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  Smiling at their reaction, Anleeh opened the door. It took a moment for them to mobilize themselves, and Aketa was actually the first one to exit.

  She’d already had a chance to become “intimately acquainted” with Moregon…

  *

  Lord Anleeh led them not to the dormitory, with all its empty beds, but a different chamber. The central room had couches and rugs set about, and several waist high urns potted with young trees and trailing vines.

  Aketa went to one of the trees, a miniature willow, and buried her face in the trailing leaves, breathing in the scent of earth and growing things. Sornes and Amzel examined drapery-hung doorways, which led to small alcoves, and each claimed one for their own.

  When the door closed behind Lord Anleeh, Amzel let out a squeal.

  “Did you hear? Soon we will get to make love with Lord Moregon.”

  “I hope he means individually, and not all together.”

  Aketa’s head jerked up at that. There was nothing she wanted less than to be forced to make love with Sornes and Amzel.

  “I hope it is not one right after the other. Would he not be tired by the time he got to the third one?” Amzel mused.

  “I intend to be first,” Sornes declared.

  “Than I second,” Amzel pouted.

  I have to get out of here. Turning on her heel, Aketa left the room. She needed the outside, needed growing things. Her life alone in the fields might be solitary, but it kept her insulated from people like this. Her family’s cruelties towards her were a known element, their barbs blunted by repeated exposure.

  She did not know the way out of the castle from this new room, but she followed the smell, the taste, of the outside world. Winding through corridors, her head bent, shoulders hunched, Aketa wanted nothing more than to find herself again.

  She would not go to the trees, for they would only remind her that Moregon would soon be touching the others the way he’d touched her. When she finally made it outside she headed in the opposite direction, toward the side of castle that housed many of the working elements.

  Castle servants, men and woman alike, bustled about, shouting, talking, laughing. Aketa moved through them as a ghost. Behind the kitchens, stretching all the way to the wall, were neatly fenced rows of vegetables. Stripping off her shoes she let her bare feet sink into the freshly raked earth. She walked the tiny valley between straight rows of fat squash. The further she walked the more the sounds of people receded.

  When she came to the far end, Aketa took a deep breath, feeling centered once more. She stepped into the next row and began walking back the way she’d come, this time able to scan the area through which she walked.

  The garden was well tended, but by the time she’d reached her start point Aketa had a handful of weeds. This was something she knew, something she was sure of, whereas the situation in the castle, the dark sexuality and strained completion, were foreign ground.

  Aketa was near the kitchen building, happily weeding potatoes, when the alarm sounded.

  Chapter 14

  “The dark-haired one should be eliminated, she’s spiteful.”

  “But she is strong,” his wife murmured.

  “Moregon deserves a kind woman, someone … soft.” Anleeh said. The sound of his footsteps, ceaseless, as if he were pacing, reached Moregon’s ears.

  “She possesses all the other qualities he needs.”

  “Strength does not mean cruelty.”

  “Cruelty? Is she truly so bad? She is young; empathy is a skill found later in life.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Moregon stepped through the doorway outside which he’d been hovering. Anleeh and Siara looked up.

  “How much did you hear?” Siara asked worriedly.

  “Not much,” Moregon assured, aware she was worried they’d violated the Queen’s rules about attempting to sway Moregon’s eventual decision. “I came to ask Anleeh about this morning.”

  “Oh Moregon, you really should not,” Siara said.

  “Rules were meant to be broken,” Anleeh said, stopping beside her chair to kiss her forehead. “Seat yourself,” he added, motioning Moregon to a chair

  Moregon nodded his thanks and took a seat. Anleeh and Siara’s quarters were a comfortable set of rooms, decorated with carved wood ornaments and plush fur.

  “What do you want to know?” Anleeh asked, leaning against Siara’s chair, his arm possessively across the back.

  “Nothing specific.” Moregon shifted uncomfortably, regretting the impulse that had bid him come here. He’d spent a sleepless night outside, sitting beneath the tree waiting for Aketa. When’d he’d abandoned his vigil and returned to the castle, he was nearly sick with the realization that she’d found the night’s display disgusting, and therefore would be gone by morning. He would never see her again.

  Unable to stop himself he’d gone to the dormitory, planning to look in on her, get one last glimpse of her, but as he’d rounded the corner he’d seen Rohaj, standing guard at the doorway.

  He’d ducked back around the corner before he was seen. He’d retreated to his room, spirit lifting as he realized that Aketa had not abandoned him so much as she had not been allowed to leave. That most likely meant that the Queen knew they’d been meeting secretly, though Moregon could truthfully say that both meetings had been accidental, at least on the outset.

  He’d taken to his bed for a few hours rest, then occupied his morning with work on his experimental plants. It had not been his most productive morning, as his thoughts had often wandered to Aketa, as he wondered how she was fairing with Anleeh. He tried to force himself to think of the other two girls who remained, but he’d had such little contact with them that they were not yet real to him.

  That would change, and soon, but for now his attention was on Aketa.

  “You just wish to know what sort of garment I chose for Aketa?” Anleeh said. Siara looked skeptical.

