The Seven-Petaled Shield (32 page)

“And Cinath permits the worship of a god who makes such claims? Wouldn’t these followers overthrow him, if they became so mighty?”

“Oh, the priests are careful in what they say directly to him. Father says they promise whatever that particular person wants to hear. Of course, if those promises don’t come true, they can always claim that the worshiper wasn’t devout enough. Or didn’t give them enough money.”

To Tsorreh’s mind, that proved only the greed of the priests. The Most Holy One bestowed blessings freely, opened the hearts of the people, and filled them with compassion.

“Father won’t have anything to do with Qr,” Danar said. “He says it’s a criminally ambitious cult and not true god-worship. Of course, he’ll let Lycian have her way, as long as she doesn’t ask him for money for her tribute. She’s got her own fortune from her family. But she can’t force anyone else—and that includes you—to go with her.”

He sounded so earnest in his reassurance that Tsorreh laughed. Being compelled to worship the idolatrous gods of Gelon had not been among her worries.
Staying alive, however, is,
she thought, sobering.

Tsorreh fell silent. When Danar pointed out the various sights, she nodded without comment. After a time, the glitter of marble and limestone, of gold-foil decorations and rainbow garlands began to dull. She found herself longing for the clean, dust-scoured lines of Meklavar instead of this brilliant opulence.

As they passed through the valley between Victory Hill
and Cynar Hill, Tsorreh remembered Danar saying that Lycian had been banned from the laboratory. She decided that, for the time being, she would restrict herself to that suite, the better to avoid the schemes of the mistress of the house.

When Tsorreh returned to the laboratory, aching in spirit and body, she found that someone—Astreya, most likely—had left a basin and ewer of lavender-scented water beside her pallet, along with a towel and a lump of soap. Tsorreh almost wept at the sight.

Curled up on the surprisingly soft pallet, Tsorreh felt the day’s tension slowly drain away. Her body felt thick and heavy, like that of an exhausted child. She murmured thanks to the Most Holy One, Source of Blessings, and tumbled into sleep.

W
HEN Tsorreh awoke the next morning, she found a breakfast tray waiting on the floor beside her pallet. The food was much the same as the day before, except that the millet porridge had gone cold. Folded on her blanket was a dress of white cotton, as fine and soft as silk. White embroidery ran along arm openings and ankle-length hem, and the fabric had been gathered at each shoulder to drape gracefully. Underneath, she discovered a pair of low boots of supple suede and a belt of braided white silk, fringed with little gold beads. The accompanying shoulder clasps were ivory set with pearls, worn to a softly shimmering luster. Holding them, tracing the craftsmanship of the carving and the smoothness of the pearls, she realized that such a costly treasure could not have come from Breneya. She wondered what woman had first worn them. Surely, such a gift came from the heart, in love and hope, and not out of obligation.

After she dressed, Tsorreh untied her hair and, using her fingers, began to comb and braid it. The patch that had been cut off in Gatacinne, along with the Arandel token, was beginning to grow out and was already long enough to catch the ends in a braid. One plait, two…until seven glossy braids swung freely down her back. She gathered them together with the leather thong.

Jaxar’s smile upon seeing her confirmed that he was the giver. Tsorreh began to thank him, but he changed the subject, clearly uncomfortable with expressions of gratitude. Later, she learned from Danar that the pearl clasps had belonged to his “real mother,” Jaxar’s first wife. Lycian had never worn them and in all likelihood knew nothing of their existence.

Tsorreh could not entirely let down her guard, not here in the capital city of her enemies, but Jaxar appeared to be a rational, civilized man. So far, he had given her no indication that he meant her ill, but she did not yet trust him. At any moment, he might turn her back over to the Ar-King. Moreover, beyond the gates of his estate, armed Gelon patrolled the streets. Soldiers and police and Cinath’s Elite Guard and what more, she did not know. Strange, half-formed shadows lurked just beyond her senses.

Very gradually, Tsorreh’s life assumed a new rhythm. At first, she kept indoors as much as possible, except to visit the bathhouse, and then only when Lycian had gone out. The laboratory became her world. She cleaned the dusty shelves and organized the library. Jaxar was an easy task master. Often, he was so absorbed in his own work, most of which was incomprehensible to her, that he took no notice when she curled up with a book for hours at a time.

