J umo was relieved to see the familiar figure and distinctive lope of Lazar arrive at the Spur’s house in the early hours of the morning. The man he had waited for all night had arrived tired and distracted.
There was no greeting. “You shouldn’t have waited up, Jumo. You know you don’t have to wait on me.”
“I have left a carafe of wine on the veranda.”
Jumo left the Spur to brood alone, staring out to the Faranel, and presumed he would remain there for what was left of the night. He was right; the next morning he found the chair empty but a discarded blanket lying across it and a second carafe of undiluted wine nearby.
Lazar emerged minutes later looking freshened and clean-shaven but drawn, as if sleep had eluded him. His eyes possessed a haunted quality that Jumo had not seen before. Something was brewing; he had known this man too long not to be able to read the signs. It would be best, then, to give him the news now.
“A messenger arrived not long ago, Master.”
“New orders?”
Jumo heard hope in his friend’s voice and he knew how much Lazar must want to escape Percheron. “He was sent from the palace…from the Grand Master Eunuch’s office.” He watched Lazar’s temple pulse. Knew that sign well.
“And?”
Nothing to be gained by hedging. “It’s Ana. She has gone.”
“Gone?”
Jumo nodded. “Escaped in the night.”
Lazar looked at him, pain fleeting across his face. It was impossible. No one escaped the harem. The palace would expect him to find her, of course, not just because he had brought her to the harem but because he was the Spur and in charge of all security. “Any clues?”
“They think she slipped away disguised as a black eunuch.”
Lazar, turning to move away, swung around and regarded Jumo with a hint of amusement. “They jest!”
“Apparently not,” and Jumo couldn’t help a small smirk himself. “They believe she wore a black jamoosh and blacked the area around her eyes with ash from a brazier.”
Lazar couldn’t help but admire Ana all the more for her defiance, but his pleasure in her act died quickly when he grasped the import of her rash actions. “They’ll punish her, of course.”
Jumo nodded. “I would say so. The Valide will want to do so for the spectacle of it and Salmeo will have to comply in order to reinforce his authority.”
“We must find her first.”
THE VALIDE HAD SPENT a restless night, her slumber disturbed by memories of Spur Lazar arguing—no, pleading—for the monthly freedom of the golden girl from the western foothills. Oh, he had disguised his anxiety with his usual confidence but she had seen through it on this occasion; something about the way Lazar avoided looking at Ana. The rest of the men in the room could hardly keep their gazes from the youngster and yet Lazar had all but ignored her while requesting her release so eloquently…so insistently. Herezah had slipped between her silken sheets with a sense of triumph the previous evening. Nevertheless, a poor night’s sleep and her suspicions being piqued aside, everything, she decided, was coming together nicely. She had both the fat eunuch and the fool Vizier eating out of her hands. She was confident that Boaz’s harem would be one of the finest ever assembled and the goatherd’s adopted daughter was a prize jewel among a veritable collection of precious gems. All the girls were stunning but it was true that there was something extraordinary about that one. She felt sure Ana would be one of those who would produce an heir; Boaz would pick her as soon as he was ready to lie with a woman, for Ana’s looks were too startling to ignore. However, Herezah would have to be careful that the girl did not steal her son’s heart entirely. Herezah wasn’t ready for a power struggle.
Boaz was going to need careful handling. She needed to find challenging diversions for him so he would feel important and useful while not meddling in the day-to-day running of what was clearly now her realm.
“I’ve waited too long for this,” she had muttered as she sipped on the citrus infusion she insisted on taking every morning. A lot of the other women had allowed themselves to run to fat in the harem, especially those who had never caught the attention of Joreb. Joreb quickly sorted out his favorites from those he was not interested in, and although these estranged women remained pampered and primped, they were largely ignored. With no future other than slothfulness available to them, it wasn’t long before their lives diminished into a continuing indulgence of food and mind-altering confections to dull their frustrations.
