The guards who had brought Radekir grabbed her arms. This time, their touch held no gentleness. Bile rose in her throat. “Wait, sire, please,” she said. There was no guarantee that Stashie and Dasis would ever be able to read again. “Please. I have done nothing wrong.”
The King didn’t look at her. Stashie reached for Radekir’s hands, but the guards pulled her away too quickly. Halfway up the aisle, she began to fight. She kicked and struggled and bit. More men surrounded her. Sharp pains shot through her head and her dizziness grew. They grabbed her legs, pinned her arms to her sides, and carried her away.
CHAPTER 31
The room the King had given them was a small, unused chamber off the Assembly Room. Someone had hastily thrown cushions on the floor, and set a pitcher of water in the back corner. Stashie sneezed at the dust-filled air. She waited until Dasis entered before closing the door.
“I’m sorry,” Stashie said.
Dasis nodded. Her entire body had wilted.
Stashie stepped over to her and started to put her arms around her, but Dasis pushed her away. “I really don’t want you to touch me,” Dasis said.
“We have to touch,” Stashie said. “We can’t read if we don’t.”
Dasis shrugged and sat down. Her sandals had left tiny prints in the dust. The cushion barely sank under her weight. Stashie sat beside her, and Dasis moved to the next cushion.
“Dasis, please.”
“How could you?” Dasis whispered. “We’ve lost everything. Our love, our business, our connection. How could you, Stashie? Don’t you know I love you?”
Stashie glanced down at her hands. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she had hoped. “I know,” Stashie said. “But you wouldn’t listen to me.”
“And Radekir did?” Dasis got up, turned her back and wrapped her arms around herself. “You never told me why you didn’t want to face the soldiers. You never told me what was so hideous about Leanda. I had to find out from that—that man—that awful man—”
“I’m sorry,” Stashie said. “I—”
“Sorry?” Dasis whirled. “You’re sorry? You don’t try, you go to another woman, you probably have gotten us killed, and you’re sorry?”
Stashie took in a deep breath and then bowed her head. It had all seemed right when she had done it. And with Dasis’s anger after the audition reading, Stashie had thought that she couldn’t bear the misunderstandings any longer. “Dasis, look,” Stashie said, “I couldn’t face coming here. I didn’t want to see any soldiers ever again. When I see them, I remember how they felt on me, how happy Tarne looked when he—cut off my brother’s head. This whole place is filled with ghosts and horrible reminders of things I would love to forget. I begged you not to bring us here. I asked in as many ways as I knew how—”
“Except you never told me the truth about what happened to you.”
“You didn’t seem like you cared.”
Dasis’s mouth drew into a thin line. “That’s not fair,” she said. “I never pried. I was waiting for you to tell me.”
Stashie shook her head a little. She thought she had never stopped talking about it. She thought Dasis had grown tired of hearing about Stashie’s past. “I told you everything.”
“You told me nothing. You told me that your family was dead, and I could see when you arrived that someone had hurt you, but you never told me what happened, not ever.”
“Never?” Stashie’s voice sounded weak, even to her own ears.
“Not ever,” Dasis said.
“I thought about it all the time. I thought I was telling you.”
Dasis shook her head. She sat down on the cushion, far enough away that she and Stashie couldn’t touch. “Your eyes would glaze over and sometimes you’d flinch if I touched you. That’s how I knew you were remembering. But you never told me, Stashie. I wouldn’t have forgotten. I may not have understood everything, but I wouldn’t have forgotten.”
Stashie forced herself to take even breaths. Things had been a lot simpler when she could blame Dasis for not understanding. “I told Radekir,” she said in a low tone, “and she sympathized with me, and held me, and comforted me—”
“And maligned me,” Dasis said.
“No.” Then a memory flashed through Stashie’s mind. “Yes. I guess she did. I’m sorry, Dasis.”
