Court of Fives

  Her eyes roll back in her head as if she is passing out, but then they steady, and they track, and they find me. “Jessamy?”

  “Jes!” cries Maraya. She can’t release Mother so she shakes her head over and over, blinking as if she expects me to vanish. “Is it really you?”

  Cook squints into the light. “Doma Jessamy? How can you be here?”

  Mother’s hand tightens on Maraya’s arm. “Did they trap you too, my darling Jessamy? Or is this your shadow who comes to bid good-bye?”

  I kneel beside her, holding the light by my face. “I am not a shadow. I am here to get you out of the tomb. Coriander, help Merry hold her up so it will be easier for the baby to drop.”

  “That’s right, listen to Doma Jessamy,” says Cook briskly. Maraya and Coriander lift Mother until she is in a crouch, supported by them. “Merciful Hayiyin, Mistress of the Sea, let this prayer unknot a birth that has grown tangled.” She slips her hands between Mother’s legs.

  “Mother! Push!”

  My words hit like spears. Awareness sharpens her gaze. A contraction rolls through. She holds her breath and pushes as Cook massages her below.

  The baby’s head emerges, its cap of black hair smeary with slime and blood. With the gods as my witness I smell life amid this blood, not death.

  “You can manage one more push, Doma!”

  Mother sucks in a breath, tenses, pushes. The baby’s shoulders and little body slip free. Cook catches the newborn and gently places it on Mother’s chest.

  “Here is your daughter, Doma.”

  The baby lies so still that I am not sure it is breathing, but the umbilical cord pulses. Mother’s eyes are closed and for a moment of sheer blind terror I am not sure she is breathing either. Then her lips part and a broken whisper emerges.

  “It was the lotus flower potion the priests drugged us with to make sure we could not fight or run. Infants haven’t the strength to survive it, for inside me they must have sipped as at the cup I was forced to drink. I wish I had died with them. Then I would not have to know.” Some wicked creature’s shadow has slipped inside her and means to swell and swell until the last of Mother is pinched into oblivion. “I made secret offerings to the Mother of All.…”

  “Doma! That’s an Efean superstition!”

  Mother seems not to hear Cook’s remonstration. “She has turned Her back on us because we turned our backs on Her. My poor children. All dead.”

  I look past her and see a limp figure sprawled at the foot of the bier. How anyone can sleep through such a crisis I cannot understand. Then I realize it is Amaya, tangled in a shroud. My whole body clenches as I struggle not to cry out. Oh, terrible, terrible!

  I cannot see for tears stinging my eyes. Why did I mock her when she was fated to suffer this horrible end?

  Stricken, I stand there for the longest time. I don’t know what to say, or how to say it.

  “Here it comes,” says Cook. With another contraction, the red veiny mass of the placenta drops into her waiting hands. The baby makes a sound, echoed a moment later by Maraya choking down a sob of relief.

  Just as the flame from the lit taper is about to singe my fingers I see an unlit lamp in an alcove. “Coriander, bring that lamp over here.”

  The last spark from the taper is enough to light its wick. Lamplight flares so powerfully after the sour yellow glow of the taper that my eyes water. I pass the knife through the flame several times and hand it to Cook, who cuts and ties the cord.

  “Give me the baby,” I say, for everyone is as silent as if we are already dead and only waiting for the dust to cover us. “Coriander, hold the light.”

  The oracle is moaning, rocking my dead brother in her thin arms. Cook starts wiping up the blood. Mother’s eyes close; she is still breathing but I fear she has passed out from blood loss and exhaustion. I cut off a length of Mother’s rumpled shroud and dry off the baby, then swaddle her in the last bit of clean cloth.

  She has a flat cap of black hair and it is likely her eyes will resemble Father’s more than Mother’s. Beyond that it is impossible to say anything about her except that my heart expands until all my souls glow with love for this frail little spark. Her lips are perfect. Her cheeks are puffy. Her eyes are open and they fix on me. When we look at each other, we see something that can never be taken from us: our sisterhood.

