In the Skin of a Nunqua (20 page)

“The position of adviser pays quite well, I assure you. Why wouldn’t you take it? Unless, of course, you’re not loyal to Willovia.”

“I’m needed as an apprentice to Geyas,” Shanti said.

“A midwife?” Kyros laughed. “Do you think these good people would let you touch their children if they knew what you are?”

A tiny baby’s cry came from inside the home. Shanti came out of her fighting stance. “I cannot leave.”

“You will leave.” He moved toward her and held out the scroll. Shanti hesitated before taking it. Kyros seized her wrist, squeezing hard. He pushed her sleeve up with an odd look on his face. No scars marred her forearm. “Get your things. My men will accompany you. There’s a carriage at the stables, better traveling accommodations than you’re used to, I’m sure. You can hook your horse to the carriage.” He dropped her wrist and moved toward Geyas, still standing in the doorway and listening to every word. “My dear woman, you shall be compensated for the loss of your apprentice. May I inquire where my men and I might find some food?”

Kyros, respectable in his uniform during time of war, charmed Geyas and the whole village. The soldiers were given a hearty meal for free. Unmarried ladies flirted and smiled coyly at Kyros, who only nodded politely to them.

Guards watched Shanti pack her possessions into two bags. She lifted the mattress of her bed to retrieve her sword and wristlet and stow them away, then threw a woolen cloak over her shoulders and lifted the hood over her head. She hugged Geyas, saying good-bye, and hooked her horse to the carriage for the long trip. The guards rode on horses, leaving her alone inside the covered carriage, which felt like a cage. She willed the scars on her arms to reappear—the markings of a warrior.

It surprised her to see the castle in the distance, the capital city of Willovia, and the sea. She had expected to be transported to a dreary camp surrounded by fences and armed guards, shoved inside by a laughing Commander Kyros to join other Nunqua as a prisoner of war.

The carriage passed through the heavily guarded gate and stopped in front of the main doors of the castle, reserved for royalty and dignitaries. Servants quickly attended to Shanti’s horse and belongings. Kyros escorted her into the grand reception room, where a maid took her cloak. How peculiar to be treated like an honored guest! All her plans to avoid drawing attention to herself, while still performing meaningful work, for the duration of the war had been sabotaged. Something foul was afoot—something foul indeed!

21

A Luxurious Cage

O
ut of boredom,
Shanti investigated the oak armoires and cabinets in her posh room in the castle. She found nothing interesting. The fire burning in the hearth kept the cold away. The room had bare stone walls, blue overstuffed chairs, thick carpet, and ivory-colored drapes. A hawk flew onto the ledge of a closed window and tapped with its beak on the glass pane. Shanti banged the window frame with the heel of her hand and yanked it open. Cold air blew in, but the hawk flew away. Perhaps it was an authentic creature, not under Baylova’s control.

She reclined in a chair with her feet tucked under her skirt. The brown hawk returned and hopped inside. Shanti took a cloth from one of the drawers, and folding it over her arm to make a pad, she whistled. The bird twisted its head.

“Come on, come on . . .” She whistled again. “Just sit here on my arm. I won’t bite if you won’t.”

The hawk bobbed up and down. It spread its wings and glided to her outstretched arm, filling Shanti with awe. Sharp talons clenched the cloth and pinched her skin. The hawk was the size of a pullet hen but lighter. Shanti extended her fingers toward the feathers of its breast to touch the brown plumage. Someone knocked on the door, and the hawk flew off her arm, touched down on the windowsill, and soared away from the castle. A servant brought in food: cheese, meats, and a decanter of wine with a cup. Shanti sat in the chair and folded her feet beneath her once again, thankful for the grub. She fell asleep waiting for the hawk to return, or the queen to enter.

“Wake up.”

Her head snapped off the chair, and she snorted softly. “Bayla?”

“Please, stay where you are. I’m tired of everyone treating me so . . . nice. You look different. I’ve never seen you wear anything other than the uniform.”

Shanti had seen Bayla clothed in the expensive attire of royalty many times. Now she wore a red dress with a silk sash. Barrettes sparkled with diamonds in her glossy hair, and a painted golden snake wrapped around her wrist. Shadows dimmed the skin around her eyes. A wisp of wind could have blown the fragile queen down, shattering her into a thousand pieces.

“How are you?” Shanti said, stunned by Bayla’s sickly pallor.

Bayla took pieces of meat from the tray and went to the windowsill. “Do you want the truth, or shall I recite the official version?”

“I can guess the official version for myself. Let’s see, you’re still very emotional over the loss of your father but are easing nicely into your new duties and thank everyone for their support at this most difficult time.”

The hawk returned to the window. It came inside and grabbed bits of meat out of Bayla’s hand with its hooked beak. “I’ve been giving him food for a few years now,” she said. “He’s quite tame.” She scratched the top of the bird’s head.

“Why am I being asked to serve as an adviser?”

“Because of your knowledge of Nunqua culture,” Baylova said. “You’ll stay at the castle. A room is prepared for you.”

