Bloodstone Part 20

"Burn me!" Vazh exclaimed.

Malaq repressed a wince. The king's eyes fluttered open, but the queen seemed mildly amused by Vazh's blasphemy.

"You can't predict everything that'll happen in a raid. Especially one of this scale. You'd know that if you'd spent one day fighting with the army instead of counting your bales of wool."

"I am quite aware of the exigencies of war. And I resent-"

"Stuavo. Khonsel. Peace." The two men subsided, still glaring at each other. "We understand the difficulties you face and are grateful for your dedication and loyalty in carrying out your responsibilities. Do you recommend more raids on the north at this time, Khonsel?"

"The s.h.i.+ps are needed to ferry troops and supplies to Carilia. They can bring the slaves we require for the Midsummer sacrifice on the return voyage." Vazh thrust up a hand up to forestall Besul's interruption. "If we need more, I'll organize a smaller raid on the Tree People as we approach Midsummer."

"Let it be done." The queen glanced at the king whose eyes had closed. "We thank the Khonsel and the Stuavo for attending. There are a few matters pertaining to The Shedding that we must review with the priests, but we will not bore you with those."

Vazh heaved an audible sigh of relief and winced as he pushed himself to his feet. The stubborn old fool insisted on sitting on a cus.h.i.+on, no matter how it aggravated his leg.

The queen held out her hands and both men bent low to kiss them. She clung to them a moment, murmuring something too soft to hear. Whatever she said made Vazh and Besul exchange a quick glance, looking as guilty as first-year Zhiisti who'd been caught raiding the kitchen for a snack. They nodded reluctantly and won a smile from the queen before she dismissed them.

The details of The Shedding were dispatched quickly; he and Eliaxa had overseen the rite enough times for it to become almost routine.

"Now. About this boy."

As always, the queen's network of spies was efficient. Malaq would have given much to have seen Xevhan's expression and gauge whether he was one of them, but short of leaning past Eliaxa, it was impossible.

"What boy?" the king asked.

"A captive from the north. He is supposed to possess . . . interesting powers. Would you like to see him?"

"I suppose. But then I want to lie down. I have a headache. That awful kankh." His voice was thin and fretful, preserving little of the sweetness that had been so admired after the last Shedding.

The queen nodded to her attendant who slipped out of the chamber. Malaq had been prepared for such a summons; he only hoped Kheridh was.

"Zheron, I believe you conducted the initial interrogation. While we wait for the guards to bring the boy, please enlighten us."

Xevhan's report was concise but accurate. When he finished, Malaq described the events in the adder pit and his subsequent conversation with Kheridh.

"'They were cold?' Those were his exact words?"

"Yes, Earth's Beloved."

"And the things he told you later. Do you believe them?"

"If he sought to curry favor, I doubt he would have told me that the adders were . . ."

"Miserable." Her fingers drummed on the arm of the throne. "Yet we have cared for them thus for generations and our people have prospered."

"I've instructed the Qepo to place additional braziers in the pit," Malaq said, "and to keep them burning at all times-save for the mornings when the adders are milked."

The queen held up her hand. Malaq glanced behind him and saw the boy hovering in the doorway, flanked by his two guards. His awed glance took in the sumptuous decorations before settling on the queen.

"Let him come forward."

Malaq rose and beckoned. Although he had personally supervised Kheridh's garbing-much to his discomfiture-he still found himself inspecting every detail of his dress; boys' clothes had a lamentable ability to fall into disarray within moments of donning them.

A lock of unruly hair had escaped the simple leather thong at the nape of his neck, but his khirta was in order. It had taken an inordinate amount of wrestling with the sheath of flaxcloth before Kheridh mastered the trick of drawing the fabric between his legs and allowing the folds of the short trousers to cascade over his hips. Knotting it at the waist proved so ineffective that Malaq had to resort to a leather girdle. His scabbed knees and hairless chest made him look even younger than his years, but there was no helping-or hiding-those.

Boys at the cusp of manhood were awkward creatures. Eventually, the G.o.ds would finish the task of putting them together, but in the meantime, there was something endearing about watching one try to cope with newly-long legs and a treacherous voice that cracked into a falsetto at inopportune moments.

Kheridh was watching him with a look of panic. Malaq realized he was frowning and quickly nodded.

He performed the ritual prostration correctly and remained motionless until the queen commanded him to rise. Malaq translated, adding a reminder to remain on his knees; a slave never stood in the presence of royalty.

"He doesn't look like the Son of Zhe," the king noted.

"Sky's Light, we don't know that he is," Malaq replied.

"Didn't he speak with the adders? Or something?"

"Yes, Jholin." The queen squeezed his hand. "Remember? They were cold."

"Oh. Yes. I think so."

"Tell us what else you know of him," the queen commanded.

Briefly, Malaq reviewed Kheridh's dream, leaving out any mention of the rape. He also related the incidents with the slaves he'd sent to Kheridh's room, ostensibly to reward him for his success in the adder pit.

When he concluded, the king leaned forward. "Perhaps he suffers some infirmity."

"Sky's Light?"

"That prevented him from lying with the slaves."

Trust the king to fasten on that. "The girl-and the guards-swore that he was . . . aroused. He showed no interest in the male slave."

