Daughter of the Flames (24 page)

Finally I whispered, “What do you want?”

“I want you.”

I gaped at him, finally managing to choke out an incredulous, “What?”

“It is impossible for me to put right all the evils I have done. But I can put you back in your rightful place, Zahira. I have no children, nor do I ever intend to have any. But you could have been my daughter. And like my father before me, I need an heir.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I cannot live for ever. When I die, you will be reia. You can do whatever you will with this country. Create a paradise on earth, if you wish – I don’t care. Emelia’s daughter will sit upon the throne, and I will have made some reparation for all my sins.”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t … I don’t believe you. If you intend to simply give me what I was fighting for, then why all this? No.” I got to my feet. “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not saying.”

He sighed, coming to stand before me. On the uneven ground we were eye to eye. “You’re very acute. There is a catch to this bargain. Let me lay the terms before you. While I live, you will not interfere in the running of my kingdom. You will reside with me as a member of my family but I will rule Ruan until I die, and you will support me. And … there’s one more thing. Your husband. You will have to agree to let him go.”

“Let him go?” I echoed sceptically. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I beg your pardon; I was attempting to be delicate. You will have to agree to his death, my dear.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “I’ll never agree to that. You know I won’t.”

“I’m afraid you must. It’s part of the bargain. I cannot rule with him undermining me. Even if he could be induced to agree to this – which is doubtful – he’d challenge me to a duel of kingship as soon as he could. I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

Sorin can’t fight any more… No, I would never admit that to this man. “Sorin is honourable. If he were to agree to any bargain, he would keep his word.”

“Of course. A duel of kingship is a very honourable thing – it’s a traditional Sedorne method for the nobility to get rid of a bad king. Once the challenge has been issued in public, there is no going back. The gods must decide on the winner. Make no mistake, my dear, it would be the first thing he’d do. He really hates me, you know, and not unreasonably.”

I stared at him incredulously. “If you want Sorin dead, then why not have him killed? In fact, why not have both of us killed? You’ve had ample opportunity. Why this elaborate production?”

“I don’t want you dead, my dear – and if I had your husband killed now, you would never forgive me,” Abheron said with incongruous gentleness. “This must be your decision, Zahira. The good of your country versus the good of Sorin Mesgao. Your choice.”

“It’s a choice I’ll never make,” I said harshly. “Nothing good, nothing worth having, could be founded on the murder of an innocent man. And the bargain you offer is fatally flawed, Abheron. I would never agree to support you in your persecution of my people. You may live for another fifty years. I will not watch Ruan suffer under your hands for that long.”

He nodded. “I knew this would be your first reaction. But what I propose is your only option, Zahira, the only way that you will live to see your people free. You can’t hope to defeat me, or get rid of me in any other way. Once all this is over, you’ll see that I’m right.”

“You’re mad. Completely insane,” I said evenly. “I won’t betray my husband. I won’t betray everything that I believe in. I’ll die before I agree to any of this.”

“You won’t die, my dear,” he said softly. He plucked at the fingers of the glove on his left hand, pulling it slowly off. “I won’t let you. I intend to take very good care of you from now on.”

I jerked in shock as he revealed his left hand. It was horribly burned – a mass of twisted scar tissue that made my own scar look like nothing. His two smallest fingers were missing, and the others were twisted into bent claws like a hen’s foot; he must have had wires in the fingers of his glove to make his hand seem normal.

“I got this trying to save your mother. Earlier I said that you and I were nothing alike – but we do have certain things in common.” He raised the claw-like hand to my face and lightly stroked my scar with his bent fingers. I stood like a stone pillar under his touch.

“The longer you hesitate, the more painful it will be, my dear. You’ll walk this path, even if I have to line it with fire. It’s the only way.”

He turned and strode away along the top of the cliff, pulling the glove over his ruined hand as he went.

I stood completely still, watching him out of sight. Then I bent down and vomited, my stomach heaving convulsively long after it was empty. Finally, shaking so badly that I could hardly stand straight, I staggered through the window into the palace.

