Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [58]
“Ilya?” I tapped his shoulder. Although he did not meet my eyes, his head turned in my direction. “Is it because of what I did in Ch’in?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is it?” I persisted. “There were tales told, I know. Am I being punished?”
Ilya gave his head a faint shake. “No.”
“Is it politics, then?” I asked. “If you imagine the Emperor of Ch’in will move heaven and earth to rescue me, you are mistaken.”
Another shake of his head. “God wills this.”
I had reached the end of my tether. Ilya was never going to give me a meaningful answer. I was never going to fathom his god’s mysterious intent on my own. I couldn’t think of any further way to break or compromise the chains that bound me, nor to overpower my captors and escape.
And no one, no one was going to aid me.
We passed through forests of majestic spruce trees and stands of graceful birch. I gazed at them with bittersweet longing, severed from my awareness of their slow, stately thoughts. I wished I were a great magician like Berlik. I wished I could take on the shape of the Great Bear Herself and burst my chains, vanishing into the wilderness where no one would ever find me unless I willed it.
My imprisoned diadh-anam flared in agreement.
I wished I knew what had befallen Bao. Despite what the Khan had said, I did not for an instant think that he would rest content among the Tatars with his hot-tempered princess now that the bond between us was broken—or at least blocked.
No, my stubborn magpie had made his choice; and Bao would move heaven and earth to rescue me. Of that, I hadn’t the slightest doubt.
I suspected in truth the Great Khan didn’t, either. That was why he had prepared a tale to send Bao far, far away.
The thought made my heart ache. Gods, it seemed so unfair! Bao and I had only just begun to make sense of our strange fate, sorting out the tangled threads of friendship, love, desire, and magic that bound us together.
I missed him, and this time it was a yearning that owed nothing to magic. Until we were reunited, I hadn’t realized how much I simply liked being with him—even when he infuriated me, even when he told me true things about myself no one else saw.
After conceding that at least for the moment, my situation was hopeless, I allowed myself a full day to wallow in self-pity and despair.
I turned the jade bangle on my wrist, thinking of the dragon dreaming on the distant peaks of White Jade Mountain above his reflecting pool, and allowed myself to entertain a fantasy of rescue and revenge in which the dragon flew to my aid and descended from the sky in all his celestial glory, roaring in mighty fury while Ilya and Leonid cowered and begged forgiveness.
It was a pleasant fantasy.
But it was nothing more, and I knew it all too well. If I were not bound, mayhap it would be different. Snow Tiger had said once that no one in Ch’in would raise a hand to me for fear of the dragon’s fury. If he had been able to sense my plight, mayhap he would have come to my rescue.
I doubted it, though. For all his celestial might and majesty, the dragon was very much a creature of his place, inextricably linked to his mountain and pool. I did not think his jurisdiction over the skies extended beyond the boundaries of Ch’in.
Anyway, so long as I was constrained by my chains, it didn’t matter. After a day of wallowing, I did my best to set aside despair, self-pity, and useless fantasies.
For the first time since I had been taken captive, I willed my thoughts to be quiet and practiced the Five Styles of Breathing, returning to my original plan.
I would wait.
I would be patient. Sooner or later, a chance would come. When it did, I would be ready to seize it.
Such were my thoughts