Impossible Things (30 page)

‘He’s entitled to be angry,’ she replied.

‘Yeah, but to leave the country? He can’t take anything happening that he’s not in charge of, can he?’

Ishtaer knew it was more than that, but she was so tired of the arguments chasing themselves round inside her head that she shrugged and changed the subject.

Most of the soldiers were put to work clearing out Samara’s compound. Ishtaer had thought she couldn’t face going back there, but then she told herself not to be so stupid and steeled herself to do it.

‘They’re just buildings,’ she said, standing in the courtyard. ‘Just stone and brick and wood. They’re not evil.’

Nevertheless, she ordered it all to be burnt down, and stood watching the orange glow from the stern of the ship taking her away from the New Lands for good.

‘What will happen to the oil fields?’ asked Marcus, standing beside her.

‘I imagine they’ll belong to the Empire. Or maybe to Lord Krull. He’s probably already signed the paperwork.’

‘He’ll still be under sail,’ Marcus pointed out.

‘He doesn’t leave things to chance,’ Ishtaer said.

They were silent a while, watching the bleak shore recede. Eventually Ishtaer said, ‘Was there something you wanted, Marcus?’

‘Yeah. Um. I wanted to say sorry.’

‘Why, what have you done?’

A short pause, then he said, ‘Said some pretty nasty things to you, as I recall.’

She looked at him, then back at the glow of the fire visible for miles around.

‘I imagine I’ll survive,’ she said drily.

‘It’s just, you were right when you said I’d understand once I’d been here. I mean, all those people, the things she’d done … it was …’

‘I know.’

‘Animals in slaughterhouses get treated better than that. When you said “slave” I thought you meant like the ones we had in the Empire, valuable and taken care of.’

‘I know.’

‘But this was just … how could a person do that?’

‘The same reason you were cruel to me,’ Ishtaer said, and she felt him flinch. ‘Power. There was nothing to stop Samara. She got drunk on it.’

Marcus watched the glow fade with her, then said, ‘You must have loathed me.’

Ishtaer turned, and smiled at him. ‘I’ve been bullied by the best,’ she said, ‘you were a mere amateur. Besides. You’ve spent the last week helping Samara’s victims. I’d call that making amends.’

‘You’re a forgiving woman,’ he said.

‘Not really. I’d quite like to have hacked Samara to pieces like I did with her men, but they’d already burned her by the time I came round.’

‘Did you really, er, hack those men on the boat to pieces?’

‘Kael wasn’t joking when he said they had to count limbs.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t really want to think about it.’

‘Don’t blame you.’ Marcus pulled his cloak tighter around his body. The wind was picking up, blowing the scent of smoke after them.

‘What will you do when we get home? Are you going back to Krulland?’

Ishtaer let out a bitter laugh. ‘I doubt it.’

‘You have family in … where is it? Draxos?’

‘I suppose I could visit them. I don’t really know.’

But by the time they rounded the Excelsis Cliffs and the shining city of Ilanium came into sight, Ishtaer did know. She came ashore with Marcus and Eirenn and the three of them walked through the streets to the Turris Imperio. Marcus had brought his dress armour, complete with the sigil of his father, but declined to wear it as he walked beside Ishtaer. He wore street clothes, just as she and Eirenn did.

‘Marcus,’ said Ishtaer, ‘your family is rich, yes?’

‘Uh, yes,’ he said, clearly taken aback.

‘They own lots of property? The – er, what do you call them? The tenements that are rented out?’

‘Yes,’ said Marcus, his expression guarded. Eirenn had told Ishtaer that a lot of Lord Glorius’s money came from squeezing high rents out of impoverished tenants in dreadful accommodation.

‘How much might one cost?’

Eirenn gave her a curious look, no doubt thinking of that jar of coins in the workroom in Krulland. Ishtaer didn’t expect it would be enough to buy a building, but it might be enough for a deposit, and surely a Thrice-Marked Chosen could get credit?

But when they reached the Emperor’s audience chamber the question became moot. ‘My lady Ishtaer!’ he cried, looking ten years younger than the last time she’d seen him. He murmured something to a servant, who quickly disappeared. Beside him sat his sister, Otho cuddled on her lap, neither of them looking as if they were about to let go of each other. Her heart clenched.

That will never be you.

Ishtaer hadn’t dreamed of the huge red cat since she’d woken up in that tent in the New Lands. What she saw instead was infinitely worse.

