Goddess Page 4

  “Why should you be shocked? You are the Zar’s mother. He had pledged to serve you with his life.”

  “He had surely pledged the same for your wife, Boaz. And we all know that Spur Lazar has…well, let’s just say he possesses a soft spot for Ana.”

  She watched him bristle, sensing her son’s jealousy.

  “He chose you out of duty,” he said carefully.

  “And that’s my point.” She continued as if insensitive to his feelings. “This is about duty and honor. The choice was evil. He had to make the more daring choice and that madman knew it; I now realize he fully expected Lazar to save the Zar’s mother. Any one of us could see he meant Ana no harm–if he had, she would have been killed before our eyes. No, in those few seconds, Lazar worked out that my situation was more precarious than Ana’s and that they would kill me if he didn’t risk his life to save mine. But, even given that choice, I firmly believe that he feels he has let you down.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He brought you and Tariq back to safety. You said yourself he carried you a great part of the way.”

  She smiled at the memory. “When it was too painful for me to sit on the camel, he carried me. He was so gentle, so kind. I…I don’t know–”

  “He chose duty because that’s what makes up Lazar. Surely you know that?”

  She looked back at him, puzzled. “I was so sure he’d choose Ana.”

  “He did the right thing. You really believe that Ana was in no immediate danger?”

  “I honestly believe she wasn’t. Have you been avoiding Lazar?” Herezah asked, her tone curious but comforting.

  “I have found it hard to face him, yes.”

  “He should have died a dozen times that night. He fought like a man possessed; I’ve never seen anything like it. We were all so helpless. Even though he’s Galinsean, he made me proud to be Percherese and to know that the heir to the enemy crown fought for us.”

  “You almost make me wish I’d been there.”

  “Well, all I’m saying is he did you proud. Don’t blame him, son. Do everything in your power to hang on to him. We are losing him because he can’t forgive himself for losing the Zaradine. Tell him you don’t blame him.”

  “Mother, what’s gotten into you?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Boaz stood. “You don’t even sound like the Valide I knew from before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before the desert,” he said, shaking his head as if unsure of what he meant himself. “Anyway, when did you visit him?”

  “Today. I have just returned.”

  “And?”

  “I want to care for him, nurse him back quickly to good health. If Ana is carrying Percheron’s heir, as we suspect she is, then we have to find her, especially with war coming. Only Lazar can take us back there. He is useless to you lying in a bed and wishing himself to death. Do you still blame him?”

  Boaz held his mother’s gaze silently for few long moments. Finally he sighed. “No.”

  “Then see him.”

  “I look at him and I know I will experience only the pain of loss. Ana is gone. There are moments in my bitterness when I think he did this deliberately.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you’ve hinted often enough at his desires for her.”

  Herezah knew that a tender touch was needed now, along with the truth that Lazar had behaved only with honor throughout the journey. “Boaz, my Lion. I was there. Nothing happened. For all my bitterness and all my secretive wishes that I could catch your wife in some moment of infidelity with your Spur, they were very distant, very sensible of their positions and duty. Ana was withdrawn and quiet for the entire journey–she was sickening constantly. Lazar was respectful to all of us and dutiful, but absent for virtually all of it. You know how he is–not there in spirit even when his body is!” She tried to catch Boaz’s gaze again but he avoided her eyes. She continued: “Lazar hardly looked at her and I feel ashamed for worrying you so unnecessarily.”

  Her attempt at apology only seemed to accentuate Boaz’s distress. He shook his head as he spoke. “He has never behaved toward Ana with anything other than grace and courtesy. It is wrong to suspect him of anything dishonorable.”

  “Perhaps I was blinded by my own frailty toward our Spur.”

  Now Boaz did look at her, hard and quizzically. “This must be the first time you’ve ever been so truthful with me.”

  “No, it is not. But it is possibly the first time I have been so candid about Lazar in front of you.”

  Boaz looked away, refusing to acknowledge Herezah’s confession. “So they never behaved secretively?”

  “Never. In fact, Tariq spent the most time with your wife. The dwarf, of course, was always flitting around her, serving her food and fussing about her in his strange, demented manner, and the man Jumo was always very diligent and courteous toward Ana, but Lazar was consistently remote. The only moment I could cite when the Spur let his guard down might have beeen when his servant, that same Jumo person, perished. It cut deep into Lazar and we sent Ana to speak with him–yes, to comfort him. They are both such fringe dwellers, aren’t they? Tariq agreed that if anyone could get through the ice fortress of Lazar’s countenance as he grieved, Ana might.”

  “You left them alone?”

  “No, son. I was with Ana the whole time. But I allowed Ana to lead the conversation. And she did so with elegance and grace. She did not let us or you down. Why do you pursue this?”

  He gave an ironic laugh. “Coming from you, that is amusing. No reason at all, Mother. I’m jealous that you all had time with Ana when I didn’t. And now she’s gone.”

  “We will find your Ana. But you must help me get Lazar well. No one else knows where she was taken to.”

  “But surely he doesn’t either?”

  “I think Lazar may have some idea.”

