Chained By Fear: 2 (15 page)

“You don’t want to wrinkle her dress,” the dracool said.

Urbana snarled. “I’d spit blood on it, if I were allowed.”

Izumo latched the door and pulled on a cord that set the cage in motion. It dropped more than four hundred cubits, slamming to a halt so abruptly that Laylah nearly lost her footing.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she said to Bhacca.

“I dislike it as well, but the tower is so tall it takes forever to walk the stairs. I wish I were like Izumo. He can leap out a window and fly down.”

When they stepped out of the cage, General Lucius and several golden soldiers greeted them. Lucius wore his finest armor and carried his helm in the crook of his arm, his long yellow hair skimming his shoulders.

Once again Laylah’s heart skipped a beat.

“Good morning, my Queen,” Lucius said. “I apologize if you have been inconvenienced. Please follow me. The guest has arrived amid much fanfare.”

“Is he a guest or a prisoner?”

“That is not for me to say. But he has come with Mala, if that answers your question.”

One of the soldiers chuckled, then looked nervously around to see if he were being watched. Laylah didn’t laugh. She felt sick to her stomach.

“I pity him, whoever he may be,” she said.

Lucius led them down a corridor lined with marble sculptures of Invictus in a variety of regal poses. The lifeless eyes seemed to follow her. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

“Is something wrong?” Lucius said. “You don’t look well.”

“When was the last time I was well?”

Lucius did not respond.

After a brief rest, they continued along the corridor, finally entering a crowded room ablaze with sunlight pouring in through immense windows. She saw Invictus, dressed in golden robes that hung to the floor, conversing with Chal-Abhinno, the Warlish witch. Chal was resplendent in a crimson gown and bejeweled chaplet. Ten standard-bearers wearing golden armor studded with diamonds and rubies stood near the windows. Their banners bore yellow suns outlined in red on backgrounds of white. Two dracools, both of whom had helped to recapture her several times during her frequent attempts at escape, stood nearby. She looked around for Izumo, but he had not yet shown himself.

Somewhere within the room, a horn sounded. In response, a portal swung slowly open. The standard-bearers marched onto a circular balcony. An immense roar greeted them. It became apparent to Laylah that most of Avici had gathered at the base of the tower. How important was this prisoner?

Chal-Abhinno sauntered out next, escorted by the dracools. There was another roar.

“Follow me,” Lucius said. “It’s our turn to proceed.”

Laylah walked behind Lucius. When she stepped onto the balcony, the blazing heat of the sun smacked her in the face. She bowed her head and focused on Lucius’ hinged sollerets, following him to the edge of the balcony.

A wagon had been positioned at the base of the tower. Invictus’
guest
was strapped to an angled board attached to its bed. For reasons she did not understand, Laylah felt compelled to gaze down at the poor man. He seemed to look back at her, which surprised her.

What happened next almost caused her to swoon. A blue glimmer leapt from the man’s eyes. At first she thought she had just imagined it, so subtle had it been. But then she felt something delicious splash upon her face, causing her to wobble ever so slightly. As if in response, white light sprang from her own eyes. She could feel it burst out of her, as involuntary as a sneeze. Beams of blue and white, pale as ghosts, clashed in midair, intertwining like fingers.

In her peripheral vision, Laylah could sense Lucius glaring at her disapprovingly. But she didn’t care. The man in the wagon now consumed her attention. Though he was more than one hundred cubits away, she could make out his features as if he were an arm’s length from where she stood.

His face
 . . .
his mouth
 . . .
his eyes
 . . .

Another roar startled her, its source confusing her. Then she noticed, with a deepening sigh, that Invictus had stomped onto the balcony. The hundreds of thousands gathered beneath the tower howled in unison. This filled Laylah with dismay. For the first time in her life, she had encountered a man who enthralled her, and yet her disgusting brother had shown up to ruin things again. How much could she be expected to bear? How often could hope be torn from her grasp? Strength drained from her body as if she were losing blood, and she collapsed into Lucius’ arms like a helpless child.

Invictus addressed first his people and then the man in the wagon, his voice magically amplified. But it was as if he spoke a language she could not comprehend, more noise than substance. Laylah also heard other sounds—Mala bellowing below, the dragon chortling above, Lucius whispering in her ear—but these too were meaningless.

All she could think about was the man in the wagon. No one had ever affected her this way. No one had ever made her yearn, long for
 . . .
what? And yet it all had occurred from a distance and in just a matter of seconds.

For the briefest of moments, she had adored him like no other.

Less than a month later, she overheard Mala saying that the man was dead.

On Day 74, Year 100, more than twenty-six thousand days since Invictus had first imprisoned her, Laylah paced her room in Uccheda. She would attempt the escape tomorrow, no matter what.

Izumo seemed confident that the demon would not betray them, but their reliance on Vedana seemed to discomfort Lucius, who feared a trap. Still, despite her hatred of the demon, Laylah tended to agree more with the dracool than with the firstborn. Besides, it wasn’t like any of them had other options.

