"You'll come with me?"
"Yes, though it won't do any good," Tsem said sadly.
"We will find him," Hezhi insisted.
"Maybe that will not be a good thing," Tsem gently replied.
"Do you think he is dead?"
Tsem regarded her for a long moment, then scooped her up in his great arms. "You'll catch a fever like this, Princess." He bent and took the lantern in one massive hand and carefully started up the mud-covered stair.
"Why do they take them off, Tsem?"
It seemed that Tsem considered that question for perhaps too long a time before answering. "I don't know, Princess."
"I think you do," Hezhi told him petulantly. "Do they take servants off, too?"
"No. Not like that. When a servant is punished, it is done publicly, with much fanfare. So the rest of us will know."
Tsem was past the slickest mud now, and gray light was beginning to filter in from farther up the tunnel, where it turned right.
"Do you really not know why they take them off, Tsem?"
"I really don't. Not for sure."
"Do you think that they will take me off?"
"No," Tsem answered, his voice curiously flat and clipped.
"If they could take off D'en, why not me?" Tsem shrugged his massive shoulders. "You think too much, Princess. Because they won't, that's all."
Tsem could be a wall in more ways than one. Hezhi knew when he would say no more.
The hot bathwater felt good. The angry gaze of Qey did not. Her middle-aged face was as round and tight as a fist; her hazel eyes sparkled dangerously in the lamplight as she leaned over to scrub just a bit too hard at the mud crusted on Hezhi's feet.
"Where is your dress?" Qey whispered after a time. Her soft voice was not conspiratorial, not pitched to trade secrets. It was reined in low only so that it would not be a shout. Hezhi winced as the less-than-kind attentions of the scrub rag moved up to her face and neck. She did not answer.
"Your dress! Do you know? Your parents will think I sold it. I may be beaten. Or Tsem! If you won't think of me, think of him. Surely someone saw him carrying you, all but naked. They might castrate Tsem!"
Hezhi wasn't sure what castration was, but she knew it couldn't be good, not if Tsem was threatened with it.
"Nobody saw us," Hezhi shot back. Soap was smarting her eyes, and more tears swam about there, as well, despite all that she had shed since the disappearance of D'en. Her eyes seemed like the River, limitlessly full.
"You can't be sure of that. You're just a child!" But her voice had begun to soften, her frantic scrubbing becoming more gentle. When Hezhi's tears finally burst forth, Qey took her in her arms, soaking the front of her simple dress with soap and bathwater.
"Child, child," Qey whispered. "What are we to do with you?"
Later, in the kitchen, Qey did not bring up the matter at all. Bright sunlight flooded the courtyard outside, washed the inner kitchen walls with cheerful color. Strings of garlic and shallots dazzled white and purple above the table as Qey kneaded huzh, the thick black bread that Hezhi loved, especially with pomegranate syrup and cream. The warm pungence of the yeast mingled with the scent of coffee warming on the indoor skillet-stove and juniper smoke wafting in from the courtyard, where the bread oven was slowly heating up. Tsem was dozing in the sunlight, a happy smile on his broad face.
"When can I learn to cook?" she asked Qey. The woman did not look up, but continued to work her callused palms against the resilient mass of dough.
"You helped me already," Qey said. "Just the other day you beat some eggs for me."
"I mean really cook," Hezhi said, careful not to sound cross. There had been too much trouble today already.
"No need for that, little one," Qey replied. "There will always be people like me to cook for you."
"Suppose I want to cook," Hezhi countered.
"And suppose I don't?" Qey retorted. "Neither of us chooses what we do, Hezhi. It's all decided, and you'd best get used to it."
"Who decides?"
"Everybody," Qey replied. "The River."
And that was that. If the River said, it was.
"Did the River decide about D'en?"
Qey paused. She hesitated a moment, then brushed her palms on her apron. She knelt near Hezhi and took her hands.
"Hezhi, dear," she said, "I'm sorry about him. He was a good boy; I liked him."
She took a deep breath; to Hezhi it seemed that she was trying to somehow steady herself by filling up with air.
"Hezhi," the woman continued, "what you must understand is that Tsem and I… we are not like you. We cannot speak and do whatever we please. There are people who watch us, all of us, and even when they aren't watching, the River is. So Tsem and I cannot discuss everything you want to discuss. Do you understand that?"
Hezhi looked at Qey, trying to see what was different. Because the woman who had raised her was different somehow. Smaller? Different.
D'en was of the Blood Royal. If something could happen to him, how much easier would it be for something to happen to Qey or Tsem? Hezhi did not want that.
"I understand, Nama," she answered. Qey gripped her hands, then went back to her bread. She seemed happier. Hezhi turned her gaze back out to Tsem.
I shouldn't force him, either, she considered, remembering their earlier conversation. But she had to. Besides, who or what could possibly take away Tsem?
II
A Gift of Steel and Rose Petals
Perkar held his new sword up toward the sun, delighting in the liquid flow of light upon its polished surface, in the deadly heft of it in his hands. He crowed aloud, a great raven war whoop, and the curious cows in the pasture around Perkar turned briefly to accuse him with their mild cow-eyes of disturbing their deep meditations. Perkar disregarded them. He had a sword.
He cut the air with it, once, twice, thrice, and then returned it reluctantly to the embroidered scabbard that hung on his back. Yet there, too, it pleased him, for he could feel the new weight, the mark of his manhood. A man at fifteen! Or man enough to receive a sword, anyway. He reached once more joyfully for the hilt of his sword, delight sparkling in his gray eyes.