by Shannon Hale
Suddenly one of Batu's soldiers was dismounting, running to my side. He lifted me under my knees and carried me back to his horse, boosting me up onto his saddle as if I weighed no more than a cat. His face was buried in a deep, fur-lined hood, and he rested a moment against his mare, bent forward as if he'd a pain in his middle. He groaned as he pulled himself into the saddle behind me, but he held me on his lap, one arm under my knees to keep my legs from bouncing against the horse. He wrapped his other arm around my waist as if to warm me as well as keep me on the saddle.
"My lord," I said as we rode back toward the city.
The horse's canter jostled my ankle and I couldn't help whimpering. The pain was like being stuck with a knife again, again, again.
Tegus held me tighter. "We've got to get you inside city walls and out of bowshot, and then I'll ask Bloodnose here to give us a nice, smooth walk. Just a little farther, just hang on."
"I'm all right," I said, pretending I didn't have pain tears streaking down my face. And I was so cold, my teeth had begun to chatter like a hammer against my jaw. "I could keep riding . . . all day. Why don't we . . . go mushroom hunting?"
"Now that's a fine idea and I would agree, but I must admit I'm embarrassed to be out with such a scatterbrain. It seems, my lady, you forgot yet again to put on shoes this morning. What would your mother say? "
"I just wanted Khasar's opinion . . . on whether my ankles are . . . sturdier than yours."
"And what did he say?"
"I don't think he . . . liked my ankles so well. He fell on me . . . and broke one."
"That wasn't very kind," he agreed, talking lightly as if to distract me from the pain. "I think there are better ways to tell a person you don't approve of their ankles than to break them."
"That's what . . . I thought, too. His manners always were . . . la —lacking."
His arm held me tighter to him. "You're going to have to marry me now."
"But. . . I . . ."
"You slew Khasar, you healed me, and you have perfect ankles. I really don't think this is a question we need to debate."
"As always . . . my lord, you make perfect sense."
His cheek was next to mine. He pulled me closer, his warmth so wonderful, my skin stung against his touch. And he kissed my neck, behind my ear. Kissed me once, quietly.
So you see, I agreed. To marry Khan Tegus. As Lady Saren. Ancestors, my thoughts must've been as numb as my feet.
And now here I am in a chamber stacked with furs and silks, with a fire at both ends of the room and three large windows, ice covered in a soft cloth pressed to my swollen jaw, my broken ankle wrapped and resting on pillows. And everyone calling me Lady Saren.
The sticking-needle pain of my warming feet has passed. I should go to the kitchens and tell my lady. Tell her that her khan wants to wed her. And it's time for her to say who she is. And who I'm not.
I'll go tomorrow.
Day 165
Shria visited me this morning, smiling. She said the chiefs voted that although Lady Saren's betrothal to Khan Tegus wasn't sanctioned by her father, he's dead now so that matter is meaningless, and since our (their) betrothal came first, he'll marry me (Lady Saren) and not Lady Vachir.
Shria said, "It's complicated for a ruling lady of one realm to marry a ruling lord of another —usually that lot is left to younger siblings. And now that Khasar's war isn't an issue, Lady Vachir's advisers seemed relieved that the betrothal ties were released."
She seemed to be holding something back, so I asked, "How did Lady Vachir take it?"
Shria frowned, then patted my cheek. "Don't worry about that. Even if her pride is hurt, Lady Vachir can't cause you any trouble now that the chiefs have decided. You'll have your wedding day."
She handed me a note from Khan Tegus and left me to read it.
We've been betrothed for five years do it doesn't make sense to wait longer. We'll have the wedding in nine days. Now that the date' s set, I won't come see you until our wedding day — because it's bad luck and because you might protest the haste. If you try to put it off, I'll have Batu argue with you, and he's very good at it. Rest your ankle. There will be dancing.
— Tegus
So it's real. It's happening. And I'm lost.
