On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [16]
“She looks well enough,” Sahlik said, stepping back. “Where did you want her, my lord?”
“Put her in as one of Yeshi’s attendants.”
By the Great Dragon, he was courting trouble. “Are you certain, my lord? Such positions are usually given as rewards for years of service.”
She was speaking, of course, what they both knew. She hoped Tahmu would sense the other, unsaid words.
“Kevla’s mother was a dancer, before her untimely death,” said Tahmu in a conversational tone. Only Sahlik, who knew the man better than nearly anyone, could have caught the undercurrent of tension in the everyday words. This, then, was the story Tahmu and Sahlik would spread.
“Kevla knows many useful skills—hair decorating, henna, massage—things that a woman would appreciate. If she does not work out, there is always another position for her, yes?”
“Certainly,” Sahlik agreed. If Tahmu wanted an easy lot for the child of his blood, then it was not her place to disagree. Yeshi was an unobservant woman. It was possible, perhaps even likely, she would not notice the resemblance. Sahlik would leave such matters up to the discretion—or lack thereof—of the khashim.
She wiped at the perspiration gleaming on her forehead. Even though she wore a light rhia that permitted air to circulate and cool her body, Sahlik found she endured the extreme temperatures less well than she once did.
“It is hot on these old bones,” she said. “I will prepare Kevla myself.”
She grasped the girl’s hand. Without waiting for the khashim’s dismissal, Sahlik led Kevla away.
Kevla followed obediently, showing none of the lively, rather coarse enthusiasm she had displayed the other day in the marketplace. Sahlik was pleased. She led the girl through the kitchen storage house, back out into the bright sunlight, and into another low, ornately decorated building. This one, unlike many of the others, had a wooden door. It was only one story, and much smaller than the other buildings. Torches burned in sconces fastened to the outside walls, even though the day was wiltingly hot. Kevla turned, a question on her lips.
“Why—”
“You’ll see soon enough, child. And it’s not too soon to learn to speak when you are spoken to, and not before.”
Kevla bowed her head meekly. Sahlik noticed that the child’s hair had extremely red highlights in the sun.
“Very good,” approved Sahlik. “Now, open that door, and let’s be about it.”
Kevla hastened to obey, pulling the door open and stepping back to allow Sahlik to enter first. The old woman reached for a torch, and stepped into the darkness.
Cool, thought Kevla. It’s cool in here!
She realized that this building was made not of mud or brick, as the others were, but of stone. She followed the old serving woman inside.
“Close the door behind you.”
Kevla obeyed. Now, the only light came from the flickering torch borne by Sahlik. Kevla kept close to the head servant, uncomfortable in this darkness. The tent in which she had spent all her life had not been able to shut out the light as this building did, and even a moonless night outside had a crowded field of bright, twinkling torch lights to keep her company.
Sahlik moved forward, her steps swift for her age, and certain. Kevla realized that there were stairs ahead that wound down even farther into the darkness.
Sahlik continued, moving steadily downward. Other torches hung on the walls, and these she lit as she passed. Wide-eyed and silent, Kevla followed.
The stairs seemed to wind downward forever. At last, a sound reached Kevla’s ears. It seemed familiar, but amid the echoes she couldn’t be certain. Surely, it was not the gurgle of water that it sounded like. That was to be expected from rivers such as those she had seen earlier, but not here, not at the bottom of a house.
At last the descent ended. Sahlik stepped forward, Kevla at her heels, into a large stone cavern.
Kevla gasped, softly.
It was water.
A spring bubbled up into a large pool of gently moving liquid. Kevla could barely see it in the dim illumination provided by