Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  Mehtap shifts her weight and then reaches out to take my hand. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me,” she says, “but I’m glad your Goddess sent you here.”

  As Mehtap waits for her father to return, she throws herself into her quest to remake the rosemarked compound. Once again, she surprises me with her intelligence and drive. She listens as Jesmin and I discuss how to keep the rose plague from spreading and compiles a list of ways the rosemarked could stay in contact with their healthy relatives. She asks questions about how the newly rosemarked are brought into the compound. When I tell her about the boy who nearly fell into Anahi’s hands, Mehtap insists on visiting Estir’s people by the east wall. She tours their houses, exclaims over the apprenticeships they’ve set up to share skills, buys jewelry from their makeshift marketplace, and promises to send them what supplies she can.

  Her enthusiasm gives me some much-needed hope. I write to Kaylah of everything that’s happened here, of Mehtap’s efforts for change, and of all I’ve learned from Jesmin.

  I know you’ve had concerns about my coming here, I tell her, and what it would mean for my vows and duties as a healer of the Goddess. But now, with all that’s happening, I’m more convinced than ever that my presence here is doing more good than harm. I’m glad I came, and I hope these reports assuage your misgivings. For the first time since I’ve fallen ill, I feel like a healer again.

  I also promise to send Kaylah tablets with more detailed notes via an official courier. I hang the parchment above the fire to weaken the disease essence, and then summon the crows. Scrawny gives me a cheerful caw before taking off with the letter.

  Soon after, Mehtap gets her own letter—from Utana, granting us an audience. The night before we go, Mehtap stays up late, assembling her thoughts and rehearsing what she will say. I finally have to go to her room and force her to get ready for bed. The next morning, when I wake up, Mehtap is already dressed and ready to head out.

  Utana’s home in the rosemarked compound is not as extensive as Mehtap’s villa. There’s no courtyard, and only one or two rooms, though it’s sturdily built and well furnished with fine furniture and rich tapestries. When we knock on the door, a grandfatherly-looking man opens the door. His robes, embroidered with blue and gold threads, do not have a single wrinkle. His hair, beard, and fingernails are immaculately

  groomed.

  “You must be Mehtap and Zivah,” he says with a kindly smile. “Do come in.” A servant brings us tea, which Utana pours for both of us. His gnarled hands have a slight tremor. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  Mehtap glances at me, and there’s a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Zivah and I have been talking about conditions in the rosemarked compound. I’m sure you know by now how poor they are. We have ideas for improvements that could be made.”

  Utana listens as Mehtap talks animatedly about schemes to allow visitors and systems for sending messages. He nods thoughtfully as she proposes appointing responsible people to protect the newly rosemarked.

  “I see you have your father’s keen mind,” says Utana when she finishes. “And how might I help?”

  “I don’t think it would take much to make a difference,” Mehtap says. “We simply need the emperor’s attention, and just a little bit of money could go a long way.”

  “There are many good people in the compound who already do their best to help,” I add. “If they had extra resources, they could do much more.”

  Utana sits back, thoughtful. “You would have me write to my old friends at the imperial court about this.”

  “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” says Mehtap, though the hope in her eyes would be hard for anyone to resist.

  “I can certainly try,” Utana says. “I’ve not heard from my fellow advisers in a while, but I like to imagine that they still think of me from time to time.”

  Mehtap’s smile brightens the room.

  Just then, one of her soldier escorts steps through the door. “Lady Mehtap, a message has arrived for you.”

  Mehtap gathers her skirts. “Please excuse me.”

  In the silence that follows, Utana reaches to pour my tea, but I beat him to it. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you in the hospital thus far, Your Excellency.”

  He watches me shrewdly over his cup. “And tell me, young Zivah. Do you say this because I seem like the type of man who enjoys hospitals, or because your keen physician’s eye has seen something?”

