Daughter of the Flames (16 page)

I tried to remember how I had felt during the ceremony. A surge of happiness had rushed into me as Sorin and I, led by Deo and Mira, had joined our voices in the wedding song. I’d chosen my favourite of all the songs, a complicated two-part harmony with several verses, only realizing when it was too late that it would be incredibly difficult for Sorin to learn in a day.

He hadn’t stumbled over a single word, a single note. Our voices had soared together as Mira and Deo had fallen quiet. It had felt right then. I thought I knew what I was doing.

Oh God. I was a fool. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I heard the door open, and forced myself to turn.

The firelight shied from the doorway; he was no more than a shadow. A tiny glint of light dared reflect from his eyes, another from the strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead, but that was all. I couldn’t see his face. Something icy brushed along my back, raising the tiny hairs.

Calm down. Stop this. Sorin had shown me kindness and respect. He was a good man. He was a friend. It was ridiculous to fear my friend. Wasn’t it? Suddenly it came to me that he
wasn’t
my friend any more. He would never be my friend again. He was my husband now. This man, this foreigner, this pale-haired stranger. He was my husband.

And I was afraid of him.

He let the door shut behind him and took a step forward. My body jerked as if he struck me. I only just managed to keep myself from backing away.

He froze mid step. “Don’t!” he said, his voice harsh.

I stiffened, feeling every muscle bunch and knot as I stared at the wall behind him. I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

“Don’t. Please,” he said more softly, coming towards me again.

I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t move at all, not even when his hands reached out to draw me against him, and his arms closed around me.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Zahira. Please don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered.

I can’t help it! I wanted to wail the words, but pressed my lips together desperately. No. I won’t humiliate myself.

For long moments I stood rigid as Sorin held me. His grip did not loosen, and he said nothing. I inhaled his clean, familiar smell. He was warm, making my cold, tense muscles unclench, one by one. Gradually I began to relax, and allowed myself to lean against him.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, at length. “I… I didn’t know you.”

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice rumbling against my ear.

I heard the relief in his voice, and realized that he had been afraid too – perhaps of this very reaction from me, and how he would deal with it. That comforted me.

“This is no good, is it?” he said finally.

“What?” I stiffened, pushing back from him so that I could see his face.

He let go of me reluctantly. “I’ve rushed you. I did it on purpose. I was so sure, and I wanted you to be sure too. But for all my fine words about the difference between time and knowledge, we haven’t had the chance to get used to each other yet. You haven’t had the chance to get used to me.”

I slumped back down into the window embrasure, the sudden rush of relief making me feel weak and shaky. “Are you – do you – you don’t mind if we wait?”

“All I know is, I don’t want you to look at me like that ever again. I want … this part … to be something good, for both of us. We’re going to be around each other a lot. For the rest of our lives. We have time.”

“Thank you.” I leaned my head against the stone and smiled at him. It was a good smile. I didn’t want him to guess – didn’t even want to admit to myself – that amid the relief there had been a funny squeezing sensation in my stomach. A feeling like … disappointment.

Holy Mother, act like a grown-up. This is what you wanted. He’s being wonderful. Just stop it.

Stop it!

Then he leaned forward, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft, parting mine gently, and I sank into him, grabbing hold of the front of his tunic to stop myself sliding right out of the window embrasure onto the floor. When he drew back I had to draw in several deep breaths before I could speak.

“What was that for?” I managed

“All part of getting to know you.” He carefully uncurled my fingers from his tunic and raised them to his lips. “I intend to get to know you very well, Zahira.”

He let go of my hands, turned, and walked away, closing the door softly behind him. Then I did slide out of the window onto the floor. I sat with my head against my knees, listening to my heart bumping. I couldn’t stop it.

I’d fallen in love with him…

Two weeks later, I woke abruptly from a dream – a terrible dream – about Surya. The bedroom was close and still, darkness lying against my skin as clammily as the sheets twisted around my legs. I made a tiny noise of misery as I tried to force the images of death from my mind. I was panting, covered in sweat. Sickness rolled greasily in my gut.

