23
I am dropped off at the stable and Denya is taken away to the palace. Smoke streams from the kitchen as adversaries eat porridge and fish for breakfast. I walk over to where Gira, Shorty, and Mis sit. At the far end of the table Talon sips a mug of broth. She looks up as I approach but says nothing.
Gira gives me a big-eyed goggle. “Where did you go so early?”
“Out for a walk.”
Father would have stood me in his office and demanded answers with question after question until I satisfied him that I had by no means besmirched the family honor, but they just go back to their food.
Tana bangs a brass cup on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Come up here, Spider.”
She hands me the cup. Its shine glints in my eye. A spider is carved into the brass. Its long legs wrap the cup like fate, and its mouth bears a set of pincers. Horribly, its long abdomen bears the jagged lozenge markings of the dreaded tomb spider.
Is Lord Gargaron mocking me?
“Lord Thynos brought this by at dawn, Jes. He himself had it engraved.” Tana lowers her voice. “I can see you are troubled by it, maybe think it a bad omen. But I could not refuse it, nor can you. So make the best of it. Make it work for you.”
Does Lord Thynos know? Is he in partnership with Lord Gargaron?
Fortunately it is a serious occasion so my grim look goes unnoticed as I walk to the water basin, dip my cup, and drain the water in one gulp. It has a metallic taste, spiced with the flavor of a metalworker’s furnace. When I hang the cup from one of the hooking branches of the brass tree and sit beside Gira, no one says a word. We just eat.
Eventually Gira and Mis begin arguing over whether to see The Hide of the Ox or The General’s Valiant Daughter. Their words wind like a maze through my dark thoughts. Today is Sixthday, and most of the adversaries will go out on the town.
“You better go change,” adds Gira. She and the others are already in their Fives gear.
I run into our barracks, change, and make it back in time for the lineup. The slow pace of the opening menagerie with its stretch and reach for warm-up soothes the tightness of my limbs and allows my mind to pace through Lord Gargaron’s game. He fears Mother because he respects her. Talking to her made him understand why Father remained loyal to her all these years.
A baton slaps my buttocks.
“Pay attention,” says Darios. “When you are on the training ground I want your mind and heart on the court as well as your body. Do you understand, Spider?”
The other adversaries reach through the movements so I pretend I am their shadow instead of me, the girl whose living heart has been buried. When we sweep a turn, I see Kalliarkos in line where two animals before he was not. He has the privilege of showing up late, at whim, on the court that was built for him. When your grandmother is a princess of the royal line, it must be difficult for anyone not of royal blood to tell you what you can and can’t do.
Darios whacks my rear again, harder this time. I nod, but as we complete the menageries, my mind is already running Rings and devising a plan. When we assemble at Rings I make my move.
Meant to be paired with Dusty for a race through Rings, I let Gira go ahead so I can move back beside Kalliarkos.
He taps me on the elbow. “Are you all right, Jes? You look tense and tired.”
“I thought you wanted some tips for Rings.”
His expression lightens. “Of course!”
I start tapping my foot against the earth in a steady rhythm. “Because there are mechanisms in the undercourt to turn the rings, the rate of turn remains constant. It’s different for each individual game. It might be a quick one-two-three one-two-three one day, and another day it might be a slower one-two-three-four. Find a way to identify that rhythm in your head. That’s how I judge the pace of the turns. That’s how I time the leap from ring to ring.” With a hand I indicate Dusty and Gira as I tap my foot loudly to emphasize the pattern.
They’re a little off, trying to judge by eye rather than beats.
“But the rings aren’t all turning at the same time,” he protests.
“Each ring starts up at a different moment. That’s how you get that unfolding movement. But they all turn at the same speed once they’ve started. The first ring starts turning and then a beat later the second one starts, and a beat later the third starts.… Does that make sense?”
He tugs at his hair, mouthing numbers as he counts, “One-two-three-four… but that one—no wait, I see what you’re saying. This is a six-count turn.” Because he’s staring with such concentration and I’m watching him, I don’t notice Darios come up behind us until the baton slaps my butt. I’m so startled I jump and stumble and have to catch myself on Kalliarkos’s arm.
