The Grass King’s Concubine (22 page)

Kneeling, she turned one of the faucets, and a trickle of rusty water began. A wrought bronze stand nearby held towels, soaps, unguent oils. She turned the faucet farther, and the trickle became a gush, color clearing as it ran. She tried the second faucet. It coughed at her, spitting rust and the stink of sulfur, before running cloudy and warm. At the
far end of the bath, a drain was covered by a ceramic plate, preventing the water from escaping. She sank back onto her heels, watching the bath fill. She could not remember when she had last bathed in hot water. Before the plain, certainly. Not in any of the rough inns in which she and Jehan had stayed for the bulk of their journey. She could feel her muscles loosening just with the anticipation.

Hands laid hold of her shoulders, dragging her backward. She lost her balance, fell sideways, banging her hip on the tiles. She cried out. The hands gripped harder, hauling her into the center of the room and dropping her. She snatched at one of the hands, aiming to scratch, to hurt, anything to free herself. Panic beat within her. She thrashed, kicked out, and hit flesh.

Her captor yelled. It was one of the Cadre, the angry one, the one she had bitten. Sujien. She had not heard him enter over the noise of the water. He shoved her away from him and stood over her. Aude glared back at him. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice shook. She inhaled and sat up.

“You have no rights here, human thing.” His hands were clenched. She watched them, ready to twist before the next blow. “You should not be in these rooms.”

“They weren’t locked.” Her breath was more even now. She tucked her feet under her and rose. He stood no more than half a head taller than her. She said, “And I have a name. Or you may address me as ‘Madame.’”

There was a silence. She held still. It would do her no good at all to lose face in front of this one. As haughtily as she might, she said, “I’m not accustomed to being disturbed by men when I’m bathing.”

He continued to stare at her, stunned. She pressed home her advantage, “And I’m hungry. You
are
intending to feed me more than just dry bread soon, I trust?”

Beads bounced and chattered. She turned. Another of the Cadre appeared from an arch to a room she had not yet explored. She could not tell which one of them it was. She held the newcomer’s gaze, said, “Am I to expect your comrade to continue to abuse me?”

“I don’t know.” It was the woman, Qiaqia. “You must ask him. Do you intend violence, Jien-kai?”

“She’s outside her bounds,” Sujien said. “She’s a thief and a prisoner. These rooms belong to the Concubine. To Tsai.”

“Tsai is no longer here.” Qiaqia drifted into the room in a whisper of robes.

“This human thing is implicated in that…”

“Shirai believes that we don’t have proof of that.”

“Shirai procrastinates. This human thing…”

“
Madame,
” interjected Aude. “Not ‘thing.’”

Both of them looked at her. Qiaqia’s gaze was level. Sujien frowned. Aude said, “I don’t know why you’ve brought me here. I don’t know what you want. I don’t understand half of what you’re talking about. I’m tired and I’m filthy and I’m hungry, and I want you to let me go.” She folded her arms. “I want to know what’s going on.”

There was another silence. Then, behind her scarf, Qiaqia began to laugh. Sujien’s frown deepened. “This isn’t funny, Qia-kai.”

“It’s ridiculous. There’s no dealing with humans.” Qiaqia paused. Then, “Not alive, at least.”

“Dead she can make us no restitutions.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Aude began to step away, stopped herself. Neither of the Cadre were armed, as far as she could tell. If she ran, if she showed her alarm, it might make her situation worse.

Sujien said, “Shirai said alive.” He frowned. “I can use her, alive.
I
found her.
I
called her. Shirai agreed to it. But he said alive.”

“So he did.” Crossing to a heap of cushions under a window, Qiaqia sat down, pulling her legs up under her. “I expressed an observation, not an intention.”

She had left the faucets running. Aude could see a steam beginning to rise from the bath. It was deep and wide; it would take some time before it overflowed. She said, “Perhaps Mistress Qiaqia could explain matters to me while I bathe? Since she doesn’t, apparently, really intend to kill
me.” She stared at the Cadre. She would not let herself be browbeaten. To be safe, to have a chance to escape, she had to stay strong.

Again, they both looked at her. Sujien said, “We’re not at your orders.”

“You want something from me. It might help if you told me what it is.”

