Rider's Revenge (The Rider's Revenge Trilogy Book 1)

by Alessandra Clarke

  And her.

  Chapter 64

  When the poradoma came to dress her, K'lrsa refused. "I'm a Rider of the White Horse Tribe, not some little doll to be dressed for a man's amusement."

  "Pzah. Don't be a fool." Herin sank onto the stool by the dressing mirror. Her skin looked dry and ashen, the bags under her eyes almost black. "Just because you had your heart broken."

  K'lrsa crossed her arms. "I didn't have my heart broken."

  "No?"

  "No."

  Herin grunted. "Well, whatever caused this snit, get over it. Let your poradoma dress you."

  "No."

  "You need them, child."

  K'lrsa shook her head. "No, I don't. Leave. I'll be fine."

  Herin closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. You do. Displease your poradoma and your whole life will be a misery."

  K'lrsa laughed. "How? They won't bind my fingers? They won't shadow my every step? They won't force me to wear so much clothing I can't even walk?"

  Herin came to stand in front of her, so close their noses almost touched. Her breath smelled of cinnamon. And decay. The stench of the crypt. "How you ask? Displease your poradoma and they can wait too long to take you to the toilet. Or forget to feed you. Or to give you water. They can dress you in too much. Or not enough." She turned away. "You need them, girl. Remember that."

  K'lrsa glanced to where Sayel, Morlen, and Tarum watched them. Sayel was studying the floor, looking for all the world like a father who didn't want to see what had become of his once-promising daughter. Morlen kept looking to Sayel for guidance and fidgeting as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

  Tarum leered at her, smiling that nasty smile of his.

  "You're wrong." K'lrsa turned away from them all. "Leave."

  She heard Herin and Sayel muttering to one another, arguing fiercely but too quietly for her to make out the individual words.

  A hand stroked her back as someone pressed his body close to hers. She could smell his—because it had to be Tarum, didn't it?—garlicky breath as he leaned close.

  Without thinking, K'lrsa struck him, the back of her fist connecting with his nose.

  She turned to see blood gushing through his hands. He stared at her, his eyes wide with shock, as if he'd never imagined that she might defend herself.

  Fool.

  Everyone stared at them.

  "You struck him," Sayel finally managed to gasp. He turned to Herin. "She struck a poradom."

  "I see that."

  K'lrsa expected Herin to defend her. Everyone had seen what he did, hadn't they? He'd touched her. Why was it K'lrsa's fault that she'd reacted?

  Sayel licked his lips, clearly agitated. "They told me it was impossible. That she was nothing more than a desert savage. They told me, but I told them they were wrong. That my dorana was special, that she could be trained. I was wrong."

  "I'm sorry." K'lrsa met his eyes, begging him to understand that she'd had to act. But she wasn't sorry and it showed in her words.

  "She must be whipped." Morlen came towards her, suddenly menacing. She'd never noticed before how strong he was. She shivered, watching him approach, knowing she couldn't defend herself again.

  "No." Sayel called him back. "There's still a chance the Daliph wants her. We can't harm her. Not like that." He glared at her, clearly agreeing that the only real solution would be to whip her.

  K'lrsa bit back her response. Sayel had been her ally, the one who'd made this experience tolerable. And now he'd turned on her, too.

  Sayel stepped to the door. "Herin's right. She needs to understand how much she needs us." Sayel called in the servants. "Remove all food. All blankets. All clothing. And the chamber pot." As they scrambled to obey, glancing at each other with wide-eyed looks, he turned to Morlen. "And remove the robe, whatever it takes."

  Herin nodded slightly, as if satisfied with how Sayel had chosen to handle the situation.

  When Tarum approached to take her robe, K'lrsa tore it off and flung it at him. She was not going to let him near her again.

  Sayel came to stand before her, his expression part sad, part stern, ever the disappointed father. "This is for your own good, my dorana. The sooner you learn your place, the better for all of us."