I went to look for Saren, hobbling out of my room with the help of two canes, when Tegus came down the hallway. When he saw me, he skipped a step. He looked to see if we were alone, picked me up, hurried around a corner, and kissed me. Kissed me long. My canes clattered to the floor, my arms fit around his neck. I felt as though my whole body only now was thawing. While he was holding me I forgot that I'm not who I say I am, that he doesn't know that I'm just Dashti. How can anyone forget? But I did. And I wish I hadn't remembered again.
When we stopped to breathe, he said, "I wanted to show you something," and pulled from his belt a blue shirt I remembered well.
"The one I gave you," I said.
"I kept it with me until your scent faded from the fabric. I should have known you when you first came to sing for my leg, I should have remembered. . . ."
He pressed his cheek against mine. He breathed in against my neck and sighed deep inside. I closed my eyes. I tried to memorize the warm, brown, cinnamon smell of his skin. In case I never smell it again.
"Will you take your shirt?" he asked. "Will you wear it for me? Against your skin, so it carries your scent again."
"Yes, my lord," I whispered. "Yes, Tegus."
"Do you have a lady's maid with you? Would you like me to find you one?"
"No, I'd rather not have a maid. I'm fine."
"Are you? Have you warmed back up again?" He rubbed my arms.
"Yes, I have. I'm fine, really. Actually, I'm wonderful." Just then, I felt it.
"You are," he agreed. Then he kissed me again, saying, "Mmm," as though my lips tasted better than candied fruit. "Don't tell. The chiefs believe I won't see you until the wedding, and you know how rigorous those chiefs can be about tradition."
He set me gently down, fetched me my canes, then ran off.
I came back to my room and sat alone. I can't go see my lady right now, not until I can stop crying.
Later
When I made my way to the kitchens, I passed by Lady Vachir's open door. Since travel in the winter is uncomfortable, even deadly, she's staying in the khan's house until spring, the thought of which makes me want to scratch the spider tickles off my back. She and all her maids stared at me as I passed by. I'm feeling like an antelope without a herd, with hunters riding down the hill.
Cook let me talk to Saren, saying, "Yes, my lady," and "Certainly, my lady," eyeing my new clothes as though the yellow brocade was fresh meat and she was starving. Saren and I sat in the empty sugar closet and I explained it all to her, as simply as I could.
"I did what you asked, I did my duty, and he's proved himself true to you. The chiefs ruled in your favor, Lady Vachir's betrothal is no more, and your wedding date is set. Now is the time to tell him who you are."
She shook her head. "You marry him as me first, then he won't be able to change his mind. Once he takes the vows for Lady Saren — "
"But I'm not Lady Saren!"
"You'll be acting as me. They'll understand."
Ancestors, what have I done? I think I'd rather face Khasar again, naked on a winter battlefield, than marry Tegus as Lady Saren. Won't he feel betrayed? I wish I had someone to plead for advice, but I've sworn secrecy. Besides, if any discover I've claimed nobility, they could hang me just like Osol. I think I know what Lady Vachir would do — something involving removing my intestines while I still breathed. I've seen her eyes. I think she'd take pleasure in it.
Here in my room, I fold myself toward the Sacred Mountain for hours, praying, praying. Meanwhile, her lord's house is aflutter with wedding preparations. The poor girls in the kitchen must be drowning in dirty pots.
Day 167
The answer occurred to me early in the morning. I have to leave. My lady doesn't know what
it is she's asking me to do, and I can't make her understand. Ancestors forgive me, but I can't dress in a marriage deel and pretend to be Lady Saren, take the vows to love her khan, and then step back for my lady. I can't make that lie, and I can't watch what will happen next.
Tegus, I'm leaving this book behind for you, so you will know the why of it all, and maybe you'll forgive me, or maybe you'll think me false and reprehensible. You'd be justified. I couldn't stand the thought of your reading all my words unless I knew for certain that I'd never have to face you again, so please don't look for me. If you read the book in its entirety, you'll know for truth who is Lady Saren. And I guess you'll also know that I'm a silly girl who writes down every word you said to me.
Please, Tegus, dress Saren in blue silk and let her hands be beautiful again. I think you'll worry for me because it's winter and I don't have a gher, but I'm a mucker and I'll find a way. Thank you. Forgive me. Don't worry.
I'll leave tomorrow.