  “Er, yes. Yes.”

  “Very well then, it is a high collared dress with an exterior corset piece. Does that satisfy you?”

  “It does,” Moregon said, nodding like a fool as he internally winced. He had no idea what Anleeh’s words meant. Women’s garments were not a particular area of interest.

  Anleeh roared with laughter, a sound that was familiar to Moregon after all their years together. His laughter relaxed Moregon, who shifted his big body, stretching out one leg in a position of ease.

  “What would it take to have you not repeat this bit of foolishness to the others?” Moregon asked.

  “We won’t tell anyone,” Siara assured him, smiling kindly.

  “Speak for yourself,” Anleeh said, easing himself onto the table over which Siara’s papers were spread. “Come now, Moregon, what do you want to know?”

  “Nothing specific, just … how is she?”

  Siara’s eyes got soft, and Anleeh’s mocking smile faded.

  “Tell me brother. How did you know her eyes were green?”

  “What do you mean?” Moregon asked.

  “You’ve called her the green-eyed girl.”

  “The Queen told you?”

  “I overheard.”

  Moregon scrubbed his face with his hand. “The night of the banquet, I saw her. She slipped in the mud, and I went to help her. There was barely contact—I touched her hand, no more, but I looked into her eyes, and there was something there.

  “I have no understanding of women or romance or courtship, so I don’t know what these feelings mean, but I looked into her eyes and there was something there. Perhaps I will feel the same things when I look into the eyes of the other two, but it is as if, in that single glance, I made a connection with her.”

  “That is the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” Siara said.

  “Quite a speech it was from our quiet friend. But Moregon, how did you see her eyes? She’s always hidden her face in the shadow of a shawl.”

  “Oh, well I saw her face, only for a moment, but it was her eyes that dre
w my focus.”

  “And in your interactions since that night, have you seen her face again?”

  Moregon opened his mouth to say that he had not, but caught himself, realizing that to say anything would be to admit he’d had contact with her. He closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Anleeh, who shrugged.

  “It was only a question, brother. But again I ask, do you remember anything of her face besides the color of her eyes?”

  “I do not. But I have wondered what she hides under that scarf.”

  “She hides behind more than the scarf,” Siara added. “She has yet to speak to anyone. In the Temple I cared for those who had suffered beyond what people were meant to suffer, and several of them did not speak. They lost the ability to communicate as they retreated into themselves.

  “Moregon, I know you have feelings for her, because you have had more contact with her than with the others, but I ask you not to make up your mind yet. Do not close your heart to the other two choices. I say this out of no malice towards Aketa, but rather as someone who cares for you. I fear Aketa is hiding something dark and dangerous in the shadows and silence she keeps.”

  Moregon held his tongue. Siara could not know that Aketa had spoken to him, and it was an intimacy he wanted to keep secret. But he could not discount Siara’s worries.

  The fact that she continued to hide her face from him, that she had not let him kiss her, suddenly took on a sinister air. She seemed to trust him, after all she’d spoken with him, but that trust was an illusion.

  Moregon nodded sharply and stood, making for the door.

  “Oh no, Moregon, please wait. I did not mean to speak ill of her, or to distress you.”

  He heard Siara’s chair scrap across the floor, but Anleeh’s murmured, “Let him go. He needed to hear it.”

  Moregon needed wind and the smell of growing things. He strode through the Palace, lost in thoughts, barely noticing the people who scrambled to get out of his way.

  Once outside he headed for the kitchen gardens, not wanting to risk going to the trees that had been so flavored by her presence.

  He was half way across the courtyard when the alarm sounded.

  Chapter 15

  “Half the active guard with me, rouse those who are not on duty, send them after us.” Rohaj shouted the command to a Lieutenant as he mounted his horse.

  “What’s happened?” Moregon asked, running up beside him.

  “The wind has let loose a fire. It is out of control and, if it remains unchecked, it will spread through all the fields in the south hills, and possibly even on to the city.” Rohaj’s voice was grim. He twisted his head, watching as wagons were loaded with buckets and shovels. Half the Palace guards piled into the wagons along with the supplies. They stripped off weapons and uniforms, tossing then to the men who would remain.

  “I’ll get my horse,” Moregon shouted, even as he ran for the stables.

  Rohaj and the first cart were already on their way out of the Palace gates by the time Moregon mounted his horse. He paused a moment, checking to see that the other two wagons were almost ready to go. The last of the solders piled in and he whistled for them to start moving.

  Moregon started through the gate, but a movement caught his eye. A skirted figure, barefoot, dashed across the courtyard, covering the distance with impressive speed, and leaped onto the back of one of the carts.

  He needed to clear his head. He was beginning to see Aketa everywhere. He had been celibate too long.

  Moregon raced ahead of the wagons, catching up with Rohaj. As they rode through the city a massive column of dark smoke appeared in the sky. It would take them longer than he would have liked to reach the village that had sent out the distress signal.

  They climbed into the southern foothills, to one of the more outlying villages, before they saw the flames. The terrain here was undulating, gently rolling hills that made farming difficult. The fire was just cresting a rise, about to sweep down into a little hollow populated by huts on its path towards the city. The carts rumbled up behind them and men tumbled out, pausing to stare in awe at the force of nature.

