Our Lady of the Islands (7 page)
Read Our Lady of the Islands Online
Authors: Shannon Page,Jay Lake
As she approached her son’s chambers, she met her younger brother, Aros, coming the other way.
“Factora-Consort,” he said, sweeping his pale hair back and giving her a courtly little bow, as mocking, somehow, as it was technically correct.
“What brings you here so late, Aros?”
“Just keeping my poor nephew company, of course, as any doting uncle should. Was your conference with the Factor fruitful?”
“I suppose,” she said, a bit annoyed that he had been allowed her son’s company while she, his own mother, had been denied the privilege. “How is he tonight?”
“The same.” Aros’s brow furrowed in concern. “I worry for him, Arian. He was recovering so nicely. Now … Is there nothing more the Mishrah-Khote priests can do?”
“Is there ever? They mumble new prognostications every day. Each as vague and ineffective as the last.”
“Now, sister. Have some faith,” he said, his words laced with sarcasm.
“I’ve come to see my son, Aros. I must go.”
“Did you speak with him?” her brother asked as she swept by him.
“With who?” She turned back.
“The Factor.”
“Did I not just say so?”
“I mean about the matter I discussed with you,” he said. “
Two weeks
ago.”
So that’s what he’d been doing here. Waiting for her. “I believe I made it clear,
two weeks ago,
that I could do you no such favor.”
“Why not?” he said, all pretense of courtly manners abandoned. “In all these years, you’ve granted not a single favor I have ever asked.”
“Might that have anything to do with the recklessly inappropriate things you always seem to ask for?” She offered him a smile, hoping to cast the rebuke as a mere sisterly tease.
“There’s nothing inappropriate about it,” he snapped. “Those taxes just go to support the government, which is
us
. Why should I pay fees to some bureaucracy just so that they can skim two-thirds of it away before returning my money to me? Waiving that absurdity would only save your subjects added cost. Can’t you see that?”
Arian shook her head in disbelief, struggling not to laugh.
“What good is having a queen for a sister if I may ask nothing of her? The Factor listens to you, Arian. You rule these islands through him. Everybody knows that. You could do anything for me if you wished to.”
“I am not a queen, Aros, as you know very well,” she said less patiently. “We are not on the continent anymore. I am but Factora-Consort. My husband is the Factor here, and in this nation we may be legally replaced by any of a dozen other families at a moment’s notice, should the people insist on it. I can think of few better ways to precipitate such a catastrophe — especially at a time like this — than to have the whole nation watch him excuse his self-indulgent brother-in-law from fees and licenses by which everyone else is bound. He would never consider it. Nor would he respect me for suggesting it. He cares about integrity. That’s why I married him.”
“You married him because Father told you to,” Aros said.
“I refused the first three men Father tried to wed me to. I could as easily have refused Viktor.” They glared at one another for a moment. “When did you become such a little prick?” she asked him. “You were so sweet once. We were friends, remember?”
“Yes. We were,” he said petulantly. “You were less high and mighty then.”
Arian released a pent-up sigh. “If you want to own an island, Aros, I wish you every success. But you will have to acquire it in accordance with the same rules governing everyone else here — including Viktor and myself. If you need financial help, why not ask Father? He’s got gold to spare, and there’d be no scandal at all in seeking his help.”
“Men like Father do not invest in
younger sons
, remember?” Aros said. “Father’s favors are for Alexandros.
Younger
sons must go off and prove themselves. Alone. That’s why I came to this benighted country, trusting my beloved sister to understand, and help, at least a little.”
“Stop it,” she said, shaking her head. “Such whining is unworthy of you. Come to me with any
ethical
request, Aros, and I will do all I can for you. You’ve got everything it takes to be whatever you wish if you’ll just grow up a bit and embrace the cost of achieving it.”
“Well,” he said. “That does cast everything in quite a different light. Thanks so much.” He turned and stalked away without waiting for any response.
She watched him go with real sadness, wondering when and how all of them had become so … lost. Then she shook her head and continued toward her son’s bedchamber.
Upon arriving, her quiet knock was answered by Maronne, one of Arian’s two personal attendants. Maronne and Lucia were cousins who had come to Alizar with Arian from Copper Downs. Two decades later, they were still her closest and most trusted friends, and, as Konrad’s illness had grown more serious, Arian had insisted that one or the other of them watch over him both night and day.
“Is he awake?” Arian whispered.
Maronne nodded, her long grey-streaked hair picking up a glimmer of candlelight. “Your brother only just now left.”
“I know,” sighed Arian. “I ran into him.”
