Melissa McShane (20 page)

“No, but no one not born on that day can do so. Though many of those who don’t choose

ordination still become lay acolytes, or serve in the holy city. It’s considered an unlucky birth date, so one might as well embrace it.”

“And you, specifically?”

“I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else.” A different servant cleared her empty plate and brought pork medallions in a dark wine sauce. A third servant topped off her wine glass. “I saw the
theloi
in their red robes, coming through town, and I said—that’s what I want.

So when I was twelve I left my family behind in Dardagne, my parents and my brother and

sister, and went to the holy city of Atenar for training.”

“I can’t imagine knowing my path so certainly. When I was a boy I wanted to be a wrestler.”

He laughed, and Zerafine joined him. “But I changed my mind after starting school.”

“We go to school as well, in Atenar,” Zerafine said. “Reading, composition, mathematics,

natural philosophy. And consolation.”

“I’ve never understood why they call it that.”

Zerafine organized her thoughts. “Ghosts seem frightening because they’re so violent, so

unpredictable,” she said. “But they’re just terrified, angry, lonely creatures that are fragments of who they were in life. We show them who they used to be and tell them that it’s all right to be afraid, but that they can leave it behind. It’s like comforting a child, often.”

Dakariou shuddered. “You are far, far braver than I.”

Zerafine smiled. “I’m not brave. I’m just not afraid. You can’t fear, in front of them, or you lose control.
Theloi
have died from fear.”

“I still honor you for it.” He saluted her with his glass, and she returned the salute. Again, while his face was merry, even mocking, his eyes were disturbingly serious.

After dinner, they took their glasses into the sitting room. Dakariou either had excellent taste or a very good interior decorator. The room was comfortable, not very large, but managed to seem cozy rather than cramped. Zerafine waved away the offer of more wine. She felt she would need all her faculties to keep up with her host.

“Tell me what it’s like, traveling all the time,” Dakariou asked. He sat on a couch

perpendicular to hers, again close enough to be intimate without making her feel uncomfortable.

“I’ve never been out of Portena.”

“It’s not very exciting. You sleep in a lot of bad roadside inns and eat local cuisine, which usually translates to ‘food you wouldn’t eat unless you were desperate.’” Zerafine smiled. Did snails qualify? “On the other hand, you meet a lot of different people and see a lot of different cities. We go back to Atenar around once or twice a year, usually for High Holy Week—what you’d call the Last of the Old Year—and it’s good to see friends again. You know, the kind of friends you like, but not well enough to spend a lot of time with.”

Dakariou grinned at that. “I can think of some people I know who’d fit that category.” He set his glass down on the floor. “And that
sentare
of yours, you’ve been partners how long?”

“Six years,” Zerafine said. She felt uncomfortable discussing Gerrard with this man. “You can request a certain partner, or they pair you up and see how it goes—I had a couple of other partners for a month or two before I met Gerrard.”

“He’s with you all the time, I’ve noticed.” Dakariou was disturbingly, heartpoundingly

close.

“That’s his job.” Was he moving closer?

“I’m glad he’s not here tonight,” he whispered, and kissed her.

Reflexively, she kissed him back. His lips were warm and soft and oh, so experienced. She kissed him again, but something was wrong. Something—

Oh no.

Sweet goddess of light. I’m in love with Gerrard.

I am the stupidest person ever to walk the known earth.

She’d stiffened after the second kiss, and Dakariou pulled away and searched her face. “I’ve made a mistake,” he said, a questioning note in his voice.

“No, I have,” she said. “Dakariou, I am so sorry. I’ve led you on.”

He pulled back a little, puzzled. “Zerafine, I don’t want anything from you. I find you

beautiful and desirable and I’d like to share your bed for a night or, if you’re willing, more. But I know you’ll be moving on eventually, and I don’t expect this to go any further than that. I hope I didn’t make you feel otherwise.”

She shook her head ruefully, laughing even as her world rearranged herself so fast it was dizzying. “That’s what I thought, too,” she told him. “But it wouldn’t be fair to either of us for me to sleep with you when I’m in love with someone else.”

