On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [126]
Disgusted, Tahmu hurled the head down. It bounced down the steps with a hollow sound, coming to rest on the hard-backed earth of the courtyard. Sightless eyes stared up at the crowd, who drew back.
“That is how I deal with treacherous Seconds,” Tahmu said. He turned, slowly, to look at Yeshi. “The question before me now is, how do I deal with treacherous khashimas?”
He knew what he intended to do. What he did not know was how Yeshi would react. He hoped that she would compose herself, hold her head high, and accept whatever fate he decreed. In her face, he could still see the features that she had bestowed on her son; and for the powerful love he bore his child, he wanted her to behave with dignity.
Her nostrils flared. “I condemn Halid for his treachery, but I had no part in it. Jashemi will defend me. He will know that I have acted only for the Clan’s best interest.”
He laughed harshly, pain and fury battling inside him. “Then you will be distressed to learn that your son is dead, my lady. You have no defenders now.”
Show me that this hurts you, he thought fiercely. Show our son, that wise and beautiful boy, that you loved him.
Yeshi went pale. She fell to her knees, and Tahmu dared to hope that perhaps true grief was at last penetrating the wall of bitterness and hate she had built around herself for so long.
She prostrated herself in front of him. But instead of the hoped-for words of pain and mourning for her dead child, Yeshi cried, “My lord, forgive a weak and foolish woman! It was Halid’s idea. He frightened me, he threatened me—”
Any shred of fondness he had left for his wife evaporated like water in the sun. She clutched at his rhia, and to his disgust was actually kissing his sandals and feet.
He stepped backward and gestured to his guards. Their faces showing no emotion, they stepped in, seized Yeshi, and hauled her to her feet. Her pretty face was twisted with her sobs, the kohl running down her artificially reddened cheeks. As he stared at her, Tahmu wondered how in the world he had ever been persuaded to give up his beloved Keishla for this cunning, vengeful woman. One had turned to prostitution to keep herself and her daughter alive. The other had bartered her body for vengeance and power. Who was the real halaan?
She had not ceased babbling. Tahmu twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back sharply. She yelped, then fell silent, her eyes staring. He could see the vein beating in her neck.
“How is it possible that someone like Jashemi could spring from your body?” he hissed, tears standing in his eyes. “I won’t ask why you did what you did. I know part of it had to do with our blood-marked child, and I cannot blame you for hating me for that. But Jashemi—your own son—”
Repulsed, he let her go. “It is within my rights and the laws of this land to have you burned, as you would have had Kevla burned, or cut off your head, as I have done to your lover. But that’s not enough. I want you to taste suffering, Yeshi. The sort of suffering you’ve brought on so many others during your wasted life.”
He stepped back and spoke more loudly, so that all could hear. “I decree this woman to no longer be Yeshi-sha-Rusan. She is no longer khashima of the Clan of Four Waters. I strip her of her name, her title, of all that she was born into or married into. Henceforth, this woman shall be known as Yeshi Bai-sha. Get from my sight before I change my mind.”
She stared at him, as if she couldn’t comprehend