The False Martyr (85 page)

The governor looked out
over the crowd again. They were stunned, cowed by his very
intensity. “The lesson is over,” he announced with a glance at the
valati. “Chancellor Ronigan has decreed that food be made available
to all who need it this day. It will be here at noon, assuming that
there is no more trouble or talk of dissent. This incident did not
happen. Now, clear the temple.”

The guards moved to do
just that. They did not lower their spear or draw their swords. The
steely resolution on their faces was enough. The people shuffled
with barely a word to the doors and out into the light of the
day.

“
We should . . .” Garth
started to say from beside Dasen.

“
You may stay back, my
lady,” the firm voice of the governor interrupted. Dasen turned and
saw him standing at the side of their bench, flanked by sharp-eyed
guards. “I understand you have asked to help with the food. It is
kind of you to contribute to the people of our city.” He studied
Dasen then turned to a smaller, older man at his side and whispered
in his ear. “Perhaps we can have you for dinner one night,” he
offered when his attention returned. I have to say I have not heard
of your family or lands and would be most interested to hear how
exactly it is that you ended up here.”

Dasen gathered himself
quickly and tried to respond as he thought Deena Esther would, “I
am honored, Lord Governor, but I am afraid that I do not have a
lady of my family to accompany me.”

“
We need not hold to such
conventions, my lady. Your honor is safe with me, and certainly,
your brother and bodyguard will be sufficient escorts for a simple
dinner.”

Dasen looked at Garth and
Teth but received no assistance. “I would be honored. Please, let
me know the night, and I will do everything in my power to
attend.”

“
Very well. I will have a
message sent to your room at The River Maiden.” The governor bowed.
“All the best to you.” He rose a second later and allowed his
guards to lead him down the wide central aisle and out the door of
the now vacant temple.

#

“
Why do you think she
wears that stuff on her . . . ?”

A mother’s hand cut off
the child’s question. A woman in a fine cotton dress – far from a
beggar – looked up at Dasen in embarrassment. “I’m . . . my lady .
. . he . . . I don’t.”

Dasen forced a benevolent
smile and handed the child a cake of hard unleavened bread. “It is
what ladies do where I am from.” He tried to keep his voice high
without straining. “But it is not so hot there.” He smiled and
blotted his forehead with an already soaked handkerchief. It was
sweltering in the back of the temple where he had been standing
since the lessons had ended a few hours before, and he was somewhat
amazed that Mrs. Tapper’s pastes were still there to comment
on.

“
Thank you, my lady,” the
woman bowed before him when she had received her own cake. “Your
kindness will never be forgotten.”

Several men standing to
the side mumbled their agreement. They bowed their heads in
deference, hands working the hats they held. The men had been
standing there, hats in hands, since the first women and children
had passed through almost an hour before. The counselors had
insisted that the men wait until the women and children had been
served, and this group seemed to have assigned themselves the job
of ensuring the line was orderly – with the reward of first run
when the women were through, Dasen thought. As part of their duty,
they had taken it upon themselves to second any thanks or
compliment directed toward the Lady Esther.

Though Dasen appreciated
their sentiment, he was beginning to tire of their scrutiny. He
already had enough to worry about with a constant progression of
staring eyes. He could only imagine his stubble peeking through,
his wig slipping off, his hair showing through the soaked fabric of
his dress. He was certain that each person would be the one to
declare him a fraud. Then it would just be a matter of who got him
first: the crowd, the bounty hunters, or the soldiers.

It was likely an hour past
noon now. The Teaching Day lessons had ended a few hours before.
The counselors and valati should have been busy with their
judgments – hearing disputes and interpreting the Order’s will to
resolve them. The people in this line should have been sharing the
Teaching Day meal with their families. They should be fishing in
the river, playing in the green, napping or visiting, singing songs
or telling stories. The invaders had ended that. The Di Valati had
relinquished the Church’s right to interpret the Order’s will. The
invaders had stolen all the food that would be in those families’
meals, had imposed curfews to keep them from the streets,
confiscated their boats and wagons and horses. There was no joy
now. There was fear and suspicion. Teaching Day was just like any
other, a blur of desperation where nothing but survival seemed to
matter.

