“You!” Hashim barked, and his tone hit me in the chest. I flinched.
“You, woman,” he said again. “Come out here.”
For a moment, I did not move. Then, I slid to the side of my litter, left the blanket behind, pushed the curtain aside and slipped off the edge. The curtain swept past me, and the cool air of the hallway hit me. I almost stumbled when my feet hit the ground. But I would not collapse in front of these brutes.
I drew in a breath and cast a glance around. The square corridor was in fact low, made of precisely-carved stone. Torches hung on the walls. One ahead of me illuminated Hashim, and a short, robed man with a thin beard, narrow eyes and a white turban on his head. I shivered, and said nothing. The steward assessed me.
“Yes, she is…quite exotic, isn’t she?”
Hashim looked at me and arched an eyebrow.
“Merely strange—but I don’t find anything in her appearance to admire. The prince doesn’t either. She is merely a tool.”
My cheeks flamed and I clenched my fists. My heart pounded, but words flew into my head, and I knew I had to say them now or keep silent ever after.
“Will you still speak of me that way when I am his wife?” I snapped.
Both men stared at me. Hashim smirked, but Jahin frowned, as if considering.
“You may have your hands full with this one, Steward,” Hashim chuckled, striding back toward me and then past me. “Her little box of things will be delivered as soon as it is unloaded.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Jahin called. The horses carrying my litter stamped their feet. I stood there, my mouth tight. Jahin turned to me. And he smiled.
“Come with me, princess?”
It was the first time that anyone had addressed me that way since home. It shocked my feet into moving toward him. He nodded, still smiling, and beckoned.
“Please come this way. Rani—princess—Lilavati’s chambers are very wide and spacious. You should find them comfortable.”
I did not answer, but I let him lead the way. His sandaled feet pattered on the stone. I kept my footsteps silent. We took a right turn, then a left, in silence. I detected a faint jingle with each step Jahin took. But I glanced at him when he shook his head and made a tut, tut sound.
“You should not speak to Commander Hashim that way,” he said. My heart still had not calmed, but I lifted my chin.
“Why?”
“He is a very powerful man—more powerful than myself,” Jahin said. “He is the prince’s inferior, but only just. It would be wise not to make an enemy of him.”
My jaw tightened.
“He made an enemy of me when he killed my father.”
Jahin shot a glance at me, but I did not look at him. I just stared at the next flickering torch ahead of us.
We turned left one more time, and arrived in front of tall, peaked double doors made of dark wood. Pictures were carved into the wood—figures of veiled ladies at a water well, washing clothes, bathing and playing instruments. Jahin stopped in front of it, reached inside one of his long sleeves and pulled out a ring of keys. He chose one, put it in the lock, and turned it.
I saw that it took effort, but the bolt clicked, and he pulled back on the heavy right hand door. It creaked, and darkness waited beyond. A dank scent issued, and I swallowed. This was where they were putting me?
Jahin turned, pulled a torch off the wall of the corridor and entered the room. I crept in after him, my arms wrapped around me so I could feel the little knife against me.
Jahin’s torch illuminated a little of the chamber, but he moved around the room with a quickness that belied his age, lighting small lamps on the wall that were hung every five feet. It was a circular room, as I soon saw when it became as bright as early evening in there. But there was not much to see.
A bed sat in the center, pushed back against the far wall. It had four posts, like thick pillars, of light wood, but no mattress or pillows or blankets. There was no rug on the floor, and a tall wooden wardrobe stood next to the bed. I had to stop and look at the floor for a moment, however. It was all done in what I believed was called mosaic—lots of different little stones put together to form designs, or pictures. These formed a picture much like the one on the door, only with fewer women, and more river. I did not like the idea of walking across it in my bare feet. The blue stones looked like ice.
“This will of course be fully furnished for you today,” Jahin said, moving to another, small side door I had not noticed. He opened it without a key and stepped through. I followed several paces behind. I passed the threshold, blinked, and stopped.
