A Sorcerer’s Treason

by Sarah Zettel

  But Kalami said nothing. Instead, he turned on his heel and marched across to Sakra. Despite the heavy shadows left by the lamplight, she could clearly see the livid hatred on Kalami’s face.

  “You could not prevent her from aiding the dowager empress, so you decide to murder her in her bed?” He yanked Sakra’s dagger from its sheath. “Are these your mistress’s orders? Or are you trying to make up for your earlier failures?” He held up the dark blade so that Bridget saw its edge outlined in the golden light. “Why should I not slit you open right here for threatening one who is under the dowager’s protection?”

  Bridget could not see Sakra’s face, but she heard his breathing painfully loud. “Because to kill me without even a semblance of an inquiry or trial might just start a war between Isavalta and Hastinapura, and that is not your plan, is it?” He grunted then and hunched over, one hand holding his side. “You have already promised a war to Hung-Tse.”

  Kalami said nothing. Sakra’s discomfort obviously left him unmoved. He simply shifted his grip on the knife so that its tip pointed straight down and held it over the back of Sakra’s neck. Bridget caught her breath. Kalami did not seem to notice the sound. His attention was all focused on Sakra helpless in pain before him.

  “All has gone beyond you, Southerner. You no longer have any part in the game.”

  Even as Kalami spoke, Sakra fell to his knees. He turned his face up toward the knife, toward the man towering over him, and Bridget saw his eyes flash in the darkness. “Not yet,” he said.

  And he was gone.

  Bridget clamped her hand across her mouth to block whatever noise tried to issue forth — startled scream, or cry of surprised delight. Kalami stared at the place where Sakra had been, the knife gripped tight in his hand, still ready to bring down for the killing blow. Even the soldiers, trained men all of them, stood stunned and frozen.

  In their confusion, Bridget saw her chance. As soon as Kalami turned his attention back toward her, all would be lost. In the next moments, however, she might be able to buy herself a little time. Holding her breath, Bridget eased herself toward the box and its charmed braid.

  “Get to his room,” ordered Kalami hoarsely. “If there’s any mirror there, smash it. If he’s there, arrest him and see him placed in irons. Irons, you understand?” Shaking with rage, he lowered the dagger. “After that, you’ll institute a general search of the palace. Nowhere is sacred in this, you understand?”

  Bridget slid the box from the table, holding it near her waist to keep the movement small and shadowed.

  “The dowager must be informed,” Kalami went on, running one hand through his hair. “You will find me with her. You will report the instant you have found anything.”

  “Sir.” Chadek bowed.

  Bridget tipped the box over the brazier, and the braid dropped into the fire. The flames at once snatched it up, and Kalami shuddered violently. He swung around to face her, and Bridget drew herself up straight. Let him look. Let him see she was not afraid. Red sparks rose from his work as it blackened to ash. Let him see that as well.

  “Go at once, Captain,” murmured Kalami without taking his gaze from Bridget.

  “Sir.” He bowed again.

  “Take me with you, Captain,” said Bridget quickly. “I have something vital to say to your mistress imperial concerning the loyalties of the lord sorcerer.”

  “She can have nothing to say, Captain,” countered Kalami. “You have your orders.”

  Chadek looked from Bridget to Kalami, and back again. Then he bowed, gestured to his men and led them from the room, leaving Bridget facing Kalami surrounded by nothing but soundly sleeping women.

  Kalami tucked Sakra’s knife into his belt. “What is this, Bridget?” he asked gently.

  Bridget said nothing.

  “What were you doing here?” Kalami gestured to the box, and the brazier that had nearly consumed his charm. Only a few scraps of red and white cloth rested on the coals. The smoke had a rank, unpleasant odor to it now, and Bridget swallowed a cough.

  “What were you letting him do?” Kalami joined her beside the brazier. He scooped up a handful of charcoal slivers from the pile beside it, and one by one dropped them onto the fire, feeding the flames and making them rise high.

  “I was not letting him do anything,” answered Bridget, slipping around the table. “This was my own doing.”

