On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [9]
For a long moment Keishla was silent. Her breasts heaved with anger, but when she spoke, her voice was frighteningly calm.
“You spoke of a servant. Was it Sahlik?”
Tahmu nodded.
Keishla swore. “She hated me, Tahmu. She did everything she could to keep us apart, and she was the one who convinced you to discard me as if I were a soiled rhia.”
“Sahlik only voiced what we all knew to be the truth—that we could never marry.”
“Was it really the truth? Caste lines have been crossed before. It was Sahlik, right from the start, who decided that I was not good enough for you—she, a lowly five-score!”
“Blame Sahlik if you must, or blame me, who deserves it more. But give me the child.”
Again Keishla was silent, staring at the carpet. Tahmu let her take her time. He would, he knew, get what he had come for. He always did.
“She—you will not make her a five-score, will you, Tahmu?” she said, referring to the traditional five slashes—“scores”—made on a servant’s arm.
He shook his head. Though the law entitled him to make any servant a five-score, Tahmu preferred to keep to the initial purpose of the ritual scarring. The custom originated as a way of establishing dominance over captured prisoners of war. Any man, woman or child captured in battle would be honor-bound to serve the victorious clan leader for five years. The penance could be light or it could be grueling, depending entirely on the whims of the khashim. Each year, the prisoner/servant would receive a slash on the arm. At the end of five years, the final slash would be made and the prisoner returned to his people. He or she would be free, but the scars would remain, telling all who saw of the shame suffered by the bearer.
Finally, Keishla raised her eyes. They were cool, calm, free of tears. Tahmu couldn’t read her expression. She rose and lifted the blanket, calling for Kevla. After a moment, Tahmu heard the girl’s footfalls.
“Kevla, come inside.”
“Of course, Mother.” There was puzzlement in the girl’s voice, a puzzlement that Tahmu shared. What was Keishla doing?
When Kevla had entered the tent and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, casting furtive glances at Tahmu, Keishla spoke.
“You are a smart girl, Kevla. You have no doubt guessed that the khashim knew me before you led him here.”
Uncertainly, Kevla nodded. Tahmu frowned slightly. Where was this leading? Was Keishla going to tell Kevla her parentage? Tahmu desperately hoped not. The fewer who knew, the better, including Kevla herself.
“Because of the pleasure I have given him in years past, Tahmu has asked to take you with him to be a servant at the House of Four Waters.” Kevla gasped, but before she could say anything Keishla had turned to Tahmu and said in that unnaturally calm voice, “We must discuss payment. Kevla performs a valuable duty when she cries my services in the marketplace. I shall have to hire a new girl.”
Tahmu was taken aback. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kevla cringe. Must you make her suffer even more? Tahmu had thought better of Keishla and did not attempt to keep his displeasure from his voice.
“If you love gold better than the child, you will be amply compensated.” He reached in his pouch and tossed a handful of coins at her, contemptuously watching as she hastened to pick them up.
“That will cover the cost of a new girl,” said Keishla, “but what of my silence?”
“You have kept silent thus far, halaan!” he exclaimed, taken aback by her insult. “Why should I fear your words now?”
Her lips curled in a smile that had no warmth in it. “There is the matter of your khashima. I do not think she would react well to having her husband’s halaan show up at her door.”
Tahmu got to his feet. His face nearly purple with rage, he emptied his pouch. Keishla laughed as the coins showered her upturned face. The khashim felt physically ill, and his memories of the woman turned