This chamber had a much taller ceiling and looked like a cave—and light spilled down from a small hole in the ceiling. Jahin lit a few lamps in here too, revealing a much more elaborate mosaic, still of women bathing. I bit the inside of my cheek. The Badi certainly enjoyed getting wet.
“What is this room?” I asked, my voice echoing against the tall ceiling.
“This is your personal bath, at least for tonight,” Jahin answered, hanging the torch he carried and approaching a small area that looked like a dried pool. The ceiling stooped low there, and just above his head, there was an ornate seal carved into the rock. He reached up with his long, dark hands, grasped the seal and wrenched it. I gasped.
It made a cracking sound, but that seal came loose. He jumped back and set it down, then got out of the way just as dark, muddy water gushed out of the wide hole and splashed into the little pool. I made a face, but within moments, the water cleared, and rushed downhill, over the mosaic where I stood. I had to back up to the threshold of the bedroom to keep from getting my shoes wet.
I watched, amazed, as the entire mosaic floor turned into an ankle-deep pool of glittering water that flowed placidly toward a small drain off to my left. Why on earth they needed an entire room filled with water, I could not guess. It was a waste.
Jahin, splashing as he walked, came back to me, passed me and entered the bedroom.
“I will go get Ayah,” he said. “She will be able to help you bathe and prepare for your wedding.”
I followed him back into the bedroom, but before I could say anything, he had left, shut the big door, and locked it.
I stood in the middle of the room for several minutes, unable to move. Was this truly how they treated their women? They locked them in their rooms until they are required? If so, how would I ever do what Mother asked?
Knock, knock.
I jumped.
“I can come in?” a small voice called. I swallowed, trying to gather myself.
“Yes.”
The lock turned again, and the door opened. A small, white-haired woman in a long yellow dress, with a wrap over her head, stepped in. Her face was very wrinkled, her mouth downturned, but her eyes were bright, as if they never missed anything.
“I am Ayah,” she dipped her head. “And you are the Hilrigard girl?”
“Princess Linnet,” I said. Her eyebrows flashed.
“Ah, a princess!” She nodded and stepped forward, looking me up and down. It was only then that I considered the way I had to look—I had not bathed in days, I probably still had blood on my chin, my hair was a fright and my clothes were rumpled.
“You do not look like a princess,” she said. I drew my arms around myself again.
“It was a long journey.”
She was already nodding again.
“Yes, yes. And we have little time to get you ready for your wedding.”
I frowned at her.
“When is it?”
She met my eyes.
“Tomorrow morning. That is what the Marryer said to me.”
“Tomorrow…” I breathed, as if I had been hit in the stomach. She dipped her head again.
“Our women prepare for a month before the wedding. We have only one night for you.”
I could not answer. Ayah appeared to be thinking. Then her lips pursed and she took hold of my arm.
“Come. We must take off your cloth
es and bathe you.”
My eyes flashed and I clasped my collar. I had never disrobed in front of someone else—and what if she saw my dagger—?
But her quick hands were already unfastening the back of my dress. Before I knew it, she had stripped it off me, and my undergarments and shoes, folded the clothes and put them in the wardrobe. My muscles locked, and my mind went blank. This never happened in Hilrigard, ever. No one ever bathed anyone else. My own mother only washed me until I was three years old. My throat caught as my face heated, and I just wrapped my arms around my chest.
Ayah pulled two earthenware bottles out of the wardrobe, and a pair of thick towels, then turned and tugged on my arm. I did not move. So she stood behind me and pushed me toward the side door.
My feet splashed into the water of the bathing room, shocking me. But she kept pushing me, until we stood on the edge of the little pool. She set the bottles and towels on a shelf I had not seen before. And then she pushed me again.
I stumbled down into the pool, and the heavy, gushing water struck my head, pouring over me and down my neck, shoulders and back. I gasped, and swallowed some as my hair turned into thick, heavy curtains around my face.