“Don’t be.” Dasis took Stashie’s hand. The action made Stashie melt a little. “Radekir is a lonely woman. She wanted you to take that loneliness away. She took all those skills at watching people, all the things that make her fortune-telling work, and applied them to you. She got you to tell her. And then she acted as if it were my fault that you never had the chance to speak before. It was both of our faults, Stashie. Mine for not asking and yours for not telling.”
“I wanted to tell,” Stashie said.
“And I wanted to ask.” Dasis smiled, just a little. Then the smile faded. “But I still don’t understand how you could have gone with her, broke our vows, and touched her…”
A shudder ran through Stashie at the repulsion in Dasis’s tone. “I— It was after the reading. I thought I was going to go crazy from those soldiers. I thought you were going to force me to continue. And Radekir was there and she held me and I didn’t want to stop her—” Stashie’s breath hitched, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to cry. “I guess I was trying to hurt you, Dasis.”
Dasis took her hand away and put it on her lap. “You have, Stash.”
Her words sent a panic through Stashie. She had caused her family’s death and now she was hurting Dasis. She buried her head between her knees, and let the shivers take her.
A hand stroked the back of her head. “But I understand.” Dasis’s voice was soft. “I just want you to promise me it’ll never happen again. We have to talk to each other, Stashie, both of us.”
Stashie raised her head. Dasis’s face was beside hers. Stashie leaned into a kiss, and the kiss began to build. “I love you, Dasis,” she said.
“I love you, too,” Dasis whispered.
“I promise you,” Stashie said against Dasis’s ear, “that I will never hurt you like that again.”
“You better not,” Dasis said, “because I can’t bear it. We may have lost everything.”
“No.” Stashie burrowed her face in Dasis’s neck. “I think we’ve managed to regain each other.”
CHAPTER 32
Tarne paced the corridor. He could hear the murmur of voices from the Assembly Room. He didn’t have to be there to know what they were discussing. The King had gone to his chambers to rest, but the others waited and talked.
Tarne clenched and unclenched his hand. The bitch. He had never been crossed like that before, nor had he ever been so effectively ruined. Even the appearance of the other bitch, the one who had really caused the problem, didn’t affect the contempt that had risen in him. Stripped of his power. Stripped of the King’s trust. With one sentence, she had ruined him.
She would pay.
He wasn’t sure how yet. Killing her would be too easy. He didn’t want to do that. He wanted her to suffer. Yet if he did it in an unsubtle manner, the King would go after him. Unless he waited until the King died.
Tarne whirled and started down the stairs. He still had power. He had loyalties and he knew secrets. Those mattered much more than titles. He could still get people to do precisely what he wanted, exactly when he wanted.
He went down to the guards’ barracks, ready to make plans.
CHAPTER 33
Pardu leaned back on his cushions. Someone had cleaned up his rooms. They smelled fresh, and the cushions were new. The air was cool. He drew a coverlet over himself and closed his eyes. He had wanted the reading to be over by now, and it had yet to begin.
He let himself doze, knowing that he had to be fresh when the readers reappeared. Even though his body relaxed and his breathing grew heavy, his mind didn’t quit. He reviewed the entire attempted reading and let the disappointment fill him.
He had always t
rusted Tarne, always believed that Tarne would support him, because he thought Tarne cared for him. All of Tarne’s actions over the years—good and bad—could be explained away with a mention of Tarne’s affection for Pardu.
But if Tarne had truly cared, he would never have compromised the reading. He would have waited until the correct son had been revealed and then worked with that son to consolidate his power. Pardu had always seen Tarne’s manipulative nature. He had never thought it would be applied against him.
The room grew too hot, almost stifling in the midday heat. He kicked off the coverlet and snapped his fingers. A servant began to fan him. The heat didn’t ease, but the breeze cooled him a little.
The problem was Pardu couldn’t trust the readers now. And if they brought in new ones, he would worry that Tarne had compromised them as well. He had to settle things with these readers. He had to get his faith in them back.
