by Susan Grant
“I was joking, Elsabeth—”
“It can’t cure every sickness. It can’t overcome any injury. It won’t bring people back to life, no matter how innocent they are of any intrigue.” She stopped herself, biting her lip.
“I know,” he said, gentler. “I’m worried about her, too.”
They exchanged a look of concern for Aza.
He hunched over the crutch. “I’ll wait in bed.”
“I won’t open the message until I come down.”
A staccato knock at the door. “That’s Chun,” she said. “Shall I give you a few seconds to hobble back to bed before I let him in?”
“The man saved my legs. I owe him the appearance of obeying him, at least.”
“And me. I went through a lot of trouble to get you back here.”
Tao dipped his head. “And you, yes.” Stiffly, the wounded general, in all his godlike, half-naked magnificence, returned to bed.
She let Chun in. The physician’s energetic steps and purposeful expression gave no hint to the night he’d spent treating Tao after they’d fled from the palace. His brows lifted quizzically at the sight of the general sitting up on the edge of the bed.
By the time Elsabeth returned with the tube carried home by Prometheus, Chun had examined Tao and told him what the soldier already knew from far too much experience with wounds: his legs were healing. “I’d rather you stayed off your feet today,” he advised before he left them to start his routine day.
Elsabeth could tell by the exasperated look on Tao’s face that he had little intention of complying. “He saved your legs, remember?” she said, sitting down on the footstool.
“What about when the elders come?”
“You’ll greet them from this bed. You’re hurt.”
“I will not lounge abed to meet these elders.”
He was tossing out commands like a general again. “A chair, then,” she conceded, but in the same no-retreat tone. “As long as you’re off your feet.”
“We’ll discuss the matter later.” He flicked a finger at the small brown tube she held in her fingers. “What does it say?”
“It probably won’t say anything at all. To be cautious, we send what we call flags to each other, colored squares of cloth with nothing written on them.”
“Markam can’t write, anyway, or read.”
“Actually, he can and does.”
“Markam?” Tao seemed stunned.
“Yes. Aza, too.”
“My sister reads books?”
“Simple texts. She’s still learning.”
Tao’s brows drew together and his frown had returned. It was as if he were ashamed. “Open the message,” he said curtly.
What troubled him so much about knowing how to read? It was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, for any Tassagon, especially a Tassagon soldier like Tao, to be literate was considered a rare and wonderful thing, in her people’s view.
“I sent him a green flag last night to let him know you were safe.” She upended the tube and spilled the contents into her palm. Crimson filled her palm like blood.
Her terrified thoughts spun like leaves caught in a cyclone. Clearly Xim knew about the escape already, but had he guessed the Kurel role in it? Would she be arrested? Would soldiers be unleashed on the ghetto once more? To fire their arrows inside the gates at innocents?
“Red.” Tao narrowed his eyes at her.
She bit her lower lip. “Red means danger. He must be telling me to stay away from the palace.”
“Then you will, until we know more. You’ll remain with me.”
Without hesitation, and with the kind of confidence born in a man, Tao had assumed protection of her, and it hit her what an advantage it could be having a warrior here to defend her. And the ghetto.
More pounding on the door, no code this time.
“I don’t know who that is.” Elsabeth stepped back as Tao jumped up. This time, he didn’t hide the pain it caused him to put his weight on his injuries. “You’re going to rip open the wounds if you keep getting up. You’re not in charge here. I am. Stay in bed.” She reached up and pushed on his shoulders, a sizzling second of contact with smooth skin and hard muscle. Down he went down to the mattress, almost taking her with him. A part of her wished he was badly behaved enough to do it.
She straightened, stepping backward as she held up a warning finger. “Stay.”
His brow went up, his eyes dangerous, his slight smile even more so. “Like a good dog.”
“No. Like a good general.”
More knocking. Who could it be at this uncivilized hour? Please, not the elders. There was one good thing about not going to the palace—it gave her more time to get Tao ready for their scrutiny, and she’d need every minute of it.