Day 169
I thought I'd never write in this book again. I'm in yet another new room, though this one has no window, this one has a door that locks. It's underground, but it smells like the tower, and that smell makes my stomach spin and my vision dim and my skin itch as if ghost spiders cover me, and I scratch and scratch here in the dark. I'll be hanging before the week is out. But I'm trying not to think about that.
Yesterday I was too slow leaving, and I can't blame it all on my ankle. Why didn't I just get out into the city as quickly as I could hobble? I'm such a fool. And yet mostly what I feel right now is sad, all-out-of-food sad, lonely sad, sorry sad. Shamed sad, and hoping never to have to look Khan Tegus in the face again. And yet every moment hoping that he'll open that door. Why is that?
Yesterday I crept from my room early in the morning. I put on the blue shirt Tegus returned to me, my old wool deel, sheepskin cloak, and boots, forgetting my gloves in my hurry. I left this book behind for Tegus. When I passed Lady Vachir's room, her door was open and she watched me walk by.
My thought was to join the refugees in the streets. If I took the seven years' vow of servitude, maybe someone would take me in. I hoped to find a family who planned to leave Song for Evela come spring so I could disappear from the city as soon as I might.
My mistake was stopping in the kitchen. I'd thought it too cruel not to explain things to Saren and say good-bye to Qacha and Gal. I found the two girls scrubbing pots, and I sneaked in to work beside them a last time, whispering as we washed.
"I can't tell you why I lied, but I think rumors will bring it to your ears soon enough."
They didn't press, though they seemed sorry to have me go. I thought Qacha would miss me as much as I'd miss her, and poor Gal had heartbreak in her eyes.
"I liked thinking that you'd been gentry all along," Gal said, "that you were going to be the khan's bride. And if your story isn't true, then what about. . . well, how can anything impossible actually happen?"
I knew she was thinking of her family, if they were alive, if they would find their way to Song for Evela. I said, "If they come for you, it'll most likely be in the spring." I didn't have a better answer.
My lady didn't take the news as kindly. We sat in the empty sugar closet. I closed the door when she began to yell.
"I order you to stay! I order you to marry him in my name. By the sacred nine, Dashti, you'll do what I say."
Strangely, her words held no sway over me. Maybe it's wrong, but I don't think I have to do what she says just because I'm a mucker and she's an honored lady. I smiled to myself then, thinking that if I were in a tower now and a black-gauntleted Khasar told me to put my hand back down so he could slap it, I'd tell him to go slap himself.
"No, my lady," I said as gently as I could. "I've tried to do my duty by you, but I won't do this."
Then she struck my face, just like her father and Lady Vachir, too. This time I didn't laugh. I just stood up slowly. Her eyes went wide, and I think she was afraid I'd hit her back. Not to say that I wasn't tempted.
"I'm sorry, my lady," I said. "My Lord the cat is a better companion for you than I am anyway."
My lady didn't cry, though her chin set to quivering. "Don't abandon me, Dashti. Everyone does, but you don't, you never do."
Those words pinched my heart. Poor little lost lamb, poor thin and wind-tossed thing.
"Oh Saren." I sat beside her and she put her head on my shoulder and lost every inch of the slapping, commanding gentry. "I could take you with me, but you really are better off here than living like a mucker. Khan Tegus is a good man, the best of men, the very best. He'll take care of you." I held her hands, I smiled to show her my confidence, and I felt as much like a good mucker mama as I ever hope to. "You've done so well these past weeks. I think you can be strong without me. This is your time, Saren. This is your chance to be brave. Stand up. Declare who you are. Will you do it?"
She hesitated. "I'll try. I'll think about it."
I left then. I should've gone straight out, hidden my mottled face beneath my hood, and lost myself in the city, but I slowed to say good-bye to Mucker. Fool, fool, fool. The yak would've been fine without a farewell, but now I am not.
When I emerged from the stable, Lady Vachir was in the kitchen yard, and with her the three vulture maids and a dozen warriors from Beloved of Ris. In her right hand, she was clutching this book.