  I bow my head, acknowledging his meaning. I like how he gets right to the point. “I wouldn’t say it takes a keen eye for a healer in a rosemarked compound to recognize the final stage of rose plague.” It had taken me a while to look past his careful grooming, but now I see the frailty of his limbs beneath his robes, the strain that pulls at the corners of his eyes.

  Utana sets his cup down. “The tremors started a fortnight ago,” he says soberly. “The headaches are mild, but I hear they’ll get worse soon enough. I have no desire to waste away my last days on a hospital pallet. I’ve lived a full life, and I’m comfortable here.” He’s admirably calm when he speaks of his impending death.

  “There are still ways we could help,” I say. “Ease the pain even if you are not at the hospital.” I don’t mention that I’m surprised to see the fever return so soon for Utana, since he only entered the compound a few months ago. I suppose sometimes the elderly succumb more quickly.

  “That is kind of you. It’s bearable for now, but I will remember your offer.” He straightens. “But why speak of such things before they happen? I would rather hear about your time at the hospital.”

  I put up my hands in a matter-of-fact gesture. “I wish I were better able to care for my patients. I’m quite limited in supplies, and I have many more people to take care of than I’m used to.” I’m glad he’s taken the conversation to this topic, and I search for a way to steer it further. “But I’m sure you know all of this. I imagine as minister of health you dealt quite a bit with rose plague.”

  He chuckles. “That I did. Perhaps a bit too much, seeing my current condition.”

  “I’m very sorry. Did you become infected while performing your duties?”

  His smile stiffens slightly on his face, though it relaxes just as quickly. “It’s hard to tell with these things,” he says. “I took as much care as I could, of course.”

  It’s a small lapse on his part, but I’m suddenly sure he’s hiding something. I’m deliberating whether to push for more when Mehtap comes back through the door, her entire face alight. I find myself rising halfway to my feet, even though I don’t know why she’s so happy.

  “I have wonderful news,” she says. “Father has returned.”

  It’s hard to describe the emotion that hits me as Sehmar City finally appears on the horizon. When I left weeks ago, I didn’t have a home, but now I come back as a blooded soldier. I’ve fought beside my brothers-in-arms and lost friends to Ampara’s enemies. And now, at the sight of Sehmar’s tall walls, I’m reminded of what all of this was for.

  Next to me, Masista kisses his fingers and puts his hand on his heart. I follow suit, and a fierce pride in my empire consumes me. The city walls gleam like a polished version of the desert sands. As we pass through the gates, citizens line up by the road to pay their respects. And for the first time, I claim them as my people.

  As soon as Arxa releases us at the palace, everyone disbands in search of loved ones. Kosru catches Walgash in a bear’s embrace. Masista goes to find his wife. Even Cas has a lady to welcome him, though I have serious doubts about her intelligence or sanity. All these reunions make me think of the rosemarked compound, but it’s too late in the day to leave the city. I promise myself I’ll go first thing in the morning and head to the bathhouse instead. I figure Zivah would appreciate me going there first before seeing her. I wonder if she’s received news about our mission yet, and if she’s been worried about me.

  A few hours later, I get a summons from Arxa. “The commander would like to see you in
the interrogation rooms,” says the messenger.

  “The interrogation rooms?”

  “In the prison,” he says.

  I suppress a shiver. That’s not the place I would have wanted to go on my first night home, but Arxa had mentioned he might need to speak with me about the prisoner.

  The dungeons are much as I might have guessed—dank, with smells of mold and rot. It’s unpleasant, but there’s a strange feeling of familiarity about it. I suppose, if I had been a soldier before the plague, I might have spent some time guarding a prison like this.

  I follow the guard down one level to a doorway lit by torches. The smells wafting out here are more fresh—blood, sweat, fear. A sour taste forms at the back of my mouth.

  Arxa stands in the center of the room, his back toward me. Chained to the bloodstained wall is the man who almost killed me on the mountainside. The Shidadi opens his one eye and looks at me, pleading, and for a moment, I feel like I should know this man. I look away.

