Part 39 (1/2)
”Not their clothes. Their skin. Their flesh.”
”But . . . I do not understand.”
Luzik blew out his breath in exasperation. ”They go into seclusion with one set of bodies and come out with new ones.”
”Whose bodies?”
”The Hosts.”
”The most beautiful man and woman in the kingdom,” Ysal added. He tossed the dice, exclaiming with dismay when a frog and an eagle came up. ”My cousin was almost chosen last year. She made it all the way to the presentation. But the queen chose another girl.” His downcast expression brightened. ”But it was still an honor. And it got her a rich husband. A merchant from-”
”The king and queen take the bodies of the Hosts?”
Luzik scowled. ”That's what we've been telling you.” He rolled two eagles and grunted with satisfaction.
Numb with horror, Keirith could only stare at them. The beautiful queen who had spoken so kindly to him cast out the spirit of another and took the body for herself. Just as Morgath had done with Grain-Mother Yeorna.
”And afterward?” he managed. ”What happens to . . . to the Hosts?”
Both guards made the sign of the spiral. ”Their spirits fly to Paradise,” Ysal said, ”where they live among the green hills and the flowing rivers. They're honored above all mortal men and women. It's your turn, Kheridh.”
Yeorna's spirit didn't fly to the Forever Isles; it was cast into Chaos. He remembered the sickly king, lolling on his throne. Now he possessed the body of a beautiful young man. He was strong again and revitalized. Until next year when it happened all over again. No wonder Malaq had brushed aside his questions about The Shedding.
”Roll the dice,” Ysal urged. ”You need two serpents to beat Luzik.”
Keirith strode to the doorway.
”Where are you going?” Luzik demanded.
”The kitchen.”
”But what about the game?” Ysal called plaintively.
The Master was screaming at the First Cook who had dared change the special herbs he used to season his seaweed pottage. The Fish Cook was screaming at an undercook for overcooking the eels. The Meat Cook was beating the spit boys for falling asleep and allowing the mutton to char on one side, and the Sauce Cook was clouting the sauce boy with a ladle for allowing the cream for the rabbit stew to curdle.
Hircha kept a wary eye on the senior cooks as she chopped leeks and onions. The heat from the open fires was so intense that sweat dripped off her forehead onto the table. Between the screaming cooks and the crying boys and the clatter of pots and pans and utensils, she couldn't even hear what the Wine Keeper was shouting. His a.s.sistant rushed forward to placate him and skidded on the spot where a flask of olive oil had shattered earlier. He flailed, knocking the Wine Keeper into a pot girl, and all three went down amid a shower of cutlery.
It was always chaotic here. During the seven-day festival that began with The Shedding and climaxed with the Midsummer rite, there were simply more tantrums, more screaming, and more beatings. Last year, one of the undercooks stabbed his senior with a carving knife. After a brief struggle, a pot boy seized a frying pan and bashed the undercook over the head. Until the guards appeared, everyone simply stepped over the unconscious bodies and took extra care not to slip in the blood.
When she'd first arrived in the kitchen, she'd been given the most unpleasant and backbreaking tasks. They all knew she'd been the Zheron's favorite and delighted in making her life miserable. Now, they mostly ignored her.
Hircha swiped her wrist across her forehead, flinging droplets of sweat into a tureen of mussels. If it were only the feasts, it might not be so bad, but of course, the kitchen had to continue to supply food for the ordinary folk as well. Feeding two hundred people was a ch.o.r.e at any time, but during the festival, the population of the palace swelled as n.o.ble families and rich merchants traveled from as far away as Oexiak.
And it wasn't only the great feasts in the royal hall that required special attention, but the smaller, private gatherings. They shouldn't have to prepare lavish dishes for those, but who would dare refuse the Zheron?
Once, she had attended those little gatherings, sitting on his lap, laughing at the performers he had paid to entertain his guests. One year, there had been a troupe with animals: a bear that danced on its hind legs, a goat that could beat a drum with its hoof, little dogs that jumped over clay pots and skittered through barrels. She liked the dogs best. When the performance was over, the Zheron summoned the trainer so she could hold one in her lap and pet it.
Hircha swept the leeks and onions into one bowl as an undercook slammed another down in front of her. Wiping her hands on her gown, she picked up her knife to slice the kugi.
”Not too thick,” the undercook snarled.
”Yes, Master.” He didn't deserve the t.i.tle, but she'd learned to be lavish with compliments-as long as the Master himself was out of earshot.
She'd been nervous when she received Xevhan's summons yesterday, but when he smiled and spoke to her as if nothing had happened, fury welled up inside of her. Miko handed her the clothes she was to wear while serving at the entertainment. His fingers lingered on her wrist and it took all her strength not to s.n.a.t.c.h her hand away. After she was dismissed, she went back to the kitchen and was quietly sick. She cleaned the bowl before anyone could shout at her and returned to her work.
Her determined slicing slowed. She found herself staring at the knife. It was too large to steal. But one of the smaller ones used for paring fruit . . . that she could slip unnoticed into her gown. She'd be killed, of course. But as long as she had the satisfaction of seeing the blood gus.h.i.+ng out of his throat, it would be worth it.
She heard a fresh commotion and glanced up. Keirith was standing in the doorway, arguing with one of the undercooks. The Master strode forward, scowling, but his expression changed to one of obsequious politeness when he saw Keirith. Clearly, he'd heard the rumors about the captive from the northern tribes and was taking no chance of offending the boy who might be the Son of Zhe.
When Keirith spied her, he stalked past the Master, seized her arm, and led her out of the kitchen. Hircha shot a pleading look at the Master and resisted the urge to shake Keirith off. Didn't he realize she could get a beating for this? Or didn't he care?
Once they were safely in the corridor, she waited for a young soldier with an eye patch to pa.s.s before twisting free. ”What are you doing here?” She kept her voice low, eyeing Keirith's guards who hovered nearby.
”Is it true? About The Shedding?”
”What about The Shedding?”
”That the king and queen cast out the spirits of the Hosts and steal their bodies.”
He was very pale. And although his voice was low, it was shaking. His whole body was shaking. She stopped herself from snapping out the obvious answer. This was the first time they had spoken since their encounter in the Pajhit's chamber. He had come to her for the truth, but she doubted he wanted to hear it.
”The priests help them,” she said. ”The Pajhit and the Motixa. But aye. It's true.”
He looked so shocked and lost. Like a little boy who had found out his best friend had betrayed him. She felt a flash of sympathy and ruthlessly suppressed it.
”I should have told you. During our lessons.”
”It's not your fault.”
Whose, then? The Pajhit's? He had taken over the lessons after her dismissal. Would it help her plans to try and turn Keirith against him?
”It is . . . shocking. The first time you realize. And understand what these people are capable of.”
”They say the spirits of the Hosts go to Paradise.”
”If they said they were cast into the Abyss, do you think anyone would volunteer?”
”But still, it's a . . . a willing sacrifice.”
”What does that matter?”
”Tree-Father Struath told my . . . he said the greatest sacrifices are made willingly. That those find the most favor with the G.o.ds. So perhaps their spirits do go to Paradise.”
”Perhaps.” She glanced toward the kitchen. ”I must get back or I'll get a . . . I'll be punished,” she finished. For good measure, she bit her lip.
”I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble.”