Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [150]
The corpses were stacked like cordwood, the Akkadian chroniclerhad said; in the zenana, they were stacked atop the still-breathing body of a boy of four or five, until they blotted out his vision. It was the giant, Tahmuras—then a strapping lad of fourteen, left alive by the Akkadians, who desired strong limbs to clean up after their massacre— who excavated him, removing corpses one by one, tearing him free from the womb of death.
"He protected him," Drucilla said. "He protects him still, night and day. It was the people who named him, so they say; the folk of Darśanga."
"The Conqueror of Death," I murmured.
Drucilla nodded. "No one knew what his mother called him, and he had no words, not after that. It was the blow to the head, I think. Ever afterward, his eyes remained dilated, and he cannot bear the light. It is said he remembers nothing, before his second birth. Only death. And he is mad. Wholly and completely mad. Of that, I am certain."
I could not speak for the awful pity that stopped my mouth. I swallowed, willing it to subside. "There is another boy," I said, my voice croaking. "A D'Angeline boy ..."
"Imri." Drucilla folded her maimed hands in her lap, looking sidelong at me. "You asked after him. I have heard it."
"You know him." Relief flooded me.
"He speaks Caerdicci. He was gently reared, once."
I thought of Brother Selbert and the sanctuary of Elua, nestled in the mountains of Siovale, where it seemed no harm could befall anyone. "Is he ... well?" I asked.
"He is alive, and unmaimed." Her mouth hardened. "In this place, that passes for well."
I tried not to sound too eager. "I would speak with him, if it is possible."
"Not until Nariman relents," she said bluntly. "It may be days. He is Chief Eunuch here, and Imri's punishment is his province. I don't advise you to cross him. It is said that it was Nariman who opened the gates of the zenana, thirty years ago, to the Akkadian forces. It amuses his lordship to leave him in office. I cannot think why." Drucilla rose from my couch, stretching aching joints with a sigh. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, do not expect too much of the boy. It is a comfort to have the companionship of one's homeland, but he has been a long time without it and cruelly treated in the bargain. I do what I may, but he does not welcome pity.”
"No." I thought of Melisande's face when I had told her the news, the awful knowledge, the blazing fury in her eyes. "I don't suppose he would."
Drucilla left me, then, continuing on her rounds of the zenana; I watched, and saw that she was greeted with respect by some; by others, with indifference or disdain. She laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the three fasting Bhodistani. I could not hear what they said, but she merely nodded, sorrow in her mien, and went onward. She stooped to speak to the Skaldi lad, who turned his face to the wall. Nothing to be done there.
Someone scratched at the latticed door to the zenana—a Drujani soldier. A deathly quiet fell over the tepidarium. Nariman, the Chief Eunuch, conferred and stepped forward with a pair of Akkadian attendants. His keen gaze swept the room, and I saw many dozens of women suddenly try to make themselves invisible.
To no avail; Nariman pointed—there, there and there, and six women and one boy gained expressions of despair. One went wailing, and beyond the door, I saw the Drujani grin. The boy was Menekhetan, slight and stumbling; in silent anguish, I thought of Nesmut. The women whose couches he shared wept openly, covering their heads and rending their clothing.
No matter what, I thought, where battle prevails, women must grieve.
One of the Bhodistani had been chosen, a lovely woman clad in silks of crimson and orange. The warm hue of her skin and her long black hair reminded me eerily of my mother; there is Bhodistani blood, they say, in the veins of Jasmine House. The Akkadians stood by, waiting, almost respectful. Her legs gave way beneath her as she sought to stand, and one of the eunuchs caught her gently. Her companions, languid