Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [172]
"It is already being done, lady." He pointed toward the latticed door, where two Menekhetans stood watch at careful angles.
A stifled cheer went up from the assembled group; the nails were straightened, and the board fit snug once more. To the casual observer, it looked unaltered. Erich removed the boards, and they came easily. He leaned them both against the alcove, and went back to take up his post once more, sitting with his back to the wall.
Everyone else stood staring spellbound at two feet of cold air and grey light.
Imriel, taut and quivering, caught my eye, and there was a naked plea on his face.
"Yes." I nodded. "Go."
Like a flash, he crawled through the gap. Now that it was done, no one else dared follow, awed by the audacity of what we had done. I stood irresolute, longing to go, but fearful of putting myself forward. Whatever had happened here, it was a fragile alliance. If they remembered how much they despised me, it would die an early death.
"Lady," said Uru-Azag, pointing at me. "Your place is second."
It was better, coming from him. It left me no choice. Walkingslowly through the crowd, I mounted the stair, gathering my skirts about me. I had to duck low to clamber through the opening, and the rough planks caught at my hair.
And then I was through, and there was frozen earth beneath my knees, a dizzying sense of openness above me. I stood up, gasping, filling my lungs with searingly cold air. Elua, the sky! It was wintry and grey and utterly magnificent. At the farthest corner of the garden stood Imriel, arms wrapped about himself, teeth chattering, a look of pure delight on his face.
Others followed, after that; not many, when all was said and done. The Carthaginian carpenter's daughter came, and two Chowati. An Akkadian woman with haughty brows, but none of the eunuchs. I did not blame them. They had done as much as they dared, and more. One of the Ephesians poked her head through the opening and withdrew, shivering. It was cold, it is true, terribly cold. For once, I did not care, nor that the garden was completely barren. It was mayhap thirty paces on each side, a dry fountain at its center, stone walls thrice as high as a man's head encompassing dead soil and crumbling paths. I saw tears in the eyes of the carpenter's daughter as she stumbled across the frozen sod, gazing at the sky.
In that place, it was a paradise.
"Smell," said one of the Chowati, sniffing the air. "Spring comes behind the cold."
It put me in mind of Drucilla's warning, but even that could not dampen the exhilaration. All too soon, someone gave a sharp whistle— Uru-Azag, I daresay—and it filled us with urgent terror, setting off a scrambling race to return to the zenana. I made myself wait, going last. No one objected. For a moment, I feared that they would seal the boards and leave me—but no, there was Rushad on the inside, his eyes wide with fear as he extended a hand to help me through. Uru-Azag, his face oily with sweat, shoved the boards in place.
That evening, before the Mahrkagir's summons, Imriel came to my chamber.
He hovered inside the beaded doorway, uncertain and frowning in the light of my single oil lamp. I sat cross-legged on my bed, waiting. I lack Joscelin's gift with children, but this one, this child, I understood.
"Why did you say my mother sent you?" he asked.
"Because it is true," I replied. "She asked me to find you."
"No." Imriel shook his head, eyeing me suspiciously. "My mother is dead, and my father, too. They died of an ague aboard a Serenissimanship and asked Brother Selbert to take care of me. I know, he told me so. Why would Brother Selbert lie? How do you know him?"
"Your father is dead, that much is true. But when you were eight," I said, ignoring his questions, "Brother Selbert took you to La Serenissima. And you met a lady there."
"No." A look of alarm crossed his face, and his mouth formed a hard line. "Never."
I remembered what he had been told; that the lady was his patron, and that she would be in grave