“No,” said Saad. He took Ott by the arm and thrust him toward her. The boy stumbled and fell to the floor, weeping, his body shaking uncontrollably. “This is your son, the boy you keep at your side, the one who is the same age as the other, as Ren. He told his secret to the Rachins.”
The Rachins. The two priests Saad had taken. Ott had told them his secret. She hadn’t known he had shared his parentage. She’d told him to tell no one, to never speak of it, not even in private. Even we must not speak of it, she had said. The secret must be absolute, she had told him again and again. But Ott was no ordinary boy; his mind didn’t work like hers. He was special, different.
“He is just a priest—
“No,” Saad interrupted. “Don’t toy with me or I’ll snap the boy’s neck while you watch.” Saad pressed his hands into fists, tensing his muscles, the scar on his face glowing red, the ugly bruises throbbing on his face and his neck, the wound leaking blood.
“He cannot enter the domain,” she said flatly, refusing him.
“He can and he will. You said Tolemy would speak through the veil, that I would not yet meet the emperor until I was Ray—yes? So the boy will come as far as the veil,” Saad said, the tone of his voice telling Sarra that she must comply, that if she did not agree he would kill the boy on the spot, kill her and be done with it all.
“So be it, Saad. The boy is my son. Let us all go to the veiled window so that Tolemy may speak and name you Ray.” She turned as she spoke. Eyes stinging, she bent alongside Ott and helped him to stand. No, she thought, not Ott. I can’t lose him like this. Sarra had sacrificed her marriage and her eldest children for this boy. She would not lose him now, not to Saad. The Protector knew her son’s secret, but not the emperor’s. He left his troops behind. He believes in Tolemy.
As his soldiers closed the doors, Saad tore Ott from her grip. “Follow at my heels,” he barked, and she struggled to ignore him. Calmly, she offered a lamp to the Protector and lifted one for herself. “Tolemy waits,” she told him, but he did not acknowledge her; he did not even bother to meet her gaze—his thumbs were tucked into his bronze breastplate, his eyes surveying the many carvings that lined the Hall of Histories. Saad was thinking about the emperor, picturing himself standing behind the veil, in the dazzling light of the god. She saw the glow on his face.
Behind him, Ott staggered and nearly fell. It was a gruesome sight, watching her son struggle while the Protector strutted. I can’t do this, she thought, her resolve wavering momentarily. Saad stopped in front of a depiction of the Children’s War, surveying the heroic image of his father, foot on the head of Koren Hark-Wadi.
“It looks glorious to me, no matter what Arko said.”
“Didn’t … he like it?” Sarra shook as she spoke, her eyes burning.
“He thought our artists had taken some liberties with the subject matter.” Saad stood back a little more to admire the carving, as if his father’s glory still reflected on him. “It’s a shame my own father never saw it. Must be twice his height.” She held her lamp high and the flickering light made the relief glow. A cool wind swept down the hall and the light vanished. Sarra struggled to control her trembling limbs, her voice.
“We shouldn’t keep the emperor waiting.” Sarra said, glancing at Ott, wondering what was in that head of his. He did not speak, nor did he tap his fingers. Linen wraps covered two of the digits. Did he break Ott’s fingers? What happened in the tower?
Saad paid them no mind, speaking aloud to himself. “I’ll see that the Harkan stories are changed as well, when I am Ray. There is no glory save that of Solus, no bravery but our own.” He pointed down the corridor, where carving after carving showed the hand of the Protector smiting the head of one kingdom’s leader or another tribe’s warlord, the position of the hand always the same, the club the identical shape, an image reproduced over and over again without regard toward the truth.
“That would be glorious,” she said, her voice flat, anger in her face and in her words. “But the emperor must not be made to wait.”
She urged him forward with a wave of her hand, but he would not move. While her boy shivered, Saad turned once more in a circle, surveying the entirety of Soleri history illustrated in the stele.
Ott fell while Saad idled. Mithra, let this end.
She rushed to him, but Saad blocked her path.
“Stand,” he commanded, and Ott rose to his feet, using his good arm for balance.
Mithra help me, she thought, or I will club Saad with my own hands. I will strike him as he struck my son.
In the distance, a door groaned on its hinges—Saad had reached the end of the hall. Thank the gods, she thought. I can’t take any more of this.
He pushed open the heavy door, beyond which the corridor narrowed, the air growing cooler, mustier. She caught sight of his shadow as it passed into a small chamber, where there was the sound of water and the flicker of lamplight and three pale eunuchs formed a circle around the Protector. He glowered at them, at their shaved heads and white skin. They seemed frightened, uncertain of how to proceed, waiting for Sarra’s direction. Poor, pitiful creatures. She caught sight of Ott, waiting in the shadows, his head once more concealed beneath the cloak. She prayed he was all right. She nodded for the girls to remove Saad’s tunic and armor, saw Saad wince in pain as they peeled the blood-soaked fabric from his chest. She waited in the darkness of the corridor, hearing the splash of water, watching Ott. He was clearly in pain, he shifted from foot to foot, groaning a bit, mumbling, but never speaking. Why? She feared they had cut out Ott’s tongue when he refused to reveal some secret.
When Saad emerged, he was no cleaner than before, but the water was now black with blood and ash. He took the Ray’s ceremonial robe from a rack. “Damned blind mice,” he growled, his exposed back facing Sarra, the skin littered with scars, long cuts arrayed in parallel lines. These were no battle marks; these wounds were deliberate in their arrangement. She wondered if the ragged lines were the work of Saad’s father, Raden. Was this the old Protector’s method of punishment? Had he cut the boy whenever he disobeyed a command or broke a rule? She wanted to pity Saad, but could not. All men suffered.