第2章 KABIRA

There are few whom I have loved in my overlong life. Two of them I have betrayed. One I have killed. One has turned her back on me. And one has held my death in his hand. There is no beauty in my past. No goodness. Yet I am forcing myself to look back and recall Ohaddin, the palace, and all that came to pass therein.

There was no palace in Ohaddin, not to begin with. There was only my father's house.

Our family was wealthy; our ancestral estate was of long standing and comprised a spice plantation, several orchards and extensive fields of okahara, poppies and wheat. The house itself was beautifully situated in a sloping dip at the foot of a hill that gave shade in the worst of the summer's midday heat, and protection from the harshest of the winter's rainstorms. The ancient walls were of thick stone and clay, and from the roof terrace there spanned a far-ranging view over our grounds and those of our neighbors, all the estates and plantations, and the Sakanui River snaking down to the sea. In the east one could see the pillars of smoke rising from Areko, the capital city of the realm of Karenokoi. The city of the Sovereign Prince. On clear days one might glimpse the ocean like a silvery mirage on the southwest horizon.

I met Iskan at the spice market in my nineteenth year. As daughters of a wealthy family, it was certainly not the responsibility of my sisters, Agin and Lehan, and me to sell the estate's yields of cinnamon bark, etse and bao spice. This was undertaken by the overseer and his little pack of laborers, under the supervision of Father and our brother, Tihe. I recall the procession of carts laden with sacks of bark and bundles of bao and gleaming red heaps of etse pods. Father and Tihe rode up front on well-groomed horses. Each cart was flanked by two laborers, on foot, at either side of the horses' heads; both a sign of Father's status and as protection against thieves. Mother, my sisters and I traveled in a carriage at the back of the caravan, with a green silk baldachin over our heads as protection from the heat. The gold-embroidered fabric let through a pleasant glow of daylight, and we jostled along on the uneven path and talked. It was Lehan's first journey to the spice market and she was brimming with curiosity and questions. Halfway to the city, Mother produced steamed dumplings of sweet-spiced pork in soft dough, fresh dates and chilled water flavored with oranges. When the carriage drove over one of the larger of the path's potholes, Lehan spilled meat juice down her new yellow-silk coat and received a scolding from Agin. It was Agin who had embroidered the orange blossoms around the cuffs and neckline. But Mother only looked out over the okahara fields, now in bloom, and did not involve herself in the girls' quarrel. Suddenly she turned to me.

"I first met your father when the okahara was in bloom. He gave me a bunch of the white flowers on our second meeting, and I thought that he must be poor. Other young men gave the girls they were courting orchids and precious fabrics, or jewelry of silver and goldenstone. He told me that I reminded him of the silky-soft petals of an okahara flower. A shocking thing for a man to say to a maid!" Mother chuckled. I bit into a succulent date and smiled. Mother had recounted her first meeting with Father many times. It was one of our favorite stories. They had met by the stream where Mother would often go to fetch water, and which Father happened upon as he rode home from Areko, where he had purchased new farming tools. He was his father's only son and heir, but he did not reveal his name to Mother, nor she her own to him, until their third encounter.

"He had already captured my heart," Mother continued with a sigh. "I reconciled myself with the idea of binding my life to a man of modest means, and thought that perhaps it would be just as well to marry a poet. But then I got—"

The three of us joined in: "—both money and poetry!" Mother smacked my knee with the cover of our lunch pack.

"You disrespectful little cackling hens!" But she smiled, still in a daydream.

Perhaps it was the mood she inspired in me that made me notice Iskan as soon as we arrived at the gardens of the Sovereign Prince. At every spice market the Sovereign opened his gardens of unparalleled splendor to the wives and daughters of noble families. The men, their sons and laborers saw to the arduous physical work of auctioning off their batches of spices in the spice square near the port. Merchants came sailing from far and wide to buy of the renowned spice yields of Karenokoi, and paid a high levy to the Sovereign for the privilege. Our spices would fetch dizzying prices overseas, and the farther the merchants sailed, the more the spices sold for. They were the source of the land's prosperity, and of the Sovereign Prince's fortune.

When we came to Whisperers' Gate, the entrance to the Sovereign's gardens, we had to wait a short while for passengers from other carriages to disembark. Lehan leaned out of the carriage, curious to scrutinize the other women, but Agin pulled her back abruptly.

"That is not any way for a well-born girl to behave!"

Lehan sat back in the carriage with crossed arms and a furrowed brow, provoking an immediate response from Mother: "Scowls destroy beauty." It was something she had said throughout Lehan's life, for she was the beauty of the three of us. Her skin was always fresh as rose petals, even after spending all day out in the sun without a proper wide-brimmed straw hat for protection, or after crying herself sick, as she did if Mother and Father ever denied her something that she wanted. Her hair was thick, and black as coal, and framed her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes in a way that my flimsy hair never could. Agin had the hardest face of the three of us, and large hands and feet. Father sometimes joked that she was his second son. I know he meant no harm, but Agin took great offense. She was the good daughter, the one who looked after me—though I was her elder—and Lehan and Tihe. She was the one who performed offerings to the ancestors, even though that was my duty as eldest daughter. I would always forget, and then Agin would be the one to undertake the tiresome passage up the burial mound, and burn the incense and tobacco to appease the spirits of the ancestors. The only responsibility that I did not shirk was the spring. I made sure to keep it clean, to sweep around it and fish out dead leaves and insects with a net. Yet that was because my siblings knew nothing of the secrets of the spring.

I could already see a great deal from my seat in the carriage without leaning out as Lehan had done. Women and girls, dressed in costly jewel-colored silk coats, stepped down from the carriages, their heads heavy with hairpieces of silver chains and coins. Some handsome young men of the court, with well-kept beards and royal-blue shirts over loose white trousers, helped the ladies down, while little girls, presumably daughters of the Sovereign's concubines, hung flower garlands around their necks in greeting. One of the young men was a head taller than the others. From the silver stitching on his collar I deduced that he must hold a high position in court, close to the Sovereign himself. He wore his hair very short and his eyes were uncommonly dark. When our carriage rolled up to the gate, it was he who stepped forward and offered his hand to help Mother down. She gave a dignified nod and accepted flower garlands from the little girls, and the young man bowed to her before turning back to the carriage once more—to me. I offered my hand and he took it. His hand was dry and warm and perfectly soft. He smiled at me with plump red lips.

"Welcome, Kabira ak Malik-cho." He was well informed also, though it was not difficult to guess that the eldest daughter of the family would step out of the carriage directly after her mother, and from Mother's nine silver chains one could surmise that we were of the house of Cho. I stepped down with care, but did not return his smile. It would hardly be seemly. He still held my hand in his. "My name is Iskan ak Honta-che, at your service. There are refreshments provided by the pond. You must be warm after your long journey." I bowed, and he released my hand. He helped Agin down without a word, but when Lehan stepped out, I saw his gaze linger on her hair, her skin. Her eyes.

"Come, Lehan." I took her hand. "The pond is this way." I did not wish to be impolite, so I bowed to Iskan once more. "Che."

He continued to smile, as though he saw straight through me.

I pulled Agin and Lehan along with me. Lehan's eyes were drinking everything in. The beautifully dressed women. The garden paths dotted with crushed seashells. The flower beds of sweet-smelling blossoms with butterflies as big as your hand fluttering hither and thither between. There were many fountains trickling crystal-clear water, and the pendant branches of a parasol tree stretched out above us, offering shade. Mother followed us through the garden, nodding graciously at other harika ladies who were herding their daughters along the paths, and I mused that we too resembled butterflies in our brightly colored silk jackets.

Then the park opened up to reveal the palace, fronted by its huge pearl-like pond. Lehan stopped still, wide-eyed. "I never knew it was so big," she whispered, enraptured.

The royal palace was the largest building in Karenokoi, and it was impossible to conceive of anything more majestic. It was built on two stories and spanned the entire north section of the garden. Its red marble came from inland Karenokoi, which gave the building a color unlike any other in all the realm. The roof tiles were black, and the entrance to the palace from the garden was formed of wide, arched double doors of beautiful gold filigree. The palace housed the Sovereign Prince, his wives, his concubines and all his hundred children, as well as the royal court, which also comprised around a hundred persons. The palace was not at all visible from the city; and consequently few citizens had ever seen more than the roof.

The palace is still standing, or so I heard. Though, naturally, no longer in use.

Around the pond were several long tables dressed with gold-embroidered damask and covered with dishes overflowing with chilled fruits, pitchers of iced green tea, candied flowers and pastries glistening with honey. Lehan had eyes only for the palace and its magnificent grounds, and expressed no interest in eating, but Agin and I enjoyed sampling the many delicacies. Mother had found some acquaintances to talk to, and was sitting with them on a bench beneath a jacaranda tree while young girls fetched them refreshing beverages. Suddenly I saw a tall figure in white and blue approaching Lehan where she stood gazing up at the palace. It was Iskan, the man who had been so forthcoming at the entrance gate. He pointed something out to her and she giggled in delight. Mother frowned, and Agin and I sighed as one.

"I'll take care of this," I said and hastened over to Lehan.

"Look Kabira, that's the residence of the Lady Sovereign!" said Lehan as I reached her side. "Iskan resides in the palace. He meets with the Sovereign Prince almost every day!"

Iskan smiled at her exuberant expression. Did this man never stop smiling?

"Perhaps you will permit me to show you the palace? Unfortunately, the second floor is out of bounds to anyone other than the Sovereign Prince and his family, but there are many splendid chambers on the ground floor as well."

"Please Kabira, may we?" Lehan was practically jumping up and down with glee. I laid a calming hand on her shoulder and it seemed to remind her of befitting harika conduct. She stilled and lowered her gaze.

"That is most kind of you, che. But two unmarried young women …" I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. It was most unbecoming that I should need to remind him of the rules of propriety.

His big brown eyes opened wide and he looked quite appalled. "I should never dream of escorting you alone! My nurse will accompany us as chaperone, naturally."

Lehan peered up at me through her thick eyelashes. I pursed my lips and looked at Iskan, and saw a sort of mischief sparkle in his eyes. He was poking fun at me!

"Very well. Come along, Lehan."

I started hastily toward the steps leading up to the gilded doors, and Lehan squealed and scurried after. We waited a moment in the shade of the bloodsnail-red baldachin hanging above the doors, and Iskan soon joined us with an old woman, dressed in white, leaning on his arm. She nodded at us sternly, but Iskan did not present her. Instead he threw open the doors and showed us in with a grandiose gesture.

"As if the palace were his own," I whispered to Lehan, but she was already gaping at the entrance hall's marble floor and the stunning painted screens dressing every wall. The nurse sat down on a stool in a corner, trying to catch her breath, and Iskan smiled at me.

"As you can see, cho. Everything is most decent."

I scoffed, because I did not know how to respond. He walked over to Lehan, who had stopped before a screen that depicted a ship in front of a green island in the midst of a storm.

"This piece is by Master Liau ak Tiwe-chi."

Lehan's eyes grew wide. "That means it's over four hundred years old!"

"The Sovereign has much older treasures in his collections," said Iskan genially, and Lehan blushed. She rushed over to the next screen.

"Is she a devotee of fine art, your sister?" Iskan asked, appearing at my side. I was standing with arms crossed and my hands tucked into my sleeves. Mother would have shuddered to see me so, and I noticed the old nurse scowl.

"No, she is not. She simply likes anything that is pretty, golden or expensive." I softened. "Though our father has seen to it that all of his children receive an education in the classics."

"Let me see, your father is Malik ak Sangui-cho. And your estate lies in the northwest, toward the Halim mountains?"

I nodded to hide the fact that I was impressed. "Though not so far as the mountains. Several estates lie between." I glanced at the silver stitching on his collar. "What is your position at the court?"