“I told you to run with Dusty, Spider!”
“Her shoelace came undone,” Kalliarkos says while I’m still biting my lip because Darios really whacked me and my rump stings. He doesn’t let go of me and I lean into his strength like it’s the only thing stopping me from falling into the abyss of terror for my family.
“Yes, sorry. My shoe. I told Gira to go ahead of me.”
“Don’t take it upon yourself to change my training!” The old man looks genuinely irritated as he glares directly at where Kalliarkos’s warm fingers are curled reassuringly around my elbow. Kal releases me and steps back like a chastened child. “You two are up. Move!”
The beat of these rings already runs through my bones from the foot-tapping I used to show Kalliarkos. But he hesitates, blinking, and as he starts counting all over again like he didn’t already do it before, I fling myself into the first turning hoop. I beat him easily, and Darios sends me off with Dusty to train on Rivers while holding Kalliarkos back to run Rings again.
When the break comes I walk to the dining shelter with Dusty and Mis. She is teasing him about the way he planted his face in the water on Rivers. His nose is bleeding but not cracked. I pretend to laugh. In another life, the one in which my mother and sisters haven’t just been buried alive, I would be laughing with my heart and not just my mouth.
Darios calls Dusty away for tending. Mis and I grab a mug of broth and sit.
“You seem tired,” she says. “You were a little slow. You all right?”
I want to break everything on the table, smash it to pieces. My hands clench.
Mis glances toward the counter where Kalliarkos is bantering with the serving girl as she hands him a bowl of broth. “He flirts with everyone, Jes. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He likes people to like him.”
He scans the dining shelter, spots me, and with a smile starts our way.
Mis coughs. “I mean this in a friendly way, Jes. Don’t play with that fire. Nothing good will come of it.”
She stands up and makes way for him to sit down. He nods at her in the same friendly manner he uses with everyone, but he doesn’t think of asking her to stay seated with us, nor does it seem to occur to him to ask why she is leaving.
“I worked on counting. I was just starting to get the pattern of it and then Darios told me to stop talking to myself. Like he doesn’t want me to figure out a way to improve. So I counted in my head. Is this something Anise taught you?”
“I just always did it, from the first time I tried Rings.” I see the opening and take it. “You said we can help each other. I need your help.”
The rim of the bowl has just touched his lips but he lowers it without drinking. Steam curls into the air like hope stirring. “With what?” he asks.
“Help me get to my father. I need to see him.”
The rough movement he makes with his hand, like pushing my words away, tips the bowl, but I grab it before it spills.
His eyes go wide. “You can’t see him. Uncle Gar told me General Esladas is never to see any of his old household again, on pain of death. He was only allowed to retain his military people.”
Around us, adversaries are getting up to return to training.
As I stand, I angle so close to him that I could kiss his cheek if I wanted. My lips brush his ear, and I feel the way his body shivers.
“This is why you’re stuck at Novice,” I say in a low voice, and I mean every word. “You won’t take risks.”
I walk away. Although I know he is staring after me, I do not look back.
“Hey, wait up,” I call to Mis.
Shaking her head, she slows down. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But maybe I should warn him. You’ll eat him alive.”
Eating means a feast. Suddenly I see a possible route to my father.
“Maybe I will.” I try to smile boldly but all I can manage is a grimace.
“He is good-looking. But his grandmother will find out and put a stop to it. You’ll be lucky to keep your place in the stable. I don’t see how you dare risk it.”
The family of General Esladas can be thrown away as easily as the shards of a broken cup. My life means nothing if I do nothing. I would rather die in the mines. But I can’t say that to her. I have to distract everyone so they think I’m involved in something that has nothing to do with my father.
I say, “Kal and I knew each other before I came here.”
She whistles. “You call Lord Kalliarkos Kal? Don’t tell me you’ve already—”
The practice bell interrupts her and we hurry to take our places in line. It takes every measure of will I have to pace through a short set of menageries: cat, jackal, and crane. I slog through the training with the other fledglings. If wool stuffed my head I would think more clearly. Everything ebbs and swells in a fog around me. I can’t keep my balance on Traps, and I miss my timing on Rivers. Tana blames my lapses on a lack of fitness so she assigns me to run laps around the court while the others train. Running I can manage: all I have to do is set one foot in front of the other in time to the pulsing agony in my heart.
