Bound by Blood and Sand (4 page)

He nodded. “Then fine, speak if you want to. I hate the quiet.”

She nodded but had nothing to say. She shrugged helplessly at his expectant look, and finally managed to whisper, “Thank you for the drink, Highest.”

“What was that?” he asked, squinting at her as if that would let him hear better.

She cleared her throat and repeated herself, surprised at how loud she sounded. She wasn't yelling—she'd never yelled in her life—but she'd almost never spoken above a whisper. And she'd certainly never spoken
with
any of the Avowed. Answered their questions, yes, but she'd never been granted this kind of permission before.

“Of course,” he said, and gestured toward the cistern again. “Help yourself, if you're still thirsty.”

Jae all but dove for the mug, filled it, and took a few enormous gulps before he could tell her to stop or rescind his permission. When he didn't say anything about it, she drank another half mug before setting it down.

“Are you really
that
thirsty?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I—well—yes, Highest,” she said. “Always.”

“Oh.” The surprise faded to a frown. “The Lady rations drinking water?”

“Yes, Highest,” Jae said. “There's so little left at the end of the day….”

“And the reservoir is low,” he said, shaking his head. “So wasting water is a crime.”

Jae tensed again, the water now churning in her stomach. She'd let the drink lull her into calm, but if Lord Elan wasn't used to rationing water, he probably wasn't used to withholding it from anyone, either. So offering her a drink hadn't been a sign of mercy—even though
he
was the one who'd tripped and spilled the water. If he'd bothered to watch where he was going, nothing would have spilled at all. Not that anyone of his station would ever think of it that way.

Jae set her jaw but didn't look away from him. He laughed and asked, “What's
that
look for?”

The Curse tore an answer from her before she could brace herself, try to stop the words and shape some half-truth instead: “I was ordered to care for the garden. I do the best I can. And now I'm to be punished for
your
misstep, Highest.”

He stared at her silently, and she flinched. She was already here to be punished, and what she'd said had only made things worse for herself. But she couldn't help it. The Curse compelled the truth, no matter the consequences.

But it didn't matter, she reminded herself. She had only weeks to live anyway. Nothing that happened tonight mattered at all.

Lord Elan finally leaned back on his cushion and gestured dismissively. “There's no need to be so angry about it.”

Jae didn't dare respond to that, even though she still had permission to speak. She
was
angry, but disrespecting him would only make the punishment worse.

But all he said was “This place is miserable enough, and that water—that was an accident. Not treason, even if you do carry traitors' blood. I don't see any need to punish you for it. You're dismissed.”

She started toward the door immediately, obeying the implied order to leave, so quickly that the Curse didn't even have a chance to nudge her—and he didn't have a chance to change his mind, because after her outburst, she was certain he would punish her if he paused to think about it. But if she got out of his sight quickly enough, he might forget or decide she wasn't worth caring about at all, even for that slight.

But before she could make it out, he called, “Wait!”

She stopped sharply, one foot still partially raised. When he didn't give her another immediate order, she set her foot down carefully, trying to make it clear—to herself, to him, to the Curse—that she wasn't going anywhere. She was just waiting.

“As thirsty as you were, did you work outside like that all day?” he finally asked.

“Yes, Highest,” she said, turning around. “I'm the groundskeeper.”

“The groundskeeper is a Closest, of course,” he said, shaking his head a little. “Well, I can do something about that, at least. Tell whoever you answer to that I want you to serve inside while the sun's at its peak. Does that suit you?”

Jae was braced better now, after their conversation, and was able to set her jaw and force back the immediate answer—
no
. No, she didn't like being inside, where Lady Shirrad and the Avowed could see her. Where
Rannith
might see her. There was no telling what Lord Elan might do if she said that, but the Curse would never allow her to lie, and with every moment, the thrumming in her head grew louder, the compulsion to speak getting stronger.

At least this time, she hadn't been caught totally off guard. She cast around for anything she could think of, anything that was true enough to speak, related enough to his question to be an answer, and finally gave in. Very, very carefully she said, “It would be a relief to escape the sun.”

Which
was
true. She forced herself to exhale quietly, calmly, as if she hadn't just battled the Curse for that. Drawing his attention to her pause would do no good—she didn't want him to ask anything else.

“This place is miserable,” he repeated, which meant if he had noticed anything, he didn't care enough to ask about it. “I've seen what sunsickness can do. Even back home, it's not uncommon. And with the drought as bad as it is…” He shrugged. “I was the one who tripped, after all. You may go.”

She fled. Maybe she should have thanked him, but she didn't want his eyes on her any longer than necessary. And besides, what did she owe him her thanks for? She didn't want to work inside, and her life was nothing to him.

Leaving without speaking had been the smart thing to do, even if she had had permission to talk. After all, she could still only tell the truth. Better to keep quiet like the Closest always did, and not to let slip what she thought of him.

