CHAPTER NINE

T AMAR

I could send a message to Zivar from the Temple of Athena. Of course, the message would not be private, so I would have to choose my words carefully. “Tamar wishes to speak with you” was definitely out. There weren’t that many women named Tamar, and Kyros might have people watching for messages from anyone named Tamar or Lauria. Of course, he might also know where we spent the winter and read anything sent to Zivar. But we had to send a message, because we were running out of time. It would take weeks to ride down and speak to Zivar. If we sent the message through the temple, it would be carried by djinni.

Neither Alibek nor I could read or write, so I hired a scribe. I thought a bit longer, then said the message was from Photios, the man who ran her merchant company. Surely he sent her a lot of messages, so this wouldn’t attract attention. But Zivar would know it wasn’t his handwriting. I had the scribe write a simple message with the name of our inn, saying I had something to discuss and signing it with Photios’s name. When the ink had dried, I rolled up the paper and tied it, then gave it to the acolyte who handled messages. “This is for Zivar, in Daphnia.”

“Do you trust Zivar?” Alibek asked as we walked back to our room.

“Not really,” I said. “She’s still a sorceress. But I trust her more than the woman Zarina sent us to. Zivar is crazy and unpredictable, like all of them. But she’s not a bad person, for all that.”

“You have exceptional taste in your friends, Tamar,” Alibek said.

My face flushed hot. “Go drown yourself in the Chirchik River, Alibek.”

“What? Do you deny that you have unusual friends? You’re friends with a sorceress. You’re friends with—I don’t even know what to call Lauria. A turncoat spy? And then there are the escaped slaves back with the Alashi. Exceptional friends. All of them.”

“Lauria isn’t just a friend. She’s my blood sister. Take your mockery and go drown yourself, Alibek, really. I don’t want to hear any more about how much you hate Lauria.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You’ve said plenty!”

Alibek sneered. “I think you need to sit down in the shade and have some tea. You think you know what I’m thinking and you don’t.

We’d reached the inn. “Fine,” I said. “Fine! I’ll sit down in the shade, but I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll go visit Janiya,” Alibek said. “We need to let her know what’s happened.”

I nodded stiffly. It was a good idea. I wished I’d thought of it, because I’d have told him to sit down and I would have gone. Then I could have talked with someone who wasn’t Alibek.

So it was a pleasant surprise, hours later, when the doorman for the inn fetched me. “There’s a woman here to see you,” he said. I jumped up—could Zivar really have come so quickly, or was it some strange sorceress here for my karenite? But it was Janiya. I led her through the garden and up to our room.

“Nice,” she said, looking around. “Listen, I left Alibek with the horses. I had to come tell you something. Zhanna spoke with Lauria last night.”

“She what?” My face burned. Why hadn’t Lauria come to me? Because I was staying out of the borderland, of course. Avoiding Kyros.

“Zhanna had a conversation with Lauria, then sought me out to pass things along to you.” She raised an eyebrow, as if she were going to ask me again why Zhanna couldn’t seem to find me in the borderland—then shrugged and left it. “I didn’t want to send her message with Alibek.”

“Is she safe?”

“Well, sort of. She said to tell you she was safe—she wanted me to reassure you. But you were right—she’s in Penelopeia, in the custody of Kyros and the magia. She says that for now, they don’t want to hurt her. She was sick, and they brought her mother there to nurse her.”

Her mother? I remembered Lauria complaining about her mother. But at least her mother’s loyalty would be to her—mostly. Probably.

“Also—this didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but she was quite certain that they want to keep her alive. There’s something bad that might happen with the djinni if Lauria dies.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

“They’re putting something in her food that keeps her from the borderland. She wanted to tell you that she wishes she could see you, and that she will be free again and will return to the steppe.”

Janiya fell silent.

“Was that it?” I croaked. My eyes were hot and my throat felt so thick, it was hard to swallow.

Janiya nodded, then sighed and said, “Also, she has seen my daughter. She told Zhanna something of that. But yes. That was all of her message to you.”

I had to close my eyes and cover my face with my hands, because I hated having anyone see me cry. I heard Janiya rise and the clink of a cup on a tray. “Have some tea,” Janiya said, and set a cup down beside me.