"I am son, the right hand, of our esteemed Vizier, Honta ak Lien-che."

Walking along the screens of the southern wall, I stumbled and came to a sudden halt. The son of the Vizier! The man I had scolded and snubbed! I removed my hands from my sleeves and bowed low. "My lord. My apologies. I …"

He waved away my words. "I prefer not to reveal my parentage immediately. All the better to learn what people truly think of me." I looked up quickly and saw that sparkle in his eyes again. I pursed my lips.

"Better to learn who is silly enough not to realize at once who you are." I was displeased at him for having exposed me so. Yet he appeared to find the situation most amusing, and throughout the rest of our brief tour of the reception rooms and their artistic treasures he paid me at least as much attention as he did Lehan. He was an unfailing source of information on all the beautiful paintings, sculptures and ceremonial objects and furnishings that there were to see. Unlike my sister, I truly was fascinated by art history, and found myself listening with great interest, quite against my will. Iskan had a pleasant manner, though he was clearly poking fun at me. He spoke with ease and animation, and the only thing that irritated me somewhat was his tendency to do so with a certain sense of entitlement. But when he was facing me, and losing himself in the detailed description of a jade statue with its fascinating history of wartime plunder, he focused all of his attention on me. As though I were someone important. Someone he truly wanted to speak with. It was difficult to tear myself away from his dark eyes. When he finally led us back out into the light, he held open the golden door, and his bare hand brushed against mine.

It took a long time after that for my heartbeat to return to its normal pace.

We journeyed home at dusk. Tihe accompanied us, while Father would remain another day to finalize the last trade agreements. Tihe rode out in front together with some of the laborers in their carts, and two hired guards followed behind our carriage. We were as quiet on the homeward journey as we had been talkative on the outbound. Lehan was asleep with her head on Mother's lap before we had even left the city walls, while Agin and I were each wrapped up in our own silence. What she was thinking I do not know, perhaps about the rolls of silk cloth jostling along on one of the carts ahead. My head was filled with the classical paintings I had read about but never before seen with my own eyes, with thoughts of the great echoing halls and gilded ceilings, the throne room of Supreme Serenity and its three-hundred-year-old solemnity. But in every recollection was also the image of intense eyes and a flashing smile. I leaned back on a cushion and looked out into the darkness that had descended upon the district.

Iskan has not left my thoughts for a single day since.

Father came home the following day, laden with purses heavy with coins and full of stories from the spice square, of all the merchants he had met and talked to there, and of how happy he was with how business had fared. Later, when we were sitting in the courtyard, gathered around the supper Mother had laid out under the shade of a baldachin, Father licked oil from his fingers, leaned back against the cushions strewn on the ground and took a glug of wine from his bowl.

"And what about my little girls? Did you have an enjoyable day?"

I let Lehan blather on about the garden and the palace and the nice young man who had showed us around. I stayed quiet. Father watched Lehan closely as she spoke, and when she had finally exhausted the topic, he gazed down pensively into his bowl. "I met a young man before I left for home. He asked if he may visit my daughters with whom he had spent such a pleasant day in the palace."

I looked up at once. Father met my gaze.

"That is precisely what he said—my daughters. Did one of you take a liking to him?"

Lehan blushed and looked down. "Father, I …"

"It is quite clear that he is referring to Lehan," I said quietly. "He is only being polite."

"I cannot say that I understand it as polite," Father answered. "It is customary for a suitor to make it known which of the daughters of a household he is courting."

"I was mostly interested in the palace," admitted Lehan. "Though he certainly was pleasant."

"Lehan is still young, husband," Mother said, pouring more wine into Father's bowl. "Only fourteen years."

"What did you say to him?" I tried to sound as though the answer was of little consequence.

"That he is welcome." Mother gave him a sharp look, and he shrugged his shoulders. "He is the son of the Vizier. It is not my place to deny him anything."

"I believe," I said bitterly, "that Iskan is not accustomed to being denied anything. Ever."

I reached for a date to hide my reddened cheeks. Agin, ever keen-eyed, noticed, and I looked away. She turned to Father.

"I cannot wait to set my needle in that saffron-yellow raw silk, Father. Where did you say it came from?"

"Herak. There were many who envied the deal, daughter, you should know! But I have done business with the same tradesman for several years. He buys a great deal of our yield for a very favorable price. In exchange, I buy raw Heraki silk from him. It is most coveted and little goes to export. The Lady Sovereign herself probably does not have as much rare cloth to set her needle in as you do, Agin!"

Agin laughed. "As if the Lady Sovereign would do her own sewing, Father! You are too funny!"

I flashed her a secret grateful smile. Now everybody was talking about cloth and not about Iskan.

During the following weeks, there were two hearts that I studied especially closely: Lehan's and my own. Mine perplexed me entirely. I had met a young man who was irritating and self-important, and who had showed interest in my sister. So why did he recur in my thoughts? Why were my daydreams filled with his eyes and smile, and my night dreams filled with his hands and lips? I had never been in love before. Agin and I had giggled about some of the boys in the district, but only in fun. Like children making sand cakes as practice before baking real cakes with flour, honey and cinnamon.

However I tried to deny it, I eventually had to concede that I now had honey and cinnamon on my hands.

Lehan was harder to read. She did not speak of Iskan—but then neither did I. She mentioned our visit to the palace once, but spoke only of the jade throne and not of the man who had shown it to us.

I was quite convinced that her heart was still making sand cakes. Yet this afforded me no comfort. A man such as Iskan would have whatever he desired, and my sister was the most beautiful girl in the whole of the Renka district.

One evening during the hottest of the summer moons, he paid an entirely unexpected visit. Mother and Father welcomed him as an old friend, as if a visitation from the Vizier's son were a commonplace occurrence. The servants rushed back and forth carrying silver trays laden with dates, candied almonds, sweet rice cakes flavored with rose water, chilled tea and vinegar-soaked plums, prepared according to our grandmother's recipe.

I used to love those plums when I was a girl. Grandmother had taught me how to prepare them before she passed away. You must soak a ripening plum in vinegar and sugar with masses of spices. It is eaten during the hottest moons because, according to traditional wisdom, vinegar has a cooling effect on the body. We always had access to fresh spices: cinnamon bark direct from the tree and etse pods still moist with fruit pulp. When you eat the plum, the sharpness of the vinegar makes your eyes water, but the sweetness also tickles your tongue, and the spices caress your palate.

It has been a long time since I tasted a plum.

We daughters were not called into the shaderoom, where Father, Mother and Tihe entertained our guest. The shaderoom ran along the north side of the house, where the hill behind the house afforded a certain protection from the sun, and it was the coolest place to be during the worst of the summer heat. Lehan, Agin and I sat with our needlework and tried not to let our curiosity get the better of us. We could not hear what they were doing, but sometimes Father's hearty laughter resounded across the courtyard to where we were sitting. As darkness began to fall, Father summoned his musicians, and soon the crisp strings of the cinna and the mellow tones of the tilan floated out to us. I smiled down at my embroidery. Not all harika employed their own musicians. We were most worthy of entertaining even the Vizier's son.

The evening was already velvet black, and the air full of the coos of night doves and the violins of cicadas, when Father's most favored servant, Aikon, summoned us. We set our needlework down by the oil lamps and I straightened Lehan's collar. When we stood up, Agin smoothed down the stray hairs on my temple.

"I am glad you chose your sky-blue jacket, Kabira. It makes you look like a blossom."

I pushed Lehan in front of me. "What does it matter," I mumbled, grateful that the dim light veiled my blushes.

Mother, Father, Tihe and Iskan were seated around a low rosewood table in the shaderoom, encircled by flaming lamps. The windows and doors were open to let the cool evening breeze flow through the room, which smelled of lamp oil and food, though the table had been cleared and only a few bowls of iced tea remained. We daughters knelt down on a woolen mat, at a respectful distance.

"You have met my daughters, of course, my most honored guest." Father gestured at us each in turn. "Kabira, my eldest. Agin, my helper. And Lehan, my youngest."

I held my head down-bent but peeked up through my eyelashes. Iskan's gaze swept over us all, and lingered on Lehan. It came as no surprise, yet I had to swallow hard several times. Next to me Agin sighed, ever so quietly.

"Girls, the evening is late and our guest can no longer ride home to the capital. He is to stay with us tonight. Kabira."

I looked up. Father was scratching his beard. "Tihe and I have arranged a meeting with our neighbors in the north early tomorrow. Keep your mother company until our return as she gives Iskan-che a tour of the grounds."

"Yes, Father," I replied, and bowed. Iskan looked at me, and there was that irritating little smile again. I lifted my chin and brazenly met his gaze. I could never let him know of the effect he had on me.

Agin did not want to leave her needlework the following day. "I am the only one with nothing to gain from this meeting," she said mischievously. "You and Lehan are more than capable of entertaining our most lauded guest."

I could not think of a good response, so I scoffed and pulled Lehan along with me down the stairs. Mother and Iskan were already waiting in the courtyard in quiet conversation.

"My ladies." Iskan bowed elegantly as we approached and then straightened to reveal another of his characteristic smiles. That morning he was dressed in a deep-blue jacket and trousers of brilliant white silk. "I could barely sleep last night for excitement about our little excursion."

I immediately blushed and bit my cheeks hard. Could he read my mind? I had not been able to sleep at all. Just knowing that he was in the same house was enough to set my heart aflutter.

"My lord." I bowed, and Lehan did the same. We were both dressed in green garments that morning, hers as light as young grass, mine as deep as moss. I had shown extra care in fixing her hair that morning, as had Agin in fixing mine.

"I should be honored to present our modest grounds." Mother took the lead. We went out through the door in the low north wall of the courtyard. The ground was still moist with dew and the air fresh and fragrant. Iskan walked beside me, with Lehan a few steps behind.

We had a pleasant morning. Iskan was attentive and asked intelligent questions about the estate and everything Father grew, about the number of servants and laborers, and our ancestry and traditions. I had rarely seen Mother so animated and verbose—by Father's side she usually let him steer the conversation, and with her children she was full of warnings and sober advice. Yet now she was proving herself to be full of knowledge about flowers and the maintenance of the grounds. Iskan praised Mother's herb garden and her flower pots, which put her in very good humor, and when he promised to bring her plants from the Sovereign Prince's personal gardens, she hardly knew how to express her gratitude.

Iskan listened politely to everything Mother had to say. At times he asked me questions and kept me entertained with amusing side commentaries. His eyes lingered longest on Lehan. I realized that the same had been true in the palace. Lehan was only fourteen years old and did not have much to say. I was more interesting to talk to, but she was more beautiful, and my heart was aching, yet I was already growing accustomed to the ache. I was not the first girl to suffer so. One day my turn would come and a young man would visit our home for my sake, and perhaps he would not inspire in me scents of cinnamon and honey, but I could live with that.

When Father and Tihe returned, we girls were sent back to our diversions, and Iskan ate a light meal with the men before riding back to Areko. Tihe came looking for us and found us sitting in the courtyard practicing our calligraphy under the baldachin.

"A remarkable man, Iskan ak Honta-che," he said, and sat down by Agin's feet. He bumped into her arm, as if by accident, so that her brush stroke went askew. She sighed as he grinned.

"Did you know that he has already ridden into battle once? He accompanied the Sovereign Prince's eldest son when they quashed the Nernai uprising. It was Iskan's strategy that won the battle."

"I can imagine," I said sourly, and quickly set down my brush pen before Tihe could ruin my scroll as well. He loved to tease his sisters, yet always took our side against anyone else.

"What do you mean?" Tihe stretched his tall frame out on some cushions and looked up at the bright summer sky. He had grown at an incredible rate over the past year and was now taller than Father. He was over a year younger than me and at least as self-important as Iskan.

