by Amy Raby
“What price?” Taya asked again. “Do I have to let you into my room? Do I have to be your secret companion?”
Mandir lowered the tablet, all humor gone from his face. “You could have just said no. You didn’t have to run off like I was the most disgusting thing you’d ever laid eyes on.”
“I ran because I was scared,” said Taya. “You’d gone into my room, where you weren’t allowed, and made some oblique threats about getting me in trouble. You wanted to do something with me—and believe me, I knew exactly what you wanted—but you’d been calling me ugly and stupid for years, so I knew it wasn’t because you liked me. I didn’t know where those other three boys were. I figured they might be lying in wait. If I said no, I thought you might rape me—maybe all four of you would—so I ran.”
“I was horrible,” said Mandir. “I know it. But I would not have raped you. I’ve never forced a woman, and I never will.”
“Your friends put their hands on me all the time, and you never stopped them.”
“I made sure they didn’t take it too far—”
“It was already too far, those boys touching me when I didn’t want them to.”
Mandir swallowed. “I mean I wouldn’t have let them do more than that—”
“I didn’t want them touching me at all,” insisted Taya.
“All right, I was a zebu’s ass back then. I know it,” said Mandir. “But the others had nothing to do with that ‘secret companion’ business.”
“No, that was all you,” said Taya. “And it was disgusting. You gave me a choice between sleeping with you or being harassed by you and your friends. You say you’ve never forced a woman, but you have. At least you tried.”
“I gave you a choice. I never forced you into anything. Obviously—because we never slept together.”
“Because I chose the harassment instead. You think that’s not forcing a woman, giving her a choice between one type of abuse and another type?”
“Sleeping with me would have been abuse?”
“If I didn’t want it, yes.”
He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “I guess I never thought about it that way. At the time, I thought you secretly wanted me.”
Taya arched an eyebrow.
Mandir rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose I was just that arrogant. Look, I’m sorry. I get it now: no bargains. Your affection’s not for sale or for trade, and, honestly, I was just joking with the date girl business.” He picked up his tablet and resumed reading.
Taya rubbed at a needlefly bite on her leg and read her third case, another one involving Bodhan as moneylender. She was just finishing the concluding words when Mandir set down his tablet, stretched, and sat back against the wall. “I take it you’re finished?” she asked.
“Yes. You want me to help you with yours?”
She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice how far behind she was, but she supposed there was no hiding it. He’d read thirteen cases, and she’d read three. “Help me how?”
“I could read them to you.”
Taya snorted. “I don’t need to be read to like a child.”
“Or I could take half the ones you have left and read them myself,” Mandir suggested.
That wasn’t unreasonable, but Taya didn’t like it. If she let Mandir do that, he would end up reading eighteen cases to her eight and would be more knowledgeable than she. How was she to be an equal partner on this case, let alone in charge of it, if Mandir had all the information? She bit her lip.
“I think I know why you have trouble reading,” said Mandir softly.
“Why, because I’m stupid?” Taya snapped.
“No. Because you got a late start.”
“You certainly called me stupid often enough,” said Taya.
“I said it to upset you,” said Mandir. “Not because I believed it. No one who spends any time around you could believe you’re stupid.”
“I made up for my late start,” Taya said angrily. “All those hours you spent hanging around with your nasty friends—I spent them practicing my letters.”
“I know you did,” said Mandir.
“I don’t care how young you were when your awful father taught you how to read, I’ve still practiced more than you have.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Mandir.
“So I’m stupid.”
“You know better than that.” Mandir leaned back against the wall, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Have you heard of the Vaksha family? Artisan musicians?”
Taya shook her head.
