A Sorcerer’s Treason

by Sarah Zettel

  She had grown so used to secrets — that had been her mistake. She could never create more secrets than Medeoan had. It was openness now that would save her, and Mikkel. “Call in the guard, then,” she told him. “Let me stand under their weapons. Send at once to the dowager with word of what is happening. Strip my coat away and take from me any ornament or talisman you may find about my person. Let me stand naked before you, if you’ll accept no other way, but let me try to free my husband, your emperor.”

  No one else had stood, but on their knees she saw them struggle to keep still. She heard the hisses of their breath as they tried wordlessly to urge caution, or perhaps they were just shocked at her words.

  “Majesty Imperial, I cannot permit this.”

  “Do you believe I intend to harm the emperor?” she asked.

  The man said nothing, but his belief was plain in his face, and that belief bred hatred.

  “Then call in the guard,” repeated Ananda firmly. “If I do anything harmful to the person of your emperor, they may lawfully cut me down where I stand. I am offering to die for this chance. What more can I do?” She moved close, not giving him the chance to look away from her. He would see her face, see it fully and honestly. If he turned on her, turned on Mikkel, it would not be because she had left any deception open. “Are you afraid enough to commit the treason of failing to protect your emperor from an ongoing attack to his person?” She licked her lips. Here was the final promise. “You know that upon the death of a sorcerer, all their active enchantment must also die. If I live and am right, your emperor is free. If I am plying you with the ultimate falsehood and I die, your emperor is free.”

  The gleam in the man’s eye was dangerous. He did hate Ananda. Probably he hated all Hastinapura. Probably he was a generational servant of the palace, and his father remembered Kacha and his treachery. But she had offered her blood. He had a chance to see the threat of Ananda was ended. He had a chance to see his emperor healed.

  Which would win, his obedience to the dowager, or his desire to see the Hastinapuran witch dead?

  The man made the tiniest gesture toward one of the kneeling underservants. “Shipil, call in the guard, and then do you run to Her Grand Majesty and tell her what happens here.”

  “Sir.” Shipil leapt to his feet and ran from the room. A moment later, all six of Mikkel’s guard trooped in. The body servant greeted them and in whispers explained what was about to occur. The lieutenant disagreed with a guttural reply Ananda could not clearly hear. The body servant leaned closer and whispered directly in the lieutenant’s ear. The lieutenant smiled a smile as sharp as the blade of his ax, and at a gesture, he and his men ringed the little gathering.

  “All of you, back away,” said the body servant to his subordinates, who seemed only too glad to retreat behind the guard. “Majesty Imperial, I must ask you to remove your outer garments.”

  It is the only way, Ananda reminded herself as she slowly, clumsily, began to unbuckle her coat. “I will need help.”

  The body servant came forward. Ananda swallowed her pride and fear, and let the man unknot her laces and pull off her sleeves. All the others stood and watched, common men, rough soldiers, all of them with anger in their eyes. They did not like this. They did not like her. They watched her stripping all layers of propriety and protection in front of them.

  All but Mikkel. According to their ways, which she had worked so hard to make her own, Mikkel, the only man who should ever have seen this sight, did not watch her at all. What attention he had seemed to be captured by the way her finery was casually tossed onto the floor until she stood in her belted shift.

  The body servant seemed satisfied with this and stepped back.

  Seven Mothers help me. Keep me strong. Ananda approached her husband with all the angry, judgmental, and finally bloodthirsty eyes watching her and waiting.

  She fixed her eyes on Mikkel. Nothing else mattered. Only Mikkel, who could not look at her. Mikkel, who laughed at all her jests, who wrote sweet but clumsy poetry, who had showed her the beauty to be found in snow.

  He no longer wore his holiday garments. They had changed him into a plain white kaftan banded and buttoned in gold. There would be a vest and shirt underneath it.

  “Mikkel.” She reached for his hand and took it into hers. He had grown so thin under his affliction. She could discern all the bones of his wrist.