When the meal bell rings I veer into Trees because that’s where the Novices are climbing under the supervision of Lord Thynos and Inarsis. Everyone else is taking off except Kalliarkos and Dusty, who are coming down the center pole. Dusty hits the ground first. The moment Kalliarkos drops he turns to stare at me in a way that causes Dusty, Inarsis, and his uncle to measure me as if expecting me to sprout monstrous pincers and four more limbs.
Thynos raises a hand. “Your grandmother is waiting, Kal.”
Kalliarkos doesn’t even look at him. He only looks at me. “I’ll be there when I get there, Uncle Thynos. Don’t wait.”
“Kal!” Thynos takes a step toward him.
But Inarsis snags Thynos’s arm and drags him away. Dusty coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat and follows them. The chatter of adversaries leaving the court and heading to wash up stirs over us like a gust of wind.
When we are fully alone Kalliarkos’s lips press to a thin line and his eyes cut with annoyance. For an uncomfortable moment he looks a little like Gargaron. “I’m sure it is understandable that you wish to see your father. But. You. Can’t.”
“I can if you’ll take me. You said the wedding feast would be at the villa on Sixthday night. That’s this evening. Surely you are going. Take me with you.”
“It’s forbidden. It’s dangerous. I can’t.”
“I can’t is what you tell yourself every time you face Rings.”
His eyes have a bright intensity, a window into his burning need. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing. It’s why you won’t ever become a Challenger, because the first thing you see is what you can’t do instead of what you can do.” His face flushes, thick with hot blood as I goad him. “Maybe the army can make a man of you, Lord Kalliarkos. But I doubt it.”
There it is: the slack rope pulled taut, the gleam of defiance that wasn’t there before.
“How do you propose we manage it?” he demands, but even as he speaks I see his gaze shift past me toward an idea that has just occurred to him. He mutters, “No… yes… I could… it might work.…”
When he looks up, I know I have won.
“All right, then. But you have to meet me where I say, and do as I ask.” He sticks out a hand, palm up and open in the gesture of merchants everywhere.
I lay my palm flat atop his. My skin is cool, and his is hot.
Thus the deal is made.
After the meal everyone lies down in the heat of the day but I am too restless to sleep. If I close my eyes all I see is bricks sealing my family away.
Because it is Sixthday there is no afternoon training. I wash with the others but plead a headache and retreat to my cubicle instead of soaking in the hot pool because I cannot bear their chatter. I dress in my underthings and my leggings, tie my Fives slippers just below my knees like I used to do when I sneaked out of the house, and wrap my Fives court tunic around one thigh. Kalliarkos wants me to be ready in case I have to climb the villa wall. The everyday loose linen sheath gown they issued me covers me from shoulders to ankles, hiding the other clothes. The ordinary garb of Commoner women makes me inconspicuous.
When I hear Gira, Shorty, and Mis leaving at dusk I hurry after so everyone else sees me leave with them. “I’m feeling better! Which play did you choose? Can I come?”
“The General’s Valiant Daughter,” says Mis with a laugh. “Come on, then.”
It does not take us long to reach the West Gate of the Lantern District.
Beneath the flowing ribbons I halt. “Listen. Will you meet me here later?”
Mis presses a hand over her eyes as if to hide whatever folly I’m planning from her sight.
“Lord Gargaron is a hard man, Jes.” Gira waggles a finger in front of my face. “Don’t cross him by trying to romance his nephew, no matter what his nephew says.”
“How could I be meeting him? The palace has some kind of wedding feast tonight, doesn’t it?”
Gira frowns. “That’s right. They do. Where are you going, then?”
Amaya has a look we sisters call her sad kitten eyes. I try it out now. “I can’t say. Please.”
They look at one another. After a moment Shorty shakes her head, foreseeing no good end to the night’s business, but points to the big brass water clock with its ticking gears, elaborate catchments, and column of trumpets that stands to the west of the gate. “We will be here when the fourth night-trumpet blows. If you’re not here, then you’re on your own.”
