Reluctant Concubine (20 page)

Was I even a concubine? I had only served Batumar with my healing so far.

In his absence, Lord Gilrem ruled as lord of the castle. If Shartor managed to convince him that in me they had a true sorceress…

I shivered and pulled closer to the fire.

* * *

Three days remained until the departure of the caravan, days I had to survive and use for gathering what I needed. I could have saved food from the trays brought to my chamber every meal time, but Tilia always stayed until I finished, in case I had need of something else. And I had to eat those meals anyway. I could not weaken my body by starving it, for the journey would be long and arduous.

My traveling supplies would have to come from the kitchen.

I spent enough time there so the servants barely noted my presence. My elaborate gowns had room enough to hide some food, but not yet. I would collect what I needed only the day before my departure. The bread would grow stale enough on the long journey.

Other than food, I also needed a disguise. I could not travel dressed as a concubine. The thought of that vexed me greatly, until talking with Leena about Shartor brought me the perfect solution.

“What is the punishment for sorcery?” I asked her, regretting that I would have to leave her behind. I would miss her. Once, I had considered the two of us running away together, but by now I knew her loyalty to Batumar was steadfast.

“A truly powerful sorceress cannot be caught, they say. But she might be tricked by a truly powerful soothsayer.” She would not meet my eyes.

“And then?”

She paled, wringing her hands. “The only way to kill a sorceress is to boil her in tar."

Cold crept into my heart. The thought of dying among the Kadar and lying in my grave without the Last Blessing like my mother made me shudder. But then it made me think of a way to gain clothes for my disguise.

“Would you summon the seamstress?” I asked with great calm. “If I am to die, I would be buried in the clothing of my own people. As my only wish, surely it would not be denied.”

Tears filled her eyes. “The High Lord will be home soon, my lady. Then you will be safe and Shartor’s power once again reduced.”

“I pray to the spirits that you are right, but the clothes would give me comfort in the meanwhile.”

If I were to convince the caravan to take me on as a Shahala healer, I had to look like one. I needed a proper Shahala thudi and tunic.

I would have loved to travel with the caravan all the way south, but our ways would have to part outside Karamur’s gate. Once my absence at the palace was discovered, the Palace Guard would be scouring the city and the road, looking for me.

When the caravan reached the end of the open fields, I planned on disappearing into the woods. I had less to fear of wild beasts than of men and prayed the spirits would keep the tigers away. I would follow the caravan from afar, so as not to lose my way.

Some distance from Karamur, I might even be able to rejoin them again.

“You need not prepare for death, my lady,” Leena protested tearfully and, as if she herself became soothsayer, predicted a long and happy life with Batumar. “You will have sons, my lady, you will see. They will be strong warriors.”

But at long last, I convinced her to go, and soon she did return with the seamstress, still wringing her hands and bidding me not to despair.

All I required was ready by the next day and, oh, how my heart thrilled just trying on the garments. Light I felt—so light as if I could fly—in the simple thudi and the short tunic, both made from thick, sturdy wool as I had instructed. Considering the cold spring, I would also take my fur-lined Kadar traveling cape.

I spent the next day planning my escape, wandering the hallways—always keeping an eye out for Gilrem and Shartor—noting the position of every guard, the time of their comings and goings. I could find my way around the palace well and knew many alternate routes so I could go around any obstacles, but I feared what would happen once I left the sprawling building.

I did not know the streets or the alleys of the covered marketplace. I had only crossed the city once, upon my arrival, but I had been exhausted from the journey and now had only a dim memory.

I had no way of solving that problem and thought it best not to worry about it. I had plenty of other challenges, such as how to leave the palace in the first place, without the Palace Guard seeing me.

I spent a whole day examining every door and window, with care not to cause suspicion, always ready with an excuse should I be caught and questioned. In the end, I decided to exit the palace in a flour jar, of which many were brought to the kitchen every day in a narrow wagon.

