Toads and Diamonds (25 page)

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brush had been stacked nearby. Tana and Kalyan built the pyre, then laid the bodies carefully on top. Local villagers must have brought the wood, built the small shrine, and supplied its burning lamp with oil.

His voice somber, Kalyan said a prayer over the bodies. Together, he and Tana lit straws from the lamp and touched them to the dry brush. Withdrawing to a respectful distance from the flames, they waited for the cleansing fire to reduce the bodies to ashes.

Whether as a result of the sad task they had shared or the unexpected embrace in the orchard, Tana sensed that matters had changed between her and Kalyan. They hadn't discussed his earlier marriage proposal, Tana's refusal, or the cobra that had intervened. They didn't need to. While she spoke toads and snakes, he wouldn't try to change her decision. But he looked at her with a deep interest, unlike the pleasant face he usually showed to the world. Despite their grim surroundings, delight rose within her like the rain filling a tank with life-giving water. Tana had kept her love a secret for so long. Allowing it to surface in her own eyes and smile felt deliriously freeing. As they worked, he had found excuses to touch her hand, to tuck wisps of hair behind her ears. Tana stifled a snort of affectionate laughter. Trust Kalyan to figure out how to court a girl even on the cremation ground!

As the fire burned, he told her more about what had happened to the artisans. From the moment of their arrival, they'd been closely watched. Except for the chains, and the lack of privacy, they hadn't been badly treated at first. Food came regularly, with sweets for the children when the workers exceeded their quota of jewels cut and polished. Sweepers emptied the slop jars, aired out the bedding, and kept the floors clean.

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They had their first inkling that trouble had struck the estate when the clerks failed to appear with the daily packet of rough gems. Cooks no longer brought meals, and the sweepers stayed away. The bolder children crept out at night, stealing into the kitchens for food. Even in their isolation, illness had struck the artisans, as Tana had seen. Eventually, an overseer had remembered the people sequestered in the grove. Ill himself, he'd come and unlocked Vilina from her bench. He had secured the free end of the chain to her other ankle, so she could fetch their food. That was the last they'd seen of the white-coats, until another man had come the previous day. He'd unchained the dead--and Kalyan--and told him where to find the corpse cart.

Tana prayed she would never remember the rest of that day.

With every breath, she feared discovery. Her hands burned from pushing the carts, the skin raw and red where the blisters had popped. When she returned to the barn with Kalyan hidden in one of the big baskets, Atbeg complained about how long she'd taken. Finally, he and the other grooms went off to the foaling barn. The sweepers, too, put away their shovels and departed. Kalyan helped Tana saddle Jasmine with courier gear and pack a bag with a cooking pot, dried peas, and travel biscuits from the stores.

"You needn't stay here any longer," Kalyan said softly. "Alwar's actions are so outrageous that the guild's petition is sure to prevail. It will take time, though. Negotiations always do."

Tana shrugged. She didn't speak inside the barn.

"It's not safe. You could be discovered." He clasped her elbow, and Jasmine butted Tana's shoulder, as if to add her own encouragement. "Promise me you'll go. There'll be a temple grove along

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the main road. I'll find you. Or Jasmine will," he said, as his mare whuffled at Tana.

She didn't plan to abandon the villagers, but she nodded. Much as she longed for him to stay, to put his arms around her again, he had to leave. This was the most dangerous element of her plan. If Kalyan was stopped going through the gate, both of them would be discovered, and all hope of rescue lost. She urged him up on Jasmine's back.

"I'll see you soon," he repeated, and smiled down at her. "Don't forget me, toad girl."

Agreed.
She tapped his hand in trader-talk. Loitering in the doorway, she signaled behind her back.

Kalyan straightened, putting on an arrogant manner to hide his weakened state. Looking neither right nor left, he rode straight at the gate. Tana held her breath. The white mare's hooves struck the ground. Ten strides from the road, and freedom.

Five.

The guard glanced up. Tana's nails bit into her raw palms. Three paces.

"You could walk her to the road," the guard grumbled loudly.

Like the other couriers, Kalyan paid no attention. He rode on, leaving the man to cough and wave away the swirling dust.

