The Tower Broken(28)

He lifted his shoulders. ‘To show what we were capable of. For revenge. A play for the land and the iron it holds. Take your pick.’

There was something he was not telling her. She looked around his bare cell. There were no parchments, no ink, no quills. He seemed naked without them, and without his pain. ‘I learned to read,’ she said, ‘Sarmin taught me.’ She had meant to write a letter to him in Fryth, to make him proud of her.

He looked at her as if she were mad. ‘Mesema – listen. Did the Felting slaves arrive in Nooria?’

‘There were no Felting slaves.’

His green eyes narrowed, gauging her truthfulness, and anger flashed within her that he would think her a liar for even a moment.

‘There were,’ he said.

‘No.’ For generations the people of the Grass had been exempt from the empire’s tribute. Each chief promised to fight when called upon, which ensured no Felting parent ever sacrificed a child to the Cerani nobles.

Banreh stepped closer, and she watched the lines of his face as he spoke. He had always been handsome, even when his features were drawn with pain. ‘Arigu tells me they had converted to Mogyrk, that they had rebelled, but I know he just wanted them. Just as he waged his war after the emperor told him to turn back. This is a man who takes what he wants and afterwards provides a reason. You remember – he claimed you for Sarmin, though Beyon did not know.’

‘He lied to me,’ she admitted.

‘You see.’ Banreh now stood so close that when he wrapped his hands around the iron, inches from her own, the warmth from his body washed over her. He switched to the intimate tone. ‘I knew the Felt would never be free unless I showed both empires what we can do.’

‘You think you have earned freedom? Every day the court asks Sarmin to invade the grass, to punish our people, to put them in chains for a hundred years – because of what you did.’

‘That is why I am here.’

He was always calm. In the past it had given her comfort; now she wanted to hit him. Instead, she reached out towards his vest, grabbed a leather tie and gave it a sharp tug. ‘You always were a fool, Banreh.’ She laid her cheek against the cold, hard iron.

‘Yes.’ And with that he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against hers. He smelled like grass and sunshine and outside spaces and she lingered against him, taking it in. ‘I should never have brought you to this place,’ he whispered. ‘We should have had grass-children.’

With a jolt she remembered herself and let go the bars, putting a hand to her mouth. The guard station had gone quiet. ‘You cannot!’ she hissed, looking down the dark corridor. ‘They will kill you.’

He touched her cheek with a callused finger. ‘Not yet. They need Arigu.’

‘I cannot speak to you if you insist upon this foolishness.’ She backed away. She did not think it would be long before the guard returned.

He let go the bars and backed away into his cell. ‘Look for the slaves,’ he said. ‘You will find them. Then you’ll know.’

‘I will.’ Her lips still felt warm from his touch. She turned from him and walked towards the Ways, but then thought of another question and turned back. ‘Will the Fryth duke truly help us?’

He stood mostly in the shadows now, the edges of his curls lit with gold in the light of her lantern, but then he shifted and she saw his eyes. Always they had reminded her of springtime. ‘Yes. He will.’

She heard footsteps approaching and covered her lantern. She felt her way along the cells, moving quietly, but when the guard turned the corner and light spilled along the corridor she broke into a run, her sandals slapping against the stone.

‘Hey!’ the guard called out.

She whipped around the corner, hand on the stone, and pulled at the hook-twist for the door. Hurry, hurry. The guard’s boots sounded against the floor but he was not as fast as she, even in her dainty sandals. She won through and ran halfway up the wet stairs before covering her lantern. She pressed her back against the wall.

The guard opened the door and looked into the Ways, holding his lantern aloft, but the darkness proved impenetrable. He craned his head towards where she hid and she held her breath as he stood listening. Surely he knew she was close by; it was only his laziness that prevented him climbing the stairs. His prisoner had not escaped; that was his main concern, and at last he grunted and retreated into the dungeon. She heard the bar fall on the other side of the door. That path was now closed to her.

She let out a breath, wondering what Sarmin would have said if the guard had caught her.

The Old Wives in the women’s wing gossiped that Nessaket had kept many lovers over the years, but Mesema didn’t see how that could be possible. There were rules for where a royal woman could go and with whom; for coming within the sight of a man, for speaking with him, and for touches both accidental and purposeful. While she knew a man’s punishment was death in almost all cases, she did not know what consequences a woman might face.