  She didn't respond, so he continued. "The glory of a dorana reflects on her poradoma. You are willful and stubborn and, as you are now, unfit as a dorana. If the Daliph rejects you, it will ruin not only you, but us. We need you to succeed. Today I hope you'll learn that you need us as much as we need you."

  He led everyone out the door.

  As the door closed behind them, K'lrsa turned away with a shrug.

  She didn't want to be fit to be a dorana. If that day ever came, she hoped she'd still have enough of herself left to slit her wrists. Better that than turn into some mewling fool who never spoke her mind, never asserted herself, and whose sole purpose was to be beautiful so other men could admire the Daliph and his power.

  Chapter 65

  K'lrsa cleared a space in the middle of the room and worked her way through the hundred and five attacks, relishing the feel of the cool air against her skin as she leapt and kicked and slashed, reminding herself with each attack who she was.

  She was a Rider.

  She was K'lrsa dan V'na of the White Horse Tribe.

  She was the equal of anyone. Man or woman.

  She was strong and capable and could do anything if she set her mind to it.

  And no one could break her.

  She didn't care that she was naked—she was used to that from her time in the tribes. It was only in the Daliphate where men eyed her like a dead pig, roasted for the feast, that she'd learned to feel shame in her nakedness.

  And after so many days of being surrounded at all times, the silence was a balm on her soul. At last she was alone with her own thoughts and feelings. Free to be herself. No one to tell her how to sit or stand. Where to look. What to say or not say. No one to judge her.

  She could just be herself.

  But as the day progressed, the air turned chill and the sky darkened, clouds boiling in the sky. The breeze through the windows turned from refreshing to chill.

  She tried to close the windows, but the shutters were latched to the outside wall and she couldn't reach the fasteners. She'd need the special stick the servants used.

  She rubbed her arms as she paced the room, the sweat of her exertions cold against her skin.

  There were no blankets, no clothes. The only fabric came from the thin curtains that covered the bed frame—so thin and diaphanous she could see through them as if they didn't exist. She unwound the fabric from the end post and tugged to pull it free, but it held, surprising sturdy.

  She kept unwinding the fabric until it was completely free of the bed, but there wasn't enough to provide much warmth.

  She grabbed all the pillows from the sitting area and added them to her small sleeping space, burrowing in amongst them and throwing the fabric from the bed over top. It was sparse comfort, but enough.

  She shivered and burrowed deeper, reminding herself that she'd spent far worse nights in the desert before she came here.

  She'd become soft and forgotten who she was, lulled into complacency by the food and comfort of the palace.

  She fell into a deep sleep, exhausted after the last few days. Her dreams were odd, gray and shifting. She saw Badru reaching for her, but turned her back on him. And her father, watching her from a distance, his eyes sad. She called to him, but he disappeared, lost in the fog, replaced with strangers riding in the distance, men she didn't know who wore the Daliph's colors and carried his swords, but with the skin coloring and attire of the tribes.

  She awoke well past midday. The storm had passed, the room now warm as the sun shared what warmth he could.

  Her stomach growled; she'd never eaten breakfast and barely eaten dinner the night before. Her bladder demanded attention, bursting with desperate need.

  She tried the door
, but it was locked. She shouted, but no one responded. She didn't even hear anyone outside in the hallway.

  Her mouth watered at the thought of a sweet bun full of walnuts and drizzled with honey. Or tangy olives stuffed with bitter cheese. Or chicken swimming in that yellow sauce she loved so much…

  She flushed with shame—when had she become so weak? She'd set out to kill the Daliph and he'd turned her into this? Couldn't she go a day without food? Couldn't she spend one day without others around.

  She shook her head and shoved her hunger away. Her bladder, however, wasn't so easily dismissed.

  She considered peeing in the corner, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing herself to be the savage they said she was.

  She'd just have to resist her body's urges until they came back. It wouldn't be long, she was sure of it.

  K'lrsa knelt in the middle of the room, her feet and legs pressed tight together, and bowed forward until her forehead was touching the ground. She started the Pattern, deepening her breaths as she repeated the dawn litany over and over again.

