The pair of scullery girls nodded in shy greeting as Tsorreh entered. She found Breneya in the stone-walled distillery room, sorting and tying bunches of herbs to be dried. Strings of them hung from the rafters, and shelves filled with bins and baskets lined two walls of the chambers. The air was thick with the concentrated smells of herbs, vinegars, garlic, and powdered myrrh.
Breneya looked up as she hung a bunch of fresh herbs from a hook set in a rafter. She wore a spotless apron and matching head scarf. A short, curved knife hung from the ribbon around her neck. She wiped her hands and put away the knife, folding the ribbon around it and tucking it into one of the ample pockets in her apron.
“I’ve been sent to fetch more of the parsley tea,” Tsorreh said, holding up the pitcher.
Breneya took it from her and filled it from a stoneware crock on one of the shelves. “There. That will do him good.”
“Do you know this herb and its properties?” Tsorreh wondered if there were a second, hidden, network of healers
in Gelon, women like this one who might pass on to their daughters the practical knowledge of medicinal plants.
The cook’s mouth softened. “That I do. In the country where I was bred, we know many such things. We have no priests to tell us otherwise.” She ran her hands over the round belly of the pitcher before handing it back to Tsorreh. “My grandmother always said that nothing else was so efficacious as a general tonic. When she was a girl, her own mother was near death. For three days, the old woman lay in bed, scarcely able to speak, and drank nothing but parsley tea.”
“And did it help her?”
“Indeed, for on the fourth day, she sprang up, frisky as a kid goat, and lived another ten years!”
Tsorreh laughed. She couldn’t imagine Jaxar frisky.
“It’s good medicine, real medicine,” Breneya murmured, thoughtful. Her gaze met Tsorreh’s, and clearly she had made up her mind to speak.
“My Astreya told me where she’d gone with you, who you saw.” She made the statement into an accusation.
“A physician of my own people, someone I trust,” Tsorreh said.
Breneya went to the open door, glanced around, then closed it and turned back to Tsorreh. “Listen to me, foreign princess! I know nothing of the sorcerous folk! Nor do I care! But if your potions can help him—” Calming herself, shaking her head, Breneya lifted the latch and gestured for Tsorreh to leave. “There, I’ve already said more than I should. I should not have spoken to you. You are my lord’s guest. Just…be careful.”
* * *
When Tsorreh returned, Lycian’s attendants were arranged about the opulent outer chamber of Jaxar’s quarters. Fortunately, the white lap-terrier was nowhere to be seen. The attendants stared as Tsorreh crossed to the inner door. She wondered what they thought of her, what their mistress had said to them. What did it matter? None of them were going
to become her friends, not in this house. She wondered what had happened to Menelaia, who was the closest to a woman-friend of her own age that she could remember.
As she neared the inner door, Tsorreh saw that the latch had not caught completely, leaving it slightly ajar. She heard Lycian’s voice, no longer cloying and soothing, but raised, shrill.
“I will not be humiliated in this way! To be forced to shelter a harlot under my own roof! I am your wife! I have my rights!”
A rumbling answer from Jaxar blotted out her next words. Tsorreh hesitated, holding the pitcher close to her body. Heat suffused her cheeks. She was not sure she ought to go in, not sure she could force herself into Lycian’s presence. Surely it would be better to wait out here, with the attendants.
“So you say!” Lycian shrieked. “All the more reason for you to be ashamed to so dishonor me, that you permit even a whisper of scandal to be spoken.”
“The shame exists only in your own baseless fears.” Jaxar’s voice was now loud enough to be overheard. “Suspicion does you no credit. Of course, you have no proof. None exists.”
“I have no proof yet. But I know what I know.” After an instant’s falter, Lycian continued with renewed ardor. “That is not my only objection to the chit. It is bad enough that you disgrace yourself with her, but she has been seen in the city.
Seen
, I tell you! If she is found at large, then we will be held responsible! The holy servants of Qr the Inexorable warned me of this danger. She will bring Cinath’s wrath down on us with her running about with only a nitwit of a servant girl for her escort. Is that proper custody? Are we not answerable to the Ar-King for her behavior? What is to stop her from escaping? From consorting with criminals and insurrectionists? Even assassins? And who will believe she has not?”