Tana sagged against the door frame as relief weakened her knees. Kalyan faced a difficult ride, but with the protection of the courier's disguise and his own quick wits, he should succeed. The one great fear eased, smaller irritations began to jostle for her attention. She scratched a fleabite on her arm. Her stomach growled. Her hands throbbed. Before Atbeg could return and catch her idle, Tana went to start a pot of wheat porridge and put away the clean saddlecloths.

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***

One by one, the more senior grooms returned to work, displacing young Atbeg. The boy who had once protested Tana's presence now begged to keep her assigned to the barn, mostly so he'd have someone to order around. Tana didn't mind. She preferred sleeping in the barn to outside in the brush. And it was easier to keep an eye on the artisans from inside the estate walls.

When Atbeg noticed Jasmine's absence and queried Tana, she pointed to a red-and-white-striped cloth and then in the direction of the gate.

"Courier took her?" He scratched his head. "Wonder which one he left in trade."

Tana tensed, but another groom called Atbeg's name and the boy didn't pursue the question.

By day, Tana walked horses, shoveled dung, and kept out of the grooms' way. At night, she stole out to the orchard. She could do little for the people there but empty waste jars into the latrine pits and bring fresh water to bathe the victims' cracked skin. She helped however she could, and retreated to the barn to sleep.

Crow Month flapped by on sullen wings. Then, one afternoon, she could no longer ignore the heat crawling along her own skin.

When evening's cooler air brought no relief, Tana forced herself to think. She should run. Now, tonight, before she got sicker. Before the fever affected her mind and she could no longer control her tongue. Before she spoke frogs and snakes and the white-coats realized who she was.

She grabbed a water sack and a pouch of travel biscuits, though she wasn't hungry. Creeping along the estate wall in the dark, she found the gate, and then the tree where she had hidden the bag with

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her dowry bangles. The bark scratched her hands and bare feet as she climbed. It took a long time to reach the bundle, longer than it should have, and Tana was frightened by her dizziness as she half slid, half fell down the other side of the wall.

After gathering her meager supplies, she slung the bag over her shoulder and walked down the road. While she still commanded her shaking limbs, she meant to put all possible distance between herself and the white-coats. If the twelve smiled, shed find a temple grove before dawn. If not, she'd go to ground like an animal and wait for the fever to pass.

One thought kept her feet moving, hour after hour. Kalyan had promised he'd find her. Naghali's gift might betray Tana, but Kalyan never would. She held that knowledge, even though she felt her head might split from the pain echoing inside it. She walked on. The moon peeped between the clouds. Tana walked. She'd show them. She'd look death herself in the face and spit to express her contempt. Tana shook her fist at the goddess. Weren't toads and snakes frail flesh, like her own? Not anymore. She was stone. Adamant.

The road forked. She chose the narrower way. Dust puffed under her feet. She smelled mango flowers; the sweetness tugged at her. Night birds screeched. She walked on. Her eyes fluttered closed, the lids too heavy to lift. Heat crackled over her skin. Vaguely, she realized she could fall into a ditch. She didn't care. She would shed her skin, like a snake, and come out clean.

The mango scent intensified, waking yellow and gold sparks in her brain. No. The lights were outside; she could see them through the papery skin of her eyelids. That was wrong. She opened her eyes. Shrieked.

Lamplight sparkled in a snake's diamond eyes.

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***

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Diribani

TWO
days before Prince Zahid's twentieth birthday, the oxcarts arrived in Fanjandibad. From her window, Diribani had seen a caravan's plume of dust billow into the hot, still air above the plateau, but she hadn't understood its significance until Nissa clapped her hands. "It's Second Camp."

"The prince?" Diribani asked through dry lips.

"Tomorrow, my lady."

As the dust cloud approached the fort, a flock of veiled women swooped from the palace doors and down the four hundred steps to the gate. The noble ladies' husbands and sons and brothers would arrive the next day with the prince's army. Many of the servants, however, had relatives in Second Camp, and everyone was anxious for news.

Before she let herself join them, Diribani wiped pigment from her brush with a soft cloth. She put away her painting materials and considered changing out of her crimson dress wrap, which was

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creased from a long morning spent sitting at the table. Her hands felt sweaty, her neck hot. The idea of covering her head, even with the light silk end of her dress wrap, held no appeal, but Diribani sighed and did it anyway. "Lead on," she told Nissa.

The maid almost danced down the stairs. "My cousin's a porter in Second Camp," she confided. "Once he's helped stow the tents, he'll tell us the latest."

