He Who Lifts the Skies (35 page)

“Because his ways are not honorable; you know it.”

Hesitant, Revakhaw nodded. “It’s true; he’s not honorable. Nor is he the Promised One as he implies. He’s nothing but a greedy man. And after being with him for all these weeks, I see that he loves no one. Yet if he could love anyone, Lady, it would be you. No other woman on this earth speaks to him as boldly as you do. And you amuse him. Few people can make him laugh.”

“When I don’t make him angry enough to kill me.” Keren closed her eyes again. “I pray he would become bored with me and free us … let us return to our families.”

“Truly he won’t, Lady. Even so, I pray the same things.”

“Do you pray to the Most High, or to Nimr-Rada and his Shemesh?”

“You never give up with your Most High,” Revakhaw muttered good-naturedly.

Moistening her dry lips, Keren said, “Don’t you give up, Revakhaw. These next few months are going to be difficult. Think of the Most High. Call to Him.”

“Do you want to drink this broth now?” Revakhaw asked, changing the subject.

A little disheartened, Keren slowly propped herself up on her elbow and drank the hot, salty, herb-scented broth. Then she gave the cup to Revakhaw and said, “Don’t worry. I’m done preaching for now.”

“Don’t worry, Lady,” Revakhaw answered, some of her sparkle returning. She clasped Keren’s hand fondly. “I enjoy being with you, even if you are preaching at me. I know you’re concerned.”

“You’re the sister I wish I could have had at birth. If Sharah had been like you, my life would have been so much better.” Keren settled down again miserably. Just as she was beginning to relax, she was roused by approaching hoofbeats. Curious, she looked up.

Three riders were approaching from the Great City. Two of the riders were Nimr-Rada’s guardsmen, and the third was … Meherah. Nimr-Rada had apparently sent her to supervise Keren’s household.

Keren watched as Revakhaw stood and hurried with Tsinnah to meet Meherah. Zehker also hurried to meet his adoptive mother. He reached up to Meherah and lifted her off the horse, setting her on her feet, solemnly kissing her cheek.

How I wish he could greet me and kiss me in such a way
, Keren thought enviously. She stared as Zehker, Tsinnah, and Revakhaw conferred with Meherah, their heads lowered, their expressions grim.

One of Nimr-Rada’s guards interrupted them, giving Meherah a sealed clay flask and another small bundle. Revakhaw promptly took these to Na’ah, who was tending a smoking makeshift hearth. Now Meherah approached Keren, clearly worried.

After examining Keren’s legs, Meherah looked Keren straight in the eyes and sighed mournfully. “Lady, I’m so sorry to see you in this terrible condition. Listen, we’re going to straighten and brace your legs now, and I must tell you that it will hurt beyond anything you’ve ever known. I’m going to give you some wine and remedies, but it would be best if you could simply faint altogether.”

Swallowing, dreading the pain to come, Keren said, “Thank you. I think I will.”

Keren looked up to the clear blue morning sky, unable to believe it was finally spring. Tiny pools of water lingered in her courtyard, and the slender branches of her almond trees were budding with the promise of delicate pink flowers. Touching one of the buds, Keren sighed, feeling rested and whole for the first time in months.

“Lady.” Tsinnah beckoned to Keren, indicating that her guardsmen were nearing the gates with her horses. Smiling, Keren met Tsinnah and waited, enjoying the freedom of walking without the cumbersome reed splints, fleece paddings, and makeshift crutches she had endured throughout her recovery. Alatah joined Tsinnah, patting Keren’s arm delightedly.

“You look wonderful, Lady,” Alatah said, her childish voice almost singsong.

The horses clattered into the courtyard, and everyone watched as Keren approached Shaw-Kak. Keren still detested the beast, but the thought of a morning ride eased the irritation of his presence. Carefully, she planted one sandal-adorned foot on the thick reed held by Zehker and the humbled Erek, then hoisted herself onto Shaw-Kak. This now-unaccustomed movement made her leg muscles pull and ache. Even so, she wouldn’t admit to feeling pain. Nimr-Rada still insisted that if she did not make a complete recovery, then his own guilty guardsman and that foolish Qaydawr—both now tending horses in Sharah’s stables—would forfeit their lives.

Your penalty is always death
, Keren thought to Nimr-Rada, frustrated. At least Revakhaw was still alive, though Keren had heard she was dejected, hidden inside Nimr-Rada’s heavily guarded residence, awaiting the birth of
Nimr-Rada’s child. Few people were allowed to see her now, not even Keren.

“Do we go to our Master Ra-Anan’s household today?” Gebuwrah asked, drawing her horse up beside Keren’s as they turned out of her gate to ride through the city.

Keren shook her head. “No, though it would be a pleasure to see my little Demamah again.” Demamah had been her most sympathetic visitor during the past few months, but those visits had been brief, rushed by the dutifully polite Zeva’ah. “Today our Master Ra-Anan waits for us at the tower.”

“More preparations for his grand ceremony on the highest day of our Sun,” Gebuwrah said. “Not that I’m complaining, Lady. Our Master Ra-Anan only seeks perfection.”

“Of course.” She dared not say more, or less; the self-serving Gebuwrah might decide to inform Ra-Anan if Keren became critical of their Shemesh. And that could endanger Revakhaw. Sighing, Keren looked about the streets eagerly now. Some children whooped at the sight of her, and she laughed at them, pleased to be outside her walls at last.

