by Dana Marton
He wore a plain linen shirt and worn leather leggings, scuffed black boots on his feet, the same as all his warriors. Yet something about him, even when worn out by work, always remained regal. Awareness shimmered under the surface even when he was resting. I had no doubt that, if the occasion called for it, he could and would take charge of any situation at a moment’s notice.
“We leave for battle tomorrow,” he said, his large frame illuminated by the flames.
I feared I understood too well for what purpose he had summoned me. “I did not think you kept with the old customs. Your army is strong, my lord. You do not need the luck,” I rushed to say.
His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I might not follow the old ways, but all men need luck. And even the strongest need some comfort now and again.”
I reached for my phial, but it no longer hung from my neck these days, so I ended up clenching my hands together in front of me.
He noticed. “Do you not feel honored to serve your High Lord and your people?”
I pulled forth all my courage. “My people, the Shahala,” I emphasized the last word, “would find distasteful such sacrifice. As for honor—what honor could be found in forcing a slave?”
Even as I spoke, I knew my brazen words had rushed forth far too recklessly.
His face darkened. “You are not a slave.” His words came out clipped. “You are no longer a slave,” he repeated, as if for some reason he found that important.
I challenged him, knowing I risked my life. “May I then return to my people?”
His gaze did not move from my face. “Do you despise me?”
In truth, I despised all Kadar.
Nothing but the crackling fire broke the silence.
At long last, he did look away. “Come, then, and serve me the way you are willing.”
He pulled his shirt over his head and twisted his bare back toward me. “See what you can do to silence my old injuries before I add new ones to the list.”
He caught me with that. I could not abide to see anyone suffer. I moved forward, wary of a trap, but he sat still.
Firelight played on his wide shoulders, glinted off twisting cords of muscles. He was built for war. I was only too aware that he could snap me in half like a young boy snaps a twig.
Yet I sensed no danger from him.
As soon as I laid my hands on his warm skin, a river of pain coursed through me as if my own. I had always been able to feel the pain of others, but never this strongly before, never this deep inside me. That he would suffer this without asking me sooner to heal him troubled me greatly.
The pain in his shoulder, and now suddenly in mine, proved to be a bone that had been broken and badly healed. He lived in constant pain, yet for as long as I had known him, he had never shown sign of it.
“If you would lie down, my lord,” I said, and he did so, facing his pillow, the High Lord obeying the slave.
I slid my palm over his scarred skin until I found the spot where the pain pulsed the strongest. I nearly wept with the hurt of it.
One hand on his shoulder, with the other I grabbed my own, which felt just as ill-broken. As pain threatened to swallow me, I fought against the waves of agony. I nearly forgot the man and my hand upon him as I called on my mother’s spirit to heal me, to take away my pain.
In my mind’s eye, the bones under both hands were one and the same. And as the healing spirit rose up within me to ease the pain, I felt the muscles in Batumar’s back relax, and at the same time my own breath came easier. I felt the bone in his shoulder soften as if melting, then harden back again, following the pattern of my own good bones resting under my other hand.
I had never been able to do healing such as this before. I did not know how I had deserved the sudden gift from the spirits, but as my limbs trembled, I knew they did exact some price for it.
When Batumar reached out to draw me to the bed with him, I was too drained to resist. I could only pray that he would not take advantage of my weakness.
I looked up and found his gaze intent on my face, his expression unreadable. With what little strength I had left, I moved to leave.
He held me in place. “Rest now, Tera of the Shahala.” He said my name as a free woman’s. “You will not come to harm at my hands this day.”
* * *
I woke alone. The light of day illuminated the thick glass window that looked to a courtyard. Someone had already fed the fire. I stretched under the silky soft pelts, enjoying the warmth of the hearth.
A master must have carved the white stone of the fireplace, decorated with battle scenes. In the middle, smoke and flames had turned the white gray, giving those battles a more sinister feel.
I enjoyed my cozy nest for another moment, then slipped from the bed and straightened my dress, regretting the wrinkled mess I had made of it. I smoothed out the material with my palms as best I could, and nearly ran into Leena as I stepped from the High Lord’s outer chamber.
She bowed immediately. “Does the morn find my lady well?”
She had been most kind to me since my arrival, showing not only the deference and respect that was expected of servants, but also a genuine caring for my wellbeing.
“Fine well.” I had been fully warm for the first time, and had the best night’s sleep since I had left my Shahala home.
I was sunborn, through and through. My body had grown to tolerate cold at Lord Tahar’s House, and my clothes had thickened with added layers, but it seemed the chill always found a way to my skin. And the stone castle of Karamur, on the northernmost tip of the island, was colder yet than Kaharta Reh.
The fire never stopped burning in the hearth in my chamber, but the flames across the room provided not half the heat that had Batumar in the bed all through the night.
“The High Lord ordered that you should have your own servant to assist your person. I have asked him for the honor, my lady. He left the decision up to you.”
Two servant girls and a number of women stopped by Pleasure Hall regularly to see to my every need. I hardly required help beyond that. At the House of Tahar, not even Kumra had a personal servant. “Thank you, but I already receive sufficient assistance.”
