The Tower Broken(36)

The older man stepped closer, squinting into the dark doorway at Rushes. ‘Were you in the marketplace?’

‘Yes.’ When the soldiers looked at one another, he added, ‘I’m a fruit-seller.’

‘Come with me,’ said the old soldier, his blue eyes gone solemn, beckoning him with a gloved hand. ‘The Tower has business with you.’





17



Mesema


Mesema lay where scented mountain beauty twisted around long blades of grass and the black summer soil warmed her skin. She twisted her hands in his curls as he kissed her, his cheeks rough, his chest smooth against her exploring hand. His lips wandered to her neck, his breath tickling the fine hairs and, further down, laying warm kisses between her breasts, one hand now between her legs. Her sister’s voice carried over the distance, calling to someone, and laughter rang out around the fire, but they were all far away, and the two of them were alone … She rolled and put him beneath her. The moon was in her face and her need was so great, greater than she had ever felt it, so that the touch of him made her think she might burst, or dissolve into nothing, if she just lowered her hips.

Mesema woke with a start, her heart beating so fast she put a hand over her chest to slow it. She rolled to her side, then slipped out of her bed, glancing back at the pillows with horror as if the bed, not she, had been unfaithful. She stood in the middle of the room, the desert night cold against her skin.

Tarub stood in the doorway. ‘I heard a shout, Your Majesty. Are you well?’

‘I am fine, Tarub. I need light.’

Within seconds Tarub had given her enough light to make out the edges of the room, marked by Pelar’s empty crib, the mirror with all of her Cerani makeup and jewellery laid out before it and the humble chest full of her Felting possessions. She fell to her knees before the chest and lifted the lid, gazing within as if peering into the Grass itself. She pushed aside the woollen blankets her mother had made for her and the wedding dress she and the others had embroidered by firelight and searched with her hands to the very bottom, where she had stuffed her old cloak when she came out of the mountains for good. Using secret methods, her mother had made the wool a bright white, so the flowers stitched across it in blue and red stood out even more. She gathered the cloak in her hands, ran her fingers along the hem. Once, Banreh had been writing in the carriage when it came to a sudden stop and his ink had splashed over the rim of its pot. She found the black spot and took a deep breath.

She pulled the cloak up around her shoulders and regarded herself in the polished silver, but she did not look like a plains-girl. Her hair, the paint-stain lingering on her lips, even the way she stood spoke of the palace. She tore off the cloak and threw it on the floor.

She stood in the silence of her room, so empty without Pelar, and closed her eyes. He had gone south, so far from the Hidden God that she did not believe He would ever find him. She turned to the shadowed cradle and lifted Pelar’s silks to her nose, filling her heart with his scent. Sarmin and Nessaket had been right: she should have gone south with her child.

‘The Empire Mother to see you, Your Majesty,’ said Tarub from the doorway, and Mesema turned, dropping Pelar’s wrappings.

Nessaket entered and slid down upon a bench, rubbing her forehead with one hand. Pain had etched wrinkles around her eyes. She pretended not to notice the tears on Mesema’s cheeks. ‘I heard you scream.’

‘A nightmare,’ Mesema lied.

Nessaket did not pursue it. ‘You spoke privately with the prisoner. What did he say?’

‘How did you know?’

‘I guessed. Now I know.’

Mesema watched Nessaket’s face, knowing she walked on uneven ground. ‘He said Arigu betrayed him.’

The Empire Mother clicked her tongue in disbelief. ‘He will say nothing useful before he dies, then.’

Mesema stared, afraid to ask what the Empire Mother knew of Banreh’s death, but Nessaket read her face and said, ‘Don’t worry yourself, Daughter. I have made sure he will die without pain, away from Dinar’s knives.’

‘But—’

Nessaket motioned to the cloak on the rug. ‘Are you going somewhere in that? Back to the dungeon, perhaps? Or out into the city?’

Mesema picked it up, folded it and replaced it in the chest, blushing. So the Empire Mother knew of her adventure at Lord Nessen’s estate. ‘No.’ She closed the lid, and once more had nothing for her hands to do. She kept them still at her sides.

‘Good. When my son the emperor is dead, heaven and stars keep him, you may do as you like, but not before.’ When Mesema began to protest, she held up a hand. ‘You are young, and love can run you right through, hard as a spear. I remember that much. But do not risk this. You do not know what will arise should you take a wrong step.’