  Maraya presses a hand against my side to make sure I am solid. Her voice is so shaky it terrifies me. “It’s really you, Jes! I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you but it’s really you.”

  I crush her hand in mine. “Yes, it’s me. What happened?”

  Tears cloud Merry’s face. “We were told we were being given the honor of sitting the overnight vigil at Lord Ottonor’s tomb. But when we were taken to the temple they fed us lotus flower syrup to dull our minds and afterward the priests netted our flesh with shadows that compelled us to walk to the tomb.”

  Thinking of the way they lurched along makes me shudder. “Where’s Bettany?”

  “Mother didn’t trust the Garon stewards. She thought it best for one of us girls to stay behind to oversee what became of the servants. Since the man in charge couldn’t tell the difference between Coriander and Bettany, they switched places. Mother was so broken when Father repudiated her. Yet she worries about what will happen to the people who depend on her.”

  “Of course she does. What happened to Amaya?”

  “When we woke up from the lotus syrup, the tomb was bricked in. I was so frightened, Jes!” She pants a little as she remembers. “But there was a fine tray of food. Naturally Amiable grabbed at it first. She couldn’t resist the candied almonds even though they are supposed to be given to the oracle. I wish we had fed them to the old witch, because someone poisoned the food offering.”

  A dreadful gaping hollow opens in the pit of my chest. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Oh, stupid Amiable! Stupid, stupid Amaya.”

  “How could she have known? How could any of us have guessed this would happen?”

  “To entomb unwilling servants, and a pregnant woman among them! And then poison the offering to make sure they die! He wanted to make sure you were all truly gone.”

  “Who do you think did this, Jes?”

  I glance around but he has no spies to overhear. “Lord Gargaron.”

  She shuts her eyes, then opens them, nodding. “Yes, I see. He wanted Father without encumbrances. Can you really get us out?”

  “Of course I can. I’m lifting you all out the air shaft.” I smile grimly. In my mind’s eye I see the Rings opening to the victory tower. Lord Gargaron can’t ever admit to what he did, so he can’t demand they be pushed back into the tomb. It will be easy to hide them from him because he thinks they are all dead from the poisoned food. The baby stirs in my arm and makes a crooning sound. Over by the bier, as in answer, Amaya mewls like a kitten.

  I tuck the baby in Maraya’s arm and hurry over. Vomit stains the front of Amaya’s shroud and she has peed and voided her bowels. Her hair is slimy, like she thrashed in her own spew. The stink of her makes me gag. But she is breathing. When I lift her head and shoulders, she whimpers.

  “Oh, my stomach hurts so badly. I need a bath and a massage. Why is this bed so hard? I don’t like this. Make it better.” Her eyes stay closed because she simply assumes someone will make her comfortable. I set her down less gently than I had picked her up and wipe my grimy hands on the driest corner of the shroud she wears.

  “Just stay here, Amaya. Don’t move.”

  Her eyes pop open. “Jessamy! What are you doing here?”

  “Rescuing you, of course!”

  She wraps her arms over her stomach and rocks in obvious discomfort. “Can you please hurry? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  I don’t even mock her whining tone. We can’t get out of here quickly enough. I light a new taper from the burning lamp and hurry past the others. In the oracle’s room it takes me a moment to register what is missing.

  Both rope and harness are g
one. They have pulled up our means of escape and trapped me here.

  27

  Lord Kalliarkos,” I call as loudly as I dare. Silence is my only reply.

  “Kal!”

  Fortune save me! What if I’ve been an utter fool? No Patron prince could ever care for a mule like me. If Thynos and Inarsis were in on the plot all along, they would agree to help and then trap me here, like a kick in the face to let me know I got above myself. They are probably laughing right now as they walk out Eternity Gate and leave me buried.

  Quite out of nowhere a sharp edge pricks me just under the ribs. Coriander has come up beside me, holding the lit lamp in one hand and the knife in the other.

  “I’m going out first.” She holds the knife like she knows how to use it. Flame glints on the blade’s polished surface. The metal is incised with the mark of the winged phoenix, the badge of the royal house. “You’re not leaving me in here.”

