CHAPTER TWO

L AURIA

Tamar,” I whispered, though I had found myself in mist and shadow and had searched for Tamar in vain. Someone was nudging my ankle. Kyros.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “I thought you might like to see Penelopeia from the sky.”

I blinked and looked around. I’d nodded off against the cushions of the palanquin sometime during the afternoon. I’d started out feigning drowsiness to avoid talking to Kyros, but I must have fallen asleep for real. I sat up and stretched. The cushions under me were damp from sweat. All the curtains were drawn; Kyros feared flying and hated looking out of the palanquin. Well. He doesn’t have to. I drew the corner of the curtain aside and peered out.

We were still high up. Looking down, I could see golden fields. Farther away, something vast and dark caught the afternoon sunlight in rippling sparkles. I caught my breath and squinted, wondering what it could be. Blowing sand? Some sort of shiny rocks?

“It’s the sea,” Kyros said, though he hadn’t looked out, only at my face. “Penelopeia is near the shores of a sea.”

“That’s all water?” I stared at the glittering expanse.

“Salt water,” Kyros said. His voice was a little amused. “You can’t drink it.”

Still. I looked out again. All that water.

My thoughts drifted to Thais. After the Alashi had cast me out, I’d resolved to free the slaves I’d returned to slavery. I’d finally found the last of them, Thais, but instead of accepting my offer, she’d raised the alarm, and I’d been handed over to Kyros. Thais’s master was one of Kyros’s officers; she’d run away to be with him, and after I’d brought her back, Kyros had sold her to Casseia to punish both of them. It hadn’t worked; he’d found a way to get down to Casseia and had bought her and brought her home. And I’d gone to free her anyway, not knowing, and now I was with Kyros. Come back, all is forgiven, Tamar had shouted when we’d touched in the borderland, but it was too late. We were going to Penelopeia, for me to plead my case before the magia, and probably be executed.

“How much farther to Penelopeia?” I asked.

“We’ll be there soon,” Kyros said. “Before sunset.”

It was difficult to believe that in less than a day we had traveled a distance that should have taken weeks.

Kyros had his feet kicked up on a bolster. I glanced at him again, wondering if he was going to ask me questions, but he appeared to be deep in thought. I looked out the window again.

I thought I could see farms now, below us. There were houses, surrounded by fields. The dark ribbon that ran alongside the farms was not, I realized, a river, but a wide, well-kept road; there were people traveling along it, with horses, wagons, camel trains. I had been studying the ground for so long, trying to pick out details, that I was startled to see movement out of the corner of my eye, in the air; I looked, expecting a bird, and saw something that looked like a flying barn, or a very large flying box. An aeriko caravan, I realized, shipping apples one direction and grapes the other. It was painted to look like a bright yellow bird, with eyes and feathers outlined in black.

“Your mother would be shocked by your hair,” Kyros said.

I touched the cropped ends. “It’s grown out a lot.” I scratched an itch. “I think if my mother saw me now, she’d want me scrubbed raw and picked free of lice before she’d let me kiss her.” I’ll certainly look the part of a bandit if I get taken before the magia like this. I glanced covertly at Kyros. I’d found out near the end of my summer with the Alashi that Kyros was my father. Had he always spoken of my mother so casually? I couldn’t remember.

Kyros chuckled a little and fell silent again. I sat back against the cushions and tried to practice, in my mind, what I would say to the magia, but my thoughts kept skipping ahead to when she didn’t believe me. Would she have me executed? Or tortured like a captured spy? Like the captured spy I am?

What did I know? The camp locations of the Alashi camps, last year. But even a djinn could find that out; they didn’t need me for that. How to infiltrate the Alashi—the tests I’d had to pass. The beads. I grimaced inwardly at the memory, but I was almost certain that the precise tests varied depending on what the leader of the sword sisterhood or brotherhood thought you needed to learn. Or the clan elder or eldress, if you joined the Alashi in the winter, or were too young or too old to go fight.