  “Dineas,” says Arxa. “Good. You came.” He gestures toward the prisoner, who looks as if he’s been freshly abused. “This prisoner will be questioned thoroughly about his rebellious activities. He’s committed a grave crime against the empire, and it won’t go unpunished.”

  A strange sensation is going through my limbs. I can almost feel shackles around my wrists, and my heart is starting to pound against my rib cage. The walls around me close in, and I find myself wishing for a window.

  Arxa turns to me. “This prisoner claims to be an outsider, that he was a simple villager conscripted against his will a month ago. You remember fighting him. Would you say his skill matches his story?”

  The entire day was a blur, but I do remember that desperate roll down the mountainside. I remember him pinning me down and raising his knife to strike me. In my mind he turns the knife hilt-first as he prepares to bring it down on me.

  No, that can’t be right.

  “He’s a veteran soldier, sir. He gave me quite a bit of trouble.”

  Arxa nods at a guard standing near the prisoner, who strikes the man across the face. The prisoner coughs and spits blood.

  “And that is how Ampara rewards liars,” says Arxa.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve seen much worse on the battlefield, but nausea is starting to rise in my stomach. Spots dance before my eyes. One of the guards in the room coughs, and I startle at the noise.

  Arxa speaks again. “Dineas, you are to be commended for your actions on the mountain. Prince Kiran wishes to recognize you, Walgash, and me at the spring festival, for guarding his life.”

  It takes me a few moments to understand what he’s saying. “I’m honored, Commander.”

  “As you should be,” says Arxa. “Kiran does not bestow honors lightly. But he is well pleased with you, as am I.”

  I don’t say anything because my stomach is clenching in painful spasms.

  Thankfully, Arxa turns his attention back to the prisoner. He waves me away. “That’s all I need you for.”

  “Thank you, Commander.”

  I make it ten steps out the door before I throw up.

  I’m tending a patient in the front room one morning, and ­Dineas is there when I look up. He’s thinner than he was when he left. His cheekbones are more prominent, and his hair is longer. When he catches my eye, that familiar smile lights up his face. A warmth spreads through my limbs.

  “Dineas!” I barely remember to pull off my apron before I’m running across the room. I throw my arms around him, and he laughs when I squeeze him tight.

  “I think you’ve been taking lessons from that snake of yours.”

  I just squeeze tighter. He smells of sand and soap. “I don’t know how Mehtap does it, waiting all the time for her father to return home.” I step back and hold him at arm’s length, taking in every piece of him. He has new bruises and scratches. The faint remnants of a greenish spot colors the side of his face. I scan the patient room, and then take his hand. “Come. The helpers should be able to keep everything under control for a while.”

  He comes readily, and I can tell he’s just as eager to catch up as I am. There aren’t many places to stroll outside the hospital, but we walk along one of the narrow dirt roads. The only other people around are a group of children playing a game involving a stick, several large stones, and large wooden hoops. Their laughter rings like birdsong.

  “Tell me about your journey,” I say.

  His eyes go distant for a moment. “Ampara is vast,” he says. “And awe-inspiring. I wish you could have seen it all with me.” He starts talking of the dusty desert strongholds where they slept at night, the grasslands dotted with early spring wildflowers, the cold ocean spray of the Monyar sea caves. I drink it all in, captivated as much by his enthusiasm as the pictures he conjures. “I’m not doing it justice. I wish I could paint it for you. I’m not boring you, am I?”

  “Not at all. I like seeing things through your eyes. I’m glad you’re making new memories for yourself.”

  “Good memories and bad,” he says. Pain flashes across his face, and I realize that there’s a shadow to him now that hadn’t been there when he’d left on the mission. Not as much as the old Dineas, but more than before. I suppose there was no avoiding it, but it still feels like something rare and good has been lost.

  “Not all your friends made it back,” I say.

  He nods, looking away. “Naudar’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dineas fixes his eyes on the children at the end of the street. They’ve finished their game now and have settled down to share some snacks and catch their breath.