  A flash of movement caught the corner of her eye, and she heard the rasp of steel against leather. Someone in the guard was all too ready to carry out their right to slaughter her where she stood. By taking his hand, she threatened the emperor.

  It was all right. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Mikkel. His hand lay limp and cold in hers. He looked down at their fingers, mildly curious. “Mikkel, I mean to help you. Remove your coat for me, husband.”

  “No,” he said hoarsely, as if he were unused to the word.

  Ananda almost dropped his hand. “No? Mikkel, I ask you, do this thing for me.”

  “No.” He swayed on his feet, blinking. “I must not. Not for … Not for …”

  “The emperor refuses,” announced the body servant, and she heard soft triumph in his voice, but also concern. “Step you away, Majesty Imperial.”

  Ananda ignored him. “Not for what?” she asked Mikkel. “For who? Not for me?”

  “I must not.” He pulled his hand away from hers and touched it to the high collar of his kaftan. “I must not.”

  “Why must you not?” Ananda tried to keep her gaze focused on Mikkel, but it kept slipping toward the door. Did the flash of the steel in the weapons and the armor distract him? Did he sense the dowager coming? She might be here at any moment. That was the greatest gamble of all, but it had been the most necessary. It was only by making herself completely vulnerable that any of Mikkel’s guardians would agree to this.

  “Mikkel, please, you must do this for me. Do you know me? I am your wife. I am Ananda.” Mothers all, help me. Vyshko and Vyshemir, please help me reach this child of your house. She unknotted his cloth-of-gold sash and cast it aside.

  “Ananda?” his brow furrowed. “I knew … there was …” He reached out tentatively, his fingertips brushing her hair. “There was Ananda. I … miss her.” The assembly around them gasped. There was movement. She heard cloth, and she heard the clink of armor. But she could not be distracted. She found the buckle on his belt and flicked it open so that the belt with its empty sword sheath and tiny ceremonial dagger thudded to the floor. She could not fear them. There was only Mikkel. There could only be Mikkel.

  “I am here, my love.” She took his face in both hands. “I am Ananda, here before you.”

  “I can’t see her,” Mikkel whispered, his eyes darting back and forth. “I can’t see Ananda.”

  “She is here!” Ananda pulled him forward, kissing his mouth hard and strong. More gasps around her. This was indecent in their barbaric eyes, but she was too far gone to be ashamed. She felt fingertips brush her shoulder, and someone said “No,” and pulled them away. “I am here!”

  Mikkel blinked, slowly, and his gaze turned toward her. Ananda’s heart leapt into her mouth, but his gaze did not stay, it slid from her to the bed screens. “Ananda would help me.”

  “Would you see Ananda?” she asked desperately. “Take off your coat!”

  “My coat …”

  Ananda’s hands grasped the gold buttons and wrestled with them. “Help me, Mikkel. You must remove your coat.”

  Mikkel said nothing. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, as hers did. She wished desperately for assistance, but she would not ask for it. There was no telling what the touch of another person would do to Mikkel’s fragile concentration.

  At last, the white kaftan slid from Mikkel’s shoulders and landed in a heap on the floor. Underneath waited a vest of blue and gold buttoned with more gold.

  “Your vest, Mikkel. You must take off your vest to see Ananda.”

  Was that hope behind his eyes? Was that Mikkel back
there, reaching out to her through whatever fog his mother had placed within his mind? His hand strayed to his chest, touching the buttons. “I must …”

  “You must. If you want to see Ananda, you must.” But Ananda herself could not help seeing that two swords had been drawn, and all the axes stood ready as the guard moved closer, readying themselves to reach her in the space of a heartbeat.

  And the dowager was on her way. Any second, the dowager would open the door, and she would forget Ananda’s father. She could forget all possibility of war, and she would order those swords that she commanded. Ananda would lie dead on the stones, and Mikkel would still be captive.

  At least it will be over, and I will have tried my very best. It will not be my cowardice that condemns us both.

  One by one the buttons were undone, but then Mikkel’s arms seemed to lose their strength and they fell to his sides. Ananda darted behind him and pulled the vest from his unresisting shoulders, dropping it on top of the kaftan.