  “What makes you say that?” Boaz shot back.

  “This fellow–Arafanz, he calls himself–he knew all of us and he certainly knew Lazar. There are clues in that show of knowledge. Lazar’s too sick to focus on it but he’s the only one amongst us who knows the desert, who knows in which direction Ana was taken. If you want Ana back, you need your Spur.”

  She watched Boaz raise his head to capture a soft swirl of breeze that blew in through her apartments. It seemed unnaturally warm and still for so early in the season, so this gust was a welcome respite.

  “You want to bring him into the palace?”

  Her pulse quickened. “Yes. Near to the harem so I can attend him each day. Elim can be present at all times but I want to supervise the care. He needs this drezden poison–it alone can restore him.”

  “From snakes?”

  “They have to be found and milked and he must ingest copious amounts in a tea, apparently. The pure venom will restore him only for a short while. The tea heals, makes him well.”

  “You have my authority to organize it.”

  Perhaps he expected a squeal of delight, a sense of triumph maybe? Instead Herezah very deliberately showed no overreaction; she simply quietly stood and hugged him. “Thank you, darling. I give you my word, we shall find your wife and we shall bring home your heir.”

  3

  Ana stepped into the chamber with trepidation, afraid of what ghoulish event she might have to witness next. To her relief, all that confronted her was a sparsely furnished room consisting of a shallow clay basin with pails of water nearby and a wizened man who was waiting to offer her some drying linens.

  The man bowed slowly, reverently. “You are to bathe,” he said in the ancient language she had heard spoken earlier that day, “and then Arafanz will see you.”

  She looked around, fearful. “Where is he?”

  “Not here. He awaits you but he asks that you feel free to take your time.”

  “Where does this water come from?” she asked, perplexed, as she gratefully reached for the towels.

  “A fresh spring feeds the fortress. We do n
ot squander it but Arafanz has commanded that you have access to it. Three pails are warmed, the other tepid.” The man shrugged. “It is all for you.”

  “But why? Just an hour ago he was–”

  “I am a servant only. Save your questions for him alone. Bathe, please. Do you need any assistance?”

  “Er…no,” she stammered. “I can manage.”

  “Then I shall leave you now. I will not be far away should you need anything.”

  Ana watched him leave, her mind racing. She had believed these past few months that her captor’s intention was to ransom her, but today’s display of power had nothing to do with money or desire for it. Why his people were being so polite to her, why he himself was so courteous to her, whilst he was so ruthless to others, baffled her.

  She undressed and stepped into the clay basin, reaching for the first pail of heated water and the mug, which she used to tip the water over herself. Ruefully, she recognized that despite all her bitter words about the decadence of the harem, she had taken its bathing rituals for granted. As the clean water broke over her head and splashed down her body, Ana felt herself gradually relaxing. She spied a pot of paste, presumed it was soap, and was secretly delighted to discover that it wasn’t made purely from goat or camel fat as she’d expected, but was lightly fragranced with cinnamon and rose water. It was mixed with sand and dried petals and they acted to slough her dried skin. She couldn’t help but feel pampered again as she applied the low-lathering paste, smoothing the gritty substance across her swollen belly, enjoying the tautness as its precious cargo began to make room for itself. Until now Ana had deliberately pushed all thoughts of her child firmly to the back of her mind. She had refused to acknowledge him–it was a boy, she was sure of it–because she had been certain her death was imminent and didn’t want to feel guilty for the child. But now she found she could not ignore him any longer. It was a shock, realizing that at nearing sixteen, she was to be a mother. Her lack of knowledge and her inexperience scared her but it seemed her body knew what to do and so she would leave the tiny mite to his own devices and try hard not to think too hard upon his fragility. She smiled in spite of herself. One night her belly had been tender but flat, and the next day it seemed to have popped. Her jailers had obviously kept Arafanz well briefed.

  This child would be Percheron’s heir, she suddenly realized, and she stumbled in the basin at the thought that the Stone Palace would claim her son. Perhaps she was better off here as the desert’s prisoner than the harem’s? She sighed and put the futile thought from her mind, turning her attention to cleansing her hair. Before she knew it, all three buckets of warmed water had been utilized. It felt wicked to use the last pail but she did, in defiance of Arafanz’s deeds this day.

  Twenty less thirsts to slake, she thought as she used their water. Her anger at the men’s senseless deaths returned and she sucked in her breath as the cool of the water bit, awakening her. She stepped out of the basin and began toweling herself, rubbing hard to revive muscles that had felt too little exercise. When she was finished she called to the man outside, who emerged holding two candles on a tray of braided grasses, along with some combs and a brush. Ana hadn’t registered how dark it had become and she shivered now at the realization that dusk had obviously fallen in the desert. It would become cold very rapidly now.

  “Sit, please,” her aide said, gesturing toward a small wooden bench. “I will brush your hair.”

  Ana wanted to decline but kept silent and did as she was asked. The man began working behind her; his touch was careful, his fingers coming into contact only with her hair, not even grazing the skin of her shoulders. He began to hum softly as he worked.