She smoothed her hair and skirt with nervous hands before opening the door. Navi stormed inside. “I was on my way to work when they told me,” he said. “The king closed the palace to Kurel, even palace workers. None of us can report for our jobs today.” The accountant marched past her and around the screen to speak to Tao. “Out in the capital it’s crazy. A massive search is under way for you, house to house.”
“Furs.” Tao spat the name of his enemy like a curse as he dragged a hand over his head. “Has any attempt been made to come inside the ghetto?”
Navi shook his head. “So far, no.”
“We’ll hide you in the crawl space if we need to, Tao,” Elsabeth assured him. “You’ll be safe.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about! It’s all of you. My presence here brings risk.”
“I told you, I’m not afraid.”
Navi puffed out his chest. “Nor am I.”
“What of everyone else? The other Kurel. Those who don’t raid dungeons in the middle of the night, or pull warriors out of moats seething with tassagators? If guards come into the ghetto and start killing, I’ll have a hard time taking cover like a coward.”
Her heart flipped at the thought of him giving up and turning himself in, returning to an almost-certain death. “You’ll have to. Everything hinges on you staying alive.”
“Everything…” Tao crossed his bare, muscular arms over his chest to ponder them, no less the intimidating war hero for being confined to his sickbed. “Like Xim’s demotion?”
“Humanity’s future,” she insisted.
They exchanged stubborn, challenging glares.
Clearly skeptical of his individual value in the rebellion, Tao shifted his focus to Navi. “How long will the palace be off-limits? Did they say?”
Navi shook his head. “None of us wanted to ask the guards and provoke them.”
Elsabeth threw the empty messenger bag off her shoulder. “This is the way we’ve lived ever since King Orion died. Like sheep in a pen. We can do no more but wait for something bad to happen to us.”
“You didn’t wait,” Tao pointed out. “You took action.”
She stopped, a fist on her hip. “Yes, I did. I’m going to keep doing so. This won’t stop us. Those who work in town can pass us information on what’s going on inside the palace.”
“I tally the books for a baker and blacksmith,” Navi volunteered. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Wait for the turmoil to die down,” Tao cautioned. “To do otherwise is to court danger. Markam will keep a tight rein on his men, but Beck’s Home Guard is a young and inexperienced force. No telling what they might do.”
She knew this better than anyone. Tao was right. They had to wait for the storm to pass. “We’ll use the time to our advantage. To rest—” she shot Tao a pointed look “—and to prepare for dinner with the elders.”
“That’s right—it’s tonight.” Navi gave Tao a sympathetic shake of the head. “That’s not good news—for you.” Then to Elsabeth, he muttered, “Or you.”
“Navi,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Hush.”
“I just meant the general could use all the practice he can get.”
“Navi,” she whispered ag
ain. “Hush!”
“No. Navi’s right.” Tao’s mouth curled with the kind of smile that broadcast he wasn’t at all intimidated by the prospect. “Since we have nowhere to go today, we’re going to use the time to teach this Tassagon dog a few new tricks.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TAO LEANED ON A CRUTCH, submitting to Elsabeth’s inspection. She stopped, folding her arms over her stomach, taking in the sight of him dressed in his borrowed clothes: a collarless white long-sleeve shirt, with buttons beginning halfway up the front, loose brown trousers over work boots. Traditional Kurel clothing.
She had to say that no man she’d known had ever quite filled out everyday work clothes as the general did. His need of the crutch humbled him, made him more approachable, more human, but he was still a strapping, supremely self-confident male in his prime.
“How do I look?” he asked, stopping short of preening. He still had a long way to go, though, to truly adopt the Kurel value of modesty in appearance.
“Like a general disguised as a Kurel.”
“Then no one can say we’re trying to hide anything. Honesty is a prized Kurel virtue, you said. It will be good if I look like what I am.”