"I only mean that Iskan seems convinced that all success is his earning and all failure is the fault of another."

Agin laughed as Tihe threw a cushion at me, and I was glad to have set down my brush pen.

"Girls understand nothing," he said snidely. "Iskan has been schooled in leadership since he was a boy. He is his father's right hand, and there is nothing that happens in the palace that he does not know about, or have involvement in. He gets to be where the action is. Not forgotten on a dusty herb farm like me. Next time there is war, I want to be a part of it!"

"Do you really think Iskan has been in actual battle? He and the Sovereign's son were probably sitting in a tent far from the battlefield drinking wine and playing pochasi."

Agin gave me a look of concern. "You are certainly not singing his praises."

"Why should I? One egotistical young man is much like another, whether he be the son of the Vizier or the son of a spice merchant." I got up. "I am tired of writing. Can we not begin designing our new jackets? I want one made of the saffron silk."

As soon as we began talking about clothes and needlework, Tihe left us alone, and nobody mentioned Iskan again that day. Yet still his name rang in my ears. Every beat of my heart was singing it, again and again. Iskan. Iskan.

Iskan.

Iskan began to visit regularly after that, and his visits soon took on a familiar routine. He would ride over in the evening once he had fulfilled his day's duties at the palace and spend the evening with Father, Mother and Tihe. The next day, when Father and Tihe were busy with jobs on the plantation, it was up to Mother and us girls to entertain him. Sometimes we would walk through the gardens or adjacent spice plantations. If the heat was too intense, we sat indoors and Iskan would watch as we did our sewing or other appropriate tasks. The ache in my heart became a familiar and constant companion to these visits. I learned to live with it. Agin ceased her little taunts. Even she could see the way Iskan looked at our youngest sister. The only one who appeared not to notice or particularly care was Lehan herself. She enjoyed the attention, that was clear, but I think that she saw Iskan similarly to how she saw Tihe—with sisterly affection. And I think that despite his pride, or perhaps because of it, he was not satisfied with this. So he continued to visit us without taking the decisive step and asking for Lehan's hand.

"He is like a dithering tradesman who pinches at packets and sniffs at cinnamon bark but cannot resolve to make an offer," said Father one evening after Iskan had ridden back to the district capital. He liked Iskan and looked forward to his visits, but at the same time he was irritated that Iskan never spoke his mind.

We sat in the shaderoom and talked while moths of varying sizes danced around the oil lamps and singed their wings. Lehan blushed and went to refill the lamps on the other side of the room. She knew Father was talking about her and could never feel comfortable while others were discussing her future.

"You know how it usually turns out for those tradesmen," Mother replied, and cut a thread from her sewing. "They miss out on the best deals."

Father lit his pipe and took a pensive puff. "Right you are, Esiko. But so far there have been no other offers."

"No, but she is still young. I believe that many of our friends consider it inappropriate to allow their sons to court the youngest daughter with two older sisters still at home."

Agin and I exchanged glances. What could we say? Agin was only sixteen, so just old enough for marriage, whereas I was almost twenty, and Father had not yet received an offer for my hand.

"I suppose there is no hurry. It will give Lehan a chance to grow up a little. It is probably only the spice merchant in me that wants deals to be settled as quickly as possible."

Mother and Father asked Lehan many times what she thought of Iskan, but all they could get out of the girl was that she thought he was "pleasant." They did not want to marry her off against her will, but neither did she seem unwilling. So they let the matter rest. And I resolved that I must rid my heart of this folly.

Ten days later Iskan visited again, but this time he arrived to a near-empty house. Father and Tihe had traveled eastward to buy new bao plants after an entire crop had been destroyed by the harsh summer drought. The worst of the heat was over, and in another half-moon or so the autumn rains would come. It was the best time to renew the spice tree crop. Agin had gone to stay with our aunt to help her sew a bridal gown for her eldest daughter, our cousin Neika. She was to marry as soon as the autumn rains had passed. Lehan had contracted a bad summer cold and lay in bed, while all the maidservants of the household competed to pamper her with hot and cold drinks, compresses and home remedies. That evening Mother and I were sitting alone in the sunroom. Mother was embroidering a collar for Lehan (I could not help but think that it too resembled a bridal outfit), and I read out loud from the teachings of Haong ak Sishe-chu. He has always been my favorite of the nine master teachers, because he mixes philosophy with history. We had come to the third scroll when Aikon opened the door and showed Iskan in. I began to roll up the scroll, but Iskan gestured for me to stop.

"Please, do not let me disturb." He smiled. Mother bowed over her needlework and I hesitated, with the scroll in my hand. It sounded as if he were teasing me, as usual, but would he really do so with Mother nearby? He sat down on his usual cushion, crossed his legs and looked at me encouragingly. My heart was pounding wildly, but I just frowned, unrolled Haong and started reading again.

Iskan listened attentively throughout the whole third scroll and half of the fourth before inquiring as to the whereabouts of the rest of family, when I had stopped for a sip of iced tea. I let Mother answer. When she told him that Lehan was sick in bed, I studied his face carefully. He asked politely how she was feeling and if there was anything he might do, but I could not find any semblance of concern in his eyes or facial expression. My heart skipped a beat. Though a summer cold was naturally nothing to worry about.

Then Iskan turned to me. "So I suppose you and I will have to amuse ourselves alone tomorrow, Kabira-cho. What shall we do?"

I lowered my head and attempted to look busy rolling up the scrolls.

"You could show Iskan-che the spring, Kabira." Mother set down her needlework.

"A spring? I do not think you have mentioned one, cho."

I had never shown Iskan the spring. It was not oaki—forbidden—but it was sacred. All districts in the realm of Karenokoi were built around a sacred place: a mountain, river, lake or, as in the district of Renka, a spring.

"Our family are guardians of Anji, the sacred spring of Renka," I replied reluctantly. Just as I had expected, Iskan chuckled with amusement.

"I have heard of Anji. In my nurse's tales when I was a boy."

"The spring is absolutely real," I said indignantly.

"I do not doubt it." Iskan leaned back, visibly amused by my reaction. "Though few remain who would call it sacred."

"The old beliefs have disappeared in most of Karenokoi," Mother said. "But in many parts the traditions live on. My mother-in-law took great care to cherish and honor the spring, as my husband's family has always done. She taught my eldest daughter to uphold the tradition."

I squirmed. It did not feel proper that Mother should speak of this with an outsider, though neither the spring nor my role as its guardian were secret. However, the true wisdom Father's mother had imparted was something nobody knew but me. Hence why they could make light of Anji's significance. Mother especially had always thought that Grandmother was stuck in the past and was annoyed that she occupied so much of my time with her lessons and visits to the spring, especially at night. It was inappropriate. It was old superstition. Mother was a practical woman. She understood that which she could see and touch, and did not assign value to anything else.

She did not know that much of what she could see and touch in her own home, of her own wealth, was thanks to Anji. She did not know that the spring affected our harvests, our health and our fortune.

"I would consider it an honor to visit your sacred site," said Iskan, and bowed low to me. "Tomorrow, at dawn?"

He knew that I rose early in the mornings. I deliberated. The moon was waxing and it was only a few nights before full moon. Anji was good and strong. Why not? Perhaps I could teach this arrogant man a little humility. Make him swallow his haughty skepticism!

I slammed shut the lid to the box of scrolls.

"As you wish, che." I smiled sweetly at him, and when he raised his eyebrows, I realized that it was perhaps the first time he had seen me smile.

We met the next morning on the path leading to the spring. I brought with me the broom, a drinking bowl, a small clay pot filled with water and Aikon, Father's faithful servant, because I could not be unchaperoned with a man who was not my kin. Iskan gazed in the direction of Areko, which could be glimpsed in the early morning mist like a flickering mirage of shining roofs and smoking plumes. He was clearly restless. Wasting his time here with me, an old maid, when he could be back in the palace in the capital and … well, doing whatever it was he did there. Enchanting beautiful girls, shining the Sovereign's shoes. He never said exactly what his responsibilities were at the court, but he happily hinted that he was incredibly important and highly praised. I sailed straight past him.

"Follow me," I said as my only greeting. It was more than inexcusably discourteous, especially to such a high-ranking guest. Yet there was something about Iskan that always got my hackles up.

He hurried after me along the path that snaked up the hill behind our grounds. It was late summer now, and all the grass had dried. The hill was brown and dead, and dust covered our shoes as we walked. The autumn rains would come soon. I found myself hoping they did not come too soon. Not before I could teach Iskan a lesson.

We came to the point where the path curved to the left and continued up to the tomb on the crown of the hill. There I turned right, onto a barely discernible trail that led around the hill through the rustling dried grass. My shoes darkened with dew.

"So much haste, cho," panted Iskan. It occurred to me that he was not like the young men on the plantations, used to long rides and hard work. A palace lapdog, that was all he was, used to treats and caresses and no more. I knew that. So why did my heart still race at the sound of his voice so close behind me? Why did the thought of a morning alone with him send delight surging through me, as though I were flying on swallows' wings?

When we rounded the hill and had nearly reached the crevice, I turned around.

"Aikon, you wait here."

Aikon frowned his already wrinkled forehead, but said nothing. I gave him a reassuring smile. "We are only by the spring. I shall call for you if need be."

Iskan held out his hands. "Cho, I beg of you. You needn't fear anything in my company."

I pursed my lips and gave him a look. He smiled broadly. "This is a sacred site. A little respect, che."

He put on an appropriately humble expression and nodded. We walked the last part together in silence. The crevice is scarcely visible until you stand before it, and the spring makes no sound at all. The rift opens to a dark, narrow recess in the side of the hill, with its foot to the east. I continued toward its opening with Iskan, the Vizier's son, close on my heels.

When I was met by the cool air of the chamber inside and the smell of spring water, I felt a sense of calm run through me. All the vexation and the pounding of my heart drained away. No matter what Mother said, this was a sacred place—an ancient site for worship of the divine: the balance of nature. I could feel it every time I came to the spring, and I could not imagine how others did not perceive the same thing. I took a deep breath and let peace wash over me. Then I stepped inside.

Anji was deep inside the hollow chamber. The walls were bare rock and nothing grew in the gloom, nothing except the velvety moss, which was still green and healthy even after our long period of drought. The spring water formed a small mirror by the rock face, no larger than two silk shawls spread out to dry in the sun. It was framed by smooth white stones set around it by someone many generations ago. Some dead leaves had blown up onto the stones, and I swept them away carefully with the broom I had brought. A leaf was floating in the dark water, and I whispered the words that Father's mother had taught me before I picked it out. Nothing dead could taint the sacred water. As always, I was surprised by the coldness of the water on my fingertips. I leaned forward and saw my own face reflected in its untroubled surface. Sometimes other things could be seen in the spring. Things to come. Events from the past.

A face appeared next to mine and gave me a start. For a moment I had completely forgotten Iskan's presence.

"Very pretty. And I truly appreciate the coolness."

I stood bolt upright. My cheeks flushed hot.

"Anji has more than just cooling powers." I took the clay pot and showed him. "This is ordinary water from a normal estate well." I removed the stopper and took a sip. "No poison, see?"

