The Novels of the Jaran (263 page)

“My lady,” said Katerina finally in Taor, “I throw myself on your mercy and beg that I will be treated as befits the honor and respect due me as a woman.”

Lady Jadranka’s other eyebrow went up. “You are an educated woman. Is it true that the Bakhtiian’s wife is the Prince of Jeds?”

“It is true.”

The other prisoners, including Bakhtiian, stood much farther back, by the gate, but Princess Katerina did not glance toward them.

Lady Jadranka looked back at her son. “I will have the servants clean out the top room in the Widow’s Tower. She will need attendants.”

So it came about that Jaelle was sent with Princess Katerina as her serving woman.

“This is truly a prison,” said Katerina. She paced out the round chamber, pausing at each of the four narrow windows to peer out. A fire burned in the hearth, but she shuddered as if she were cold and went to sit on the carpet. She seemed not to notice the sumptuous furnishings, the bed curtained with fine hangings, a table and brocaded chairs, a pitcher and basin for washing, even a gilded chamber pot and a carved chest filled with furs and gowns and undershifts. Tapestries depicting a hunt hung over the whitewashed walls. “Do you know where they’ve put Vasha?” Jaelle shook her head. “The other prisoners?”

“When I go down to draw water for you, my lady, I will try to find out.”

“Thank you.”

Jaelle could not move for a moment, she was so surprised to be thanked. Then she gathered up her skirts and negotiated the twisting stair that led downward. The first landing opened out onto the chamber below, swept clean and used now for storage. She crossed it, pounded on the door, and the guards let her out onto the outside stairway that led down into the inner ward. She took her time at the well, hoping to see one of the prisoners, and she was rewarded at last when Bakhtiian himself came to the well with two buckets hoisted over a pole. He halted, recognizing her, and set down his buckets while a castle servant pulled water up from the well.

Without looking at her he said, in a low voice, in Taor, “Where is Katerina?”

The servants at the well glanced at him curiously, at his voice, at his outlandish and rather tattered clothing, stained and crumpled from the long march. He walked with a slight limp, he was thinner, but otherwise he seemed strong enough.

Rather than answering, she stared pointedly at the Widow’s Tower and then took water when her turn came and returned to the tower.

“I saw…” Jaelle hesitated. “I saw the man who was so badly wounded, my lady. He was getting water at the well. He asked about you. As for the others, I dared not say anything to him.”

Astonishingly, Katerina laughed, if rather dryly. “Just like a common slave. I doubt it amuses Cousin Ilya to be treated that way. Well, you must see what you can find out about Vasha, where he is being held, in what condition, and about the others, too. I will ask Prince Janos or his mother, or Rusudani, if the priest may be given leave to visit me each day.” She pushed herself up and paced once around the chamber again. “Gods, is there nothing to do in this place? No wonder the khaja are weak, made captive by their own walls.”

Evening came, with a tray of food but no inquiries, no company. Katerina scorned the bed and slept on the servant’s bed, a hard pallet tucked away under the frame. Forced to use the great bed, Jaelle slept in a luxury she had never experienced as a free woman—only now that she was, again, a slave.

In the morning, the guards brought food. No one came to see them. After they ate, Katerina tried to help Jaelle gather the dishes together.

“No, my lady, you must not. It is my duty to serve you.”

Katerina flung herself down full length on the bed, sinking into the coverlet, and watched Jaelle as she collected the dishes onto a tray. “You were a whore before,” Katerina said suddenly. “Did you do this kind of thing then, as well, or just lie with men?”

Jaelle’s hands froze. Finally, she set down a cup and turned to face the princess. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

“Whatever for? Aunt Tess taught us all about khaja customs. Did you want to be a whore? Is that something khaja women want to be? Or were you a slave—”

“I was a free woman until Prince Janos took us! My service was paid for!” Frightened at her own outburst, Jaelle knelt. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

“I was going to say, were you a slave who had no choice?” replied Katerina mildly, clearly not offended. “I just wondered, how a woman would come to be a whore, that’s all. Forgive me if it’s not a thing that should be spoken of.”