I turned and fled. The ground was thick with ice. I could hear them shouting. I didn't look, I just hobbled toward the gate. I was nearly there when my canes slipped and my feet flew out from under me. I was on the ground, and when I looked up, warriors from Beloved of Ris surrounded me.
I screamed, I couldn't help it. Hands were on my arms and legs, pulling me to a chopping block in the center of the yard, and they were none too gentle with my broken ankle. One stood by, ready with a sword. I screamed louder and thrashed and kicked with my good leg. Everyone working in the yard stared, but no one moved to interfere with Lady Vachir's business.
The girls emerged from the kitchens, shivering without cloaks but too curious about the commotion not to peek. When they recognized me in the hands of the warriors, they ran forward. All except Saren, who went back inside.
"What are you doing?" Cook hollered, running at them with a kitchen knife. "Put Lady Saren down, you mangy villains!"
"This isn't Lady Saren." Lady Vachir spoke loudly enough for any bystander to hear. "This is Dashti the mucker maid. Isn't that right?"
If ever there was a good time to lie, that would've been it. But there we were, under the Eternal Blue Sky, and I just couldn't do it. Cook frowned at my silence and took a step back.
"By the ancient law of the Ancestors," said Lady Vachir, "it's my right to take the life of anyone who interferes with my lawful betrothal. This girl isn't Lady Saren, she isn't a lady at all. She's a commoner, a mucker from Titor's Garden, and confessed the truth herself in this book."
Gal and Qacha were beside us now, tugging on the warriors' sleeves, pushing their way to me. The warriors didn't strike the girls, just shoved and wriggled them off their arms. My head lay on the chunk of wood where fowl get their necks chopped. It was stained muddy red and colder than ice, and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.
The warriors had dragged Gal out of the way. Now only Qacha stood between me and the sword.
"You can't just kill her!" said Qacha. "Can they?"
"No, not until the khan's chiefs rule it so!" Gal shouted.
The warriors hesitated. Lady Vachir scowled. Apparently she knew that Gal was right.
"Then cut off one of her feet," said the lady, "so she can't run away again."
At those words, my ankles flamed with pain.
The warriors rolled me around until my broken and wrapped ankle lay on the chopping block. Maybe they figured it was already damaged and so not such a tragedy. I tried to kick with my left leg until someone pinned it to the ground. I screamed and fought, but I couldn't move.
The
sword rose above me. I looked up at it, silver against blue sky, and I was a fool enough to think, Isn't that pretty? Silver on blue. I held my breath while I waited for the blade to drop. I didn't look down, I didn't want to see blood, see my leg end at my ankle. I just kept staring up and thinking, silver on blue, silver on blue.
I hadn't realized that the girls had been screaming until they stopped. The sword quivered and didn't fall. The hands holding me let go, and I thumped onto the ground. I wiggled my toes. All ten were still there.
Khan Tegus was crouching beside me, short of breath. I could see Saren standing behind him, her cheeks pink from running.
"I got him," she said, proud as a rooster. "I found him, Dashti. I was brave."
Tegus scooped my hands into his. The mist of his breath wrapped around my face, and he spoke to me as though we were all alone. "Ancestors, your hands are cold. First I find you bootless on a battlefield, now with your feet on a chopping block. And with bare hands, no less."
"Hello," was all I could manage back.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, and though his voice was gentle toward me, I sensed anger in it. He wasn't angry at me then, but I knew he would be soon.
"Alive still," I said, "and with both my feet intact even."
There's something about being with Tegus that feels like privacy. The way he looks at me or touches me, we can be in a room full of people but I always feel as though we're alone, no one else in the world. I felt that way then, his white breath and mine mingling, his large hands trying to warm my own.
But then Lady Vachir spoke up. Of course she would.
"My lord, that girl is not Lady Saren."
He helped me to my feet, and I wobbled on one leg, so he put an arm around my waist to hold me steady. The shouting and explaining and accusing had started again, but I didn't hear much of it. My head felt as though it were still pressed to the block, and everyone was talking at once, and I was watching Tegus, the anger in his eyes, the doubt creasing his forehead. All I could think was, When will he let go of me? That wondering was bigger than my head.