Then he opened his eyes, his fingers clutching the pillow.
“Sire?” Aene’s face contained too much worry. Had Pardu passed out? He didn’t think so.
“Are the readers ready yet?”
“No one has reported,” Aene said.
Pardu closed his throat. The cough threatened again. He wished he could be free of it, wished that the pain and ache in his joints would end. “I want them brought here when they’re ready. I would like to see them first.”
“Yes, sire.”
Pardu closed his eyes, and this time he slept.
***
The hand on his shoulder sent a searing pain down his side. Pardu groaned and tried to move away. The room was too hot, and the sleep felt good.
“Sire.” Aene’s voice was insistent. “Sire, the readers are here.”
He didn’t care. He wanted to continue his rest. He felt better than he had all day. But the hand on his shoulder shook again, and this time, the pain shot down to his feet. He opened his eyes. The room was spinning. He closed them again, willed the room to stop, and then opened one eye. The spinning had stopped, but Aene’s face filled his vision. Aene’s frown lines had grown deeper. The servant really cared for him—
Or perhaps he cared like Tarne.
The thought snapped Pardu into wakefulness. He eased himself up, limbs trembling, and head light. “Water,” he said. His voice scratched out of his throat.
Aene nodded and snapped his fingers. Another servant brought a full goblet, droplets falling off its sides. Pardu took it, relishing the coolness on his hands, placing the goblet against his face. The chill felt so good. He took a sip and savored it for a moment before he sent the water down his traitorous throat. The tickle eased, but only for a moment.
“The readers are here,” Aene said.
“I heard you the first time.” Pardu took another sip of water, swallowed, and waited for the cough to come. It didn’t. “Clean me up.”
Aene helped Pardu off the cushion, removed his robes and gave him new ones. Then Aene brushed his hair and with a cloth dipped in the fresh water, wiped the sweat off Pardu’s face.
“Ready, sire?”
Pardu sat cross-legged on a cushion, another cushion propped against the wall so that he could lean back. The aches were fiercer than they had been before he slept. “Send them in.”
The women looked rumpled and frightened. The heavyset one’s face was tear-streaked; the willowy one looked as if she had been shattered inside. He beckoned them to sit. They did, cross-legged, across from him.
“Can you conduct a reading?” he asked.
They glanced at each other. “We believe so,” said the heavyset one. “But we’ve never had this experience before. We don’t know.”
He nodded, wishing the lightness in his head would go away. “Then we’ll test it here.”
“And what if we can’t read?” The willowy woman shook as she spoke. Pardu despised her fear. No matter what had happened to her, she needed to remain calm in front of him, and she wasn’t.
“We’ll worry about that then.” He held out his left hand. “Read.”
The willowy woman’s eyes grew wide. “You, sire?”
Pardu bit his lower lip. He had had enough of these delays. “I have been read three times before. I would know if you were lying.”
She nodded once and grabbed his left hand. Her palms were clammy, but her fingers were dry. He closed his eyes. He could feel the energy seeping from him. A new experience, probably caused by his growing weakness. Every other time he had been read, he had been strong.
Chalk scratched against slate. The energy kept flowing from him. His heart felt as if it were being poked and prodded. The aches grew, and he wanted to sleep . . .
Then she let go of his hand. He sighed once, and opened his eyes. The heavyset woman had taken the slate and was staring at it intently. He leaned forward. As with all the other times, the slate looked blank.
She glanced up at him. She licked her lower lip, a nervous gesture.
“Nothing again?” he asked.
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I can see your heart.”
“Then tell me what you see.”
She adjusted the slate. She didn’t want to tell him and for a moment, he didn’t think she would. “Your heart is thick and ropy with scars, many of them cracked and bleeding. It looks as if your heart once erupted from the inside out and what I see is no longer representative of what you once had. Your heart has been broken too many times to count, and every surface area has been damaged at least once. You have a strong man’s heart, but it is fading now. It is gaining a weakness that is common with age and too much pressure. If your illness doesn’t kill you, your heart will.”
