On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [95]
He turned and regarded them. It seemed that everyone had stopped what they were doing to come to him; he could not blame them. He regarded the sea of upturned, frightened faces. They were expecting him to pronounce swift judgment. But he could not bear to do so, not yet.
He followed Asha up the stairs to Yeshi’s quarters. His wife lay on the silken sheets. Her hair was loose on the pillow, her face pale, her hands swathed with bandages. Despite the fact that there was little affection between them, Tahmu felt a stab of sympathy. He sat down beside her and her eyelids fluttered open.
“Leave us,” he told the healer. When the door had closed, Tahmu said gently, “Asha tells me you will recover.” She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. “Tell me what happened.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I was in the kitchens, thinking to make you a special treat with my own hands, my husband,” she said. “Then Kevla screamed out and—fire came from her hands! She was trying to kill me! I am lucky I am alive.”
He didn’t look at her. “You think she is a kuli?”
“What else could she be? We have burned men for less than this, my husband. Everyone saw it! I know you are fond of her because she is your Bai-sha, but you must not let that cloud your mind against what you know you must do. You must protect your people.”
Now Tahmu did look at her. He wanted to see her reaction to his next words. “She accused you of trying to poison me.”
Yeshi smiled sadly. “And does that not make it even more obvious what she is? You and I are not in love, Tahmu, but that does not make me a murderer. Even if I hated you with all my heart, why would I try to kill you? I could not be khashima without a khashim.”
Tahmu had to admit that she spoke the truth. While he could stretch his imagination to accommodate Yeshi as hate-filled enough to kill, he could not see her jeopardizing her luxurious life as khashima.
He bent to kiss her forehead with a heart that grew heavier by the moment. “Rest, now,” he said.
“Where is she?” he demanded as he strode into the courtyard. “Bring her before me.”
Everyone knew who he meant, and a ripple of surprise ran through the crowd. They were curious as to why he would even bother seeing the kuli-cursed girl.
He spotted Sahlik and waved her forward. The old woman forced her way through the crowd. He extended a hand and helped her up the steps. Placing his lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Tell me that this was a simple kitchen accident.”
Sahlik had begun looking old to him when he was twelve. Since then, it seemed to him that she had not aged. Now, though, all the years seemed to have descended upon her at once. Her eyes were red, and not, he suspected, just from the smoke.
“Great lord,” she said, “I would that I could. But I saw it with my own eyes. Kevla extended a hand, and fire came from it.”
Tahmu let out a low groan. “I had hoped this was nothing more than Yeshi’s jealousies,” he whispered.
Sahlik clutched his hand. “Perhaps it was a divine blessing from the Dragon,” she said. “Kevla said that Yeshi had put poison in your dish. Perhaps the Dragon gave her his fire to protect you.”
“The Dragon is a distant god,” Tahmu said, his face impassive. “He doesn’t come when he is needed.” He squeezed her hand, and gently touched her arm to indicate that she rejoin the crowd. Tears filled the old woman’s eyes, but she obeyed.
It was then that Tahmu saw his daughter.
Halid had taken charge of the kuli masquerading as a beautiful, illegitimate young woman. She had been beaten, he saw, and his heart ached. But he was not surprised. A rough cloth had been tied around her mouth, and her hands were tightly bound. Halid clutched another rope that snaked around her waist. She limped as she moved forward, and the crowd parted to give her a wide berth. Tahmu heard muttered curses and watched as someone spat upon her. Step by slow, unsteady step, Kevla Bai-Sha made her way toward the House. Halid led her as he might a cow or goat, but with far less gentleness.
Finally, she