It felt like hours since I had seen the comfortable, quiet suite Sorin and I had been given – I could hardly believe that Sorin was still peacefully asleep in the bed when I reached it. I flung off the heavy dressing gown and crawled under the muslin nets to curl, shivering, next to him.

After a moment, he stirred, turning over to put his arms around me. I burrowed into him, pressing my face into his shoulder.

“Where have you been?” he murmured sleepily. “You’re freezing.”

“I’ve been talking to Abheron.”

I felt him tense as he came awake.

“What has he done? What did he say to you?” he demanded.

“Horrible things, Sorin,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “Horrible things…”

About half an hour later, a servant brought tea and bowls of sweet couscous to our suite and informed us that His Highness’s entertainment would begin soon. Fresh hot water had been pumped into the tanks of our private bathroom next door, and we had just under an hour to get ready. The servant also brought a large wooden box – a gift, he said, from the king to his niece. He wished me to wear it tonight.

Sorin and I stared at each other as the door closed behind the man. Then I kicked out viciously at the gift box, which had been laid at my feet, sending it skidding against the wall. Anca was nowhere to be found, and Deo had not come to see us. There was no word from Rashna or Stefan.

“Do you—” I broke off, kicked the box again, and forced myself to finish. “Do you think Abheron has killed them?”

Sorin took my hands between his and held them, saying nothing. I sighed unsteadily, breath jerking in my throat as I struggled to keep control.

“We should never have brought them,” I said finally. My voice broke on the last word, and I gulped.

He rubbed his thumb over my wrist, gently soothing. “No.”

“What about Rashna? Stefan?”

“I don’t know, love. He seems to know what we think before we do. I – I’m sorry I’ve brought you to this.”

“Please don’t. We’re in this together. We have been since the start and we will be at the end. You said that to me. You have to believe it.”

“Zahira…”

I knew what he was about to say. “No!” I said loudly, straightening my back.

He lifted his head to look at me, and I saw the despair in his eyes. “If there’s the slightest chance that he’d keep his word—”

“No,” I said, more quietly. “No, Sorin.”

I pulled my hands out of his and touched his face. After a moment, he lifted his own hand, and laid it on my scarred cheek. I wondered if his numb hand could even feel my skin. We stood together for a minute. Then Sorin cleared his throat and went over to where Abheron’s gift lay on the floor.

“Let’s see what he’s sent you,” he said, kneeling down carefully to pick the box up.

His fingers fumbled with the lid; it fell off to reveal a white gown in the Sedorne style, with sumptuous gold embroidery on the tight bodice and underskirt, and waterfall sleeves.

“This must have cost him a small fortune. He has style,” Sorin said ruefully. “You have to give him that.”

“No, I don’t,” I said firmly. “I don’t have to give him anything. Since Mira’s not here to bully me, I will not be trussing myself up in that monstrosity. I’ll wear something comfortable – something that makes me feel like myself, not a sacrificial offering on Abheron’s altar.”

Sorin snorted with laughter, though the noise did not hold its usual exuberance. “Well, whatever you intend to put on, we’d better hurry. I don’t want his guards dragging us out of the bath if we’re late.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, taking the dress from him and flinging it back in the box. “I won’t be long.”

While Sorin bathed, shaved very slowly, and laboriously plaited his hair into one of the simple braids that were all he could manage these days, I went through a rapid series of warm-up exercises, kicking and punching the air, bending and stretching and, after I’d pushed the chairs back, flipping. Once the blood was pumping, I searched through the chests stowed against the wall until I found a suit of clothing that I’d had made in Mesgao.

The full trousers and knee-length tunic, slashed to the hip, had hardly creased at all. They were completely plain, the only hint of decoration in the sash, which was embroidered in silver with a pattern of leaping fish. The beauty of the suit was in the fabric – rich peacock blue silk, the same shade as the sacred fire. The same shade as Sorin’s eyes.

I laid the clothes out on the bed, and found the boots that went with them, soft grey suede. By Sedorne standards they were insultingly informal. At least, I hoped so. I bathed quickly after Sorin, pulled on the tunic and trousers, and then rummaged through Anca’s box of tools – make-up, hair ties, ribbons and waxes. My hair was already curling wildly from the steam of the bathwater; I rubbed in some wax and twisted it up haphazardly into a dozen ribbons.

