Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 9
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Jae set her jaw but didn’t look away from him. He laughed and asked, “What’s that look for?”
The Curse tore an answer from her before she could brace herself, try to stop the words and shape some half-truth instead: “I was ordered to care for the garden. I do the best I can. And now I’m to be punished for your misstep, Highest.”
He stared at her silently, and she flinched. She was already here to be punished, and what she’d said had only made things worse for herself. But she couldn’t help it. The Curse compelled the truth, no matter the consequences.
But it didn’t matter, she reminded herself. She had only weeks to live anyway. Nothing that happened tonight mattered at all.
Lord Elan finally leaned back on his cushion and gestured dismissively. “There’s no need to be so angry about it.”
Jae didn’t dare respond to that, even though she still had permission to speak. She was angry, but disrespecting him would only make the punishment worse.
But all he said was “This place is miserable enough, and that water—that was an accident. Not treason, even if you do carry traitors’ blood. I don’t see any need to punish you for it. You’re dismissed.”
She started toward the door immediately, obeying the implied order to leave, so quickly that the Curse didn’t even have a chance to nudge her—and he didn’t have a chance to change his mind, because after her outburst, she was certain he would punish her if he paused to think about it. But if she got out of his sight quickly enough, he might forget or decide she wasn’t worth caring about at all, even for that slight.
But before she could make it out, he called, “Wait!”
She stopped sharply, one foot still partially raised. When he didn’t give her another immediate order, she set her foot down carefully, trying to make it clear—to herself, to him, to the Curse—that she wasn’t going anywhere. She was just waiting.
“As thirsty as you were, did you work outside like that all day?” he finally asked.
“Yes, Highest,” she said, turning around. “I’m the groundskeeper.”
“The groundskeeper is a Closest, of course,” he said, shaking his head a little. “Well, I can do something about that, at least. Tell whoever you answer to that I want you to serve inside while the sun’s at its peak. Does that suit you?”
Jae was braced better now, after their conversation, and was able to set her jaw and force back the immediate answer—no. No, she didn’t like being inside, where Lady Shirrad and the Avowed could see her. Where Rannith might see her. There was no telling what Lord Elan might do if she said that, but the Curse would never allow her to lie, and with every moment, the thrumming in her head grew louder, the compulsion to speak getting stronger.
At least this time, she hadn’t been caught totally off guard. She cast around for anything she could think of, anything that was true enough to speak, related enough to his question to be an answer, and finally gave in. Very, very carefully she said, “It would be a relief to escape the sun.”
Which was true. She forced herself to exhale quietly, calmly, as if she hadn’t just battled the Curse for that. Drawing his attention to her pause would do no good—she didn’t want him to ask anything else.
“This place is miserable,” he repeated, which meant if he had noticed anything, he didn’t care enough to ask about it. “I’ve seen what sunsickness can do. Even back home, it’s not uncommon. And with the drought as bad as it is…” He shrugged. “I was the one who tripped, after all. You may go.”
She fled. Maybe she should have thanked him, but she didn’t want his eyes on her any longer than necessary. And besides, what did she owe him her thanks for? She didn’t want to work inside, and her life was nothing to him.
Leaving without speaking had been the smart thing to do, even if she had had permission to talk. After all, she could still only tell the truth. Better to keep quiet like the Closest always did, and not to let slip what she thought of him.
Running attracted attention, so Closest didn’t run. But Jae moved as fast as she could while keeping silent and unnoticed, and didn’t slow until she’d left the house and was safely out behind it. There was a large open space between the inner and outer walls, which had once held more yards and gardens and even trees. Most of the trees had died the same year her mother had, and had been dug out ages ago. The yard was now covered in sand, with neglected pebble paths. Only the outer stone wall kept the yard separate from the desert.
Jae felt like she could breathe again once she stepped outside, into the night. Unlike the front of the house, where people came and went, or the courtyard, which was overlooked by several rooms in the house, no one ever bothered to come back here. That was the reason it had been allowed to fall into this state, gloomy and abandoned, the way all of Aredann would be soon.
Still, Jae walked toward the few remaining trees. Their bare branches scraped at the sky, and the wind made eerie noises as it caught them. But Jae liked the trees anyway. She didn’t have the water to help keep them alive, but they remained here, somehow, stubbornly surviving. Jae let a hand rest against one’s rough bark and sighed.
Before the drought, Aredann had been a true oasis in the desert—or so her mother had told her. The courtyard garden had rivaled the splendor of gardens in the central cities, and this empty yard had been an orchard. Jae couldn’t even imagine that, and almost didn’t want to. In some ways, she preferred the yard as it was now: dismal and desperate, but still clinging to life. Like the Closest. Like all of Aredann. For now, at least.
She passed through the trees to the back wall. It came up to her hip, made of rough stones that she knew by heart. She rubbed her hand against one, almost surprised that she hadn’t rubbed it smooth through the years. Here, blocked from the view of anyone in the house, was the one place where she could be alone, and where she felt safe enough to finally stop moving, to sag in place and catch her breath.
The moon was a bright sliver hanging over the open desert. Jae picked a dead branch off the ground and tossed it over the wall, leaned out and looked at the endless expanse of sand and stones. When she squinted, she could make out a few stunted bushes. She’d spent hours staring at them as a child, wanting to look more closely, to explore everything out there, to see what the other estates were like and if there were really cities with reservoirs ten times the size of Aredann’s.