Herezah had not had cause for the same frustrations and thus she took great care with her body’s appearance—no, her frustrations were born of ambition and impatience. Now that she had in her grasp what she had dreamed of for so long, she was not going to let it go—not even to the son who had made it all possible. Boaz was young; he had plenty of wild oats to sow and energy to burn in playful pursuits. He did not need the serious burden of running a realm she could so easily handle for him. She was going to make everything as easy as possible for him, and she reasoned that this new era in their lives was going to give them a wonderfully new and close relationship.
After her tea she rose, her mind still battling with the question of Ana and what to do with her. She decided that the best way to handle the child was to put her own claim on her. Mark her as the Valide’s own slave. Then she could break and control the girl before she became available for the Zar’s needs. Herezah smiled, pleased with herself. How clever that she might turn the new odalisque into one of her own agents, use her to plant ideas into Boaz’s mind, control him fully. Especially if he chose Ana to be one of his wives.
Before she could take her morning exercise, the news had come, delivered personally by Salmeo. When he was announced she knew it had to be something of importance. She had him admitted but did not offer him a seat—he was interrupting her morning routine, after all.
“Speak,” she commanded, more than enjoying her new authority over the one who had inflicted humiliation upon her in years gone by.
“Valide,” he began as she reached for her steaming cup of kerrosh, which she took in its most bitter form. “One of the new acquisitions has escaped the harem during the night.”
If he thought the Zar’s mother might overreact, he was very wrong. In wonder, he watched Herezah’s unveiled face display no outward signs of anger. She paused in her sipping of the kerrosh and then delicately reached her long arm to place the porcelain cup back on the tray. Herezah, for all her failings, was a naturally elegant woman. It was little wonder that Joreb, a lover of the finer things in life, had fallen for her dark beauty and exceptional grace.
“Ana?” she asked, almost as though she were expecting the news.
He nodded. His scar appeared all the more livid for the shame he was obviously feeling.
She spoke with chilling softness. “How did this happen, Salmeo? I belong to the harem, I have been one of its odalisques, and I know that what you’re suggesting is impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible, Valide,” he tried, but at her instantly furious glare changed his mind, nodded, and sighed. “Normally, yes. We are, however, not dealing with a normal child, if you’ll permit my saying so, Valide.”
“How so?”
“She has intelligence and defiance enough for ten odalisques.”
Herezah smirked. “I think you’re right. How did she escape?” She was intrigued that any girl could find a way out of the harem; almost jealous, in fact.
This was not difficult to answer but it was horribly embarrassing for Salmeo. He tried to hold the Valide’s keen gaze but soon found himself looking elsewhere. “After completing her Test of Virtue, she was left alone momentarily to gather her composure and reclothe herself. She took that opportunity to steal some garments and blacken her face. We discovered that a jamoosh was missing and the grate of the brazier had fallen to the ground. She used ash on herself, apparently.” He shrugged. “There were black smudges on my walls and she had thrown…” He hesitated.
“Thrown what?”
“She had smashed the clay pot of ferris and thrown it into the burning embers.”
Herezah gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, such spirit. She hates you early, Salmeo.”
“I am used to it, Valide,” he said softly, and this time successfully fought the urge to look away from her sardonic smile. “She loosened some fretwork and escaped through my courtyard.”
“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”
Again he hesitated. “I thought she would be found more swiftly, Valide.”
“It looks like you thought wrong, Grand Master Eunuch. So what do we do now?”
“I sent a message to the Spur at dawn.”
Her eyes flashed at his name, “Why, because she was his bargain?”
“Because he argued for her release. I think the Spur is fond of the child. He looked upset when she relinquished her freedom for the slave’s life.” Salmeo watched with pleasure as Herezah’s lips thinned. Oh yes, he thought, you don’t like the idea that Spur Lazar may feel affection for someone else.
But the Valide did not rise to the bait. “I saw it too. What does it mean, Salmeo?”
The large man moved his huge shoulders in a shrug. “I cannot tell,” he lied. “The Spur has always been one so devoid of connection to others that I can’t reason this link.”
“Can you not?” He shook his great head. “I would say that our young odalisque has touched the man of ice, warmed his frozen heart.”