  Only the fine linen shirt that gleamed white in the light from the firepit remained.

  “You must let me remove your shirt, Mikkel.”

  “No.”

  “You will never see Ananda again if I do not.”

  “No,” he pleaded. “It keeps me safe.”

  “Stop this. This is a travesty.” “What is she doing to him?” The questions fluttered about the room. But back came the answers. “Let her try.” “It might be she can free them.” “What if what she does is real?” “What if what she does is harm him further? Look at her.” “Can you trust her?” The arguments flew back and forth. Ananda shut her ears. They meant nothing. Nothing.

  “What keeps you safe?”

  But Mikkel did not, or could not answer that. Instead he trembled and his eyes glistened, with tears? Did he stand ready to cry?

  “Let me help you,” she breathed. “Let me help you see Ananda.”

  The trembling grew worse. Ananda steeled herself. He was so cold, his body so dead. But he was Mikkel still, she must remember that. Whatever had been done to him, he was still her husband whom she loved. She wrapped her arms around his cold, quivering body, and kissed him again. He did not, could not return the kiss, he could only tremble.

  “Get her away from him!”

  Ananda encircled him with her embrace, her hands fumbling for his shirttails, pulling them free of his pantaloons.

  “No!” A violent shove knocked the breath from her lungs and sent Ananda reeling across the floor. For a moment she stood stunned, trying to see who had struck her, but there was only Mikkel, his shirt rumpled, his chest heaving. “You must not, I must not let you!”

  “Why not!” shouted Ananda. “Who am I that I must not touch you! Tell me, Mikkel!”

  “You are … You are …” Whatever strength held Mikkel up gave way and his knees buckled. Mikkel sank slowly to the floor, his head drooping until he buried his face in his hands. “You are Ananda.”

  “She hurts him! Take up your swords! She’s the witch who did this to him!”

  “No!”

  “Yes, Mikkel!” She threw herself to her knees in front of him, grasping his hands and pulling them away from his face. Tears streamed down his hollow cheeks and confusion racked his entire visage. “I am Ananda. Say it again!”

  But his mouth only worked itself back and forth silently for a long, painful moment. “Help me,” he whispered.

  “Yes, Mikkel.” She tore at the buttons on his cuffs. Her fingers sought the buttons on his collar, barely able to work them through their fastenings between his trembling and hers. He moaned as if in pain, and snatched at her hand. “No. I cannot. I cannot!”

  “Let him be, witch!” Hands clamped onto Ananda’s shoulders and yanked her backward. She screamed, kicking out, but someone struck her face, stunning her into momentary stillness.

  “What are you doing!”

  All turned. Captain Chadek stood in the doorway, his ax in both hands. All drew back as he stalked forward.

  “Unhand the person of Her Majesty Imperial.”

  “But …” began the two underservants who Ananda could now see held her. Which of them had struck her? she wondered idly. She could order him killed for that.

  “I said unhand Her Majesty Imperial,” Captain Chadek repeated, hefting the ax. “Or do I strike your head from your shoulders?”

  The men let Ananda go and she climbed slowly to her feet. Chadek saluted her, his eyes traveling up and down, seeing her shift and the piles of clothing strewn about the floor. “Majesty Imperial, what is happening here?”

  “Good captain, I understand your distress,” said Ananda, gathering to her as much dignity as she could. “I am trying to free the emperor of his illness of spirit. He is under enchantment and I have the answer to it.”

  Chadek watched her for a long moment. He was tired. That much was plain. Tired to the bone. She sympathized with all her heart. “Majesty Imperial,” he said. “I don’t know what to think. The lord sorcerer is under arrest. Her Grand Majesty the Dowager has vanished. Your servant Sakra and the Avanasidoch are also nowhere to be found.” Sakra was in her room, but she would not tell him that. But the Avanasidoch? Where had she gone?

  It does not matter, she told herself. Nothing outside this room mattered.

  “And now …” Chadek gestured at the room, the crowd, the abandoned clothing. “What might I think of this?”