I wanted to curl up and tell her to go away—or else get my horse and start riding, even though I wouldn’t reach Lauria for months.

At least Lauria was safe. Or safer than I’d feared, given what Kyros had said. Or else she’d lied to us—all too possible if she feared we’d get ourselves killed trying to help her. A drug to make her sleep heavily—that made sense. No wonder I had been sure she was alive but unable to find her in the night. They wanted her alive because of something with the djinni. That must have something to do with her ability to free bound djinni by touching them. But if they knew about that, why keep her alive? Even if they were keeping her alive for now, surely they would kill her as soon as their fear passed…

“She saw your daughter?” I asked when I was certain that my voice would be steady.

Janiya sighed deeply. “I have a daughter—Lauria told you of this?” I nodded. “She’s nineteen years old now. I think of her every day, but I don’t expect to see her again before I die. Lauria told me she hadn’t forgotten me.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

“Thirteen years.”

“She was six then? Of course she hasn’t forgotten you. My mother died when I was ten, and I haven’t forgotten her.

“But you’re not angry at her, either. For leaving you.”

“No.” I took a sip of tea. “I was angry at her for a long time for not trying to protect me when I was sold. A real mother, I thought, would have fled with me in the night to the bandits. My mother…her spirit was gone, and she never thought of escape. She sent me away. And I never saw her again.” My free hand knotted around the edge of my tunic. “Dying, though. She couldn’t help dying.”

“I was taken from my daughter. Sold. She’s angry anyway.”

“Well, of course. You could have run. Taken her and run.”

“But I couldn’t have! I was a prisoner. I was lucky not to be put to death. I think my—someone who liked me must have intervened on my behalf.”

“Tell her that, not me.”

Janiya poured another cup of tea and sat down. “I should have taken her and left right after she was born. Left Penelopeia, left the Greeks, left the Sisterhood Guard. I loved it there, but I should have known. Somehow. I should have run then, when I could have.”

“To where?”

“The Alashi take all kinds of fugitives.”

“Ha. So Lauria could have just left Kyros and run away, and the Alashi would have taken her in?”

“Yes.”

“Funny.”

“We would have been more suspicious. She would have been watched more closely. The tests would have been…different. Very, very different. But yes. We would have taken her in. For Kyros’s purposes that would not have worked, though.”

“For Kyros’s purposes, the plan they tried didn’t work either.”

“True enough.”

“So Lauria’s seen your daughter?”

“Yes. My daughter is her guard. Isn’t that strange?”

I caught my breath. Janiya’s daughter, guarding Lauria? “You know how to go to the borderland,” I said. “Go to your daughter.”

“I can be taken to the borderland. I don’t know that I can go there myself, let alone find someone else there.”

“Try!”

“Do you think I haven’t? I tried for years, when I was first taken.”

“Try again. Persuade her to help Lauria.”

“You think she would listen to me? Would you listen to your own mother if she appeared to you in a dream and told you to betray the Alashi?” I shook my head. “Do you think Lauria would have listened to her mother if her mother had shown up in her dream and told her to trust Kyros?” I laughed at that, out loud, just a little. “Well, I don’t think my daughter is going to listen to me, either.”

“You have to try.”

“I could make things worse.”

“Go to her,” I said.

Janiya put down her tea and stood. “I need to get back to the horses. I told Alibek I’d send him back here before night.”

“Can’t you stay instead?”

“It would attract attention. It probably already has, don’t you think? Do you get along with Alibek so poorly?”

“He hates Lauria.”

“Well, he has a right to. Just as you have a right to love her.” Janiya shrugged. “One of you can come visit me again in a few days.”

I walked her to the door of the inn. She turned back, unsmiling, just before the door closed. “I will try,” she said, and walked away.

 

The sun set very late that time of year. It was evening, but not yet sunset, when I saw a blue dot in the fading sky: a sorceress’s palanquin. Its color made it difficult to see, but it was coming toward us. Down it came, until it came to rest in the courtyard, set down gently like a hand might set down a kitten. Was it Zivar? I stood up.