I knew that the Alashi had karenite, but the Sisterhood of Weavers knew that already. I knew something about the karenite trade in Daphnia—the names of the two sorceresses who bought, or tried to buy, my karenite. I could turn them over, I suppose. I knew about the Servant Sisterhood and the Younger Sisters, but little beyond the bare fact of their existence. There was Zivar, of course. Zivar, who’d been born a slave and then managed to pass herself off as a Weaver’s apprentice. The green mouse, she had called herself, because there was no one else like her in the world—well, other than me. I flinched at the thought of having information about Zivar wrung from me, but I doubted that the Weavers particularly cared where Zivar came from. She made spell-chains for them on command, at least for now, so she was useful. Her origins were unimportant.

I could tell them about Lycurgus. Lycurgus, Kyros’s cousin, was supposedly the steward of a farm owned by the Sisterhood. Tamar and I had taken Uljas there, looking for Burkut. Lycurgus had been drunk most of the time, and I’d realized while there that he’d been skimming farm profits to help the Younger Sisters. That’s the sort of information I could give Kyros to convince him that I really was on his side all along. I didn’t really care whether I condemned Lycurgus or not; I had no fondness for the man. Solon had been kind, and far more competent. And loyal to the Sisterhood.

If I were talkative enough, could I convince them I really had stayed loyal to Kyros?

They’ll believe me. Of course they’ll believe me. I knew it was the cold fever whispering in my ear, but I embraced it because the alternative was despair. They’ll believe me because I am the one meant to free the rivers. I can only do that if I’m alive.

“Can you see the towers yet?” Kyros asked.

“Towers?”

“Well, you’ve been to Casseia, you know the sort of thing I’m talking about. Casseia has one tower, built very tall by aerika. Penelopeia has over twenty towers like that. You should be able to see them soon.”

I leaned a little farther out the window and squinted. I could see something, up ahead, barely visible against the blue sky. As we got closer, I could see the towers more clearly—first two, then six, then more. They spiked up toward the sky like glittering needles, and as we grew closer I realized that some were partially shod in polished copper and brass. They must have aerika who do nothing but polish the metal. It was an appalling display of power. Zivar had told me once that she never felt that she had enough aerika, though she lost a bit more of herself every time she did a binding. I was certain that the metal-polishing aerika had not been bound by women like the high magia, but by their apprentices and lesser sisters, acting on orders.

The sun was low in the sky. We were slowly descending now, and I thought I could see the Koryphe—the palace where the high magia and some of the other most highly placed Sisterhood members lived. White marble walls, partly clad, like the towers, in polished metal. A half dozen of the towers rose from within the outer walls; one had a glowing light inside like a beacon, and I wondered if the fire was tended by a human or a djinn. An aeriko; I need to remember to use the Greek words. My ears ached and felt as if they were filled with water; then I swallowed, and they cleared with a jolt of pain.

The aeriko set the palanquin down gently in the courtyard. Slaves were already waiting to help each of us out. I felt a little light-headed and accepted the arm offered to me. We were in an inner courtyard of the palace, large enough to accommodate several more palanquins. A fountain splashed lightly in the center, and the walls were decorated with mosaic pictures of olive trees.

Kyros was having a quiet conversation nearby; then he stepped over and said, “I’ve arranged for you to have a bath before you’re presented to the magia.”

Presented to. Like a gift. I followed a slave who led me to a room of warm water and herb-scented steam. If I had any hope for an opportunity to run later, I needed to restrain the impulse to run now. There is nowhere to run to anyway. I am in Penelopeia, in the Koryphe. I wondered what Tamar was doing. The realization of how far away she was made me slightly dizzy. Weeks…months of travel. I tried to tell myself that I would see her again, but for the moment, all I could do was submit to the ministrations of the slaves as I was immersed in water, scrubbed clean, and picked free of lice.

