Kaavl Conspiracy (14 page)

She’d better make the most of her opportunity to practice. She glanced at the sun. Thirty minutes remained before Timaeus left guard duty. If, by some chance she still had a
hope of returning undetected, she should return within fifteen
minutes.

* * * * *

The time passed all too quickly, and soon Methusal turned for the gates of Rolban. Hopefully no one had noticed her absence.

Unfortunately, the instant she arrived at the heavy gates, Pogul dashed out and grabbed her arm. Red flushed his florid face, and cruel glee danced in his black eyes.

“I saw you go outside. And guess what? Timaeus is in detention.”

Methusal felt awful. Great. This was all her fault. She’d never wanted her friend to suffer.

“I made sure Petr knows.” He licked his lips and grinned. “I’m supposed to personally deliver you to him.”

Methusal twisted her arm free. “I’ll see Petr on my own.”

Pogul grabbed her elbow again. His fingers hurt. “I’m in charge. March.”

Struggling to control her simmering temper, Methusal walked fast, leading the way. Pogul jerked on her arm. “Slow up,” he huffed.

“Got to be prompt. Petr doesn’t like laggards.”

Pogul scowled.

Unfortunately, the fast pace meant they arrived at Petr’s office all too soon. Maybe that hadn’t been her smartest move.

Pogul knocked on Petr’s office door and thrust her inside.
“Methusal Maahr, sir.”

Petr stood, and so did Mentàll Solboshn, the Dehrien Chief. Apparently, their arrival had interrupted a chiefly conversation.

“Thank you, Pogul. That will be all.”

Pogul gave Methusal another baleful glare before he disappeared through the door.

“So, Methusal. You disobeyed me. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Methusal remained silent, but met her uncle’s gaze without flinching.

“No excuse?”

“What’s the point? You accused me unfairly. Justice isn’t your goal. If it was, I wouldn’t need to explain.”

Red boiled up her uncle’s face and clashed with his white hairline. Apprehension licked through her. Although she knew he wouldn’t harm her, she did regret her disrespectful words. When would she ever learn to control her mouth? She had to stop saying what she thought! Even if Petr was wrong, getting on his bad side was simply foolish.

“You are an impertinent girl.” Petr turned to his guest. “If you will excuse me for a moment.”

The Dehrien inclined his head, and Methusal followed
her uncle through a doorway draped by a blue leather curtain.
The thin door afforded little privacy, and she wondered why they’d left the room at all. Surely the Dehrien Chief would hear everything they said.

“You’ve gone too far, Methusal.”

“I’m sorry. I needed to go outside to pract…”

“That is no
excuse!
” Petr roared.

Methusal bit her lip, and anger sparked again. “You’ve accused me without proof. It’s unlawful for you to confine me inside.”

“I will confine you, Methusal—to a jail cell!”

She gasped. “But I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You’ve disobeyed the orders of the Chief of Rolban.”

“You’re my uncle. How can you punish me if there’s no proof against me?”

“It’s my job to uphold the law in this community. Just like your father did before me.” He waved his finger under her nose. “And don’t think you’ll go crying to him for help.”

“Someone will come.”

“Kitran won’t help you, either. I don’t care how much he wants you in those Kaavl Games. Women have no place in them.”

“In your opinion. Many women of the past have been great kaavl players.”

“Kaavl is a weapon of war. War is not for women.”

“So that’s why you won’t let Aali play. Even when it’s what she wants most.”

Petr’s white brow lowered. “Don’t speak to me about Aali. We’re talking about you.”

“Kitran won’t expel me from the games.” Methusal knew no such thing. “He’ll help me.”

Petr laughed. “Really? Do you think so? He just spoke to me about you. His argument that you’re the best, and fastest advancing kaavl player he’s ever seen means nothing to me. Do you hear? You are a brazen, disobedient young woman. Erl should have disciplined you when you were young. Now it’s my job. You’re going to jail!”

“Jail!” Methusal couldn’t believe it. Her close-minded, stubborn uncle had taken a leap off the bluff of reason. “But I haven’t been formally charged with a crime!”

“You have now. Come on.” He grabbed her elbow and propelled her out of a wooden door and into a narrow hallway. Pushing her ahead of him, he forced her down the steps and into the jail ward. There he took a giant key off the wall, unlocked a cell, and thrust her inside. The solid door, flanked by floor to ceiling bars, clanged shut.

“My parents will worry if I don’t come for dinner.”

“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll tell them.” Petr disappeared through the ward door and slammed it behind him.

Methusal sat down on the hard, narrow cot, which was the only furnishing in the cell. No other soul occupied the jail. She was alone. Unexpected tears slipped down her
cheeks. It was so unfair. Yes, she’d disobeyed, but she’d broken
no law. She was accused of a crime she hadn’t committed, and now she was being punished for it.