The miller exchanged freshly ground flour for his empty jars in the morning. I hoped in the cavalcade of the busy kitchen, I could find a moment to slip into one of the jars unseen.

I begged the spirits for an opportunity, the wisdom to recognize it, and the courage to make the most of it. They answered me, taking me from Karamur, but in their own way. Instead of finding freedom on the road back home, I found it on death’s doorstep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

(Into the Mist)

The last day of waiting I spent in nervous agony. I gathered food first thing in the morning—cheese, cured meat, flatbread, and apples. I hid them under my bed, along with a rolled-up blanket. My knees trembled by the time I finished.

My anxieties only increased as the morning progressed, and I suddenly thought of a great many things that could go wrong with my escape. Better to spend the rest of the day in my chamber, lest I gave myself away.

By the time an unfamiliar servant woman asked to see me after the noon meal, I was grateful for the distraction, guessing she had come for healing.

Leena followed on the woman’s heels, her face in a displeased frown. She reached out to tug the stranger back. “I told you, my lady is not accepting visitors.”

But the portly woman fell to her knees and bowed until her forehead touched the pelt-covered stones.

“Lady Tera, I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you. I plead for a mother’s life.” Her voice shook, as did her hands that clutched her worn shawl.

“I will gladly help if I can. Tell your master to bring her to the kitchen. I shall wait for her there.”

Her master was probably one of the merchants who regularly visited the palace and had heard of my healings. He must have sent the servant because he had a sick concubine.

“My lady cannot be moved. She is near death in childbirth.” The woman sobbed with the last couple of words. “She lost two babes in these past years, and now the third might take her. A boy this time, the soothsayer is sure.”

Leena tugged her up, appearing not the least touched by the sad tale, despite the soft heart I knew she possessed. “I am sorry for your troubles, but my lady cannot leave the palace. The High Lord is away. We cannot ask him to give her leave.”

I stared at the pair, dismay flooding me.

Something deep inside me railed against Leena’s words. She had called me her lady, but for all my beautiful clothes and my spacious chamber, I had little more freedom than a slave.

“I beg you to send your powers to my lord’s house.” The woman tore away from Leena to fall at my feet. She looked at me with a tear-streaked face, brackets of despair around her mouth.

“I wish I had powers as such.” Tales of my healings had grown so exaggerated, people were willing to believe anything. “But I cannot tell what ails her until I see her, and I cannot heal her unless I know what ails her.”

She sobbed then in earnest, still prostrate before me, her body racked with grief.

Never had I hated not having my own free will more. And from that frustration, resolve was born the next moment.

I was a healer.

No High Lord and no threat of punishment could ever change that. I lifted my veil from the end of the bed and wrapped it around my head, even as Leena’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Lead me, then,” I said to the woman.

If by some misfortune I could not escape before Batumar returned, let him flog me if it pleased him. Shartor had already accused me of sorcery; what worse charge could they construct against me?

Leena threw herself across the doorway, barring my way, bolder than I had ever seen her. “I beg you, my lady.”

I could not be angry at her disobedience. She had my best interests at heart.

“Ask her who her lord is,” she insisted.

I did not care. I cared only about the birthing mother in pain.

“She is from the House of Gilrem,” Leena said at last, her voice hardening.

Her words stilled me for a moment. Would my healing bring further charges of sorcery upon my head? Was it a trap? If I failed… And even if I succeeded…

Fresh tears washed the servant’s face.

“Did Lord Gilrem send you?” I demanded.

“No, my lady.”

“He probably forbade them to come.” Leena’s accusing gaze shot to the woman.

She did not respond, just hung her head.

“You must not go, my lady,” Leena begged with renewed force then. “The High Lord will be greatly displeased, and if something should happen to Lord Gilrem’s concubine…”

She did not have to finish. Lord Gilrem’s punishment would be swift and deadly, of that I was certain.

And still, I could not refuse to help, not even at the price of my own life. I had time enough before the departure of the caravan.