His reaction had been somewhat more dramatic. One guard described his expression as "horrified," the other said "disgusted."

"It's very strange," the king mused. "Don't you think so, Jholianna?"

"A mystery." She turned her dark gaze on Kheridh whose head had remained appropriately bowed throughout their conversation. "What is your name, boy?"

His head jerked up as Malaq translated. "My name is Kheridh," he replied in Zherosi.

"He speaks our tongue?" the queen asked, clearly startled.

"I instructed him in a few sentences, Earth's Beloved."

"What else can he say?"

At his prompting, Kheridh said, "Earth's Beloved, this slave is unworthed to kneel at your foots."

"Unworthy," Malaq corrected. "Feet."

"Forgive me. Unworthy feet."

"He means-"

"Yes. I know." The queen extended her hands, then drew back, frowning, as the boy tensed.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it.

"Take the queen's hands," Malaq ordered, thanking the G.o.ds he'd insisted on filing down the ragged nails and soaping out the dirt acc.u.mulated under them.

"Your hands are very cold," the queen said, her voice a low caress.

The boy swallowed hard. "I'm scared," he whispered in the tribal tongue.

"Your presence fills him with awe, Earth's Beloved."

"Without the decoration, please."

"He said, 'I'm scared.' "

"As he should be. Don't translate that." She favored the boy with one of her dazzling smiles. Color flared on his pale cheeks. A nervous smile came and went.

"You are so beauty," he whispered in Zherosi.

Still smiling, the queen asked, "Was that one of the phrases you taught him?"

"No, Earth's Beloved." Bad enough that he had the temerity to construct an independent thought from the standard phrases he had learned; to address the queen without her permission could earn him a whipping.

"You are bold," she said.

"Forgive me, Earth's Beloved." Fear replaced the glazed look of adoration. "Please . . ." He fumbled with the words and dragged his gaze from the queen. "Would you tell her I meant no disrespect? I'm not . . . my people . . . our chiefs . . ."

"He asks your forgiveness again, Earth's Beloved, and a.s.sures you he meant no disrespect. His people are accustomed to less formality when addressing their chiefs."

"So you tell your chief that she is beautiful?"

Kheridh laughed, then quickly controlled himself. "Earth's Beloved, our chief is a man."

"A man cannot be beautiful?"

"To a woman, I suppose."

This time, she was the one to laugh. "You may go."

The boy prostrated himself again, then rose and backed out of the reception chamber. Malaq lowered himself onto his cus.h.i.+on with a small sigh of relief.

"So." The queen made a minute adjustment to one of the flounces on her skirt. "A red-haired virgin of-what? Fourteen?-who refuses congress with both male and female slaves. Who possesses the ability to speak with the adders. Who has the power to touch the spirits of others without the use of qiij. And who might-might-have used that ability to ride the spirit of a bird."

"Yes, Earth's Beloved."

"But is he the Son of Zhe?"

"Impossible!" Xevhan burst out. "The Son of Zhe would never come to earth in the body of a barbarian."

"What better way to test our faith?" Eliaxa asked. "Oh, my queen. If you could have seen him in the pit. When he shed."

"He's already admitted his father is a . . ." Xevhan fumbled for the t.i.tle.

"Memory-Keeper," Malaq supplied.

"He may not know his true parentage," Eliaxa said. "His mother may have kept it a secret to protect him. Perhaps she does not realize it herself."

"Not realize she was seduced by a winged serpent?" Xevhan scoffed. "I'd think few women would forget that."

"Perhaps great Zhe came to her in another guise," Eliaxa said.

"Perhaps," Xevhan conceded impatiently. "But this boy's powers are hardly unique. I'm told every priest in every village possesses them. Isn't that right, Malaq?"

"They claim to have the ability to touch the spirits of others," he said evenly. "But they spend years honing their gifts. For a boy so young to possess them is unusual."

Malaq took a deep breath. If the G.o.ds existed, he hoped they would guide him now. "Earth's Beloved. Does it matter whether or not he is the Son of Zhe? Of course, we will continue to test him, to observe. But meanwhile, we should learn more about his gift."

"A gift he calls an abomination," the queen said.

"He is afraid of it, true. But he longs to use it."

"The gift or the power it might bring him?"

"He knows the joy-and the fear-that comes of possessing it, but I doubt he perceives the power. Earth's Beloved, we have never seen such a boy before. Think of what we could learn from him. The ability to speak with the adders. To control the spirits of others-to touch them, cast them out, commune with them-without relying upon a drug that saps the body and breeds an insatiable hunger for more."

"I am well aware of the addictive powers of qiij."

"Of course, Earth's Beloved. Forgive me."

"I am also aware of the danger in allowing such knowledge to become widespread among the priesthood."

"Knowledge can be controlled. Just as the supply of qiij is now."

"He'll never cooperate," Xevhan insisted. "You said yourself he refused to allow you to touch his spirit."

"He won't cooperate if coerced," Malaq said. "But he's frightened. Far from home. Among people who perceive his power as a gift, not an abomination."

"The same people who captured him," the queen interjected. "Hardly an incentive to win his trust."

"Among his people, the use of his power makes him an outcast," Malaq said. "I believe we should encourage him. Win him over. Seduce him."

"Your attempts at seduction have proven less than successful."