by Dana Marton
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke to the sound of the horns proclaiming Batumar’s return. Leena barely had the time to help me dress and arrange my hair before the High Lord sent his summons.
She fed me a few bites; then we rushed down the corridors, Leena clinging to the single charm hanging from the belt she wore only when Batumar was out of the palace.
My stomach clenched as her anxiety spread to me. Had he been injured? If so, I prayed to the spirits the injury would not be beyond my abilities.
I pushed open the door of the High Lord’s antechamber, leaving Leena outside. I did not need escort when I was with Batumar. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him and closed the door slowly, allowing Leena a glimpse.
He sat on one of the ornately carved chairs in his antechamber while one of his stewards stood before him with a scroll in hand, giving his report. Batumar’s gaze cut to me when I entered, but he did not interrupt the steward. I bowed, startled by his appearance. Like a stranger was he, in clothes stained and soiled beyond recognition, most of his face covered by a generous growth of beard, except the jagged line of his scar.
His obsidian eyes shone with intensity, his large frame, even slumped in the chair as he sat now, radiated true strength. His dark hair, longer than when he had left, hung in the thick braid some Kadar preferred for battle. He looked as if a warrior of old had come to us from the legends.
The steward droned on about supplies stored for the eventuality of siege, while the voices of servant women filtered from the sleeping chamber. I skirted around the men and walked in there, not wanting to disturb the report.
Two servant women poured water into a wooden tub, the largest I had ever seen. They bowed as I entered. They were palace servants, assigned to someplace other than Pleasure Hall, so I did not know their names. I helped them lift the heavy pails despite their protests. They were older than Leena, and besides, I always welcomed exercise. A healer had to have enough strength to lift or turn her patients if needed.
At home, I had roamed the woods and climbed numaba trees all day long. At the House of Tahar, I worked alongside the servants. But since I had come to Karamur, I had barely done more than walk from Pleasure Hall to the kitchen. Climbing the cliff made me realize how soft I had grown. The effort strained me more than it should have.
When I finished with the last pail, I moved out of the women’s way and caught sight of Batumar watching me from the doorway. A good fire roared in the hearth, its heat touching me as if I stood right next to the flames.
The scent of freshly split wood filled the air, coming from the armload that must have been carried in recently. The servants noticed the High Lord too, at last, and fell silent, bowing to him as he strode into the chamber.
I had forgotten how tall he stood, how imposing, how mismatched we were in strength. I swallowed and glanced away. Perhaps I should have run while I had had the chance, while I had the advantage of his absence. Had I doomed myself by remaining?
The bed groaned under his weight as he sat and stretched his feet toward the fire. The women immediately set to undo his boots and strip off his clothes. His armor of leather, worked nearly to the hardness of metal, already lay in the corner.
One of the women removed his doublet, and I caught my breath at the sight of fresh blood on his tunic. I had hoped the blood stains on his outer garments were the blood of the enemy. I watched his face to see if the movement of any limbs caused him pain, and searched from afar for the site of the injury.
I found it as soon as they pulled the tunic over his head—a gash in his side where he had caught the tip of a sword. I could not see how deep the cut went, as dried blood covered most of the wound. I searched his body for other injuries but did not find any, although the women had tugged off the last of his clothes, and he stood before me naked.
Even tired, dirty, and wounded, his body looked more powerful than any warrior’s I had seen, and I had healed many. He did not have that lean look of youth—he had daughters probably not much younger than I—but instead he was built with solid muscle, his skin covered in scars. Decades of battles had shaped the man, his body having been sculpted by fighting, honed by sword work.
He stepped to the tub and sank into the steaming water, closing his eyes the moment his head came to rest on the edge. As the women washed him, I picked up his discarded clothes to set outside the door. Then, having nothing else to do, I waited for him to be ready for my healing.
The women washed him without gentling their touch as they scrubbed around the cut. Oh, for the spirits’ sake… Had their eyesight weakened with age and they mistook the wound for grime? I stepped forward. The water had turned red too fast. Too hot, I guessed, making Batumar’s blood flow faster.
I walked out to the antechamber, moving to the corridor where Leena waited should I have need of her.
“If you could bring clean cloth for bandaging, and lavender for cleaning, chamomile and hyssop for infection, and ruhni powder too, I think. I have a small bundle of shlunn hulls. Please bring all of it. He is not injured badly,” I added as she wrung her hands, her eyes clouding with worry.
Then I went back and sent the servant women away with instructions for more water. “Warm, not hot. Comfortable to the touch.”
I disliked the look of that soiled water. I wanted him out so I could clean and close his wound. The women had done a fair job of washing him, so I had not much left to do.
“Your hair, my lord.”
He sat up without sparing a glance back. Water ran in rivulets down the hills and valleys of his muscles.
I swallowed as I reached for his thick braid that needed to be loosened first. Then I combed the tangled strands with my fingers as they fell over his shoulder to the middle of his back. He dipped under the surface to wet his hair, then sat up again. Steam rose from the water, the fire burning hot behind me. As my skin tingled with heat, I wished I had on a lighter gown. Better move to the to the other side of the tub, away from the fireplace…
But the women were returning with water, and soon their buckets were lined up there, so I stayed where I was, resolving instead to hurry with my task.
