Our Lady of the Islands (31 page)

“Oh,” Arian whispered, sensing something just beyond her reach — a glimpse — elusive. A shadow veering toward her, too large to encompass — and something else sprang loose inside her, falling away like the ruptured fragments of some suffocating corset. A voice, almost too small to hear. Her mind nearly caught it, like a dream half-remembered. Her heart swelled with joy, then clenched with frustration as it eluded her again. Arian sighed deeply at the loss, then realized it hadn’t hurt to do so. Incredulous, she rolled gingerly, one way, then the other, testing her ribs; but no, the pain was gone.
She has healed me
, Arian thought.
She has really done it. I am mended. I am whole!

And not just physically. She knew this now, as she knew Sian was there beside her.

“Get them up,” snapped Lod’s voice above her. Arian cringed anew, but the young priest bending over her just jerked her to her feet this time, then pulled Sian up to stand, trembling, beside her.

“You will come quietly now?” Lod asked Sian. “No tricks this time?”

“Yes,” Sian whispered, tears streaming down her face. “There was no call for that.”

“Oh, but there was. You had to understand that we are not the helpless fools we were before. I have allowed you to soothe your friend’s discomfort. I am not unkind. But, should there be
any hint
of trouble, whatsoever — here or after we’ve returned you to the temple — we will not hesitate to beat her again. And again, if necessary. We’ll even kill her if we must.”

Sian just glared at him.

“Bind her again,” Lod ordered. “And bring the cart.”

A minute later, Lod’s two priests returned, leading a small ox-cart. The priests frog-marched Sian over to it, lifted her in, then tied the loose end of her rope leash firmly to its side, forcing her into a half-reclined position that looked torturous to Arian. Then they came for her, and did the same, tying her bound hands to the cart’s opposite side before setting off.

As the cart rumbled away, leaving the nearly attained waterfront behind, Sian caught Arian’s eye. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “Physically, I mean.”

Arian nodded. “Changed, I think. Somehow. But … less afraid, if that does not sound …”

“No. That’s how it feels to me as well.”

The cart rolled on through Cutter’s dark and empty streets, priests arrayed around them, keeping lookout. Arian kept marveling at the sensations inside her, as the truth continued to sink in. …
This healer’s power is real. There is at least one god left in Alizar
. And … it did not hate her, Arian knew now.

“I am sorry, Arian,” Sian whispered.

“
Freda
,” Arian whispered back. “And I … am not so sorry now. Not anymore.”

The all-too-familiar dungeon of Temple Mishrah-Khote was quite a step down from Escotte’s gilded cage. Not that Sian wanted to go back there, even now. Not really. Going forward might have been quite nice …
Not all of it pleasant
, the young priest of her new god had warned.
And right you are again
, she thought grimly.

“I’m hungry,” Arian said, sitting beside her in near darkness on their single pallet of moldy straw. “Quite extraordinarily hungry. I wish we’d eaten more of that delicious food your cousin sent up.”

Sian turned to look at Arian curiously. “You sound a lot like me now. It’s always worst after I heal someone.” She had never really stayed with anyone she’d healed after it was done. Did they …
catch
some of whatever burned in her? “Perhaps they’ll feed you,” she added, trying to ignore her the growing protests of her own stomach. “Me, they like to starve, here. It’s the only way they’ve found to hurt me. For very long at least.”

“But why should they so want to?” Arian asked. “That’s what I cannot understand. It would make perfect sense for them to hate me — if they found out who I was.” She had informed Sian by now of all the trouble she’d been making for the temple’s leaders recently, revealing one more reason why no one must realize who she was if it could be avoided. “But what can you have done to them — or anyone — to justify hatred like Lod’s?”

Sian shrugged. “I am a spiritual fraud, of course. The worst of all crimes, it seems.”

“But you are so clearly not!” Arian protested. “From all I’ve seen, you are the only one here who is not!”

