The House of Sacrifice. Anna Smith Spark

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      Did I kill them? he thought. The other children? Kill them in her, will them dead, give her poison in her sleep? I cannot father a living child. One of your generals himself plots to destroy you! Conspires against you! What if one of them is poisoning her, killing our children?

      ‘Why do you call it “he”, then? As though you think it will live, as though you pretend it will live?’ A wound, a rotting wound inside her already infected and dead.

      ‘He will live.’ Her hands clutched over her belly, tight, so tight like she might crush it, smother it in the womb. She was lying, they both knew it, it would die soon, any day, any moment, like the rest, just let it live let it live.

      ‘Don’t call it “he”.’

      ‘I – I want—’ And it came to him sick and horrified that she did not want it to be a girl. Look at her, the former High Priestess of the Great Temple, sacred holy beloved chosen of god who was born and raised to kill children, men dreaming in hot sweat about her hands stabbing them. She doesn’t want to have a daughter any more than I want to have a son. A perfect clarity, as he coughed the black sand of human bodies from his lungs: we both want this child more than all we have in the world, the last hopeful thing left to us, the only reason for anything. A child, to build an empire for. A child, to show our happiness and love. And we both want it to die unborn.

      He remembered, so clearly, kissing Ti’s pink screwed-up face, kissing Ti’s pink flailing fist.

      ‘He will live,’ Thalia said again. ‘We should not be talking about this, Marith. Not now. You’re frightened, angry,’ she said. ‘You need to calm, to sleep.’

      ‘I saw …’ I can’t tell you, he thought, not you, I can’t speak it, I can’t have the child, my son, he can’t hear. Black sand crunched between his teeth.

       Chapter Eight

      It was a nightmare brought on by drink and stupid songs, he thought the next morning. There had been grains of black sand in the bed, he had woken to feel them itching him. A scalding hot bath; he drank and spat water, drank and spat, drank and spat. He still could not speak of what he had seen.

      He drank a cup of wine and his mouth felt cleaner. He was dressing when a message was brought that Alleen wanted to see him urgently. Thalia looked at him in fear and surprise.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘How should I know?’

      ‘Show him in, then.’

      Perhaps, he thought for a moment, he should see Alleen alone, without Thalia there.

      ‘Marith …’ Alleen was nervous. Excited, afraid. ‘Marith, I’ve someone here you need to see. Now.’

      ‘I … Bring him in, then.’ Should I tell Thalia to leave? he almost thought. He could hardly tell her to leave in front of Alleen and the guards prowling around.

      What will I do, he thought, if it is coming now that she is the one betraying me? Or Osen? But I love her, and Osen is my best friend.

      There was a young man waiting in the bedroom doorway. A servant, from the look of him … no, Marith looked closer, a soldier, unarmed and as frightened as Alleen was, but a soldier. Blood smell on him. Bronze and blood ground down onto him, marking him. The man was looking down at his feet, too afraid to look up.

      ‘Well?’

      Gods, he needed a drink.

      ‘Speak,’ Alleen said.

      We’ve been here before, and he’ll say … Not Thalia. Not Osen. Please. He’ll say it.

      ‘Lord Erith,’ the man said.

      ‘Valim Erith offered him gold,’ Alleen said, ‘to kill you. Gold and—’

      ‘Lord Erith gave me this.’ The man held up a dagger. Carefully, cautiously, between finger and thumb, hanging down like a live thing. Blue fire on the blade. A blue jewel in the hilt. Marith reached for it.

      ‘Careful!’ Alleen pulled his hand back away. ‘The blade is poisoned, he says.’

      ‘Poisoned.’ Marith took it, held it up to see the light move in the jewel. Pressed the very tip against his finger, drawing out a single bead of red blood. Heard voices gasp and wince.

      ‘Valim Erith gave it to you? To kill me? You swear this?’

      ‘Valim Erith gave it to me, My Lord King, I swear it.’

      ‘On your own life?’

      ‘On my own life, My Lord King.’

      ‘Why you?’ Thalia asked. ‘Who are you?’

      A long, stuttering, gasping noise. The poor man. Wretched man, brought to this. He’s nobody, Thalia, Marith thought. Some poor man doing as Valim Erith ordered him.

      ‘Speak,’ Alleen said harshly.

      ‘My name is Kalth, My Lord King, I am an Islands man, My Lord King, I’ve been a soldier under Lord Erith since you were crowned king at Malth Elelane, I’ve fought in every one of your battles since you sailed to Ith, I’ve fought and survived them all.’ There was so much pride in his voice as he said that; his pride filled the room with warmth. ‘My brother died at Balkash. My lover died here in Arunmen, on the first day of the siege. Perhaps I … I said some things I didn’t mean, after he died, mourning him. He … It took him five days to die. So I was angry, and perhaps I said things … I’m sorry. But Lord Erith – I served him, my family have served the Eriths as soldiers and servants for a hundred years, he himself was a guest at my sister’s wedding, but I would not do it, My Lord King, not what he asked me to do.’

      ‘He came to me this morning,’ said Alleen. ‘He was supposed to do it last night. He hid, came to me instead.’ Alleen rubbed his eyes. ‘A hangover and four hours’ sleep. Curse Valim.’

      Thalia said, ‘Can we trust him? This man?’

      Alleen said, ‘Look at him. He has no reason to lie, I think.’

      Thalia looked thoughtful. Marith rubbed at his own eyes, ‘Have Valim brought in, then. And fetch Osen here.’ Valim: yes, it made sense to him, he could see it; Valim whom he had known since he was a child, bright in his bright armour, his hard face, a proud young man in King Illyn’s hall. Not a friend. A friend of his father’s.

      Valim Erith was brought in shaking his head, chained, guards all around him. His eyes bulged when he saw Kalth. But he did not speak.

      ‘You conspired to kill me.’ It was not a question. Managed to keep the question out of his voice. He remembered Valim Erith from when he was a child. A stern, cold man. He had always known that beneath the cold Valim Erith was weak.

      ‘Why?’ What do I expect, Marith thought, that he’ll say anything more than anyone else ever does? The same old same old things, the same words, the СКАЧАТЬ