Iskan raised his eyebrows in amusement but said nothing. I bowed down, whispered thanks to Anji and filled the bowl with her icy water. Then I walked to the mouth of the chamber. I looked down at the two thistles growing by the entrance, quite dry and dead. I held up the bowl so that Iskan could see what I was doing, and then poured the spring water over the one to the west, slowly and carefully so the dry ground had time to swallow every drop. Then I poured water from the clay pot over the eastern plant in the same way. Iskan stood leaning against the rock wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"There. Meet me here three nights from now, at the full moon." I pushed the stopper firmly back in the clay pot, turned on my heel and rounded the hill before Iskan had to time to react. Aikon was waiting for me by the bend with a grim expression. My hands were sweaty and I felt as though I could barely breathe. What had I just done? I stumbled on a stone and Aikon had to catch me to keep me from falling. I had invited a man—a man my parents saw as suitor to my own sister—to meet me at night. Alone. For I knew I would have no chaperone. I knew I would meet Iskan alone, and my cheeks blazed with shame. Yet I was not sorry.

During the three days that followed, I was an exemplary sister and daughter. I took care of Lehan, whose fever had lessened but who was still exhausted and weak. I helped Mother with all of her errands. I made offerings to the spirits of the ancestors up on the burial mound. I waited on Father and Tihe when they arrived home, weary from their long journey and troubled over the rise in the price of bao plants. All to avoid thinking about what I had done. What I was intending to do.

The night of the full moon was cloudless and bright. I sat in my bedchamber and waited until the whole household had fallen into a deep sleep. Midnight had long passed before I dared sneak out.

Unknown birds were singing in the surrounding bushes as I walked the familiar path around the foot of the hill. The colors, smells, sounds—everything was different. I, too, was changed by the night. I had become someone else. A woman who sneaks out to meet the man she loves, with no regard for propriety, family, consequence. My shame, my reservations, I left them all behind. In that moment I was free. Freer than I have ever been since. I often dream about that walk to the hill. In my dreams it is never-ending. Sometimes I am floating above the ground. The shadows are blue, the moon enormous and the air cool against my skin. It smells of dew and soil and etse. Everything in the dream feels real, razor sharp. Freedom and joy swell through me as though my heart might burst.

The dream always ends in the same way. My dream-self becomes aware of something approaching. Something large and black that eclipses the moon and stars. Something about to devour everything. I try to scream. Then I wake up, in my own bed, with the night sky on the other side of the window. My heart pounds and I know it is too late.

Too late to scream.

Iskan was there waiting for me when I arrived. He was sitting with his back to the dark mouth of the chamber. Next to him were the silhouettes of the two dead thistles. The eastern one, which I had watered with ordinary well water, looked the same as it had three days previously. The western one, however, to which I had given Anji's water, had a new shoot at its root, the length of a hand.

"It might be a coincidence," came Iskan's voice from the shadows. "You might have come here and watered it every day since we saw each other last."

Yet I heard doubt in his voice. I came to sit down on the ground next to him. I could not see his facial expression in the dark.

"Anji can bestow life and wealth, if you drink of her water at the right time. And she can bring death and destruction if you drink at the wrong time. The power of the spring is primeval. My father's mother said that all the sacred sites of the different districts had powers once, but that many have been depleted by human greed, or simply forgotten." As I turned to face Iskan the silver chains jangled in my hair. "The spring is the source of our ancestral wealth. It has been used, guarded and cared for by the eldest daughter for many generations."

My father's mother would not have approved of me discussing Anji's secrets with an outsider in this way. But the night and the moonlight had swept away all my reservations and I felt not a tinge of a bad conscience. I was sitting beside Iskan—he and I alone—and I was prepared to say anything to make him believe me. To make him see me.

"So no one but you knows about this?" His voice was full of disbelief. Mocking.

I took his hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if I had a right to touch him so. His hand was warm and soft in mine.

"Come," I said, and pulled him to his feet. I led him inside the crevice, his hand in mine all the while. My heart was pounding in my throat and my mouth was dry, but my head was clear and my thoughts darted like fish in water. It was dark in the chamber but my feet felt out the way and I led Iskan directly to the spring. She was shining like silver in the moonlight.

"Look down in the water," I whispered. "What do you see?"

He leaned forward, callous, disinterested.

"I see myself. And the moon. It's shining. It …"

He stopped. Quieted. The disinterest disappeared and his entire body tensed, as though on guard. I did not look into the water. I looked at him.

I was still holding his hand.

Suddenly he turned to me, pulled me close.

"What is this?" His voice was a whisper, a hiss. "What is this I am seeing?"

"Anji shows what has been or what will be. Sometimes she shows your greatest wish."

He stood stock-still. His hands gripped my upper arms so hard it hurt. "Why do you not look yourself?"

"I already know what has happened. I know how my future looks. And I know what I wish for."

The last part I said very quietly. I could hardly believe the words had come out of my mouth. Iskan's face was right before mine now. His eyes were big and dark in his moonlit face. I had never been so close to him before. He smelled of expensive things: the almond oil in his hair, the incense of the palace, the horse that he had ridden to Ohaddin.

A shudder ran through his body. A change—I felt it in his hands, in the grip on my arms. The hardness and tension melted away and he smiled, slow and gentle.

"You do know why I have been coming here all summer, do you not, Kabira?" He leaned forward, and I could feel his breath on my skin. It was sweet with wine. "For you."

Then he kissed me, and it tasted of honey and cinnamon.

From that night on I was a lost cause. A fire blazed inside me, a fire of madness and abandon. There was nothing I would not do to be close to Iskan. Nothing I did not do. I did things I had heard that other girls did for love, forbidden things, things I used to look down on. Now I was the one sneaking out at night to meet my lover in secret. Iskan continued to visit our family just as before, but whenever he spent the night in one of the guest chambers, we always met by the spring. Sometimes he came only at night, just to see me. We would sit by the spring and talk. I asked him about his life in the palace and he was happy to explain. Yet he was not the type of man to speak only of himself. Sooner or later he always led the conversation back to me, and I told him everything I knew about that which most piqued his curiosity: the spring and its powers. I passed on everything that my father's mother had taught me, as well as that which I had discovered myself through experience and intuition. That under the waxing moon the spring water is good and bestows strength, power and vitality, but under the waning moon the water is dangerous, filled with corruption, pestilence and death. Though Anji has greater resources than these alone. For my kin, for generations past, the spring was above all a source of knowledge.

"My mother does not believe in the power of Anji, but my father knows," I told Iskan one night. The autumn rains had begun but it did not rain that night. Swaths of cloud rushed past a waning moon and we had taken shelter from the winds inside the chamber. Iskan had spread a blanket on the wet ground, but the damp seeped through and I was shivering. "We never speak of it directly, but he trusts my advice. I warn him about the coming droughts, floods and pests. I visit Anji and then tell him when to sow and when to harvest. He spreads the word to our neighbors. The wise ones have learned to take heed, then their plantations thrive and their yields grow at the same rate as ours."

"But were you not struck by drought this summer?" Iskan asked. He had taken a lamp with him several meetings ago and hidden it in the chamber between our reunions. Its warm shine illuminated his right cheekbone and almond-shaped eyes. I could barely look at him, he was so beautiful.

"Yes, and Anji foretold it. But what can be done against drought if the channels run dry? Father made preparations to ensure he had enough silver to replace the plants that died."

"How do you see these things? Are they clear images that depict the future?"

I shook my head. "More like feelings that flash through me, pictures in my head and reflections in the water, everything together. They are not always easy to interpret, even for me after years of practice. Sometimes she tells of things that have already happened."

"What use is that?" Iskan stretched out on his back on the blanket, his hands behind his head. The cold and damp did not seem to bother him at all.

"Anji is not for using. The spring is the primordial life force, unfettered and free. What we mortals do with it is up to us."

"Of course, you are not obliged to warn your neighbors," said Iskan slowly. "Your estate could soon be the mightiest in the Renka district."

"Anji forbid!" I drew the sign of the circle on my heart with my fingers. "That would be misuse of the balance. Who knows how it might affect us—or affect Anji herself."

"I might have known you were far too honest for that," said Iskan.

I sat up straight. He glanced at me and saw that I had taken offense. Without a word, he stretched his arm out and pulled me close. His lips fueled the fire that burned in my body and I forgot all about the cold and damp.

The spring became even more significant to me than before. Now it was our place. I would often visit in the daytime as well, to clean away dead leaves and weeds, to refill the oil lamp, and to sit and daydream about Iskan. He did not come to visit the family as often as he had, and my father's irritation was escalating. He had still not made it clear to Father that I was his reason for coming; rather he continued to be amiable and attentive toward all three daughters. Yet he came more often at night, several times per moon. Each time we met he told me when to expect him the next time.

Therefore, I was very surprised when one afternoon I found footprints in the mud around the spring. I had not seen Iskan in five days—had he been here? Had he been waiting for me? Had I misunderstood what he had said? Or was somebody else visiting the spring? I checked the oil in the lamp and found it full, as it had been when I had filled it a few days before. Perhaps not Iskan then, but somebody else.

I could barely sleep the following night, and I got up several times to gaze in the direction of Anji's chamber even though it was not visible from the house. What if he had been waiting at the spring and became angry with me? What if he never came back? My racing mind would give me no peace. When finally the night came that Iskan was expected to arrive, I was hot as though from fever. I dressed myself with trembling hands in the most beautiful jacket I owned, lined my eyes with kohl and fragranced my hair with jasmine-perfumed oil. I did not dare wear my hair chains; their jingling might give me away. I crept barefoot out into the courtyard and waited until I had carefully closed the outer door behind me before putting on my shoes. The whole way up to Anji's chamber I walked as though on needles. My heart sank—there was nobody waiting outside. I groped my way through the dark opening, my feet refusing to find the path by themselves as they usually did. I heard nothing but the beating of my own heart.

Someone was standing bent over the spring. I recognized the broad back and dark hair. I let out a sob, such was my relief, and Iskan turned around.

"It is a full moon tonight," he said. And then: "What is the matter?"

"I thought you had been here," I answered, trying to steady my voice. "I saw tracks around the spring. I was afraid I was mistaken about which night we were meeting."

"No, I have not been here," he answered mildly. "Come, I have brought spiced cakes, prepared by the Sovereign's own master chef."

He walked over to the blanket that he had already spread out in the usual spot, and lit the lamp. In its gentle glow I saw a silver dish of brown cakes, two bowls and a jug of wine. My heart leaped. He had been waiting for me.

We sat and talked as usual, and he told me of his travels with the Sovereign, and his father the Vizier, to the district of Amdurabi, east of Renka, where the district governor had ordered a great celebration with fireworks in honor of the Sovereign Prince. I drank in every word. Iskan was here once more—with me. Those nights we spent together were like secret jewels I carried with me that no one else could see.

"Speaking of Amdurabi," said Iskan, feeding me another cake, "has the spring shown you happenings in other districts?"

I brushed some crumbs from my lips and swallowed. "No. Anji is the spring of Renka. Her life force is drawn from this soil and these hills. What happens far away is others' concern. In Amdurabi I believe their sacred site is the Mountain of Haran."

"Is that why Anji shows you the future of your family specifically?"

"I do not know. I believe the closer something is, the clearer it can be perceived in Anji's water. But I see what concerns me and mine. You have looked in the spring under the full moon yourself, and you probably saw something entirely different."

Iskan had never wanted to tell me what he had seen in the water. He nodded pensively. "I cannot interpret the visions as well as you. Everything is so disparate and unclear. But I shall practice."

He jumped up and pulled me to my feet. "Come!" He upturned the two bowls and poured out the last drops of wine. "Let us toast with the water of the full moon!"

He filled the bowls with Anji's water and handed one to me. Then he raised his to the heavens and the night. "To us, to the future!"

I lifted my bowl and drank of the cold water, and thought about Iskan and me and the future, and my whole body was singing with joy.

With those little words Iskan gave me hope that he would soon ask my father for my hand. Yet the winter came, bringing cold, dry winds from the northwest, and Iskan's visits to our family grew ever more seldom. We continued to meet at the spring, but also less and less frequently. Iskan excused himself, saying that his father could not afford to spare him too often.