“Thank you! If you have to go back without me, say I vanished into the crowd and you lost track of me. It is Sevensday tomorrow anyway. It is our free day, isn’t it?”
“It is our free day, and you don’t have to be in until dawn on Firstday,” says Gira curtly, but I can see she is revising her opinion of me, wondering what kind of troublemaker I will turn out to be. “I don’t like to be the kind of person who gives advice, Jes, but whatever it is, I think you shouldn’t do it.”
“Who ever listened to good advice? I never did!” Mis’s laugh is drowned out by a blast of singing that washes over us from a determined group of revelers who swarm past, already drunk.
Gira seems ready to scold me again but Shorty pulls her away. I wait as they walk under the ribbon wheels. When I am sure they are out of sight I stride down through the lively streets, past the night market just opening for the evening with its tempting foods, and along the Avenue of Triumphs where my father was cheered. That day seems like it happened years ago.
Halfway down the Avenue of Triumphs stand monumental twin pillars carved with the victorious deeds of the much-loved and justice-seeking King Kliatemnos the Fourth and his wise and benevolent mother, Serenissima the Third, who acted as regent for him when he was a child. The side streets of this district are awash with taverns that cater to Patron military men and foreign mercenaries. Tonight the place is swarming with soldiers. I did not realize there were so many in the city. In a nearby tavern a man is singing a dreary account of the battle of Reef Cliffs, where as an adult Kliatemnos the Fourth died with a knife in his back just as his army achieved a decisive victory over the king of East Saro.
Kalliarkos wanted to meet here instead of outside the Lantern District because we’re less likely to be recognized and because it will not look strange for a young woman like me to get into a carriage belonging to a young man like him. In fact, while I’m waiting, four different foreign men crudely proposition me, and an unknown man in the crowd pats my buttocks in passing. A drunk Soldian actually tries to touch my breasts before I elbow him hard enough to wind him.
“Try that again and I’ll brew a magic to make your testicles wither,” I snap in my most highborn Patron manner. “Am I wearing white ribbons, that you feel you can accost me?”
His comrades drag him away, muttering about arrogant mules.
I move away up the street, scanning the traffic, and admire a small carriage that is being deftly woven through the wagons, carts, foot traffic, and fine carriages. Rigged for speed, it is just large enough to seat a driver and two passengers, although the passenger bench is empty. The driver wears a sand scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, the sort of gear worn by a traveler in the desert. He pulls down the scarf, looking for me. In his court clothes, whip in hand, he looks so striking that I stare and stare as he almost drives past. Then I remember to push out of the crowd.
Seeing me, he deftly reins the carriage to a halt.
He grins down from the high seat. “As I promised, Doma,” he says with a laugh that makes his whole face light up.
From the height of the carriage, he offers me a hand. His grip enfolds my fingers and I’m breathless as he pulls me up. He overweights his tug and I accidentally thump into his body, forcing him to grasp me around the waist so I don’t fall. His chest presses against mine. Our faces almost touch, his lips so close to mine I need only exhale to kiss him.
Why shouldn’t I take the risk? Father’s rules no longer define my life.
My lips brush his mouth.
“Jessamy,” he murmurs as his arm tightens around me.
The carriage jolts under us as the horses back up a step. I slip as he lets go to better grip the reins. What am I to him, really? Something with which to defy his uncle?
The bricks of the tomb rise between us.
“We must hurry,” I say, scrambling for the passenger bench.
Kalliarkos’s muttered curse makes me jump. Have I offended him? Is he like his uncle, angry if he’s challenged?
Then I see that we are no longer alone.
Lord Thynos stands at the horses’ heads, holding the harness, while Inarsis leaps up into the carriage beside me and pulls down the canvas curtains to conceal the passenger bench. The carriage rocks again as Thynos climbs up onto the driver’s bench beside Kalliarkos.
“Keep moving, Kal,” says Thynos.
After a moment the carriage rolls. I peek out between the curtains to see Kalliarkos’s rigid back.
“Did you follow me, Uncle?”