His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. He’d suspected as much but considered it politic, at this point, to let the Valide feel as though she might know more than he did. “I thought it to be simply a brotherly fondness. Are you suggesting it’s more serious?”
“Call it female intuition. He argued too passionately not to be involved with the girl somehow.”
Salmeo was impressed with Herezah’s composure, for it obviously grieved her to admit this. “You are perceptive, Valide.”
She dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. “So what of the child?”
“She will be found within the hour, I promise. She could not get far at night—and she was barefoot, I believe. She is too recognizable and, I suspect, tired, hungry, and already regretting her wild adventure.”
Herezah didn’t necessarily agree with his summary but she understood that he needed to save face. “You must ensure word of this does not get about. We must not allow our girls to have any notion that escape will be tolerated. It was not even dared in my time,” she said, quietly irritated that she had not thought to try.
“No one will know, Valide.”
“She must be punished, of course.”
“I agree,” he said, again relieved. “May I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead,” Herezah said, knowing how his cruel mind worked. She stood and took her half-finished cup of kerrosh to the window.
“She should be flogged.”
Herezah did not turn from the idyllic view of gardens stretching before her. “And break that beautiful skin?”
“It will heal. She’s young enough that it won’t scar if we use an expert. Anything less would be a compromise, I fear, Valide.”
Now she laughed, deep and sly. “A compromise to your position, you mean. I understand, Salmeo, better than you know. But it’s fine with me. I want a physician’s opinion before it’s done, though. She must not mark.” She turned now to emphasize her instructions and fixed him with a stare.
He nodded. “As you command, Valide.”
“And her virginity?”
“Intact.”
“As we knew. Did she weep when you did it?”
“Not even a tear,” he confirmed, recalling only too well how Herezah had cried hysterically when it had been her turn many years before. He watched disappointment dance briefly across her face but she masked her expression in a moment. Good, he thought, I can still hurt you.
“Find her!” she ordered.
LAZAR AND JUMO had started from the palace and agreed to work out in a broad sweeping arc—Jumo heading away from the city and Lazar moving deeper into it, toward the bazaar.
“We were there together, she might head for the familiar spots I showed her.”
Jumo had nodded agreement. “I shall meet you by the People’s Fountain by fourth bell.”
They now stood worriedly side by side, having met as planned but with no good news.
“Where would a child go?” Jumo wondered aloud. “With her looks she would be an instant target.”
This comment served only to frustrate Lazar further and he punched the marble of the fountain. It hurt, but rather than showing it, he plunged his aching fist into the pocket of the long white formal jamoosh he wore.
And felt the warmth of gold. “Iridor,” he muttered.
Jumo turned in query. “Master?”
“Iridor! Of course.” Lazar began hurrying away. “Keep looking through the bazaar,” he called back. “I have a hunch where she might be.”
Lazar suddenly felt sure he knew where Ana would have ended up. He arrived at the tiny temple, out of breath, having woven his way at full tilt through the harbor streets and out onto the peninsula. To compose himself, he leaned against the white wall of the holy building and sucked in several long, deep breaths before he bent and entered the hallowed space.
It was cool and dark as usual. But this time Zafira did not pray alone. Kneeling next to her was another, engulfed in a black jamoosh that was far too big for her slender frame.
“Ana,” he said, his voice sounding loud and coarse in the silence.
Zafira opened her eyes from prayer and turned, putting a finger to her lips. Then she stood, awkwardly, grimacing from old aches in her back and knees before she approached Lazar, a look of understanding on her kindly face. “As you see, another visitor,” she whispered. “Troubled, like you.”
“They’ll be turning Percheron upside down for her, Zafira.”
The priestess nodded. “Give her a few more moments. She is as taken by the sculpture of Lyana as you are.”
Lazar grimaced at the delay, but nodded.
“How did you know to find her here?” Zafira asked softly.
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I’ve just looked everywhere else.” His stomach turned at the lie, but he did not want to bring Iridor into the conversation again, knowing how it had affected the priestess the last time he had done so.