"I am indispensable to my father and his office," he said one night, when we were sitting huddled under a blanket, my teeth chattering from cold. "He cannot manage without me, he says so every day. Father is old and can no longer handle all the intrigues of court as I can. And it is of utmost importance that the Vizier be aware of all happenings at the court of his master. In many ways, I am the most essential person to the Sovereign. More important than those puny sons of his, that is for sure." He scoffed. "You know, the Sovereign gave them new horses—all seven of them. Truly fine horses they are, from Elian in the West. He lavishes gifts on those incompetent oafs, though it is only I who am of any use to him!"

"You were given a new sword last autumn by the Sovereign himself," I reminded him cautiously. "How many can say that they have received the like? He considers you his right hand, as indispensable as his own sword."

Iskan chewed on the inside of his cheek. The storm cloud passed and his face gradually lightened. "Yes, of course. He would be a fool not to realize it."

I swallowed. The Sovereign Prince was sacred. It felt dangerous to speak of him in this way. Like blasphemy. Yet Iskan did so often, and I thought that he must speak very differently at the royal court from when he was with normal citizens.

"But Kabira, you must understand that this means I cannot return for a while now. Perhaps until springtime, when it is warmer." He pulled the blanket tighter around us. "It is so cold that I can never fully warm up again until the following day once I have returned to the palace." He gave me a kiss on the forehead and stood up. "Come, let us toast to springtime and milder winds."

He led me to Anji. He always wanted to drink from her when the moon was new. The water was so cold that it hurt to swallow it. Iskan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I can feel it endow me with strength—in both body and mind." He took out a clay pot and filled it with spring water. "So I can manage until we see each other again. I will send word, Kabira." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. "Until spring, my little bird."

I stood at the mouth of the chamber and watched him disappear down the hillside, toward the grove where he usually left his horse. The wind was biting at my cheeks but I barely felt it. My heart was even colder.

It was a long and tiresome winter. Gone were my usual high spirits, and nothing brought me joy. The only one who understood the cause of my change was Agin. I often caught her observing me with thoughtfully furrowed brow, which made me even more bad-tempered and off-kilter, so I shrank away from both sisters and spent a great deal of time alone. Mother was concerned. She thought I was bored from the lack of activity in winter. Her solution was to drag me to various neighbors and relatives. I suspect she also believed that what I needed was a husband, but the young men who were hustled into my path were nothing compared to my Iskan. They did not conduct themselves with such dignity. They did not tell such interesting anecdotes as Iskan's from the royal court. Their lips were not as red. Their laughter not as infectious. They did not look at me with the same dark eyes. And they did not make my skin smolder the way Iskan could with his very presence. I am afraid that I met all the polite, honest youths of our district with disdain and disinterest. What could they offer me that the Vizier's son could not offer tenfold?

I would be ashamed now to think of how I behaved, if I were still capable of shame. My reputation was tarnished, and when Mother surrendered and stopped dragging me to all the families of her acquaintance, not a mother remained who would see her son married to the haughty daughter of Malik-cho.

The only thing I did of my own volition was visit the spring, which I did daily, and often several times a day. I kept the surrounding ground free from a single leaf or blade of grass. I adorned Anji with beautiful white stones. I would often sit at the spring's edge in a winter jacket and layered shawls, gazing into the clear water and thinking of Iskan, reliving each encounter we had had there. Sometimes, when I thought about his kisses, I saw in my reflection that my cheeks blazed red. He had kissed me. He had called me his own. He had promised to return.

The spring was altered. Anji and I had always shared a special relationship. Mother would have laughed at me if she had known that I thought so, but it was true. Father's mother found it much more difficult than I ever did to understand Anji and interpret her revelations. Yet now it seemed the spring had turned from me. When I sat at her edge, I could not find that affinity. She was no longer interested in me. Resting with my hand in the ice-cold water, I tried to understand, but Anji did not respond. It felt like both Iskan and Anji had forsaken me, and it broke my heart. I could not endure losing them both.

On the next full moon, I was prepared. I needed to stare into the water to try to understand why Anji had turned from me. Perhaps she could show me Iskan, when he intended to return, what our future held. The worst of the winter winds had settled and a little warmth was returning. Spring would soon come. He had promised to send word by then.

I sat fully clothed on my bed and waited until the household was asleep, just like all the nights I had walked up the hill to Iskan. Yet now it was Anji who filled my thoughts. The full moon hung large and white above my head as I followed the path around the hill, and each blade of grass had a sharp moon shadow. When I approached the chamber, the air was dense with the life force emanating from Anji. She was awake, she was strong! I hurried the last steps, rushed breathless into the chamber to meet her—and stopped dead. Someone was standing in front of the water. I must have emitted a sound, because the person turned around and raised an object that flashed in the moonlight. A sword.

"Who goes?"

I nearly fell to the ground with joy and relief. It was Iskan.

"It is I—Kabira," I said. "You have returned, che!"

He came to me, the sword still in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" He leaned over me, his face in darkness, his voice hard. "Answer me!"

"I came to visit Anji." I outstretched an imploring hand. "Please Iskan, why are you angry?"

"Were you coming to meet another man? Are you going behind my back?" He grabbed my wrist and twisted it.

"No!" I swallowed. I tried to remember how I used to talk to him when he acted this way. "What other man could possibly compare to you, Iskan ak Honta-che, son of the Vizier, the Sovereign's most brilliant jewel? For me there is no other."

He let go and stepped back. The moonbeams played on the sword's edge.

"Have you missed me? Have you thought about me?"

"Every day, che! Every moment! You have kept me waiting so long!"

"I have thought about you also, Kabira. Often, in the lonely nights at the palace." He threw his sword to the ground and stepped toward me. "Are you mine, Kabira? Mine alone?"

"Yes, Iskan, now and forever, I am yours alone."

He leaned into me, his mouth by my ear. "Can you prove it to me? Now, my Kabira?"

I nodded, knowing he could feel the movement against his chest.

"Answer me, Kabira. Say that you want me."

"I want you, Iskan. Please."

I had thought about it many times, when we kissed, when he held me close, when he touched me. However, I had been entirely unprepared for the desire that his hands had roused in my body. My mother had never taught me about such things. I had felt desire in my body that was stronger than reason. I had wanted him. I had wanted him for a long time. Though not here. Not like this. Yet I was afraid. Afraid of his erratic anger, his volatility.

"Then you shall have what you want," he whispered, and kissed my neck. "I shall give it to you. Now."

So Iskan ak Honta-che took my virginity inside Anji's chamber, on the bare ground, and it was not how I had dreamed it would be, but I held on to his shoulders and thought that this meant that he was mine, truly mine. He wanted me. The son of the Vizier who could have anybody he wanted, and he wanted me, Kabira.

It was only later, back in my bedchamber, picking flecks of dirt from my trousers in the handbasin, that I realized I never had asked Iskan what he was doing there at the spring under the full moon. Or what he had seen in Anji's water.

We continued seeing each other, but Iskan no longer visited the house. He met me only at Anji, at night. I suspected that he came alone some nights, like the night I surprised him under the full moon. However, I dared not verify my suspicions, and neither did I ask. I did not want to provoke that cold anger again. That side of Iskan frightened me, so I did everything within my power to keep him in good humor. Asked him about life in the palace. Praised him for the services he had rendered his father or the Sovereign. Took pity on him when he felt he had been unfairly treated, which was often. Iskan saw injustice and insult in almost every deed. Now that we were lovers he revealed more of this side to me. He let his cool composure slip sometimes and exposed his uncertainty, which I took as a sign of his love for me. He was prepared to let me see inside him, and I harbored every confidence in my heart like treasure.

Iskan was inordinately jealous of nearly every member of the royal court, despite the fact that he personally held one of the most prestigious positions. Yet this position was principally due to his lineage, and this weighed on him; he wanted a role in his own right.

"There is no one at court with a mind as sharp as mine! They go through life as blind as moles in the earth." Iskan was sitting at Anji's edge and drawing patterns in the water with his fingertips. He seemed to be speaking to the water at least as much as to me. "The Sovereign ought to see it! Yet he is equally blind. He gives his sons all the best appointments. They are mollycoddled layabouts. The eldest, Orlan, cares only for hunting. The others attend parties, take endless amounts of concubines, and are weak and indolent. A man must never let his desires weaken his body or spirit. He should never take so many concubines that they divert his attention from what is truly important." He raised his hand and let the water drip from his fingertips into the spring again, his eyes following every drop, like a lover looking upon his beloved.

"Your time shall come," I said, to remind him of my presence. I sat by his feet with my gaze fixed on his face. "I know it."

"Yes." He smiled, still facing Anji. "I have knowledge they lack, do I not?" His voice softened. "And I am learning more all the time. I am not impatient. I can bide my time, until the moment is right. And when it is, you will tell me, won't you?"

"Does she tell you much?" I asked in a small voice. Perhaps Iskan would soon be able to interpret Anji's revelations as well as I. He would not need me.

"She shows some things," he said slowly, with something like affection. "Not everything I want to know. But she sets me on the right path. Soon I shall learn how to coax it all out of her." He shook the last drops of water from his hand and turned to me, as if awoken from a dream.

"Kabira." He rose to his feet and detached his sword. Pulled on the tie of his trousers. "Now it is your turn."

He took me every time we met. First he drank from Anji, or played with her water, or simply stared into it. I was not to disturb him. When he was ready, it was my turn. It improved after the first time. He kissed me, and caressed me, and sometimes he managed to spark fire and desire in my body. And I wanted him—inside me. In those moments Iskan was mine alone. He was totally and utterly with me, and I competed with no one, not even Anji.

By and by there came to pass that which I had both feared and hoped for. At the peak of spring my bleedings ceased. I was with child. I did not know how to deliver the news to Iskan. I feared he would be angry, though at least then he would have no choice but to finally speak to my father. To ask for my hand. Then we could stop meeting like this, in secret, concealed by night and darkness.

Iskan was in good humor that night. He had brought a thick blanket for us to sit on, and cushions, and rice cakes and sweetened wine. We sat outside the crevice and ate and talked quietly. Iskan talked, and I listened. The Sovereign had praised Iskan's counsel regarding courtiers who had been exposed for taking extra fees from foreign merchants in exchange for better sites at the spice market. All tariffs on spice trade were owed to the Sovereign Prince alone.

"I told the Sovereign that he must make a cautionary example of them. So that nobody would follow in their footsteps. Everyone must show respect for our master, the forefather of all forefathers. The Sovereign prefers not to carry out such dirty work himself, so he delegated it to my father, who passed the task to me. I had them castrated, and all their children, wives and grandchildren slain. Their lineage dies with them, and there shall be no one to honor their spirits when they are dead. They have to live out the rest of their piteous lives in that knowledge." He shook his head when he saw my expression. "Needs must, Kabira. My appointment is to protect the Sovereign Prince, come what may."

I wanted to say that they could have been simply stripped of their property and exiled. Yet I dared not displease Iskan. Not when I had such important news to tell him.

"Iskan-che." My voice must have given me away, because he leaned forward and stroked my cheek.

"There, there, what is it, my little bird?"

"I am with child."

Iskan leaned back on his elbows and studied me. I held my breath, awaiting the explosion.

He smiled. "I have been hoping for this."

I did not know how to respond. My heart leaped with joy, and, for the first time in a long time, I tasted a hint of cinnamon and honey on my lips again. He loved me! He wanted me, and the child I carried! Our child.

He jumped up brusquely and pulled me to my feet. "Come!"

I followed him through the opening into the chamber. Into Anji. She lay dark and quiet in the faint light from the waning moon. Iskan bent down and picked up the bowl he kept at the edge of the spring. He filled it with water.

"Drink!"