The water was warm. But the suddenness of it made me shudder violently. Ayah splashed up behind me, took my head in her hands and scrubbed with her fingers, until my hair was soaking wet. Then she pulled me back out of the shower. I gasped again, swiping the water out of my eyes. She reached for a bottle, dumped some of its contents into her hand, then scrubbed it into my hair. It produced a thick, white lather, which she worked into all of my waist-length hair. Then she pushed me back into the water. I choked again as I gasped some in, but she just kept scrubbing until the lather was gone. She did this three more times. Then she lathered up the rest of me, and rinsed me three times. Then she yanked me up and out of the pool, took one of the towels and dried me so fast and hard that it hurt my skin. After that, she whipped the towel around me and tucked it in so it stayed on, like a wrap-around dress.
As I stood there, staring at the wall, shivering, Ayah pulled a wooden comb out of the folds of her dress and began to comb my hair back from my face and down my back with strong, raking strokes. With every pull, I thought she would bloody my head, and jerk out all my hair. My sister was never so rough. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip hard.
It was only after a few minutes that I realized that cold tears were running down my face. I swallowed, but an ache rose in my throat. My head throbbed even after Ayah put away her comb and reached for the other bottle. I did not open my eyes.
She shook the bottle, and its contents gurgled. I heard her open it, and pour some in her hand. And then she grabbed my arm and began to rub oil into my skin with the same vigor that she had dried me. Tears kept trickling down. I opened my eyes, but could see nothing through the blur.
“What do you do with your hands?” Ayah exclaimed, rubbing the oil into my palms. “You have callouses, like a slave. Are you sure you are a princess?”
I did not answer. I blinked, and two heavy tears fell. Her hands paused, and squeezed my wrist.
“Why do you cry?” she demanded, then started rubbing again. “Foolish girl—you will marry a prince tomorrow! If the Badi conquered your land, you ought to be happy just to be alive, let alone to be a Badi princess, and someday a queen, maybe!” She clicked her tongue as she got more oil and rubbed it into my shoulders. “Silly child. Foolish girl.” Her voice quieted as she worked the oil into my hair now. “Worse lots have been drawn, I say. And worse princes have been married.”
I halfway turned to her, for that sounded strange, but she did not say anything else.
She oiled my arms and my legs, and all my hair, then combed through my hair with that same relentless force until it was dry. Then she braided it tight into one, long rope, tied it off, and pulled me back into the bedroom.
I stopped. Someone had brought my trunk in, and set it at the foot of the bed. The bed looked soft now, complete with a mattress, scarlet blankets and several red-and-gold pillows. Also, something that resembled a vanity with a mirror had been placed against the wall farthest from me, along with a little stool.
“You are tired,” Ayah decided as she put the bottles back in the wardrobe. “You should go to bed and sleep so you look fresh tomorrow. I will come early in the morning to put on your henna.”
My brow furrowed.
“Henna?”
“Surely you have seen it,” Ayah said. “They are designs, drawings, that women put on their hands, arms and ankles before they get married! It does not stay forever. It just looks beautiful for the wedding.”
I said nothing. Ayah moved to my trunk.
“You have sleeping clothes in here?”
My head came up.
“Yes. But I can dress myself.”
She looked at me in surprise.
“But—”
“I can dress myself. And then I am going to bed,” I said, my voice stronger this time. She watched me for a moment, then nodded.
“You are tired. I will have them bring you food and water. You are tired…” and she turned, left the room, and locked the door again.
Hugging the towel around me, I hurried to my trunk, worked the latch and opened the lid. I stopped.
There on the top, still folded neatly, was my sister’s pearl-colored dress with beads embroidered into the bodice. And a piece of paper was tucked inside the collar.
With shaking hands, I snatched it up, and my eyes welled up with tears again.
My dearest, sweetest sister,
Please wear this at your wedding. This was the dress
you always chose for me to wear—I know it was your
favorite, and I am happy to give it to you. It will look
lovely with your dark hair. At the bottom of the trunk
is the necklace that Mumma gave to me, and her
mother gave to her, and on and on. Wear it as well,
and now that I am thinking of you always. I shall never,
ever forget what you have done for me.
