breaking camp they mounted their camels. He noticed Amalya no longer had any trouble commanding her beast; she did not need him for that. The horses Eyul let loose. They would follow their noses to water. Eyul and Amalya set out towards Nooria, leaving Bazram and Poru in the sand.
Chapter Nineteen
Three days. Three days, and yet she lived. Mesema folded her hands in her lap. Riding in the carriage without Banreh or Eldra there dulled her mind and spirit, so, to keep herself sharp she concentrated on remembering the pattern, savouring her own fear; other times, she thought about embroidery. She would hold herself in one position for hours on end—anything to keep herself disciplined, for she would need discipline, to go to her death with dignity. If news of her death travelled to her father, she would not want him to be ashamed. And if she lived…
If she lived, she would need discipline, just to keep on living. She shifted on the bench. The muscles of her back complained with every jolt and bounce of the carriage, and her rear ached. The felt padding she had complained of so much back in the grasslands would be a blessing now. Her neck felt stiff, too—these were minor complaints compared to what had happened to Eldra, or even what Banreh suffered every day, though she told herself she didn’t care about that. She maintained her position, counting stitches in her mind.
The caravan slowed and stopped. She could hear the men talking, low and scared. They had found something, but what?
Perhaps it was time. She smoothed her hair and straightened the beads around her neck. She would look well for this.
She waited. She did not fan herself, or squirm, but kept still, listening to the voices of the men and the nickering of the horses.
Banreh appeared at the carriage window. She looked away from him, at the opposite seat. She didn’t want to see his eyes.
“What is it, Banreh?” She used her father’s tone, formal and clipped.
“We have come upon the emperor’s camp,” he said. “We have been commanded to stop here.”
She imagined the emperor, frail and sick, being carried on a litter to oversee the destruction of those who plotted against him. “Very well.”
Banreh said nothing else but waited near the window as if expecting her to speak. Finally he urged his horse forwards, beyond the carriage.
Stupid thrall. He values words far too much. Mesema closed her eyes and took a breath. She would be brave. Every woman must be brave eventually. She realised she’d made fists in her lap and relaxed them, placing her hands loosely on her knees.
She waited.
The air grew heavy. She couldn’t breathe, but she remained still. She heard women’s voices, giggles, and it made her sad for Eldra. She cocked her head, listening.
The door swung open, revealing a wizened, dark woman with chestnut eyes. Her gaze ran down Mesema’s body, taking in her clothes and jewellery. Mesema sat straight in her seat, resisting the urge to bite her lip.
Four men ran towards the carriage, carrying large sticks wound with fabric like great scrolls. Mesema jumped back, startled, but the men paid her no attention. They stood on either side of the old woman and unwound the scrolls, creating red screens made of silk which they held aloft, forming a corridor. The corridor led to another, and another, each held up by four men, leading to a place she couldn’t see.
The woman watched her, smiling. “Come, come,” she said in Cerantic, motioning with one hand.
Mesema slid off the bench and down the steps. The woman took her arm and led her between the swathes of fabric, turning here and there until finally she walked through a tent flap—or at least it had looked like a tall tent flap from the outside. Inside, it resembled a small house. The red walls slanted towards a high, round ceiling of white. On the sand, rugs and cushions offered comfort for her sore body. A sleeping mat and a large tub full of water occupied one end. Oil lamps provided light and scented the air with lavender.
This tent was not for her; this was someone else’s tent, where she would wait for the emperor’s judgement.
The old woman touched her arm and pointed to the tub.
“Wash first,” she said.
“I speak Cerantic,” said Mesema. “You needn’t speak to me that way.”
The woman nodded, grinning. “I am called Sahree. Now you take off your clothes.” She pointed at the tub again. “You have sand