“Yes, Servant Eilif,” Oos and the other Servants chorused, but Unar turned the stricture over in her mind. She could see no good reason for women being seen as safe. They were no less dangerous than men. She thought of Odel’s Bodyguard, the scarred woman who had taken her machete and bore-knife without her knowing.
“Our own king’s soldiers come at last,” Eilif said, turning abruptly away from Unar, heading for the Gates. In the absence of an explicit order to remain behind, Unar and the mass of Gardeners and slaves followed along behind her, crossing bridges and traipsing over stepping-stones, avoiding flowering groundcovers and fragile, brightly coloured fungi.
The Gates stood wide open with Odelland soldiers clearly visible on the other side. They wore scarlet leaf-skirts over leather loincloths, pale yellow bracers and shin guards, and lacquered breastplates studded with beetle carapaces over peach-coloured tunics that bordered on trespassing on their god’s reserved colour.
“Your people lack discipline in the absence of your goddess,” their leader called to Servant Eilif as she approached the invisible barrier.
“The person you are looking for,” Eilif said with conviction, “is not among my people. You have my oath. Now you must leave.”
“We’ll question your people ourselves.”
“Our king’s men are close.”
“You think one who walks in the grace of Odel cares about your king’s men? Your king is weak. The magic of this niche is faded. You’d better do as our king demands, or who will protect you in the raids when they come? You’ll be begging us for help.”
“The Garden will not admit anyone who has taken a life.”
“Is that so?”
“Try to step through the Gate.”
“Save your tricks for the raiders.”
“The Garden doesn’t admit thieves any more than it admits murderers. You could have saved yourselves the trip, soldiers of Odelland.”
“We’re not stupid, old woman.” The leader let his frustration show. “We learned as schoolboys in the leaf hut that the Garden Temple favours women, as the death god’s Temple favours men. But we have orders from our king. If we can’t get in, you’ll have to come out.”
“Look there,” Eilif said, but a scout had already rushed forward to tug at the lead soldier’s tunic.
On a barely visible branch path to the east, the brown-clad soldiers of Audblayinland advanced in an orderly centipede formation, moving two by two, left-handers with right-handers, so that weapons could be wielded on both sides. Citizens pressed themselves to trunks to keep out of their path, and children emerged from their hollowed-out houses to point and cheer.
“I won’t flee before fighters made inferior by their godlessness,” the leader said.
“Do not flee,” Eilif suggested. “Go to meet them. Tell them you’ve realised your error. That the Garden is incapable of sheltering thieves.”
It galled the man to do as she said, but Unar could imagine no alternative. The Odelland soldiers turned to leave, and the Gardeners fell into each other’s arms, soothing one another. Unar caught Aoun gazing flatly at her.
As their eyes met, her heart thudded. Had she ever thought he was too tall, that his jaw was too long, that his soulful eyes were too deep-set, too serious? He was stunning. Did he think the same about her? No, of course not. He was wondering if, despite the wards, despite everything, she really had stolen from the king of Odelland.
Insolently, knowing that nobody else was watching, she gave him a slow smile and the briefest, barest nod of her head.
FOURTEEN
UNAR LICKED the last of her seed porridge from its leaf-bowl.
She let the bowl fall off the edge of the Garden and washed her hands and mouth in an irrigation channel. With the sun setting, she turned towards the slave quarters, intending to find Ylly and claim her reward, her first swimming lesson, but a lofty figure in a white robe and red-and-green stole stepped out from behind the closest pavilion.
It was Aoun.
“Come with me, Gardener,” he said.
“As you wish, Warmed One,” Unar answered instantly. She followed him with foreboding across a series of bridges, wondering whether other Servants would be waiting at the Gate to expel her from the Garden forever.
There was nobody else at the Gate. Unar and Aoun stopped together by the black-trunked tree ferns, the fronds forming a tangled roof above their heads, staring at the empty space where soldiers had milled like angry ants that morning.
Unar’s skin prickled. She stood, poised, on the balls of her feet with her knees bent, smelling nightflower honey, the reek of bats, and the powder of moths. Would he simply and silently throw her through that empty space? He’d pushed her through it before, but her magic had been weak then. She would resist him, if he tried to cast her from the Garden.
“Watch,” he said.
“It’s too dark to see anything. Where’s your lantern?”
“Watch.”
There was nothing in the doorway and then there was a seed, the size of a human heart, formed from light that only a Gardener’s eyes could see. It throbbed like a heart, and with every pulse, it grew larger, sending out shoots above and roots below, until it filled the space between gateposts, smelling like rain.
Unar’s mouth was dry. He wasn’t casting her out. He was breaking the rules for her again, and Aoun did not break rules.
“The key,” she whispered. “I am dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.”
“Why have you shown me the key?”
“I’m showing you that the Gate is locked. Now, show me how to go through, Unar.”
“No! That is, I don’t know—”
“If you can discover a way through, our enemies might discover it, too. Show me, please.”
“So you can strengthen the wards?” Hope turned to dismay. For a whole minute, she’d thought he was helping her, training her, maybe a little in love with her. She thought he’d escaped from the anti-lust magic after all, but all he wanted was to strengthen the Garden, faithful as a fourth-generation slave. “So you can cage me?”
He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she felt that she was melting. It wasn’t fair, that he could do this to her but not she to him.
“Pay attention. I’ve given you the key.”
She’d forgotten.
Of course. After what she had just seen, the Garden would never be closed to her again. Her emotions were in turmoil. Joy warred with terror; the ground scarcely seemed solid. Surely he couldn’t just show her the key. Maybe he still planned to throw her out afterwards.
“Am I not the enemy?” she asked. “I’ve rebelled against a king. Against the natural order.”
“My parents rebelled against that order.”
“And now you rebel against it?”
His hand fell away.
“No. We knelt together on the same day, Unar, but we aren’t alike in this. You know I came here to submit to their will. But you must learn greater discipline—”
“We aren’t alike? You showed me the key! That’s not allowed, is it?”
“I swore never to lock the Gate in front of anyone, except in the advent of Audblayin’s reincarnation, my own mortal wounding, or in defence of a Garden under imminent threat.”
“Is the Garden under imminent threat?”