“She’s been here since the early hours.”
“How did she find it?”
“I thought you might have told her about the temple.” At Lazar’s negative head shake, the priestess smiled. “Well, she told me all about you and how kind you’ve been.”
“Kind?” he mocked. “I sold her to the harem.”
“For which she forgives you, Lazar.”
He grunted. He did not want forgiveness; he wanted to feel a sense of control again. “I have to return her.”
“Will they punish her?”
Though Lazar could not bring himself to reply, his silence told the priestess what she needed to know.
“You must protect her from this,” she urged, clasping the hard muscle of his arm.
“I have done all I can,” he replied, his anguish obvious.
“There must be still more you can do.”
He shook his head. Everything was spiraling out of control. “I am honor-bound to the Zar and by my position in Percheron. I must take her back to the palace,” he replied, his voice hard. “I’m sorry, Zafira.”
“So am I,” she said, her voice just as cold.
And it was with those words that Lazar decided he would follow through on his formerly vague plans—plans he had made only during this last restless night. He would leave Percheron. He walked over to Ana, lifting her into his arms. She permitted him to do so without a struggle but her eyes were filled with a sorrow that broke his heart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know.” He wanted to kiss her golden hair and tell her he would make everything right again. Instead he stalked out of the temple with her. He did not look back at Zafira.
The priestess’s words rang in his ears. She had insisted he could do more. Could he? What?
“Take me away, Lazar,” Ana moaned as he set her down.
His jaw ached from the way he was grinding it. “Ana, my duty is to the Crown of Percheron.” For lack of anything remotely comforting to say, he quoted an old Percherese military saying: “A man without honor is a man lost.”
Ana gave a wan smile. “My uncle said that once.”
“Ana, I—”
“Please. I know I have to go back, Lazar. It’s all right. Ah, here comes Jumo,” she said, effectively ending their awkward conversation.
“Ana.” Jumo moved quickly to hug her, relief in his eyes when he stepped back. “You frightened us.”
“I knew you would come and that Spur Lazar would find me,” she answered. “Thank you, friend Jumo, it is precious that I can see you again.” She kissed both of his weathered cheeks.
Jumo glanced at Lazar. “Do we have to take her back immediately?”
The Spur sighed. Wretched Jumo could always read his thoughts, and worse, Jumo got to hug Ana and be kissed by her. It annoyed him that he was himself so reluctant to show her even the slightest amount of the affection he felt. “No,” he said, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “We can at least share a kerrosh together.”
They walked with Ana between them to a shop they knew sold the best morning kerrosh in the bazaar.
“Find a spot,” Lazar suggested to Jumo, having noticed the long line. “I’ll get them,” he added, knowing one of the advantages of being Spur was that a small crowd such as this would simply part at the sight of him. “Thank you,” he uttered to those who bowed and moved aside to allow him through to the counter.
“Spur Lazar,” the owner acknowledged, grinning to show the few teeth in his head. He expertly poured hot frothing milk from one long-handled jug into another. Years of practice meant he didn’t even have to look at the motion—it all happened through sense, touch, and skill. The milk turned a burned golden color once it was combined with the hot kerrosh, and the smell of it made Lazar’s belly grumble. “Three, and give me that plate of skazza.”
“Hungry today?” the shopkeeper said, still grinning as he reached to fill the heated glasses.
Soon Lazar was shouldering his way back with a tray of steaming kerrosh and pastries oozing with honey.
Ana’s eyes lit. “Our mother never offered it with milk!”
“Paradise in a glass,” Lazar said, trying hard to lighten the gloom that had settled around their tiny table.
Jumo raised his glass. “Recovery for the troubled soul.” He looked hard at his friend.
“Ana,” Lazar began gently, pushing the plate toward her. “Eat.” She took one of the sticky pastries. “Did you run away because of Kett or because they scared you afterward?”
“Doesn’t Salmeo deliberately scare everyone?” she asked.