“Whose idea is this?”

“Mine.” She stared out the window.

“And what if I leave?” Shanti asked.

“These are dangerous times. Women are being urged not to walk the streets or ride alone. It’s unwise for you to leave the castle grounds.”

“Just great,” Shanti sneered.

“Would you prefer other accommodations?”

“Why can’t I stay in the village as a midwife? It’s far from the fighting.”

“Because of who you are.” Baylova finished feeding the hawk. “You’ll join me for dinner tonight at the feast. The tailor will have something appropriate for you to wear. Please be sure to see him. No need to worry about money. Your pay as a royal adviser is substantial.”

*

Shanti visited the tailor, who fashioned a simple dress with a gathered bodice, form-fitting sleeves, and a smooth lining that felt cool on her skin. The dress was beautiful and comfortable—much nicer than the hideous blue and white uniform they wanted her to wear as Bayla’s personal guard.

She dined with the Daughters of Fortunate Birth, in the all-important place next to the queen. They sat at a round table decorated with flowers. Shanti ate tender meat drenched in rich gravy, with buttered potatoes. Nothing green touched her gold-rimmed plate. A carafe of red wine sat in front of her, her goblet over half full. The Fortunate Daughters wrinkled their noses in disgust as they watched Shanti enjoy the meal. Only a small amount of vegetables, along with a tiny morsel of bread, graced Baylova’s plate. The other women’s plates mirrored the queen’s, and they drank the same white wine.

“Your name is Shanti, is it not?” someone asked.

“Yes.”

“You look familiar,” a golden-haired woman said, her eyelids narrowed in scrutiny.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me,” Shanti said.

Her eyelids narrowed even further into slits. “How do I know you?”

“Perhaps I’m dressed more appropriately for the castle now.” Shanti wiped dark gravy from her lips with a white napkin.

“Although you still haven’t visited the painter for body art,” Baylova said.

“Not like it would help.” Shanti scooped a spoonful of potatoes off her plate and into her mouth.

A scowl twisted the face of the golden-haired woman. “Baylova’s personal guard. So you do speak. Personal guard to royal adviser in one year—impressive!”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Shanti gulped down wine and smacked her lips.

“You ought to be careful eating like that,” said a woman with red ringlets tumbling down the sides of her face. “A man doesn’t appreciate a woman who eats as if she were famished.”

Another Fortunate Daughter, with small butterflies painted just above the neckline of her dress, decided to join in. “Or drinks as if dying of thirst.”

The laughter at the table did not upset Shanti in the least. “From my perspective, a man appreciates a woman with an appetite. And a mind of her own.”

“Ah, yes,” the golden-haired woman said, “I understand you’re popular with the soldiers. It is easy to see why—
very
easy, from what I hear.”

A server came by holding a tray of desserts. “Oh, cake!” Shanti said. She took a plate and thanked the server. Baylova refused the sweets being offered, and the Fortunate Daughters followed the queen’s lead. Several of the women all but drooled as they watched Shanti enjoy the sugary treat.

“So, Shanti,” the golden-haired woman said, “where are you from?”

“A small, impoverished village far from here.” She glanced slyly at Bayla before continuing. “Raised by a hag. When I was old enough, she sold me to the Nunqua to work as a slave. Before I left, though, the hag gave me poisoned darts. You remember the wristlet I wore as Baylova’s guard, don’t you? The poison is so powerful, only the most minuscule amount under the skin is enough to kill. The hag also taught me”—she took another bite of cake—“incantations for my protection. I was forced to work as a sexual slave to a cruel yet powerful military leader.”

The Fortunate Daughters sat in silence, caught up in Shanti’s lurid tale.

“But I grew tired of the Nunqua and decided to return to Willovia—change sides. As I left, out of jealousy, I made sure my master would never find another slave to pleasure with his nightly biddings.” The women at the table leaned forward, and Shanti lowered her voice, “No other would yield to the painfully sweet, forbidden desires he demanded so patiently and skillfully. I made certain I was the last woman he would tie up, undress, and leave exposed, shaking with anticipation before warm hands—”

“Shanti,” Bayla said.

“What?” She ate her last piece of cake, then licked the spoon. “You don’t want to hear the details?”

“Perhaps not at the dinner table.”

“Some other time, then,” Shanti said.

The Fortunate Daughters regained their sense of decorum and sat straight in their chairs once more, busying themselves with napkins or silverware and trying to hide their disappointment at missing the rest of Shanti’s story.

*

Shanti saw him conversing with a group of people after the feast. He was wearing a wool coat, black pants, and fine boots. Jun’s eyes met hers from across the room, his face expressionless. He turned his back to her in an unmistakable signal:
keep away.

All around her, castle guests enjoyed each other’s company. Shanti felt out of place, ignored, a chicken among peacocks. Royal guards stood like statues at doors. She was no longer one of them, but neither did she fit into high society. Somber music played in the great hall—a melancholy air to match her mood.