Running attracted attention, so Closest didn't run. But Jae moved as fast as she could while keeping silent and unnoticed, and didn't slow until she'd left the house and was safely out behind it. There was a large open space between the inner and outer walls, which had once held more yards and gardens and even trees. Most of the trees had died the same year her mother had, and had been dug out ages ago. The yard was now covered in sand, with neglected pebble paths. Only the outer stone wall kept the yard separate from the desert.

Jae felt like she could breathe again once she stepped outside, into the night. Unlike the front of the house, where people came and went, or the courtyard, which was overlooked by several rooms in the house, no one ever bothered to come back here. That was the reason it had been allowed to fall into this state, gloomy and abandoned, the way all of Aredann would be soon.

Still, Jae walked toward the few remaining trees. Their bare branches scraped at the sky, and the wind made eerie noises as it caught them. But Jae liked the trees anyway. She didn't have the water to help keep them alive, but they remained here, somehow, stubbornly surviving. Jae let a hand rest against one's rough bark and sighed.

Before the drought, Aredann had been a true oasis in the desert—or so her mother had told her. The courtyard garden had rivaled the splendor of gardens in the central cities, and this empty yard had been an orchard. Jae couldn't even imagine that, and almost didn't want to. In some ways, she preferred the yard as it was now: dismal and desperate, but still clinging to life. Like the Closest. Like all of Aredann. For now, at least.

She passed through the trees to the back wall. It came up to her hip, made of rough stones that she knew by heart. She rubbed her hand against one, almost surprised that she hadn't rubbed it smooth through the years. Here, blocked from the view of anyone in the house, was the one place where she could be alone, and where she felt safe enough to finally stop moving, to sag in place and catch her breath.

The moon was a bright sliver hanging over the open desert. Jae picked a dead branch off the ground and tossed it over the wall, leaned out and looked at the endless expanse of sand and stones. When she squinted, she could make out a few stunted bushes. She'd spent hours staring at them as a child, wanting to look more closely, to explore everything out there, to see what the other estates were like and if there were really cities with reservoirs ten times the size of Aredann's.

Those estates were as much a legend to her as the War of the Well, the rebellion her ancestors had started, that had left their descendants shackled by the Curse so that they could never rise up again. The Curse would never let her leave Aredann—not that she wanted to, necessarily. Aredann was her home. It was all she knew, and every blade of grass that survived was thanks to her care. It would turn to dust without her.

But if Aredann was abandoned, it would turn to dust anyway. So would she.

She heard pebbles crunch behind her, and went still, her heart racing. She hadn't been given further orders for the night, but if one of the Avowed saw her like this, simply standing in the night without doing any work—

“Jae.”

Tal's voice, a whisper in the wind. Jae relaxed and turned to face him. He must have kicked those stones intentionally, warning her that he was coming instead of creeping up next to her silently, greeting her with a hand on her elbow. She didn't like to be startled.

“I heard that you were in trouble,” Tal said, coming to stand at the wall with her. “But no one knew where you were. I thought you might have come here to be alone.”

“And yet, here you are,” she said, smiling a tiny bit so he'd know she didn't mean it. She liked being alone, but having Tal at her side was better.

They stayed like that for a few minutes as the chilly wind raised bumps on her arms. The night felt enormous, but it wasn't silent. There was the wind in the trees, and even, when she listened carefully, the sound of insects singing. A tiny lizard skittered across the top of the wall and down the far side. She watched it go, sure no one else at Aredann stood still like this long enough to notice tiny details of the night.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to hear what happened,” Tal finally said.

Jae scraped a fingernail along the wall. “I'm fine.”

“I heard you were punished by Lady Shirrad and Lord Elan.” He watched her plaintively, pleading for information without asking any questions. She could see his worry in the way he stood, the crinkled skin on his forehead.

“I wasn't. I was…His Highest said he was going to. He called me to his room. But all he did was give me a drink and send me on my way with orders for tomorrow.” She stared out at the desert, still not sure what to make of all that.

“A drink,” Tal repeated, incredulous.

She nodded. “And he allowed me to speak, which was…I don't understand.”

“It sounds as if he was kind.”

Jae snorted. Maybe it sounded that way, but none of the Avowed were kind, and the Highest were the cruelest of all. “Not exactly. It's more as if he just didn't care.”

“Hmm.” Tal let that go, but she could see he was thinking hard, reconsidering everything he knew about Lord Elan.

“I should go talk to Firran,” Jae finally said.

Tal made a face like he'd eaten something sour, and she laughed. Firran was one of the only Closest who didn't like Tal—because one day soon, Lady Shirrad would probably give Tal his job, and there would go his precious scraps of power. So Tal had decided not to like Firran right back.

Jae felt a little steadier now, as if the conversation with Lord Elan hadn't been quite real. She knew it was, she had orders to obey or the Curse would punish her, but the idea that she'd actually spoken
with
him, not just answered his questions, was too strange. Like his order to protect her from sunsickness and his decision not to punish her, she had no idea what to make of it, or of him.

Firran was in the main room within the Closest's quarters, sitting next to the fire and eating a thin slice of bread and lentils. He was speaking quietly with a few others, but stopped when Tal put a hand on his shoulder. Firran frowned and stood.

