The squeak of the gate opening jolted Auraya’s attention back to her surroundings. She felt her stomach clench as she realized someone was entering the hall, then felt it sink as she saw that the visitor was Nekaun.
As always, questions crowded her mind. Would he free her? Would he kill her? Would he interrogate her, torture her, or ask for some terrible favor in exchange for her freedom?
She took a deep breath, pushed the questions and the fear they brought to the back of her mind, and straightened.
He stopped and regarded her silently, a faint smile curling his lips.
No, it looks like he’ll do the same as last time, she thought in answer to her earlier questions.
She almost longed for the solitude of her first days, when she had been left alone and unattended and the only indication that her presence was remembered were the Servants guarding the gate.
Chained as she was, she could not lie down to sleep. Instead she had to sink into a half-kneeling, half-hanging position. Feeling would slowly leave her arms, and her shoulders and knees would start aching. The cold in the hall didn’t help, but it was the least of her worries.
After a day the cycles of her body had begun to present unpleasant problems. First she grew thirsty, then hunger began to nag at her. Neither were pleasant to endure, but the consequences were less humiliating than the need to relieve herself. She could not remove her clothing or move far from her position. Eventually she had stretched her body as far to one side as she could so at least she would not be standing in her own urine and excrement.
Who’d have thought ordinary physical processes that one tended to every day and barely thought about could cause such distress? She had consoled herself that if they did not bring her food or drink these problems would not bother her for long.
When Nekaun returned after three days she was too weak to stand. He had said nothing but simply looked at her and the mess beside her, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Then his expression became thoughtful and a gleam entered his eyes. He turned to the Servants and spoke.
She nearly cried out a protest at his orders. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she told herself it would be more humiliating to beg and plead than to endure what he planned. And begging probably wouldn’t stop him anyway.
Domestics were brought. They cut away her clothes and threw buckets of cold water over her and the floor. They brought water for her to drink and a thin sludge she guessed was made of some kind of grain. She could not feed herself, so she had to let them tip the water and sludge into her mouth.
By then Nekaun was smiling. The gleam in his eyes intensified when she had been stripped, but disappeared as she was fed. It was clear he was enjoying her humiliation. She was tempted to spit the sludge at him, but she was too hungry to waste it.
That day she discovered she wanted to live. She wasn’t sure how badly yet, but she dreaded finding out what she might be willing to do in order to…and beyond that. At what point would she change her mind and long to die?
If Nekaun was curious to know the answers to the same questions, he was in no hurry to find out. All he had done so far was taunt her.
“Greetings, Auraya,” he said. “I trust you are finding your accommodation satisfactory?”
She ignored him. He asked something similar every time. “Are you enjoying your stay?” “Is there anything I can get for you?”
Seeing movement beyond him, she turned her attention to the domestics that were hurrying into the room. They scuttled past him hesitantly. The first two held buckets of water. She gritted her teeth against the cold of her daily dousing. The second bucket was thrown over the floor then a broom used to sweep feces off the dais.
A third domestic held a bowl of water to Auraya’s mouth. She drank it all, knowing no more would be brought until tomorrow. The last domestic lifted the usual bowl of grainy sludge.
“Stop,” Nekaun said.
Auraya felt her heart sink as the domestic lowered the bowl. She hoped she was managing to keep her expression bland and devoid of fear as Nekaun came closer, sure that any sign of apprehension would only encourage him to find more ways to torment her.
He took the bowl from the domestic, then lifted it to her mouth.
She paused only momentarily. If she refused to eat from his hands he would starve her until she did. Better to pretend it didn’t matter.
He watched her, smiling, as she ate. She did not meet his gaze, instead concentrating on a small scar on the side of his nose. She hadn’t noticed it before. She wondered what had caused it.
The bowl tipped higher, forcing her to gulp to avoid the sludge spilling over the lip and being wasted. When it was empty Nekaun stepped back. He held the bowl out to one side and the domestic hurried over to take it.
“Go,” he told the domestics. They scurried away, relieved. One of them wondered why they feared the First Voice here when they didn’t elsewhere. He concluded it was because he had no idea what to expect of the man in this situation. The sorceress was an enemy. Nekaun might order that something awful be done to her, and the domestic didn’t want to be the one to do it.
If Nekaun heard the domestic’s thoughts he gave no sign. He stared at Auraya. She fixed her gaze at the wall past his shoulder. Though she could not sense any thoughts from him she sometimes felt she knew what he was thinking. Like now, when his attention drifted below her face. She knew he was either pretending to be interested in her nakedness in order to intimidate her or…or he was excited by it.
He took a step toward her, then another. She felt her heart begin to race and breathed a little slower, willing herself to remain calm. A step away he paused, his nose wrinkling.
“Really, Auraya,” he said, shaking his head. “You should take better care of yourself. You smell terrible.”
