Winter Queen

  Her father watched from where he’d taken up residence by the doorway, his carving knife in one hand and a lump of wood in the other. His other leg was propped up on a stool. Curls of wood fell to the floor, and the air smelled of resin.

  “Will she be all right?” Nelay asked him.

  “It’s always hard for her.” He seemed to have difficulty swallowing. “But she eventually comes out of it.”

  Nelay nodded, then went back out and began hauling bucket after bucket up from the well to water the trees. At midday, the beginning of the ovat sent her toward the house. She was eager for smoked sheep meat—they might have been her friends, but for the first time in months she hadn’t gone hungry—and an afternoon nap.

  But she paused at the sight of a cloud of dust beyond the trees and bushes that hid their house. She could hear the sound of many feet. A herd? A large one by the sound of it. As she watched, a strange shape appeared over the rise. This was not a herd of sheep or shaggy donkeys Nelay was used to, but a caravan of camels—something only the very rich could afford. There were five of them. The first had a shade pavilion to protect its rider. The rest of the camels seemed to be loaded down with supplies.

  The only person Nelay knew who owned camels was the provincial lord. “Father?” she called, squinting for a better look. Usually, some of the lord’s men would come for taxes on the land. “Is the lord coming?”

  Her father looked up from the front of their house, where he’d started carving himself a cane. He pulled himself up and limped painfully forward, the partially carved cane tapping.

  And then foot soldiers came into view. Her father frowned. “That’s not the lord.”

  Nelay backed away. “Then who are they?”

  He whistled loudly for Panar, who hadn’t showed up since he’d punched Nelay and was probably beyond hearing. Her father hobbled into the house and pushed aside his sheepskin bedding to reveal a loose bit of mud brick at the base of his bed. He pulled it free, reached in, and came out with the curving sword that had belonged to Nelay’s grandfather. It was nicked and tarnished, but still the most beautifully crafted thing she had ever seen.

  And all the while, her mother still hadn’t moved.

  Suddenly afraid, Nelay snatched her sling and stones and filled the cup.

  “Stay with your mother,” Father said as he pushed Nelay behind him.

  “But Father!” She held out her sling to remind him what a good shot she was.

  He limped to the door, grimacing with each step. “If they get past me, you’re better off begging for mercy than angering them.”

  Nelay wanted to point out that he could barely walk and his free hand had to hold the cane, but fear kept her quiet. She took her mother’s limp hand and squeezed.

  Her father stepped in front of the doorway, his sword out of sight behind the frame. Nelay peeked past him to watch as the camels came into the yard with a glide that ended in a lurch. The creatures were resplendent, with beautiful red trappings trimmed out with gold tassels, patterns of flames throughout.

  Surrounding the five camels were dozens of foot soldiers in black, their headscarves pulled over their faces so only their eyes showed. They wore robes that ended at their shins, with fitted pants and quiet boots.

  They flooded into the yard, paying Nelay’s family no mind as they spread out and crept through the shadows of the sparse grove and fields as if searching for danger.

  A foot soldier with a glittering gold medallion in the center of his headscarf spoke to the first camel and slapped the creature’s shoulder. It lowered jerkily to the ground. Atop the camel was a woman who wore a headdress over thick black hair and a long, sheer veil over her mouth. As she stepped down, Nelay stared at her bell-shaped pants and the fitted bodice that showed her stomach. Her eyes were lined with kohl. Even with the dust of travel, her clothing shone with colors and jewels that made Nelay’s ragged, sun-bleached garments seem like a moth in a field of butterflies.

  “I am Suka, high priestess to the Goddess of Fire,” the woman declared.

  Her mother stirred, but Nelay hardly noticed. High priestess—that was impossible. The high priestess lived in the temple at Thanjavar. But her clothes . . . the jewels, the camels. It must be true.

  As if Nelay’s father had come to the same conclusion, the sword fell from his fingers, clanging on the floor. The woman raised a single eyebrow, and her guards stepped protectively closer.