A soft sound from the center of the room made Tsorreh turn. Her cheeks flamed and her hands trembled on the
round belly of the pitcher. One of Lycian’s attendants had risen. With a slight inclination of her head, the other woman glided to the inner door. She said nothing as she reached out to tap the door with her knuckles, but in the cant of her head and the expression in her pale eyes, Tsorreh read a wordless sympathy.
The maid rapped three times, a pause, and then three times more. From within the bedchamber, Lycian’s voice halted in mid-sentence.
“What? What is it?” Lycian did not sound at all pleased.
“Gracious lady.” The girl pitched her voice low and smooth, like cool silk. “The parsley tea, would it please you to receive it now?”
“Oh, very well! Bring it in. Jaxar, you must give serious thought to what I have said. For your sake—for all our sakes, promise me this.”
“Set your mind at rest, my wife. I will consider it.”
The door jerked open and Lycian bustled through. Tsorreh jumped out of the way, but Lycian gave her only the most cursory of glances. The attendant had already sunk into a graceful bow. Lycian swept through the outer chamber, trailing fluttering scarves and maids.
Tsorreh slipped through the inner door. Jaxar smiled at her from his bed, where he lay propped on layers of pillows. He looked weary but alert. A mixture of emotions touched her, relief and her own sudden yearning for a refuge. She wanted to go to his side and lay her face against his hand, as if she were a child and he, a kindly father. For his sake as well as her own, she dared not risk even the appearance of inappropriate intimacy. Instead, she poured out a goblet of the tea and brought it to him.
“I suppose I must drink this, if only to keep Issios happy,” Jaxar said, wrinkling his nose at the taste.
“I doubt it will harm you, and it may do some good.”
“Who says this? Where is it written?”
“Written nowhere that I have found. Yet.” Tsorreh grinned. “But it comes from a very reliable source.”
He took several large gulps of the infusion, then shoved
the goblet back at her. “Pah! Any more, and I will start lowing like a cow!”
Tsorreh put the goblet on the tray beside the pitcher. “Yes, it would be much preferable for you to bellow like a bull!”
Jaxar laughed aloud, then broke into coughing. When she bent over him, filled with sudden concern, he waved her away. She took her seat once more. The book Danar had been reading was still there. She picked it up and held it in her lap. “Shall I read to you?”
“Tsorreh, we must talk, and seriously. I see from your expression that you heard what Lycian said.”
“A little of it,” she admitted.
“Lycian finds much in life to upset her, but in this, she has reason. I know you went out into the city in search of medicine.”
“I did not go alone. And I in no way dishonored my promise that I would not try to escape.”
“I do not doubt your word, child. Nor should you underestimate the consequences if you behaved in any way that might be interpreted as escape.” Jaxar paused, letting his words sink in. “I do not want to imprison you here, but the truth is that this house could become the only place in Aidon—perhaps in all Gelon—where you will be safe. I know the temper of my brother. In his heart, great courage contends for primacy with even greater fear. Do not inflame that fear.”
“Why should he fear me, one single woman exile in this enormous city?” she burst out. “He has soldiers everywhere—city patrol, military, Elite Guards! How could I possibly pose a threat to him?”
Jaxar shook his head, sending a faint quivering through the loose skin at his neck. “I do not say these things are rational or fair, only that they exist. They were not always so, but ever since the conquest of your city, there has been a shift in power at court. It was subtle at first, and perhaps only someone with as many idle thoughts as fill my own mind would have noticed it.”
Jaxar was no contender for the throne, even if he had
wanted it, not with his deformity and ill health, but he was a keen observer of courtly politics, of that she was sure.
“My brother has always been ambitious,” he went on, “but now the Qr priests feed his every suspicion. Already they have far more influence than I would like, and I have yet to discern their motives. Beyond simple power, that is. They wish him to be in their debt, but to what purpose, I cannot say.”
“What would you have me do?” Tsorreh said. “Remain forever within these walls?”
Who then will fetch the medicine the next time you are ill?
“I told you that I have no wish to imprison you,” he said, for the first time sounding irritated. “How can a mind be free to inquire, to explore, if the body is chained?” He sighed. “How, indeed?” It seemed to Tsorreh that until that moment, he had adapted so successfully to his limitations, using his books and instruments to expand his world, that he truly had not seen himself as disabled.
