Daughter of the Flames (13 page)

“Come and sit here.” Sorin held the door open for me and I walked past him into the dimly lit hut. I selected a chair at the table in the centre of the room and fell down into it, resting my elbow on the table and my head in my hand. He pulled up a seat next to mine and sat with a sigh.

“You’ll be the first thing your friends will see when they come through the gates,” he said.

I nodded in thanks, letting my eyes close for a moment. They were dry and sore, as if they were full of dust. My back ached. And my head felt funny…

I woke with a scream. Nightmares of smoke, darkness and fire had me jerking upright before I realized where I was.

I sat, gasping for breath, with the last remnants of remembered pain – Zahira’s pain – fading from Zira’s face. It was light; morning sun dripped like clear honey through the shutters at the window. I was in bed, in the centre of an unfamiliar room. Bright tapestries hung on the walls and the ceiling was high, though the room itself was small. Soft blankets and furs had fallen around my waist as I sat up. I was still in my cotton tunic and leather breeches.

“Are you all right?”

I jumped and twisted to see Sorin seated in a chair behind the bed.

“I…” Rubbing the back of my neck, I stared at him. “What…?”

“You fell asleep in the guardhouse last night. One of your people – Deo? – carried you up here and we let you sleep. You must have needed it. It’s nearly noon.”

“Oh no! Is everyone all right?” I asked, stricken. What must they have thought?

“They’re fine. Mostly sleeping, now – it was a hard journey for all of you. Wait a moment.” He got up, opened the door, and spoke to someone on the other side. I heard footsteps moving away before he closed the door again. “Breakfast will be here soon,” he said, turning back to me. “Now I’ll ask again. Are you all right?”

I looked away, feeling my face burn. Holy Mother. Could I have made a bigger fool of myself?

“I am, thank you. I’m sorry about my behaviour last night,” I said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to impose on you.”

“I enjoyed it actually. It’s not every day that pretty girls fling themselves into my arms.”

I gritted my teeth. “I think that’s in rather poor taste.”

He slapped his hand to his heart. “You wound me, my lady.”

I realized – belatedly – that he was only teasing, and managed a weak laugh at the expression of mock suffering on his face. “Oh, all right. I’m sorry again – for being an idiot this time.”

“Worth it to get a laugh out of you. I shall mark the date in my diary.” He grinned.

There was a quiet knock on the door. Sorin, still grinning, opened it and took a tray from the Rua woman on the other side. Her round face wrinkled into a smile, so that the faded tattoo of flowers around her left eye disappeared into a lacework of fine lines. She bowed deeply and backed away, her eyes not leaving me.

Sorin nudged the door closed with his foot and carried the tray over to the bed. The grin had been replaced with a speculative look.

“That was Gita,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and placed the tray before me. “She’s the head cook. She doesn’t normally bring trays up herself. She doesn’t normally bow to my guests either.”

I picked the tray up and feigned great interest in the contents, cursing the loose tongues of the namoa and temple people. Someone must have said something about me – and a rumour like that would spread as quickly as flames through a funeral pyre. What had they thought they were doing? It could put us all in danger. I wasn’t ready for it. It was bad enough when my own friends, people I had known all my life, treated me like their reia. How was I supposed to handle being reia to every Rua I met?

“If you don’t want that, I’ll eat it,” Sorin said.

I blinked and focused on the plates in front of me. There were two golden herby omelettes, still steaming and folded in neat triangles together. Flaky pistachio and date pastries filled another plate, along with a generous pot of jam. There were also two bowls of fried dumplings: sweet ones made with cinnamon and pomegranate seeds and savoury ones made with olives and diced lamb. Two cups and a pot of what smelled like mint tea were crammed into the last available space.

“Not on your life,” I said as my stomach let out a low rumble. For someone who’d been living on stale bread and crumbs of goat’s cheese for a week, this was heaven. I cut a chunk of the first omelette and devoured it, sighing blissfully. “You can help if you like, though,” I said as I swallowed, already lifting another piece of omelette.