“Well, that might be the problem then,” Sian said dryly. “Ugly women never like a mirror, do they?”

Arian was silent for a moment. “Not even pretty women sometimes,” she said quietly. “I have no great wish to look too closely just now.”

Sian wondered what she meant by that, exactly, but just couldn’t find the energy to ask. Lod and his anointed thugs had dumped them here nearly an hour ago. They had whispered back and forth since then, about what might happen next, and what exactly might have gone wrong at her cousin’s house. Escotte had so often seemed such a self-absorbed and rather silly man to Sian, but Arian had told her frightening tales of the man that confirmed the true intelligence and ruthless power he hid behind that mask.

“I wonder how long he’d suspected,” Sian said.

“I still can’t see where we went wrong.”

“Well, I know one thing we did wrong. I would have healed Assidua, not sent her home with an upset stomach.”

Arian groaned. “How could we have been so dense?” She shook her head. “But that can’t have been the reason, if he informed the temple this afternoon.” She gave a quiet laugh. “Perhaps that third bottle of wine was … premature.”

Sian remained impressed with Arian’s calm and poise, wondering if such qualities were inborn or just trained into those raised to rule. She doubted she’d have been so calm herself if she had come so suddenly to this from such a lofty place in life. Not with a dying child waiting somewhere just beyond her reach …

“How sick is Konrad?” Sian asked. “Will he … survive this delay?”

“He’s been ill for months,” Arian sighed. “And grown far worse in just the past few weeks. I have no sure way of knowing whether he’s still living now.” She drew a trembling breath. “When Viktor and I discovered the plot against us, we began to suspect these ‘healing’ priests of poisoning our son …”

Sian turned to gape at her. “Surely, not even these —”

“We’ve just thrown them all out of the Factorate House,” Arian went on. “So, perhaps he’ll have a better chance now, or even improve a little … But I cannot know.” She turned to Sian in the gloom. “You do see why I must remain ‘Freda’ until we get out of here.” She looked down at her knotted hands. “If we ever do.”

“We may not be as helpless as we seem,” Sian murmured very softly. “Not all the priests here are so … unsympathetic.”

“Is that how you escaped, the last time? Did someone here help you?”

Sian bit her lower lip, realizing that she might already have said more than was wise. “It is better, maybe, that you don’t know.” She did not say,
in case you’re tortured again
,
and forced to tell,
but Arian’s sudden stillness in the dark beside her made it clear she didn’t have to.

The sound of a heavy door opening and closing again echoed down the hallway. “Maybe that’s food,” Sian said, not quite convincingly, she feared.

The familiar clink of keys outside their door was followed by the screech of rusty hinges, and a wincing flare of firelight from the hallway, through which came several large, well-armored men bearing torches to light up their cell. Behind them came a tall, stern priest, in black robes made of shimmering brocade rather than the normal rough-spun hemp and cotton. Heavy ropes of polished jet and alabaster bead hung elegantly from around his neck and shoulders. There was a belt of silver links around his waist, with opals set into its buckle. Arian turned instantly away to cower behind her hood, playing the humble, frightened maid, Sian assumed.

The burly guards closed ranks before the priest, clearly there to safeguard this important person from such a dangerous grandmother. Then again, Sian had just used her gift to disable one of their henchmen, so perhaps she couldn’t fault their caution.

The tall priest gazed at both of them, then settled on Sian. “You are Sian Kattë, I presume?”

Sian stood up, if only to prevent him from looming over her, and nodded. Arian remained seated, clutching her robes around her in apparent terror.

“I am Father Superior Duon,” the priest announced, clearly expecting her to be overawed. “Head of the entire Mishrah-Khote.”

Sian just kept herself from glancing back at Arian in alarm. No wonder she was trying to conceal herself. This was the very prelate Arian had spoken about. Would he see through Arian’s disguise, Sian wondered, even if she looked right at him? Escotte hadn’t seemed to.