“My dear nephew, long ago I promised your mother that I would never, ever let you walk about the city unattended. She fears you may be kidnapped and held for ransom. Or murdered, which would be less expensive but far messier. You’ve made my task easy so far. Am I correct in thinking that this is the first time you have sneaked out on your own?”
Inarsis chuckles. “Not the first. On the other occasion he followed our young tomb spider to the Ribbon Market.”
“What do you want?” snaps Kalliarkos, sounding embarrassed and thwarted.
Thynos sighs with a dramatic emphasis worthy of Amaya. “Either you don’t intend to feast with your sister and her new husband tonight and instead plan to ruin the prospects of an extremely promising adversary, or you are expressly defying Gar’s injunction that all ties between our heroic General Esladas and his irregular family must be severed. Which is it?”
Lord Thynos’s eyebrows fly right up his forehead. “Do not tell me what is and is not my business, puppy. Answer me!”
“Enough, Thynos,” says Inarsis in a genial tone. “Be glad our young man is finally showing some spine. It was a good ruse, Lord Kalliarkos, to have this carriage made ready in the back alley and meanwhile tell your mother you were riding with your grandmother, and your grandmother the opposite.”
“Not good enough,” mutters Kalliarkos.
“I am an experienced campaigner, my lord. Not much gets past me.”
Thynos laughs. Kalliarkos does not. Neither do I. They will ruin everything. I twist my hands together, wound tight with anguished frustration, but I see no way to be rid of them. They have all the power and I have nothing but my wits and determination.
We turn a wide corner and pick up speed. Peeking out between the curtains I see we are headed toward the eastern gate along the Avenue of the Soldier, so called because so many armies have marched out of the city along this wide boulevard. I’m a little surprised Thynos has not taken the reins, but in fact Kalliarkos drives with an impressively brisk confidence even though his expression is stiff with anger. I can’t stop looking at the way his hands masterfully handle the reins and how his gaze flits along the traffic to find narrow spaces to slide our carriage through so we don’t need to slow down.
Lord Thynos glances back at me, his smile turning to a flat stare. “Spider, that was an imprudent place for you to agree to meet a man. A crowd of drunk soldiers is not safe for a woman, especially one like you.”
I do not need to be scolded about such matters by a man who isn’t my father! “Because I am young or because I am a mule?”
“Because you are both. Patron women are protected by their clans. And every foreign man who reaches these shores soon learns that Commoner women are protected by the magic of their father’s mother. A dame’s evil eye can kill a man’s potency. But one like you has no clan and no Commoner grandmother on her father’s side. Your father was no fool to raise his daughters as if they were Patron girls. I feel sure he knew exactly how far his shield of protection extended.”
There is no answer to that, but no trace of humiliation or offense will show on my face. I keep my head high and my eyes forward, as Mother taught us girls to do.
We approach the huge gate with its sentries, lamps burning as the purpling twilight sinks into the full darkness of night.
“Kal, take that cursed scarf off your face. The guards need to see an uncle and his nephew on their way to a joyous wedding feast, not a prince skulking about playing at banditry.”
Kalliarkos tugs down the scarf so it wraps only his neck and leaves his face visible. As we come to a stop, he hands the guards a piece of fired ceramic with a cipher stamped on it, giving us permission to leave the city. Inarsis pulls the curtain out of my hand and shrouds us behind it before the guards can get a close look. So have my mother and sisters been cut off from everything around them. I clasp my hands in my lap and, trembling, wait out the crossing, but quickly enough we are allowed to pass under the triple gates and over a wide plank causeway that spans the canal that rings the city.
Beneath the wheels the grind of wood turns to the rumble of stone as we roll onto a paved road and head out of the city into the countryside. Inarsis ties the curtains up out of the way.
The Royal Road follows the coastline of Efea from Saryenia all the way to the easternmost fortress at Pellucidar Lake in the mountainous Eastern Reach, a journey that takes weeks. At night the road is lit with sturdy glass lanterns fastened to pillars. Iron cages posted at intervals contain the remains of dead enemies scavenged off the battlefield and left to rot. The bones of those the king has defeated are ground to dust and, so it is said, mixed into the goat’s milk drunk by King Kliatemnos the Fifth every morning to strengthen his blood.