“I think they reside only in Tivette, the royal city. They start their children on their musical instruments very young, at the age of three, I believe. They do not believe in waiting to see which instrument each child might show a talent for. If they wait, they say, it is too late—the child must begin instruction at the earliest possible age in order to reach the fullness of his ability.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“On the contrary, it’s the foundation of our caste system,” said Mandir. “When children are born into their assigned roles, they have their entire childhood during which they can learn to perform those roles with a high degree of excellence. It’s only when someone is first trained for one role, and then switched unexpectedly to another that there are problems.”
“You mean someone like me,” said Taya. “A farmer who becomes a fire seer is a problem.”
“Not just you, all of us,” said Mandir. “All of us discover our Gift in adolescence. You were trained through childhood to be a farmer. And then you discovered you would be something else, and you had to learn to read and write. But you learned it too late for it to come easily for you.”
“If the goddesses meant for us to learn our roles in early childhood,” said Taya, “they would not have made our Gifts manifest so late.”
“The goddesses never meant for the Gift to exist at all.”
Taya pursed her lips. He had a point. And maybe he was right about the reading and writing. If someone had taught her to read and write at an early age, would her eyes fly across the tablet the way Mandir’s did? Her heart twisted with envy. It wasn’t fair. He’d learned all sorts of useful skills as a child, like literacy, while she’d learned worthless ones, like how to pull weeds and feed the pig. “Well, come over here,” she grumbled, “and read these tablets to me. Otherwise we’ll be here all night.”
“As you wish,” said Mandir, and he settled beside her.
Chapter 22: Hrappa
Mandir woke feeling unusually refreshed. He glanced out his window and groaned. Full sun outside. Flood and fire, why had he slept in? Every day since Taya had arrived, she’d dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn, a bit of torture he’d begun to accept as part of his penance for the torment he’d inflicted on her at Mohenjo. For some reason she’d spared him this morning. Why?
He rose, made the bed, and began to dress. Maybe Taya was exhausted after her ordeal in the river. Anyone would want to sleep late after that. It would do her good, a little time off for rest and recuperation. He stepped up to the polished copper mirror, dabbed water on his face, and, picking up his straight razor, began to shave.
All right, Taya might be exhausted, but knowing her, she wouldn’t sleep in unless she was half dead. Maybe she was angry with him, or at least angrier than usual. The conversation they’d had yesterday had spun through his head most of the night, awakening long-dormant thoughts and feelings, shaking dust from corners of his mind that had lain undisturbed for years.
Had he forced himself on her at Mohenjo? No, it wasn’t possible. He didn’t sleep with her. If he hadn’t slept with her, he couldn’t have forced her. That was simple logic.
But maybe it wasn’t so simple. He’d reacted badly when she’d rejected him. He’d smashed her homework tablets and stepped up his harassment, making his threats more explicit and more frightening. He’d punished her for not sleeping with him. He might not have literally forced her into his bed, but it cou
ld be argued that he’d tried to get her there using threats and manipulation.
At the time, he’d believed his behavior justified. He was righteously inflicting pain on a woman who’d inflicted pain on him. He was standing up for himself, showing her she couldn’t treat him like zebu shit and get away with it.
Now he looked back with wiser eyes and asked himself what exactly she’d done to deserve his retaliation. She hadn’t treated him like zebu shit. She’d simply refused to sleep with him. He had felt pain when she rejected him and blamed her for it. But now he understood that his pain was his own responsibility. He’d loved a girl, and she hadn’t loved him back. It was that simple, and it wasn’t a crime.
Besides, considering the way he’d treated her at Mohenjo, could he really be surprised that his feelings were not returned?
Maybe he had tried to force himself on her. The thought made him shudder. He’d believed at the time that the Atrocity could be committed only by physically overpowering a woman and forcing a joining. He had never done that, would never do that; it was the ultimate offense against the Mothers. But he’d tried to accomplish a similar end using threats and manipulation.
Taya’s distant laugh carried across the courtyard. Frowning, he set down his razor. What was she laughing at? Surely she would not laugh alone—someone must be with her. And she was without the protection of her quradum.
