Winter Queen by Amber Argyle
By the time Meho pounded on the door, Nelay stood in a crowded back room. Before her sat huge, heavy-looking crates that were actually empty and made of light wood, the bottoms nailed to a trapdoor. She removed a loose board and pulled the handle underneath to reveal a pitch black hole. Under parts of the city ran tunnels that at one time had been connected to the now-abandoned luminash mine on the southern side of the palace.
Nelay dropped into the tunnel and settled the trapdoor back in place. She opened one of her pouches and scattered luminash powder all over the torch before scraping her flint across the striker. The luminash instantly caught fire. Multicolored light danced with the shadows on the rough stone walls. The luminash burned bright and long. It was the priestesses’ own compound, the secret ingredients so carefully guarded only three women in the entire kingdom knew them all.
Holding up the torch, Nelay glanced around. Behind her was the portion of the tunnel that some long-dead king had ordered collapsed in an effort to secure the palace grounds. Before her, the tunnel stretched on into blackness.
She heard the front door shatter open and ran, slipping through the empty tunnels, nothing more than a spark in the shadows. She counted trapdoors as she ran. At the fifteenth, she settled her torch in the bracket, climbed the ladder, and pushed. As she came up in a stable, a donkey started and brayed. Nelay cringed at the loud noise. Despite the heat, a smoky fire burned in a brazier, just as she had requested. Fairies hated smoke.
Nelay hesitated before leaving the barn. Hopefully she’d lost her pursuers as well as the fairies by taking the tunnel, and with her face covered, there was little chance they would recognize her. But she must be cautious. She looked about, making sure no one was around, and wished she could tell if there were any fairies.
She brushed off her robes, stepped through one of the more respectable inns in Thanjavar, and emerged into the upper market. This time of day it was nearly deserted. She had traveled east and a little north. The palace was now behind her and to the right. Near the palace were buildings of stately marble and granite, but here they were constructed of mud brick and plaster.
One hand on a knife, Nelay moved at a good pace, her gaze sliding to the right and left as the gaze of a Tribeswoman would do. The few people she passed wore robes, bell-shaped trousers, and headscarves in bold colors with decorative prints and embroidery. One obviously rich woman wore a fitted bodice that bared her midriff, with swaths of vibrant fabric wrapped around her. Instead of robes, sometimes men wore bell-shaped trousers with a vest. Many men had curling beards or long, curving mustaches. Everyone wore a headscarf to keep the hair clean and to protect against sun, wind, and sand. When the wind was especially bad, the veil was pinned over the face.
Taking numerous twists and turns, Nelay moved steadily into the part of town that serviced criminals and whores. Here the buildings were derelict and the air stank of leather tanneries, which used feces and urine to treat the hides.
Nelay slipped down alleys, went through a bar and out the back entrance, and twisted down two more blocks to make sure she hadn’t been followed. She climbed up a wall, using a windowsill and beams as steppingstones, before hopping onto a roof.
She crouched, staring at a man of the desert tribes. Though she’d contracted with him to smuggle her out of the city, she’d never met him. They had communicated only through her spies, so now she scrutinized the man who held her life in his hands. He wore the robes and headscarf similar to that of an Idaran, but in muted colors that blended in with the deserts. With his veil tied up, only a thin slit of his eyes showed.
The skin around those eyes crinkled in amusement when he saw Nelay. “So, this is the woman willing to pay a king’s ransom to slip behind enemy lines.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Rycus.” She didn’t want him to say anything that would give away her identity to any listening fairies.
He tugged his veil down under his chin, revealing a surprisingly young face, only a couple years older than her. His nose was a little on the big side, and his forehead reminded her of a shovel. But he had liquid eyes the color of sand at midnight and a nice smile, with brilliant white teeth against his dusky skin. This was the most renowned smuggler in two kingdoms?
“No,” he replied, “but we’ll be sharing close quarters for two months, so we might as well be friends.”
Nelay had enough experience with criminals to know they had their uses, but they were also incredibly unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. “I don’t need friends,” she said.
“Everyone needs friends.”
“If I’d known you were going to be this talkative, I would have picked someone else.”
Rycus grunted. “No you wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t have settled for less than the best.”
Nelay tossed him the bag of coins she’d received in exchange for two of her ceremonial rings. When the high priestess found out, she’d be furious, but Nelay would deal with that later. “We must hurry—the Immortals are nothing to be trifled with.”
Rycus pushed the bag into the folds of his robes without counting the money. He would receive the other half when he returned her and her family safely to Thanjavar. “You don’t have to come with us, you know,” he said.
Nelay snorted. He might have a reputation as a fair man, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t cross her—say, if the king offered more money. “I already told you. It’s not a place marked on a map.”
“I could figure it out,” Rycus replied.
“No offense, but I don’t trust you.”
He shrugged. “And afterward, you’re sure you wish to return? Whatever has you running away will still be here then.”
“That is not your problem.” She might be Suka’s favorite, but even the high priestess couldn’t overlook what she’d done. Nelay’s only hope was to stand in the public bethel and announce herself the next high priestess. Then she had to beat Suka in the game of fire, the winner of which would become the next high priestess. King Zatal wouldn’t dare touch Nelay then.