Cautiously I pulled myself up into a sitting position. The room shifted dizzily around me as I moved – then my stomach heaved and I only just had time to drag the pot from under the bed before I vomited messily.

When the heaving stopped I was slumped over the side of the mattress, shuddering, sweat trickling along my hairline, disgusted with myself. I pulled the sleeping tunic over my head and wiped my mouth on it – it made little difference, as the cloth was already splattered – then screwed it up and threw it away from me as I slithered down onto the cold floor. Groggy as I was, I now realized that this sickness could not be the result of a nightmare, however horrible. I was ill. I hated being ill.

I crawled on hands and knees to the chest at the end of the bed to pull out a pair of half-length cotton trousers and a fresh tunic. Once I had fumbled them on, I climbed up the nearest bedpost like a puny vine and then, desperate to get away from the vile smells of sweat and sick, staggered across the room to the door.

A sharp intake of breath made me jump as I stepped out onto the covered mezzanine overlooking the courtyard. I squinted through the darkness to see one of Sorin’s gourdin leaning idly on the mezzanine rail, his helmet under his arm. He was probably supposed to be patrolling the area outside my and Sorin’s adjoining rooms. He certainly stood to attention very quickly and saluted me snappily. I straightened up, hoping the darkness would hide my damp, pasty face from him, as it hid his expression from me.

“Alrik, is it?” I croaked.

“Yes, my lady. Is everything all right?”

“I just need some fresh air. Don’t mind me.” I walked carefully away. I could feel his gaze on my back, and concentrated stubbornly on placing one foot before the other, until I rounded the corner out of his sight. Then I let myself lean against the rail as he had done, breathing slowly, deeply, trying to suppress the bubbling that wanted to rise up in my throat. Holy Mother, I hate being sick.

Gradually the cool, fresh night air began to work on me, and the shivering and nausea began to subside a little. I could smell night-flowering jasmine from the courtyard below, and the warm straw and manure scent of the stables. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and I absently traced the lines of wall, roof and paving that were not quite familiar to me yet.

In a minute I would go back to bed. Or maybe I would go next door and wake Sorin up. The least he could do was offer me his company in my hour of need. And perhaps a cup of tea… I smiled as I imagined his indignation at being disturbed in the middle of the night and sent off for tea. Yes, I would definitely go back in a minute.

A sharp cry – a sound of fear or pain, hastily choked off – jerked me upright. The ground seemed to shift under my feet and I caught my balance against the wall. The voice had come from my left, beyond the curve of the mezzanine. The gourdin?

I opened my mouth – and hesitated as instinct flared like a blue flame, warning me against calling out. Something was wrong. My memory darted to the night Surya died. Zira had felt this way then. Oh God … not again.

I swallowed hard as I began to move back along the mezzanine, shoulder blades pressed to the wall, ears straining against the quiet. I couldn’t see the gourdin as I rounded the corner. Had he moved on?

My foot hit something hard. I looked down.

It was Alrik’s arm. He was slumped face down on the floor. I dropped to my knees beside him, sickness lurching through me again as the hot metallic stench of blood filled my nostrils. I slid my arms under his torso and heaved him over.

Holy Mother of Flame…

I had a stomach-clenching flashback to Surya and a strangled sob forced itself up out of my lips. I knew Alrik was dead before I saw the wound gaping wetly above his mail surcoat. His throat had been cut. His eyes glinted, opaque, as his head slipped off my forearm.

My breath sawed painfully in my throat as I eased him down and clawed my way back up the wall. I left dark, wet handprints on the white plaster. I was right next to Sorin’s bedroom door. It was open.

Sorin. Sorin will know what to do… Blindly I stumbled through the entrance – and froze.

I took in every detail in an instant. Muddled shadows and moonlight resolved into lumped-up pillows and blankets; the silky swathe of Sorin’s hair spread over his back; the dark figure leaning over the bed, raising the weapon in a practised killing arc; the knife blade flashing almost liquid through the darkness.

I screamed.

The noise shrilled through the deadly quiet like a stone shattering glass. The dark figure jerked round in shock, pulled his arm back and threw the knife at me.

