crude wound I had made, but I slid my arm away to shake blood to the stone floor, where I hoped it would soak into the ground to be consumed by the Hinge.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“What do you mean, it’s nothing? You’re bleeding. What have you done?” She urged me towards the cot.
My small sacrifice had drained me far more than was usual. I could not answer her questions; my head spun too furiously. I stumbled onto the cot and fell into a black stupor.
----
A commotion woke me , but I was too tired and disoriented to rise. I had not bound the wound in my arm, and so I’d bled more than I’d intended. Two guards stood outside the iron gate with Ennis between them.
“Ennis?” I said as I sat up. “What’s happened? Where are you going?”
“I am to be set free,” she said. Her face looked lighter. “They have only lienbound me to House Galatien. The espionage and treason charges have been dropped.”
“I am glad for you,” I said, though in truth, I was sorry to see Ennis and the guards disappear down the hall. I did not like to be alone and friendless, underground, in a dark cell in a foreign country.
I also feared returning to Gante. They would have little compassion for me after my failed mission, and Inarian would report that I had not listened to her guidance. The only reason she had not stuck her blackstone shard into my neck was because I had no successor. Perhaps I was safer here, far from the reach of Ganteans. A Cedna had to name her own successor; I had never heard of it being otherwise, but if they grew desperate enough, would the Kaluq Elders find a way to name one themselves? I did not know.
----
T he wound on my arm festered, and I grew ill. I wanted to believe that the infection was due to the poor conditions of the prison, but I couldn’t discount that Inarian might have laced the blackstone shard with some sort of mild poison, just for spite. Not enough to kill me, surely, but enough to express her disdain for my behavior here in the south.
I woke fevered, tangled in the terror of drowning. They would come for me. They would kill me. A soft touch on my arm relieved me. “Atanurat?” I whispered. He knew. He would help me.
“It is I, my lady.”
The speech sounded wrong, though I couldn’t identify why. “Atanurat?” I said again, weakly.
“You have a fever, Beautiful.”
My mouth was dry. When I rose, my vision disintegrated. Gentle hands steadied my shoulders.
“You are unwell. Allow me to give you some water.”
“Please,” I croaked, and finally my vision steadied.
Onatos. It was Onatos Amar who stood before me with his black hair smoothed back from his narrow face. He wore impeccable black attire, as usual. I drew back in embarrassment. I was filthy, and I smelled of blood and disease.
I pressed into the wall behind the cot and wished he would go away.
“Mydon has sentenced you to a year’s supervision under the care of one of his vassals. He feels it best you not return to Gante at this time. I offered to serve as your jailor. You have also been fined one hundred gold jhass for the drawing of a weapon in His Majesty’s court. I took the liberty of resolving your debt to the throne.”
“I—thank you.” The words did not come easily.
“You are welcome, of course. You are to accompany me to my home in Amar. But first, we will go to my townhouse. Can you walk?” He slung an arm beneath my shoulders and helped me from the cell. The guards followed us all the way to the Palace gates.
Onatos’s townhouse proved a welcome haven. When I stumbled from the carriage, he steadied me. A maid brought me upstairs and deposited me in a tub filled with water that steamed like the hot springs around Nitaaraq.
The copper gown Onatos had so favored was ruined beyond repair, but the black one I had bought at the same time sat across the bed, clean and pressed. The maid dressed the wound in my arm.
“Lord Onatos wishes you to dine with him,” she said. “He
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“What do you mean, it’s nothing? You’re bleeding. What have you done?” She urged me towards the cot.
My small sacrifice had drained me far more than was usual. I could not answer her questions; my head spun too furiously. I stumbled onto the cot and fell into a black stupor.
----
A commotion woke me , but I was too tired and disoriented to rise. I had not bound the wound in my arm, and so I’d bled more than I’d intended. Two guards stood outside the iron gate with Ennis between them.
“Ennis?” I said as I sat up. “What’s happened? Where are you going?”
“I am to be set free,” she said. Her face looked lighter. “They have only lienbound me to House Galatien. The espionage and treason charges have been dropped.”
“I am glad for you,” I said, though in truth, I was sorry to see Ennis and the guards disappear down the hall. I did not like to be alone and friendless, underground, in a dark cell in a foreign country.
I also feared returning to Gante. They would have little compassion for me after my failed mission, and Inarian would report that I had not listened to her guidance. The only reason she had not stuck her blackstone shard into my neck was because I had no successor. Perhaps I was safer here, far from the reach of Ganteans. A Cedna had to name her own successor; I had never heard of it being otherwise, but if they grew desperate enough, would the Kaluq Elders find a way to name one themselves? I did not know.
----
T he wound on my arm festered, and I grew ill. I wanted to believe that the infection was due to the poor conditions of the prison, but I couldn’t discount that Inarian might have laced the blackstone shard with some sort of mild poison, just for spite. Not enough to kill me, surely, but enough to express her disdain for my behavior here in the south.
I woke fevered, tangled in the terror of drowning. They would come for me. They would kill me. A soft touch on my arm relieved me. “Atanurat?” I whispered. He knew. He would help me.
“It is I, my lady.”
The speech sounded wrong, though I couldn’t identify why. “Atanurat?” I said again, weakly.
“You have a fever, Beautiful.”
My mouth was dry. When I rose, my vision disintegrated. Gentle hands steadied my shoulders.
“You are unwell. Allow me to give you some water.”
“Please,” I croaked, and finally my vision steadied.
Onatos. It was Onatos Amar who stood before me with his black hair smoothed back from his narrow face. He wore impeccable black attire, as usual. I drew back in embarrassment. I was filthy, and I smelled of blood and disease.
I pressed into the wall behind the cot and wished he would go away.
“Mydon has sentenced you to a year’s supervision under the care of one of his vassals. He feels it best you not return to Gante at this time. I offered to serve as your jailor. You have also been fined one hundred gold jhass for the drawing of a weapon in His Majesty’s court. I took the liberty of resolving your debt to the throne.”
“I—thank you.” The words did not come easily.
“You are welcome, of course. You are to accompany me to my home in Amar. But first, we will go to my townhouse. Can you walk?” He slung an arm beneath my shoulders and helped me from the cell. The guards followed us all the way to the Palace gates.
Onatos’s townhouse proved a welcome haven. When I stumbled from the carriage, he steadied me. A maid brought me upstairs and deposited me in a tub filled with water that steamed like the hot springs around Nitaaraq.
The copper gown Onatos had so favored was ruined beyond repair, but the black one I had bought at the same time sat across the bed, clean and pressed. The maid dressed the wound in my arm.
“Lord Onatos wishes you to dine with him,” she said. “He
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