Turning on his heel, he stalked away.
She watched him leave. The Servant guards locked the gate behind him. Footsteps faded to silence.
She sighed with relief.
Just trying to intimidate me, she told herself.
Leaning back against the base of the throne, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out into the world. This was how she spent most of her waking hours. Several times a day she checked on Mischief. One of the domestics had adopted him as her pet. He stayed because Auraya encouraged him to through dream-links and he was used to being left with a carer.
During the evenings she dream-linked with Mirar. The rest of the time she skimmed minds. Being chained up in a cold, empty hall wasn’t exactly stimulating for the mind. At least, not in a good way. Exploring the world kept her mind busy.
It was a secret source of pride to her that she was getting better and better at sensing other minds every day. Each time she reached out she managed to read minds further from her position than she had the previous time. In this way, she heard the rumors of war the day after her imprisonment. Nekaun’s breaking of his vow had made sense then. If the Circlians were invading he would not risk that his attempts to charm her had failed. He knew if he let her go she would probably return to the White to fight with them.
Would I have? she asked herself. Perhaps. I wouldn’t have liked it, but if the gods ordered me to I would have fought for them.
What didn’t make sense was that Nekaun hadn’t killed her. Why imprison her? Did he plan another bargain, with her as payment? Did he think he could persuade the White to go home in exchange for her return?
She smiled wryly. Huan would never agree to that.
But Chaia might. She thought of his message, sent through the dying Siyee priest. None of the domestics that tended her had spoken a word to her, let alone his “key” word. She doubted any message from Chaia would come through Nekaun. Nobody else had visited her.
Gods had, however. Saru, Yranna and Lore had hovered around her briefly. Their conversation told her that they had come to confirm that she was imprisoned here, but had revealed little else.
Did Chaia have a plan in place to free her? Or was he too preoccupied with preparations for war? There was only so much he could do here, in a land where nobody worshipped or obeyed him.
Maybe he intends for me to be freed once the Circlians are victorious. But I expect Nekaun will ensure I die if the Pentadrians lose. He’ll give my guards orders to kill me.
She opened one eye and looked at the Servants standing by the gate.
Unless someone stops them.
She thought of the hint the gods had given that they could get rid of Mirar, even though he had the Voices’ protection. If there was an assassin here, perhaps they could help her.
But they wouldn’t unless the White ordered them to, and she hadn’t been able to tell the White about her situation. Even if Nekaun hadn’t taken the priest ring, she could not have used it. The void would prevent it working. So instead she had tried to contact Juran via dream-links. None of her attempts had succeeded. She had tried calling to Mairae, and even Dyara, but neither had answered. This morning Mirar had given her an idea.
“You’ll just have to skim the minds of the Companions…And do the same for the advisers of the White.”
She couldn’t dream-link with the White, but perhaps she could reach Danjin.
Relaxing against the throne, Auraya slowed her breathing and sought the dream trance. Once there, she called out Danjin’s name.
There was no response at first, but after several attempts she heard a familiar but confused mental voice.
:Auraya?
:Yes, Danjin. It’s me.
:Auraya…I’m dreaming.
:You are and yet you are not. This is how the Dreamweavers communicate.
:A dream-link?
:Yes.
He paused and she felt both concern and guilt.
:I’m not supposed to talk to you.
A chill ran down Auraya’s spine.
:Why? Do the White believe I’ve changed sides?
:They…have to consider it a possibility. They haven’t heard from you in weeks.
:I can’t reach them. I was tricked. Nekaun has imprisoned me inside a… She paused as she realized Danjin didn’t know what a void was. Did the White know what voids were? She hadn’t until she’d met Jade.
:Auraya? Danjin asked, his tone full of concern.
:Nekaun took away my priest ring. I’ve tried to dream-link with Juran and the others but it doesn’t work. Maybe because they’re never asleep when I try; maybe because they can’t…or I’m being prevented. I need you to tell Juran I’m a prisoner.
Danjin didn’t reply.
:Danjin?
:Yes. I’m…not near Juran. I’ll tell Ella and she’ll pass it on.
She sensed wariness.
:You are not sure if you can believe me, she stated.
:No, he admitted. The White advised me to be careful.
She felt a stab of hurt, then annoyance.
:Then tell them carefully. It’s up to them to decide if they believe me or not.
:I want to believe you. I do believe you. He sounded tortured. I will believe you until I have evidence otherwise, but I must behave as if I don’t believe you until I have evidence otherwise.
And he wasn’t liking it much. Ah, Danjin, she thought. I miss you.
:I understand. Thank you, Danjin.
Breaking the link, she roused herself to full consciousness, looked around the hall and sighed.
Well, Chaia did warn me that Huan would use those I love against me.