The smile slid off Leena’s face, and she bowed deeper. “Forgive my brazenness, my lady.”
I had not meant to hurt her with my rejection. I drew a deep breath. “I shall be happy to have you attend me.”
She looked up then and smiled, the sun coming out on her face and erasing her age for a moment. “I shall do my best to serve you well.”
As we walked to Pleasure Hall, I looked back at her and considered our new bond. Since she did seem to care for me, maybe she would not betray me if I asked her some questions.
“Have you served long at the palace?”
“For some time.”
“Have you met a Shahala healer, Chalee? She came to heal Barmorid.”
Her lips stretched wide enough to reveal that, despite her age, she still had all her teeth. “A blessed soul she was, my lady.”
Hope leaped. “Do you know where she is buried?”
“A strange affair that turned out to be.” Leena’s face clouded. “The High Lord had her laid out as if she were a prized warrior or favored concubine. But the body disappeared before the funeral. The palace help gossiped that she was taken back to the Shahala lands by her own kind.”
This I knew not to be true. Heaviness filled my heart. How would I ever find my mother’s grave now? Other questions joined that first in my bewildered mind. Who had stolen her body and why?
“Do you know how she died?”
“A sudden illness, my lady.”
This I did not believe.
“Did you know the Lady Chalee?” Leena asked, but I did not reply.
Instead, I asked a question of my own to distract both of us from the topic. “Tell me, Leena, do you have a family?”
We turned down another long hallway, Leena a step behind me. I glanced over my shoulder when no immediate
response came.
She shook her head, her expression clouding once again.
Maybe when they had taken her as a slave, her family had been left behind. Did she look as I did, every day for a way to escape? If so, could we not succeed together? Batumar had left and taken many of his warriors with him.
But I did not yet trust her enough to share my thoughts, so I asked another question instead. “Will you move to Pleasure Hall?”
I did not know what rules governed personal servants and hoped she might help ease my solitude. Also, I hoped to grow to know her well enough to decide whether I could involve her in my escape.
“It is not our custom for the servants to live with the concubines.” She wrung her hands. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“I am the only concubine,” I said as we reached the carved double-doors, and I pushed them open. I looked down the row of empty chambers. “If I knew what the others did to displease the High Lord, maybe I could avoid their fate.”
Horror flooded her face. “Do not say such a thing, I beg you, my lady. What happened here will never happen again.”
I slowed my steps. “You know, then?”
She looked ready to flee, so I took her hand and sat on a pillow-smothered bench in our path, determined to hear the tale.
“I heard talk when I came into the High Lord’s service,” she said with great reluctance.
“Will you tell me?” I could have ordered her but did not. Truly, the role of concubine was as uncomfortable for me as the role of maiden and slave. Tera I was, a Shahala, daughter of Chalee, all I had ever wished to be.
Leena’s glance skittered to the side. “We should not speak of it. I wish not to scare you, nor… Some say it is a curse, but truly it is not,” she rushed to say.
A curse. Invisible cold fingers danced down the middle of my back. I released her hand. “What kind of curse?”
The fine lines deepened into furrows on her forehead. “Lady Tera, you must pay no mind to such gossip.”
“If you do not tell me, I will but imagine worse things than what happened.” Already the most gruesome images filled my mind.
She bit her lips, drew a deep breath, opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Leena, please.”
She wrung her hands. “At one time, High Lord Batumar had many concubines,” she began finally, her voice barely audible.
“Not as many as Barmorid, the High Lord before him. Batumar was still young. But Barmorid honored him with a number of maidens before he died, and once the rest of the warlords had elevated Batumar to sit upon the high seat, many of them gave him their daughters to strengthen their alliance.”
I could almost see Pleasure Hall filled with the laughter of young women and children. “What happened?”
“The fairest among them, Nolla, was his first concubine and his favorite. In time, she gave Batumar three little sons, the joy of his eyes.” Leena’s voice broke for a second. “But as it is in many Pleasure Halls, jealousy…” Her shoulders sagged. “Some say a concubine faces as many dangers on her silk pillows as any warrior in battle.”
I remembered Kumra and nodded.
“Elrid was the oldest of the women and the most used to power, for her father had allowed her much in her youth. When she finally bore a son, she thought if only Nolla and her children did not stand in her way, Batumar would come to care for her more.” Leena pressed her lips together as if afraid to let the rest escape.
“What did she do?”
“She poisoned…”
I gasped at her words but did not doubt them. Kumra too had grown poisonous plants under her windows. “She killed the mother with her babes?”
Leena swayed, rubbing her hands over her face. “And to make everyone think they were taken by some strange disease, Elrid poisoned some others too, those she thought the High Lord most favored.”
“Did no one suspect?”
“Batumar fought at war. The soothsayer said the concubines had done something to offend the goddesses. He bade them to purify themselves and make offerings.”
“What happened to Elrid?” I wondered if even now she was somewhere in the palace’s dungeons.