Leena followed the women, bringing strips of white linen and my herbs. I set those aside, not ready for them yet, and reached instead for the small jar of powdered soaproot on the floor next to the tub. I lathered a handful of the powder into Batumar’s hair.
He closed his eyes and kept them closed, even as he dismissed all the servants.
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only other sound in the room the soft, oddly intimate squishing noises as I worked the suds into his hair and beard. His hair was roughly textured, almost like the manyinga’s fur, but I liked something about the way the thick strands slipped between my fingers.
I stepped back. “Ready to rinse, my lord.”
He stood and reached for one of the pails by the tub, then poured water over his head, then another pail and another. I busied myself with carrying out the empty pails as he finished rinsing and walked to the bed.
I had seen and healed many naked men, but now a sudden desire to run from the chamber grabbed hold of me.
“Come.”
I turned, filled my lungs, then went to him as he had commanded. He did need my healing.
He tugged on a clean pair of leggings and sat on the bed with his arm out to the side to give me a better view of the gash.
Even with his gaze intent on my face, I forgot about my misgivings at once, my full attention on the injury, on the blood still seeping down his skin. The cut went deeper than I had thought, its edges dead, the severed muscles underneath infected and swollen.
I kneeled next to him, then ran my fingers around in a circle on his hot skin and drew the pain. I grabbed for the edge of the bed as it slammed into me and throbbed through my veins.
He caught me by the arm. “No.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the pain, letting my spirit fight it, extinguish it little by little like raindrops cool a
fire. A hard battle—the infection was the worst kind, and it had gone deep.
“Enough.” He let go of me and stood, the movement pushing fresh blood from the wound. “It is true, then. Healing does not simply tire you. You give your own life strength to others when you heal.” He stood over me, thunder on his face, his voice roughened as he said, “I will not allow it.”
“It is my duty—”
“You speak of duty?” He paced the chamber. “You have left my Pleasure Hall and my palace.”
I hung my head. How could he already know? He had only just arrived. But gossip spread on birdwings in the palace. I had done what was forbidden. He had it within his rights to kill me.
“You entered the House of another.” His voice tightened. “His Pleasure Hall, even.”
Oh, that. “Lord Gilrem was away, my lord. I went under protection of your guard.”
He stopped and turned to me. “You should not be so ever-willing to exchange your life for others.”
“I am a healer, my lord.”
“You are—” he began in a voice filled with frustration but did not finish.
At last I lifted my gaze to his. Dark fires burned in his eyes. Blood seeped from his side. There was a wildness to him that both scared me and made it difficult to look away.
Again, part of me wanted to flee. The healer in me held me in place. I reached for my herbs. “These, at least, my lord. If you would allow me.”
I had planned to use the herbs, having given my promise to the Guardians to be more careful with my healing spirit, but once I had touched Batumar and felt his pain, everything else had flown from my mind. I was yet slow to learn.
After a long moment, he sat down and lifted his arm for me again.
I cleaned the wound thoroughly, then prepared and applied the paste for infection, wishing as I often did for moonflower tears. The ruhni powder reduced some of the swelling almost instantly and also drew the edges of the wound together but not enough. The gash gaped too wide and jagged for ninga beetles, so sending for them would not be of any use, either. The shlunn hulls were all I had.
Batumar touched his finger to some of the ruhni powder that dusted his side and lifted the finger to his nose. “Do you know poisons as well as you know healing potions?”
“Yes.” Not to use, not ever, but that I would recognize the signs if anyone had taken them by accident or will, so I could give the proper cure.
“You could kill me.” His voice carried neither fear nor accusation.
“I could not.” I stepped away in haste as if he had slapped me. “It is true I have the knowledge, but I do not have the spirit to accomplish such a deed.” Not for freedom, not for any other purpose, not ever, no matter what he might do to me yet.
He nodded.
I pulled my small roll of dried shlunn hulls and selected five, each the width of a finger and about the length of one as well. Days before, I had dried the flat leaflike hulls to a rich color of yellow, and now I dipped them into clean water, one after the other.
A sticky paste formed on the underside, and I pressed the strips across the wound. They would hold it together as the water dried and the strips shrank and stuck to the skin. I rolled some bandage over on top of them to make sure they stayed in place and did not get brushed off too early.
I watched Batumar’s face, for I knew the pain must be returning by now. Drawing pain gave but temporary relief if the injury was not healed completely. As I had used herbs instead of my healing powers, the infection would need time to abate, the cut would take days, if not longer, to grow together.
“I have weathered worse,” he said as if sensing my dismay.
“Yes, my lord.” I moved away, skirting the tub that took up most of the room. “I will have the water removed.” Leena would call the servants back for me.
“Another moment.” He stood and drew a small blade from the table, then stepped to the tub where he shaved off his still-wet beard. The hair fell like clumps of fur and floated on the top of the water.