  My throat is tight and my heart is pounding, yet I slowly raise both hands as in supplication, but really so I can defend myself if she tries to stab me. “That’s right,” I say evenly, “you’ll go first. I just need your help to lift me up to the shaft so I can climb out and get the rope.”

  Under my breath I murmur a prayer that I have not been duped. He doesn’t want to be like the other nobles. He told me so.

  Coriander moves closer. “Did you scheme with your twin so you two wouldn’t get trapped here?”

  “I didn’t scheme with anyone!”

  “Then how did you know we were inside? We were drugged and shrouded! No one knew.”

  I’m so angry at the accusation that I poke her right in the chest. “I recognized my mother through the shroud. That’s how I knew. Don’t you dare accuse me! Do you believe I would ever have anything to do with burying my mother and sisters in a tomb?”

  A sneer twists her mouth. In this place she need not hide her feelings behind a mask: she is just as insolent as her brother. “Everyone knew you were your father’s favorite. The one he took to the army camp with him. The one he treated like the son he never had. You and he came out of this the best, didn’t you? He becomes a general and you get to run the Fives.”

  “He didn’t know either!”

  “Of course you would defend him.”

  “He never whipped you! He isn’t a cruel man.”

  “Even the kindest Patron is cruel, Doma. They all walk on the bones of dead Efeans and never give it a thought.”

  “He didn’t know this was going to happen! He’s the one who sent me to get you out. He loves her, Coriander. You know he would never condemn her to this!”

  To my relief her expression softens and she lowers the knife. “It’s true I can’t imagine him doing this to Doma Kiya.”

  Can I grab the knife from her? As if she guesses what I’m thinking she takes a step back.

  “Why did you agree to trade places with Bettany?” I study her stance. Her hand is steady but if I rush in I might take her by surprise.

  “Doma Kiya promised if I would sit the vigil and let Bettany supervise the house until we got back that she would speak to people she knew and see if she could get my brother freed from prison.”

  “My mother said that?” This is not the first time I’ve been knocked off my feet by an example of my mother’s knowing and doing things I am unaware of. Her string of connections seems far more extensive than I ever guessed. Perhaps I too can find other allies, more trustworthy people than Thynos and Inarsis. That Kalliarkos might be in on their plot is a thought I can’t stomach. They must have fooled him too.

  “Sitting a nasty vigil seemed a small enough thing to do to save him,” Coriander says. Her brow wrinkles with pain and agitation. “He’s going to be executed.”

  “Is he really in prison for murder?”

  “Yes.” She isn’t even ashamed.

  “You want to free a murderer?”

  Her contempt glints more brightly than the blade. “What the king calls murder is what others call truth. Anyway, what do you care? Lord Gargaron is a murderer eight times over if we can’t get out. He’s far from the only one. How many Efeans have died in the last hundred years as Patrons enrich themselves on our lands? How many Patron women have been entombed in this ugly City of the Dead because Patron lords wish to rid themselves of inconvenient girls?”

  “Oracles and their servants go to the tombs willingly.”

  She snorts. “You’re such a fool. Girls raised from infancy to believe this is their destiny? I don’t call that willing.” She takes an aggressive step toward me. “How are you getting us out?”

  I gesture toward the ceiling. “Through the air shaft.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that? We can’t reach the shaft and we can’t climb it without assistance. You’re lying.”

  “I have accomplices outside with a rope. They lowered me in.”

  “Who would dare help a person like you break into a tomb?”

  I’m not sure it’s true anymore, and yet I cannot fathom that he would abandon me here. “Lord Kalliarkos.”

  She cocks her head to one side, almost laughing. “Is he your lover? After your father told you never to speak to him again?”

  “Yes,” I lie, hoping it isn’t a lie, that Kal is still out there.

  She nods. This is a story that makes sense to her. “I’d have defied them too, just to show them! All right. I’ll help. But your mother and Cook won’t fit up the shaft.”