And if she failed . . . she shuddered. She’d have the wrath of a king and a high priestess to face.
“What are you running from?” Rycus questioned.
“Am I paying you to ask questions?” Nelay shot back.
Another man climbed onto the roof. What remained of his hair was a dull gray, and he wore an eye patch. The skin visible above his veil was scarred and wrinkled. He gave her a steely look with his remaining eye. “No, but you are paying us to keep you alive. It would help if you weren’t so goat-stubborn.”
She rose to her feet, her gaze hard. “Being stubborn is exactly what’s kept me alive.”
“Easy, Scand,” Rycus said.
The man tossed something to Rycus before resting his hand on his sword. “There are Immortals everywhere. They’re looking for a runaway priestess.” Scand studied Nelay suspiciously. “Somehow she managed to escape the temple.”
Rycus swung his gaze back to her. “However did she manage that?”
She wasn’t about to tell them about the tunnels; she’d spent a small fortune finding them and paying to use them. She and Scand glared at each other. Clearly he was making it a contest, one Nelay was only too happy to win.
Rycus glanced between them, one brow cocked in amusement. “Nelay, this is Scand. He’s like a cactus. If you can get past his thorns, he’s soft and squishy on the inside.”
Scand grunted and climbed back down the way he came. Nelay had to suppress a grin of satisfaction. She turned her gaze back to Rycus, trying to figure him out. He seemed almost playful, but criminals didn’t do anything without a reason. Perhaps he wanted her to lower her guard, get her to trust him. Well, she wouldn’t fall for it.
He uncorked the top of a jar the old man had given him and approached her. “Hold still.”
She tensed up but allowed him to wipe something cool around her eyes. It tightened and began to itch as it dried. She reached up to scratch it, but he batted away her hand. “Leave i
“What is it?”
Rycus grinned. “Something to make you especially pretty.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She gently touched her face and felt heavy wrinkles. He’d made her look old. Her mouth dropped open. “It better come off.”
“Vain, are we?” He chuckled, then motioned for her to follow him to the edge of the roof. A caravan of desert camels was filing out below, Scand leading the way. Rycus swung down from a beam and landed easily in the next camel’s saddle. It wasn’t a move Nelay had practiced, but then sometimes simple was best. She hung from the beam until a camel came into position beneath her, then stood on the saddle before easing down. Not nearly as showy as Rycus’s move, but with the same result.
Surrounding her were Tribesmen and women—probably two dozen of them—all dressed similarly to her and mounted on camels that reeked of urine and the unique odor of camel. Nelay swayed from side to side with the rhythm of her camel. The whole troop kept moving, holding a hand to their shamshirs, for Tribesmen didn’t trust cities or Idarans on principle.
Soon they approached the city gates. The king’s Immortals stopped the caravan but didn’t dare touch the Tribesmen’s women, who were about as forgiving as the Adrack Desert. Nelay heard the cry of an eagle above them and wondered if Suka had struck a deal with the fairies and they had found her.
A female Immortal, the tattoos on her bald head revealing her lower ranking, paused to scrutinized Nelay, who stared right back, daring her to try anything even as her heart pounded in her chest.
The Immortal slowly backed up. “She’s not here.” As they filed out, Nelay let out the breath she’d been holding.
When they were well out of the city, she looked back at Thanjavar, wondering how much trouble Jezzel was in, and if they had found the tunnel Nelay used to escape. But mostly she simply felt sad. Thanjavar was her home. She reached up, holding her glass idol in her hand.
Rycus rode up beside her, his veil tied up again so only the wrinkles around his eyes showed. He glanced at her hand before tossing her a damp rag.
Immediately she set out to wipe the stuff from her face. It peeled away in long strips that left the skin around her eyes feeling raw.
“Now I think you will learn the true meaning of fire. For in the desert, there are no cool stone buildings to hide from the heat.”
Nelay scrubbed her face till it stung. “We should rest until the ovat is over.”
He spread his arms as if he enjoyed the blistering heat. “The Adrack Desert is the ovat, high priestess.” He said the last bit in a mocking tone.
Her head jerked up. She figured he’d guessed who she was, but how could he possibly know her plans to become the high priestess? But he only chuckled at her and moved his camel to the front of the caravan.
Nelay reworked the players. She considered heading out on her own right then and there, but Zatal must have guessed where she was going. Soon the Immortals would search for her all through Idara. The only way to reach her family safely was through the desert. The only way through the desert was with a Tribesman as her guide. She determined to watch Rycus even more closely. But for now, there was nothing else to do but adjust her headscarf to shield her eyes from the relentless sun.
Nelay wasn’t ignorant of the dangers awaiting in the Adrack Desert. She’d grown up along the border in a one-room mud-brick home surrounded by dying fields. Her memories of that time were distant and disjointed. The smell of fresh-cut wood as her father’s calloused fingers had brought wood to life, curled shavings littering the ground around him. The feel of her mother’s soft body, the lull of her voice as she’d held Nelay. The bleat of the sheep as she and her brother and father had driven them to water holes—the silly little names she’d given them. Her brother’s hatred, the feel of his hands so tight around her throat. The sight of her mother’s dead babies.