  Nelay remembered what her mother always said—that if Nelay revealed her secret, the priestesses would take her away. And she knew they were here for her.

  When her father still said nothing, the woman let out a long sigh. “Have my men the use of the well to water our camels?”

  Nelay’s father finally found his voice. “Y-yes. Of course.” He bowed low. “May the fire ever burn within you.”

  The woman inclined her head. “And with you.”

  Nelay’s mother sat up, looking confused. Nelay stepped closer. “Mother, the priestess is here.”

  Her father looked back at them before wetting his lips and turning back to Suka. “What cause has a Priestess of Fire to come here?”

  The woman moved closer, her eyes slipping past Nelay’s father to land on her. Outwardly, she was all poise, but Nelay caught a hungry flash in her gaze. “May I come in?” the priestess asked. “The ovat is upon us, and I am in need of a place to rest.”

  Nelay’s mother had pushed herself up on her arms, and though her gaze was still hazy, it was no longer empty. “No.” Her voice sounded rusty and disused.

  Nelay’s mouth dropped open. This woman served the Goddess of Fire. Her rank equaled the king’s. And Nelay’s mother was defying her.

  Suka’s gaze traveled from Mandana’s matted hair stuck to the side of her face, over her battered robes, which were still damp in places, to her dirty bare feet.

  “Of course you may rest inside.” Father shot Mother a glare that was half pleading as he stepped out of the doorway.

  The woman came inside, unfastening her veil to reveal delicate tattoos where the hair had been shaved above her ears. The tattoos spread in curling-fire filigree, framing her face.

  High Priestess Suka filled up the room in ways the four members of Nelay’s family never had. She looked down at Nelay, her smile gentle, but Nelay couldn’t forget the hunger she’d seen earlier. “Child, my maidservant is without—go and fetch refreshments from her.”

  Nelay looked to her father to see what to do.

  “Don’t let her go,” her mother said to her father.

  When he hesitated, Suka only smiled. “We will not steal her away from you, Denar.”

  Nelay’s mouth fell open. How did Suka know her father’s name? Her father stiffened, but he nodded for Nelay to do as the high priestess had asked.

  She stepped out and approached the camels warily. She hadn’t had any dealings with camels, and they were so large and strange looking they made her nervous. But they paid her no mind, drinking buckets full of water as if they were thimbles.

  A woman wearing fine orange bell-shaped pants, a fitted sleeveless bodice, and a swath of fabric draped around her took her time unpacking provisions from one of the camel’s backs.

  Nelay eased slowly forward, and the woman finally set the food neatly in a basket and handed it to Nelay without meeting her gaze. She took the basket full of more food than one woman could possibly eat and turned back to the house. Resting one side of the basket between her hip and the frame, Nelay used her other hand to push the door open.

  What she saw stopped her cold. Dozens of silver coins sat on the table, more money than her family would see in three lifetimes. And even more shocking, her mother was out of the bed, sitting at the table, her gaze fierce and angry. “No. I won’t lose another child. I won’t.”

  Lose another child? It took Nelay a moment to realize they meant her.

  “And this is worse than giving her to Benvi?” Father stared at mother, his gaze soft.

  “At least if she
goes to Benvi, I’ll see her again. I’ll be able to play with my grandchildren. If she goes with these priestesses, we’ll lose her forever!”

  “That is not true, Mandana. If you come to Thanjavar, you will be permitted to see her,” Suka said soothingly.

  “But she will no longer be my daughter! She will be yours!” Mother lurched up unsteadily from the table. “And when will I ever be able to make such a journey? A woman cannot travel alone, and my husband will never be able to leave his sheep.” She started when she saw Nelay watching them from the doorway.

  All their eyes fell on her.

  Mother turned away, but Nelay could still hear the tears in her voice. “The answer is no.”

  Suka sighed. “I thank you for your answer, Mandana, but I would hear from your husband and the girl as well.” She gestured for Father to speak.

  He took a deep breath, but instead of speaking to Suka, he gestured for Nelay to come closer. Leaning toward her, he took both his hands in hers. “Daughter, do you understand who this woman is?”