Maronne stood aside, and Arian went to sit at her son’s bedside. “Hello, my darling,” she said softly, reaching out to stroke his once-glossy raven hair. His forehead felt far too warm — as always lately. “Are you feeling sleepy?”
He smiled at her, and nodded, though whether truthfully or just to please her, she could not be sure. Like his father, Konrad was at times a bit too eager to please. It worried her. Or it had, until this illness had made all such lesser worries seem ridiculous. “Did you have a pleasant visit with your uncle Aros?”
Konrad nodded again — more vigorously this time. “We talked of Copper Downs. He told me about winter there, Mama. I would very much like to see snow someday. It must be wonderful and strange to see ice fall from the sky. As soft as feathers, Uncle Aros says. May I go to visit Copper Downs someday, Mama? In winter?”
“It is a very, very long ways off,” she said. “But when you are older, you may go anywhere you wish, my love.”
If you are ever older
, she could not keep herself from thinking.
Oh, all the gods, I beg you. Please let my son grow older.
She caught Maronne’s sympathetic look, and shoved such thoughts away for fear that Konrad might see them in her face as well.
“Uncle Aros says the harbor there could hold a hundred fleets like Father’s,” Konrad said, clearly skeptical. “Do you think he’s right?”
She nodded. “Possibly. Or something near that. What other fascinating things has Uncle Aros been telling you?”
Konrad gazed at her uncertainly, as if unsure whether to answer. “He told me he is worried,” he said quietly. “About Father.”
“
What?
Why ever would he — Worried why?” She could not believe that even her feckless younger brother could have decided to say such a thing to Konrad — under any circumstances, much less now.
“He said people expect Father to fix problems here in Alizar that can’t be fixed by anyone. Because Father is the Factor.” Konrad paused, as if trying to gauge her reaction before going on. “I said it wasn’t fair, and he said I was right, but that some people do not care about being fair, and that they might ask Father to step down and let somebody else be Factor. Is it true, Mama?”
Struggling to master her anger, Arian turned to fix Maronne with an incredulous glare, as if there had been any way for a mere lady-in-waiting to control her brother’s behavior. Arian herself had been unable to do that for some time now. Maronne gave her a helpless gesture, and Arian turned back to her son. “Uncle Aros worries far too much sometimes, my dear,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “And imagines troubles that are just not there. Your father is Factor precisely because he is so good at dealing with such things. He’s just fine, and will be fine still when you are old and married with grandchildren of your own.”
Konrad looked up at her. “I don’t know if I can be Factor,” he said at last. “Even when I’m grown. I don’t know if I’ll be … smart enough to beat such people who don’t care about being fair.”
“Oh, Konrad, love.” Arian held back a sigh. “You will be more than wise enough, but you’re only twelve. You need worry about none of this for many, many years yet. And you don’t have to be a Factor ever. Not if you don’t want to. If you’re still not interested when you are grown, you can just say so, and any number of others will be happy to serve in your stead. All you need to do right now is rest until you’re well enough again to go outside and play. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, Mama.” He tried to smile for her, but failed.
“What is it, love?” She saw that something more was weighing on him. “You can tell me anything, you know.”
“Is Uncle Aros …?” Konrad seemed to lose his breath, or perhaps the words themselves.
“Is Uncle Aros what?” she pressed, contriving an encouraging smile.
“Father … told me once …”
Arian waited, trying not to let her unease show. What could
Viktor
have said now, that her son would be so afraid to repeat in her hearing?
“Father said that I must not always trust Uncle Aros too much …” Again, he paused, clearly trying to decipher her reaction. She barely managed not to drop her face into her hands. Was there no rock in all her world now that it was still safe to look under?
“I thought he just meant that some of Uncle Aros’s stories are not … completely true,” said Konrad. “Like snow, or the size of Copper Downs’ harbor. But, now … sometimes …”
“Shhhh,” she said, not wanting him to guess at such things yet, much less think about them. “Your father worries too much sometimes too, but there is nothing wrong with either of them, Konrad. I’ve been married to your father almost twice as long as you have been alive, and have known your Uncle Aros since the day he was born. They are both good men at heart. The very best of men. Which doesn’t mean they’re perfect. But they do both love you very much, and you may trust them both completely. This I promise.” She leaned in to kiss his glistening forehead. Much, much too warm. “Now sleep.” She offered him a tender smile. “And dream of being well.” She caressed his cheek, and stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Mama.” Konrad closed his eyes obediently.