  “Is Cryessa…?” Moregon asked, knowing Rohaj would understand what he was asking.

  “She will try, but you know how she feels about doing that now.”

  “Yes, but we need it.”

  “Aye.”

  “Lord? What should we do?” The man who asked the questions was a captain in the Royal Army, a brave man whose voice expressed his trepidation. Fire could not be fought with a sword.

  “We’ll dig a trench,” Rohaj said, “on the down-slope, just before the—” Rohaj stopped talking as great racking coughs shook him. The wind had changed, bringing a gust of smoke. Moregon was nearly doubled by the force of his coughs. He pulled off his tunic and yanked at the neck, ripping it until he had reduced it to several strips. He handed one to Rohaj, another to the captain. He tied the cloth in place over his nose and mouth.

  The other men were using various bits of cloths to create similar makeshift masks.

  “Grab a shovel; we dig mid-way up that hill, on the far side of the village. We want to save the houses.”

  “No!”

  The startling denial was shouted from the crowd. Moregon twisted, looking for the speaker. It had sounded like—surely he was losing his mind.

  If his mind was gone it was far gone, because the next thing he knew Aketa was emerging from the crowd. She had her scarf tied across her lower face, and her dark blond hair, streaked with patches of pale gold, glowed in the light of the dying sun.

  “We cannot save the village, look how fast the fire is moving. The flames will too easily jump the trench as they head downhill. We evacuate the town, let the flames take this land, and dig the trench here, on the high ground. The flames will not be able to jump from one side of the hill to the other if there is no foliage to help it crest the rise.”

  Every man there looked at her. Aketa’s eye darted around her, and Moregon saw her start to sink into herself, her shoulders slumping. He took a step forward, and their eyes met.

  Aketa’s shoulders squared and she lifted her head. “I know what I speak of. I’ve fought many fires.”

  Rohaj looked her up and down, and tilted his head to the side. “Aketa?”

  She nodded.

  “She talks?” he asked Moregon.

  Moregon nodded.

  “You heard her,” Rohaj roared. “Dig where you stand and clear the top of this hill. Captain, take the carts down to the village and evacuate everyone. If there’s room let them bring only the most precious of their possessions.”

  “Their homes?”

  “Lost. We will help them rebuild.”

  The captain nodded and selected a team, taking them and the carts down to the village. The fire had crested the far rise and was eating its way down the slope.

  “She’s right. We would not have been able to stop it there,” Rohaj said. “She’s a smart one. Good for you.”

  With that enigmatic remark Rohaj grabbed a shovel and a few men and took them further down the hill. Moregon went to Aketa, who already had a shovel in hand. She was walking the rise, scoring a line in the earth with the edge of her shovel as a guideline. Moregon caught her arm.

  “It is dangerous; you should go back.”

  “Why?”

  “You might get hurt.”

  “Then I will heal. I know how to fight this battle. What could I do but come along to help when I heard the cry?”

  “Would you look at me?”

  Aketa stopped and looked up. Moregon caught her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. It was an intimacy so exquisite he almost looked away, but the pleasure of looking in her eyes, of seeing her, knowing her, was so sublime he held.

  “Your eyes. You are so very beautiful.”

  “I am not, but I feel it when you look at me. I do not understand what is between us.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Is this love?” Aketa slipped her arms
between his, her hands cupping his cheeks in a mirror gesture. Her hands were not soft, but there was the comfort of familiarity in her touch. He felt the calluses of her hands and knew the life she’d led, knew her work, her heart, for they were hands like his own. He twisted his head to kiss her palm.

  “I don’t know, but I think it must be.”

  Aketa went up on her tiptoes, as if she would kiss him despite the fabric that covered both their faces, but the moment was broken by a roar. The fire found a patch of dry earth, a field that had not been turned, and ate it up with horrifying speed.

  They broke apart, needing no words. Aketa continued to trace her line, all the way to the road, which ran at a right angle to the hill line, and would act as the second break.

  Moregon grabbed a flat lip shovel and dug it into the earth, turning down the dry top with its scrubby vegetation, and exposing the damp earth below that would resist the fire. The smoke grew dense around him, and he coughed and hacked through the fabric. But he ignored the discomfort in his lungs, the burning of the muscles in his shoulders and back as he tirelessly turned the earth.

  The sound of the fire grew, a roar of a beast. They cleared a break along the ridge, creating a solid corner where the fire would be brought up short. The fire roared up the incline towards them as Moregon and the others shifted their attention further to the east. There was no road there, no additional break. They’d trapped one side of the fire, but it was too wide. They would not be able to stop it.

  He stopped next to Rohaj, who watched the flames sputter and die as they hit the break.

  “We’ve only stopped half of it,” Rohaj said grimly.

  “We’ll keep going.”

  “The men are tired.”

  “I am not,” Moregon lied. He’d done the work of two men, his big arm wielding the shovel with speed and strength.

  Aketa raced up beside them, her breathing labored. “We must keep going—we’re not done.”