The Curse tore an answer from her before she could brace herself, try to stop the words and shape some half-truth instead: “I was ordered to care for the garden. I do the best I can. And now I’m to be punished for your misstep, Highest.”
He stared at her silently, and she flinched. She was already here to be punished, and what she’d said had only made things worse for herself. But she couldn’t help it. The Curse compelled the truth, no matter the consequences.
But it didn’t matter, she reminded herself. She had only weeks to live anyway. Nothing that happened tonight mattered at all.
Lord Elan finally leaned back on his cushion and gestured dismissively. “There’s no need to be so angry about it.”
Jae didn’t dare respond to that, even though she still had permission to speak. She was angry, but disrespecting him would only make the punishment worse.
But all he said was “This place is miserable enough, and that water—that was an accident. Not treason, even if you do carry traitors’ blood. I don’t see any need to punish you for it. You’re dismissed.”
She started toward the door immediately, obeying the implied order to leave, so quickly that the Curse didn’t even have a chance to nudge her—and he didn’t have a chance to change his mind, because after her outburst, she was certain he would punish her if he paused to think about it. But if she got out of his sight quickly enough, he might forget or decide she wasn’t worth caring about at all, even for that slight.
But before she could make it out, he called, “Wait!”
She stopped sharply, one foot still partially raised. When he didn’t give her another immediate order, she set her foot down carefully, trying to make it clear—to herself, to him, to the Curse—that she wasn’t going anywhere. She was just waiting.
“As thirsty as you were, did you work outside like that all day?” he finally asked.
“Yes, Highest,” she said, turning around. “I’m the groundskeeper.”
“The groundskeeper is a Closest, of course,” he said, shaking his head a little. “Well, I can do something about that, at least. Tell whoever you answer to that I want you to serve inside while the sun’s at its peak. Does that suit you?”
Jae was braced better now, after their conversation, and was able to set her jaw and force back the immediate answer—no. No, she didn’t like being inside, where Lady Shirrad and the Avowed could see her. Where Rannith might see her. There was no telling what Lord Elan might do if she said that, but the Curse would never allow her to lie, and with every moment, the thrumming in her head grew louder, the compulsion to speak getting stronger.
At least this time, she hadn’t been caught totally off guard. She cast around for anything she could think of, anything that was true enough to speak, related enough to his question to be an answer, and finally gave in. Very, very carefully she said, “It would be a relief to escape the sun.”
Which was true. She forced herself to exhale quietly, calmly, as if she hadn’t just battled the Curse for that. Drawing his attention to her pause would do no good—she didn’t want him to ask anything else.
“This place is miserable,” he repeated, which meant if he had noticed anything, he didn’t care enough to ask about it. “I’ve seen what sunsickness can do. Even back home, it’s not uncommon. And with the drought as bad as it is…” He shrugged. “I was the one who tripped, after all. You may go.”
She fled. Maybe she should have thanked him, but she didn’t want his eyes on her any longer than necessary. And besides, what did she owe him her thanks for? She didn’t want to work inside, and her life was nothing to him.
Leaving without speaking had been the smart thing to do, even if she had had permission to talk. After all, she could still only tell the truth. Better to keep quiet like the Closest always did, and not to let slip what she thought of him.
Running attracted attention, so Closest didn’t run. But Jae moved as fast as she could while keeping silent and unnoticed, and didn’t slow until she’d left the house and was safely out behind it. There was a large open space between the inner and outer walls, which had once held more yards and gardens and even trees. Most of the trees had died the same year her mother had, and had been dug out ages ago. The yard was now covered in sand, with neglected pebble paths. Only the outer stone wall kept the yard separate from the desert.
Jae felt like she could breathe again once she stepped outside, into the night. Unlike the front of the house, where people came and went, or the courtyard, which was overlooked by several rooms in the house, no one ever bothered to come back here. That was the reason it had been allowed to fall into this state, gloomy and abandoned, the way all of Aredann would be soon.
Still, Jae walked toward the few remaining trees. Their bare branches scraped at the sky, and the wind made eerie noises as it caught them. But Jae liked the trees anyway. She didn’t have the water to help keep them alive, but they remained here, somehow, stubbornly surviving. Jae let a hand rest against one’s rough bark and sighed.
Before the drought, Aredann had been a true oasis in the desert—or so her mother had told her. The courtyard garden had rivaled the splendor of gardens in the central cities, and this empty yard had been an orchard. Jae couldn’t even imagine that, and almost didn’t want to. In some ways, she preferred the yard as it was now: dismal and desperate, but still clinging to life. Like the Closest. Like all of Aredann. For now, at least.
She passed through the trees to the back wall. It came up to her hip, made of rough stones that she knew by heart. She rubbed her hand against one, almost surprised that she hadn’t rubbed it smooth through the years. Here, blocked from the view of anyone in the house, was the one place where she could be alone, and where she felt safe enough to finally stop moving, to sag in place and catch her breath.
The moon was a bright sliver hanging over the open desert. Jae picked a dead branch off the ground and tossed it over the wall, leaned out and looked at the endless expanse of sand and stones. When she squinted, she could make out a few stunted bushes. She’d spent hours staring at them as a child, wanting to look more closely, to explore everything out there, to see what the other estates were like and if there were really cities with reservoirs ten times the size of Aredann’s.