  Nelay swallowed. “A priestess from the Temple of Fire.”

  Father nodded. “Yes, child. And she says you are to come with her as one of their acolytes.”

  Nelay shot the woman a glance, but she didn’t dare hold her hungry gaze. She felt shabby and drab and small next to her.

  “Their temple is in Thanjavar, two weeks’ journey away,” her father went on.

  “What should I do, Father?”

  He looked up at the ceiling and then back at her. “If you stay here, you will have to go to Benvi and live with his family. When you are fourteen, you will be married to Hanni. Benvi will give us enough sheep to start over. And when I am old, Panar will take over this place and raise children of his own. If you go with these women . . .” Nelay’s father’s words trailed off.

  Suka leaned forward. “You will be trained to fight. Trained to administer the rites and perform the ceremonies. We will be your family, and the fruits of your labors will be as your children. And as you obey your mother and father, you must obey the priestesses.”

  “Would you come see me?” Nelay asked her father.

  His gaze went to Suka. “She has promised that if we go to Thanjavar, they will allow us to see you.”

  “But Mother said you wouldn’t be able to leave the sheep,” Nelay said softly.

  He hesitated. “When Panar is old enough to care for them himself, we will come.”

  Nelay looked out the door, at the row of graves, the babies her mother had buried. The empty look in her mother’s eyes. The weight of her youngest brother’s death and her guilt over her lies and silence seemed to take more from her every day. And she remembered her promise to never have children. “I’ll go with them.”

  Her mother gave a small cry and ran from the room, disappearing into the burning heat. Nelay turned and went after her. She found her at the graves, kneeling next to the rock Nelay had bathed her on. “Mother?” she said softly.

  “You lied to me—you said you hadn’t spoken to them.” Her mother slowed her rocking. “Am I to lose all my children?”

  Nelay closed her eyes. “I lied to you. I asked Siseth to help me. And she did. Father lived. And the baby died.” Nelay pressed her hand to her chest—it was like she was burning from the inside out, and each day a little more of her turned to ash. “It’s my fault.”

  Her mother’s answer came in a whisper. “I spoke to them once.”

  Nelay gaped at her. “What?”

  Her mother closed her eyes, tears leaking from her lids. “I lost five babies before you were born. They were so tiny they fit in the palm of my hand. Each one was perfect. Each one was dead.”

  Nelay hadn’t known her mother had miscarried so many babies. All she remembered were the ones who came after her, the ones who had either been born dead or died in their first few years.

  A breath shuddered through her mother’s body like wind through an empty building. “And then you came. You were perfect and strong. And then you weren’t. I watched as you wasted away to a skeleton-thin baby. You were dying.

  “I found one of them and asked for help. She brought me a single white petal and told me to put it in your mouth.

  “You were never sick again—not so much as a stuffy nose.”

  Nelay let out a long breath. “Who died?”

  Her mother’s gaze finally landed on Nelay’s. “Whoever is most vulnerable and close. In this case, my mother.” She shuddered.

  A single tear rolled down Nelay’s cheek. “It’s my fault—him dying.”

  Her mother raised haunted eyes. “No. It’s mine. I should have told you exactly what would happen.”

  Nelay knelt next to her mother. “But you warned me never to speak to them. Never to let them know I could see them. That in a deal with them, they always win. That should have been enough.”

  Her mother wiped Nelay’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You still would have saved him—he’s your father.” Her mother let out a sigh. “These burdens are too heavy for one so young. Shrug them off, Daughter.”

  “Can you forgive me?” Nelay whispered.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You did the best you could. You saved your father’s life. We would be destitute without him. I would have had to marry someone, quickly, in order to provide for you, your brother, and the baby.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself instead of Nelay.

  “So you see, you can stay,” her mother went on. “I’ll get better, I know I will. And you will forgive yourself. Someday, you will marry Haddi and bring your own children into this world.”

  Nelay wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want that, Mother.”