A little girl, with bright blue eyes and shining dark hair, her smile lighting up the room, laughing with her brothers as she waved a wooden sword and her father looked on in adoration—

Every night. And every morning Ishtaer woke up so eager to see her daughter, before she remembered, and the pain was enormous.

‘My dear girl, I can’t express my gratitude enough. Ask anything of me. Anything you want.’

Ishtaer thought about the dead-eyed slaves on the ship, and said, ‘A tenement building. For the freed slaves.’

The Emperor looked surprised. ‘But—His Lordship didn’t tell you? The villa on the mainland?’

Ishtaer glanced at her companions, who looked as blank as she felt.

‘Lord Krull organised accommodation for them as soon as he returned. A quiet house on the mainland, several of the Healers to help take care of them, and I have clerks trying to trace if any of them have family.’

Ishtaer stared. It was exactly as she’d planned.

‘And … employment opportunities?’ she said. ‘They’ll need counselling …’

‘Already in hand.’ The Emperor allowed a frown to penetrate his happiness. ‘I thought for sure he’d taken your advice on this. Ah, fine. If you’d like to go out there and see for yourself, you’re more than welcome.’

The servant reappeared, holding the lead of a large, wolf-like dog.

‘Brutus!’

He yelped happily and rushed over to her, nearly breaking the nose of the servant as he did. Ishtaer dropped to her knees and gave her dog a huge hug. ‘I am so glad to see you.’

‘He’s been pining for you,’ the Emperor said as Ishtaer stood back up. ‘But we were talking about a reward for you! What would you like?’

Her mind went blank. ‘I’m not used to asking for things for myself,’ she said, and the Emperor roared with laughter.

‘Money? Jewels? Another victory title is, of course, yours.’

‘I don’t want another title,’ Ishtaer said automatically, and realised it was true. ‘My name is long enough already.’ She chewed her lip, then said, ‘When I first came here, Lord Krull called me Ishtaer prior Inservio. I’d like that to be added to my name.’

She was met with astonished stares from everyone in the room. ‘Ish, do you know what that means?’ Eirenn hissed.

‘You want the world to know you used to be a slave?’ the Emperor clarified.

She looked at the brand on her arm that she could have healed a dozen times over, and never had. ‘I want the world to know I’m not ashamed of it. That it’s my victory.’

He looked surprised, but nodded. ‘Very well. It shall be written in the Book of Names.’

‘And I’d like a house.’

More surprised looks.

‘My own house. I was going to try to buy one, but your Imperial Majesty did say anything …?’

He laughed again. ‘A house is certainly within our means. A villa, perhaps?’

‘No. A domus. In the city. Within the Merchant’s Circle. With commercial space.’ She turned to Eirenn. ‘Malika wanted to set up her own dress shop, didn’t she?’

He nodded, eyes wide.

‘I see. I’m sure we can manage that,’ said the Emperor, straight-faced.

‘And an employment program for all Samara’s former slaves. Full-time Healers at the house in the country. Which I want to oversee. And amnesty for other escaped slaves from the colonies of the New Lands. To be made into law.’

This time his straight face was of an entirely different nature.

‘My lady Ishtaer,’ he said, rising. ‘Come with me. We have a lot to discuss.’

There was no diving overboard this time. No joyful swim towards his family. Kael rowed himself to shore and wrapped his arms tight around his sons, letting his tears fall onto their warm skin.

‘Papa, why are you crying?’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘I’m just glad to be home,’ he said. He pulled back and looked at them, one dark and one fair, one born to him and one not. ‘I love you. I’ll never let you be hurt, you hear me?’

They nodded doubtfully, and squirmed away from him to greet Verak and his other men.

Kael stood and met Mags’s frown. ‘Are you all right?’ she mouthed.

‘Fine,’ he said, picking up his kitbag and slinging it over his shoulder.

‘I take it you won?’

‘Oh yeah. We won. Got the boy home safe. Freed the slaves. Got a pile of gold from the Emperor for it.’

‘Then I’d expect you to look a bit happier.’

His footsteps faltered. No, not happy. Maybe not ever again.

‘People died,’ he said, staring at the cliffs, willing himself not to cry. ‘Important people.’

‘Oh gods.’ Her hand touched his arm. ‘Ishtaer?’

She might as well have.

‘No. She’s alive.’

‘Where is she? Is she still on the boat?’