Dakariou looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then threw back his head and laughed. “It’s that ox of a
sentare
of yours, isn’t it?” he said. “I should have known better than to bring him up.

The more fool me.”

“Dakariou, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I swear to you, I only just realized—”

“Don’t apologize. I’m not going to tell you I’m not disappointed. But I should have realized the two of you were too close, in love or no, for me to fit myself into a space between.” He laughed again, this time at himself. “You won’t despise me for wishing things were otherwise?”

“Of course not,” Zerafine said. “I just wish I’d realized sooner.”

“Don’t hate me for wishing you hadn’t realized at all.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“What are you going to do?”

Zerafine closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “He doesn’t feel the same. If I told him, it would embarrass him so much, and how could we work together with that hanging over our

heads?” She looked at Dakariou. “I don’t know,” she said.

“You could give him a little credit for being able to handle the blow,” he said.

Zerafine shook her head. “You know how I said I was fearless? That’s only with ghosts. I

am a coward when it comes to my own life.”

Dakariou stood, went to the dining room door, and spoke to a servant there. When he

returned, he said, “I’ve asked them to summon a chair for you. This is just a guess, but I think you won’t be staying the night.”

“Dakariou, you are a wonderful man.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. I’ll be crying in my cups come morning.” But there was a

twinkle in his eye that Zerafine was certain meant he wasn’t taking his rejection too hard. She felt a moment’s relief that was soon supplanted by a giant, looming dread of facing Gerrard again.

They chatted pleasantly on neutral topics until the chair came. To Zerafine, it seemed to take forever. When it finally arrived, and Dakariou had helped her into it, he said, “Can I see you tomorrow? Politically, not personally, I mean. I do want to hear what happened today at Alita’s.”

“Come by in the morning.”

“I will.” He kissed her hand again. “And, Zerafine? Don’t let fear rule you.” He smiled at her and closed the curtains around her. There was a jolt, and the bearers started down the long road back to home. And Gerrard.

Alone at last, Zerafine’s thoughts and emotions crowded in until there was barely room left in the chair for her. In love with Gerrard. Her
sentare
. Her best friend. In hindsight, it was obvious—the way she felt safe with him, the long conversations that ended with both of them in tears from laughter, how they’d been able to spend six years together without getting sick of one another. Even now, even when they were fighting, he was still the person she wanted to see first in the morning and the last person she said good night to. Worrying about him leaving her—that wasn’t fear, it was
jealousy
. And now that she allowed herself to, she thought of his height and the breadth of his shoulders and the way he shrugged and his wry smile, and realized how much she desired him, too.

Dakariou was both right and wrong. Gerrard had never looked at her as anything other than a companion, and her telling him that she felt otherwise wasn’t going to change that. But she couldn’t just keep silent and pretend nothing had changed. He knew her too well for that. She could either tell him, or let him find out himself, and the latter option was just cowardly.

The jolt of the chair being set down startled her. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that the trip had seemed to take no time at all. She swung her legs around to get out, and was startled to see long arms reach through the curtains and grab her roughly by the wrists. Hard hands yanked her out of the chair and threw her to the rough ground.

Confused, she looked up, and cried out when a booted foot kicked her hard in the jaw.

Terrified now, she tried to crawl away and was grabbed again, this time under the armpits, and hauled upright. She felt a curse begin to burn deep inside her chest. Hard hands held her, and someone thrust a wad of greasy cloth into her mouth. “Don’t let her speak,” a harsh voice said, and another voice said, “Shut up.” Then someone punched her in the stomach, and she tried to hunch over the pain, but the hard hands kept her from falling. They hit her, and kicked her, until her world was nothing but red agony.