“Good night. I love you,” she said, then walked to the chamber doorway, beckoning Maronne to follow her into the hallway.
When they had closed the door behind them, Maronne said, “I am sorry, my lady. I too was appalled, but there was nothing I could —”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Arian assured her. “Aros is a law unto himself these days. You are not to blame. But next time he comes to visit Konrad, tell him I have ordered you to send him to me first. I will have his promise to keep that tongue curbed in my son’s presence, or, I swear, I’ll forbid him any access here at all.”
Sian awoke hard, head throbbing. She lay on a rough surface; a stone dug into her back. Everything was bright and noisy and confusing; it took her a minute to focus enough to be able to see.
What she saw when her vision cleared made her wish it hadn’t.
Folk from the prayer lines had formed a circle around her, too deep to see beyond in any direction. The gathered mass chanted and hummed. A beast with a hundred legs and less than one mind, as the proverb went. There would be no escape for her even if she did manage to get to her feet.
She could see Pino nowhere, but there was a new man standing over her; young, very nearly handsome, with broad shoulders and dark skin — a native of Alizar, clearly. His lettuce-green smock and tight canvas pants looked like naval regalia, though if he’d been a serviceman, he clearly wasn’t any longer. His dark eyes held her with terrible intensity.
“She awakens!” he cried, as Sian’s gaze met his. He bent over her, holding a long bone stripped clean, almost bleached. A thigh bone, maybe — but from what? Not ox or cow; no wild animal so large roamed any of Alizar’s islands.
“What — who are you?” Sian cringed away from the massive bone, still on her back, only managing a crablike movement of a few inches. Everything hurt, her head worst of all.
The man straightened up and gazed out at the assembled masses, then looked down again at Sian and said in a quiet voice, “I am the Priest of the Butchered God.”
The crowd murmured louder — a benediction, a ritual response. Then their noise died back once more into a low chanting growl.
However ambivalent her own religious convictions, she could not imagine honoring this man with such a title. “Do you have a name?” she asked, wondering at her own temerity. He could strike her again — no doubt he would.
The man leaned forward; Sian cringed. “I have cast off my secular name. I exist now only to serve the Butchered God.” Again, the answering murmur as the crowd pressed closer.
Only then did Sian notice they were all men. Where were the women who had been in the prayer line? And their eyes…she recognized their shared expression. It was the look of men who think themselves released from the ordinary rules that bind society. The look of a feral mob.
“What do you want from me?” she cried. “Release me. I mean you no harm.”
“We mean you no harm either, lady, though we must harm you anyway, I fear.” The priest touched the long bone to her face. His cheeks and forehead were beaded with sweat and his eyes were shot with blooded veins. He had the air of a madman, and all these mad people followed him. Where was Pino? He would never have … but then, what
had
he done?
Sian could smell her own fear even as she smelled the violent intent of the men around her. Still she struggled to keep her strength of will, pushing herself up to a seated position, her elbows scraping against the rough stones of the street. “Then release me at once.”
“You are Domina Kattë, are you not?” asked the would-be priest. “Cousin to the Stirpes Alkattha?”
She grew even more frightened as she considered the meaning of this. Had she been attacked because of her distant relation to the ruling family? “Why do you ask?”
“Answer me, woman!” From ‘lady’ to ‘woman’ in the twitch of an eye. The crowd pressed a step closer. One man near her feet rested a hand at his belt as he looked her up and down.
“I am cousin to the Alkatthas, yes.” She kept her voice strong, though it threatened to break. Would they rape a member of the ruling family?
The priest loomed over her. The low torchlight flickering off the nearby buildings carved eerie lines in his young face, gone suddenly sad. “Then you are fit to carry the god’s message to those who rule.”
Sian breathed a sigh. They wouldn’t rape a
messenger
they were sending to the rulers, surely. As she drew breath to respond, he smacked her hard in the face with the bone.
Reeling, Sian fell back against the hard stones, her head bouncing on the same spot that had been struck before. Sick and dizzy with the pain, she cringed and curled up, trying to protect her belly as her mouth filled with blood.
The priest stood over her, his face grim. “It is a hard passage, lady. I am … sorry, but you will understand.” He raised the bone and dealt her another blow, on her shoulder.
Sian screamed and rolled over, but the priest kept beating her, now on her arms and back. Understand
what?
She kicked out toward his feet, but he merely struck her ankles and knees, forcing her to draw them back, protecting her arthritic joints. She tried to scrabble to her feet, but everywhere she turned, she was struck by the bone, cascades of pain pouring through her. “Why are you doing this?” she choked out, spitting salty blood onto the ground.
