Whisper (26 page)

Darius stood beside his father, neither one acknowledging the other. Darius wore attire as was befitting the occasion, but his bruises were nonetheless evident, and though the ugly steel collar had been removed from around his throat, the proof that it had once rested there was clear. Lord Tigre stared straight ahead, waiting in silence for Lord Falco to appear. Several dozen highborn citizens of Darak were seated in the room, whispering expectantly amongst themselves.

A lone drum began to beat, and those who had been previously seated rose. Lord Falco emerged from behind the heavy, golden drape at the front of the room. Trailing behind him, looking quite miserable, was Jacob, who’d assumed his appointed place to the left of his Breken master. As far as grooms went, he was a sad specimen. He may have been dressed well, but that was about the kindest thing that could be said of his appearance. Both of his eyes had been completely blackened, and his nose was still swollen from where Darius had broken it.

Mili appeared in the doorway clothed in gauzy white that did little to hide her feminine form. Crystals in the shape of teardrops hung from a necklace around her throat. Her braids were twisted and then coiled elaborately on top of her head, and several more crystal-like gems had been placed into her ebony hair.

She approached her father and bowed low before him. When she rose, Falco handed his daughter a beautifully carved casket of rosewood. She turned and walked to where Darius and Lord Tigre waited, lowered herself to the ground before them, and lifted the lid so the crowd that had gathered could see the exquisite jewels that filled the box. Before Mili could be married to Jacob, she had to return the bride price that had been paid by Darius’s family for her hand.

Darius bowed formally and extended his hand to Mili, helping her back to her feet. A servant from his house darted forward to retrieve the casket of jewels and just as quickly, made his retreat from the hall. Darius escorted Mili to her father and bowed again, before he turned to depart the hall. Falco was less than pleased with having to return the large payment he had received for his daughter. Being the most powerful ruler of the city came at a tremendous cost, and those jewels would have gone a long way in the upkeep of his ever-growing army. The more power he acquired, it seemed, the more men he needed to protect his tenuous position. On top of that, his wives had provided him with no heirs, only two miserable daughters. As he had been born into another house, Darius could never have replaced him, but a son born to Mili and Darius might have protected his legacy. True, he had fathered a number of illegitimate children by slaves of his household, but none had lived past their birth year; he had seen to it that no slave brat would ever claim kinship to the great Lord Falco.

Other men might have accepted a child of questionable lineage, but not him. He had been trapped into tolerating that foreign slime, Jacob, as his son-in-law. It was bad enough his daughter’s children would not be pure, there wasn’t anything he could do to prevent that, but it had placed the future of his house in real jeopardy—his eldest daughter had been quite publicly labeled a harlot, and any children she bore by Jacob would be labeled as foreigners. Though they could still claim rights of inheritance, the situation was less than ideal.

He eyed the man to his left and wondered what terrible tragedy might befall the hapless Maj traitor, but that, unfortunately, was a question for another day. For right now, he would have to see this farce through. Finding a suitable replacement husband for his faithless daughter would have to wait.

The Breken priest ambled forward to approach the lord of the house. He was fat. His hair hung in greasy strands. His hands had been permanently stained from the ink he so often worked with to tattoo young warriors. In those hands he held a battered book that he opened to a dog-eared page, and he began to speak a long-winded oration that seemed to last forever. When, at last, he closed the book, his audience was more than ready to have done with it and get to the feast they had been waiting for.

“Jacob of Maj, do you take this woman as your
banu
?” The priest asked loudly.

Jacob answered as he had been instructed to: “For the greater glory of Darak, the Breken people, and house Falco, I accept this woman.”

“Then I proclaim you joined. May you sire many sons and increase the strength of our people.”

Mili was asked no question; her acceptance of the situation was irrelevant. Her job was to bear as many sons as possible and do as she was told, or at least appear to do so.

Now that the protracted ceremony was at an end, the guests could get to the part they had come for—the food and more wine than they could ever hope to drink.