Someone screamed, very close by, a shrill noise that went on and on. The man holding her

cursed. “Finish her the fast way,” said the second voice, and someone pulled her close to his chest. She felt something cold slide into and out of her side, so cold it burned, and the man dropped her, and she landed hard on the ground. Footsteps receded into the distance. Without thinking, she pulled the cloth out of her mouth, and the god’s curse boiled out of her, words in an alien language, burning like acid. More screams, from farther away.
Thank you, my Lord.
She tried to smile, but she couldn’t feel her lips.

Someone was leaning over her, a man she didn’t know. The nearby screaming had turned

into sobs. “Get a healer,” the man said. “Can you stand?” Zerafine wanted to tell him,
I can’t get
a healer and stand at the same time,
but her mouth wasn’t working right. He hauled her upright, and she made a sound that would have been a scream if her throat had not been torn apart, so it came out a reedy hiss instead. Her side felt hot and wet, and her legs shook so much that had it not been for the stranger, she would have fallen again.

He brought her into a small house and laid her on a bed. It was lumpy and smelled a little of urine, not so much that it was objectionable, but she was having trouble seeing so it was a good thing her nose still worked. She stared at the pattern of cracks in the ceiling. One of them looked like naked Genedirou doing his ritual dance.

From somewhere nearby, an argument was going on.

“...saw their eyes, burned out of their sockets, Atenas’s curse...”

“...that woman, the emissary...”

“...killed Alestiou...”

“...be better just to let her die....”

“I didn’t kill Alestiou,” she protested, but nothing came out. Tears came to her eyes. Was that going to follow her the rest of her life? It occurred to her to wonder just how long “the rest of her life” was going to be. It felt like an awful lot of blood was coming out of her side. She couldn’t feel anything but cold fire there.

A louder voice, stronger. “I know who she is. I also know I a’nt goin’ to let a woman die in m’bed if it’s not Kalindi’s will. So get out o’ my way and go get the damn healer already!”

Good for you, sirrah,
she thought.
Let’s not let any women die in your bed.
Her stomach clenched, and she first retched, then vomited on the floor. So much for dinner.
Sorry again,
Dakariou
.

The noise outside the room was growing. Did the stranger have all his neighbors over at

once? She couldn’t make out the argument anymore; everything seemed to be coming from a

long way off. The stranger who’d half-carried her to the bed was beside her. He had a blanket or sheet or something and was pressing it into her side. She wanted to tell him not to bother, she was warm enough, but she realized her feet were actually very cold and she wished he’d put the blanket over them instead. The line drawing of Genedirou on the ceiling really was quite

fascinating.

She heard someone enter the room and felt, rather than saw, the person push the stranger

aside. “Let’s take a look here,” said a woman. With a great effort Zerafine turned her head to look at the new person, whose white hair was disheveled as if she’d just come from her bed. The woman moved the sheet aside and felt along the wound. Zerafine hissed again at the pain.

“Sorry,” said the woman, but she sounded sort of detached and far away, so it was hard to tell if she meant it.

“
Thelis
, can you hear me?” the woman asked. Zerafine nodded once. It was too hard to do more than that. “I have to ask you if your god has called you home. Do you understand me? Tell me if Atenas has called you home. Just a nod or a shake of the head.”

Zerafine gave this question due consideration. She was injured enough that it could be

considered a sign that her time in this world was over. On the other hand, she’d lasted this long and that knife wound probably should have killed her. If it hadn’t.... With an effort, she made her head flop from side to side. The room spun.

She heard someone shouting her name. Why was everyone so far away? The woman said,

“Get him out of here,” and then, “My dear, this is going to hurt quite a lot,” and then hands gripped her shoulders and feet and someone was shoving a stick wrapped in a rag into her mouth, and she tried to spit it out because it reminded her of being gagged, but the woman said “You’ll want to bite on this” so she took it between her teeth and—

Up until now, she thought she knew what pain was. Now she arched her back and screamed

voicelessly through her damaged throat, biting down on the stick so hard that she felt it snap inside its wrappings. Fire tore through her side and into her chest, her arms, her head. She fought to be free of the hands holding her, instinctively trying to get away from the pain that filled her.

Then her vision spiraled into blackness, and she couldn’t fight any longer.