Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [154]
Naamah, I thought, the prayer coming unbidden as I awaited my turn. Gracious lady, mistress of my soul, I have consented to this; consented, as you did, once upon a time. For love of Blessed Elua, you lay down with the Great King of Persis. Because Elua has asked it of me, I do the same, though Persis is fallen and the king who remains in this isolated corner of it styles himself the Lord of Death. My lady Naamah, if you have a care for your faithful Servant, ward me well in this place.
For an instant—only an instant—I thought I smelled attar of roses, and heard a sound like the quick, fluttering wings of a dove taking flight. And then it was my turn, and the hard hands of a Drujani guard patted me down, lingering on my body, his face leering before me.
It is an anguissette's nightmare. I kept my chin aloft, and betrayed no sign.
"Go on," he said to the others in Persian, jerking his head. "He's waiting."
And so we went, down the darkened hallways, a single torch lighting our way. Two of the other women wept and dragged their feet; one of the eunuchs—not my escort, but another—cursed and struck one across the back. The others walked with leaden steps. The Menekhetan boy straggled, his ambling path sending him wandering from one side of the hall to the other. The Drujani guards pushed him and laughed, making jests about wagering on where his next staggering step would fall.
"Enough!" I said fiercely, unable to curb my tongue. "Can you not see he is injured?"
"Shut up." The one with the torch thrust it toward my face, laughing when I flinched. "He entertained a few of the Shahryar's friends, is all. You'll be lucky if you can walk, you will, when his lordship's done with you!"
Shahryar; sovereign lord. Nariman had said it, too. They acknowledged him that in Drujan, the bastard-born son of Hoshdar Ahzad. I kept my mouth closed, fearing further retribution. With a sidelong glance at me, my Akkadian escort stepped to the boy's side, guiding him gently.
We were nearing the festal hall.
I could see it; the dull glow of a fireplace at one end and a few torches in between, much as the audience hall had been. It was different, though. That had been empty, subdued. We heard the roar from halfway down the hall. There were men here, many men, and drink flowing. I did not understand, at first, what it must be.
And then I saw the vaulted ceiling, rising to a sealed dome, and the low well beneath it, capped with rubble, and I knew. Men, elderly men, with white beards and filthy robes, waited on hands and knees, ropes around their necks, their faces a study in despair. They were Magi. I knew, I had seen them in the city.
This had been a fire-temple, once; the private temple of the princes of Daršanga.
Now it was the festal hall of the Mahrkagir.
Long, wooden tables had been set within the temple, and they were lined with men; Drujani, mostly, and some others with hard faces and slanted eyes whom I took to be Tatars, their expressions guarded and watchful. Starveling dogs scavenged beneath them for the remnants of the evening meal.
"My lords!" one of our guards cried in Persian, hoisting his torch. "I bring you tonight's offering, from the zenana of the Shahryar Mahrkagir!"
Someone shoved me hard, from behind; I stumbled forward, tripping on my gown and falling heavily to my knees. The men shouted and beat their cups on the tables, the sound dinning against my earslike the beating of distant wings; no dove's, these, but Kushiel's.
At the end of the aisle, in the darkness, a figure stepped forward.
I lifted up my head and met his eyes.
Fine pinpricks of light illuminated the silver embroidery that chased his black surcoat, and he was smiling, smiling as he extended his hand. His eyes, fixed on mine, were lustrous and black, utterly black, utterly mad. My blood ran ice-cold in my veins, heat blazing between my thighs. I pressed my brow to the cold stones, then rose. His smile beckoned me homeward. I took one step, then another, my legs belonging to someone else. Home. I put my hand in his; his fingers closed over it, cold