“What do you mean to do now, Uncle?” asks Kalliarkos. His raised chin and brusque tone give him a lordly arrogance that makes him seem a stranger, not the amiable young man who first spoke to me on Lord Ottonor’s balcony.
“Must I do anything? Can I not enjoy this lovely ride through the countryside on our way to your sister’s wedding feast?”
The view here just outside the city is not that lovely. Regimental camps sprawl alongside the Royal Road, each surrounded by a wall. Every gate has a company badge painted on it: a looped cross, a triangle finned with two bars, a hatched circle. By these marks soldiers can know their own company and form up again in the disarray of battle, so Father taught me. He praised me for memorizing the name of every regiment in the king’s army. I see some of them now: the Striking Fours, the Bronze Blades, the Old Spears.
Beyond the last camp of the king’s army lie the temporary camps of mercenaries eager to take the king’s coin. Their flags fly but I do not know their names or origins or even what languages they speak. All I know is that such people fight for money instead of honor and loyalty.
Inarsis stirs beside me. “As the man hired by your grandmother to protect you, Lord Kalliarkos, it would be prudent of you to inform me what your intentions are this evening so I may plan for every contingency.”
I tense, waiting for my secret to be exposed, but Kalliarkos does not hesitate. “Is it so surprising that for once I wanted to choose my own company for the journey there and back? It took years to convince my mother that it was humiliating for me to have an ill-wisher at my side at all times, like I was still a little child. Now I have you two nursemaids following me everywhere. I have decided to act as a man instead of a boy. Does that content you, General Inarsis?”
The name jolts me. “General Inarsis? The victor of the battle of Marsh Shore during the Oyia campaign?”
“The same, Spider. As for you, Lord Kalliarkos, your explanation does not content me.”
“How did I not know who you are?” I mutter, partly because I am stunned and partly to distract him while I think.
“Inarsis is a common name among Efean men,” he says with an amused smile.
“I know it is!” I should have guessed that a man of Commoner ancestry who walks like an equal beside a Patron lord must have an exceptionally distinguished reputation. “You are the only Commoner to ever command the king’s army.”
“We call ourselves Efean,” he says in a mild tone that rebukes me.
“Yes, but—” His quiet confidence flusters me. “But all the high officials and lords in Efea are Patron-born. For instance, no matter how well a Commoner—I mean an Efean—learns Saroese, they cannot become an Archivist, only an Archivist’s assistant. I thought it was the same in the army.”
“I assure you that I began the day as a junior officer in the only Efean regiment, which itself was commanded by senior officers, all of whom were Patron men. The battle was a bloody, violent conflict with massive casualties on both sides. I had to step forward after all the senior officers were dead or incapacitated.”
“Did you actually kill King Elkorios of Saro-Urok? With your own hand?”
“I did. For my service I was generously recompensed in money and given the fine and mighty title of general so they wouldn’t have to say that a noble king was killed by a lowly foot soldier. Immediately afterward I was relieved of command and replaced by officers of Saroese ancestry. Some of them as young and inexperienced as Kalliarkos here.”
“But you were fortunate to be in the army at all. My father served in the Oyia campaign. He said yours was the first company of Efean soldiers assembled and commissioned in the king’s army.”
“That is correct. Before the reign of Kliatemnos the Fourth, Efeans were not allowed to serve in the military.”
It seems shameful to remind such a courageous man of what he already knows so I change the subject. “Father often spoke of your company’s bravery and skill. My mother liked to hear of your exploits.”
“Did she?” His features are obscured by night, but I sense he is suddenly fascinated. “We all knew of her. Not because Captain Esladas spoke of her—he never did—but because we all knew he was living with an Efean woman as if she were his wife. We knew he had four daughters and no sons. It is a measure of his skill as a commander that he continued to rise past higher-born Patron men. The Patron officers saw his loyalty as a sign of weakness but we Efean soldiers knew it for a sign of strength that he kept faith with a woman he cared for.”
“Until ambition poisoned him,” I mutter.