She hoped the elders would see it that way. “You missed a button.” It had been hard for him to get dressed himself. She’d helped him only in order to keep his wounds from being unduly stressed. Not for this intimacy.
She felt his eyes on her as she buttoned the shirt, felt the stir of his breath. Already, the fabric smelled like him, a masculine scent of clean, warm skin and the soap from her wash basin. The summer-weight linen of the shirt was so fine that his suntanned skin showed through. In her imagination, she saw her palms sliding over the cool fabric, her fingers opening the buttons, not closing them, until she could pry the shirt wide enough to slip her hands under it, exploring firm, hot skin.
A wave of warmth made her flush. She pursed her lips, stepping back. You silly fool. Her inexplicable physical attraction to the Tassagon general wasn’t anything she wanted him to know about, for he was probably game enough to try anything she might ask of him. He hadn’t turned out to be an immoral beast today when it came to being alone with a woman, contrary to what the Kurel believed about Uhr-warriors, but his behavior with the dancer at the palace left little doubt in her mind that he’d willingly lay down with her if she revealed her secret, wholly inappropriate appreciation of his body.
“It won’t be easy tonight,” she said. On so many levels.
He watched her with bemused eyes. “Don’t be nervous. I’m dressed like a Kurel. I’m eating like one—or trying at least. And I haven’t once reverted to calling you sunshine all day.”
“Or I, to calling you a dog.”
Their shared smile faded quickly. “There’s more you need to know,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’ll be in a chair all evening. I’ll stand.”
He did seem to be getting better, still moving as if sore, but no pain cramped his features when he did. “The elders are our senior statesmen, twelve in all, and also our moral compass, sticklers for tradition. They are…not exactly friendly to outsiders. Half of them are so old they were born in the Barrier Peaks. It’s like they never thawed.”
“I’ve been through the Barrier Peaks many times, moving my army. Cold, inhospitable… And then there are the mountains.”
Laughter at his joke would indicate disrespect for the elders, but she almost did. It would be serious business soon enough. “Farouk is the eldest, and the leader. You’ll know him by his height—he’s taller than you, but very slender and supple, with a bushy head of white hair. Like a marsh reed in spring, my father used to say. He’s the one you’ll want to impress. My great-great-aunt Gwendolyn is another to know. She’s plump and as short as Farouk is tall, almost bald. She’s the conscience of the group, the heart. They all act as if she’s too young to pay much mind to, but what she thinks they all eventually do.”
He was nodding, absorbing her words. “I am ready to do battle.” Then he tipped his head down. “Pardon my Tassagon words. I’m ready to make peace.”
She hoped so, for nothing less was at stake but the unity and the salvation of the human race.
ELSABETH HAD DICED AN alarming amount of what Tao now recognized as hot chilies, folding them into a mixture of mutton, grains and butter that she covered with a layer of dough before sliding the pan into an oven to bake. Even she’d sniffled as she’d chopped the peppers, dabbing at watering eyes with the knuckles of one hand.
Tao observed the process with mounting dismay. “What is it?” he asked.
“Sumsala. My grandmother’s recipe.”
“It smells delicious.” The spicy scent made his nose itch ominously, though. How he’d eat tonight without weeping openly at the table he didn’t know. He forced himself to swallow his doubts and said nothing, but he cast a grateful glance at a cold pitcher of frothy goat milk she’d set in the center of the table.
Chun and Navi arrived, their presence demanded by the elders. All the “guilty parties” were now here. Tao was ostensibly the one being judged, but he knew failure tonight would endanger his rescuers’ futures as well.
With some banging of crutches and stiff legs, Tao let Chun help him into a chair at the table. “Remain seated when they arrive,” the physician advised. “The elders will expect no less, knowing of your injuries.”
Finally, the formal knock at the door. Four pairs of uneasy eyes met then diverged. Elsabeth straightened her spine and walked to the door, looking as if she’d whispered a prayer before she opened it. The front landing was crowded. The glow of the room’s lights illuminated the ancients’ crinkled faces.