She watched Jun, waiting for a sign of acknowledgment. Nothing. Meanwhile, the Daughters of Fortunate Birth hung on his every word. They stood close to him.
Too
close. He put his arm around the waist of the golden-haired woman, lowered his head, and laughed. Were they laughing at her? Maybe it had been a mistake to lie to the women about being a sex slave. The foulest of all jail cells would be preferable to this hell.

She retreated to a balcony overlooking the sea. The salty smell reminded her of fish and clumps of rotting seaweed washed up on a beach, but the frigid breeze consoled her spirit. Someone joined her on the balcony. Her hopes soared, then sank.

“What, may I ask, are you doing out here?” Commander Kyros said. “I believe the party’s inside.”

She gazed out at the stars, the half moon, the lights from Willovian ships docked in the distance.

He leaned on the stone barrier, swirling a cup of caramel-colored brandy. “I suppose this isn’t your type of party. You prefer less civilized accommodations.”

“Who requested I be assigned as an adviser?”

“I convinced Baylova to bring you here.” Sipping his drink, Kyros watched the people inside the castle. “Do you actually think Jun cares for you, Shanti? Your feelings for him are obvious. He was doing his job, that’s all. I’ve known Jun for a long time. He has a way of getting women to do whatever he wants—even you. It’s the reason I chose him to spy on you in the Hedgelands.”

A shiver ran up her spine at the way Kyros looked at her.

He moved the hair out of her face with his hand. “Jump,” he whispered. “End it. The Nunqua are hunting you, Baylova hates you, Commander Gy distrusts you, Jun doesn’t love you, and I control you.” He lifted a lock of her hair and pressed it to his lips. “Jump.”

“You first,” she said.

He stroked her hair gently. Anyone glancing out the window at the balcony would think them lovers. “Still so defiant? If you leave the castle grounds without an escort, the guards have orders to bring you back using any force necessary. It would save us the trouble if you just ended it now. Jump.”

“Trying to plant the seeds of doubt in my feeble mind, Kyros? Think you can manipulate me as you manipulate Bayla? Shall I lean on you for strength? Or do you just wonder what it’s like to be with a Nunqua woman?”

Kyros leaned in close. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He pulled away, tasting his drink. “You should join the party. You’re missing all the fun.” He left her alone on the balcony to digest his malicious words.

“Some fun.” Shanti returned inside and walked away from the noise and the crowd. Exploring some of the castle’s many empty rooms, she investigated a long, quiet portrait room, where faces of past monarchs stared down on her. Life-size paintings of men, women, and children, in elaborate frames, covered the walls of blue. Some rulers held branches; others held swords. All appeared grim.

A king with red-rimmed eyes, in old-fashioned attire, looked like a ghoul ready to whisper atrocities into innocent ears. He clutched a book in one hand, an empty glass beaker with silver clawed feet in the other. Next to him was a lion of a king: brawny, with a bearskin cloak on his shoulders. Trees and mountains graced the background. The small letter “g,” secret symbol of the Guardians of Willovia, decorated his shield, and a hawk perched on his gloved hand.

She viewed the portrait of King Magen. He appeared vigorous, without any sign of the sickness that had ended his life. A gold chain weighted his shoulders, and clouds loomed in the shadowy background. Many symbols were hidden in the portraits. Shanti wished she knew what they meant, wished she knew the names and stories of the royals.

Next to the picture of King Magen was a portrait of a young queen, Baylova’s mother, Serova. A barely noticeable skull was concealed in the folds of Serova’s skirt, and a wolf rested at her feet. The queen held a bundle signifying the baby boy she had lost in childbirth. A dark opal bracelet adorned her wrist.

Madiza’s bracelet! It had once belonged to Queen Serova. It was the bracelet shimmering on Madiza’s wrist when Shanti was put under the sleeping spell and her fortune read. How did Madiza get it? Gy had said that Bayla inherited her power from her mother. Queen Serova was a witch. Why, then, didn’t Bayla inherit the bracelet?

Shanti investigated other rooms of the castle: a trophy room with stuffed animal heads on the wall and exotic pelts on the floor. She doubted that Bayla ever entered such a space. There was also a library, lined with dusty books. It might be an interesting place to spend an afternoon. Shanti roamed the confusing passages of the castle, trying to find her own room. She finally located the correct door . . . and found Jun waiting inside.

“What the hell were you doing with Kyros on the balcony?” he said.

Kyros, that snake. He had wanted Jun to see them together. He wanted to make Jun jealous. And Jun was jealous! Shanti quickly closed the gap between them.

He kissed her like a man starving, and she knew at once that he had no interest in the Daughters of Fortunate Birth. “Sold as a sex slave to the Nunqua?” he said.

“It was a joke.”

“This isn’t camp. People here are different, more devious than you can imagine. They’re watching you. Even the smallest sign of treachery will get you killed.”

“If I have to stay here against my will, I might as well have some fun.”

“You need to be careful. So what did Kyros say on the balcony.”

“He said he loved me and wanted to marry me.”

“Seriously, what did he say?”

“He told me my life wasn’t worth living and I should jump off the balcony.”