The large, tiled room echoed with the chatter of Voices, Companions, Servants and Thinkers. Standing beside Imenja, Reivan looked down at the floor. The mosaic map glinted softly, reflecting the light of lamps brought in to supplement what daylight reached the room from the entrance. Pottery figurines of Pentadrians and Circlians had been placed on the floor. They looked like toys left behind by a child. A rich child, too, as the figurines were finely detailed. Reivan saw that there were little Siyee men among the Circlians. Unlike the winged people depicted in the mosaic, they were accurately represented right down to the bones visible within the membranes of their wings.
“Nekaun comes,” a voice murmured from the direction of the entrance.
All fell silent and turned to wait. As Nekaun stepped into the room many hands sketched the symbol of the star. A strange expression was on Nekaun’s face, but it vanished at the greeting. He looked around the room, meeting gazes and nodding.
“Forgive me for my lateness,” he said. “Another matter delayed me.” He moved to the edge of the map and looked down at the Circlian figurines. “Is this where the enemy army is?”
“According to our spies,” Dedicated Servant Meroen replied. The man was only in his thirties, but had proven himself an intelligent strategist during the previous war.
Nekaun paced around the map. All eyes followed him. Reivan heard Imenja’s barely audible snort and guessed what her mistress was thinking. The First Voice didn’t need to circle the map—he just liked to be the focus of attention.
“Has the Sennon emperor responded to my message?” Nekaun asked, this time looking at Vervel.
The Third Voice shook his head. “No.”
Nekaun must know this, Reivan thought, but he had probably asked for the benefit of the others. He nodded and looked around the room.
“Can anyone suggest a way we might change his mind?”
When no answer came, Nekaun frowned and his gaze returned to the white figurines.
“How large is the Circlian army?”
Now several people began to speak. Meroen spoke of thousands gathered so far, then others began to debate how many more might join them. The Dunwayans had yet to join the army. Then there was the question of whether the Sennons would, or if they would remain uninvolved except to allow passage of the Circlian army.
“There are fewer Siyee this time,” he added.
“How fast is the Circlian army travelling?” Nekaun asked. “When will they reach the Isthmus?”
“At a steady pace; if no sandstorms delay them, one cycle of the moon,” Shar said. “They travel through desert and will have to take water and food with them. The town of Diamyane will not be able to sustain them, so they will need to transport supplies from the north.”
“So we attack their supply caravans.”
“Or ships.”
Nekaun smiled. “Our Elai friends may prove useful after all.” He looked at Imenja. “Have they replied to our request?”
“I doubt it has reached them yet,” she answered.
Nekaun looked around the room. “What are our strengths and weaknesses?”
“We have few weaknesses,” Vervel said. “The Isthmus is an effective barrier. The Circlian army cannot cross in large numbers. We have plentiful supplies of food and water and fight on familiar ground. We should be able to raise an army to match theirs. Our fleets are equal and our crews are better trained.”
Dedicated Servant Meroen shook his head. “Why do they attack us if they have no obvious advantage?”
“They must have been relying on Auraya’s help,” Shar said.
Nekaun smiled. “Perhaps. But they won’t have it.”
“Will they turn back once they know she has been captured?” Genza asked.
Several spoke in response.
“Surely they already know.”
“If they don’t we should make sure they know.”
“Send them her corpse.”
Nekaun was still smiling, but in a distracted way. It was the same strange expression he had been wearing when he had arrived. For some reason it sent a shiver up Reivan’s spine. There was something unpleasant in that smile.
“When the Circlians reach the Isthmus they will be stalled,” Meroen said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard. “But remember: the Isthmus is a barrier to us as well. We may find ourselves caught in a protracted war. Crops will go unplanted, traders will be unable to dock, and Voices will not be able to leave the Isthmus lest the White take advantage of their absence.”
The room had quietened. Nekaun frowned at Meroen then his gaze shifted from face to face.
“So what do we do to avoid a stalemate?”
A murmuring began as the question was discussed.
“We could hide our army behind the Sennon mountains,” a Thinker suggested. “When they arrive at Diamyane we attack them from all sides, and drive them into the sea.”
“Siyee scouts would see us.”
“And we lose our best advantage,” Nekaun said quietly. “The Isthmus. No. Let them settle in Diamyane. We will cut off their supplies. Let them starve a little before we break them.”
He smiled again, his gaze shifting to some distant place for a moment. Reivan shivered and looked away. When she turned back she found him watching her. Suddenly she felt foolish. He was only anticipating victory. It was just disturbing to see a hint of bloodlust in the eyes of a man she had taken to bed. It ought to make him more exciting. Powerful. Dangerous.
But it didn’t.
He turned away, an entirely different expression on his face. She felt her insides turn cold.
Unless she had imagined it…and she knew she hadn’t…it had been an expression of unconcealed contempt.