Kael closed his eyes, and he could see her. Strong, magnificent Ishtaer; trembling, passionate Ishtaer; pale, treacherous Ishtaer.

‘She’s not coming,’ he said, and walked away.

By spring it felt as if this was the way things had always been.

The domus the Emperor had given Ishtaer was on a smart street near the main shopping thoroughfares, and Malika’s dress shop was thriving with customers drawn as much by her excellent work as the thrill of wearing something the Empire’s only female Warrior might wear.

Ishtaer divided her days between working at the Lady Ishtaer Hospital, as the villa on the mainland had become known, and the Academy, where she and Eirenn had devised a training regime taught entirely in the dark.

‘I learned to fight when I couldn’t see,’ she explained to Sir Scipius. ‘To use my other senses and my intuition. Sometimes,’ she added, allowing herself to think of the fight on the trireme, ‘there’s not enough light to see by. It shouldn’t be a handicap.’

The class became so popular Marcus had to help out as an instructor. Sir Scipius confided that while it was unusual to have three Tyros teaching a class, their graduation would be a mere formality in the spring.

When she told Eirenn this, his eyes went huge. ‘I’m going to graduate? I never thought I’d graduate! Ishtaer!’ He threw his arms around her. ‘Do you know what this means to me? Do you know I’d never have got here without you?’

She smiled and hugged him back. ‘Likewise.’

They had both taken apartments in the domus, although more than once she’d heard him sneaking out of Malika’s rooms late at night, and didn’t expect it would be long before she needed to advertise for another tenant. In the evenings, while Malika finished up her day’s work, Eirenn helped Ishtaer to learn her letters. The first missive she wrote to her aunt and uncle in Draxos looked like the work of a child, but she was immensely proud of it.

Even Marcus had taken to dropping round occasionally, usually on the pretext of bringing letters or information from the Academy. Eirenn had gone from ignoring him to teasing Ishtaer that Marcus fancied her, which she was uncomfortably aware might be the truth. Even Madam Julia remarked that he might be a good match for her.

‘I’m not marrying Marcus,’ Ishtaer said flatly. ‘I’m not marrying anyone.’

‘Not even Lord Krull?’ asked her old mentor innocently.

‘Not even Lord Krull,’ Ishtaer said, her face schooled to the calm expression she always wore when his name was mentioned.

Because his name was mentioned often. The Lady Ishtaer and Krull the Warlord. Every day an eager student asked her what he was like. Every day, Ishtaer realised as her command of the written word improved, the news sheets made mention of her work at the Lady Ishtaer Hospital, and usually worked in a mention of Lord Krull there too. ‘Lady Ishtaer, who trained with Lord Krull.’ ‘Lady Ishtaer, the protégée of Lord Krull.’ And in a few of the gossip sheets, ‘Lord Krull, who has been romantically linked to the brave and dashing Lady Ishtaer …’

And every time it hurt. The pike wound in her belly had healed perfectly, but every time she heard Kael’s name or saw a tall man with dark hair or spied a banner with a red tiger on it, the scar ached.

It had to be done, she told herself, but that was no consolation when she was alone and lonely in the night.

For the first time since autumn the air wasn’t bitingly cold. Kael tilted his face up to the sun and felt his skin warm. He’d felt the warmth of fireplaces, of warm blankets and of aquavit, but not of the sun.

He still felt cold.

‘Kael.’ Verak’s voice seemed distant. ‘Kael! Where are you?’

He blinked and looked at his friend, standing a few feet away. ‘What do you mean, where am I?’

‘Well, you’re not here with me. You haven’t been since we left the New Lands.’

Kael scowled at him. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’ He lifted his sword. ‘Ready?’

But Verak stood still, sword still sheathed. ‘To beat the hell out of you again? No. I’m tired of it, Kael. Nearly dislocated your shoulder yesterday.’

‘You just got lucky.’

‘For the second time.’

‘That was ages ago.’

‘It was last week. You’re not fighting me any more. It’s like when you brought Ishtaer here—’

‘Do not say her name.’

Verak’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ishtaer. Ishtaer Lakaresdottir Vapendam, the name you gave her.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Ishtaer the Healer, Ishtaer the Warrior, Ishtaer the Seer. Ishtaer your lover.’

Kael’s hand shook. He brandished the sword at Verak.

‘See that? I know you’re sitting up all night drinking. It’s why you can’t fight worth a damn. That and your heart’s not in it.’

‘You just shut up about my heart.’