Pardu had been expecting the words, but they still hurt. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the scarred and ropy thing that no longer wanted to keep him alive. He couldn’t see it. He wondered if the heart readers could see their own hearts.
He opened his eyes again. The readers were watching him with intent, fearful expressions. “It is time,” he said, “for the actual reading to begin.”
CHAPTER 34
The conversation stopped when Tarne entered the Assembly Room. The advisers watched him walk down the aisle and to his seat. He sat down, feeling the room’s chill more than he ever had. On the dais, Ele stared at his hands. Vasenu kept his gaze on Tarne, a half-smile on his face.
Tarne would have given anything to wipe that smile away. He hadn’t had a chance to approach the heart readers as he had hoped. He wanted to remind them he still had power, but by the time he had returned from the guards’ barracks, the readers were gone. They weren’t here either, but one of the pages had told him to report.
The slates still sat on the dais where they had been left when Radekir arrived. The thought of her made Tarne smile. He hadn’t been able to threaten the readers, but they would feel his power nonetheless.
The door behind the dais opened and the readers entered. They kept their heads down as they walked around the brothers and down the stairs to the slates. Tarne could see no evidence of unity, but knew there had to be for the readers to reappear.
The King followed them, supported by his servants. His walk was slower than before, his movements even more painful. Tarne had never seen a man deteriorate in a single day. He didn’t think the King would live through the week.
Tarne glared at Dasis, wishing she would look up. He wanted to remind her with a gesture or a grimace that she still needed to chose Ele for him. Yet she didn’t move. He wondered if she would no matter what he wanted.
The servants held the King upright. He cleared his throat. The sound echoed in the overlarge room. “We shall begin again. If Dasis cannot read the already drawn slates, Stashie will redraw them. If I have a son with a pure heart, he will lead. You all will follow him and not question his rule.”
Dasis picked up the slates. Then she took a cloth from her pocket and wiped them off. The advisers gasped. “Sire,” she said, her voice faint, “I believe we should do new readings. I can see these hearts, but I d
on’t remember which is which.”
Ele’s hands clenched into fists. Tarne gripped his knees. Vasenu hadn’t moved. He looked as if he were expecting this development.
“Vasenu,” the King commanded, then sat down quickly, too quickly, as if his legs would no longer support him.
Vasenu stood, walked down the dais, and nodded at Tarne. Tarne did not nod back. The arrogance of the man. Just because he thought he had won. Vasenu thought that the King’s ruling meant something. Tarne would show him. He would show them all how much power the King had in his last few days.
Vasenu sat before Stashie and extended his left hand. Stashie pulled chalk from its container and sketched rapidly on the slate. Then she set the slate aside and let go of Vasenu’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” he responded with a sincerity that Tarne didn’t believe. Then he stood and returned to his seat on the side of the dais. Ele stood next. His trembling was visible even from the floor. He took the stairs carefully, as if he were afraid that, in his nervousness, he would trip. He knelt in front of Stashie like a supplicant, and extended his left hand.
She took his hand and removed chalk almost instantly. The sketch seemed simpler. She made fewer strokes and finished quicker. Tarne felt his heart pound against his chest. Maybe his humiliation was for nothing. Maybe Ele was the one with the purer heart.
“Thank you,” Stashie said to him.
Ele nodded at her, stood, and returned to his seat. Dasis studied the slates before her. After a moment, she reached out and took Stashie’s hand.
“We have two brothers,” Dasis said, “identical in form, with the same birthdate, and living the same lives.”
Pardu looked even paler than he had before. Tarne wondered if the sickness had grown worse or if Dasis’s words were affecting him.
“Yet they have very different hearts, complementary hearts—as if one were given a part the other lacked. One brother has never understood love. His heart is unmarked and empty. He has given affection and allowed affection to come to him, but nothing has touched him inside. Nothing affects his heart.”
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