  “I see that, Bridget.” Kalami stepped into her path, putting himself between her and the door. The brazier lit the right side of his face, leaving the left in shadow. His eyes seemed to be lightless holes in his craggy face. “What did he tell you?”

  Bridget looked past him to the door. Perhaps she could make it, but he had the knife. Screaming might or might not do her any good. But the door was not locked, and there was the brazier, and all manner of other weapons.

  Bridget retreated a step, edging back around the brazier and hoping the movement looked like fear. “You tried to put a love spell on me.”

  “Who told you such a thing?” He stalked after her, his voice smooth and soft. “Did Sakra tell you that?”

  Bridget froze. Did he think so little of her still? Did he not realize even now what had happened here?

  Use it, Bridget, she told herself. Use it.

  Kalami circled the brazier until he stood before her. “What did he say to you, Bridget? What did he tell you?”

  Bridget let her fingers knot in the collar of her nightgown. “Nothing much. There was no time. We were both busy knocking over screens.” She gestured with one finger toward the fallen items.

  “But, surely, he told you something?” Kalami took another step forward and reached for her hand, pulling it away from her collar and setting it at her side. “He did not prepare all this so that you and he might pass a pleasant hour.”

  “No,” said Bridget again. “I imagine he did not.” She felt very aware of how near Kalami was, but this time she felt none of the yearning ache that she had when he touched her before. Instead, her thoughts reached toward Sakra. Where had he gone? Was he safe?

  Let him be safe.

  Kalami took her other hand, which still clutched at the fabric of the nightgown, and gently disentangled her fingers. “Make no mistake, Bridget. Your fate and Isavalta’s are now completely intertwined.” He laid her hand at her right side. “I cannot separate you, and I cannot lose you.”

  He was taking too many liberties, she wanted to tell him. He was too near, and touched her in too familiar a fashion. But she stayed still and silent. She must endure this. If he could be induced to simply leave, she could run out behind him, make her way to the empress, tell what she knew. She might even find Sakra there.

  “I am well accustomed to rude awakenings.” Bridget lifted her chin. “This is just one more.” You may trust even poor broken Medeoan before you trust him, Momma had said. Oh, she should have listened. She should have paid closer attention, taken swifter action.

  “And was it Sakra who told you I laid a spell on you?” Kalami brushed a lock of her unbound hair back from her shoulder.

  Bridget bit her lip and turned her head away. He could make what he liked of the gesture.

  Kalami sighed and, to Bridget’s very great relief, stepped away. “Very well,” he said, folding his hands behind his back, and shaking his head at the brazier. “I did weave a spell, but it was one of protection. You are in danger, Bridget, every moment you are here.” She gestured at the flames. “I made this spell to keep you safe, and do you see what Sakra has done with his lies? He has made you destroy your own protection.”

  How many lies do you have on that tongue? Bridget’s eyes narrowed before she could remember she was supposed to be the ignorant victim here. “I should have realized something of the kind,” she said to cover the expression.

  “Fortunately, I have brought you another.”

  Kalami opened his hand. From his fingertips dangled a circle of woven cloth. The brazier’s light showed a pattern of interlocking circles, red an
d white as the braid had been. It shone brightly to Bridget’s left eye.

  “It’s a garter,” he told her. “It should be a belt or a girdle, but I did not have the time to create so much.”

  Bridget’s throat closed around her breath.

  “You do not fear me, do you, Bridget?” said Kalami, stepping forward, still holding up the garter in front of her eyes.

  “Yes, I do,” said Bridget, too afraid of what he held to dissemble anymore. He would bind her to him with that thing. He would take away her mind, her will, her heart …

  “Why?” he asked sadly. “I will not harm you. I need you in so many ways I cannot begin to count them. I would not endanger you for anything. Not like Sakra will if you fall into his power. Let me keep you safe. Take this protection.” He held the garter out.

  “No.”

  “Take it, Bridget.” He urged. “You’ve been lied to, and you are in danger. Please, put me at ease and let me see you safe.” He reached for her hand.