“I do not usually come down to speak with prisoners in the middle of the night,” he said severely. “I do not normally concern myself with prisoners at all, but you are not just any reprobate. You are a problem of unique concern — to me personally. Were you aware of this?”

“I have never even met you,” Sian said.

“And yet, you have wreaked havoc not only on the good name of the entire order I am sworn to guide and care for, but on my own once-smooth relationship with the Factorate of Alizar itself. Does this fill you with pride, Domina Kattë? Does it leave you feeling smug now?” He looked pointedly around her cell. “Perhaps not, after all.”

“I had no wish to —” Sian started, but Duon preempted her reply with an upraised hand.

“I have no interest in the explanations or excuses of a confirmed heretic. I’ve come only to explain how, even now, you might earn our forgiveness.”

Sian felt her face flaming, but she held her tongue.

“That your powers were obtained by wicked and entirely illegitimate means is beyond dispute. But we are a
healing
order, and among the core convictions of our faith is a firm belief that no beginning is too bent to be made straight with skill and discipline. That no disease is beyond at least the possibility of cure. Thus, I offer you this one chance at redemption. After much heated debate, the brotherhood has decided that your powers, however sordid their origins, may yet be put to beneficial use. If you submit to our authority and guidance, it is possible that you may yet expunge the lethal stain upon your soul.” He raised his brows inquisitively. “Is this of any interest to you, Domina?”

“Are you offering to make a priest of me?” she asked.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Then, what —”

“We have a task for you,” he said impatiently. “One that even you should not find too distasteful. Our Factor’s heir is badly ill. Help us heal him, and the gods might be sufficiently appeased to countenance your continued existence.”

Behind her, Sian heard silks rustle sharply, and turned to find Arian peering desperately at them from underneath her hood. “Oh, my lady, please do what they ask!” There were tears in her eyes. One might have thought she was just concerned about her mistress’s head, or her own … if Sian had not known better. “Anything to make them let us go, my lady.”

Sian turned back to Duon. “If I do this, will you let us go?”

“Alas, that much forgiveness is beyond my power to bestow,” he said. “You have demonstrated, several times now, how capable you are of wounding with this power of yours. One of our priests lies at this very moment in the care of his brother healers, still struggling to recover from your last assault. The islands are in a terrified uproar over the threat you pose to everyone. We exist to protect as well as heal, Domina Kattë, and could never think of leaving Alizar at the mercy of such an abomination. Do as we require, however, and you will be allowed to live here, as our permanent guest, in far more dignity and comfort than this.” He gestured at the cell around them. “That much I can promise.”

“And if I refuse these terms?” asked Sian, struggling not to weep as she imagined a whole lifetime of Escotte’s sort of
hospitality
, only much, much worse.

“Then, I fear we’d have no choice but to find out if it’s possible to kill you, Domina,” he said with nearly convincing regret. “I imagine beheading would be a difficult thing even for you to heal.”

“Oh, my lady, listen to him. Please,” pled Arian. “Do as he asks.”

Duon glanced at Arian, distastefully. “One of you, at least, is not devoid of wisdom.”

“I have always wished to heal the Factor’s son,” said Sian. “I’ve been trying to reach him ever since I left your little inn here, last time.”

“Oh?” Duon asked, clearly unconvinced. “Then you were twice the fool, for that’s precisely what we wanted for you then as well. You’d have known that if you’d given us a chance to tell you.”

You imperious monster.
Sian struggled with an urge to spit at his self-satisfied face. “Whatever could have scared me off, I wonder? Could it have had anything to do with being beaten, do you think? Or starved?”

“Had you just cooperated with us, Domina, none of those tactics would have been required. Cooperate this time, and you will see that, I believe.”

“So, you don’t mind then, if the Factor sees his son healed by an abomination — and a female one at that?”

“Oh, they won’t ever know that you’re involved,” he said. “The Factor’s heir will be brought here to the temple for his healing. No one will see what happens then, of course. Such great works always require focus and seclusion.”