Laylah had spoken to Lucius about their conspiracy fewer than a dozen times over the past twelve years, and those were brief encounters late at night when they felt secure that Invictus was underground and Mala was not in Avici. Because of their extreme need for secrecy, Laylah had spoken to Izumo about their plans even less frequently, but Lucius assured her that the dracool remained an ally.

“What will become of Bhacca?” Laylah had whispered to Lucius one summer evening as they stood on the wildflower hillock overlooking the valley. “She will be lost without me.”

“A dracool can carry no more than two people
 . . .
and that, not easily,” Lucius said. “I weigh more than fifteen stones and you at least nine. I’ve already told Izumo that if we are pursued too closely, I’ll jump off to lighten the load. But bringing Bhacca along would be impossible, unless I don’t come. You’ll have to choose between us.”

“I choose you, of course. I’m worried about her, that’s all. And don’t you dare jump. I’d never forgive you.”

“If sacrificing myself meant saving you, I’d do it without hesitation.”

Laylah knew he’d meant it. But she didn’t love him the way he loved her, though she didn’t have the energy to worry about that now. The future would decide the fate of their relationship.

Their last contact regarding their conspiracy had occurred more than two years ago. Any more talk would have been too dangerous. Invictus interrogated Lucius on a daily basis. The sorcerer wanted to know everything she said and did. In some ways, Laylah believed that these interrogations were as difficult on Lucius as Invictus’ visits were on her. Lucius was destined to be a traitor, but somehow Invictus couldn’t detect it. Was it because the sorcerer was incapable of believing his firstborn could betray him? Or was it simply because the firstborn’s behavior had aroused so little suspicion? To further cement his position as a person of trust, Lucius had become subservient to Mala, doing whatever the Chain Man told him without the slightest resistance. The ruined snow giant bossed him like he was a boy, but the general bore it gracefully.

And now the eve of the fateful day had arrived. Over the past seventy-two years, Laylah had attempted to escape many times. But she had never come close to succeeding. Like a fly with broken wings trying to climb out of an anthill, she was too weak and her enemies too numerous and powerful.

Would tomorrow be any different? It wasn’t as though they could simply clamber onto Izumo’s back and fly merrily away. The other dracools, unburdened by passengers, would catch them with ease. To succeed they would need an extraordinary diversion. Vedana had hinted at just such an occurrence. But what could it be? They would have to wait and see. And hope.

Laylah knew one thing: If she failed this time, there would be no other. She would die trying, or end her own life afterward. Freedom cried out like a long, lost friend. Without it she could no longer survive. She had already borne her imprisonment far longer than was imaginable.

When dusk settled on Day 74, she heard the notorious tapping on her door. As always, her tortured psyche reeled. As always, the ceiling, walls and floor of her room began to glow with golden flames that crept along the surface of the stone, wood and metal. The flames even danced on her skin.

“Sister
 . . .
may I come in?”

“
Please
go away.”

“You’ve denied me for such a long time. Won’t you change your mind? If you do, I promise on the blood of our parents that I will set you free. Once you give me a son, you can go wherever you choose—even to Nissaya or Jivita. You can become their queen and lead their armies against me. I don’t care.”

“The blood of our parents is dry.”

“I can see you’re not in a forgiving mood tonight, sister. Very well. I have learned the art of patience. Our life spans have no foreseeable termination. So why rush? One day—whether tomorrow or a thousand years from now—you will welcome me into your womb. I doubt you’ll ever do it out of lust. But out of mutual benefit?”

And then he was gone, along with the eerie flames.

Laylah flung herself onto her bed. A few moments later, sweet Bhacca came to comfort her. The mistress of the robes brought poached eggs, thick slices of sizzling pork, white cakes and a goblet of apple cider. Laylah ate without hunger, but with determination. She needed her strength. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she would attempt to sleep during the night. And she would eat another meal in the morning. After that she would wait, watch and remain alert.

In the middle of the night she slept several hours, during which she had a disturbing dream.

She stood on the crest of a mountain of sand beneath the most glorious moon she had ever seen. When she looked to her right, the man in the wagon was there, but now he was free—and very much alive. He wore a dark jacket and matching breeches, and the enormous muscles of his chest, back and thighs caused the fabric to swell. A breeze rustled his long black hair. Laylah felt as though she might swoon. It was all she could do just to grin.

The man spoke to someone on his right. She could not hear their words. Then he turned to her, his face confused. She so desperately wanted to talk to him. But when she tried to speak, her lips were frozen in a stupid smile.

And that is when she heard Vedana cackling in the darkness—and another sound that resembled a squalling baby. The man raced down the side of the mountain, sprinting across the soft sands with ridiculous ease. She tried to follow, but it felt as if she were running through knee-deep snow.

Laylah woke, her heart pounding. She rose from her bed and walked to the window. Dawn approached—for her, usually a cause of sadness. But not this day. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt hope.

Through a psychic connection they had developed over the decades, Laylah summoned Bhacca. A moment later the door opened, and the mistress of the robes entered, bearing another tray of food. This time it was roasted chicken, sweet potatoes and slices of red melon. Laylah ate everything, sopping up the butter and garlic with the potato skins and rinsing her mouth with several cups of apple wine. Then she bathed and dressed in a dark-blue undertunic with a purple surcoat—rugged but not overly restrictive—and bleached leather boots.