Zivar flung back the curtain and stepped out, her eyes alight. She didn’t see me right away, but turned to the servant who’d come running. “I need a room,” she declared loudly. “Your best. And a dozen wineskins of excellent wine, a pot of grilled lamb, a half bushel of the best plums you can find this time of day, and a silk-covered pillow. And ready a bath for me; I hate travel.” She tossed the servant a drawstring bag, but he didn’t even look inside before rushing off to do her bidding. Then she saw me. “Tamar. My old friend, you are the most beautiful thing I have seen all day, and let me tell you, the view from a palanquin is excellent. Shall we go to your room to talk while they get mine ready?”

“That would probably be a good idea.” I glanced around. I would give her that piece of karenite, just to have it off my hands before anyone came to search. Zivar was flying as high as her palanquin. I hoped that she didn’t decide I was out to destroy her, like she had when I was her guest. If she tried to kill me, would anyone at the inn stop her? I found it hard to imagine that the Sisterhood of Weavers would worry much about my murder at the hands of a sorceress. Well, I’d brought her here, and there was no turning back now. “It’s right this way.”

Zivar glanced around as she came in. “I knew it had to be you, and not Photios, when I realized I could read the writing without getting a headache. Where is Lauria?”

“Penelopeia,” I blurted out, then bit my lip and shook my head. “She’s a prisoner of the Sisterhood. That’s not exactly why I brought you here.”

Zivar sat down, smoothed her robes, and daintily poured herself a cup of tea. The cold fever, for the moment, was leashed. “By all means, Tamar, begin at the beginning and tell me why you sent for me.”

I took a deep breath, let it out, and began. “The Greeks gather their strength to move against the Alashi. They want karenite, which can still be found on the steppe. To distract them, I want to offer a supply of karenite to the Younger Sisters, on the condition that they make trouble for the Sisterhood.”

“Karenite. How much?”

“Lots. Here…” I dug in my pocket and took out the stone, pressing it into Zivar’s hand. “A gift, from the Alashi.”

She looked at it hungrily for a moment, then slipped it into a small pouch that rested under her robes, against her chest. “Do go on.”

“Well, to do this, we need to find the Younger Sisters. Can you tell me how?”

“That’s all you need from me?” She wet her lips. “I am not one of them. What’s in this for me?”

“Do you still want to come to the steppe? Because you probably want to find the Alashi there, not the Sisterhood.”

She shrugged. “I suppose.”

“And I just gave you a lovely gift. Suppose you give me some names.”

“Yes. I suppose I could do that.” She stood up. “In Daphnia—well, there’s Pelagia.”

“We know about her, and she’s melancholic right now, and not seeing anyone.”

“Yes, her melancholias are dark. Very dark. She should probably have given up binding years ago, but she takes pleasure in the craft itself, unfortunately. Let me think. There’s also Sophronia, Hypatia—though it might be difficult to get in to see her, she’s kind of important—and Eudoxia. Can you remember all of those?”

“Sophronia, Hypatia, Eudoxia. Yes.”

“Good. Surely one of those women will be in a good mood.”

There was a knock at the door. It was Alibek, a servant at his heels with our meal, and another servant behind that one with Zivar’s meal. Alibek sat down beside me and gave Zivar a quick look half-veiled by his eyelashes. We all fell silent as the nervous servants set down our food and fled. Just before the door swung shut, a young girl ran in with the basket of plums, set it down, and ran out again.

“Plums? Oh yes, I did ask for plums,” Zivar said, and picked one up to eat it. She sniffed disdainfully. “Who are you?” she asked Alibek. “I didn’t expect to find Tamar in the company of a male.”

“My name is Alibek,” he said, rising briefly and giving her a slight bow.

“Yes? And? Why are you traveling with Tamar? Even without the separate beds I’d know it’s not for your long eyelashes and your pretty cheekbones.”

Alibek shrugged. “We’re working together.” He shot me a cool glare, then looked down at his food.

“The Alashi sent us out together,” I said, since I’d told Zivar we were working on behalf of the Alashi. “We’ve both spent time living among the Greeks.”

“I see. Have a plum.” Zivar held out the basket. I took one. “Getting back to Lauria. How was she captured?”

Alibek choked on his lamb and took a sip of wine, his eyes watering.

“She tried to free someone who didn’t want to be free,” I said.

“And how is your alliance with the Younger Sisters going to help her?”

“What makes you think she is our priority?” Alibek asked.