Danar came to Tsorreh for lessons in Meklavaran, trade-dialect Azkhantian, and even a little Denariyan, although Tsorreh insisted her own accent was dreadful. After a time, Tsorreh noticed that Astreya, who still brought her meals, lingered to listen. It was not difficult, after Tsorreh’s experience teaching the captain of the
Silver Gull
to read Gelone, to arrange circumstances to include the girl.

Days melted into weeks. Tsorreh became more restless and less fearful of venturing out of the house itself. She began taking her meals in the kitchen with Astreya and her mother. Breneya’s easy warmth was as nourishing as her meals. Tsorreh thought of Otenneh, of the loving care the old woman had lavished on her. What had happened to Otenneh—was she still alive? Did she pray for Tsorreh, as Tsorreh prayed for her?

Silently, in the still corners of the night when no one else was awake, Tsorreh recited the prayers for the dead for Maharrad and Shorrenon, for her grandfather, who would never know what befell the
te-alvar
, for the captains and defenders of Meklavar, for all those whose names she did not know.

From time to time, Tsorreh heard bits of news from Meklavar. Prince Thessar had survived Shorrenon’s suicide assault and remained in the city. Cinath declared Meklavar to be a Gelonian protectorate and appointed old Anthelon as governor under the watchful presence of Thessar’s loyal generals.

Anthelon, Tsorreh remembered, had been the only councillor to urge acceptance of the initial terms of surrender. He had argued that other lands prospered under Gelonian governance, and it would be better to save the many lives that would be lost in battle, or due to thirst or starvation during a long siege. Anthelon had always struck Tsorreh as a man of compassion, fiercely devoted to his
te-ravot
and his people. She did not doubt he would do everything in his power to soften the occupation, including suppressing any activity that might lead to official reprisals. Tsorreh did not know how to respond to the news of his appointment. It seemed to be happening far away, involving people she no longer knew. She supposed she should be glad that Thessar had not been killed, so Cinath could not use his son’s death as an excuse for even more brutal reprisals. Or was that only a matter of degrees of evil?

As for Anthelon, she had nothing against the old man personally. But could he reason or bargain with the conquerors? Did he have any means of persuasion? Could he advance any compelling argument for justice or mercy?

Could anyone moderate Cinath’s implacable ambition?

*   *   *

As the last light seeped from the western sky, Tsorreh and Jaxar climbed to the top of the ladder. For a crippled man, he moved with great determination, if slowly. They emerged
onto the flat roof, with its benches and stands for equipment. The city spread out before them, its hills arching like the backs of grazing camels. Pinpoints of light, yellow and orange, shone from the more densely inhabited areas. Tsorreh exclaimed that they looked like jewel dust scattered on a velvet cloth.

“Very pretty, I’ll admit,” said Jaxar, “but deep night is better for observing the stars.”

Mounted on a wooden frame was a telescope larger than the one Tsorreh had examined below. When Jaxar explained its use, Tsorreh drew back. She was not sure it was entirely reverent to peer into the heavens. Then she decided they were part of the natural world, and if the Most Holy One had truly intended to keep them secret, then the far-seeing-tube would not work.

More stars, not just dozens but what looked like thousands, became visible. These same points of light shone upon Zevaron. She imagined him free and safe. He must be, or surely the heavens would weep, not shine with such glory.

“Here, my child, look at this,” Jaxar said, interrupting her reverie.

With her own eyes, Tsorreh saw nothing more than a smudge of gray in the direction Jaxar pointed. When she bent to look through the telescope, however, she made out a ball of shimmering white. Behind it trailed smoke, as if it were a torch in a storm. A torch to set the world ablaze? Or carried by an enemy who cloaked himself in darkness?

“What is it? A falling star?” She frowned, for the object did not seem to be moving, and yet the luminous streamer suggested great speed. She searched inside for a hint of alarm from the
te-alvar
, but it had gone quiescent. If the celestial torch posed a threat, it was not imminent.

“A comet. Of those I have observed over the years, none have plunged to earth, but I suppose it is possible. They appear even as you see, grow brighter for a time during their journey across the sky, and then fade away.”