For a long time, Methusal sat silently, wiping her cheeks. And what about Timaeus? What punishment would he face? Would his guard job be stripped away? It was a prestigious assignment. She felt sick that her actions hurt him, too. Why hadn’t she listened to reason? And what would Kitran say? Would he expel her from the Game now?

Of course he would. Hadn’t her actions proven yet again her complete lack of discipline and obedience? He’d warned her, and she hadn’t listened. And now apparently she’d been formally charged with a crime. The threat of conviction—of execution—suddenly seemed more real and imminent. It scared her. She had been stupid. Focusing on clearing her name should have been her priority the entire time. Yes, she wanted to win the kaavl game. But her
life
was at stake here. What had she been thinking? She wiped away more hot tears.

Long minutes—perhaps hours—passed. The torch on the wall outside her cell gave off the only light, so she had no idea what time it was. Her stomach rumbled, though. Would someone bring her food? Would Petr tell anyone where she was? Would anyone come to visit her?

An eternity of minutes ticked by. She walked the perimeter of the cell, restless with misery.

How would a jury of Rolbanis judge her behavior? Not respectful of the Chief, certainly. Perhaps not respectful of the law at all. Maybe even a murderer…

Methusal sat and buried her head in her hands. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. Help me to do better.”

Was The One listening? Was he real? She didn’t know, even though she’d been taught to believe it. After her brief prayer, she felt a little better. A little calmer.

If she ever got out of here, she’d apologize to Petr, as hard as that would be.

Finally, she was honest with herself. She had no chance, after five years of hard work, to challenge Behran at the Tri-level. And it was all her own fault.

More time crawled by, and she wiped her cheeks dry. She felt subdued and a little older now. Priorities finally became clear. Somehow, she’d get out. Without freedom, she had nothing.

And she’d enlist help. She couldn’t find the murderer by herself. Methusal felt better, having made these decisions.

She waited and waited. Her stomach rumbled every few minutes, and she began to fantasize about juicy meat and crisp vegetables. It felt like it was the middle of the night, but it was likely only late evening. Would anyone bring her food? Or was this part of her punishment?

She slipped into kaavl and focused on the hall outside the jail ward. Nothing…wait.

Faint footsteps.

She scrubbed the salty tear trails from her cheeks. She’d love to see anyone. Even Petr. Maybe especially Petr.

The metal ward door creaked open, and Methusal stared. This was last person she’d expected to see.

“Methusal Maahr.”
Mentàll Solboshn shut the door behind his powerful frame.

Apprehension curled in the pit of her stomach. “Why are you here?”

“Curiosity.”

“About me? Or our jail ward?”

Although a faint smile curved his lips, his gaze remained steady and calculating. “You are the best kaavl player in Rolban.”

“No. Just the fastest to advance.”

He inclined his head, as if waiting for her to elaborate.

“I reached the Tri-level in five years.”‘

“Impressive.” He scanned the jail cell. “And why are you here?”

“Petr thinks I pushed someone off a cliff.” If she had wanted to startle the Dehrien, or crack his expressionless mask, she failed.

“Did you?”

“No! Of course not. I’d never kill anyone. Or steal…”

“Steal?” Swift as a whip beast, he pounced.

Methusal shut her mouth. The Dehrien didn’t need to learn about Rolban’s thefts. “Why are you talking to me? How could I possibly be of interest to a Dehrien Chief?”

“Kaavl is a passion of mine, as well.”

If Kitran was in awe of him, then the Dehrien’s kaavl abilities must be remarkable.

He slowly paced closer. The jail ward somehow seemed very small with him in it.

Subtle threat exuded from him and Methusal tensed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“No.”

“Because I am a Dehrien.” He now was only three handbreadths from the bars, but she refused to step back.

“Dehriens have been our enemies for over two hundred years.”

He gave a thin smile. “No longer, Methusal.”

She didn’t like the sound of her name on his tongue. “Because of the Alliance? Is it signed already?”

“I will present it to Rolban in the morning.”

“You think it will pass.”

“It is in your best interest.”

“And yours.” Unexpected insight flashed. “The Alliance is a trap, isn’t it?”

Those pale eyes froze to ice, and the friendly façade disappeared. She saw the predator again, and a flicker of barely bridled fury…and hatred.

She took an involuntary step backward, suddenly glad of the bars between them. “You won’t win. I’ll stop you.”

His eyes glittered. “We will see how brave you are, Methusal. I am not a man you will easily cross.”

He left as silently as he had come, but the clang of the door reverberated behind him.

Methusal felt shaken. Her words had been brave, but foolish. Again, her mouth had outrun her better sense.

She had just made an enemy. And, she suspected, a powerful one.

Dehre

Thirdday

Hendra slipped outside
into the bright morning sunshine. Her spirits lifted, although she knew today the well water and the food supplies would be more meager than ever. A week ago, men had begun to carry barrels of water from the diverted Tarst River.