Lazar felt her quip bite where he was hurting the most. What could he have been thinking to have given her over to that evil man? He watched her chew on the pastry, the syrup oozing over her lips, glazing them to a high shine.
She pulled a strand of hair from her face with sticky fingers. “Salmeo did an inspection of my body,” Ana said matter-off-actly. “Inside my body.”
Lazar slammed his cup down onto the table. He didn’t flinch at the scald of the hot milky drink that spilled over his sunburned hand.
“I gave him no satisfaction. That eunuch will never break me, although I can tell that’s his intention.”
Lazar had no chance to reply, for a group of Salmeo’s Elim pushed their way through the bazaar, their distinctive red jamooshes giving them away instantly.
“You have found her, my lord Spur,” their leader said as all in the group bowed low.
“Only moments ago,” Lazar answered.
“My lord Spur,” the first repeated, “we have orders to—”
Lazar held up a hand. “Yes, I imagine you do…er?”
“Farz,” the man answered.
“Thank you, Farz. I found the child cold and hungry. I am seeing to her well-being immediately and then, as requested by your master, I shall return her to the palace.”
“May we not relieve you of this burden, Lord Spur?”
The man was persistent. Jumo could see the pulse at his master’s temple throb again, a sure indication that the Spur had run out of patience. It never took very long.
Jumo spoke quickly into the thick silence. “No, Farz. You go on. Return to the palace and inform your master that Ana has been located. The Spur will bring the girl as soon as she has been nourished. You can see for yourself that she is appropriately covered. There is no insult to the harem.”
The men looked among themselves, clearly concerned. They did not want to act without courtesy to the Spur and yet each knew Salmeo would cut his throat just as soon as reward him, depending on how each pleased him. It would not please him if they returned empty-handed.
Lazar understood. “Take a kerrosh—put it on my slate. Then you can escort us back to the palace if that is easier.”
The men still looked uncertain.
“Come, let me order with you, I need another.” Jumo stood, shooing the men deeper into the shop. He shot a wink at Lazar as he herded them toward the counter and saw his friend give a sad smile of thanks. Both knew Jumo had bought Lazar and Ana a few precious private minutes together.
Lazar turned back to Ana, who was staring solemnly into the dregs of her glass. “You must promise me that you’ll never attempt anything like an escape again.”
“I cannot promise you that, Lazar.”
“Ana, I will not always be around to save you.”
“You do not need to save me. Your responsibility ended when you presented me to the Valide and collected your gold.”
He flinched; her words hurt. She shook her head, frowning to herself. “I’m sorry, Lazar,” she said, contrite. “Zafira told you I’d forgiven you for selling me to the harem. And I have. Please ignore my accusations. I am tired.”
“You’ve made me extend my commitment to you,” he said carefully.
She eyed him gravely. “I don’t recall how.”
“By insisting I keep the owl statue close.”
Recognition dawned. “And have you kept him close?” A soft smile played at her lips as he lifted the gold statue out of his pocket. “As beautiful as I remember him. Lovely Iridor.”
Lazar sat back in his chair, once again astonished. How was it possible that a young goatherd’s daughter of today would know about a long forgotten, ancient demigod? “Ana, I must know, where did you hear that name? Is your father religious? Is your family followers of Lyana?”
She shook her head gently. “Iridor is my friend,” she said, a faraway look in her eye. “Take me back now, Lazar. I don’t want anyone to get into further trouble on my account. It was wrong of me to leave as I did. I knew I could never escape, in truth. I was upset over Kett and then the Test of Virtue. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and once I was out I felt compelled to find the temple…” Her voice trailed off.
He had no time to ask how she knew the temple existed because he could see Jumo approaching, an expression of helplessness on his face. The Elim seemed to have knocked back their kerrosh so fast it had hardly touched the sides of their throats. They were taking no chances with their own lives. Though Lazar was frustrated, he understood. Salmeo could be hideously cruel. “Come then, Ana” was all he said, hating himself for not having an answer to this dilemma. She rose soundlessly as he pocketed the owl.
It was a silent troupe wending its way back to the palace and certain punishment.