I held back a groan. Had he told me he was going to cut it, I would not have wasted time washing the mangy thing.
“Would you have denied me even that small pleasure?” he asked softly as he finished and turned to me.
I flushed, flustered that he should read my thoughts so easily.
He put away his blade before he walked to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. I did call for the servants then and waited until the women emptied the tub pail by pail; then two men came to carry it away. I walked behind them on their way out, but Batumar’s words stopped me at the door.
“I would have you stay.”
My body jerked as if lightning had cut through me. Help me now, blessed spirits. I turned slowly.
He slid to the middle of the great bed, looking as if he very much expected me to join him.
I clamped my hands together. Spirit, be strong. I had not thought he would want more of me than to heal his injury. He had to be too exhausted and hurt to want to… I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling as I walked with great reluctance to lie beside him.
Heart, be brave. I chided myself for being such a coward. Whatever pain he would cause to my body, I could heal it as fast as it began. And now that I had my full healing powers, I could never lose them. I had no need to fear the loss of my maidenhead. And I was already Batumar’s concubine. I would not be given over to others like Onra had been. All these thoughts and more rushed through my mind in a jumble.
I hesitated next to the bed until he reached for my hand and pulled me to him, my back against the hot skin of his chest as I lay down, his chin resting on the top of my head. I held my body rigid in his arms, expecting him to take me at once, and braced myself for the pain.
I had grown up in many ways since I had been taken from my home, had grown in spirit and strength, but at that moment, I felt like a young girl on the brink of her womanhood, years younger than my true age.
Batumar placed a warm hand on the hollow of my waist, his touch sending a tingling sensation across my skin, despite the barrier of my bodice.
“Do you fear me, Tera?” He pronounced my name with a deep rumbling R, differently from the Shahala. The sound resonated inside my chest.
“Nay, my lord,” I said after a moment, surprising myself.
He was the most powerful man on Dahru. He could do with me as he pleased, even take my life. He was a Kadar, and that alone should have given me reason for concern. And yet as I lay there, a new emotion surged within me, one that sped my heartbeat just as fear would have, but this was something else.
I was not sure I liked it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(The Sacred Scrolls)
“Do you fear my touch?” Batumar asked in a rough whisper, his breath fanning my scalp.
I thought of the blood on Onra’s thighs. Then I thought of the pain of the warrior’s grip upon my flesh as he had pressed me into the frozen ground on that creek bank at the House of Tahar. I nodded, unable to speak the words, hating to be such a coward.
Batumar’s grip on my waist tightened for a moment, then relaxed. He remained silent for a long time. His chest rose with each breath, pressing against my back.
“Fear not, then,” he said, “For you will not come to harm at my hands.” And after an eternity, I heard his breathing even. The High Lord of the Kadar slept.
I sagged against him, my muscles going lax. I could feel his heartbeat through the fabric of my dress as his body heated mine. Even as summer warmed the air outside, the stone walls of the castle held the chill inside. But I did not feel any of that cold now. In all of the great castle, Batumar’s bed had to be the warmest place. Soon the anxiety seeped out of my bones, and I fell asleep in his arms.
A servant woke us sometime later, announcing from outside the door that the feast waited. Batumar rose to his elbow to look at me, blinking sleep from his dark eyes. He did not seem so fierce then, but still my heart began its race as always when he was near. In my slee
p I had turned to rest on my back next to him, his hand still on my waist.
I could do naught but stare into his obsidian gaze.
“Shall we go to the feast, my Lady Tera?”
His sleep-heavy voice felt like a caress on my skin. My breath caught when he leaned closer as if not wanting to miss a word of my response.
“Your people await you, my lord,” I said in a rush and scrambled out of his arms and off the bed.
I escaped to the antechamber, and when I saw he would not be coming after me or ordering me back, I relaxed enough to think of fixing my hair, which had gotten mussed from sleep. I did this in the small mirror on the wall, watching from the corner of my eye through the open door as he dressed in a blue tunic and matching gold-stitched doublet worthy of a king. When he finished, he strode after me, offered me his arm, and led me to the feast.
I sat next to him at the table, only half listening to the tales of battles his men recounted and applauded. But still the words found their way into my ears, and I understood that although the small army of Kerghi warriors Batumar had fought had been pushed back, their khan, Woldrom, was far from defeated. Indeed, it seemed the Kerghi hordes were growing in number as they rolled like a wave across the world toward us.
The chatty concubine of one the captains sat on the bench on my other side and talked of silks and fashion until I wished for Lord Karnagh and his tiger. When I inquired after him, a servant told me he had left for his home straight from the Kingdom of Orh after the last battle, with a strong agreement between he and Batumar to come to each other’s aid when the need arose.
Many people smiled at me from the long tables and inclined their heads in greeting—not only warriors but advisors and the most influential free masters of the city. No feasts were held in the High Lord’s absence and no gathering in the Great Hall, but I had met many as I roamed the palace, and some had come to me for healing. Everyone seemed to breathe easier and smile wider now that Batumar had returned to the fortress city.