Verak sighed. ‘Kael, I’m your friend. Always have been. I was your friend when Hasse died and you slept with his wife. I was your friend when you decided to let people believe Durran was Hasse’s son. I was your friend when Ilse died and left you with Garik. But I don’t know if I can carry on being the friend of someone who walked out on his lover after she lost her baby.’

‘
Her
baby?’ Kael said, incredulous. ‘And who do you think the swiving father was?’

‘You,’ Verak said calmly, ‘a fact which Ishtaer, probably for the first time in her life, knew for certain. How many other babies do you think she’s lost?’

The first potion I ever learned to make …

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Kael said tightly.

‘Everything. I might not have seen what happened to her inside my own head like you did, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she acts and I’ve seen those slaves in Samara’s compound. She probably resolved to herself a long time ago that she would never have a child. A baby should be cherished and loved and wanted, and what do you think the chances of that were in that gods-forsaken place?’

Kael wanted to kill him. Instead he wrapped his arms around himself and turned away. The spring sunshine glinted off the water in the harbour, the flash of bright silver fish in a boat, the shine of a child’s hair clasp as she ran and played in the village. He ached unbearably.

‘And then she met you, and you were kind to her and you loved her and you asked her to marry you, and for once she had that real chance of a family.’

‘Not for long she didn’t,’ Kael said bitterly.

‘No. Because she had to make a terrible choice. And don’t you get that mulish look on your face, Kaelnar Vapensigsson, I know it’s a choice you’ve thought about. The gods know I have. Ever since I heard that prophecy. If you had to face your child dying to save you, there’d be no choice, would there?’

‘Damn right there wouldn’t. I’d die for them,’ Kael said violently.

‘As I would. For yours and for mine. But what if it was you and me who had to die? And everyone else here? Mags, Klara, all the children, Marte and her new baby, old Smed and Valter and—’

‘Shut
up
!’

For a long moment Verak was silent, and Kael turned to stare out over the harbour again, fighting the tears that burned his eyes. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? It was all right to get sanctimonious about sacrifice, but had he ever faced it? Really, truly had to make the choice?

‘She knew Samara better than anyone,’ Verak said quietly behind him. ‘Knew what she was capable of. I heard her telling you. You knew what would happen if Ishtaer didn’t give herself like that. Back into the hands of a woman who’d tortured her for years. I can’t imagine the bravery that took. Or the pain of the knowledge she had. No wonder she never told you about the baby. You’d have locked her on board and attacked and probably by now Samara would be sitting in your longhouse, peeling strips of flesh off your family and friends and roasting them on a fire, and Ishtaer would be dead anyway, or at any rate wish she was—’

‘Enough!’ Kael whirled round, sword in hand. He might be tired, he might be hung-over and out of condition and so full of self-loathing that he ached with it, but he was still Krull the Warlord and he could still set a sword at a man’s throat before anyone had seen him move.

Verak stood calmly as the cold steel lay against his neck.

‘The prophecy has come true, Kael,’ he said. ‘It can’t hurt you any more.’

‘It hurts me every swiving day.’

‘Then how do you think Ishtaer feels?’

Soft and warm and trembling and trusting, that was how she’d felt. And now she was far away, she was cold and distant and treacherous …

… and hurting and lonely and brave and miserable.

His sword fell to the ground, clattering on the flagstones.

Verak met his eyes, and there was compassion in them. ‘You still love her,’ he said, and it wasn’t a question.

‘Don’t reckon it’d hurt like this if I didn’t.’

‘Then go to her. Apologise. She’s probably a wreck. Gods only know what something like this could do to someone as fragile as her …’

Kael dealt him a look. Verak smiled.

‘All right, fragile probably isn’t the word for her any more.’

‘I’ve never known anyone braver,’ Kael said, his throat tightening. He ran his hand over his face and realised he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shaved. ‘Verak, what the hell do I do? I don’t know how to get out of this.’

‘Be brave,’ Verak said simply. ‘You’re Krull the Swiving Warlord, after all.’

‘Cousin Ishtaer!’ Poppia shaded her eyes, then ran down the steps of the villa and enveloped Ishtaer in a hug before she’d even got both feet on the ground. The carriage swayed alarmingly as the other girl embraced her.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ she said. Beside her, Brutus wiggled out of the coach and nearly knocked them over, probably more out of a desire for water and shade than for company.

