Authors: Kathryn Lance
“Thank you. But no.”
At first he thought she had misunderstood him. Their lives had been entwined for so many years now, it seemed obvious that they were meant to be together. Never had he felt so comfortable with another person, never since Zach. He wanted to explain all this to her, to show her the reasoning. All he said was, “Why not?”
She frowned, then turned her head away. “I can’t marry you. Please don’t ask me to say more.”
He thought a moment, then nodded. “You’re a Daughter of the Garden,” he said. “Your work is the most important thing to you. I understand that. But Evvy, Daughters can marry. My own brother was married to a Daughter of the Garden.”
She turned back to him, looking frightened. “It isn’t that,” she whispered. “Please . . . forget me and let it be.”
“You’ve heard stories about me,” he said then. “About the way I’ve treated women.”
“I don’t believe them, it’s not that.”
“The stories are true,” he said. Her eyes widened in surprise. “That is . . . they were true. For many years I bought and abused very young girls. I persuaded myself that it was my right – as Principal, to take release in any way I could.”
Evvy said nothing, and he continued, “I could still do that,” he said. “For that matter, I could reclaim any one of the girls – those that are still alive. Under the laws of the District they are still mine.” Her expression did not change, though she had become pale. He felt again that she was the girl he had sent Zach to buy over five years ago.
“I’m telling you this so you’ll know it’s all in the past. So there won’t be any secrets between us. I would never do anything to harm you. You must know that. I only want you with me. As Principal I can have a wife of my own, unshared.”
She swallowed. “I’m sure many women would be honored to be your wife.”
“I don’t want any woman! I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time. You must have sensed it.”
“I sensed something when I was younger. It frightened me then.”
“You’re not frightened now?”
“No.”
“Then come with me.”
She clasped her hands together and took a long breath. “I can’t. I love another man.”
“What other man?” he asked, shocked. He could feel his temper rising and took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s Daniel, isn’t it?”
She laughed without humor. “Daniel loved Lucky,” she said. “He is my friend.”
“Then one of my soldiers from the base camp. Name him—”
She shook her head. “The man I love is dead,” she said. “And there will never be anyone else.”
He looked at her as if through a fog, trying to understand what she was saying. Then, suddenly, with a certainty that froze him, he knew. The man she loved was Zach.
At that moment Katha strode into the lab. “Your men have asked me to tell you they are ready. And to remind you that you must start soon if you want to reach the Capital today.”
He nodded impatiently, then turned back to Evvy. “Please come with me now. You don’t have to promise anything. In time you may change your mind.”
“Time won’t change anything,” she said.
“I can force you,” he said then. “I am the Principal, and you are my subject.” He clasped her wrist, hating himself for what he was doing, yet unable to stop. The baby fox-cat jumped off his lap, hissing, and Evvy pulled back, trying to free herself. Then suddenly her eyes widened and she looked behind him in alarm. He turned to see Katha, still in the doorway, both hands lifting her heavy, ornate sword.
“Let her go!” Katha cried.
“Katha, no!” Evvy wrenched herself away from the Principal and darted across the room. He saw what she was after a split second too late: his own sword, which, with his cloak and bag, had been lying by the entrance. She lifted the weapon and dropped it outside the open door. He watched in horror – was she trying to help Katha kill him? Could this somehow be a Trader plot? But Evvy was now standing between him and Katha, speaking urgently.
“Katha, I’m all right. Please go outside. The Principal is leaving. Don’t provoke him.”
And he realized that she had disposed of his weapon to save him from himself, to prevent open war between him and the Garden.
Katha’s face was white with fury. “You have ten minutes to get out of here. Evvy, come outside with me.”
Evvy cast a glance back at the Principal, then followed Katha.
For perhaps a full minute he sat there, trembling and breathing deeply. He felt a fool, disarmed by women, but he knew that Evvy had done the right thing. Nothing could be worse for his larger plans than blood between him and the leader of the Garden. He stepped outside, where his men, looking wary and with their hands on their weapons, stood ready. Katha too was poised for battle. Evvy stood between her and his soldiers, looking frightened and deeply unhappy.