I ducked just barely in time. The blade buried itself in the wall above my head with a
thunk
. I screamed again, so loudly this time that my throat burned. On the bed, Sorin didn’t stir.

Oh God – oh, dear God, please let him be all right…

The dark figure came at me. I ran.

The quick, light footsteps were terrifyingly close as I pounded down the mezzanine, rounded the corner and flung myself onto the stairs to the north tower. The gourdin kept watch in the tower. Have to get away from Sorin… Gasping and sobbing for breath, the world heaving around me, I scrabbled up the stairs, legs like weights that wanted to pull me back into the murderer’s grasp.

I skidded into the tower room a couple of steps ahead of my pursuer – and saw with an absurd sinking of shock that it was in darkness. Empty.

I had made a mistake.

There was only a chair and a bare splintery wooden table beneath one of the high windows. Nothing I could use to defend myself. Weak as a newborn calf, no weapons, nowhere to run –
trapped
. I spun in a mad circle of confusion and caught sight of the shuttered windows again. I threw myself at one, shoving the wooden shutter back. A blast of cold air hit me in the face. Oh, please,
please
…

There was a rush of movement behind me. I swung round, grabbing the flimsy table and raising it like a shield. I only saw a shadow, marked by a long line of shining, razor-sharp metal. Then the dark figure smashed into the table shield hard enough to thrust me into the wall. I pushed back, shoving the table forward as hard as I could. The attacker reeled away with a harsh huff of breath, the knife skittering to the floor.

I swung the table again, with all my strength. My assailant gave an agonized grunt as the edge caught him square in the stomach. He lost his balance and hit the opposite wall. The table collapsed into splintery fragments in my hands. I dropped the pieces and turned to scramble onto the chair, feeling the ancient wood groan warningly as I caught the windowsill. Panting with effort I heaved up so that I hung half in, half out of the window, peering down. I couldn’t make it… My arm muscles shuddered and I felt the chair begin to give way, buckling underfoot. No more time. Teeth gritted, I managed to pull myself up to crouch in the opening.

I looked back for a second. The shadowy attacker was gathering himself beneath my precarious perch, the dim light glittering from his wicked blade as he drew it back to throw. I was a sitting target here. Only one way out. Closing my eyes on a prayer to the Mother that my memory of the outside of the tower was right – that I hadn’t made another mistake – I twisted up until my legs were outside the window and dropped.

The night wind pushed me back and I found myself plastered against the tower wall, shivering and weak with relief, my feet planted firmly on a narrow stone ledge. I sucked in a deep breath, thanking God for giving me an accurate memory this time. The fort was spread out beneath me in a muddle of rooftops and shadowy drops. I couldn’t see anyone moving. Surely my screams had woken someone!

“Help!”
I shouted. The wind ripped my voice into feeble shreds and scattered them.

I looked up. The window was about a foot above my head. There was no sign of the murderer at it. I thought he was at least a few inches shorter than me – and he didn’t have the chair. How long would it take him to get out? What would I do when he did?

I felt myself sway helplessly for an endless second. Then I was pressed against the stone again, fingers clutching convulsively at the rough blocks. I blinked away tears from the stinging wind and looked up at the window. Still no sign of my pursuer.

Sweat slid coldly down my face as I began edging round the side of the tower. If I could get down onto the curtain wall, then maybe I could make it onto the mezzanine roof below. God only knew what I would do then – but at least it was slightly closer to the ground. I came to the outer corner of the tower and carefully craned my head to look down. About twelve feet below me the curtain wall came to a corner as well, the wall at its thickest. If I dropped here … maybe I’d land all right.

And maybe I wouldn’t.

Another wave of sick dizziness washed over me and I snapped my head back against the wall with a thud, sweat prickling all over my body as I gasped for air. I’d never been afraid of heights before, but sacred flames, I didn’t think I could do this. If only my head would clear…

The wind’s howl quietened for a second, and I heard a stealthy scraping noise to my right. My eyes snapped open. The murderer was halfway out of the window, dangling by his fingers as he felt for the ledge with one foot. Looking up in the moonlight, I could see that his face was covered by a wrapping of dark fabric, even concealing his hair. His eyes alone were revealed. They were like death – completely without mercy.