“She might not be your priority but I’m sure she’s Tamar’s,” Zivar said.

I nodded, then shook my head, then shrugged. “Lauria is smart,” I said. “If she sees a chance, she’ll take it. I’m hoping that making trouble for the Sisterhood will give her the opening she needs. I can’t…” I paused and put down my plate. “It would take me months just to reach Penelopeia. Riding. I have no other way to get there, unless someone with powers I don’t have were to take me.” I didn’t dare ask for a ride. Zivar scared me. But that was the most obvious hint I could drop.

“Of course,” Zivar said. The basket of plums was still on her lap. She set it on the floor and stood up. “Don’t let those plums go to waste,” she said, and left.

A few minutes later the innkeeper knocked on our door. “Can you tell the sorceress that her room is ready? Do you know where she’s gone?”

I stood up and went down to the courtyard. Zivar was gone, along with her palanquin. I looked around wildly. “Zivar!” I shouted up at the dark sky. “Come back! Wait! Zivar!”

“I hate it when they do this,” the innkeeper muttered, and went inside.

“ZIVAR!” I shouted, no longer caring who heard me. “COME BACK!”

Alibek appeared at my side a moment later. “Stop shouting at the sky, she’s probably halfway to Penelopeia by now. Let’s go inside.”

“Why wouldn’t she have taken me along?”

“Because she knew you had work to finish here?”

“You could have done it. I could have given you the names!”

“She clearly didn’t think I was good for much. Maybe she didn’t think you were good for much, either—maybe she thought you’d get in her way.”

“Maybe,” I muttered. I kicked the basket of plums out of my way. It tipped over, and plums rolled everywhere. I cursed and started gathering them up again. Alibek squatted beside me.

“Take heart,” he said, putting the last few plums back in the basket. “Help is on its way to your sister. Even if it’s not you. Someone is going after her.”

“I wish that made me feel better,” I said.

 

Sophronia’s house was brick and sensible-looking. Unlike Zivar and most of the other sorceresses I had dealt with, she was married. Her husband stood idly in the corner of the sitting room. Sophronia sat, her hands folded, and waited for us to speak. I looked at Alibek. He looked at me.

I set a piece of karenite on the table between us—Alibek had visited Janiya again this morning. “We need help from the Younger Sisters,” I said. I set another piece on the table. “We can pay very, very well.” A third piece. “Can you help us?”

Sophronia struggled to control her face. She dragged her gaze up from the karenite on the table. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“I speak for the Alashi,” I said. “The Sisterhood of Weavers threatens us. The Younger Sisters can stop them. We will give you karenite—as much as you need. More than you can use! If you will use it to overthrow the Sisterhood.”

Reluctantly, Sophronia said, “I can’t speak for the Younger Sisters.”

“But you are one of them.”

“Oh yes, I’m one of them.” She looked longingly at the karenite on the table, then glanced over at her husband. “I can take you to one of our leaders.”

“When? Now?”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “I would need until tomorrow.”

Sophronia wasn’t really that well connected, then. She didn’t know the leader, and could only pass a message up the line. Well, that was good enough. “Tomorrow, then,” I said and stood up. I left the karenite on the table to say we had so much we could waste it on people who hadn’t given us anything useful.

Alibek and I walked back to the inn. I hoped we could finish this tomorrow. Give our karenite to the Younger Sister and make our deal. Then Alibek and Janiya could go back to the Alashi and I could go to Penelopeia to help Lauria.

Kyros would come speak with me again. When should I tell him that the Younger Sisters were conspiring against him? Not yet, of course, but half the point of this alliance was to make the Greeks fight each other. If the Weavers realized that the Younger Sisters were a grave threat and turned their attention there…well, that would serve us, too. But not too soon.

I was thinking, and not paying attention to the streets around me. Alibek suddenly thrust me aside and drew his sword. We faced a dozen guards. Another six stood behind us.

“Drop your sword,” one told Alibek, who measured the odds for perhaps a heartbeat before laying down his weapon.

“You need to come with us,” the guard said, once he had us both in hand. “You’re to be taken to the Temple of Athena to discuss your theft.”

“Theft?” Alibek said, indignantly.

Karenite, I thought.

“Theft,” the guard said. “Of the property of Athena.”