Zusia had had enough of waiting. She had seen the foreign men with the strange Etrafarians, and she knew well enough who they must be. Men of the desert tribes would have at least had sense enough to keep their fool heads down when they walked, rather than stare about themselves like gawking idiots. One of these men had to be Phillip’s father, probably the one who sauntered about as if he’d owned the place.

Stupid, arrogant man. Still, if he was here with the Etrafarians, that meant that they were more than likely working together, and that was a lucky break. Nobody messed with the Etrafarians! Fairies were too damned unpredictable. They could pretend to be all holier than thou all they wanted, they weren’t fooling her.

Phillip had been watched pretty closely up until that point. But with everyone filling up on anything they could find to stuff into their greedy faces and the wine pouring freely, Zusia knew this would be her only chance for them to escape unnoticed. It was also a safe bet that no one had yet to discover the absence of the Maj weapons master and his fairy half-breed. If they had, she knew security would have been tightened to a stranglehold. She also knew Lord Falco was far too confident for his own good and that was his weakness.

Zusia slunk through the halls and made her way to Mili’s room where Phillip had been chained, like a dog, while he awaited the pleasure of his Breken captors. She silently approached the huddled form of her friend and touched a gentle hand to his shoulder before leaping back, knowing what to expect.

Phillip sprang awake and lashed out with his small fists swinging wildly. They had beaten him, whipped him, and starved him since his sister’s arrival, all pretense of keeping him safe until his family could retrieve him having been abandoned, but the boy had still not been defeated. Every whip wield had only strengthened his resolve, and though his defiance would invariably bring retribution, he still refused to break.

Zusia smiled, pleased that he still had strength to fight his tormentors’ attempts to wear him down. “Be still!” she told him. “It’s just me!”

Phillip settled almost at once, though his eyes scanned the room to make sure they were truly alone before they met her gaze.

Phillip’s questions came out in a rush. “What’s going on? Has something happened? Is Dearra ok?”

“She’s fine, Phillip. I came to tell you we’re getting out of here.”

“Father? He came?” Phillip said a little too loudly; Zusia cast a wary glance over her shoulder to the door.

“No. Well…sorta. I
think
he’s here, but we can’t wait anymore for whatever he has planned. We have to leave. Now!”

“What about Dearra? I can’t leave her here!”

“Would you shut up?” Zusia hissed. “The Breken have a lot of faults, but being deaf isn’t one of them.

“Look, I know you care about her, though it’s beyond me why, but we can’t help her, at least not yet. If that really is your father with the Etrafarians, then you’ll have to trust
him
to get her out.”

“I won’t leave my sister!” Phillip spoke the words more quietly but with no less vehemence.

“Be reasonable. I can’t get to her. And even if I could, they would stop us before we got her more than ten feet from them. But if you and I can get free, we can help your father to get her out. Don’t you think it will be easier for him if he only has to worry about one of you instead of two?”

Phillip hung his head, trying desperately to see another way. A silent minute passed, and then another, and he had to admit he could see no other option. He nodded weakly, in agreement to Zusia’s assessment of the situation.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“For right now I want you to hold real, real still.” Zusia took hold of the chain attached to the collar Phillip wore and held it out level. From inside her stained tunic she withdrew a vial of orange liquid and gingerly removed the cap. “Don’t move,” she warned again, and she poured the contents slowly over the links of the chain.

An ominous cloud of noxious gas wafted around them, and then a hissing sound filled his ears. The metal dripped grotesquely to the floor where it continued to hiss and bubble. Faster than Phillip thought possible, the chain had disintegrated leaving only the collar at his neck behind.

“Wow! Neat!” he said.

“Yeah, it’s real neat when it’s thrown in your face too.” Zusia told him. “Come on. We gotta go.”

Phillip donned the ragged cloak that would hide what was left of his restraints, and followed Zusia from the room. Sitting outside the door were two stone jars brimming with wine, and Zusia pushed one into Phillip’s hands.