"But the moon is waning! Anji's water is bad, oaki!"

"Precisely." He smiled and his teeth gleamed white in the scant light. "Now I can test something I have long wondered about. Drink!"

I could not move. I stood frozen in place and stared at the bowl in Iskan's hand. He made a sound of impatience and took hold of the back of my head in one of his large hands. He pulled back my head and pressed the bowl to my lips. Liquid spilled against my teeth, seeped into my mouth, ran down my throat. I gave up. I gave in. I drank.

I had never tasted Anji's dark water before. It felt cool and soothing in my mouth and throat. Perhaps it was not so dangerous. I had only my grandmother's word for proof that it was filled with death and destruction. I swallowed. Iskan scrutinized me intensely.

"Do you feel anything?"

I slowly shook my head. There was a pulsing, a strange murmur, in my ears. Like blood flowing through my veins, but louder and more forceful. A rush, of a river, of a waterfall. Anji was inside me. I had drunk her water my whole life, her strength was in my body. It mixed with my blood and was a part of me—it was who I was. The figure of Iskan seemed to ripple in the darkness. I saw Iskan as he was standing there, but also all the possible Iskans to come, and those already passed. I saw him as an old man. I saw his death. If I wanted, I could touch it. Move it. Draw it closer. Draw it here.

I stretched out my hand. It was trembling. Iskan was watching; he did not look away from my face for one moment. I brushed my fingers against his death, gently, cautiously. Like playing the cinna. He took a sharp breath.

I let my hand drop and looked him straight in the eye. He knew, right at that moment he knew the power I had over him and what I could have done. He knew what I had refrained from doing.

"I am going home now," I said, and he was taken aback by the force in my voice. I turned around and left.

Over the course of the next three days the child was lost. I remember little from that time. Fever raged through my body and burned away the last remnants of my love for Iskan. I remember blood, vast amounts of blood. I remember the anguished faces of Mother and Agin. I remember whispering voices, chilled water with mint and petals of burnet bloodwort, I remember warm goldenroot compresses, I remember rushing steps.

On the fourth day the fever subsided. I lay in my bed, surrounded by clean new bolsters. Agin sat at my feet looking down at her hands.

"I thought you were going to die. What have you done?"

I turned my face away. "Does Mother know?"

"She has given birth to four children. What do you think?" Agin's voice was hard.

"Do you hate me?" I could not look at her.

She sighed. "No, dear sister. But I am angry with you. Why did you not say anything? You should never have done this to yourself! You should have spoken to Father. He could have forced him to marry you." Yet I could hear in her voice that she did not believe her own words.

"Nobody can force this man. He will never marry me. Ever. I know that now. I am free from him. I will never see him again, I swear."

She stroked my bedcover. "I am glad to hear you say that. He was here."

I felt all the air contract from my lungs. I could not breathe.

"He had the gall to visit Father and Mother, as before. He was very concerned for your well-being. He asked questions. Wanted to know all sorts of things. Father suspects nothing, so he and Tihe welcomed him as an honored guest. Mother did not want to stay longer than necessary, so I had to wait on them. He looked at me …" She shuddered. "I had never noticed it before. It was as though he saw straight through me. As though he could affect things with his gaze alone." She shook her head. "I am glad that you are rid of him now. No good could come from it. I saw it, right from the start."

All of a sudden she rose to her feet and came to the head of the bed, bent down and embraced me. I do not know if she had done that since we were little girls and shared a bed. Then, we would often lie with our arms around each other to protect one another from the terrors of the dark. Now she pressed her lips to my hair, which was thick with sweat and dirt.

"Life goes on, you shall see. It will take a while, but one day you will be happy again."

When she got up to leave, I looked at her. "I did not do this to myself." I made a gesture to indicate my body, the bed, everything that had passed. "It was him."

Agin shuddered again. "Then you are well rid of him."

I watched her leave the room. I felt grief, but also relief. I had escaped. I was free.

Or so I thought.

The next day I awoke with a murmur in my body. The house was quiet, though the sun was already high in the sky. Spring had almost passed into summer, and I could feel the warmth of the day through the drawn window curtains.

I sat up; my body felt frail and it was difficult to gather the strength to get out of bed. Eventually I stood up, leaning against the wall. The murmur inside me was almost deafening, and I did not know whether it was the house that was deathly silent or I who could not hear. Everything rippled and trembled, as if I could still see into the past and potential futures. The walls did not seem solid. I saw second walls behind them, walls belonging to another house, one much larger and grander than ours. Along those other walls there were people moving about in expensive clothes, their translucent forms gliding soundlessly past in a flash of bloodsnail-red, gold and deepest blue. They were all women. When I reached out to touch a young woman with raven-black hair pinned up with two combs, my fingers passed straight through her arm. For a moment I thought she looked right at me. Then she, and all the others, were gone. The house around me was mine again. I could not breathe evenly and my back was sticky with sweat.

"Agin?" I called cautiously, and my voice thundered in my ears. "Mother?"

No answer came. I waited until my breathing had steadied, then walked slowly over to the door. I had to struggle to stay standing.

The second-floor terrace was empty. The door to Mother and Father's bedchamber was wide open. I walked toward it, supporting myself against the wall.

On the edge of the bed sat Lehan. She had her back to me and her long, shiny hair tumbled down her slender back in loose curls. The bed was unmade and she was holding something in her hands. The curtains were still drawn over the window, and the chamber was dark.

I took a few shuffling steps inside. She must have heard me, but did not turn around.

"You ought to let some light in," I said. My throat felt dry and sore.

Slowly my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and I saw what Lehan was holding. A hand. A slender hand that I knew well. Mother's hand. And I saw that the bed was not unmade, but occupied. Mother and Father were lying there. Side by side. The air tremored and I saw a final vision from Anji's water, a vision of Mother as an old woman, and Father as an old man, side by side, surrounded by grandchildren, and with their deaths before them. But that death had been snatched away from them. Drawn nearer by an artful hand. Drawn here. Then the vision was gone.

"They died in the night. All of them."

Lehan's voice was thin and sounded nothing like her own. It came from a place far away, a place she had never been before.

I felt everything collapse at that moment. I knew what she meant. I understood. Yet I still heard myself ask, "All of them?"

"Tihe and Agin lie dead in their beds. Most of our servants too. The ones who are not dead have fled this house of death." There was no sentiment in her voice; it was cold and hard, like steel.

I did not respond. I rushed to Agin's chamber as quickly as I could get my body to move. I found her lying with eyes closed and hands clasped over her bedcover. She looked exactly as though she were sleeping. I sank down on the bed beside her. Held her body against mine, my arm across her chest.

Agin, my sister. Who had always looked after Lehan and me. Who was always thinking of others. Tihe, our proud, beautiful brother. Father and Mother. Dead. And it was I who had brought death to our house. It was my fault they no longer drew breath. I had taught Iskan the secrets of Anji. I had shown him how to use her oaki, her forbidden water. I could not understand why I was still alive. Did he think I would die naturally, because I lay sick and frail?

I wished I had died along with the child I had lost.

I have wished this for more than forty years.

Our neighbors found us. Many servants had fled the house in panic and spread word of the house of death. My parents' oldest friends braved their way over to see if any survivors remained from the terrible sickness that had raged through the household. They took us away with them, tended to us, and helped us bury the dead. Our aunt came, and once Mother, Father, Tihe and Agin had been buried on the crown of the hill, she took us home with her. Lehan and I could not do anything. We barely spoke to each other. We dressed in the mornings, ate what was put in front of us, responded when spoken to, and retired to the same bed when darkness came. Yet Lehan was like a stranger to me. I do not know why we could not find solace in each other. Perhaps my guilt was too great. Her grief too severe. Our aunt and our cousins treated us with utmost respect and sympathy, but deep down, through the mists of my sorrow and anguish, I knew we could not stay with them forever. I simply did not know where we would go.

Lehan, our aunt, our cousin Ekhe and I were sitting in the shaderoom one late-summer morning, engaged in embroidery, when one of my aunt's servants entered.

"Iskan ak Honta-che," he announced, and held open the door. Ekhe looked up curiously and Lehan set down her needlework. Auntie rose up to greet her guest with bow after bow and offered him iced tea and cakes. I continued sewing. I dared not look up. He had come to slay me now. He could do it without difficulty. Without remorse. My heart was beating so hard that my hand began to tremble. I heard his gentle voice utter the proper condolences. Maybe he would do it quickly. Then I would not suffer anymore. Not grieve. Not bear all this guilt. I looked up.

He stood before Lehan, his neck down-bent in sorrow, and my sister looked up at him with shining eyes.

"Your mother and father were the finest people I have ever known, Lehan-cho. They were as dear to me as my own parents. I had come to hope that they would indeed become my parents." He raised his voice so the whole room could hear, and took hold of Lehan's hand. "I wished to marry their youngest daughter, Lehan. But after the great tragedy that has befallen the house of Cho, I can no longer bring myself to do so."

My cousin Ekhe let out a little shriek and my aunt rose to her feet at once. "Let me fetch my husband. The head of the family must be present." Iskan nodded, without letting go of Lehan's hand. He looked at me then, straight at me, and I could see a warning in his eyes. A threat.

My aunt returned with her husband, Netomo. They sat down around the low table where the servants had laid out refreshments. I could not move from where I was sitting, and Iskan did not sit down but remained standing with Lehan's hand in his. I could not take my eyes off him, like a sparrow wary of the hawk's imminent swoop.

"No agreement was formalized between me and Malik ak Sangui-cho, nor between he and my father. But my intentions have been clear for a year past. I only waited until I might reach such a role in the palace of the Sovereign Prince that I would be in a position to take a wife. However, now I feel that my actions must be guided by a duty greater than my own desires." He looked tenderly down at Lehan and gave her a sad little smile. "Two girls are the sole survivors of a disease that has struck down their father's entire household. I feel that my responsibility is to take care of them both, in such a way that disrupts their lives and circumstances as little as possible." At that moment he let go of Lehan's hand and turned to me. I could not so much as blink. His gaze bore into me, heavy with the weight of words unsaid. He took a step toward me and I tightened my grip on my embroidery. He must not take my hand. I could not bear to feel his touch.

"Kabira ak Malik-cho. You are your father's sole heir, given that he has no brothers or other male relatives. Marry me and I shall take care of your beloved sister Lehan. Through the marriage she shall become my sister too. We can reside in your father's house, where I shall maintain his estate and your lives can continue as before. You need never be separated, which I am sure you both appreciate. I shall see to it that you want for nothing and that no danger befalls you—either one of you."

As he spoke these final words he locked his eyes onto me, his dark, wrathful eyes. He stood with his back to the others so nobody could see the expression on his face. But I saw. And I understood.

If I did not comply I would not be the only one to suffer. He would kill Lehan. He had done all of this for the sake of the spring. For access to Anji's water. He was willing to do whatever it took to make the spring his own.

I did not make a sound. I knew what my answer must be, but I could not muster the words. My aunt's husband, Netomo, went to Iskan's side. He rubbed his hands together. The son of the Vizier married into the family! It was an opportunity he could not pass up.

"This is all so sudden. You must excuse our young niece's abashment. I am certain that she understands what a generous offer this is and there can be no doubt of her acceptance. Is that not so, Kabira?"

I bowed my head in resignation. Everybody interpreted it as affirmation, and Netomo patted Iskan on the back and congratulated him, and Auntie called for wine and bowls. Soon we were all standing together toasting the health and wealth of the young couple. Iskan raised his red-lacquered drinking bowl to me and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. Everybody giggled and applauded, because it was the most natural thing in the world—a young man whispering secrets to his betrothed.

