against Mira’s back for warmth, I stared at the impenetrable darkness of the sky, searching in vain for a star. Whenever I could fool myself that I saw a glint of light, I would beg my family’s forgiveness for having forgotten them. Then I would beg Surya’s, for the way the pain of her loss had been swamped in the greater flood of my grief over a family that I had barely known.

I had longed for a family all my life. I’d had one, and lost them. I grieved for what I had lost, and I grieved for what I had never had. I felt as if I were swimming through foreign emotions all the time, but the emotions were mine.
Mine
. There were two hearts, two souls, within my body, and I could not figure out which truly belonged to me.

I did not know who “me” was any more.

We reached Mesgao on the seventh day, circling the town warily. Dividing into even smaller groups, we scrambled down the terraced hillside as swiftly as possible, taking cover in the thick foliage offered by the tea fields.

I crouched in the gathering darkness, the wind tugging at my hair, and looked up at Mesgao. The rain had stopped a little while ago, and the sky spread above like a dove’s soft grey wing, so close I felt I might reach up and stroke the iridescent pink feathers of the clouds. We had pet doves once; they were soft, and they fluttered so gently in my hands, like a warm heart beating… I blinked, trying to push Zahira’s memory down and call on Zira’s of Mesgao. That was what I needed now.

The hump of the fort was outlined against the sky; I could see the flicker of firelight behind the oblong openings of the windows, and fancied I could make out the flutter of a pennant against the clouds. The rest was hidden, blanked out in the dimness. As the namoa and temple people began to settle for the night, I went back to my meagre pack of possessions, opened it and drew out two items which I hoped would help bring me success in my task.

The first was a red hooded namoa’s robe like the one I had worn that day in the marketplace. I stroked it for a minute, struggling with two sets of memories: Zira’s of seeing people wearing such robes every day and wearing them herself, Zahira’s of listening to a man in such a robe read stories from a book when she was little. I shook myself free again, trying to concentrate. I thought the status it conferred might allow me to get past the guards.

The second thing was more precious. I had known when I returned to my cell that the wind chime Sorin gave me would be gone. But in their haste to tear down the valuable silver, the outlaws had snapped the fine threads that held the chime together. When I entered the little room for the last time to gather up my blankets, I found a gleaming strand among the debris, still intact. It was a gently curving silver chime, with one tiny mother-of-pearl fish suspended from its tip.

As I stared down at the gleam of silver in my hand, I felt my resolve firming. I couldn’t wait another sleepless night. I would go now; then at least we would know all our fate when the sun rose tomorrow. I pulled the warm robe down over mud-splattered, ragged clothes, and tucked the silver chime into one of the pockets.

“What are you doing?” Mira asked, looking up anxiously from the tiny fire she was attempting to build. She was kneeling on a rolled-up blanket, one hand rubbing absently at her back; I could see she was wretchedly uncomfortable. One more reason to get this over with.

“I’m getting ready to go up to the fort,” I said. “There’s no reason to wait, is there?”

“But – but…” She waved a piece of kindling helplessly. “Surely—”

“Mira.” I kneeled before her and took her waving hand in mine. “It’s best to find out as soon as possible what choices we have. Don’t worry.”

Mira turned her head away. “Deo!”

“Yes?” He glanced up from the broken sword strap that Rashna was showing him.

“Deo, Zahira intends to go to Mesgao tonight. In the dark. Alone!” Mira stared at him meaningfully. He in turn looked at me.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked quietly. I could tell that he just managed to restrain himself from adding “Majesty” to the end of his sentence.

“It’s better than waiting,” I said uncomfortably. I didn’t know which was worse, Deo’s deference or Mira’s mother henning. “And I don’t intend to go alone. I’ll take … um…” I looked around. “Rashna.”

The other woman jumped at the sound of her name. I couldn’t see her face very well, but I’d have wagered she was narrowing her eyes at me.

“What’s happening now?” she asked. I thought she only just managed to restrain herself from saying, “What trouble is Zira getting us into now?” Oddly, her attitude was a comfort.

“I’m going to see Lord Mesgao tonight. I’d like to take you as an escort, Rashna.”

