Goddess

The man took her elbow gently and guided her. It was a polite gesture, but there was no choice; Ana would go wherever he chose to lead her because she was his prisoner, in his fortress amidst his private army. This time there were no Elim to rescue her, nor any of Boaz’s elite mute guard…and she was a long, long way from Spur Lazar’s protection.

Ana was alone for the first time in her life since she had been found as a newborn in the desert after a Samazen storm.

She had been here, by her reckoning, for perhaps three moons. She couldn’t be sure, for her existence had been solitary. She was kept in a locked chamber that was positioned high within some sort of fortress. The monotony of hot, stifling days and freezing nights was interrupted only by the twice-daily delivery of simple but surprisingly nourishing meals and fresh water and the removal of her waste pail. Treatment had been mostly silent, broken solely by her barrage of questions at the various robed men who took care of her needs. The men were rotated constantly, she assumed to
ensure that no relationship developed between prisoner and keeper. A brief but courteous enquiry as to her health was a daily ritual, and Ana had been tempted to claim she was ill in the hope of a change of scenery or to engage any one of her captors in conversation beyond the cursory question. But experience had taught her that lying rarely led to the desired outcome, and so she erred on the side of caution, leaving alone the minions and waiting instead for the man who had taken her captive, their leader, to make his move.

He finally had on this day, fetching her himself, leading her silently through a maze of chambers and corridors and along many sets of stairs until they emerged into the searing heat of the afternoon. She was blinded by the intense light and dizzied by the sudden inhalation of fresh air and high temperature. Her gloomy chamber with its tiniest of windows, affording her the barest of draughts, had its advantage in being cool by comparison.

Blinking beneath the ferocity of the sun’s brightness, Ana was struck by the irony of her situation. Isn’t this what she had craved? Wasn’t the tantalising lure of freedom a drug for her…something she had risked her life for in the past? And yet here she was, free from all palace constraints for the first time in more than a year of her young life, and she was trembling with fear as the mysterious Arafanz led her out across the rooftop of his fortress.

She felt the dry caress of the breathless desert heat kiss her grubbied skin but she knew that it did not love her, did not love anyone. The desert’s treacherous welcome was one of death if you were naive or careless, as the royal party had surely been when Arafanz and his men had stormed their camp. She realised now that she had always been their target—Arafanz and his Razaqin had intended to abduct her; the killing and the humiliation of the royal party and especially Spur Lazar had been nothing more than sport. She remembered how many of Arafanz’s own men had died; from her recollection of that night he had not so much as blinked in sympathy. Clearly this man was ruthless, so there would be no escape, not into this seemingly endless panorama of parched emptiness.

It was as if he could read her thoughts. ‘Look out here, Ana,’ he said in flawless Percherese, his free arm sweeping in a wide arc to encompass the wilderness stretching out before them. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘It is. The desert frightens many but not me.’

‘That is because you belong to it.’

Despite her anxiety she liked the sound of that sentiment. ‘I was born in the desert, the day of a Samazen, I’m told.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of your story. It wasn’t just any day, though, Ana. It was Midsummer’s Day. An auspicious day.’

‘Because of the superstitions surrounding it, you mean?’

‘They are not idle. That is the day when powerful magics are rampant, can leak through one world into another.’

She nodded, distant memories surfacing. ‘Where the sea meets the land it is most potent, I believe.’

‘The edge of worlds,’ Arafanz said, his voice heavy with portent. Then his tone lightened and he swept a hand aloft. ‘Isn’t this what you have hungered after for so long?’

‘I have longed for freedom, this is true,’ she said with care, tearing her gaze from the landscape to focus on the narrow, softly lined face of her captor. He was hard to age behind that closely shorn beard but a glance at his unblemished hands told her he was likely of an age with Lazar, perhaps slightly older. A bead of perspiration slipped down her back and she couldn’t be sure whether it was only the heat that provoked it. Fear was coursing through her.

His gaze, dark and rarely still, briefly danced upon her before moving to another point over her shoulder, returning to her in an instant. ‘I give you this,’ he said. ‘I have freed you from the entrapment of the corrupt royals and their debauched ways.’

‘But I am not free, sir,’ she said. ‘I am as much your prisoner as I was of the palace.’

‘No-one here will force you to lie down with a man.’

‘But you do oppose my will.’

‘I ask only your obedience.’

‘Then are you so different from Zar Boaz, sir? He asks nothing more from me.’

Beneath the beard a smile ghosted across his surprisingly generous mouth and she was struck instantly by how that small gesture changed his intense expression from severe to almost welcoming…almost. ‘Perhaps not, except that I win absolute loyalty from those who surround me, unlike your precious Zar.’

‘He is not mine, although we are married. He belongs to his people and they are all loyal.’

‘To the death?’

‘Who can say until they face it?’

Now the creases in his face deepened as genuine amusement touched his restless gaze. ‘Well done, Ana. That was truly the right answer. Come. I wish to show you something.’ He walked her to the very edge of the rooftop and Ana looked down, not to the sand as she expected, but to another rocky roof below. Twenty or so men were assembled in neat, silent rows. They wore the dark robes she remembered and, as before, she could not see their faces. ‘These are some of my loyal subjects,’ Arafanz said.

Ana remained quiet but felt a fresh tingle of fear climb up her spine.

‘I wish to demonstrate what true loyalty is,’ Arafanz continued. ‘Choose one of these men, Ana.’

‘Why?’ Her voice shook.

He shrugged. ‘I want to explain something.’

‘Can you not simply tell me?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I was told you were clever with words.’

Ana swallowed, hoping to steady her voice. ‘Forgive me, sir, I wish only to understand.’

His eyes glittered now, their gaze finally resting upon her, turning into an intense, unsettling stare. ‘I want you to understand in a way only something visual can explain. Choose one of these men, Ana.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘I cannot.’

‘Give me a reason.’

Ana knew there was no rational explanation, for hers was an irrational fear. She gave an excuse instead. ‘I do not know them. I cannot even see them.’

‘Would it make it easier if you did or if you could look them in the eye?’ Aranfanz didn’t wait for her answer, immediately barking a harsh order in an ancient language that Ana recognised and it chilled her despite the heat.

She watched the men instantly move at his command, waiting in awkward silence during the minute or so that it took before the men emerged onto the same rooftop that she and Arafanz shared, arranging themselves once again in straight rows.

‘I will have them take off their headdresses.’

‘No. Do not.’

‘But you said—’

‘What do you want of me?’

‘I want you to choose a man,’ he said smoothly, his tone untroubled by her capriciousness. ‘Walk towards one, pick one. He will thank you for it, I assure you.’

Ana felt hope flare inside. She looked away from Arafanz to the gathered men, anonymous behind their head-to-toe robes. She moved hesitantly.

‘Take your time, walk amongst them. One will call to you for one reason or another,’ he urged. ‘The choice is yours alone.’

Did she hear cunning in his voice? It mattered not; she was on a path now from which she couldn’t step aside. If she refused she was sure there would be recriminations—Salmeo had taught her this, if nothing else—and it was clear she was not in a position to deny Arafanz anything.

She passed down two of the rows of men before a flash of brightness caught her notice, sunlight glinting off a curved blade at his hip as one of the men lifted his chin, shifted position at her approach. In that small movement he had drawn her attention, unwittingly committed himself to her.

Ana stood before him, stared up into dark eyes that did not see her, would not look at her, and with a heart filled with dread she raised her hand and laid it against his hard chest, hoping somehow to reach his heart through her touch. ‘I choose you,’ she said, feeling faint with fright.