But what Nelay remembered more than anything was the hunger that had carved her gut into a hollow, much like her father’s knife had carved the wood. She might lose everything she’d gained over the years since then, but none of it was worth having if the price was turning her back on her family.
That night, they made camp under a brilliant, star-strewn sky. Nelay shivered in her robes as she helped raise the massive tent. Her inner thighs felt like they’d been pummeled by a wooden mallet. Once the tent was up, the Tribesmen strewed the ground with camel-hair rugs. A fire was lit and the strongest black orray she’d ever tasted was passed around as if it wasn’t time for everyone to go to sleep.
After only a polite sip, she curled up in the sheepskins Scand had tossed her way. Keeping her veil up even now, afraid a passing fairy might recognize her face, Nelay turned her back to the tent and gripped her shamshir. She watched the men and women laugh together in the way of those who have known and trusted each other for years.
This was the first time she’d been away from the temple since she was nine, the first time she’d truly been on her own. Already she missed the routines and the friends she’d made—especially Jezzel. She was the only one who understood Nelay.
The priestesses taught that life was simply a game of fire. The world was the playing field, and everyone and everything a player. Living was just a series of moves and countermoves. Only the best of players learned how to manipulate other players to change the game. Together, Nelay and Jezzel could manipulate dozens of them.
Nelay rubbed her thumb along her pendant and then felt something tickling her. She shifted to see a spider the size of a large shoe on her arm, staring under her veil. She jerked her arm to throw off the spider while simultaneously drawing her knife. She stabbed down and impaled the creature right though the center. It wriggled, legs thrashing and pinchers rearing back to hit her. Nelay twisted the knife. She squinted at the intruder, trying to get her Sight to work, but saw nothing other than a spider, which she felt certain this was not.
She took a lunging step toward the fire and flung the enormous spider into the flames. Its coarse hairs caught fire and it darted out of the blaze, its body burning. Nelay promptly kicked it in again. On its back, it writhed and twisted before eventually growing still. Breathing hard, Nelay realized everyone had gone silent and was staring at her.
“Well,” said a man named Delir. “I for one feel we are very safe from spiders.”
Everyone laughed, some more nervously than others. Nelay, cheeks burning, returned to her blankets and adjusted her veil. She could only hope the spider fairy hadn’t seen her face. Hearing a hiss from the fire, she knew the spider was cooked through, because at one time she’d eaten insects for survival. Some weren’t too bad. Crickets, for instance, tasted like nutty shrimp when roasted. And that particular species of spider was actually pretty good.
That made her think of home. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the people who’d never bothered to make the two-week journey to come see her, always stating that her father couldn’t leave the sheep and her mother couldn’t go without her father. Never mind that Nelay had sent them enough money to buy their way into society.
When Idara had been invaded, she’d written a letter, begging them to come to Thanjavar. The longer she went without an answer, the angrier she’d became. If sheep and land were more important than their daughter, more important than living, so be it.
Then the nightmares started. Nelay had one almost every night now, the guilt of living in safety and security weighing on her. She couldn’t stay in Thanjavar—not if she wanted to live with herself. And though she was a fool to risk a bright future for the ghosts of the past, she could live with being a fool.
She shook herself and turned to see Rycus watching her with a searching expression. Then someone spoke to him and he glanced away, laughing. Nelay tightened her grip on her sword and forced her eyes to stay open.
The next day, she kept her veil tucked down tight and a wary eye out for anything that might be a fairy. She saw nothing but didn’t let herself relax. Just before midday, they climbed a ris
A pang of homesickness tore through her. For all her training and experience, she’d never truly been alone. Now she was surrounded by people she couldn’t trust, didn’t dare even speak to for fear she’d drop her guard.
“You owe me too much money to fall behind and die of thirst,” a voice said loudly. “Keep up.”
Nelay looked up and saw Rycus. The rest of the caravan had moved on, and he had come back for her.
“We need to move fast,” she said evenly. “I have a feeling they know where I am.”
“I’m not the one falling behind,” he pointed out. She shot him a glare. He held up a hand in a sign of peace. “Even if they did, we go where no man can follow.”
She met his gaze. “Unfortunately for us, they aren’t using men.”
He studied her with a frightening shrewdness. “What are you running from?”
That wasn’t the first time he’d asked her that. She turned her camel and kicked it into a trot, but Rycus kept up easily enough. “What has this to do with the king?” he asked.
Nelay refused to look at him. “I’m not running from anyone. I’m going to rescue my family.”
They caught up to the others and fell into step behind them. “You’re lying,” Rycus said. “If the priestesses were after you, they’d have sent the Goddess Army. The Immortals are the king’s men.”
She ignored him. He was a variable she couldn’t control, and she didn’t know him well enough to use him. Yet. Silently she would watch, and she would learn.
That night, she took her share of simple travel fare—dates and dried meat and nuts. The nightly bread had been burned. “You need to post a watch,” she said as she passed Rycus.
He didn’t bother to look at her. “I post a watch every night.”