“I must take this downstairs.” Jaelle took the tray away, much shaken that a princess would address her as familiarly as any caravan woman addressed another. Just before she reached the landing she paused, hearing voices in the empty chamber beyond.

“Was it wise to marry the princess out of hand like that?”

A man laughed. “And you the one who encouraged me to pay that faithless bandit to remove her from the convent in the first place, once we heard about the death of her cousin? I took the opportunity that came to hand.”

“True enough, Janos, but I wonder what she was doing at Urosh Monastery with the Bakhtiian?”

Feet sounded on the wooden planks of the flooring. Jaelle took a step back up the stairs, shrinking against the stone wall, but the footsteps receded, back toward the other side of the chamber.

“The jaran are not fools. They can see as well as we can that she is a prize, now that all of King Barsauma’s children are dead, and her own brothers killed. She is the closest thing King Barsauma has to an heir except the nephew who is supposed to be either a simpleton or an invalid.”

“Well. She is your wife now, but it seems to me you somewhat regret the act.”

“I do not regret what she can bring me.”

“She’s well mannered and educated. She’s a handsome enough girl. You can’t have expected that.”

“She spends most of her time on her knees praying! Or reading out of
The Recitation.
Once she has given me a son, I’ll be happy to leave her to God.”

“You want the jaran princess, Janos. That is obvious enough.”

“God’s Love, Mother, but you know very well that no man is known to have wed or even lain with a woman of that people.”

Lady Jadranka chuckled as any mother might laugh at her child’s sweet foibles. “Presumably a man of
that people
has.”

“I meant a civilized man, of course,” he said impatiently.

“Which makes her a rare prize for you, then. She’s pretty enough, too, I suppose, if as brazen as a whore.”

“Mother!” There was a telling pause. “You didn’t see her framed in the torchlight in the church, with her bow drawn back as if she knew how to fire it.” His voice caught and deepened, and Jaelle suppressed a chilled shudder. She knew what that tone of voice meant, in a man. “I’ve never seen anything like her before.”

“No doubt that makes her more interesting. Princess Rusudani is much better bred. You don’t intend to send the jaran girl to your father?”

“Of course not.”

“You must not anger him, Janos.”

“I will never forgive him for putting you aside.”

“I am grateful for your devotion, my son, but nevertheless it would be foolish to anger him.”

“She is mine, Mother. Fairly won in battle.”

“She is a princess.”

“I will treat her respectfully.”

“See that you do. She begged me for my protection, and God judges harshly those that turn aside from the path of mercy.”

“I will show her the respect and honor due a woman in her position.”

“Let me see her first. It would be more fitting.”

Dust caught in Jaelle’s nose and, too quickly to stop herself, she sneezed. Knowing the sound betrayed her, she took a breath for courage and went on into the room, but Lady Jadranka and the prince barely glanced at her as she took the tray by them and left it with the guards.

“You may show me up,” said Lady Jadranka as Jaelle passed back by her, and Jaelle escorted her up the stairs while Janos waited below.

Katerina sprang to her feet with relief when the older woman entered. “I give you greetings,” she said in Taor.

“You have everything you need?” asked Lady Jadranka, seating herself gracefully in a chair.

Katerina paced back and forth on the carpet. “How long must I stay up here?” she demanded and stopped in the center of the carpet. Lady Jadranka inclined her head, saying nothing, and Katerina began to pace again. “So it is true I am to be kept a prisoner. Do you mean to cage me here forever? I am sure my grandmother would gladly ransom me and the others.”

“It is not my decision, Lady Katherine. I am chatelaine of my son’s castle, nothing more.”

Katerina went over and took hold of one of the bed posts, gripping it tightly. “Ah, gods,” she said in her own tongue, looking around the chamber as if to measure its dimensions. “The company of my own kind, my lady. The priest, to speak the prayers of my people with me in the morning, as is fitting. My cousin, Vassily Kireyevsky.”

“These requests I will bring before my son.”

Exasperated by something in Lady Jadranka’s reply, Katerina went over to the window and leaned out, but she could not even fit her head through the opening. It was only, truly, wide enough for an arrow to be shot out. She turned back and sat down in the bench built into the recessed stone. “A loom? I could pass the time weaving.”