“It looks to be on fire, but a frozen sort of fire.” Tsorreh had no idea what prompted her to say such a thing. What
did she know of this smear of gray against the black of night?

Jaxar’s voice drew her back to herself, as he spoke quietly about his system of notation and his thoughts on the aetheric nature of comets and whether they ceased to exist when they disappeared or merely traveled beyond the range of his telescope. Tsorreh fetched paper and charcoal from the laboratory and attempted to sketch the comet according to Jaxar’s direction. She did not think the results were very good, but Jaxar seemed pleased.

A deep weariness crept along her bones. Jaxar noticed her stifled yawns and, at his urging, both clambered down the ladder.

Her last conscious thought as she drifted into sleep was that she would not find true rest until the comet was gone, no longer hanging like a miasmatic sword above the living world.

*   *   *

Jaxar did not come into the laboratory all the next day, and Danar rode out to the country estate, leaving Tsorreh alone. She went about her usual work, copying out a badly damaged Gelonian scroll, a history of finance under Ar-Dethen-Gelon. She did not worry about Jaxar’s absence until late in the day, when twilight stained the sky. She climbed the scaffolding up to the roof and waited for him to join her.

The day had been warm and still, and now heat rose in shimmers, as if the land itself were exhaling in relief. Dusk, which often seemed to go on forever, came to an end. Stars bathed the heavens in milky light. Such a sight never failed to delight Jaxar, to draw him to his precious telescope.

Jaxar had previously been absent for a single day, sometimes two. Most of the time, he had advised her the day before. He had duties at court and at the Temple of Justice, called Ir-Pilant after the Ar-King who first codified the Gelonian laws. He was often gone on business regarding legal matters or the running of the country estate that furnished his income.

Surely, she thought, he would have returned to take his dinner, and then to watch the stars. The comet was already fading from the night sky, but there were plenty of other celestial objects to excite Jaxar’s interest. Where was he? Had something happened to him? Clearly, Tsorreh could not find out while hiding in the laboratory.

I’ve become a prisoner of my own fears.

Resolved, she got to her feet and descended the ladder. She had forgotten to leave a lamp burning, and shadows shrouded the laboratory. Dim light filtered through the opening in the ceiling.

In the hallway outside, a torch burned in its wall sconce. Tsorreh made her way through the house, not altogether certain where she was going. Pausing at the second-story balcony overlooking the central courtyard, she heard the ripple of a harp and the trill of a flute, and caught glimpses of servants about their work.

At the bottom of the main staircase, Tsorreh passed a servant, a boy of eight years or so, with a round-eyed expression and bony knees. He was carrying an armful of folded cloths, blue-and-white striped cotton, bed linens most likely. When she spoke to him, something in his astonishment reminded her of Benerod, the page she had befriended during the siege of Meklavar. She wondered how Benerod, with his earnestness and talent for imaginative stories, had managed since the fall of the city.

When she asked the boy how Lord Jaxar fared, he only stared harder at her. She went on, “Would you show me to the steward’s office?”

The boy darted away the way he had come, clutching his armful of linens.

Tsorreh did not know whether to be amused or offended. Was she so terrifying? She had heard that many Gelon regarded her people as sorcerers, powerful and malevolent. No, surely the boy could not think of her as a demon. He must be shy of strangers, nothing more.

And yet, stories of evil Meklavaran witches would be exactly the sort of thing Lycian would use against an unwanted
guest. Tsorreh knew only a few people within the compound walls. Except for Lycian, she believed that none of them intended her harm. On the other hand, if something had happened to Jaxar, she would lose her best protection.

I am neither slave nor servant, and Jaxar himself has said I am not a prisoner. I will not cripple myself with fear!

Tsorreh strode back up the main stairs, determined to wrest an answer from the first person she encountered, even if it were Lycian herself.

The house was a sprawling, open rectangle. The inner rooms looked out over the central courtyard where even now, the lilting strains of music and the perfume of night-blooming flowers filled the open space and wafted upward. Lycian’s suite lay somewhere in the newer annex, situated to overlook the center of the city. Jaxar had maintained his rooms in the older part of the house, close to his laboratory.