  Hearing the words forces me to acknowledge the ugly truth. Mother and Cook both are too big. No, I won’t give up! There must be a way out of this maze. First I have to see if Kalliarkos has truly abandoned me, but the thought of discovering that he has makes me almost afraid to try to get out.

  She nudges me hard enough that I have to take a step. “If my brother was free, he knows people from the masons’ guild who can break into a tomb and get your mother out. If he was free.”

  “No one can break into a tomb without the priests seeing.”

  Her sneer reasserts itself as a mask of derision. “You think you know so much because you speak and act like a Patron. You know the lies they tell you but you don’t know the truth.”

  Hands on hips, I lean assertively toward her. “Insult me all you want, but I know how to climb that air shaft!”

  With a grunt of laughter she sets down both lamp and knife. “That’s true enough.”

  I show her how to brace her hands on her knees. We practice her taking my weight on her shoulders until I am sure she can keep her balance. The gods are merciful because she is strong, and we are both determined. When she tremblingly straightens to her full height I can just snag the bottom of the shaft. I feel along the old brickwork for any sort of handhold. Fortunately it gives me a finger’s width of purchase.

  She cups my feet in her palms and, shaking hard, lifts me as I finger-climb my way up the shaft. The coarse grain chafes my skin. My nose scrapes the wall, drawing tears, but I keep going until I can’t go farther. I push off her hands to give me momentum to arm-climb up enough to get my knees wedged in.

  Someone has torn my arms out of their sockets and crammed them back in again but I can’t stop now. Back and knees pressed against opposite sides of the shaft brace me; my arms have a moment to rest. Sweat breaks down my back. Grit tickles in my nostrils. I dare not sneeze.

  Bracing and pushing, I creep my way upward one grunting exhalation at a time. This is not different from climbing a blind shaft, just tighter and more fearsome, and I’ll die and my mother and sisters will die if I fall. Tears flood from the dust sifting into my eyes. My upward movement is so agonizingly slow but I can’t fall.

  I will save them. There must be a way if I can remain patient and stubborn.

  At last my head breaches the top of the shaft and I hook myself over. I sprawl forward with my face pressed onto the tile and my lungs on fire.

  Men’s voices rise from nearby, loud as clarions in the night’s hush. “Did you try to ignite the tombs to burn a way in?”


  “No, my lords,” says the hero of Marsh Shore in the tone of a man pretending to be a humble servant. “I am here as escort to my lord master, who visits the tomb.”

  “Where is he, then? You people always have some excuse when you are about your thievery.”

  Cautiously I shift my head but do not otherwise move. Partway down the path two priest-wardens confront General Inarsis. One carries a lamp and the other holds an edged staff. Inarsis stands with arms at his sides and palms forward in a posture I often see Commoner men using to display that they are harmless.

  “My apologies, Your Holinesses. He is taking a piss.”

  A hand brushes my arm so unexpectedly I flinch. Kalliarkos rolls up alongside me.

  He’s here! He didn’t abandon me.

  Such a wave of relief hits me that I press my face into his shoulder for comfort. His fingers tangle in mine, our hands warm against each other.

  He whispers, “I heard you shouting. I was afraid something was wrong so we pulled up the rope so I could come in after you. Then the wardens came. I have to interrupt them before they arrest Inarsis.”

  I shudder, and his hand tightens reassuringly on mine. “They are alive but we have to get them out fast. The food and drink is poisoned.”

  An exhalation of shock gusts from him. “Blasphemy upon blasphemy!”

  “My mother won’t fit through the shaft,” I add. “We have to find another way to get her and Cook out. That day you followed me to the Ribbon Market there was a young man arrested. He was taken to the king’s prison. His sister, Coriander, is one of our servants. She is trapped inside too. She claims her brother knows people who can break into the tomb. You have to get him out of prison and see if it’s true.”

  “How can I get a man out of the king’s prison?” he hisses. He sounds angry. “I can’t just walk in and demand they free him.”

  “Of course you can. You’re a prince. Act like one.”

  “You think it’s so easy just because of my birth? Everything I do is watched and measured.”