I walked forth, and the women followed, Lord Gilrem’s servant with a hopeful face, Leena weeping now. Such a fuss she made, servants poked their heads into the hallway to see us pass.

I walked to the nearest side door of the palace.

Only six guards faced us here, all startled to see me intent upon leaving. They asked respectfully that I would return to my chamber. Before I could fully explain why I could not, the Captain of the Guard was sent for and rushed to us with more warriors yet.

Old scars crisscrossed his face, his breastplate scratched and dented. He drew his thick eyebrows together. “My lady, you cannot leave.”

I could not push through them. They stood like the mighty trees of the forest and I a slight sapling before them. And yet the woman’s pain called me from the distance. Then a simple thought unfurled among the frustrated swirls of my mind, a whisper of the spirits perhaps.

How could they stop me without being allowed to touch me?

I stepped forward. The guards exchanged glances but stood their ground, barring the way.

I took another step. Then another. “I mean to leave.”

I stood but a breath from them now. With the next step, we would collide. I moved ahead; they stepped back. I drew a deep breath, then strode forward with purpose, and they could do naught but part before me.

But they followed behind, forming a half-angry, half-stunned escort.

“For your protection, my lady.” The captain ground out the words, his scowl making clear that he strongly disapproved of my actions.

I pleaded not to be sent with such force, until he agreed to leave all save his three strongest men behind, but he himself insisted on coming.

I hurried down the streets behind Lord Gilrem’s servant, careful to notice every detail that might aid me in the morning. I marked in my mind the street that led to the market, the narrow alleys where I could move unseen. The city bustled with life, many curious glances directed at us as we progressed.

Thus I arrived at the House of Gilrem, a grand house built into the rock wall, its stone columns nearly as majestic as those of the palace.

The servant woman led us not through the bronze-strengthened front door but through the kitchen, a shorter path, I suspected. We hurried through, straight to Pleasure Hall’s carved doors, where my guard had to stay behind.

Inside, concubines huddled around in groups, anxiety etched on every face as they clutched their charms. Small children clung to their mothers, all girls. According to Leena, Lord Gilrem had had but four sons. All had been taken by the spotted fever that had swept through the city some years ago and had hit Lord Gilrem’s House especially hard.

In a chamber in the back, a woman lay in bed, writhing with pain, unaware of all who came and went around her.

“You will live,” I said at once in a strong voice, in case her spirit was listening.

I placed my hands upon her belly and felt the child, nearly dead, his weak life force ebbing away. His mother’s spirit prepared to follow.

At first I could not see the illness. The child, indeed a boy, had no deformities; the cord had not twisted around his neck as sometimes happened. I looked harder, deeper, and gasped aloud when I finally understood what ailed him.

The babe’s blood ran thick with poison. But not the mother’s. How could such a curious thing be accomplished? Had the mother deliberately consumed some evil plant that would harm only the child? I had heard such a thing whispered among the lowest of Kadar serving women but had never believed it to be real.

I looked more carefully, and I saw that the poison came not from what the mother had eaten. Her blood attacked the child, thinking it her body’s enemy. This I remembered from one of my mother’s lessons but had never seen before.

Although the concubine had shared her spirit with Lord Gilrem and they conceived this child of mixed spirits, their blood could not flow together in the new life they created. Nor could it ever, each child they made being attacked by his own mother’s body worse than the one before.

The child’s life force weakened with every passing moment. He would have another few pulses of the poisoned blood and no more. I knew not how to help him, although I could feel the pain of his small body as my own, I could feel the pain of his mother and the anguish of her spirit.

I drew all that pain into me as I had done with others before, and with it I tried to draw the poison.

My blood burned as a terrible weakness filled me. I fought against it as I sent my spirit into the child and gave strength to his.

Once his heartbeat steadied, I sent my spirit to strengthen the mother’s—slow work and hard, since the poison weakened me. On top of the weakness, agony raked me as the woman labored, her pain my own.