Afterward, she sat by her window in a padded chair.

Bhacca remained with her but seemed confused. “After your morning meal, you always lay down to sleep. Is something wrong, my Queen?”

“I wasn’t feeling well during the night, and I slept then. Now I’m refreshed. I’d like to sit in my chair and admire the grounds in daylight.”

Bhacca seemed pleased. “A wonderful idea. The valley is beautiful when the sun first rises. Spring is almost here. The sky is clear, the air warm. It should be a glorious day.”

“I certainly hope so,” Laylah said.

“My Queen?” Bhacca said, perhaps sensing queerness in Laylah’s tone.

“If I’m to stay up past my bedtime, then I hope you’re right about the weather,” Laylah said, attempting to deflect suspicion. “Leave me now. I’m sure you have plenty to do.”

“As you command,” Bhacca said, still acting puzzled.

Laylah’s only window faced northwest. She couldn’t see the sunrise from her bedchamber, but she watched the last remnants of darkness creep away like a shrinking ghost. Morning took full hold, illuminating her surroundings. The grass in the valley was turning green. At the height of spring and summer, it was the finest sod east of the mountains, more like the Green Plains than the Gray. From five hundred cubits above the ground, the valley looked lush and perfect, as if an all-knowing god had painted it. But nothing that Invictus touched could ever be admired. Laylah hated the tower, the valley and the stone city that sprawled to the west.

Someone knocked on her door. Laylah gasped as it swung open, and Bhacca charged inside, slamming it behind her. “You’re going to leave me behind? Do you know what will happen to me after you’re gone? I thought you were my
friend
.”

“Bhacca
 . . .
I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t
lie
to me, Laylah! After you acted so strangely this morning, I confronted General Lucius. He denied everything. I told him I would go to Mala with my suspicions if he didn’t tell me the truth. But he just said that if I cared about you, I wouldn’t pursue this.”

“I would have told you, but
 . . .
”

“Then you
are
planning an escape. And you were going to leave me here? Do you think they’ll believe I didn’t know? They’ll feed me to the monsters.”

Laylah mumbled and stuttered, trying to think of something to calm Bhacca. At first she didn’t see the raven flutter through the open window. Then a streak of black flashed in her peripheral vision, and the large bird perched on Bhacca’s shoulder.

Its beak moved like soft clay as it whispered in the newborn’s ear. “
Namuci
.”

“No!” Laylah said.

But it was too late. Bhacca’s face contorted, and blood trickled from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. She reached for Laylah, her hands flailing. Then she grasped her stomach and groaned. The newborn was dead before she struck the floor.

Laylah fell to her knees in horror.

The raven hopped onto the windowsill. “Today’s the day,
little one.
It’s now or never. I wasn’t about to allow one of my grandson’s freaks to ruin our plans. The newborns are born from a drop of demon blood, but it’s not enough to protect them from my babies. Be a brave girl, and hide the body in your closet. And clean up any mess before you go.”

“I will destroy you, Vedana,” Laylah said, between sobs.

“That’s an unkind thing to say to someone who’s gone out of her way to help you,” the raven said with a touch of petulance.

“Bhacca and I were friends for more than seventy years.”

“Seventy years? I’ve existed a thousand times longer—and then some. Seventy
years
? Are you trying to impress me?”

Laylah took Bhacca in her arms. The newborn’s eyes remained open, still expressing horror.

“My dear Bhacca
 . . .
”

“Oh
 . . .
grow up
,” the raven snapped. “She’s not even real. She has no karma, no soul. She’s an abomination. Focus on your desire for freedom. Focus on your hatred of me, if that helps. You won’t be able to avenge Bhacca’s death if you die here today.”

“It’s not true,” Laylah said to Bhacca’s corpse. “You do have a soul.”

“You’re such a romantic,” the raven said. “But are you a survivor? If so, you’ll do what’s necessary. At noon, leave the tower and go to the sycamore. You’ll be watched, as usual, but it won’t matter. What happens next will be obvious, even to you. Stay put. Izumo and Lucius will find you when the critical moment arrives.”

And then the raven vanished.

Laylah sat on the floor for most of the morning, cradling Bhacca’s head in her lap. But the time finally came when she heeded Vedana’s advice. Laylah
was
a survivor. How else could she have endured an imprisonment that had lasted for decade upon decade?

Laylah lifted Bhacca’s slim body and carried it into the farthest corner of the closet. The newborn felt as light as a roll of parchment.

Laylah covered the corpse with the gown she had worn at the original banquet in the old palace. Then she wiped a few drops of blood off the floor with a towel and also hid the towel beneath the gown.

When she left her room, Izumo was pacing the hallway.

“There’s no need for concern, Dracool-Izumo,” Laylah said calmly. “Everything is in order. I wish to visit the sycamore on this fine day. Is it cold outside? Should I bring a cloak?”

“For a woman of your delicacy, a cloak might be appropriate, at least until the chill of the morning disappears,” Izumo said, playing along. “May I escort you, my lady?”