Hearing the shouts of the children, other citizens came out into the streets, calling to Keren enthusiastically as young mothers brought their daughters to see her and be held by her. Though no more gold rings were forthcoming, the young mothers of the Great City still vied for Keren’s attention, deeming it a point of pride if she admired their babies. Keren simply enjoyed holding the infant girls and praising the antics of their brothers.

“Lady, are they going to let us through?” Na’ah called, obviously scared by the growing throng of citizens.

“Eventually, perhaps,” Keren answered over her shoulder,
aware of Erek’s discomfort as he whistled sharply and pleaded for the citizens to allow the procession to pass. Erek, surprisingly, had behaved these past few months and showed admirable restraint.

But the crowd was slow to respond to his pleas. Instead of dispersing, many followed Keren’s household on foot, out of the streets of the Great City toward the sprawling grounds of Nimr-Rada’s Tower of Shemesh.

“You managed everything well, Erek,” Keren called out loudly enough for everyone to hear, deciding that he deserved open praise. “And you were most courteous. Thank you.”

Erek looked bewildered, then straightened proudly. “Thank you, Lady.”

“He’s just relieved that you’re fully recovered and he’s not been punished for causing your accident,” Gebuwrah grumbled to Keren. “Now that you’re better, I’d wager all my rings that he will return to his usual sneaking ways within a month.”

“It can’t hurt to praise him,” Keren pointed out. “Perhaps he will find that he prefers our praise to our scorn.”

Gebuwrah sniffed, unconvinced. “As you say, Lady.”

At the base of the tower, the crowd surged around Keren while she stared, amazed. Much had been accomplished during her seclusion. A neatly squared and corrugated temple of fire-darkened clay bricks now crowned the present summit of the massive square tower. And the stairs that angled precariously up the sides of the tower now boasted decoratively perforated balusters of the same fire-darkened clay bricks. Keren did not admire Nimr-Rada’s ambitions, or her brother’s deceitful rationale for building this Tower of Shemesh, but she had to admit that their work was awe inspiring, though less than half finished.

“We’re expected to go up the stairs, Lady,” Tsinnah called out over the chatter of the crowd around them. She indicated a waiting line of horses. “Look, He-Who-Lifts-the-Skies and your Lady-Sister must be inside the tower.”

Keren dismounted, eyeing the stairs unhappily. Her legs were going to ache miserably tonight after all that climbing. She was spared the stairs for a time, however, as a crowd of jubilant women and young girls surrounded her. They evidently felt that she belonged to them and no one else. Glad for the delay, Keren visited and laughed with the women of the Great City. Let Nimr-Rada wait.

“She’s entirely too popular,” Sharah complained to Kuwsh and Ra-Anan as they descended the long bricked tower stairs, distantly followed by Keren and her attendants. “You saw her; she kept us waiting just to prove how much she’s loved by everyone. I think we should correct her. She detracts too much attention from my husband’s efforts to please his people.”

“And from your efforts,” Ra-Anan observed acidly, disgusted with Sharah’s persistent complaints. Sharah threw him a spiteful look. Ra-Anan longed to give her a shove; she was the one who needed correction. But he restrained himself, saying, “It’s useful that Keren is popular and has been missed during her absence.”

“I disagree,” Kuwsh muttered, glancing toward Nimr-Rada, who was ahead of them, marching proudly down the stairs of his Great Tower, surrounded by his guardsmen. “She could become a focal point for some future rebellion. She needs to be stopped.”

Ra-Anan nearly halted midstep, hearing the threat in
Kuwsh’s voice. But then Ra-Anan continued, keeping his face a smooth mask of civility. He would have to decide soon if the stubborn Keren was actually useful to his own plans—never mind Nimr-Rada’s fixation on Keren’s intended role in the tower. If Keren’s growing influence needed to be eliminated, then Kuwsh was the best person to handle that task.

Better to be inside this conspiracy than outside. That way I can thwart his plans if I must, to protect myself
, Ra-Anan thought. Turning to Kuwsh, he spoke in his most soothing, reverent manner, giving Kuwsh a title he didn’t actually possess. “You are worried, my Lord, and I don’t blame you. She does occupy too much of our Great King’s attention. Tell me … how would you deal with this situation?”

I hate it
, Keren thought, shivering as she left the gloomy, dark interior of the temple. Did that Nimr-Rada truly want her to live there? She would feel buried alive.

Save me from such a fate, O Most High
.

Twenty-One

ASTRIDE THE RESTLESS Shaw-Kak, Keren concentrated on her target—a single gourd mounted on a reed post, halfway across the trampled field. A sharp whistle cut through the morning air, making Keren look up. Nimr-Rada waved his flail impatiently. She lifted her bow to acknowledge him, then pressed her knees into Shaw-Kak’s sides, urging the capering horse into a gallop.

As Shaw-Kak reached full speed, Keren swept an arrow from the quiver on her back and took aim, turning herself as she rode past the target, releasing the arrow in an over-the-shoulder posture. The arrow struck the gourd low, with a quiet thump.

“You gut wounded your enemy,” Nimr-Rada told her, his black eyes gleaming in his broad, high-boned face. “He will die a painful death as his family grieves.”