Forgetting the remainder of his grooming, he ran out the door and across the courtyard. At Taya’s door, he stopped and listened as voices drifted through the open window.
“Your partner’s obviously opposed,” drawled a man’s voice. “But I thought you and I, together, might work something out.”
Zash the banana farmer. Rage bloomed in Mandir’s chest, and he felt hot all over. That zebu’s ass had come to visit his partner in secret.
He flung the door open so hard that it struck the wall and rebounded with a shudder. Taya and Zash, who’d been sitting at her little table with wine goblets in hand, leapt to their feet. A few droplets of Taya’s wine spilled on the floor.
Mandir took in the scene, noting the amphora in the middle of the table and the rosy flush in Taya’s cheeks. “No one told me about a party this morning.”
“For the Mothers’ sake, control your temper,” snapped Taya. “You’ve spilled my wine and nearly broken my door.”
Zash forced a smile. “Mandir isu Sarrum, good greeting to you. I heard about the attempt on Taya’s life yesterday, and I came to call upon her and see for myself that she was all right.”
“No,” said Mandir. “You came here with your serpent’s tongue to talk her into healing your banana plants.”
Zash’s smile became strained. “On the contrary, the matter of the banana plants was settled days ago. I brought a gift for the two of you.” He lifted the amphora from the table. “Banana wine. Will you join me?”
“I don’t drink that piss.” He could see that Taya, on the other hand, had imbibed some already. If it was poisoned, and Taya came to harm, Zash would not see another sunrise—Mandir would make sure of it. “Don’t bring any more gifts. Neither of us wants them.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Taya. “I haven’t had banana wine since I was a child.” She raised her goblet appreciatively. “Thank you, Zash. This brought back memories.”
Zash inclined his head.
“Get out,” barked Mandir.
Zash raised a brow at Taya. Clearly he’d figured out whom to appeal to when he didn’t like Mandir’s orders.
“You’d better go,” she told him apologetically.
Mandir watched Zash as the man collected his things, touched fingers with Taya, and left through the front door. That’s right, banana farmer. I’ve got my eye on you.
The door shut behind him.
“Don’t say anything,” said Taya.
Mandir sauntered to the table and picked up the amphora to see how much wine was left. “I have a great deal to say. And you’re going to hear it.”
Taya rolled her eyes and sat at the table, swirling the little bit of wine that remained in her goblet. “I suppose you think this is charming, bursting in to protect me from myself.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not charming.” He stabbed a finger at the door, where Zash had been. “That bollhead of a banana farmer showing up again to try to get you to break Coalition law. With your quradum absent.”
Taya shrugged. “I’m not going to heal his banana plants.”
“But you’ll drink his wine?” He shook the half-empty amphora. “We have a day of investigation ahead of us, and you’re drunk.”
Taya folded her arms. “I’m not drunk. Banana wine isn’t strong like...whatever you ruling-caste people drink. And you know as well as I do that if I’d waited for you, you’d have poured out the wine and I wouldn’t have tasted a drop.”
“You’d better hope it wasn’t poisoned.”
“I just staked my life on it, didn’t I?” said Taya. “Put the amphora down. If it was poisoned, I’m slated for death already.”
Mandir set the amphora back on the table. “It won’t be poisoned this time, since Zash was drinking from it himself. But if that banana farmer shows up again, I want you to fetch me immediately.”
“Why, so you can run him off again?”
“So I can protect you,” said Mandir. “What do you see in that zebu’s ass?”
“He’s kind,” said Taya. “And he’s handsome—”
“No, he isn’t,” said Mandir. “He’s scrawny and ugly.”
“You’re not one to judge.”
Was she serious about Zash being handsome? Surely she could not be attracted to the banana farmer. The thought offended Mandir down to the marrow of his bones. To think that this idiot might have the woman he’d been pursuing for years...flood and fire, he should slap himself in the balls right now. “Zash doesn’t love you. He wants you to heal his plants, and apparently he doesn’t care if you get caught and the Coalition burns you to death. Is that the kind of lover you want?”