“Keep your head down and your mouth shut.” Zusia led him through deserted corridors, and the sound of laughter and music grew louder.

They entered a large, round room, stuffed with Breken in varying states of drunkenness, awash with coarse laughter and crude jokes. At the head table sat Lord Falco, Mili and Jacob. Unlike the guests, they did not smile, nor did they appear to be drunk. Falco simply glared, not looking at anything in particular, while Mili and Jacob sat picking at the food before them.

“Wine! More wine here!” roared an especially tipsy Breken who had, at some point, managed to spill olive oil down the front of his shirt, to which clung bits of bread and cake crumbs.

Zusia quickly sprang to fill his cup, followed closely by Phillip, who wasn’t sure what else to do. She filled the goblet and waited silently, head down as the man drained the cup and belched loudly. He held out the cup again, allowing her to refill it, before waving her away.

When her own container had been emptied, she traded it for the full one toted by Phillip, and continued to fill cups, making her way nearer and nearer the door on the opposite side of the room all the while.

When, at last, both jars had been thoroughly depleted, Zusia exited through the door that led down a short passage before opening onto a massive kitchen. Inside, it was exceptionally hot and loud, with slaves bustling busily about loading trays with fresh bread, cakes, olives, fruit of every kind, and mountains of lamb, all of it piled high on large platters.

Phillip’s mouth began to water, and his stomach let out a loud growl at smells so sumptuous, they threatened to drive him mad.

“Stay close,” Zusia said unnecessarily, as Phillip was almost attached to her side, he followed her so closely.

She strode with purposeful steps towards another door on her left.

“Zusia! Where are you off to? Your father wants you serving!” said a stout woman towering over the pair. Sweat dripped down her ample face as she spoke. “Can’t serve air, you old harridan. Now get out of my way. If I get a beating for being too slow in bringing the wine, you can expect a similar thank you from me. Something to help you sleep, maybe?”

The slave huffed and returned to her work and Zusia shoved Phillip roughly through the door.

Phillip was beginning to wonder if there would ever be an end to this maze, when Zusia turned one last corner and opened yet another door. The glaring sunshine that greeted them momentarily blinded him, prompting him to blink rapidly and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. When his eyes finally adjusted, he realized they’d emerged in the Breken stables.

Giant casks of wine, delivered that morning, had been temporarily stored there until they could make their way to the cool, inner chamber that would be their more permanent home. They were so huge and heavy, it seemed such a waste of energy to have to haul them all over the place, seeing as the wedding guests were depleting them so quickly. It was much easier to let the servers, who were almost all children, run back and forth between the kitchen and the stables to fill their jugs.

Zusia cast aside her empty jar and indicated that Phillip should do the same. She reached inside her tunic and withdrew two scrolls, both of which carried the seal of House Falco. “Here,” she said, “carry this. Everyone will think you’re a courier. If they see the seal, which they will, they won’t dare to stop you.”

“What do they say?” Phillip asked holding his scroll up to one eye and attempting to peer inside.

“They don’t say anything. I can’t write; second daughter, remember? They carry Falco’s seal, that’s all that matters. Come on.”

As they worked their way steadily through the streets of Darak, Phillip was pleased to see that Zuzu had been right: people gave way before them as they hurried to do the bidding of the great House Falco.

Once, a large Breken warrior had bumped into Phillip, and he thought the man was going to strike him, but when he saw the seal, he practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to give way and wound up falling into a horse trough with a splash. Phillip was tempted to stay a moment and laugh with the rest of the Breken as the warrior tried to extricate himself from his straw-filled bath, but Zusia’s sharp tug on his sleeve kept him moving.

When they reached the gate, Zusia’s steady trot slowed to a walk. “Let us pass,” she said to the guards. “We have a message for the Etrafarians from House Falco.”

The guards exchanged a quick glance and stepped aside, and, as simply as that, Phillip was free of the Breken city.