The Principal took his sword from Red. “We’ll leave now,” he said, aware how harsh his voice sounded, “And I’ll not be back.” He waited until his men were mounted, then climbed on his own mount. From the corner of his eye he saw Evvy give a small covered basket to Red, with a whispered word. It was his fox-cat, he realized. Then she approached him.
He turned his mount away without another word and led his men through the yard, then out the gate.
The Principal was pulled back to the present by hesitant knocking. Lindy had returned with a pitcher of brew and an assortment of foods. He watched while the boy bent to clean up the ruined pieces of marble, then waved him away. He poured a full cup of brew and drained it in one long swallow.
He sat at his desk, thinking to work, but his thoughts returned to the Garden. In disgust he pushed a heap of papers onto the floor, again startling the baby fox-cat, which had just curled up beneath his reading lantern. He had drunk so much that he should have been dizzy, but he wasn’t. The warm liquid filled him, but did nothing to cure the complicated ache that started in his belly and had spread through his whole body.
He could have anything else. He could – he would – prevail against the Traders. He would establish a great civilization to rival those of the past. When history books were again written, there would be whole chapters devoted to his works. He would have everything except what he most wanted.
He brooded restlessly for a very long time. After midnight, still unable to sleep or to anesthetize himself, he called for Robin.
“Take this bag of metal,” he said. “Get me a young girl.”
Robin gaped at him. He had not served the Principal in this way for years. “What sort of girl?” he asked.
“I don’t care. All that matters is that she be young. Very young. And she must have long dark hair. Pay whatever is necessary.”
After nearly two hours, Robin returned with a girl, younger than Evvy but older than the children the Principal had preferred in the past. The girl looked bewildered but pleased. He saw from her ankle bracelet that she was from a house of women for hire. She was pretty, and though she bore no resemblance to Evvy despite her long dark hair, he decided she would do.
“You may go,” he told Robin. “Instruct the guards not to let anyone in here, no matter what they hear.”
“Yes, sir,” said Robin. He looked terrified.
The Principal poured himself another cup of brew and offered one to the girl. She accepted it and began to sip, looking at him with interest.
“What is your name?” he asked her.
“Ania,” she said with smile which revealed several missing teeth.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re the Principal.”
At that moment the baby fox-cat leaped onto the couch beside the girl. She drew back in surprise. “Is that a fox-cat?” she asked, sounding more curious than frightened.
“It’s my pet,” he said. “His name is Napoleon.”
“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” she said, stretching out her hand to be sniffed. Napoleon licked her fingertips and crawled into her lap. She stroked his soft fur, looking like a delighted child. The Principal watched her for a moment, feeling strangely ill at ease.
“Where are you from, Ania?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
“The west,” she said, her face flushing.
“You’re a refugee?”
“We were driven out by the Traders. My fathers had some old-style books on keeping bees. We used to raise new-honey. The Traders burned the books and all our things, and my fathers died trying to stop them.”
Although she told the tale matter-of-factly, he could see the pain in her eyes. “How did you come to the Capital?”
“My little brothers and I hid till it was over. Then we walked for weeks. When we got here I sold myself. There was enough money to apprentice my brothers in a metal-working shop.”
The Principal looked at her sadly. He felt no trace of his compulsion, nor even of desire. All he felt was admiration and pity. She was simply another person, like Robin. He realized now that for many years women had been not-real to him. In his dreams he could do whatever he wanted to young girls, because they did not really exist for him. He had learned too much now to make his dreams real ever again. With a start it came to him that he had truly changed. He was not suppressing his compulsion; it had ceased to exist.
After a moment Ania stood to refill the cups. Then she loosened the ties on her blouse. Almost shyly, she spoke. “I’m yours for as long as you want,” she said. “What do you desire?”
“Just what we’re doing,” said the Principal. “Just talk. I wanted company.”