He did not reply.
She was trapped by the encircling crowd; he could kill her easily. She fell back down in panic, curling once more into a fetal position, sobbing. All her former pretense to strength dropped away as his blows fell. The beating became everything — would it never stop? The circle of men around her continued to chant; their words and tones falling into a pattern. Would rape follow after all? So much for the protection of high-placed relations.
It was a long while before Sian realized that the blows were coming in time with the chanting. Not only that, but the priest seemed to not be beating her as hard as he had before. Or perhaps she was at last becoming numb. Still, every blow, coming atop some already bruised or bloody part of her body, sent even more excruciating waves of pain through her. She drew her arms over her head more tightly, trying to protect herself, to make it stop, even as she struggled to retain consciousness.
She lost all sense of time as the beating continued. And then the priest stopped. “That is enough.” She heard his footsteps on the gravel, moving away. “Truly. I am sorry.”
Sian lay trembling on the stone, bleeding, sobbing. A moment later, strong arms picked her up, and she was tossed roughly over a large, sweaty shoulder. She tried to open her eyes, but they were swollen shut. So she merely felt and smelled and heard that she was being taken to the waterfront. No one answered the disjointed questions she managed to stammer out.
Eventually, she was roughly tumbled into the bottom of a boat, judging from the feel of boards beneath her, their gentle, creaking motion. Quiet voices around her murmured words she could not make out, and then the boat was cast off.
Was she alone in the vessel? Where were they sending her? Would she drift out to sea? Sian struggled to sit up, to open her eyes, but they would not budge. “Hello?” she whispered, but there was no answer. “Is anyone here?” She felt around the small boat for oars, or anything that she could use to take charge of her journey, but there was nothing. The searing pain in her arms and legs and belly and back and head and neck and
everywhere
was almost numbing, but never numbing enough.
And what be-damned
message
was she meant to carry? The priest had merely beaten her bloody, then walked away.
She tried again to pull herself up the short side of the boat, but succeeded only in making it rock dangerously. Sian rolled back to the center and began to cry once more. She could not see, she could do nothing to save herself. She was at the mercy of the elements, of the night.
Handing her fate over to the long-vanished gods, she lay down again and sobbed herself to sleep.
Captain Konstantin Reikos stood in front of the Monde & Kattë townhouse, wondering whether to knock gently once more. It seemed clear that no one was within, but he could not understand why Sian would miss their appointment. Her note had been quite specific. And, beneath the veil of the language of commerce, quite enthusiastic. Or so it had seemed.
Where would she be, in the middle of the night? What business dinner could run
this
late — or preclude even the sending of another note? The townhouse certainly felt vacant, though the shutters were propped wide, letting in the cool (well, cooler) night air. Could she have returned earlier and thought to nap before their appointment, then overslept? He knocked again, slightly louder this time, though mindful not to advertise his presence to the close-knit neighborhood. Domina Kattë did entertain clients with some frequency and often at late hours, but she did so discreetly, as befitted a respectable businesswoman.
Still no answer.
He shifted the ditty bag to his other hand and sighed quietly. The satchel was filled with silk and dye samples, and a small bottle of
kiesh
. He’d considered the Sunward wine he had picked up recently, but rejected it; the vintage was too thick and heavy for a warm night. Too cloying. He knew Sian would prefer the
kiesh
.
Reikos was neither young, nor foolish; he did not deceive himself that he was in love. For one thing, no matter what marital arrangements might obtain, Sian’s husband would certainly object. She had made that much clear the first time their negotiations had moved to the daybed, three years past: her time on Viel was her own business, but it stayed here, in this townhouse.
Which suited Reikos as well. In choosing the seafaring life, Reikos had given up the notion of wife and family and home — and with very little hesitation. A lifetime of such broad travel had brought many fine mares into his stable. It was all lovely, but not love. Still, he had come to favor his time with Sian more than most.
Even a seafaring man likes
some
routine and comfort in his life. The intensity of his disappointment at finding her gone surprised him. It was not just the physical need, though certainly he’d looked forward to satisfying that. There were a dozen establishments on his path back to
Fair Passage
that would all too happily supply that service. No. This was …
Where could she be?
Reikos waited at the doorway, watching a spotted civet nose around the yards, until an armed patrol had passed by the end of the street twice more. If he were still here the third time they passed, they would likely come and ask him unwanted questions.
He was not going to get an explanation tonight. He would speak with Sian on the morrow. For now, there was nothing left to do but sigh and begin the long walk back to his ship.