 

Once I was clean and dressed, I was escorted to one of the many interior gardens and left to wait…and wait…and wait. The night sky was dark; the courtyard was lit with torches. They’d dressed me in linen, with a light wool shawl for warmth, and sandals. I realized that my last material link to Tamar had been severed. The little talisman I’d made for myself—threads from her clothing knotted around my wrist—had disappeared in the bath. I rubbed my thumb against the palm of my right hand. We are blood sisters. They can’t ever truly separate us.

My new clothes felt all wrong. Foreign. Everything was foreign. The night was warmer here than it had been back on the steppe, and the breeze had a strange misty softness, rather than the brisk edge I expected. There was a salty smell in the air, along with the perfume of the orange tree that grew beside the courtyard fountain and a warm, spicy smell that wafted from the doorway. Tea, I realized a moment later. The guard there was drinking tea.

I couldn’t sit. I paced, instead, back and forth in the courtyard. In addition to the orange tree, there were copious flowers, even this early in the year, including some blood-red blooms shaped like a candle’s flame. I forced myself to slow my step and study the flowers, as a way to calm my mind, but it did little good.

The guard in the doorway was female, I noticed. Last summer, Janiya had confided in me that she had once been a guard employed by the Sisterhood of Weavers in Penelopeia; they had their own elite cadre of women guards. I wondered how many of the people in the Koryphe were women. There was at least one man—Kyros—but I’d seen no others. The sorceress I’d studied with during the winter, Zivar, had permitted no men in her house, not even slaves. Surely some of the sorceresses here were married, though…

The guard cleared her throat. I looked up, and she beckoned; it was time to go. She stood back to allow me to go first, then followed behind, as if she thought I might flee. Maybe that means that there is somewhere to go? Or perhaps she always does this… Despite her boots, her step was quiet on the marble floors. The corridor was lit with oil lamps. I wondered if they were tended by human servants, or aerika.

At the end of the corridor, we reached a closed door made from heavy wood. The guard rapped on the door and someone inside swung it open. The room was warm, and moist with the smell of breath and sweat, as if it hadn’t been opened for days. There was a long table, with chairs clustered at the other end. Kyros sat in one, and a thin older woman sat in the other. Her hands were folded over each other on the table. Her fingernails had been allowed to grow extremely long, and had been painted; they made me think of bloodstained claws. Her face was deeply lined. She was dressed in red silk that matched her claws, and had a gold bracelet that looked like a serpent coiled around her upper arm.

Looking at her, I could see the cold fever lurking, but it did not master her—not today.

“So,” she said. “You are the spy.”

I swallowed hard. “Kyros sent me…”

“…to spy, yes, of course, yet you didn’t just say yes, I am the spy. That’s very interesting. Why didn’t you?”

“Because…because Kyros has lost his faith in me.”

“Really? He seems to have a great deal of faith in you.” She glanced at him dismissively. “More than I think is warranted. He brought you here, had you bathed and given fresh clothes, as if you were truly his spy, returning from the field, ready to report. Strange. We sent him orders to have you executed.”

“But I—”

“Do you have anything useful to report? Anything that Kyros doesn’t already know? You were out of contact for a while, but then he sent an aeriko to watch you, so I can’t imagine you have all that much.”

“Lycurgus,” I squeaked out.

“We already know about Lycurgus. I’m done with you.” She gestured, and the guard stepped forward, laying her hand on my shoulder.

“Wait—” This was happening so fast. “I tried—it’s not my fault—” I wondered if they would use a sword, or a rope, or grant me some more gruesome death. Let it be over with quickly, if they’re going to kill me…

The sorceress had started to turn away; now she turned back and looked me straight in the eye. “Kyros clearly wants you spared, so we’ll leave your neck intact for now. Take her to the pit.” She turned away again.

“Kyros,” I said. “KYROS!” I caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes wide and worried, and then other guards came, and I was swept away with them like a twig in the tide.