Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,84

it a simple vow won’t suffice,’ said Achim, his voice like the rasp of sand over sand. His excellent command of the Turasi tongue hinted at an expensive education.

Achim moved closer, his robes whispering. Squatting, he peered up at me, tilting his head back as if for a better view. A tiny circle of gold pierced his septum, and I stared at it, wondering at its significance. Perhaps his people worshipped the bull.

I raised my head, displaying Dieter’s brands. ‘As you can see, there is the problem of a prior … allegiance, if you will.’

‘Where did you come by such markings, my lady?’ he said, before slewing a look over his shoulder. ‘My lord, this woman needs rest before she can undergo a shadow-pledge.’

‘She can rest afterwards,’ said Sidonius. ‘When she is safely chained.’

‘Look at her colour –’

‘After.’

Achim turned back to me. ‘My lady, I’m afraid this will not be pleasant.’

‘Just don’t break any more of my bones,’ I said.

He put a thumb on my brow and spread his fingers around the back of my head, his hands warm and dry as a snake’s sun-baked hide.

‘These runes are your brother’s work?’ he asked of Sidonius, who only shrugged in reply.

‘Lady,’ asked Achim, ‘do you know their meaning?’

Having learned the hard way what happened when I tried to speak of Dieter’s runes, I didn’t answer, reluctant to risk confessing embarrassing half-truths in front of an Ilthean general.

‘You can speak of them without fear,’ said Achim, gentle but urging.

My heart raced at the prospect of what would happen if he were wrong, and I shook my head. Hope quickened my breath – the shadow-worker spoke so bluntly of the runes. Did he know how to release me?

‘Answer him,’ Sidonius commanded, his tone brooking no dissent. ‘If he says you can speak, you can speak.’

‘Emet,’ I answered, the word slipping out without obstacle. ‘Truth. To kill me, Dieter can erase a single rune and turn the phrase to Meit: Death.’

Achim frowned and gave the circlet of gold piercing his nose a sharp tug. It must have stung, for he blinked fast and furiously afterwards.

‘If you were a creature of clay and anima, yes,’ he said. ‘But a human woman? No. Although …’ Again the quick tug at his piercing. ‘Oh, he is a sharp one, this brother. Canny. He uses the mind against itself.’

Anger gave me strength as I untangled his meaning. ‘You’re saying this was a trick?’

Achim’s smile revealed orange-stained teeth and gums. ‘Yes. A simple spell, to bind you from speaking of what he’s wrought. Chicanery, or another spell, to bind you into believing him. Then he tells you he’s bound you to the clay, yes? Erasing a rune will kill you. If you were Amaer, lady, you’d know this is not possible, for a human is born with the mechaiah’s spark bestowed in heart and mind. But instead, you believed him. And thus, you obeyed him.’

I scrubbed at my forehead, my hands shaking so hard I couldn’t still them.

‘Rub them out!’ I begged, too unsteady to worry about my pride.

Achim laid his hands in the lap of his strange robe and said, ‘But the spell is already broken.’

I lowered my hands, nauseated by all I had suffered and all I had fought through because of a meaningless scribble on my brow.

‘It relies on ignorance,’ he added. ‘Now you know the truth, you can stand before him with impunity. His witching eyes and conqueror’s smirk cannot sway you anymore.’

As I turned away from him, Achim muttered something in a tongue I didn’t recognise.

‘Enough,’ said Sidonius. ‘If Dieter has no hold over her, you can work a pledge. See to it this one will hold her.’

Achim lifted his hands from his lap, fingers splayed and palms cupped.

I stared at the space between them, mesmerised. Was that a glimpse of sun-scorched sand? Of rock sere beneath the sky? If so, it vanished in a blink. The fancies of a mind wracked by pain.

When Achim’s gaze met mine, I thought I could see that land in his eyes, like a reflection off the surface of onyx. A great wash of sunlight and the staggering power it brought, a power too great for tender, water-lush creatures to withstand. The inhabitants of Achim’s land were sparse and spare, water-starved muscle and tendon beneath stretched skin. Their bones knew the heat of day, the cold snap of night. The plants were thorny and rigid, the birds wheeling in the sky in a ceaseless hunt for death. Emet,