The Skull Throne by Peter V. Brett Page A

sighs, steady breathing, and a soft rustling.
    A golden pall came over her vision like a sandstorm, and she began to make out vague shapes. However the eunuch had blinded her, it seemed not to be permanent.
    Experimentally, she tried to clutch her numbed fingers. The jolt through her arm had little effect, but already it was a far cry from the seeming death of the limb minutes ago.
    She could see the vague shape of the eunuch carrying one of her cousins off. Another was still lying nearby. Shanvah, she realized when her sight began to sharpen. The eunuch returned and carried her off as well. Ashia was left alone in the center of the room, twitching and struggling to control her slowly wakening limbs. Every thrash was agony, but so was her feeling of helplessness. And that, she would fight to the death.
    The eunuch returned to her, a large blur of dark against the field of gold. She felt him lay his hand flat upon her bare chest, and held her breath.
    Enkido pressed hard, compressing her lungs to force that breath free. When Ashia tried to take another breath, she found herself unable. He held her that way for a long time. She jerked and thrashed, trying to get her limbs to obey, to strike at him.
    Still he held, and at last Ashia had not the strength or control even to thrash. Her slowly returning vision began to darken again.
    Back to sleep, she thought, almost with relief.
    But then the eunuch eased his hand slightly. Ashia tried to take a breath, and choked. Her lungs still could not expand fully. But she could take a short breath, and did. It was sweeter than any breath she had ever taken, but it was not enough, and so she took another. And another.
    She found a steady rhythm in the short breaths, and again her vision began to return, her limbs to reawaken. But she did not thrash, focused solely on those fluttering, life-giving breaths.
    And then Enkido eased his hand once more. She was allowed a half breath, and accepted it greedily, again finding a steady rhythm to compensate for the missing half.
    He raised his hand again, laying it gently on her breast. Ashia took a full breath, and knew it was his gift to her. No pleasure of her life could match the perfection of that single breath.
    Then he pushed slowly down again. Ashia went limp, letting him force the air from her lungs. He raised his hand a moment later, and Ashia breathed again. For several minutes, she let him guide her breaths. After struggling so mightily for air, this was complete rest, letting Enkido breathe for her.
    She thought that she might fall asleep to that soothing feeling, But he took his hand away, and began massaging her temples, tending the very spot he had brought such agony upon.
    Ashia’s return to sight increased rapidly now, the haze before her focusing into the eunuch’s muscular form. Ashia had never before seen a man without his robes and knew she should lower her eyes, but the tattoos on his body called to her once more. The Riddle of Enkido.
    The eunuch’s skillful fingers moved from her temples to her still-numb arm. There was a tugging feeling as he worked, but she could not feel his touch on her skin. But then there was a stab of pain that made Ashia jerk. She whipped her head around, seeing Enkido massaging a tiny bruise on her shoulder. An almost perfect circle of purple flesh where his fingertip had struck.
    The pain faded quickly, spreading out into a gentle feeling of pins and needles as Ashia’s limb came fully alive once more.
    He turned slightly, and Ashia caught sight of a tattoo almost identical to her bruise on the eunuch’s shoulder.
    There were others on his temples, right where he had squeezed Ashia. Her eyes flickered over his body, following the lines that connected the points. There were many convergences, some great and some small. Enkido next moved to a bruise on her lower back. She twisted to better see, but she had already seen its tattooed mate on Enkido’s back.
    She knew even before the eunuch began to