Sujien’s hand snaked out, seizing her wrist. His fingers dug in. “Come and see, then. See what you’ve done.” He tugged her toward the arch in the far wall, the one she had not explored. “In here.” The beads of the curtain stung her face as he shoved her through them. Off balance, she stumbled and dropped to her knees. It was a bedroom. A wide divan occupied its center, hung with silk and piled with quilts and pillows. The walls glowed, green and blue and mother-of-pearl, throwing sea-colored shadows across the floor. A scent of stagnant water hung over it all. Sujien hauled Aude to her feet and thrust her toward the divan. “Look. You want to know what you’ve done? Then see.” His free hand closed about her neck, forcing her head toward the bed. “Look.”

Aude looked. There was nothing and no one there. The quilts lay dented, as if an occupant had risen from them. She said, “I don’t understand…”

“She’s faded. Your doing.” Sujien’s fingers dug into her neck. She winced. “
Your
doing.”

“But I…”

He shook her, hard, jarring her spine. She could not free herself—his grip was too tight. The pressure of his hand made it hard for her to breathe. For all his statements, he might kill her. He was insane, and he would kill her…Her pride deserted her, leaving fear washed up in its wake. She was alone with this; there was no one to rescue her, to watch over her, to uphold her. She longed for Jehan. Sujien shook her again and let go. She dropped to the floor, muscles weak, panting. She put a hand to her throat, head hanging.

From the other room, the sound of water running cut off.
Qiaqia must have turned off the faucets. Aude swallowed, winced again as her throat protested. She was wholly at their mercy. She did not know what to do. Nothing in her education, in her training, had equipped her for this. If there were rules for dealing with the bodyguard of a domain king, she had never learned them. Nothing she had read provided guidance for that.

She rubbed again at her neck and looked up. The two bannermen stood over her, watching. She did not want them to think her defeated. She could not think of what to do.

Qiaqia said, “Let her bathe.”

“I see no need for it.” Sujien folded his arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves. They were square, those hands, strong-fingered, heavy. Aude would read their traces on her neck for days to come.

“I see no reason not,” Qiaqia said. “And Shirai offered her shelter. You claim that in the end, she must come to water, after all.”

That made no sense either.

Sujien said, “If you would have it, then.”

“It will do no harm.”

Sujien shrugged. “Your responsibility, Qia-kai.” He looked down at Aude. “I will have answers, human thing. Be sure of that.” He hesitated, then turned, robes swinging. Chill air shook out from them, shivered over Aude’s skin. The bead curtain bounced behind him.

Qiaqia looked down at Aude. “I’d bathe now, before he decides it’s a chance to drown you.”

She must come to water, after all
. Nothing told her that she might trust Qiaqia any more than Sujien.
Better dead
. Those words had come from the bannerwoman. Aude climbed to her feet and stepped backward, out of easy reach. She said, “How do I know you won’t do the same?”

“You don’t.”

She had no weapons. Her knife, the carbine, the pistols, and Jehan’s saber were all lost to her, in the Woven House on the plain. If she had them, she might have some chance
of defending herself. If she had been thinking, she would have found herself a makeshift weapon in one of the rooms: a heavy lamp, a hand mirror, something. She had tripped herself with her own confidence, and there was no Jehan here to guard her back. She swallowed tears. Then, as calmly as she could, she said, “I’ll bathe.”

Qiaqia followed her into the bathing room and seated herself on the floor. Aude made a show of studying the range of oils and soaps available. She was accustomed to bathing in company; her maid attended to wash her hair and hand her towels. She kept her head high as she stripped. She was young, after all—her skin was smooth, her limbs strong. She would not be shamed by a stranger’s gaze. She stepped into the bath, down its three carved steps, and slid into the water. It curled about her, warm as Jehan’s hands. It soaked into her hair, loosened the tautness in her neck, nibbled away the tension from scalp and shoulders. She closed her eyes and lay back. She had no certainty of rescue. This brief pleasure should be savored: It might not come again.

Jehan would be horrified. He would see only her vulnerability, naked and in the company of strangers. Aude allowed herself a few moments more indulgence, then sat up to wash. The soap smelled vernal, redolent of new life. On her skin, it was silken and smooth. She was not used to washing her own hair. On the long journey, the long mass of it had baffled her. That was one of the reasons she had hacked it off to her shoulders. In every inn, on stream banks, Jehan had had to help her. Now, soap stung her eyes as she tried to rinse it clear, and Qiaqia laughed.

Aude said, “Help me, then, if I’m so inept.”