Dasen saw it again and
again as the women and children streamed past them. Even the finely
dressed, those who had the capacity to clean themselves, and put on
decent clothes, stood in the line and waited for the barest,
meanest meal. Yet they showed no signs of the revolt that Kian
hoped to incite. There was no talk that Dasen could hear about the
disturbance during the lessons that morning. In fact, the people
did not seem to speak to each other at all. Rather, they eyed the
soldiers that were everywhere then diverted their gazes if they
should happen to draw their attention. They hunched their
shoulders, bowed their heads, and made themselves small. The people
of Gorin West had no fight in them. Dasen wondered if it had been
starved from them or if they had not yet been starved enough to
build it.

Another set of faces
appeared before Dasen. These seemed most to want to hide. “Mama, I
don’t want . . . .“ The girl’s whine was cut off by a yelp as the
mother’s fingers clenched her ear. The girl was perhaps seven. She
was short and somehow stout. Her dress was simple and did not fit
her correctly, but more, it did not suit her. She looked wrong in
that dress. Her older sister and mother were the same. They had
fine skin, delicate fingers, shining hair yet wore the clothes of
the common folk whose lives were certainly not conducive to those
attributes. Then the final, eldest daughter appeared beyond the
mother, and everything fell into place.

The girl, slightly younger
than Dasen, was beautiful, full cheeks, pert nose, red lips, round
face, glistening black curls falling from her bonnet. Dasen had
spent far too much of the Teaching Day lessons staring at the back
of her head, at the slight profile of her face, the curve of her
back revealed by the arching lace of the gown she had worn.
Standing before him now, she was every bit as beautiful even though
her silk gown had been replaced with wool. What’s more, it
confirmed that this was an important family. These were no workmen
or even tradespeople. This was one of the city’s top families, but
here they were, standing before him, begging for a meal.

“
Thank you, my lady,” the
mother said without meeting Dasen’s eye.

“
It is the least I can
do,” Dasen replied as he handed them the bread. The youngest girl,
ear still clutched in her mother’s fingers, refused to take hers,
so Dasen gave it to the mother.

“
Thems the Carthers,” one
of men standing outside the line said to his fellows. “I used ta
work fir the ole man. If even they’s ‘ere gettin’ bread, it must be
‘ard times indeed.” He whistled through the gap where his front
teeth should be.

The mother looked at the
man in horror and tried to hide in her bonnet. The oldest daughter,
who Dasen was just then handing a pieces of bread burst into tears.
Dasen felt his temperature rise at the girl’s shame. “It’s alright,
my dear,” he assured her with a pat on the arm. “These are hard
times for everyone. We all do what we must to survive. There’s no
shame in that.”

The girl stared at him
blankly. Dasen watched her, absorbed by her round lips, long
lashes, dark brown eyes. Then she seemed to realize how he was
staring at her. She froze. Her face filled with shock. Dasen’s
heart leapt into his throat –
she
knows
. He could not do anything other than
watch the girl and silently pray that she not call him out.
Finally, she turned abruptly and followed her mother and sisters as
quickly as possible to the soup. A backward glance of something
between curiosity and disgust was her final goodbye.

Be the
character
, Dasen chastised himself.
If you’re a girl, you can’t go around ogling
other girls
. If he was right in reading
the girl’s expression, another rumor about the mysterious Lady
Esther would soon start to spread: a half-Morg noble woman from the
far north who fancies girls. Mr. Tappers would love it –
the more ridiculous things you give them to talk
about, the less likely they are to see the
obvious
, he always said. Dasen just hoped
they were right.

