Despite his generous words, Cook measures him with obvious suspicion.
I lean over the open bier. Its smooth-sided shaft is not too different from the air shaft that ventilates this tomb, except it will fit Mother and Cook. Light gleams below.
“Lord Kalliarkos?”
His voice echoes oddly along the shaft. “Jes? You can’t believe what’s down here! It’s like a vast tomb of old chambers, ones marked with mysterious writing.”
His breathless tone annoys me as I struggle to comprehend that all this time I never suspected the truth. Why didn’t I ask my father what happened to the remains of the old Efean kingdom after the Saroese took over a hundred years ago? A cool earthy breath exhales out of the depths, touched with a flavor like dusty cinnamon that spices my tongue. For a wild instant I wonder if this is the scent of the stories my mother’s people told.
With the baby bound around her, Merry bravely steps into the harness. Coriander, Ro-emnu, and I lower her down.
“Shouldn’t you be frightened, Doma?” says Ro-emnu, looking at me as he hauls up the empty harness. “We are about to descend into a place haunted by the restless dead slaughtered by your father’s people long ago.”
“The only thing that scares me is the thought of having to listen to you try to impress me with your sarcasm.” I grab the harness out of his hands. “Amaya, you’re next.”
Her chin quivers as she steadies herself. She may be a sniveling spoiled brat of a younger sister, but she is a soldier’s daughter too. “I’m ready to go.”
She staggers a little, and I will be cursed for a shadow if Ro-emnu doesn’t hasten forward to catch her just as if he has been lovestruck by her delicate features and proud courage. I roll my eyes and happen to catch Coriander’s look at the same moment. She has covered what I am sure is a snicker of laughter by clapping a hand over her mouth. Probably Amaya stumbled on purpose so she can lean on the arm of a large, strong, attractive man, even a Commoner, just because she has to make sure she can charm every man who crosses her path. Then I remember Denya’s tear-streaked face as she begged me to get word to Amaya, and I realize I don’t know what to think, that everyone and everything is wearing masks. Just like me.
Faint but clear, three triple fanfares announce that the High Priest and his procession are entering the City of the Dead.
We lower Amaya down. As I’m untangling the harness, Ro-emnu straightens with a hiss.
Mother appears in the archway supported by Cook. She wears a loose linen sheath. Her skin looks blotchy and she can barely stand upright.
“Jessamy?” she whispers. “Where are your sisters? Who is this young man?”
“He has come to help us escape, Mother.”
He coughs. “So this is the woman who paid the coin of her life to sleep with the enemy.”
I shove him so hard that he staggers back. Before he can catch his balance I push him again so he slams against the wall. “What gives you the righteous purity to speak of her in that way? My mother is a woman, and she deserves respect!”
He gets his hands up between us but he does not touch me. Instead his gaze flicks past me to where Mother leans.
She says in a frail voice, “Jessamy, let it go. If he helps us escape then it does not matter what he thinks of me.”
This is how she has lived all these years. This is how she has kept her dignity. Tears well up in my eyes and I step back because I do not want him to see me cry.
Yet to my utter astonishment he walks past me, touches both hands to his forehead, and makes an odd dip with his knees. He speaks in Efean. “My apologies for my harsh words, Honored Lady. The dames of my clan would whip me if they were to hear of my rude disrespect. I beg you to spare me the indignity of being scolded in public by them in front of all the assembled households.”
His words bring a smile to her lips, as if she has remembered the woman she once was. “Your secret is safe with me. What is your name, young nephew?”
“My mother gave me the name Ro-emnu but my aunties call me Ro. I personally pledge my five souls to the task of bringing you and your people to safety, Honored Lady.”
Tension fills her jaw. “I must find the strength. My daughters need me. Where is the baby?”
“Already down, with Merry,” I answer.
As Cook and Coriander adjust the harness to fit her, my mother looks at me. “There was another baby, Jessamy. The son your father wanted. We cannot leave him here in this hateful place.”
Ottonor’s corpse conceals my poor dead brother beneath a fleshy arm and outflung sleeve. I don’t tell her how I used him because I am afraid she will hate me for it. “I will bring him, Mother. I promise.”