Leaving my hair to set, I wrapped the sash around my waist, knotting it intricately at my hip, and hanging from it the silver chime and mother-of-pearl fish that I had hidden among my possessions. Then I borrowed a stick of Anca’s blue eye kohl and a hand mirror. I hesitated, remembering Abheron’s claw-like fingers caressing my scarred cheek. The kohl would disguise the scar. Not completely, and not all of it, but it would hide some of the ruined skin. Then I shook my head. No. I had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of.

Defiantly I drew a mock tattoo on the right side – the good side – of my face, stylized flames, curling under my eye and along the line of my brow. Finally I pulled the ribbons out of my hair. It sprang into a halo of wild crinkly curls, standing straight out from my head. The mad hair, the dark swirls of the pattern I had drawn on my face – like a mirror image of the pale slashing scar on my other cheek – combined with the dangerous glitter in my eyes, gave me a feral look. I nodded in satisfaction.

Sorin, when he saw me, laughed in amazement. He looked the very picture of a perfect lord, his dove-grey and lavender clothes beautifully embroidered, his hair neatly braided and simply gemmed with mother-of-pearl beads large enough for his fingers to grasp. We couldn’t have looked more different if we’d tried. Somehow that seemed right. Let everyone see that Rua and Sedorne
could
unite –
could
learn to love each other, and work together. Let them see, and be jealous.

“You’ll strike terror into their hearts,” he said, reaching out curiously to touch my hair. “And I’ll watch them run.”

There was a quiet knock at the door, and the master of ceremonies slid into the room.

“His Majesty requests your presence.” He spoke calmly enough, but I thought his eyes widened at the sight of me. He looked a little forlornly at the gift discarded on the floor, then sighed and gracefully gestured us out of the room. The gourdin fell into step behind us. I couldn’t help noticing that they had acquired large, viciously topped pikes since I last saw them.

The corridors and halls of the palace were still unlit, and echoingly quiet. I realized that we had not seen a single other guest here. In my father’s day this had been a cheerful, bustling place, full of people. Abheron seemed to keep it almost empty.

The little man glided before us into the entrance hall, and opened the door. Light from the lanterns outside spilled in. There was a muffled roar from somewhere below – like the noise of a large crowd. The courtyard was as quiet and empty as before, except for the open carriage that waited for us. The man at the reins nodded to us as the master of ceremonies waved us into the carriage. Two more gourdin stood on a sturdy ledge built into the back of the vehicle, directly behind the passenger seats. They also held the long war pikes.

I climbed up and sat tensely. The quiet, the calm, the air of ceremony – it was completely unnerving. The carriage dipped with Sorin’s weight as he sat beside me. I met his eyes, and saw that he was aware of my tension.

“Steady,” he said.

I nodded, bracing myself as the carriage jerked and then rattled into motion. The roaring noise below grew louder – and then the lake came into view. I sucked in a stunned breath.

The royal pier was surrounded by a dozen extraordinary boats anchored in a ragged circle. Flat and square, the watercraft were almost like the rafts that the fishermen used, but much larger, and with wooden rails at the edges. Most had peaked awnings erected over them in the Sedorne royal colours of green and gold, concealing the activity beneath. The central craft was joined to the pier by a long suspended walkway, about a foot above the water, made of bamboo rods and silk rope. The other ships were all joined to one another in a similar way. The arrangement reminded me of a flower or perhaps more appropriately – a spider’s web.

As the carriage travelled inexorably downwards, Sorin and I craned over the side in silence to get a better view. Coloured lanterns hung from poles at the edges of the boats, and more lights floated on the jet glitter of the water like fallen stars in a shifting sky. Happy music, played on the odd, fluting instruments beloved of the Sedorne, drifted up to us, along with the increasing noise of laughter and talking.

“It sounds like they’re having a fine time,” I said, striving for lightness.

“Or they’ve been instructed to give that impression,” Sorin said. “I told you that he had style – and you must admit he’s set the stage exquisitely.”