  It took her five tries to set aside the needs of her body and two more to banish thoughts of Badru and Herin and her father, before she found the Core.

  She floated there outside of time and sensation, at peace for the first time in days, and waited.

  Chapter 66

  "Up girl." Herin kicked K'lrsa's foot.

  The need to pee and find warmth and food rushed back to K'lrsa like sharp knives.

  "You, help her to relieve herself. You, set that food on the table."

  Strong hands lifted K'lrsa and carried her to the bathing area where a chamber pot once more stood in the corner.

  She sighed as she relieved herself, reveling in the feel of emptying her bladder after so many hours denied. When she tried to stand, her legs cramped. She leaned heavily on the arm of the strange poradom who led her back to the seating area.

  Garzel closed the windows, using a long stick to pull each shutter closed. It was well past the middle of the night, the sky inky and black with just a few stars remaining and the hint of dawn coloring the blackness.

  Why had they left her for so long?

  The poradom wrapped her in a heavy silken robe; she pulled it tighter, feeling warmth return to her stiff limbs.

  "Do you understand now, girl? You need them." Herin sat next to a large tray of food—morsels of meat floating in creamy gravy, fresh baked bread that steamed in the cool air, olives stuffed with tangy cheese. Her favorites.

  K'lrsa didn't answer. She seated herself on the other side of the tray and stared at the food, but refused to reach for it. She glanced at the poradoma, both standing silent now.

  Were they here to feed her?

  No. She shook her head. She wasn't that hungry yet.

  She might never be again.

  She pondered her choice for a moment, knowing what it might mean. More hours locked in here alone. No food or blankets. Helpless.

  But only because they'd made her that way. She could easily feed and protect herself on the plains or in the desert.

  She refused to surrender. She wouldn't let them punish her until she was grateful to them for no longer punishing her.

  Herin rolled her eyes as she took a bite of an olive held for her by Garzel. "Leave us." Herin waved to the two poradoma.

  They hesitated, but left at a nod from Garzel.

  K'lrsa's stomach grumbled, loud enough for all to hear.

  "Eat, child."

  K'lrsa shook her head and Herin glared at her. "Pzah. Child, do you never think? Food keeps you strong, doesn't it?"

  K'lrsa nodded.

  "In the desert, would you ever turn away from food?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Because you never know when your next meal might be. You eat when you can, whatever you can."

  Herin nodded. "Exactly. Even if it doesn't seem so, this world is just as harsh as the desert. So eat while you can. Keep your strength."

  When K'lrsa hesitated, she added. "Forgotten how to feed yourself? Want me to call one of the poradoma back to feed you?"

  K'lrsa shook her head and reached for a piece of bread. She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of its warmth against her skin. She dipped the bread in the creamy gravy, sighing softly as she took a bite of chicken steeped in coriander and curry and cumin, delighting in the way the flavors mixed with the soft yeastiness of the bread and the onions cooked inside it.

  Once she started, she couldn't stop. She shoved bite after bite of food into her mouth, barely finishing one mouthful before she started on the next. She knew she looked like a glutton, but she didn't care. She'd never realized what a pleasure it was to feed herself, to feel the food she ate, to use her own hands to bring food to her mouth.

  "Thank you," she whispered, when she'd finally eaten every last crumb and drop of food.

  "Oh, so you are capable of gratitude. How nice."

  Herin leaned back, smoking from a long pipe Garzel held for her, the gray smoke spiraling into the air, the smell almost sickly sweet, but appealing in some strange way. "Did you know…?" She took another long pull on the pipe and blew the smoke out in a long stream. "Some women's sole ambition in life is to have a daughter chosen as one of the Daliph's dorana."

  K'lrsa laughed, a short bark of sound.

  Herin nodded. "It's true. Young girls are raised to believe that to be a dorana is the greatest honor a woman can achieve. To be so beautiful and talented that the most powerful man in their world wants them? Cared for her entire life? Never having to lift a finger? It's a dream for many girls."