He handed out four more
small loaves to four more dirty, tired faces, smiling at each. The
children aged five to twelve chorused, “Thank you, my lady,” and
held the bread to their chests. Their mother took her own loaf with
a tear rolling down her cheek. “May the Order protect you,” she
whispered. Again the men watching nodded and mumbled their
approval. Dasen smiled the same benevolent smile.

“
May I speak with you a
moment, my lady?” A hand clasped Dasen’s arm gently, and he jumped
despite himself. He turned and found Valati Lareno standing beside
him and well below, making him look even more gigantic than he must
already seem. He had a kind look on his face, but there was
mischief in his eye.

“
Of course, Valati
Lareno.” Dasen stepped from the line and walked with the valati up
the aisle. A young counselor took his basket of bread and replaced
him in the line.

“
Dab your brow,” Valati
Lareno said when they had stopped a few paces from the
line.

Dasen looked at him in
surprise but did as he suggested, happy to remove some of the sweat
that was running toward his eyes.

“
Look at the window behind
me. Stare at it.”

Dasen did so. He stared at
the patterned glass at the top of the temple, watched the sun
sparkle through it in a scintillating display. He realized that the
light from the window was falling directly upon him, outlining him
in its rainbow of colors and almost literally cooking his head
inside the heavy wig he wore. The lights began to move. They
swirled and shifted, blurred.

“
Lift your arm,” Valati
Lareno ordered. Dasen tried, but as it came up, the world fell away
from him. The lights swirled to blackness and he
collapsed.

When he woke, Dasen was
surrounded by counselors. Valati Lareno was holding his head in his
lap and fanning him with his hand. “She’s fainted, that all,” he
yelled. “She’s been here all day making the soup, carrying the
bread, handing out the food with barely a thought for herself. I
don’t even know if she’s eaten.”

There was a collective
murmur from the crowd gathered around the bread line. People
mumbled their concern, whispered what they had seen to their
neighbors, and hung on the words of the valati. Dasen’s eyes were
just starting to focus. His head was pounding. He felt light and
heavy all at the same time and just a bit nauseous.

“
Make way,” a voice
yelled. It took Dasen a moment to realize it was Garth.

“
What happened?” Teth
nearly screamed as she pushed counselors from her path and kneeled
by Dasen.

“
Your sister
fainted,” Valati Lareno emphasized the words and
stared sharply at Teth. “She’ll be alright. She just needs to rest
and cool down.”

“
Deena, are you alright?”
Teth asked, remembering to use Dasen’s assumed name.

“
She’s trying to do too
much,” the valalti answered in a voice far louder than required. “I
have told her time and again that killing herself will not help
these people. Stethan, perhaps you can convince her to take a
break.”

Teth stared up at the
valati confused. He watched her, beseeching. Dasen’s eyes bounced
between them, wondering what in the name of the Order’s name was
happening. Finally, Teth rolled her eyes. “Come sister,” she said
far too loudly. “Please, let the counselors take your place. You
have done enough. Valati Lareno, is there someplace she can
rest?”

“
Certainly, my child. I
will show you.” Valati Lareno turned now to Garth, standing head
and shoulders above the brown robes of the surrounding counselors.
“Shall we have your man carry you, my lady?” Garth frowned but
moved forward. Sweat ran from his face and dripped off his great
beard. His shirt was soaked through. Dasen could not imagine being
carried by the sweat-soaked Morg, and Garth seemed no more excited
about the prospect.

“
I am fine. I can walk.”
He waved off the approaching Morg. He came slowly to his feet with
the help of Valati Lareno and held the small man’s shoulder as the
room seemed to wobble. The crowd gasped as he wavered, but he
eventually found his bearings and waved back at them.

They cheered, a great roar
that built as those further back realized what was happening and
added their voices. A number of people shouted encouragements, well
wishes, and thanks. Dasen could not imagine what he had done to
deserve any of it. Valati Lareno pivoted him to face the crowd. The
back of the temple was packed beyond capacity with every eye on
him. They grew silent as they watched the subject of their
interest. He felt himself flush with embarrassment.