"You need not fear me, Kabira. Simply do exactly as I say, and both you and your beautiful sister will be safe. Understood?" I nodded. "Good. My first request: speak never more of the spring and its powers to anybody. Never go there again. I will know if you do, Kabira, you know that. Anji is mine now."

His voice was warm and intimate, a tone befitting of secrets between lovers. Nobody could have known of the threat and venom in his words. He turned to Netomo.

"I want the wedding to take place as soon as possible, so that these young women can be returned to their home without delay."

"Of course." My uncle nodded in approval. "Before the next full moon. I have the keys to my late brother-in-law's estate. You will doubtless want to put your new home in order in the meantime."

Iskan smiled. He smiled and smiled all afternoon; he smiled at Lehan and he smiled at me, and only I could see everything his smile was concealing.

I have little memory of the lead-up to the wedding. There must have been a great many preparations, but I was not expected to be involved in any of them. I spent most of the time in the bedchamber Lehan and I were sharing, pacing around like a wild animal in a cage. I racked my brains for a way out of this trap, but saw none. None without risk of incurring Iskan's wrath; none that could ensure Lehan's safety.

I remember one evening when Lehan was readying herself for bed in our chamber. She sat brushing her long hair before the mirror and watched without a word as I paced anxiously. Eventually she sighed and put down the brush.

"What is wrong with you? You are acting as though Netomo married you off to some toothless old man with scabies. Not the handsome young son of the Vizier who only wants the best for both of us. If anybody should be wringing her hands in sorrow, it is me."

I stopped still and stared at her. She tossed her head, and her perfect skin flushed reddish.

"After all, it is actually he and I who should be getting married."

The words lingered in the space between us like shards of glass.

"But … You always said that you did not care for him."

"I didn't." She looked down at her hands, still considerably pink in the face. "But he is the Vizier's son. A man with a fantastic future before him. It would have been a good match. And he is very kind to us. A fine man."

"Lehan, he is wicked!" I fell to my knees beside her and considered my words carefully, to warn her without endangering her. "You must not trust him. He never wanted you. Father himself said that Iskan never uttered a word on the matter. He is wickedness incarnate, oh Lehan, we must run away. Both of us. Perhaps even tonight?" Hope lit up inside me. Run away, yes, why had I never thought of it? Far away, where Anji's visions could not reveal us and Iskan could not reach us.

My sister went completely pale. She looked at me with disgust. "He never wanted me? Was it for your sake that he came, perchance? Is that what you have convinced yourself?"

"Yes, that is the truth, but not in the way you think Lehan. He—"

She interrupted me. "I never thought you would sink so low, Kabira." Her voice was ice-cold and she got up and started rubbing her hands over her arms, as though to brush away my words. "Father and Mother knew. Everybody knew, Iskan said so himself. He wanted to marry me. And now he wants to take care of both of us as best he can. Why should I run away from a man who intends to return me to my family home? I miss it so much I feel I may fall apart, Kabira. I want to walk the halls Mother walked and hold the objects Agin held. I want to be near them again. But you …" Her face was full of disgust. "You are struck with madness. You do not deserve such a good man. I am asking Auntie if I can sleep in Ekhe's chamber. The bride-to-be needs solitude."

Before I had time to say anything else, she swept out of the room and left me alone.

Our wedding was performed according to the old rites, at the burial mound outside Areko where Iskan's ancestors lay. There was a small altar for offerings to the spirits of the ancestors, and we stood before it and exchanged the traditional thrice-three gifts between his family and mine. From one of the gift baskets Lehan was holding I took the bottle of fig wine for happiness, the silk thread for constancy and the packet of bao for fertility, and handed them to Iskan. He accepted and passed them on to one of his cousins before turning to Lehan and bowing. She smiled at him, the dimples in her cheeks deepening, and handed him the other basket. Iskan picked out a silver coin for wealth, grapes for abundance, hannam-tree bark for health, vinegar for wisdom and an iron nail to build our life's foundations, and gave them to me. I accepted them. Then Lehan gave us the final gift, a cake of nuts and honey that we divided in half and ate. Then we were married, though the marriage was not yet consummated. This happened after the wedding celebration that was held in what used to be my father's house, now Iskan's. There were a small number of guests eating the delicious food my aunt had prepared, listening to music from my father's musicians, and dancing under lanterns hanging from the trees in the courtyard. Then, when the last song was sung and the last wine was drunk, Iskan led me up to my parents' bedchamber, to our marriage bed. The bed was new—Iskan had had all the furniture and textiles in the house burned, "to dispel the sickness that had claimed so many lives"—but it made no difference. To me it was the bed where my parents had died, where he had murdered them. I could not bring myself to go near it, and hesitated in the doorway.

Iskan looked around and nodded contentedly. "Look here, a genuine Liau ak Tiwe-chi as wedding gift from my father." He pointed to a painted screen that hung by the bed. "It is worth five horses in full combat armor. I have filled the house with valuable art and tasteful furniture. It is truly a home fit for a vizier's son." He sat on the edge of the bed with one foot resting on his other knee. "However, I am thinking of making some improvements. A wall built around the burial mound, for example. And a door to protect the spring, with a lock." He smiled. "That is just the beginning. I have seen magnificent things, Kabira. A glorious future. In a few years you will not recognize your father's estate. I drink of Anji's water every night when it is good, and see her visions every full moon. With each passing moon the pattern becomes clearer. I need only give things a push here, a tweak there, and my shining future will draw nearer and nearer." He lowered his voice. "But drinking of her dark water, the oaki, that is another thing entirely. The force that fills you! Power over life and death. You know, Kabira. You have tasted it. Anji's dark water is the weapon with which I will shape my future, little bird." He smiled with pity and cocked his head to one side. "Though you shall never drink it again, dear wife. And now it is time that you become my wife in the flesh."

He had taken me many times before that night, but this time was different. This time he enjoyed degrading me, inflicting pain on me. He took his time. In the morning, when his female relatives came to check our sheet for the red stain that proved my virginity, they did see fresh red blood. But it had come from more places than one.

He forbade me from going outside. He forbade me from talking to anyone other than himself and Lehan, and Lehan no longer spoke to me. I was not allowed to address the servants and I had nothing to say to Iskan. So my voice faded and I grew quiet. Through my quiet I could hear the din of the laborers building the wall around the hill, and the door in front of Anji. When everything was finished, he showed me the key and laughed. "Now she is truly all mine! Not even the Sovereign Prince himself can get his hands on her secrets. She is like a beautiful woman who gives herself unto one man alone, her only lover. I am the one that she wants. She shows me willingly every pleat and fold of her secrets."

He took me every night.

"Sons, Kabira," he said one night as he sat wiping my blood from his hands. "A man's influence can be gauged by his sons. No one else is as loyal. No one else can act in his name. Alliances made through the marriage of daughters are not to be trusted. I shall have you until I have planted a son in your womb."

I ceased thinking, hoping, resisting. I do not know how much time passed; I no longer concerned myself with counting days and nights. I ceased caring for my hygiene and appearance, yet nothing would discourage him from my bed. It gave me a certain amount of satisfaction to see the disgust on his face as he mounted me; gone was his eternal smile. Still, he did not stop coming to my bedchamber. His superior self-confidence was replaced by furious stubbornness. Each time my moon blood came his perilous wrath grew.

"I haven't the strength for a second woman," he bellowed one night. "Do you think this is a pleasure for me? I must have a son, you damned arid desert of a woman!"

Eventually I fell pregnant. I was young, and my body did not obey my will. He immediately consulted Anji over the sex of the baby. It was a girl.

He drove her out of my body with Anji's dark water.

I would never be able to keep a girl child.

When I finally conceived a son, I had been Iskan's wife for long over a year. Anji showed him that the child inside me was the son he had so yearned for, and he finally left me in peace. I did not see him again for several moons. He spent his time at the palace of the Sovereign Prince, where he did everything to ensure his indispensability. The child gave me terrible nausea but I was grateful for the peace that suddenly descended on the house. I would lie in bed all morning but manage to eat something around midday and then venture into the courtyard. I was still allowed there. I would sit and enjoy the scents of early spring, the dazzling flowers in pots under shady willows, and the birdsong. It was the first time in two years that I had found any pleasure at all. The child inside me had given life meaning again. It was of no importance that it was Iskan's son. It was the dawn of new life, and atonement for all the deaths that plagued my conscience.

I rarely saw Lehan. She was busy taking care of the household that I had neglected, first out of apathy and now because nausea kept me exhausted and passive. Sitting in the courtyard, I heard her voice through open windows, instructing the servants to address various tasks. She moved from chamber to chamber, efficiently ordering all that required order to maintain an estate of this size. I became increasingly aware of how many duties she was taking upon herself. Early in the mornings I heard her instruct the laborers in the day's orders before they dispersed into the fields and groves. This was actually the duty of the head of the household, but Iskan continued to keep his distance. When had my little sister learned how to act this way? Nobody seemed to question her authority and I saw signs of a smoothly run household everywhere: the chambers were kept sparkling clean, the plants in the courtyard were flawlessly pruned and the food served to my bedchamber was varied and delicious with no signs of excess. I attempted conversation with the servants—I was not afraid to do so now that Iskan was away—but the maidservants who waited on me were strangers and unwilling to exchange more than the most superficial of pleasantries.

One afternoon when I was sitting outside with my hands on my belly, enjoying the feeling of the first little kicks, Lehan came scurrying through the courtyard with a roll of green silk in her arms. She stopped when she saw me, as though she wanted to turn around again.

"Lehan." I stretched out a beseeching hand to her. "Come and sit with me awhile." She did not move. I lowered my hand. "Can we not be friends again? I beg your forgiveness for everything I said."

I was so terribly lonely. My pregnancy was a joy but also frightened me greatly. I had nobody to share it with. No mother to ask for advice. Lehan was the only person I had left.

Slowly she approached the bench where I was sitting and perched on the farthest edge. She laid the silk fabric on her lap.

"What do you have there?" I asked amiably. "Sewing yourself a new jacket?"

Lehan ran her fingers over the cloth. At first I thought she would refuse to speak to me at all. Then she took a breath.

"Brother Iskan sent it from Areko this morning. He wants me to sew new chair cushions for the sunroom."

I sat silently a moment, stung by the news.

"It is very beautiful fabric," I finally managed to say. "Unusual color."

Lehan nodded and smiled down at the cloth. "It will go nicely with the green-glazed vases we chose. Iskan had them imported from the Maiko Desert. They are fired from desert sand."

"Have you … have you helped him choose many things for the house?"

She did not meet my gaze. "Yes. We have the same taste," she said defensively. "And he spares no expense. He says I am to decorate precisely as I wish."

I did not know what to say. Iskan was treating Lehan like his wife. And she had adopted the roles of a wife. I was a mere necessary evil: heiress and breeding mare. Yet I could not blame Lehan. It was what she had been raised for: to be wife and lady of the house, and to run the home and household. We were all trained for it from childhood. Yet I had not assumed the role.

Lehan interpreted my silence as judgment. She stood up suddenly and turned to me, her face blazing crimson.

"Just look at yourself! When did you last bathe? When did you last change your garments? The stench coming from you is revolting. You are a stain on our family! It is no wonder Iskan avoids you now that you are finally expecting his child. He could barely bring himself to see you the last few times. He had to come to me to prepare. I helped him."

She smacked her hand over her mouth, in disbelief of what she had just admitted out loud. Her eyes were wide with horror.

"Be careful, dear sister," I said slowly. "You know not what you play with." I was not angry, only filled with unspeakable sorrow. I did not know how to save Lehan from Iskan's clutches.