Yours, from cradle to grave,
Aeleth
Gasping, and swiping my tears away with the back of my hand, I set the note on the bed and pulled out the dress. The beads glittered in the lamplight, and I ran my fingers across the soft, flowing fabric of the skirt. It had a train, long sleeves and a square neck—very unlike any Badi style, I was sure. I draped it over my arm, then dug down in the trunk until my hand met with a slender chain.
It jingled a little as I drew it out, and soon the long, silver chain with the silver amulet of a horse caught the light as it dangled before my eyes. I remembered seeing this on the throat of my grandmother when I was very little, and then on my own mother, and on Aeleth. I could not believe she had given it to me.
After a moment, I pulled out my sleeping clothes—soft trousers and a long shirt—put them on, shut the trunk, and draped Aeleth’s dress—my wedding gown—on the trunk. I laid the necklace out on top of it as well, and stared at both.
And then I began to cry again. Inside, I scolded myself with the harshest voice I could muster as I covered my mouth with my hands, but nothing worked. I knew I was acting like a coward and a baby, but I had never been this far from home before, let alone deep inside enemy lands. I had never been stripped and bathed by a total stranger, nor locked in my room, nor betrothed to someone I hated. Nor been expected to kill him.
I crawled up on the strange bed, sat back against the headboard and pulled my knees to my chest. I sat in silence as the tears trickled down my cheeks and neck.
What was I doing here? It was all too muddled, too heady. I had volunteered for a task I thought I could endure: for Aeletha’s sake, and the sake of my people, I could marry a foreign prince, live in his land and try to make the best of it. Also, if need be, I could protect myself against any unruly Badi, and win any fair fight, with weapons or without. I also knew I could protect myself against Rajak’s beatings, should they come
.
But my own mother, of all people, had to know—I was the worst liar in the town. In fact, I never even tried. I did not feel the need to reveal everything I knew, of course, but when I was asked a question, I answered it, and I gave my opinion without reserve. My friends were my friends because I liked them, and I was incapable of pretending to like someone that I did not. I had no practice in deceit or guile. Besides which, I had never had a single suitor, perhaps because I had beaten every nearby man in everything from archery to knife-fighting to horse-racing. I had no idea how to speak sweetly to a beau in order to win his affections. I covered my face with my hands.
Why had my mother suggested this? Why had she thought that I could wheedle my way into Prince Rajak’s favor, enough that he would drop his guard around me so I could kill him? My jaw tightened.
Because I was the only possible person who even had a chance, I gritted to myself. And because Aeleth would be destroyed even by the passage through the desert. And because Niro will soon control all the kingdoms. That’s why, Linnet.
I screwed my eyes shut. There was more to it than that, more that made me swallow convulsively as I thought about it. I tried to shy away, to avoid it, to tell myself that what my mother said could not be wrong, but the ugliness of the truth would not relent. I had to admit it.
Yes, I could defend myself in a fight, and probably kill Rajak if he hit me too hard. But stab him in the heart while he was half dressed, expecting nothing? Worse—plunge a blade into his back after I had earned his trust? I had been taught clearly by the legends of my people, and the stories of my grandmother, that that was not a victory in battle.
It was murder.
My mind fell silent. With a quivering hand, I brushed away my tears, and stared down at the bed clothes.
“So…” I whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”
My eyes fastened on the door ahead of me. The locked door. I bit my lip as a plan began to work its way into my mind.
This was probably a pattern, them locking me in my room. And I had heard several times that Rajak had a harem, and I was only staying here for one night. Probably after the wedding, they would move me in with the other women. As a foreigner, I would not have the same status as the other women. Besides, I had heard about this idea of multiple wives, and if he already had a harem, that meant that there was already a head wife, his favorite. She was the one who would be able to be near Rajak, not me.
Linnet and the Prince Page 5