Inarsis replies in a low voice, “Sometimes in battle a man must choose between two bad outcomes. Please do not think your father had a choice once Garon Palace became involved. I am sure it pained him deeply to set her aside.”
I do not want his sympathy. But I will use it to get what I need. The quaver in my voice gives my words the ring of truth. “I asked Lord Kalliarkos to sneak me in to see my father so that I can tell him I have passed muster and will train as an adversary in the Garon Stable.”
“I am sure General Esladas knows that already,” remarks Thynos.
“Not from my lips,” I say. “Please, Lord Thynos. General Inarsis. Just this one favor.”
By now we’ve left the encampments behind. The road cuts through land divided into fields with a network of canals. Burning lanterns recede before and behind us like gems strung on a wire necklace. The beauty of the lit road catches in my heart: the pathway of these glimmering lights could lead to triumph or disaster. Yet I can’t truly appreciate the scene as I sit poised to bolt and run if the hammer falls.
For the longest time no one speaks.
Suddenly Thynos taps Kalliarkos on the shoulder. “The twin sycamores mark the servants’ lane. We’ll drop her off in the palm grove and come around by the back.”
All my breath gusts out of me as I sag in relief. “Thank you,” I murmur.
Kalliarkos easily maneuvers the carriage off the main road and onto a hard-packed earth track. In the distance a firefly string of lights marks the main entry road through square fields of barley and wheat. A cluster of lights reveals the villa near the seashore.
We cross four canals before we enter a village surrounded by sycamore, fig, olive, and date trees. The locals stare from their verandas. Every house is connected to the others by raised walkways. The children run naked but their faces are clean, and the women wear long linen sheaths like mine while the men wear the short keldi that covers only from hip to knee.
Is this the kind of village my mother came from?
We continue along a path between vineyards, smoke coiling out of pots to keep insects away. Ahead rises an orchard, trees like persimmon, pear, and cherry brought from old Saro. We come to rest off the lane, hidden among the thick pillars of date palms. The gentle slope of the ground toward the sea gives us a view of the villa. Night makes it hard to see but by the way lamps are placed I can tell there is an outer and an inner compound, and that the inner compound has two wings, two squat towers, a garden, and a courtyard at the center of the sprawling house.
“Now, Kal,” begins Thynos, “here’s what we’ll do.”
Inarsis coughs. “Perhaps you should let Lord Kalliarkos devise the plan.”
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I interrupt. “You three will attend the feast as expected. I can easily get inside.”
“Gar doesn’t allow Efean servants in Garon Palace,” says Thynos.
“I know that! I thought I would climb inside, if Lord Kalliarkos will explain the layout to me.”
“You don’t need to,” Kalliarkos interrupts. “Out here in the country, we do use Efean servants, especially when we need to hire in extra help from the village for a feast like this one.”
“So if I wear a servant’s mask, no one will look twice at me.”
He nods with a triumphant glance at Thynos. “That’s right.”
“Excellent. That’s settled, then. You three go about your business as usual. I will return here after I see my father and wait for you. Where am I likely to find my father before the feast? Is there a private chamber of some kind where he may be preparing for the evening?”
“There you go, Nar, the daughter you always wished for but never had,” says Thynos with a laugh. “Gives orders like her father, doesn’t she?”
How can he know how my father gives orders?
“The eastern tower is set aside for the husband.” By Kalliarkos’s pleased expression, he is enjoying the way we are running Rings around the men assigned as his minders. “It was my father’s before he died. You will find General Esladas there before he comes down to greet the guests.”
“Is there anything else you can recommend, Lord Kalliarkos?” I ask.
Inarsis smiles, obviously amused by our interplay, but Thynos frowns.
Kalliarkos glances up at the starry sky. “We will meet here when the Four Sleeping Sisters rise in the east, about midnight. I have no desire to linger at the feast while my sister ornaments herself in the flattery and congratulations of the courtiers and guests. We can return to Garon Palace long before dawn.”
He looks at me, his gaze smoky and intense. A spark leaps between us, as if he is promising another adventure before sunrise. I am so taken aback by the challenge that at first I don’t move.
“Go on,” he says, daring me. “I will be waiting.”