  Bridget dodged sideways, shoving the table over so Kalami stumbled over it. She ran for the door. Hands grabbed her skirts and Bridget pitched forward onto hands and knees.

  “Now you will accept my gift!”

  She tried to kick back, but her thick skirts hampered her. She rolled over, fists swinging. Kalami caught one wrist in what felt like a loop of cloth and she screamed and tried to pull away, but Kalami was backing away to stand up straight and she looked into his eyes.

  His eyes, his dark eyes, and in them she saw all the promises that waited there for her. So many promises, so much hoped and feared. She remembered each little brush of his hand against her, the hundred thousand times he had touched her, now taking her hand, now her arm, helping her, always so polite, so distant. Each tactile memory traced a trail down her skin, and Bridget felt that she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t see. There was only Valin Kalami and his dark eyes and all those promises between them.

  “Lord Sorcerer? Is all well?”

  Bridget turned to stare. A house guard stood in the doorway, his eyes glancing between Valin and Bridget. She leapt to her feet.

  “Yes. All is well,” said Valin, for Bridget could not speak. She did not want this interruption. How dare this man barge in here? He made Valin look away from her.

  “Mistress?” asked the guard.

  “Yes,” Bridget made herself say. “Everything is perfectly in order. Thank you.”

  The guard gave the soldier’s bow, and closed the door.

  “Everything is perfectly in order, Bridget?” Kalami walked slowly forward, his eyes wide as they drank her in. “Is it truly?”

  “Truly.”

  He took her hand between his own and lifted it. His touch set her heart beating so hard she wondered if he could hear it. His palms were warm and dry, and his hands so strong as they pressed against hers, turning her hand over so he could kiss the back, gently, ever so gently. Then, he turned it again, and pressed his lips against her wrist, right above the garter he had captured her with.

  “Do you accept my gift now, Bridget?” he murmured, his breath so warm against her wrist.

  “Yes,” she whispered in return. “Oh, yes.”

  He smiled and Bridget felt her heart swell with wonder at the sight of it. He was so close, she could smell his scent of winter, smoke and musk. It warmed her, comforted her, roused her. His fingers lingered about her wrist, as he pulled the slip knot tight on his gift. Slowly, afraid she might shatter this moment, this feeling, she brushed her fingers against his hair. It was soft, and finer than she had expected. She wanted to bury her fingers in it, stroking his scalp down to his neck.

  Kalami lifted his head and his eyes met hers again. Did she fall into his arms or did he pull her close? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he kissed her, and his mouth was warm as his breath had been, and his kisses were strong and deep. She pressed herself closer, resenting the layers of cloth between them. She wanted him to see her, to touch her. She wanted to know how the skin of his chest felt against hers, she wanted to know how his hand would feel on her belly, on her thighs. She wanted to know so much.

  His hands caressed her neck, drifting down to her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around him, her knees gone so weak with all her need that she could not stand.

  “My Bridget,” he breathed in her ear. “My own Bridget.”

  “Yes. Yours.”

  “Yes.” He ran one knuckle down her neck to her breast. She gasped, pressing her mouth against his neck in pleasure and surprise.

  But then he took her hands and pushed her back from him. Bridget stared. Had she done something wrong? What was the matter?

  But no, he was smiling, and all the promises in the world still filled his eyes. “I am afraid we must wait a little yet, Bridget.”

  Her gaze skittered to the ladies asleep in their beds. “But, I thought they’d sleep for an hour at least yet …”

  “Yes, my own.” His fingers lingered on the collar of her gown. “But there are other things I must do tonight, and I may not broach my duties.”

  Shame touched Bridget, and she dropped her eyes. “Of course. I am being selfish.”

  He drew his fingers down her cheek, making her skin shiver with their warmth. “Such selfishness looks well on you, Bridget.”

  She smiled as he traced her lips. She captured one fingertip with a kiss, earning his smile in return.