Jae had to force out the words, self-conscious with so many people waiting for her to speak. “I've just been with Lord Elan. He gave me orders.”

“What?” Firran demanded.

Her body went tense with the compulsion to answer, and next to her, Tal glowered. But at least it was an easy enough question. “I'm not to work on the grounds during midday.”

“And that's it?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“Why, are you in a hurry to get back to your meal? Did we interrupt you?” Tal asked, arms crossed over his chest. The questions were pointless, inane, and while everyone else's eyes went wide, Firran's were narrow with anger.

“Yes. And yes,” he said.

“Does it annoy you when people ask you questions? Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes. And. Yes.”

Tal started to say something else, but Jae brushed his elbow and he stopped, looked at her, and shrugged. He turned pointedly away from Firran and murmured to her, voice dropping back to its usual soft tone, “I haven't eaten yet.”

Jae hadn't, either, so she sat with him and let him serve them both small meals. He caught her eye and winked at her, and then passed his hand over the bowls quickly, sprinkling them with something he'd produced from his pocket. Lady Shirrad had probably given him the dredges from one of her spice shakers. Or simply hadn't forbidden him to help himself.

Slowly the rest of the Closest returned to their quiet conversations, to their drawings on the walls, to braiding belts and jewelry from scraps of fabric too small to be used as clothes or rags.

Tal didn't say anything else about it as they ate. But Jae knew him, knew that the way he stared into the fire meant he was still thinking. If anyone could make sense of Lord Elan's strange behavior, it was Tal.

Jae was awake and off to work before dawn. She may have had other orders for the afternoon, but the grounds were still her responsibility, so she went to work at the front of the estate. It wasn't until the sun loomed higher overhead, sending sweat pouring down her back and heating the stones up enough that her hands and bare feet ached from touching them, that Firran stepped onto the path and beckoned her in. She hoisted her tools and followed, careful to scuff off the dirt that clung to her feet and dress before she went more than a few steps in.

Firran turned and examined her again. “Put those things away and clean yourself up properly. If Lord Elan wants you inside so badly, he can have you—you'll be serving the Avowed their lunch, and attending them this afternoon.”

Jae swallowed, nodded, and walked away, trying not to let anything she felt show. When she glanced back at Firran, he was smiling grimly. He knew
exactly
what he'd done. Jae would rather risk sunsickness than spend a minute near any of the Avowed. She wasn't like Gali and Tal, who could smile and move gracefully, even under Lady Shirrad's exacting gaze. Being watched by any of the Avowed made Jae's skin crawl, especially since Rannith—

Rannith was going to be there. Firran
knew
that.

Jae staggered to the side of the hall, leaned against the wall for a moment, her heartbeat echoing so loudly in her ears that she couldn't hear anything else. She hunched forward, trying to breathe, dimly aware of every scrape and scab on her body, every smudge of dirt. The armor that turned her invisible, kept her beneath their notice and away where she was safe—armor that she now had to strip off.

The Curse started throbbing slowly at the base of her skull, a nudge because she had to move. It didn't matter that she'd rather work outside with no water, and it didn't matter if Lord Elan had intended to do something kind. This was the task she'd been assigned, even if it was just by Firran, and she had no choice at all.

She stowed her equipment and went to clean herself up. Her hair was too short to do much with, tight spiral curls clipped close to her scalp, but she wiped the sweat and sand from her skin and changed into one of Gali's plain tan dresses. It was unwashed, but nowhere near as filthy as Jae's clothing. It fell straight down from her shoulders, with long loose sleeves and a belt around her waist. It didn't quite fit, too short because she was taller than Gali, and the belt was just old scraps braided into a flat strip, hanging down too low because Jae's figure was so much flatter than Gali's.

There was no mirror in the Closest's quarters, which was just as well. Jae knew she looked ridiculous. But ridiculous was safer than pretty.

Lady Shirrad's kitchen was run by a cook, one of the few Twill who hadn't fled back to the central cities as the drought had grown worse. He had two assistants, but the rest of the kitchen workers were Closest, including Asra tending a pot on the fire. Asra glanced at her and gave a tiny almost-nod in greeting before turning back to her work.

Only the cook bothered to say anything to her. “You're not the usual server.”

Jae shrugged silently. The cook wasn't Avowed, so the Curse would allow her to speak, but he probably wouldn't like it. It would be the same when he gave her orders in the kitchen. Magic wouldn't force her to obey, but she'd still end up in trouble if she tried to resist. All he'd have to do was tell Lady Shirrad or one of the other Avowed—if he even bothered. No one would say a word about it if he beat her himself.

“Well, we're not ready to serve yet—take the ladle and get to work.” He shoved the scoop into her hand and nodded toward where one of his assistants was pulling the lid off a stone pot.

As Jae began doling stew out into bowls, the assistant looked up at the cook and asked, “Did His Highest like breakfast?”

“He didn't say anything about it,” the cook snapped. “And he's not all
that
high. Just the second child.”