The girl looked at him in astonishment, obviously only half believing him. Then, with a good-natured grin, she retied the neck of her blouse and sat down again. “That’s fine with me,” she said. “Because I’ve got so many things happened to me, I could talk for three days without stopping.”
In fact, she talked for three more hours before the Principal finally fell asleep, soothed by her voice.
The next morning he let her go, with a generous bonus. He had no trouble sleeping that night, or the next.
Two weeks later Zach returned.
Z
ACH AWOKE SLOWLY
,
HIS EYES
sticky with grime. He rubbed them gently and looked around at the four walls which he knew better now than his own face, which, in any case, he had not seen in the nearly five years he had been here. Five years of awakening to four damp walls of stone and mortar, with one small slit for a window; five years of filth, of meager food, of vermin which were now as familiar to him as the hairs on his body. He knew every chink in the stones which lined his cell, knew every nuance of the feeble sunlight which filtered in for a few hours each day, knew the footsteps of the guards individually as they paced outside his cell.
And knew also that today he would escape or die.
He sat up and stretched, then coughed for some minutes, awakening the pain in his chest that would be with him as long as he lived. Zach smoothed his coarse woolen blanket over the dried grass he had been lying on, then moved the scarcely three paces to the door where his breakfast was waiting.
He splashed his face with tepid water from the crude pottery bowl, then forced himself to down the hard dark bread and tasteless gruel; he would need his strength today and for many days yet to come. For just a moment he was almost overwhelmed with unaccustomed emotion: was it fear or anticipation? He took a deep breath and held it until the tightening in his belly subsided.
There was no time or energy now for anything but the thought of escape – all of his resources must be directed toward that alone. It might already be too late, of course; he knew nothing about affairs in the District beyond the bare fact that the Principal still ruled. He was certain, however, that Will was engaged in a deadly struggle with foes who, for their own reasons, believed as passionately in their ideals as the Principal did in his, and he was equally certain that only one set of beliefs would survive.
This was why he must escape: to return to the District and tell the Principal everything he had learned about the enemy. Of course he would be executed afterward, Zach had no doubt of that, for his treachery five years before. The Principal might let any other man go, but never Zach, who had been closest to him of all men. The law must be obeyed – above all, by the Principal and his aides – or it had no force. No matter what other changes might have taken place in the District in these years, that one thing Zach was sure would remain.
For the sake of everything he believed in, he would succeed. He had endured more already than most men could. Perhaps a wild deena had made him strong, but more likely it was the almost magical skills of Jonna, who was now high priestess of the Trader Empire. Jonna, who had saved him from what had been certain death. It had been five years ago, but the memories were fresher than yesterday’s. In imagination he could still remember the feeling of the knife between his ribs, the instant terror and rage, and yes, the sorrow, as he realized he would never again see Evvy.
Zach was in a twilight of shapes and shadows, sounds and whispers, a strange world where the only things familiar were the taste of blood and constant pain. With every breath it grew worse, and he tried to will his breath to stop, but the body, with a reason of its own, fought him and renewed the pain, again and again in an even rhythm.
He became aware that he was lying on a sled being pulled by a mount. Above spun a canopy of green and blue and brilliant sparkles of light. The sled moved steadily, but not smoothly, and each step the mount took added to his disorientation. After a while the canopy began to spin and then disappeared in a whirlpool.
He was alone on a vast beach. The ocean lay ahead, clear and welcoming. He tried to crawl to it, but the sand gave way, and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. He was burning, his skin crackling and splitting, his lips turning black. Leya was standing over him, her golden hair a halo around her face. He tried to call to her, but his mouth was dry and she turned away without hearing him. Then a beautiful young girl with long dark hair appeared. She knelt and touched him with smooth, cool hands, and he could feel his pain and thirst slipping away. She held a large crystal vase full of pale green water, and it trickled into his mouth and down his throat, healing him as it went, making him strong everywhere it touched. Her eyes watched him, soft and large, the color of plums.