  “But you must tell me one thing, my own.” His fingers traveled down the line of her chin to her throat. “Who told you about my gift? Who lied so to you?”

  “Richikha,” she said, pained to think how easily she’d been taken in. “I’m sorry, Valin.”

  “Hush.” He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. “No more of that. I should have taken greater care. I am ashamed of myself.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he pressed his finger against her lips. “Hush, I said.” She smiled, and bowed her head, all acquiescence to his orders.

  He slipped his hand under her chin and lifted it up so she could look again into his eyes. “But you know better now than to let any of those flutterers meddle with my gifts, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Valin.” His eyes were so beautiful, so rich with life. She could lose herself so entirely in those eyes.

  “And you will wear my token? I want something of mine always touching you.”

  Always touching you. The need his words sparked sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Very good, very good, my Bridget.” He brushed back her hair, and Bridget turned her face so she could kiss his palm. “Tomorrow night, my own. Tomorrow night all will be complete, and you will have me with you the rest of your life.”

  There were no words adequate to make her answer, so Bridget kissed him again, a long, deep kiss full of her own promises.

  Kalami’s eyes were shining when he pulled away. “Tomorrow night,” he said by way of a final promise, and he slipped out the door.

  Happiness welled up inside Bridget. She spun around on her toes, laughing and hugging herself. Love. It had been so long since she’d felt love. And it was real this time, and it would last her life through. He’d promised. His words rang in her ears like golden bells, filling her with all the hopes Asa had stolen away so long ago.

  She wanted to dance, she wanted to shout it from the rooftop, all manner of silly girlish things. But she settled for skipping across the floor to stand front of the bronze mirror.

  “Bridget in love,” she said to her reflection, throwing her head back and lifting her arm in a bad dramatic pose. “This is Bridget in love.”

  She looked at herself and giggled, but choked on her laughter. The reflection showed a thing clinging to her wrist. It was black and shredded, like a great spider made of ash and rags, and it sank its fangs deep into her wrist, right where Kalami had kissed her.

  Bridget screamed in anger and disgust. She yanked at the thing, tearing it from her wrist and flinging it to the floor, looking for something heavy t
o throw over it …

  And she saw Kalami’s token lying on the bare wood.

  Bridget backed away, both fists pressed against her mouth, memories spilling into her reawakened mind. He’d touched her and she’d liked it. He’d knocked her down and captured her wrist, and he’d touched her, and she’d let him. She’d kissed him, so greedy for him, and he’d lied to her and he’d put that thing on her. He would have taken her then and there, and she would have let him, she wanted him to. She would have begged him to and he knew it, because he’d put that thing around her wrist….

  The bed bumped against Bridget’s back and she clambered onto it, hugging the coverlet to her chest, as if she thought the thing could crawl toward her. But it just lay there, waiting for her touch. As Kalami had waited, had urged. Bridget felt her stomach twist, and she scrambled across the bed, barely making it to the washbasin before she began to vomit out her fear and revulsion.

  It was only when she was empty that Bridget was able to feel the first flames of fresh anger. It burned bright and hot in the pit of her sunken stomach, turning fast into rage, rage at the lies, at the cruel seduction.

  Rage, because he made her remember what it was to be in love and because that love was another lie. Another cold, calculating lie.

  She’d burn the thing, as she had the braid he tried to secret on her. She’d take a knife and she’d cut it to pieces and then she’d slit Kalami open like a pig, and make sure he watched her do it. She’d burn him! Burn him alive. She’d make some spell. She could do it, and he’d go up in flames, hearing her voice in his ears. She’d do that somehow. He’d die screaming her name, begging her for mercy.

  Yes, whispered a voice in her mind. Let him burn. Let me burn him for you.

  Bridget closed her eyes, gulping air into her lungs, trying to calm down. She wanted to destroy the spell utterly, except she didn’t dare touch the thing. Except that if he knew she was free, he’d do something else, and it would be something she couldn’t see this time, because he was not a fool. Something with smoke and air, and blood perhaps, something that would leave no trace.