The Trespass(55)

Chapter 19





Sara took a deep breath before entering the chamber. She was tired from the journey, tired of the deceit and racked with guilt over what she had had to do. Her dreams were of Dracup; his drawn, anxious face, his helplessness. She had been recalled and the only sensible course of action had been compliance. Could she have resisted? Could she have turned back when her two worlds hung in the balance? Pointless thoughts. It was done. She had stepped across the boundary and tasted the forbidden fruit. She had loved and deceived in the same breath. And Kadesh knew. She could see it in his eyes. He knew. And her fate had become an internal struggle for him because he loved her. And so her life hung by the most slender of threads. She bit her lip, took another breath. Then she pulled the curtains aside.

A woman stood in the centre of the chamber, silent, expectant. She extended an arm but remained where she was, as if reluctant to make contact. She spoke softly, a breath of recognition. “Sara.”

“Ruth.” Sara moved slowly forward. “How are you, sister?” Her eyes scanned the chamber for the girl, but Ruth was alone.

The women embraced. Ruth’s body was taut, defensive.

“Well enough.”

“And where is your charge?” Sara asked brightly. “I expected to find her with you.”

Ruth looked away. “Natasha is with Jassim. He is teaching her.”

Sara nodded. “I see. And is she well?”

Ruth’s expression hardened. “I am looking after her.”

“Sister –” Sara held out her hand, but Ruth moved away, sat before her mirror and began brushing her hair with short, bristling sweeps.

Sara stood by her. “You are angry with me.” She sighed. “Let me talk to you. Please.” She placed her hand on Ruth’s shoulder, feeling the muscles stiffen at her touch.

“Not angry.” Ruth put the brush down and stared at her reflection. “Look at me, Sara. I am old. My time is passing.”

“Oh, Ruth.” Sara put her arms around her sister’s neck. She felt her tears hot against the warm flesh. “It’s not too late. You are beautiful. There will be others –”

Ruth spun around and stood up, eyes blazing. “There can be no others. There is only one. And he doesn’t want me. He wants you.”

Sara stepped back, alarmed at her sister’s transformation. “Ruth –”

“No. Listen to me. You are young. You have someone. You should stay with him, make him your own, then perhaps I have a chance.” Her eyes blazed.

“But you know I have been called. I can’t refuse –”

“You did what you wanted. You had no remorse then. Why do you come now to torment me?”

Sara held out her arms. “Ruth, please – I – I’m frightened of Kadesh. I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m frightened for Natasha. For you and me. I can’t help how things are – I never encouraged him, I promise you.”

Ruth gave a hollow laugh. “You should fear him. He is changing. We all fear him.” She put out her hand and touched her reflection, stroking the glass. “But only I – only I love him.”

Sara went to the small bed in the corner. She picked up a dress, a pretty shade of purple. A flower motif was embroidered delicately on the pocket. “And what will he do with the girl? There is no reason for her to be here.”

“I am taking care of her.” Ruth’s voice quavered slightly. “She is my responsibility.” Ruth took the dress from Sara and began to fold the discarded clothes and place them in a drawer. “She belongs to me.”

Sara felt a chill in her stomach, a cold dread. She said, as gently as she could, “Ruth. She belongs to her father and mother. They grieve for her.”

Ruth spun and her hand lashed out, connecting with Sara’s cheek. Sara reeled back in surprise, caught her foot on a corner table and fell heavily onto the floor. She lay there, disbelieving, looking up at Ruth.

“She is mine now.” Ruth nodded emphatically. “Mine.” She stabbed her finger into her breast. “She has been given to me. Remember that.”





Sara fled along the passages of her childhood. She headed for her special place, the place she’d always sought out when she wanted solitude. The stream met and accompanied her to the waterfall and she entered the dark, foreboding gash in the cavern bed she called the funnel, half falling, half stumbling down the twenty or so stepped projections until she reached the low-ceilinged gallery. A soft phosphorescence lit the void; the stream was a distant whisper of sound, comforting her. She cried for a while, then as the tears subsided she forced herself to think.