On mornings like this, anything seemed possible…especially today, for Mentàll was in Rolban. Perhaps the Alliance would be signed. Maybe they would not starve to death this summer.

Hendra breathed in great gulps of the fresh, cool air. The Rolbanis and Tarst just had to sign the Alliance. Then her community would only need to pray for rain to replenish their water supplies, and for new seed to plant crops.

Hendra glanced at her cousin’s huge tent. The bleached leather rippled in the breeze. Since Mentàll was gone, today was her opportunity to investigate the fires in the hills.

Quickly, she formulated a plan. Her journey would be noticed, and most likely reported to Mentàll when he returned. So she had to make the journey look innocent. Perhaps she could take the orphaned children for a walk into the low hills, to the stream diverted from the Tarst River. They could carry buckets of water back to the orphanage, and find fresh tagma berries, as well.

Hendra was about to hurry to the orphanage when she remembered that another child had been admitted yesterday. She ducked back inside her tent and picked up the folded leaf she’d prepared, which was filled with food. The child’s mother had died yesterday of fever. Her body had been too weak and undernourished to fight.

Depression touched Hendra’s spirit, thinking of the little boy with the sad brown eyes. She tucked the leaf, filled with half of her own breakfast ration, into her pocket. How he must have suffered, watching his mother die. Fear and grief were emotions too hard for a child to bear alone. As Hendra imagined the misery the child must be feeling, pain ripped through her own soul.

And then the curse…or the blessing…of her life intruded again.

Like water down a drain hole, all of the painful emotions swirled away. Coldness swelled, filling the void.

“No,” she whispered. Not today.

Why hadn’t it come when Jascr had attacked her on Firstday? Why now, when she only wanted to feel empathy for someone?

Hendra bit her lip as the unstoppable coldness grew, killing every emotion. Sorrow, pain…every feeling inside her froze into nothingness. The joy of the morning shattered into broken, dead pieces. Every human emotion vanished. Only numbness remained.

In some far recess of her mind, terror ghosted through her, as it always did.

Logically, Hendra understood why the ice took over her soul. When she was younger, it had been the only way she could cope with her violent home life. But now, even though she lived in safety, the coldness still attacked her. It would not stop. She feared it never would.

Today, like so many others before it, she’d try to ignore it. It was the only way. She’d learned that if she acted like she cared, the children never knew the difference.

But inside, she knew something was terribly wrong with her. So many days she lived either terrorized by fear, or frozen emotionally. She hated both. Of course, sometimes—especially with the children—she did feel love and compassion. It was one of the reasons why she worked with them. Their smiles, and her own deliberate acts of kindness helped to melt the ice again.

If she witnessed too much misery at the orphanage, however, then the lurking coldness would creep back through her soul and protect her heart. Sometimes it only lasted a morning, and sometimes for days.

Hendra pushed aside her tent flap door. She would work with the children now. They needed her care, whether she felt loving and compassionate or not.

“Hendra.” She tensed. Jascr stood a short distance away, just outside Mentàll’s tent door.

The coldness was welcome now. It deadened her fear.

Ignoring her brother, she headed for the orphanage. Jascr deserved no courtesy. He was vile. And evidently he didn’t know their cousin hadn’t returned home yet. She wouldn’t enlighten him, that much was for sure.

But why did Jascr want to speak to Mentàll? The two men hated each other. …Unless Jascr meant to talk to him about Wortn’s proposal. Dread slithered through her. Never. She’d never allow it. She would run away first. Or die trying.

Quick footsteps followed her. Tensing, she whirled and side-stepped seconds before Jascr grabbed for her arm. With cold satisfaction, she watched his hand claw empty air.

He staggered, and bared his teeth in a snarl. “You’ve won a reprieve, little sister. Know this: When your cousin returns, your life of ease will end.”

Hendra stared at him without blinking, her features blank and expressionless. It was one of the few times when she was thankful that she felt nothing but cold emptiness.

He sneered, “Afraid to speak?”

Hendra did not respond, although unexpected light prickles of fear ran up her scalp. Refusing to let him sense it, she continued her frozen stare. “Are you finished? May I leave now?”

A smirk twisted his lips. He spat into the dirt. “Run while
you can …” A degrading name rolled off his tongue, and despite hers
elf, Hendra recoiled. “Soon you’ll be under my authority. And then Wortn’s.” With a hissing chuckle, he left her.

Fine shivers slid down her spine as she hurried for the orphanage. Jascr would speak to Mentàll when he returned. She couldn’t stop that. But Mentàll hated her brother as much as she did—well, almost as much. Her cousin would not listen to Jascr.

Surely he wouldn't.

She had to find out what Mentàll was hiding in the hills. Time to suggest a long walk to the older orphanage children.