“I should hope so.” He poured two cups of tea and handed me one. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

I laughed at that, gulping down the scalding, sweet tea. “Possibly. But keep your hands off that jam.”

“Oh.” He replaced the pot, crestfallen.

“You like Rua food?” I asked, as a memory came of my poor mother grimacing her way through the Rua banquets she’d been forced to attend. I broke a dumpling apart and blew on it, speaking again around my first mouthful. “I think many Sedorne find it too highly spiced.”

“I’ve lived here since I was fourteen, Zahira.” He bit into a pomegranate dumpling. “I grew up on Rua spices. I eat Sedorne from time to time, but Rua is my favourite.”

I managed a smile, but found myself wishing that I could divide Rua and Sedorne as neatly as he did. When I had been just Zira, I’d done it without even thinking. Now I couldn’t remember what that felt like.

Who are we? No – who am
I
? Oh, that damned question again…

Something must have shown in my face; Sorin put down his teacup abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer his question any more than I could answer my own. I avoided his eyes, nibbling on a pastry. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m still worried about my people. What will happen to them now? And what about you? Surely Abheron will find out about this, from gossip or spies.”

“No, he won’t. I have a small staff here. The building can hold twice as many – which is a good thing at the moment – but it’s kept half empty because I’ll only have people I know and trust under my roof.”

I thought about the sneering gourdin last night and nodded doubtfully.

Sorin raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe anyone you’ve brought here might betray you?”

“No!” I said indignantly.

“Then allow me the same knowledge of my own people,” he said calmly. “You and your refugees are safe; I’ll make sure they’re looked after.” The smile faded from his face and he gazed at me seriously. “I don’t think that’s what’s really bothering you. I don’t think that’s what has you screaming in your sleep.”

I looked away from him again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You’re different. Dear elements, those eyes nearly knocked me off my feet, not to mention your voice. You spoke Sedorne to my guards. When did you learn that? Then there’s the fact that you now seem to be noirin to your people when less than three months ago you told me you were a novice. What’s happened to you?”

I carefully picked apart layers of pastry, and said nothing.

“It would be a good idea to trust me,” he added.

I looked at him in silence. He looked back. I felt something shift inside, an emotion that both parts of me shared.

“Sorin, you’re acting as if we … as if we know each other. Really we’ve only just met. I’ve already trusted you more than is wise or even safe. I have to decide what to do next and what risks I’m justified in taking.” I stopped, then whispered, “Please. Let me think.”

He sighed. “Zahira, you’ve asked for my help – my shield and my sword arm – and I will lend them to you with all my heart. But if you insist on sending me into battle blindfolded, I become a danger not just to myself, but to you and everyone you’re trying to protect. Think on that.”

Before I could react, he got up and left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

I sat there, blinking at the space he’d left behind.

A moment later, there was another knock at the door and Mira came in. My head was spinning so fast that I had to look at her for a full minute before I recognized her.

She was wearing new clothes: a fitted red tunic open over a white shirt, which emphasized the bulge of her stomach much more than the baggy robes she’d been wearing when I last saw her. A night of proper rest and some good food seemed to have done her enormous good – she was shining with health. She’d also taken the time to rebraid her frizzy black hair, taming the various wisps which had escaped over the past week and stood out around her face, giving her a frazzled air. She was carrying a pile of clean clothes.

“Hello,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “Lord Mesgao said you were awake. How are you feeling?”

“Why must everyone ask that? I am perfectly well,” I said irritably, moving the tray and swinging my legs out of bed. “What about you and the baby?”

“We’re perfectly well too.” She put the pile of clothes down on a chest of drawers and came to stand in front of me.

“Reia, I must say this. You were right to bring us here. Mesgao is a kind man, and this is a good place. I’m sorry we doubted you.”

I looked at her in surprise. “You never expressed any doubts, Mira.”

“No, but I had them. We all did. We let ourselves listen to those without faith, and we questioned your wisdom. I’m sorry for it. We should have known better than to think you’d lead us into danger.”