“Greetings, Elders,” Elsabeth said, her head dipping with respect. Tao followed her lead, lowering his chin, but he kept his eyes on those who would judge him. They filed in, some using canes, another in a wheeled chair, but all spry and alert. “Elders” was an apt term. He’d never seen so many humans so advanced in age who were still upright and moving. Tao marveled at them. How old were they? How much history had they lived? Few Tassagons reached a ripe old age without succumbing to disease first.
Potions. That was the reason for Kurel longevity.
Yet, these elders were the leaders of the community. In Tassagonia, those who held sway over the people were the ones with the most physical strength and power, not experience.
Tao pushed to his feet. Chun frowned at him, but it seemed disrespectful to sit while these fragile souls stood. With his weight heavy on the crutches, he bowed his head fully this time, trying to assume the respectful stance that came so easily to Chun and Navi.
The elders gave him a wide berth, gathering a safe distance away. It was as if they thought he might suddenly decide to strike at them. Maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed in his chair.
“He doesn’t look Uhr, dressed like that,” a small woman remarked, sounding more admiring than disapproving. Her white hair was drawn so tightly back from her face that she looked bald. Elsabeth’s great-great-aunt, he guessed.
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” whispered the wizened old crone next to her. That one definitely disapproved.
Tall, dour and fragile looking, one of the men marched forward and rapped his cane against the floor, inches from Tao’s borrowed boots. Unruly white hair sprouted on the top of his head. A marsh reed in spring. “Sit.”
Sit. Stay. Did all Kurel assume warriors only understood these one-word commands? The one thing Tao refused to do was beg.
Elsabeth swooped in. “Dinner is ready. Please. Sit down.”
So, even the elders were not safe from Elsabeth’s plain orders—although for them, she’d added “please.” Tao hoped the humble dip of his head hid his smile.
As the twelve regarded Tao with cool wariness, she circled the table and served each of the elders their dinner, doing so with such reverence that it seemed more of a religious offering. Yet, when she took her seat next to him, no one blesse
d the food the way he was used to doing as a Tassagon. No thanks were given—not to Uhrth, nor for this bounty. They simply began to eat.
For all the bold flavor of their cooking, the Kurel made for lackluster tablemates. There was no conversation other than a few murmurs exchanged. Yet, the more he observed, the more he saw that the meal was indeed being enjoyed—a quiet savoring rather than loud appreciation. No slurping or unruly shouting. No chunks of bread being dredged through the juices and shoved into mouths, true. No eating with hands, either.
Farouk’s fluffy white brows lowered over his black eyes when he noticed Tao hadn’t touched his meal.
With dread, Tao faced his plate. A part of him wanted to trade it for the sting flies and muck of the Sarcen Swamp.
A small part. He could do this. Easily. A matter of mind over…sumsala.
He chose a fork as if he were choosing a blade and used it to break through the crust. Steam burst forth. The aroma was intoxicating. Masking the toxicity of the contents, he was sure. A taste, a cautious taste. His tongue caught fire. A cough rose in his throat and he stifled it with crushing self-control as he felt the elders observing him. Did they find his attempt at adaptation entertaining? He’d like to see them try to hold their own in the chaos of a Tassagon meal. They wouldn’t be so judgmental then.
The elders consumed their food with surprising speed. Elsabeth had hardly touched hers, and he felt as if he were dying slowly of starvation. Goat milk and slices of crispy flatbread did not a warrior’s meal make. He was going to have to get a full meal in his belly soon or he’d be forced to bribe Navi to bring him something less spicy than Elsabeth’s cooking.
“Ferdinand’s daughter, our Elsabeth, has spoken for you, but I want to hear it from you—why are you here, Uhr-warrior?” Farouk demanded.
Tao put down his fork, relieved to trade sumsala for interrogation. “I come seeking sanctuary until I can safely return to my people.”
“Our palace workers are barred from pursuing their livelihoods. Now you want to stay here and further inconvenience us,” Farouk challenged.