“Me?” Now I was sure her eyes had narrowed. She hesitated, then said, “You know how I feel about us coming here. But if you want me with you, I would, of course, be honoured.”

I smiled at the fine edge of sarcasm in her tone. “Good. See if you can find a clean robe somewhere, and we’ll walk up.”

“Very well.” She turned away.

The walk up the hill, through the quiet town and to the fort was accomplished in silence. I could feel Rashna simmering with objections beside me, but I was too full of tension myself to try to reason with her. Even if I had been utterly calm, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to make conversation. Rashna and I had never been friends and I doubted that we ever would be.

From the time when we were both children, Rashna had always taunted me with the fact that I was the noirin’s little favourite, that I received special attention. Of course, it was true. Surya did love me and single me out. I’d always assumed it was the promise she had made to my dying mother that made us so special to each other. Now I realized she had been taking care of the heir to the throne, doing her duty.

Holy Mother, it hurt to accept that. Yet she said she loved me – that I was like a daughter to her. There could be no greater honour than that. To be the daughter of a woman like Noirin Surya – even if only for ten years. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, pushing the terrible ache of loneliness away.

In any case, Rashna had good reason to resent me as a child – and she had taken revenge by making me miserable whenever she had the chance. Oddly, I had never been able to stir any real hatred in myself towards Rashna, even when she was bullying me mercilessly. I just found her sarcasm tiresome.

As we approached the massive, iron-braced gates of the fort, I glanced at Rashna out of the corner of my eye.

“Keep close to me,” I said. “And keep quiet too. I don’t know how we’re going to be received here.”

“Not so confident now, Reia?” she asked, folding her arms. “I assume I’m to intervene if anyone shows signs of harming your precious person?”

I sighed. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

Before she could speak again, I stepped forward and banged as hard as I could on the door. I rubbed my smarting knuckles and waited for a response.

A moment later, a little door in the bottom of one of the giant gates opened and a gourdin, dressed in casual leather uniform, stepped out, a spiked halberd in his hand. The man was only an inch or so taller than me, but I found myself stepping back nervously. It was something to do with the silhouette of his helmet, with the intricately braided coils of reddish hair beneath it, and the wide, square shoulders of his armour. I had been brought up to fear and hate these people most of my life and it was hard to break that habit.

“I…” My voice wavered horribly and I stopped, clearing my throat to cover my embarrassment. “I need to see Sorin Mesgao. He knows me.”

“Does he indeed?” The man smiled broadly. He looked back through the door, presumably at a fellow guard, and called out,
“
Esfad e mourns Rua grinei. Mesgao far e maera!
”

There was a burst of laughter from the other side of the wooden barrier.

“There’s a little Rua tart here. Reckons she knows Mesgao!”

I frowned as I realized that I understood the foreign words – and then gasped with anger as the name the man had called me sank in. I was dressed as a namoa, and he called me a tart? I stepped forward again, thrusting my face up into his. The light from the torch burning above fell full on my face and the soldier blinked as he met my furious eyes and saw the scar glaring at him from my cheek.

“Watch who you’re calling a tart, soldier,” I hissed in Sedorne.

The man gaped at me. The laughter behind him stopped abruptly.

I continued, still in the foreign tongue, “Take this to Mesgao – he’ll see me, I promise you.” I pulled the silver chime from my pocket and held it up to the light.

The gourdin reached out and took the chime from my fingers. “I … apologize, sister,” he said awkwardly in Rua. “I didn’t realize. I’ll take this to my lord at once.”

I nodded sharply and stepped back. He disappeared through the door with surprising speed for such a large man, leaving the entrance open.

“Not bad,” Rashna said grudgingly. “Never seen a gourdin move so fast. Where did you learn their language?”

“From my mother.”

She pulled a face as if she had bitten down on a piece of gristle, and said no more.

There was a commotion somewhere behind the gates and the sound of hurried footsteps. Then the door, which had slowly begun to drift closed, was thrown open hard enough to slam against the wood behind it, and Sorin Mesgao stepped out.

He stopped dead when he saw us, the silver chime in his hand. “Zahira.”