  K'lrsa didn't want to believe that anyone could be so foolish as to want this, but Herin stared her down until she smoothed the expression of disbelief from her face.

  Herin leaned forward as Garzel took the pipe away. "Don't fault them, child. This is the only life they've ever known. They've never ridden across the plains, hair streaming behind them in the wind. They've never slept alone in the desert with only the moon for company.

  "They were born into this and they make the best of it. You, who have tasted true freedom, see the bars they don't. You see the tiral as the cage it is." She shrugged. "They see it as a bounty of wealth gifted to them by the most powerful man in their world."

  "Then let them have it. If they want it so much, let Badru choose one of them instead."

  Herin looked almost sad. "I would if I could, but it doesn't work that way. He made his choice and now you both must live with it. This is your life now. You have to accept that."

  "Who says, you old hag? If he's so powerful, tell him to set me free. Tell him to change his mind and let me go."

  Herin quirked an eyebrow at her. "He doesn't want to let you go. He loves you."

  "If he loved me, he'd free me."

  Herin laughed, the sound like grating glass. "Oh, yes. Right. And then what? You just ride home through the Daliphate?" She shook her head. "This is your life now, child. Make the best of it. You think I didn't want to go home? You think I didn't want to escape? You think I enjoyed this?" She waggled her fingers at K'lrsa.

  K'lrsa didn't answer.

  "This wasn't my choice either. But I made the best of it." She leaned closer, holding K'lrsa's gaze. "I survived. And thrived."

  "You gave in."

  Herin spat to the side. "I never gave in. I just learned the rules of their game so I could win it. Will you?"

  "I don't want to win this game. I don't want to be what they'd make me."

  "So you fail." Herin sat back shaking her head. "And you call yourself a Rider."

  "I do. What about you? Look at yourself. The old Daliph is dead and yet you chose to stay. You know how they treat women here and yet you let them do it. Not only that, you support the man responsible for it."

  "It's not that simple."

  "No? You have power, Omala. You could change things. But you don't. They broke you."

  Herin glared at her. "I do what I can. But you can't mo
ve a mountain in a day."

  "You don't do enough."

  "Easy to say I haven't done enough when you know nothing about this world. I've risked everything to keep you alive. And to protect Badru even though neither one of you has made it easy."

  K'lrsa looked away and played with a patch of loose strings in the carpet.

  Garzel helped Herin stand, both showing their age in the time it took for them to rise and walk to the door.

  Herin paused and turned back to her. She licked her lips, hesitating a moment before she spoke. "The former Daliph was a smart man. Not known for his subtlety…"

  She watched K'lrsa carefully as she spoke. "After I'd been here a few moons, and lost a couple fingertips, he gave me two gifts. One was a desert falcon—a beautiful bird in the prime of its life, strong and fierce. The other was a pretty little songbird, no bigger than the size of a baby's fist."

  "And. So?" K'lrsa willed the woman to leave.

  "Both were in cages I couldn't open. I could feed them and care for them, but I couldn't free them."

  K'lrsa waited.

  "Do you know what happened?"

  "You killed them?"

  Herin pressed her lips together but continued as if K'lrsa hadn't answered. "I did everything I could to care for those birds.

  "The songbird thrived. It loved its life, hanging in the bright sunlight, eating pomegranate seeds, and singing. It sang morning, noon, and night.

  "The falcon…the falcon knew what it was to be free. It longed for its desert home. It flew against the bars of the cage day and night trying to escape. I fed it, I talked to it, I did everything I could for it, except the one thing it wanted. I couldn't free it.

  "Day after day, night after night, it banged against the walls of its cage." She met K'lrsa's eyes. "Until one morning I found it dead."

  K'lrsa flinched. "That's a terrible story."

  "Yes. It is."

  Garzel held the door open and Herin walked through. "Get some rest. We start again in the morning."

  "What of the songbird?" K'lrsa called after her.

  "I still have it and it still sings morning, day, and night, happy as can be."