hundred men, or a thousand, not three.”
Miles passed in silence and in heat. As the wide wheels turned in the sand, Banreh mentioned something about her language lessons. She ignored him, staring out of the window instead.
“Mesema.”
She watched the sand anxiously for a sign of the pattern, or further assassins.
“Mesema.” Banreh touched her arm.
His strength poured into her through that connection. She took his wrist in her other hand. “Banreh.”
“Are you well?”
She shook her head no.
He watched her, his green eyes thoughtful.
She wanted his thoughts. She wanted his calm. She wanted everything about him. “Will you kiss me again, Banreh, as you did before?”
He pulled his wrist from her grasp and pressed himself against the other side of the carriage. “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can. And nobody will know or care. Arigu’s gone. Eldra’s gone.”
“I will know. I will care.”
She knelt on the carriage floor, her arms over his legs, hands clasped as if in prayer. “This could be the last day we ever spend together. If that were so, wouldn’t you want to hold me?”
He ran a hand through her hair, a different look on his face now: the look of a Rider just come in from the hunt. “Of course I would. But this is not our last day.”
She ran her hands up his chest and kissed the front of his shirt. Hard muscle lay beneath her fingers. Strength, but trembling, even so. “Please, Banreh,” she said, rising up on her knees, touching the back of his neck with her hand. He exhaled, a shaky, breathy noise, and she knew she had him then. He pulled her in with his strong arms and pressed his lips against hers.
She held to him, skin against skin. His chest firm, his neck soft, his cheeks rough. His lips fell over her arms and face; his fingers pulled at the lacings of her shirt. This was as it should have been. They should have made a plainschild.
“Lie with me, Banreh,” she whispered in his ear.
He slowed his kisses. His hands let go of her laces and went still. “No,” he said. He pushed her back and leaned against the side of the carriage, away from her.
“No?” She threw her arms around him and kissed his face. “Why not, Banreh?” His soft hair tickled her cheek.
“Mesema, you know why not. Stop. Stop!” He pushed her away and before she could say anything else, he hit the roof of the box with his fist, requesting a halt. He opened the door while the carriage was still moving.
“Banreh, what are you doing? Don’t leave me!”
He jumped down into the sand. It hurt his leg, she knew, even though he didn’t show it. He pushed the door shut and limped away from her. He would ride, then, with the other men. She would be alone. The carriage moved forwards, uncaring.
Mesema wiped at a tear. Banreh couldn’t go against her father’s wishes, not even for love, not even if this were the last day of his life. She hated him. He was no more than a thrall, and Eldra had been braver. She reached in her pocket for the blue feather, her reminder of Eldra’s wish. She rubbed the feather against her cheek, wondering if she’d live to fulfil her promise. The not-knowing felt like torture. She wished she could jump out of the carriage like Banreh, run to the palace and the emperor, find out for certain.
At last Mesema pulled herself together. She sat up and settled on the bench. It was no use feeling sorry for herself; she would wait with dignity, like a woman. She sat with her own thoughts through the dark night, until the sun rose and the caravan came to a halt. When she climbed out of the carriage that morning, she held her back straight and her head high. Marry or die, she would do it like a princess.
Chapter Eighteen
'A caravan.” Eyul studied the parallel tracks in the sand. “We’re close to the buried city,” Amalya said. “Horses, twenty or thirty of them, and a carriage.” Military, without a question. Whether they were White Hats or Blue Shields, Beyon’s Imperial Guard, he could not tell.
“Too close.”
He looked at her now. She was shivering, her hand clutching the pommel. “Then we will go wide around them.”
Eyul mounted his camel and steered it westwards, away from the road. The Scorpion looked down upon his back, while the Maid pointed to the palace with one starry finger. They steered their camels in and out of shadow, the dunes guarding their path.
“Do you think it is safe to sleep without your Knife?” Amalya asked after a time.
They passed between the dunes in silence. Eyul closed his eyes and felt the weight of the weapon at his side. “I will sleep with my Knife, then.”
“You are the emperor’s Knife, the Knife of Heaven,” she said. “Your weapon is the holy connection between you and Beyon.”
“Beyon would not care for there to be a connection between us,” he said.
“Why do you say that?”
Did the Tower really know so little of the palace? “Because I cut the throats of his five brothers. The eldest had reached ten years of age. The youngest was in his silk wrappings. I killed them all.” There; he’d said it. She wanted him to keep his Knife; this is what it meant, for Beyon as well as Govnan.
Amalya did not speak for a long while. They moved, side by side, the sand blowing like fog around their camels’ knees. When dawn broke over the mountains, Eyul pulled up to bind his eyes.
Amalya looked towards Nooria and said, “ Tahal killed his sons. You were nothing more than his instrument, no more worthy of blame than the Knife that made the cuts.”
Eyul drew out his bandages and listened.
“I’ve been thinking of when you joined the assassins. You said they looked for mercy, but I think they were looking for something else, too.” Her voice sounded regretful. “They gave you a choice: kill or lose a hand. Some would have tried to get out of both, but not you. You accepted those as the only options.”
“But they were.”
“No, there are always more options, Eyul. They needed to be sure you were-”
“What?”
She moved as if to speak, then shrugged.
They needed to be sure I was obedient. He pulled his bandages tight. He wasn’t one of Beyon’s dogs, to run hither and yon fetching rubber balls. He looked her way, but the fabric made it impossible to see her face. “I am loyal, but no lackey.” He dismounted.
“No? You’re still following orders. As long as you think it’s for the empire, you obey.” She climbed to the sand, disappearing behind the blur of brown that was her camel.
He played for time. “You said the emperor and empire are one and the same.”
“But you said otherwise.”
He pulled the tents from their bindings.
“You must decide for yourself, Knife-Sworn, whom to heed.”
“Maybe I’ll find my own way.” He threw down some water-skins and the dried camel dung for cooking.
“Not if you can’t see beyond the choices you’re given.” She stood facing him, not moving. He imagined the look in her eyes, patient but firm.
He moved away and began to assemble his tent. He was still learning how to do it by touch alone. So she didn’t think he was capable of making the right choice? Next she would try convincing him to stick close to Beyon, to be truly his Knife, as he had been Tahal’s. She didn’t know the emperor was marked, didn’t realise what a farce that would be.
Why had he not told her? Eyul could see her shape moving around the fire, hear the water pouring from her