  Ananda shook her head. “I do not know, Captain. I only know if you let me, I can set all to right. If I do not, as I’ve already said to your men, my blood is forfeit.”

  Chadek searched her face, and she let him. It was all up to this man now. Everyone in this room would obey him without question. He was Kalami’s friend. He could order her death, right now, and there would be no question of it. What did he believe? What had he seen this night?

  Chadek turned to face his men. “All of you, out! This is beyond indecent. Get out!”

  “But Captain — ” began one of the soldiers.

  “Do not even think of questioning that order, Underlieutenant,” barked Chadek before the man could speak another word.

  As simple as that. They filed out, guards and servants together. Through it all, Mikkel stayed there on his knees and Ananda felt her heart must break from the effort it took to keep herself still. She saw the sharp edge of Chadek’s ax and its gleaming, spearlike tip. She saw in his eyes the pain his decision was causing him. His world was being shaken to its foundation, and he was trying to hold those foundations together with his bare hands.

  At last the door closed. “Do what you must,” he said without turning around.

  Instantly, Ananda dropped to her knees beside Mikkel. He shivered as if from unbearable cold, his arms wrapped tight around his thin white shirt.

  “No, no, my love.” Ananda wrapped her own arms around his trembling shoulders. “It will all be well. I swear it. By the Seven Mothers, I swear it.”

  But he only shook and stared straight ahead of him, seeing what horrors, Ananda could not even guess. She stroked his shoulders, feeling the bones right under the skin. Her touch seemed only to make his shudders worse. Another painful moan escaped him, and for a moment, she had to close her eyes against the answering cry that formed inside her. Biting her lip, she made her hands encircle his waist.

  She felt it then, a stiff and heavy braid under her fingers where her eyes saw only white skin. He wore his enchantment. All these long, dark years when she could not bear to touch him, he wore his chain around his waist.

  Fury drowned reason and she grasped the braid with both hands, trying to tear it from his body. He cried out and swung his arm, clouting her on the ear. Captain Chadek made no move. Ananda saw the gleam of steel among the white heap of Mikkel’s clothing, and she picked up the ceremonial dagger that had fallen with his clothing.

  Mikkel curled in on himself, cradling his head, and she crawled to him with the knife in her hand. Something cold tickled her neck, and she froze. Chadek had lowered his ax. The
tip now touched the flesh at the base of her skull. All he had to do was thrust quickly forward, and she would die.

  “Put down the knife, Majesty Imperial,” Chadek ordered.

  Mothers. Ananda lunged toward Mikkel, her weight knocking him sprawling. They rolled over, and her hand found the girdle under the linen, and then her knife blade did. Mikkel screamed and Ananda screamed, and threw herself aside. She felt the wind as the ax came down and rang against the stone. She cast the girdle away from her, and huddled in on herself, waiting to live, or to die.

  No blow came, and slowly, Ananda was able to open her eyes.

  The first thing she saw was the girdle lying on the stone. Its band was made of knotted threads of silver that had then been braided together. Sparkling tassels, their threads adorned with glass beads, hung from the band. Seen objectively, it was surely beautiful.

  Beyond it crouched Mikkel, hands splayed against the floor, panting in terror as he stared at the beautiful, foul thing that had bound him for so long. But his skin, his skin was pink and flushed with emotion, and his eyes were still and clear and they saw. They saw.

  All at once, Ananda seemed unable to find her own breath. “Mikkel.” The word came out as little better than a whisper. “Oh, Mikkel, husband, look at me.”

  One slow, painful movement at a time, Mikkel drew back his hands, and lifted his head, and for the first time since their wedding day, his amber eyes met hers.

  “Ananda?” he whispered, and although his hand still shook badly, he reached toward her.

  Joy beyond words poured into Ananda’s being. Again she threw herself forward, but this time it was to wrap her arms tightly around Mikkel, to bury her face against his shoulder.

  “It is you,” he said, his voice weak with disbelief and wonder. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

  Ananda pulled back as far as she could bear. “You’ve been under an enchantment, beloved. See here.” She lifted up the severed girdle.