“She thought to take one more woman, Loren. Loren grew suspicious, you see. So Elrid poisoned her water jar, then retired to her chamber, claiming to be too tired to even stand. But that night as the servants brought the evening meal, one of them dropped the mosan juice the concubines liked so well and spilled it. She was slow to return with a new jar, so Loren brought her own water jar to fill everyone’s cup.”
I held my breath as I waited to hear the rest of the dark tale.
“All died but a few of the children, a boy and four girls who fell asleep before the evening meal and were not woken for it. When Elrid found out what happened, she knew Batumar would see the truth. She did not want to wait for the Palace Guard to come for her, so she bound her babe to her breast and climbed to the top of the highest tower of Karamur.”
“Did she jump?”
Leena closed her eyes. “As Batumar was crossing the gate.”
Neither of us spoke for a while, the picture conjured too terrible to bear.
I understood at last why the servants had been so wary every time I had asked for herbs at the beginning. They had likely thought me another poison-wielding concubine.
“Where are the children who survived?” I asked after some time.
“Grown up and gone. The last of the girls had gone to Lord Remlan not long ago, a warlord on the eastern borders. Such impatience you have never seen, my lady.” Leena’s lips stretched into a thin smile. “She had seen him when he came to petition the High Lord, and she would not leave her father a moment of peace after that.”
Longing filled her voice. Maybe she missed the girl.
“And the boy?”
“He became a brave young warrior.” Leena’s voice turned somber once again, a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. “This past spring, he died in battle.”
I thought of Batumar then, High Lord of the Kadar, the most powerful man on Dahru, and I thought about the hidden sorrows of his heart. Wounds of the flesh could be grievous indeed, but not hopeless if a healer had the skill. Injuries to a man’s spirit were far more complicated.
Leena dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “War is a dangerous game, my lady.”
Her words brought me a new batch of troubling thoughts. “When a warlord dies, what happens to his concubines?”
“The older ones might go to live at the House of a grown son. The young ones and their babes go to his brother’s Pleasure Hall.”
I thought of Lord Gilrem, and silently implored the spirits to keep Batumar safe in battle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
(Shartor)
In Batumar’s absence, I had plenty of time to roam the palace and plan my escape. Karamur did not hold my mother’s grave. As soon as I found out how she had died, I would leave.
I had to hurry. I did not know how long the High Lord would be away. Unfortunately, unlike at the House of Tahar, Batumar’s guards watched the palace as tightly in the High Lord’s absence as when he resided within the gates, the number of his warriors great indeed.
Although I was the favorite concubine—the servants much insisted on this—I had none of Kumra’s responsibilities, having neither maidens to direct nor other concubines to watch over. Batumar’s stewards looked after his palace and its affairs. Lord Gilrem performed his brother’s day-to-day functions, so I saw more of him and his guards than before and was careful to keep out of their way.
To Leena’s consternation, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, liking the activity and the variety of people who passed through all day long. I hoped I might overhear some gossip about my mother or something that might aid my escape.
I stayed out of the way as much as I could, as my presence made the servants uncomfortable. For the first few days, they asked my permission for each little task they were about to do. But once I reassured them that I m
erely wanted to learn the ways of the palace, and enough time passed so that my actions gave support to my words, they slowly began to relax and their easier ways of talk and jesting, which I had so enjoyed at Tahar’s kitchen, returned.
I even taught the cook, managing as best we could with the lack of some ingredients, a few dishes of my own people. These he eagerly made to the high praise of all, although I could not be sure if the compliments spoke to the merit of the dish or their fear of my position. Still, after some time, the servants grew easier in my presence.
In truth, other than the lack of freedom, I had little to complain about during those days. Leena pampered me as a mother would, and I grew most attached to her company. To make up for my isolation, she entertained me with tales of the Kadar, legends of the High Lords of the past, and stories of Batumar.
“Back in the beginning,” she told me one day, “the Kadar had no High Lord. The warlords of our people ruled their Houses as kings and often warred with each other.”
We were enjoying the steaming pool in the middle of Pleasure Hall. Not long before, I had at last found a way to coax Leena into the water, which she had eyed with longing since the pool had been filled.
As a servant, such was not allowed to her, and even when I had assured her I would not the least mind, she could not bring herself to break the rules. So I feigned an ache in my shoulders and asked her to attend me in the water to massage the sore muscles in the rising steam. An order for the benefit of her lady she could not refuse.
“But a strong and wise warlord arose,” she said. “Coulron saw how sparring weakened his people against their enemies. Some warlords would even fight on the side of outsiders against other Kadar.” She rubbed my shoulders with hands strong from labor yet gentle with care.
Such kindness she showed me day after day that in my dreams her face and my mother’s began to look more and more alike. And as the days passed without the High Lord returning, Leena became more like a mother than a servant to me. I trusted her in all things except with my plan of escape.
“And Coulron,” she went on, “called the First Council of the warlords, and to them he brought those matters. He gave his word to forgive all trespasses of the others, to avenge neither the loss of land, nor the loss of man, nor the loss of livestock that had gone before. And he spoke of a future in which Kadar warriors would be like brothers, and they would stand firm against even the most fearsome enemy, and the borders of their nation would expand, their fame traveling to distant lands.”