“I… You remember me,” I said stupidly as I stepped forward. I felt again that disorientating sense of recognition as I looked at him. The gold of his hair, and the slanted deep blue eyes, even the shape of his face. He reminded me of my mother…

His expression as the light revealed me changed from astonishment to outright shock. “Of course I remember. Dear gods, Zahira! You look like … well, death is putting it politely. What happened to you?”

He reached out cautiously, as if he thought any sudden movement might frighten me. His big hands settled on my shoulders and he patted me softly, as one might comfort a child.

“I can’t explain now. I need to know – will you keep your promise? Will you help me?” Despite all my efforts, my voice trembled.

He gave me a worried look, and I realized I was even less coherent than I’d thought.

“What do you need? Are you sick? Hurt?”

“No.” I pushed his hands away. “No, you don’t understand. My people need your help.”

“Your …
people
?”

“A week ago outlaws – Sedorne – attacked the House of God. Most of us managed to hide in time, but they destroyed the temple. Our home. We’ve nothing left. Nowhere to go.” I gulped in a breath that sounded perilously close to a sob.

“The House of God? Why would anyone—” He broke off, his expression changing.

“Please.” I swallowed down another sob, and my pride with it. “I’ve got a templeful of refugees hiding down there in the tea fields. My friends. Women and children. They expect me to save them, but I can’t do it alone. I need – I need help.”

I put my hands up to hide my face and felt the chill of tears against my palms. Please, someone help me.

He put his hands on my shoulders again and I felt his hair brush against mine as he leaned over me.

“Stop now,” he murmured. “It’s all right. We’ll look after them.”

“You will help us?” I asked, my words muffled by my fingers. I didn’t dare look at him.

“You have my oath. You knew I would.”

“Thank you.” I felt such a surge of relief that my stomach churned. New tears welled up, hidden in my hands. “Thank you. I – I must go back. I have to tell them…”

“I’d advise you to wait a moment and sit down, before you fall down. When was the last time you ate?”

I shrugged, struggling to calm my breathing. I scrubbed my hands over my face roughly, erasing all traces of moisture – I hoped – and finally looked up. “I don’t remember.”

“I thought so. Send your friend back.”

“My—” I remembered Rashna mid word, and turned to find her leaning nonchalantly against the fort wall. Her expression, however, was anything but bored – a fine mixture of disbelief and disgust.

“I suppose so,” I said, sighing. My legs had gone alarmingly wobbly, but I hated to think what tales Rashna would take back to the camp with her.

Before I could say anything, Sorin spoke to Rashna. “Just get them to gather everything up and come. It’s safe to use the road if you have wagons. I’ll have the gates opened for you.”

Rashna nodded, then bowed beautifully – the bow of servant to master. She turned and walked out of the light without a word.

“Oh no.” I rubbed my face again. “We offended her.”

“Yes, she looked the type,” Sorin said, straightfaced, as he took my arm. “Come on. I was having some tea when you arrived. I think a cup would do you good.”

“I have to be here when they come,” I said, stopping abruptly. “Otherwise they’ll be worried.”

“Very well.” He tugged me forward and guided me through the door. In the flickering taperlight I saw a square courtyard, surrounded by walls with high archways leading into the building. Above, a mezzanine level with a wooden roof overhung the area. To my surprise the place didn’t look warlike at all; there were flowering trees in pots around the edges of the courtyard, and I thought I could hear water, as if from a fountain. I couldn’t see anyone around.

Sorin led me across the front of the courtyard to a little wooden hut that sat next to the gates. He pushed the door open, revealing a trio of gourdin sat inside. The men were intimidatingly large and dressed in leather armour – but they looked up rather nervously as Sorin appeared.

“Clear out,” he ordered. “Open the gates and make ready for a large number of guests. Ask Gita to prepare tea and something to eat, would you?”

The men saluted and shuffled past Sorin sheepishly. I didn’t understand their worried air until I recognized one as the man who’d called me a tart. The soldier made the Sedorne nod of respect at me as he passed. I thought, with no little satisfaction, that it would be a long time before any of them dared insult a Rua woman again.