“A loom!” Lady Jadranka brightened. “Yes, that is something I could arrange immediately.”

“And books,” added Katerina, pressing her advantage.

“Books? Can you read?”

“Of course I can read. I can do accounts in Taor and I can read Rhuian and somewhat in Habakar. I could learn another language, perhaps the one that is spoken here.”

Because she stood nearest the door, Jaelle heard the scuff of boots on the steps before the other women did. She whirled around in time to see Prince Janos enter the room.

“Books,” he said musingly. “It surprises me that a barbarian can read.”

Lady Jadranka rose at once, out of deference for her son, but she also shook her head slightly, as much amused as irritated.

“It should not surprise you,” snapped Katerina, glaring at him. Her fine pale hair was pulled back in four braids, bound with ribbons, and her chin jutted out stubbornly. Jaelle trembled, fearing how the prince would react.

He simply laughed, walking a half circle around her and looking her over, which annoyed her even more. “Does this chamber displease you, my lady?”

“Any prison is displeasing, as you surely must know.”

“Alas, I cannot set you free, but perhaps your time here can be made less tedious.”

“Let me visit my cousin, Vassily Kireyevsky. Let the priest of my people visit me, to speak prayers with me.”

“I will consider these requests.”

Katerina caught back a gasp. She looked furious. She was remarkably handsome when she was angry. Jaelle blushed suddenly and looked away from her.

“I beg you, my lady,” Katerina said to Lady Jadranka, “let me see my own people.”

“You must speak with my son.”

Katerina had enough dignity, just, to vent her anger by sinking back down onto the window bench. Like any young caged creature as yet untamed, she had flurries of spirit followed by despondency.

Janos turned to his mother and spoke in his own language, which he knew Katerina could not understand. “If you will excuse us, my lady, I would like to continue this interview in private.”

“Do nothing in haste, Prince Janos, which you will have cause to repent later.” Lady Jadranka crossed the chamber to take Katerina’s hand in hers, briefly, before she left the tower. Jaelle stayed by the door.

Janos circled in closer to Katerina and came to a halt four paces from her. She did not look up at him but rather at her hands. “Do you really wish for books? Can you read?”

“I can read. I wish for something to relieve the tedium. Surely you can understand that.”

He took one step closer to her. Jaelle watched as he lifted a hand toward her hair, thought better of it, and lowered the hand. “Very well. I will bring you a few things myself.”

Her startled glance upward seemed to satisfy him. He stepped back, took his leave, and went off down the steps.

Katerina sagged back, wedging her shoulders into the arrow loop. “What am I going to do? I’ll go mad trapped in here.”

Jaelle stirred the logs in the fireplace, not knowing what else to do. A shower of sparks sprayed up and died, and the woodsy smell of the fire comforted Jaelle. The rest of the day passed, but they saw no one. Jaelle fetched water for washing, but she saw none of the prisoners by the well. Food was brought to the guards and given her on a tray to carry up the stairs, and down again, together with the chamber pot, which was brought back later washed clean. The sound of feasting came from the great hall that night, but no one broke the monotony by visiting them.

In the morning Katerina toured the windows six times, peering out each one for a glimpse of town or hill beyond. Two of the windows looked out onto air, where the tower hung above the drop off to the river, and it was possible to see the river’s flowing water and the far bank, even, if one pressed far enough into the crack, to see the curve of the river around the great bluff on which White Tower rested. Finally, Katerina came to rest on one of the window benches, her back to the outside world.

Jaelle busied herself shaking out the clothes from the chest. Katerina seemed uninterested in their fine quality. The smell of fur pervaded the room, and though it was chill, Jaelle hoarded the firewood she had carried up the stairs for a later, colder day. She shook out the gowns, enjoying the feel of the cloth, which was of a superior weave. Katerina sat silent, but Jaelle could feel her brooding, like a storm about to break.

“Did you ever live in a castle such as this?” asked Katerina suddenly.

“No, my lady. I was born a long way south of here, in a place called Cellio. There it is hot in the summer and mild in the rainy season, but I never saw snow until I came north with the caravans.”

“Cellio! Isn’t that a town in Filis?”

“Why, yes, my lady, it is.” Surprised, Jaelle looked up at her.