I laughed shakily, running my fingers through my tangled hair. So they don’t believe we’re all-knowing and all-seeing after all, I thought. Is that a relief, or a disappointment? And how close did I come to dealing with an open rebellion out there on the road?

“Never mind,” I said, a shade too quickly. “We’re here now.” I looked down at my mud-splattered breeches, happy to have something else to concentrate on. “I really need a bath and something else to wear.”

She smiled. “There’s a bathhouse downstairs. And the servants – even the Sedorne ones – have been so wonderful. They’ve lent us all new things until we can make or buy our own.”

“Yes. Um. Mira, speaking of the Rua here,” I began cautiously, “just what have you been telling them about me?”

“Nothing, Reia,” she said, shocked. “Honestly. Why?”

“Because I’ve had the head cook, Gita, up here delivering my breakfast. And she couldn’t take her eyes off me.”

Mira bit her lip. “I can’t believe anyone would be so stupid as to gossip about you. We need to keep your identity a secret until you’re ready to challenge the king.”

I felt my eyes widening at that casual announcement. Holy Mother, they were already planning an uprising? No, no – leave it for the moment. I don’t have the energy to deal with it now.

“Er … that aside, though … would you speak to everyone, Mira? Make it clear that gossip could put us all in danger.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Now – a bath.”

I got up, pleased to find that my legs were strong enough to hold me again, and picked up the pile of clean clothes.

After being guided to the bathhouse, I washed off a week’s worth of grime with blissful relief at the luxury of hot – hot! – water. When I emerged into the main courtyard – clean and dressed in fresh clothes – the area was filled with people. They sat on benches under the potted trees, talking, sewing, watching the children play. Quite a lot of them were namoa, but I could see unfamiliar Rua there, and a few Sedorne too. I was glad to see that no fights had broken out yet.

As I skirted the area I realized that my eyes were skimming the crowd for Sorin. He wasn’t there. Obviously he had more important things to do than wait for me to arrive. I wondered what he was doing. Was he angry at me for not trusting him? I shook my head as if I could shake the plaguing thoughts out, and went to talk to Dumeetra and Ajit about their new baby, who had a nasty cough.

I spent most of that afternoon talking, trying to make sure everyone was happy and had everything they needed. No one else offered an apology like Mira’s, but there was an extra depth in many bows and an extra strength in many handclasps that told their own stories. People seemed content, for the moment, just to relax and recover from their ordeal.

There was a strange holiday sort of mood among some of the temple people and namoa, as if they could hardly believe they had arrived in a place like this – a place of warm clothes and plentiful food and sunlight. As if they had forgotten, in that terrible week, what such a place felt like, and they were only now remembering. They didn’t want to ask questions about the future. They were afraid of the answers.

There were conspicuous absences. The people who had left us on the journey and others who had arrived in Mesgao but somehow never made it into the fort. Still others, like Rashna, Kapila and – to my sorrow – Joachim the garden master, hung back, their eyes watchful and wary. They did not trust the Sedorne; they did not trust me. I did not know how to reach them. How could I convince them that everything was well now, that we were all safe, when I didn’t really believe it myself? We had found shelter for the moment, but I could hear the storm still raging outside. Eventually we would have to brave it again.

After the evening meal, I went wandering through the quiet halls of the fort. I didn’t really know what I was searching for. It certainly was not Sorin Mesgao. I had not looked for him all day, or wondered at his absence.

But even though I was not looking for him so determinedly, I failed to come across him anywhere. After being asked by the second polite servant whether I was lost, I began to feel aggrieved.

“It’s ridiculous,” I muttered to myself. “How are we going to discuss my people’s future if he’s never anywhere to be found?”

I was distracted from my irritation by the echo of a voice calling out. The sound was just beyond the range of my hearing, and teasingly familiar. I could not make out the words. Was it my name? Was someone calling me? Insensibly I found my feet speeding. Who was calling?

When I rounded the corner, there was no one there. Everything was quiet again. There was an open doorway opposite, and the warm glow of firelight spilled through it into the corridor. I hesitated for a moment, then went forward.