“He’s desperately afraid of losing his farm,” said Taya. “I understand that. I’ve told him repeatedly that I’m not going to heal his plants. If that’s all he’s after, he’ll give up soon enough and stop coming around. And he’s not my lover.”
“You called him handsome.” Mandir doubted Zash would give up on coming around to see Taya. He’d stake a silver stick on the likelihood of that slippery man’s return.
“He also makes pleasant conversation,” said Taya. “And he’s never been cruel to me.”
That was a dig at him if he’d ever heard one. “What about the way he treated his mad sister?”
“I know little about the situation with his sister. I realize he has an ulterior motive in coming here. But you’re my partner in investigation, Mandir, not my lover, and it’s not your business to tell me who I can and can’t spend time with—“
“It is my business, if I feel your life is in danger.”
“You don’t truly believe Zash is dangerous. You’re just jealous of him. Back at Mohenjo, you isolated me and deprived me of friends so you could have me all to yourself to mistreat. But you’re not going to do that here.”
Her words stung. Each barb was a needlefly digging into his skin. Yes, he was jealous of Zash. But jealousy was not the only reason for his unease. “Let’s be clear on something. You’re a fire seer, which makes you a rare and valuable asset to the Coalition. They sent me here to protect you, and I take that job seriously, as you learned when I fished you out of the river yesterday. Someone in Hrappa is trying to kill you. Why spend time alone with a strange man, one who is in fact on the list of suspects, without your quradum present?”
“Zash isn’t the jackal. He’s the wrong sex. Besides, I like him.”
“He’s a suspect,” insisted Mandir. “Regardless of what you saw in your vision. And consider this. The wine might not have been poisoned with something that could kill you, but what if Zash had laced it with kimat? It wouldn’t affec
t him, but it would certainly affect you. Once he’d disabled your magic, he could have killed you.”
Taya opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it. The chagrin in her eyes told him that he’d scored a point—she hadn’t considered the possibility of kimat. She whispered a word and made a subtle gesture with her hand. A tiny fireball appeared in her palm, cradled by her fingers. “My magic’s fine.”
“You were lucky,” said Mandir. “You let him in, gave him access to your person, and drank his wine.”
Taya dismissed the fireball and closed her hand into a loose fist. “Maybe I was a touch careless, but there was no kimat in the wine. He obviously didn’t mean any harm.”
“Not this time,” said Mandir. “Maybe the time wasn’t right for the kill. Maybe he wanted to find out first if you’d heal his plants.”
“You’re too suspicious. You think everyone is an enemy.”
“You’re not suspicious enough,” he retorted. “And there is an enemy, someone who tried only yesterday to kill you. It could be anyone. I need to be present whenever someone has access to you. So I’m afraid it may be rather difficult for you to have affairs with scrawny banana farmers bearing gifts of wine. And it’s not just because I’m a zebu’s ass. Are we clear on that?”
“We’re clear,” she said. “But you are a zebu’s ass.”
He couldn’t disagree.
Chapter 23: Hrappa
As she readied herself to leave the guesthouse, Taya was quietly pleased that despite the tongue-lashing she’d had to endure, she had finally managed to taste Zash’s banana wine. Mandir needed to learn that there were some things that his customary techniques of bullheadedness and force couldn’t accomplish. She wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t going to let him push her around, no matter how much he claimed it was “for her protection.”
She’d grant that as annoying as Mandir was, he was a decent quradum. It seemed he’d found his niche in this new role of threatening people and being paranoid all the time. But like needleflies at a picnic, he took the fun out of life. He was so concerned with neatness and order; nothing could induce him to take a chance in the interest of adventure or pleasure. Who knew that the bully who’d tormented her at Mohenjo would grow into someone so straight-laced? Someone needed to teach that man how to relax.