  Her mother’s wet eyes opened wider. “What?”

  “Marrying Haddi—that feels like dying inside.”

  “Well, there are other sons—”

  Nelay gestured to the ashes still blowing around the trees. “I don’t want a baby.” She had seen them tear apart her mother’s body, and then most of them ended up in the ground. A wash of shame covered her from head to toe. “I want to go with the priestesses.”

  Her mother squeezed a handful of dirt.

  “But I don’t want to hurt you,” Nelay said softly.

  “Go,” her mother said tightly. “I see that you must. But know that you take my heart with you.”

  She looked past Nelay and spoke again. “I leave off bearing. No more children shall I bring forth for you, Denar.”

  Nelay turned to see her father standing behind her, his eyes wet with compassion, and Nelay realized he’d heard her. He knew what she’d done.

  He also knew his wife and daughter had the sight. “Mandana,” he whispered. “Is this why they have come for her? Could they somehow know she spoke to the fairies?”

  Or did they somehow know that her mother had changed her as a baby, Nelay wondered.

  Without answering, Mother stumbled past them and staggered away, loose dirt falling from her hands. Nelay’s father’s throat worked as if he was trying to swallow something that simply wouldn’t fit.

  “Father,” Nelay said softly. “Is Mother broken?”

  “Yes, but she will fix herself. She just needs time.”

  “Am I breaking her?”

  He shook his head. “They will teach you to read and write. You will be a woman of power.” His voice was choked with emotion. “And you will never go hungry again. That’s not something you can turn away from, Daughter.”

  “But what about Mother?” Tears fell fast down Nelay’s cheeks.

  Father looked down at her. “Your brother and I will look after her.”

  “But—”

  He crouched down in front of her. “Nelay, if you do not go, we will have to send you to Benvi—otherwise we will all starve. Which would you choose?”

  “The priestesses,” she said in a whisper.

  He rose and held out his hand. “Come. High Priestess Suka has laid out food in celebration.”

  The table was lad
en with food, more even than Nelay had carried in the first time. There were dried figs baked in cakes with pecans, exotic cheese, and salted crackers.

  Suka gestured for them to join her. Nelay perched on the edge of her chair. Suka lifted a glass pendant from around her neck. She spoke a prayer in ancient Idaran, but Nelay only understanding a portion of it. Then Suka smiled at them, her gaze lingering on Nelay.

  Though Nelay’s stomach knotted inside her, she couldn’t help but try each dish. She’d never eaten food so rich, and judging by the way Suka picked at her meal, this was all very simple fare for the priestess.

  Halfway through, there was a commotion outside. Moments later, Panar stood at the doorway, one of the foot soldiers holding his arm. “I assume this is another of your children?” the soldier asked blandly. “He was trying to sneak in.”

  “Yes,” Nelay’s father said quickly, rising from the table.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Denar,” Suka said. “The boy can join us. There’s more than any of us could ever eat.”

  Panar’s gaze flitted across all of them. A blush burned across his cheeks when he looked at Suka. He shuffled forward, keeping his head down as he plopped onto another chair.

  Suka reached out and brushed her fingers along the top of his hand. “No need to be shy. Take what you like. It’s a gift.”

  Panar finally looked up, his gaze taking in Suka’s finery with a touch of adoration. “What . . .” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat and spoke deeper than normal, as if trying to impress her. “Why are you here?”

  Suka smiled, her eyes laughing at Panar, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Your sister is going to come with us, to become one of our priestesses.”

  Panar stiffened as if his spine had suddenly fused. He turned slowly to look at Nelay, jealousy hot in his gaze.

  Turning her head so her father and Suka wouldn’t see, Nelay shot Panar a smug smile—simply to hurt him. His nostrils flared and he looked like he might explode.

  “Panar, try some of the food,” Father said sharply.

  Panar reached out and snatched a handful of candied nuts, then shoved them into his mouth in a way that made Nelay cringe inside, though it hadn’t bothered her at breakfast. “Where’s Mother?” he asked.