“If you wish.” Through suds-clouded vision, Aude watched Qiaqia come to kneel beside the bath, rolling up her long sleeves. Her skin was the chill blue white of skim milk, of dead things. She reached for a brass jug standing on the rim, and the end of her scarf draped into the water. With her other hand, she untied it, dropping it to the floor.

Aude stared. Corpse skin, black eyes with strong brows,
fine bones, straight black hair drawn back in a long complex braid. She had seen such features only in the ink wash paintings from the far edge of the empire of Tarnaroq. Her own skin was dark amber, her eyes and hair brown. Qiaqia caught her watching, and smiled. Then she raised the jug and dumped a stream of cold water over Aude’s head. Aude spluttered and gasped, blinking. “I was born for the first time,” Qiaqia said, “in the wilds of Ashgar. And I died in the Cave City, in the Yellow General’s army. Liyan found me and asked the Grass King to have me reborn to serve as Cadre.”

Reborn
. Qiaqia did not look like the dead thing that had infested the Woven House. And yet…Aude said, “You died…”

“Yes.” Qiaqia handed her a towel. “That’s the nature of the Darkchild.”

Liyan was another of the Cadre. That meant…Aude frowned, trying to recall the old tales. “Liyan isn’t of your banner.”

“He leads fire.”

“Then why…?” Something in Qiaqia’s face stopped Aude in mid-question. She took the towel, held it at shoulder height as she climbed out of the bath. It was thick and soft and heavy; fine threads caught in the scratches on her forearms and the hard skin on her knees and elbows. She scrubbed at herself, enjoying the tingle and sting of blood flow. She was coming back to herself, a little, despite everything. As she began to towel her hair, she said, “What’s a Darkchild?”

“Me.” Qiaqia sat back on her heels. “There are five Cadre, one to lead each banner: Darkchild, Firehand, Stonebourne, Windward, and Waterling. Qiaqia and Liyan, Shirai, Sujien, and Tsai. One band of bannermen for each of the domains, and one Cadre for each band.”

“But you were human. I mean, you fought for the Yellow General.” It was the least confusing thing Aude had heard so far. Every schoolchild read of that war, of the Tarnaroqui renegade who tried to topple an emperor with
words and cunning and, finally, arms. If Qiaqia had lived in those times…

“I was,” Qiaqia said, “but I am no longer.”

There were tales in the Silver City of ghosts, of hauntings. Ancient men were said to walk corridors and aisles, to lurk in towers and on balconies. Aude had seen none of them, credited none of them until the dry dead thing had shuffled into the kitchen of the Woven House.
No longer human
. She did not know what that meant. She said, “And the others, are they…?”

“No. Death is not their domain.”

That meant, perhaps, that none of the others was even scantly human. She did not like to ask. It did not seem polite, somehow.
Qiaqia, Liyan, Shirai, Sujien, and Tsai.
Tsai.
These rooms belong to the Concubine. To Tsai
. But some harm had come to Tsai, whatever she had been, and the Cadre blamed Aude for that. She had no idea why.

She reached for her tunic, hesitated. She had barely worn it, yet she was reluctant to put it on again after the bath. Qiaqia rose, took a robe from a hook and offered it. “There are many garments in the closets of this room. Choose something.”

“Your…” Aude was not sure of the correct word. “Sujien might object.”

“He isn’t here. Nor are these rooms his.”

Wrapped in the towel, Aude went to the nearest closet and opened it. The door opened in a draft of fragrance, sandalwood and salt. Silk stirred in its wake, robes in every shade of water, blue to green to gray. Their fabric shimmered, finer than any she had seen, even in the highest circles of the Silver City. She did not recognize the styles. There was no trace here of the corsets and petticoats, short bodices and draped skirts to which she was accustomed. Nor did they resemble the tunics and trousers favored by the peoples who clung to the fringes of the plains. She glanced at Qiaqia, found herself watched. There was something here, some meaning she could not read. She said, “These don’t seem suitable.”

Qiaqia nodded, once. “As you wish. You’ll find plainer garments in the chest by the middle window.”

“Thank you.” The clothes in the chest were much like those she had found in her room. She dressed quickly, then took a comb from a side table to tidy her hair. The mirror showed her: neat and compact, her skin flushed from the heat of the water, limbs sturdy, features blunt in comparison with Qiaqia. This room did not fit her: She was too human, too ordinary. Laying down the comb, she said, “Why am I here?”