Victory.

Word spread throughout the fort with a gazelle's burst of speed. Jubilation overflowed from the ladies' quarter. The gaiety rolled over Diribani's head like a spring storm, all wind and heat lightning, without the relief of a good soaking rain. In the midst of the celebration, Diribani felt more alone than ever, a defenseless child of the twelve trapped in a wasps' nest of ferocious Believers.

The next day, Zahid led the army's triumphant entry into Fanjandibad. Under the brazen sun, steel helmets flashed and war elephants trumpeted. Drums pounded with the beat of marching soldiers.

Her face concealed behind the dress wrap's free end, Diribani blinked back tears of relief mixed with sadness. Zahid was safe. His forces had defeated the rebels, but those "dirt-eaters" were her people, too. She couldn't enjoy hearing the white-coats boast about the carnage. Not that the prince did so, to her knowledge, but some of the ladies were downright bloodthirsty. Finally, battle talk gave way to a fresh topic: the Mina Bazaar.

The prince's birthday dawned hot and clear. Even before the sun rose, Diribani heard the thrum of activity. The fort was packed with people, for white-coats had gathered from the entire province to celebrate.

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Despite the heat, Princess Ruqayya prowled the grounds to assure that all would be ready in time. Sweating servants toiled to please her. In the garden, they hung silk lanterns in trees, removed dead flowers, and erected booths for the Mina Bazaar. Inside the Hall of Public Audience, the largest covered space in the fort, carpets were spread on the floor. Brocaded cloths draped bolsters and low tables for the feast. The screened balcony overlooking three sides of the hall was arranged for the noble ladies, so they could eat without the encumbrance of their veils. On the dais where the prince usually heard petitioners, Steward Ghiyas supervised the installation of a giant scale from a grain vendor in the marketplace.

Diribani spent the day in her room, weaving flowers into garlands as Nissa dashed in and out to report on the preparations and share the latest gossip.

"Lady Ladli has the Mina Bazaar's best stall," the maid said. "A riding theme, with beautiful saddlecloths and blankets, plumed headstalls, and steel daggers with jade handles carved like horse heads."

Diribani imagined Zahid bargaining with Ladli, she of the eloquent dark eyes and witty remarks. The thought failed to please. "I'm sure the prince and his friends will enjoy the display," Diribani said politely. She added a rose to the garland.

Nissa giggled. "And some of the younger ladies are so excited, they're eating their own wares. I heard two already sending back to the kitchen for more milk fudge."

Diribani wove in a spray of orange blossoms, their fragrance sticky-sweet. "That'll put the cooks out of temper," she observed. "Aren't they busy with feast dishes? Milk fudge takes hours of stirring, and the stuff scorches the moment you turn your back."

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"True." Nissa cocked her head. "Most noble ladies don't know, or don't care."

"I'm not most noble ladies." Diribani tasted the astringent flavor of a pale-blue flower with spikes instead of leaves. It pricked her fingers as she wove it into the garland. With equal sternness, she tamped down the desire to jump up and follow Nissa outside, to share in the preparations, the chatter and laughter. The other girls would be talking about how to draw the prince to their stalls.

None of them could be as eager as Diribani. She hadn't spoken with Zahid in months, but he had never strayed far from her thoughts. That was the problem. Hope and longing gripped her so tightly, she was afraid one of the courtiers would read her feelings in her face. With one unguarded remark, her secret might be discovered. The stakes were too high. Better she stay in her room and rely on Nissa for information.

"The steward gave me a small booth, like you asked," Nissa said. "It's under a tree by the east fountain."

"Good." Diribani jabbed a marigold stem in with the prickly one.

"I'm only to set out the garlands?" The maid sounded doubtful. "My father has some inlaid boxes you could have."

"Just the garlands, thank you."

"Well, save out some jasmine, if you would, my lady." Nissa didn't say that she was disappointed by her mistress's floral offerings, but she took extra care arranging Diribani's hair. She wove the dark strands into a confection of braids and loops, secured with jeweled pins and ornamented with fragrant jasmine. Like the hairstyle, the clothes she brought were also unusual. "From Princess Ruqayya," she said, to keep Diribani from insisting on a dress wrap. Unlike Diribani's practical riding outfits, the coat and trousers were