On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [93]
“No, thank you, Sahlik. I just wanted to see and taste for myself how well the feast is progressing.”
Kevla’s eyes widened and her breathing quickened. Something was definitely afoot.
Sahlik clapped her hands. “Return to your duties,” she called, and the servants obeyed. No one dared look at Yeshi except for Sahlik. Kevla continued to chop vegetables, but unlike the others, did not let Yeshi out of her sight.
“What have you prepared?” Yeshi inquired. As Sahlik told her, she nodded, listening. She stepped over to where a girl was carving a decorative bird out of a gourd, removing the fleshy, deliciously sweet fruit with a spoon.
“That looks lovely, child,” Yeshi said, causing the girl to blush and smile. “Tahmu will be pleased. Oh, and is this balaan stew?” She bent over the cauldron and smelled. “Delicious!” she pronounced. “Worthy of such a celebration.”
Kevla clenched her teeth, willing Yeshi not to come to her. She had not looked the woman in the face for years and did not want to do so now. Fortunately, Yeshi seemed to share her sentiment, and brushed past Kevla as if the girl was not there. Kevla caught a faint whiff of scented oils, and for a moment was transported back to when she was eleven years old and massaging the khashima. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She continued to watch Yeshi as one of the aerie’s hawks might. Looking as out of place as a silver goblet in a sandcattle pen, Yeshi made her way through the kitchen, stopping in front of the plate that would be the khashim’s that evening.
“Will the gourd-bird sit here, on my husband’s plate?” Yeshi inquired.
The girl looked alarmed at being directly addressed and glanced at Sahlik, who nodded. “Yes, great lady. On the khashim’s plate, if it pleases you.”
“It does indeed,” Yeshi said, smiling warmly. “I see you are almost done. Finish it quickly, and I will fill it with delicious treats myself.”
The girl whirled around and began to carve rapidly. Kevla hoped she did not cut herself. She averted her eyes momentarily as she heard the rustle of Yeshi’s clothing and knew that the woman was regarding her. Then Yeshi turned, and began to fill the gourd from a bowl full of delicacies placed next to it.
Again, Kevla lifted her gaze just slightly and watched as Yeshi worked. Sahlik was tasting the stew, and the other servants had their eyes on their tasks. Into the hollow went dates, nuts, cleverly fashioned pastries—
—and something else, a green powder that poured from Yeshi’s sleeve and dissolved when it hit the juicy fruit—
A gray mist swirled before Kevla’s eyes as she realized what was happening. The scream welled up and ripped free from her throat.
“No!”
Righteous fury and a terrible fear for Tahmu shuddered through Kevla as she lifted her hand and pointed at the tray, pointed at the poison-soaked fruit that a supposedly devoted wife was going to feed to her unsuspecting husband, pointed at the evidence that would save Tahmu’s life and expose Yeshi’s crime for all to see—
The thin ribbon of fire began at the tip of her finger and sped across the room like a lightning strike.
It struck the gourd and the small table exploded. A curtain of flame leaped upward. Sparks scattered across the room to ignite hair and clothing. Kevla heard the screams of terrified servants and saw Yeshi leap backward, staring first at her burned hands and then at Kevla. Smoke filled the room. Others coughed and shrieked, but Kevla felt no sting from the smoke. The only thing she felt was a sickening horror as Yeshi pointed a red, oozing finger at her and cried, “Kuli!”
“No,” Kevla said again, her voice a hoarse whisper. She knew she should run, should flee before they could catch her, but she remained rooted to the spot, her eyes locked with Yeshi’s, and she saw in those dark orbs a hot blaze of triumph.
Kevla suddenly snapped out of her paralysis. The kitchen was chaos. Servants were screaming, fighting to escape. The walls were of stone, but everything that could catch fire had, and the smoke was thick and