  “What is that tune?” she asked, equally quietly, enjoying the rhythm of his combing.

  “It is about frankincense and myrrh. It is a song my mother used to sing.”

  “I don’t know the language. What does it mean?”

  “It’s about a woman singing to her husband that she would rather have the smoke of the crystallized sap than the glint of gold from the ground.”

  “Ah. It’s nice. And what is your name?”

  “We don’t use names here, although I was once known as Soraz.”

  She could tell she’d made him feel uncomfortable and so Ana fell silent again. After a while the man put his combs back on the tray. “Your hair is still damp but it’s shiny now,” he said. “I will leave you to dress it as you wish. I’m also leaving you with a small pot of sandalwood oil should you care to use it on yourself as perfume. Someone will fetch you soon. He will bring fresh robes.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Ana said, turning to stare at him.

  Soraz said nothing in response, simply bowed his head to her and departed.

  Ana tipped some of the thick dark oil into her hands and rubbed it onto her neck, chest, and pulse points as she’d been taught in the harem. Its deliciously spicy perfume filled the air and she was reminded of the time that Elza had been given permission by Salmeo to use the expensive sandalwood fragrance on Ana before a visit to Boaz. “This is the perfume of the gods alone,” the servant had whispered as she had smoothed it onto Ana’s skin. Ana shivered slightly at the memory. Pez believed she was a god. A wave of sorrow rippled through her on behalf of the dwarf, for despite his dedication to this notion, she knew she was no such thing.

  Another robed figure, with only his eyes showing, appeared within a couple of minutes bearing simple linen robes. He turned his back whilst she pulled the soft swath of fabric about her.

  “I am ready,” she said, unsure of what was expected.

  He bowed. “Follow me,” was all he said, and then, in the silence she had begun to expect from these faceless, nameless men, she accompanied him on a journey through the fortress. She ran her fingers along the rough-hewn walls, watching the soft light of the oil lamp that her guide carried bounce ahead of them. Once or twice she thought she saw symbols cut into the walls or engraved above doorways, but they were moving swiftly and illumination was brief, the symbols swallowed by darkness in the instant they passed.

  Finally, they arrived at a low doorway. Her navigator nodded, and silently pointed toward the dark doorway. She had no choice. There was nowhere else to go but inside. Ana took a deep breath and pulled at the handle of the smooth timber door. She stepped in and was taken by surprise with what she saw.

  Lazar was sweating, twisting in bed from the pain that even a weightless silken sheet seem to provoke. It hurt to lie down but it hurt more to sit or stand; there was no position that might bring him peace. But he had been here before, recognized the familiar sense of nausea and dislocation as fever swept through his body and claimed him. Oh yes, he remembered this suffering all too well from his time on Star Island. It had been different then–he had not been able to so much as hold a thought; all he had been able to do then was drift abandoned on its waves. But this time he felt more anchored in reality. He could think; he was aware of himself and his surrounds–that much was a blessing–but the pain felt sharper for that greater level of consciousness.

  He rode the pain until he thought he could take it no more, until he was sure he was screaming at the top of his lungs. In reality he was not screaming, although his eyes were shut tight and his mouth was pulled back in agony.

  Open your eyes, someone commanded.

  The sound of the voice stunned him into consciousness. He blinked, slowly, expecting light, but saw only darkness, tasted the tang of salt, and heard the slosh of waves.

  Fully!

  Lazar obeyed. He could do no less. And felt instantly terrified. He thought he dropped to his knees, clung to the cool of the stone.

  I don’t understand, he gasped.

  You will not fall. Raise yourself up. Look at me.

  I am dreaming.

  You are not. You are here. Say my name.

  You are Beloch, Lazar whispered.

  Louder!

  Lazar gathered his courage, lifted himself straight, and stared
into the stone-carved eyes of the giant. You are Beloch, he stated clearly.

  Good. And my brother?

  Is Ezram.

  And you?

  I am Lazar.

  State your real name, the giant growled. Don’t hide behind that alias.

  He complied, murmuring, I am Prince Lucien of Galinsea.

  Indeed you are, the giant said more gently now. Welcome, Prince Lucien.

  How is this happening? I am dreaming.

  You are dying again. You were saved once and will be again if you take the help you are offered. You must accept the aid, despite the person who offers it. You must get well and you must find Ana.

  I know.

  She is with child.

  Lazar thought he might have nodded.

  A new voice joined them. It was Ezram. You must bring the heir back to Percheron. It is important to restore the balance.

  Lazar looked up, puzzled. Balance?

  My brother means “for the chaos that is coming,” Beloch explained.

  You will need all of us, Ezram confirmed.

  I don’t understand.

  You will when the time arrives.

  But I want to understand now. What does Ezram mean?

  Beloch sighed in a low rumble. You must free us, Lucien. All of us–not just us twins, but Crendel, Darso, Shakar.

  But how?

  Fret not, at the right time we come at your call.

  At my call? Lazar repeated, totally confused. What is this time you speak of?

  The coming of Lyana. It is what we have waited for.

  But the old stories tell us she has come and gone before and none of the stone statues of Percheron did anything.