***

Royce felt Reo’s growl, a kind of deep rumbling that made the hair on his arms stand on end, an instant before he heard it. Before the boy could stop him, Reo had shot to his feet and ran out of the tent. Royce followed closely behind him and dropped to his knees beside the bristling animal when he’d stopped. Royce had to put an arm around him to keep him from springing at the two strangers who stood before him. Though the wolf had already reached his adult size, he would continue to fill out a bit more as he added more muscle. Without Royce’s mother here to feed the wolf choice scraps, he had lost the last of his puppy fat and grown lean and hard.

“What now?” Hugh asked, hearing Reo’s incessant growls. He exited his tent, to take in the scene before him. Royce was struggling to control the wolf who was less than pleased with their uninvited guests. They appeared to be two Breken children, standing about ten feet away from the animal, obviously halted in their progress by Reo’s fierce snarls.

“Reo, down!” Hugh spoke with calm authority, and Reo lay down in the sand, but did not completely cease his growling.

Hugh eyed the children appraisingly. The little girl was probably younger than she seemed, her height giving her the look of someone older. The other was covered with a hood and a dirty rag that could just barely pass as a cloak, if you loosened the definition of the word enough. There was something about the way the child stood, though, something about the way his hands twitched nervously at his sides. Something—

“Father?” The word came out in a hoarse whisper, and the child lunged forward.

“Pip!” Hugh ran toward his son, embracing him tightly when they collided. He pulled the cowl from his son’s head, and lay his large hands, one on each side of the boy’s face.

Father and son stared at each another, tears running unchecked down both of their faces.

Hugh’s hands stroked Phillip’s face, ran over his slim shoulders, and down his arms. He lifted his hands, gently examining every finger, in much the same way he had the first time he held him as a newborn, exploring the life before him, not quite able to believe he was really there. How many times had he dreamed of this moment?

Hugh’s smile lit his whole face, and he swept the boy into a mighty hug, lifting him from the ground, spinning him in circles, until he was dizzy with giddy joy, and Phillip’s laughter filled the air. When Reo barked loudly, Hugh remembered himself and where he was and lowered Phillip to his feet, keeping one hand on the child’s shoulder, as if to completely release him might make him disappear.

Pip beamed at his father, held out his hand, and beckoned his friend forward. “Father,” he said, “this is Zuzu. She pretty much saved me. Well, not pretty much—she
did
save me, and more than once at that.”

“It’s Zusia, actually,” she said, scowling a little bit at Phillip for using the nickname she’d grown to hate so much.

Hugh could see the filthy child was clearly Breken. She had the same black eyes and haughty manner. Where she fit into things he couldn’t say, but if Phillip credited her with saving his life, then it must be true. He
was
here, after all. How else could he have escaped if he didn’t have her help? “Come here, child,” Hugh said gently, for though the girl wore a proud look and held her head high, he could see she was trembling, nevertheless. 

Zusia hesitated for an instant before stepping boldly forward and planting herself squarely before the Lord of Maj. She took another step forward and looked him dead in the eye, as if daring him to do his worst to her. Phillip had spoken for her, but there were no guarantees it would mean anything to the strange man before her, and he might just as easily kill her as reward her. While it was true Pip had been kind to her, and he had told her such wonderful stories of his island home, there was always the chance they might be no more than that: stories, the wishful imaginings of a child.

“Well, Zuzu, it seems I owe you my thanks, but I think I should also know a little more about you. Who are you, my dear?”

“It’s Zusia, not Zuzu.” Zusia squinted menacingly once more at Phillip, and then turned her gaze back to Hugh, trying to ignore the obviously amused expression on the little boy’s face. “I am the second daughter of House Falco, so I guess the answer to your question is that I am pretty much no one. If someone gets up the courage to do what should have been done when she was a baby and finally kills Mili, then I might be someone, but right now…” Zusia shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her feet, pushing the toe of her shoe nervously into the sand.