‘You still have your dog! He’s a good dog, aren’t you? Who’s a good dog?’

While Poppia fussed over Brutus, who behaved like a puppy given half the chance, Ishtaer turned to Liberius, high up on the seat of the carriage, and took her luggage from him.

‘I can’t wait for you to meet Paulus, I’m sure you’ll just love him,’ Poppia babbled, linking her arm with Ishtaer’s and leading her towards the house. ‘He’s so eager to meet you too. No one here has ever even seen a female Warrior!’

‘No one anywhere else has, either,’ Ishtaer said, gently extracting herself from her cousin’s grip. ‘Let me just bring my luggage—’

‘Oh no, let the servants deal with it, it’s their job,’ Poppia laughed.

‘I can carry my own bags,’ Ishtaer said quietly, and picked up the larger trunk.

‘Oh,’ said Poppia. ‘Well, then I’ll help you. Why not?’

Ishtaer watched her try to pick up the smaller trunk, and hid a smile. It didn’t contain anything particularly heavy, but then Poppia looked as if she hadn’t lifted anything that weighed more than a hairbrush in her whole life.

Eventually she looked up, pink with exertion, and smiled sheepishly.

‘It’s all right, you don’t have to,’ Ishtaer said. ‘Liberius, could you bring it in, please?’

He silently hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, apparently impervious to the heat, and waited to follow them.

Poppia regarded him, tall and muscular and silent, his skin like polished ebony. He wore plain clothes like a servant, and had a slate and a piece of chalk slung around his neck.

‘Will you be staying with us, Liberius?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘He will. If someone could show him to the servants’ quarters, we’d be grateful. His own room, if that’s possible, and one with a door that locks from the inside.’

‘Er, yes,’ Poppia said, ‘I’m sure we can …’

‘Otherwise a guest room. So long as it locks. He has offered to help out in any way you need.’ Liberius nodded gravely at this. ‘As you can see, he’s quite strong, and he’s very good with horses.’

Realisation dawned on Poppia’s pretty face as she hurried after Ishtaer. ‘Is he one of your, you know, from the villa? Your charity hospital?’

‘He was a slave, yes,’ Ishtaer said calmly. ‘He has no vocal chords, he can’t speak. But he’s been learning his letters, hence the slate, you see.’

‘No—? Oh, you poor man! What happened to him? No, I don’t think I want to know.’

Ishtaer, who had witnessed Liberius’s degradation as one of Samara’s favourite pleasure slaves, agreed silently that her sheltered cousin probably didn’t.

Once inside the sunny atrium of her uncle’s villa, Ishtaer allowed her trunk to be taken off by two eager footmen, and had a moment to admire the ribbons and flowers decorating everything in advance of tomorrow’s celebrations. A harp stood in the corner and servants were filling glasses and laying out trays of food in the shade.

‘Find somewhere you like,’ Ishtaer told Liberius, ‘and if there’s a problem come and find me. All right? And make sure you drink plenty of water.’

He grinned, bright white teeth in his handsome face, and the attendant servant girls all went a bit pinker.

Ishtaer felt like someone’s mother when she said, ‘I mean it about the water. It’s far hotter here than you’ve been used to.’

Liberius bowed, never losing his grip on the trunk, and walked off after an imperious butler.

‘This way,’ Poppia sang, and Ishtaer followed her cousin through a series of covered walkways and pretty courtyards to a small enclosed area with an orange blossom tree and a small tiled pool. A door stood open, leading to a spacious room with tiled floors and a large bed covered by a net. Her trunk stood at the foot of it.

‘I expect you’ll want to freshen up after the journey,’ Poppia said, gesturing to a tray of soaps and oils. ‘Take your time bathing – would you like an attendant? I can send my girl to you—? All right then. Whenever you’re ready, come and find us in the main atrium. Just through that door and turn right, and if you get lost, ask the servants.’

Ishtaer nodded. ‘I will, thank you. Brutus, away from the water.’

Poppia giggled. ‘Bring him with you. I can’t wait to see my in-laws’ faces when they see him! I mean, my in-laws to-be, that is!’

She hugged Ishtaer again and bounded off like an eager puppy.

Ishtaer smiled automatically at her, but it faded as she moved around the little courtyard, bolting the door without really thinking about it and checking for lines of sight over the high walls before catching herself.

Don’t be stupid. No one is going to fly out of nowhere and attack you, in your uncle’s house, on the eve of your cousin’s wedding.