“I do wish to extend to you the freedom of the city,” he went on, shaking off the moment of doubt, “but, as my wife informs me, all must be seen to be proper. Astreya is a good girl, if a bit flighty, and as good a guide as any, for she has been set loose from an early age to run errands everywhere. But no one, certainly not my brother, would consider her a suitable chaperone, let alone an effective custodian.”
Tsorreh was forced to nod in agreement. Certainly, Danar went about with protection. If he, still at that headstrong, heedless stage of young manhood, could accept the necessity, then so could she. Maybe, she thought, Danar’s escort could serve for both of them. Surely, such custody would satisfy Cinath’s suspicions. She would not have to fear another incident with the city patrol, such as the one on her trip to the washery shortly after her arrival.
Jaxar happily agreed when Tsorreh suggested that Danar and his escort accompany her on any necessary errands. Besides, she added, Danar could show her much of the city and explain its history and customs, thereby contributing to his education as well.
On the other hand, Marvenion would refuse to admit a visitor who clearly belonged to a noble Gelonian household. Perhaps she could contrive to meet him in a public place, where the appearance of the guards would be less remarkable.
She would have to tread very, very carefully.
O
VER the next days and weeks, Jaxar continued to improve. Issios managed to deflect Lycian’s interference, so that Tsorreh was able to maintain the prescribed medication schedule. When necessary, she consulted Marvenion in the marketplace. Danar would retreat a short distance, occupying his escort in order to give them a few relatively undisturbed minutes. Tsorreh had no idea what the two guards thought about these meetings, for their expressions were as unrevealing and their manner toward her as distantly courteous as ever.
In her fine dress, with the shoulder clasps of a well-to-do free woman, and accompanied by a noble youth and his escort, Tsorreh suffered no more confrontations with the city patrol. Besides obtaining more medicines for Jaxar, she located supplies and specimens for his laboratory, and found new books to occupy his convalescence and to enhance Danar’s education. Occasionally Issios entrusted her with a small errand. Each time, she would ask Danar to take a different route so that gradually she became acquainted with a larger area of the city. As much as she dared, she struck up conversations with foreigners, not only her own people, but Denariyan traders and others. Her fluency in Gelone improved as she learned the rhythms and temper of Aidon.
Danar’s bodyguards followed them everywhere, occasionally clearing the way through a crowd or intimidating pickpockets and beggars into keeping their distance. As the guards became accustomed to Tsorreh, they relaxed enough to respond to her conversational overtures. She learned their names and a little of their stories. Haslar was born to a family that farmed Jaxar’s country estates, and Jonath was a third son of an impoverished noble family. Both were devoted to Jaxar and had no opinion on any political matter. At home, they practiced armed and unarmed sparring with Danar, but on the street, they observed strict formality.
On a cloudless morning, Tsorreh and Danar visited Sadhir, one of Jaxar’s scientific colleagues, an elderly man whose withered, leathery complexion and accent were Denariyan, yet whose manners, dress, and abode all suggested a long and successful assimilation into Gelonian society. He was to lend Jaxar a book on the observation of celestial objects from different locations. Tsorreh looked forward to the visit with pleasure, for she had accompanied Danar here before and knew that a question or two, a slight indication of interest, would encourage the old scholar to hold forth on a variety of fascinating topics. In his long life, he had traveled to places she knew only from maps, from Denariya south to the fabled Firelands. In his youth, he had hunted strange beasts in the Fever Lands and emerged alive, had sailed the Western Sea past the Mearas and east to Occeldirin. He had looked upon the Sea of Desolation and ventured north to the country of the Azkhantian nomads.
Sadhir lived alone, except for a pair of elderly Xian servants. His collections filled room after room. The floor was hidden beneath overlapping carpets of intricately woven Denariyan patterns or Azkhantian camel’s hair, upon which rested tables of carved sandalwood, statues of unknown gods and of women intertwined with two-headed snakes. Butterfly-silk tapestries and the stuffed heads of strange horned beasts hung on the walls. There were chests of carved camphor wood, cabinets with rows of tiny drawers,
a massive chair that looked like sea-swirled granite, three-footed brass braziers, and much more.