bowed to her husband. “I will go to the sorcerers,” she said. “I will go to their monastery and offer prayers for our daughter’s safety.”
Kiet nodded, and turned away. Sitara watched her husband’s broad back for a long moment, straining to find some word, some gesture that would let him know she loved him still. But none came, and in the end she could only walk back into her chamber. She stood in the middle of her room, among all the things that were as familiar to her as her own name, and found she could not think where she was or what she had meant to do.
“Sitara.”
Now she did turn toward Kiet. Now she did open her arms and he came rushing to her, wrapping her in his embrace. Frantic with need, anger, loss, and fear, they kissed each other hard, again and again, and held on tightly as they lay down together, forgetting everything else but their need.
When they were both spent, they lay together, arms and legs and breath entwined. Kiet whispered to her, “Do as you must, my queen. Do what I cannot.”
It was then she understood that she had not been alone in her thoughts. In his own room, Kiet’s mind had walked the same paths as hers, but he had not known how to ask her to take part in this deeply dangerous thing. He had meant to let her pull into her grief and be protected. Was he relieved now? Disappointed? She could not find words now. The only reply she could find was to gather him close and lay her head against his shoulder. It was in this way Sitara finally found sleep.
The river Liyoni was the only road to the sorcerers’ monastery. Queen Sitara traveled in the royal barge beneath the carved and gilded canopy that shaded her from the sun. Twenty oarsmen sped the boat along. By night they camped on the shore, sleeping underneath tents of fine linen to keep the flies away. By day, they moved against the current to the rhythm of the oars.
Queen Sitara spoke little, and did not welcome conversation. Her ladies, who had been beside her since her wedding day, knew better than to try to coax her from her silence. She needed this time to think her thoughts. When she set foot on the shore, she would begin to act. There would be no more time for thinking once events were set in motion. She must do her planning now. She must be sure.
At twilight, she prayed. At dawn, she prayed. She counted her beads and her own doubts to the clack of the blocks beating time, and the cries of the master and the oarsmen. When the forest rose dark and impenetrable around the sacred river, she put both away. She was not going to turn back. Her doubts would serve her no longer, nor would they serve Natharie where she had gone.
Nor would dwelling on the scene that played out on the docks as Sitara left for the monastery, but her troubled thoughts returned time and again to it.
It had happened just as she lifted up one foot to step over the barge rail. An unexpected voice wailed from behind.
“Great Queen!”
Sitara turned, her heart in her mouth. Radana, chief among her husband’s concubines, red-faced and in disarray, ran down the dock.
“What is it?”
Kiet? The children? Are they already paying for what I am about to do?
Radana dropped down to her knees and took Sitara’s hand. Tears shone in her eyes and Sitara suddenly wanted to shake her hard to get her news out of her.
“Please,” Radana said in a small, breathless voice. “Great Queen, let me go with you.”
The request was so at odds with all her sudden fears that for a moment Sitara could only stand and stare. “Radana, why?”
Radana lifted her face. Tears shone in her eyes and streaked her pale cheeks. She had not, Sitara noticed, painted that face at all this morning. It was harder, she mused, to look beautifully pitiful with great rings of kohl around your eyes and black streaks down your face.
“I fear for you, Great Queen.” Radana pressed her forehead to Sitara’s hand. “I fear for your peace of heart. Please, let me go with you and
Kiet nodded, and turned away. Sitara watched her husband’s broad back for a long moment, straining to find some word, some gesture that would let him know she loved him still. But none came, and in the end she could only walk back into her chamber. She stood in the middle of her room, among all the things that were as familiar to her as her own name, and found she could not think where she was or what she had meant to do.
“Sitara.”
Now she did turn toward Kiet. Now she did open her arms and he came rushing to her, wrapping her in his embrace. Frantic with need, anger, loss, and fear, they kissed each other hard, again and again, and held on tightly as they lay down together, forgetting everything else but their need.
When they were both spent, they lay together, arms and legs and breath entwined. Kiet whispered to her, “Do as you must, my queen. Do what I cannot.”
It was then she understood that she had not been alone in her thoughts. In his own room, Kiet’s mind had walked the same paths as hers, but he had not known how to ask her to take part in this deeply dangerous thing. He had meant to let her pull into her grief and be protected. Was he relieved now? Disappointed? She could not find words now. The only reply she could find was to gather him close and lay her head against his shoulder. It was in this way Sitara finally found sleep.
The river Liyoni was the only road to the sorcerers’ monastery. Queen Sitara traveled in the royal barge beneath the carved and gilded canopy that shaded her from the sun. Twenty oarsmen sped the boat along. By night they camped on the shore, sleeping underneath tents of fine linen to keep the flies away. By day, they moved against the current to the rhythm of the oars.
Queen Sitara spoke little, and did not welcome conversation. Her ladies, who had been beside her since her wedding day, knew better than to try to coax her from her silence. She needed this time to think her thoughts. When she set foot on the shore, she would begin to act. There would be no more time for thinking once events were set in motion. She must do her planning now. She must be sure.
At twilight, she prayed. At dawn, she prayed. She counted her beads and her own doubts to the clack of the blocks beating time, and the cries of the master and the oarsmen. When the forest rose dark and impenetrable around the sacred river, she put both away. She was not going to turn back. Her doubts would serve her no longer, nor would they serve Natharie where she had gone.
Nor would dwelling on the scene that played out on the docks as Sitara left for the monastery, but her troubled thoughts returned time and again to it.
It had happened just as she lifted up one foot to step over the barge rail. An unexpected voice wailed from behind.
“Great Queen!”
Sitara turned, her heart in her mouth. Radana, chief among her husband’s concubines, red-faced and in disarray, ran down the dock.
“What is it?”
Kiet? The children? Are they already paying for what I am about to do?
Radana dropped down to her knees and took Sitara’s hand. Tears shone in her eyes and Sitara suddenly wanted to shake her hard to get her news out of her.
“Please,” Radana said in a small, breathless voice. “Great Queen, let me go with you.”
The request was so at odds with all her sudden fears that for a moment Sitara could only stand and stare. “Radana, why?”
Radana lifted her face. Tears shone in her eyes and streaked her pale cheeks. She had not, Sitara noticed, painted that face at all this morning. It was harder, she mused, to look beautifully pitiful with great rings of kohl around your eyes and black streaks down your face.
“I fear for you, Great Queen.” Radana pressed her forehead to Sitara’s hand. “I fear for your peace of heart. Please, let me go with you and
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