  “Everything’s so fleeting, isn’t it?” Dineas says. “People come in and out of our lives so quickly. It’s not just memories that vanish.”

  There’s not much I can say. Instead, I take his hand, and for a while we walk in silence. He’s a warm, solid presence next to me, and I can only hope that I lend him the same comfort.

  Finally, Dineas looks up to the sky, and I’m surprised to see how far the sun has moved. “I don’t want to keep you from your work,” he says. “I just wanted to see you. Do you think I need a treatment today?”

  The space around me seems to grow cooler at his words. I’d known this was coming, though I’d tried not to think about it. I don’t know what will happen when Dineas comes back to himself and realizes what he’s done.

  “I can come back another day if that’s better,” he says.

  “No,” I say. There’s no point in avoiding it. “No, it’s better to do it now.”

  I motion him back toward the hospital. As much as I try to pretend nothing’s wrong, I can’t keep the tension from my stride. He picks up on it, and we’re both silent as I usher him into the back room.

  I hesitate briefly before I hand him the potion. “Settle down,” I say. “It might be rougher this time around, after such a long journey.”

  When the memories come back this time, they carry me straight to hell. Each new recollection is a fresh piece of agony. I don’t want the knowledge coming back into me, the realization that relentlessly transforms the lawless rebels I’d so earnestly cut down into friends, kinsmen.

  I frantically search my memories of the battle for familiar faces. I’d fought Gatha. Was she among the bodies? I don’t remember seeing her, but I do recognize others. And the prisoner I captured…Dear gods, that’s Tus they’re torturing in the dungeons. Tus, who turned his blade hilt-first so he wouldn’t kill me on that mountainside.

  I clench my head in my hands. If my fingers were sharper, they would dig holes in my temple.

  “Oh gods.” It’s a prayer for mercy in whatever form. Even Zenagua’s underworld would be better than what I feel now.

  I hear a shuffling of skirts, soft footsteps coming toward me. I feel the breeze as Zivah crouches down beside me. I don’t want her here.

  “I’m sorry,” Zivah says softly.

  Sorry? Sorry is a word for a stubbed toe, a keepsake gone
missing. Not the betrayal of your soul.

  “Gods, forgive me,” I whisper.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m a traitor.” It’s not just that I killed my own kin. It’s the patriotic fervor I felt for Ampara when I came back. It’s the shameful fact that of all the deaths in the battle, the one I feel most cruelly is Naudar’s.

  Naudar, dead by Gatha’s hand. I never thought I’d be able to hate Gatha, but I do. I feel like I’m being split in two.

  “It wasn’t you who did these things,” she says.

  “That doesn’t make Pouriya any less dead.” Ridiculous Pouriya, who would repeat his own jokes until I wanted to knock him over the head, but who would always lend me an extra weapon in a pinch. I’d cut him down as he lay wounded on the mountainside.

  This wasn’t the mission I agreed to. I was supposed to be in Sehmar City, far away from my kin. Once more, I bury my face in my hands. When did it become such a tangled mess?

  “I need to know how much Tus knows,” I say abruptly.

  Zivah looks at me, confused.

  “Arxa captured one of my tribe. They have him in the dungeon.”

  She raises a hand to her throat. “They’ll be questioning him.”

  The image of Tus chained to the wall flashes through my mind. Shame curls through me as I remember how I simply looked away.

  “Does he know the truth of your quest?” Zivah asks.

  “I think so. He didn’t try very hard to kill me, up on that mountain.” I grab fistfuls of hair at my temples and try to think. “There’s a lot of guards in that prison. Four at least at the door, and then others that patrol the corridor.”

  “Could you rescue him?”

  Oh, Zivah, you are so naive. “Rescue’s impossible in a fortress like this. I’d be lucky if I could put him out of his misery.”

  She falls still. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am.” But now I’m going through what I can remember of the prison in my head, and the reality of it settles like coals in my gut. “I’m not even sure I can get in to kill him. It might run a higher risk of blowing my cover than leaving him there. This should be Gatha’s decision.”