She turned and ran into the house. I sat still for a long time, watching the open door as if I could will her back with my gaze. It was I who had led her here to Iskan's house. It was my fault she was in danger. Anji's oaki clung to me, ran through my veins. During my childhood I had often felt fortified after drinking water from the spring, even many moons later. Now it was as though I could not rid myself of the impurity; the filth pulsing in my very blood. I would drag everybody down with me into the mire. Even my unborn child.

I felt very little joy over my imminent son. Equally, my fears about the pregnancy and delivery subsided. If I died, I could be free from all this guilt and suffering. The birth was creeping ever nearer and no ill befell either me or the child. Iskan returned home late one full-moon night. He could not keep away from Anji any longer, I guessed. He needed the spring's powers and visions. I heard Iskan's voice move through the house, checking that all was as it should be. He was accompanied everywhere by Lehan's sweet voice as she explained everything she had done in his absence. Then the tones of the cinna and tilan drifted through the open window and into my chamber. They were dining and drinking in the shaderoom. I could go down to join them. Nothing was stopping me. They were surely eating tasty morsels Iskan had brought back from Areko.

I lay in my bed, stroking my taut belly with one hand and humming along with the music. It was an old melody, a favorite of my mother's. I did not wish to dine with her murderer.

I was woken after midnight by Iskan coming into my chamber. In his hand he held a lamp, which he set down on the table by my bed. I propped myself up among the pillows.

"What a sight." He wrinkled his nose. "And a smell. Just as Lehan said. Do you no longer take care of yourself? Remember that you are the mother of my soon-to-be son."

"He does not care how I look," I said. Iskan sneered and approached the bed. He looked at me with those intense dark eyes.

"Is all well with the child?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Is it time soon?"

"I believe so. Of course, you do not allow me to speak with any woman from whom I can ask advice, but it cannot be long now."

"You need a doula. Of course. It shall be arranged." He said it with disinterest, as though it were yet another irksome necessity to ensure the safety of his heir. He stretched out, languid as a house cat. "Anji's strength flows through my veins. How I have missed the spring water! How I have missed her power and visions. So much has needed building in Areko and the palace. Anji had to wait. But now the time is ripe, Kabira." He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. Did he want to take me? I laid my hands protectively over my belly.

"I have many allies now. And it is in their interest that I come to power. It is time for me to become Vizier."

"And your father?" I said, bringing to mind the friendly old white-haired man who had attended the wedding.

"He is old." Iskan grinned. "I imagine that his death is close at hand. You might even say that I have seen it." He chuckled at his joke but I gasped. He spoke of the greatest oaki of all. Patricide. He saw that I understood and nodded as if we shared an amusing secret. "I only have to wait until Anji's oaki is at its strongest. Then I will drink, and visit my father, and when he is found dead the next day, nobody will suspect anything other than that it was an old man's time to depart." He scoffed. "I have seen his real death, of course. You cannot imagine how far in the future it is! What a tenacious tortoise of a man he is. I will have to heave and haul his death closer." He leaned back idly against the bedposts and clasped his hands behind his head. The lamp light flickered on his shiny hair and well-polished buttons. He was the very picture of a carefree young man, used to getting what he wanted. "When I am Vizier, my real work shall begin. I shall be the most powerful man in all of Karenokoi. More powerful than anyone can imagine. Greater than the Sovereign Prince himself."

Only then did he catch sight of my hands pressed against my belly and my defensive posture. He grimaced in disgust.

"Do not flatter yourself. Why would I befoul myself with you now that you have fulfilled the task required of you?" He jumped down from the bed and stomped out of the room as hastily as he had entered. He left the lamp behind him, and the scent of leather and wine. I extinguished the lamp immediately. I did not even want to see the place where he had sat on the bed: the impression, the wrinkled covers. I sank down in the pile of pillows and my heartbeat gradually began to slow. I no longer cared what he did, nor whether I lived or died. Yet I feared him still. Moreover, a small part of me was ashamed. Ashamed that he now looked upon me with disgust, he whose gaze had once made me feel like the most beautiful woman in all the realm.

Through my open window I could hear the horses' whinnies from the stable. Frogs croaked in the velvety night. A cricket was chirping. I let the sounds of the night caress and soothe me.

Then I heard another sound, one I recognized all too well. It came from him. In the chamber beside mine. Lehan's bedchamber. I sat up to listen, and there it was again, a deep moan of lust. He was taking her! My sister, he had forced himself upon her, it could not be true, it must not be true, I had to do something, I had to save her! I looked around for a weapon but found nothing and so rushed into the hall, empty-handed and heavy with the child in my belly. There must be something I could do! If nothing else I could scream, call the servants. It was oaki to lie with one's sister-in-law; it was considered incest.

Outside Lehan's door I heard another sound. A whimper. Heavy breathing. Sounds from her. Not of struggle or fear, but of lasciviousness. Sounds he never got from me. She was enjoying it. She wanted it.

I pressed a clenched fist to my mouth to stop a scream from surging forth. I slowly backed up to my door, with Lehan's pleasure ringing in my ears.

I heard Lehan and Iskan nearly every night after that. Even the night I gave birth to my first son. It was as though they were trying to drown out my screams with their own. It was morning, after many hours of agony, when Iskan finally called for the doula. The ordeal continued until the following night. When Korin finally lay at my breast, through my exhaustion I felt the first seed of happiness. He was totally and utterly mine, this beautiful little boy with his long, dark eyelashes and determined little furrowed brow. Despite the long and arduous birth, he was strong and healthy. His soft little hands, his eyes …

No. I do not want to write any more about this.

Iskan let me keep Korin for ten days. Ten short days I could hold him, and give him my milk, and breathe in his scent, and be his mother, his whole world. On the tenth day Iskan had his mother and a wet nurse move into our house to take care of Korin. Iskan personally tore the boy from my arms, and I do not want to write any more about this either. I will never forget my first proper encounter with his mother, Izani, and how she held my son to her bosom as though he belonged to her, as though he had come out of her own body, and how proudly she told her son that she would raise her grandchild to be exactly like his father. She did not give me so much as a glance.

Lehan was the only one who came to visit me, a few days after they had taken Korin away. I had not left my chamber; Iskan had locked the door behind Izani when she carried Korin away. The maidservants came in and emptied my chamber pot and brought me food that I did not touch. My sister stood in the doorway and looked at me a long while. I was sitting huddled up against the wall, where I had spent most of my time. That bed was the place where I had given birth to Korin. I could not lie in it again. I was barely conscious of Lehan's presence until she started speaking.

"He would let you meet Korin if you only composed yourself." Her voice was a mixture of pity and scorn. I looked up but she avoided my gaze. She fingered a ring on her left hand, a large green stone set in gold, evidently a gift from Iskan. Until that moment I had felt nothing but despair and boundless sorrow, but suddenly a violent hatred blazed inside me. It was so powerful that I began to shake. I wanted to speak, but all these overwhelming sensations were crammed in my throat and I could not squeeze out a word.

"You have been behaving like a madwoman, Kabira. Do you not understand that he is thinking only of what is best for his son? An unbalanced mother could hurt her child, or worse." But she did not fully believe her own words. If she did, she would have looked me in the eye.

"Do you know who it is you lie with each night?" The words tore at my throat, raw from days and nights of screaming and raging. I did not take my eyes off Lehan as I clambered to my feet. The skin on my knuckles split open again and the wounds I had incurred from beating the walls with my fists started to bleed. "Do you know whose member is making you pant like a bitch in heat?" Lehan edged out of the door and tried to close it behind her, but I was too fast and darted like a snake to wedge my foot in front of the door before she could close it fully. At that moment I realized that she had come to see me without anybody knowing. No servants were waiting outside. I easily pushed open the door; I have always been stronger than Lehan. Delicate little Lehan with her shiny hair and shimmering skin. "Not only have you taken your sister's husband into your bed, which is already oaki. You sleep with our mother's murderer. You welcome our father's killer into your bed. You spread your legs for the man who slew our brother and sister."

Lehan was staring at me, finally meeting my gaze, her eyes wide with horror. I grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her back into the chamber and closed the door behind us. I leaned my face close in to hers. "Listen now, little Lehan, little harlot Lehan, listen carefully! Iskan made me reveal to him the secrets of Anji, and he found a new use for her forbidden water. It allows him to kill without leaving a trace." I saw my saliva spray on her face, but she made no attempt to wipe it away.

"You are crazy," she whispered, but could not take her eyes off my face, like a vole transfixed by a venomous snake, unable to move.

"Am I? Am I really? Tell me, little Lehan, Iskan's little plaything, does the Vizier yet live? Or has Iskan implemented his plan to kill his own father as well? Perhaps the Vizier passed away in his sleep?"

She went pale. "He … he received word yesterday that the Honorable Vizier had passed away in his sleep." She tried to back away. "But he was old. You could have guessed." I did not let go of her arm.

"I could have. But tell me, did Iskan visit his father the day before he died? And was it perchance the day after the full moon?"

Her silence was answer enough. I smiled and opened my eyes wide. I must have appeared out of my mind. "That's right. That's right, little Lehan. Think back. Was the moon waning when our family died? You know it was—I can see it in your eyes. When I lay sick in bed, Lehan, when Iskan forced our first child from my body. You think you are the only one with whom he slakes his lust, but he had me first, you little harlot, many times. And then he murdered our child, and my family, and all the baby girls I have carried before Korin. Why do you think I have been behaving this way?"

She was crying now, with deep sobs that made her body convulse, and mucus and tears were streaming down her perfect face and, oh, how I wished that Iskan could see her at that moment! I was so far removed from my mind and senses that I reached out a forefinger to catch a tear from her cheek, and licked it.

"But … but why did you marry him?" she asked between sobs. "Nobody forced you! Kabira, why did you walk into his trap?" She clutched at my free arm with hers and grasped tight, heartbroken.

I studied her contorted facial features, fascinated, because for once she did not look beautiful, but red and bloated and ugly—ugly!

"It was your fault, do you not see?" I cocked my head to one side. "He was threatening your life. If I did as he said, he would spare you. I did it for your sake, you little bitch. And as thanks I have to listen to him making you moan, night after night. As thanks, you have turned your back on me. As thanks, you have helped him take my child from me. Tell me, will you get as much pleasure when he enters you tonight? Will you enjoy him licking your tender young breasts as before? The spirits of the dead walk these halls. They are watching you. They have seen your every deed, heard every moan. Mother and Father, Agin and Tihe. Can you picture them before you? Good. Then think about how you are honoring their memory. I tried to warn you, so do not plead ignorance." I shook her hand off my arm and pushed her away. Spat on the floor by her feet. "One thing you knew without doubt. That he was my husband. Nothing can change that."

I drove her out of the chamber. She offered no resistance. I slammed the door and fell to the floor. All of my energy drained away in an instant. I crept back into my corner and folded my arms over my head. I felt a brief sense of satisfaction from seeing Lehan's whole world fall apart around her. Vengeance flowed through my body like sweetest honey. But soon I was left with a bitter burning in my mouth and throat, and the chamber was empty, and nothing, nothing could give me respite.

Iskan found her that night. She had hanged herself with the belt from Agin's old jacket. He immediately understood the cause, fetched me and forced me to take down her body, and wash and dress it for the burial. I will never forget the way she looked. I will never forget who is to blame for her death.

"Do you not realize that you have only made things worse for yourself?" said Iskan, shaking his head. "Now you have nobody at all. Come Kabira, it is time to stop with this willfulness. If you start behaving like the submissive wife I expected from the start, I will let you see Korin, and give you fine clothes and jewelry. You are the Vizier's wife now. My great plan is about to be set in motion. I shall extend the house, there is so much to do. I will need several sons. If you do as I say you may meet with them frequently, and they shall call you mother."

There was nothing else left for me. There was nothing to fight for. So I became Kabira, First Wife of the Vizier, and that was my life for the forty years that followed.