The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 11: Mercenaries: Section III: Uta

Uta: The Hamatri: The Palace: Qemassen

The Hamatri was empty, except for Uta and Zioban. Even the palace guard who'd led Uta here—one of Zioban's hidden contacts, it seemed—had left. Without the slaves to fill the space, the cubicula felt haunted and abandoned. The endless repetition of cube upon cube reminded her too much of the stelae in Molot's gardens to feel like anyone's home. With the slaves all awaiting punishment, the little chambers may as well have been gravestones.

Standing in the shadowy passage between the cubicula, Zioban was a ghost. He kept his distance, shoulders oddly pinched and defensive as he faced her, even though it was he who had summoned Uta to his side. He was lucky they were alone. After Bree had revealed to King Eshmunen that the slaves had used a hidden passage to march them up the wall, Yirada scoured every corner and crevice for secret entrances. It was a detail Uta had left out of her reports to her husband.

Uta glanced behind her at the stairs, wary that someone might be watching. A few days ago, she'd almost been caught by Princess Bree. Bree had walked right up to the spyhole in the wall and stared straight into Uta's eyes.

She'd learned a great deal eavesdropping on Bree and Queen Eaflied's conversation. The princess was having Aurelius's child for one, though that was unsurprising. What had been more curious was Eaflied's comment about Bree not always being herself. Uta wasn't sure what that could possibly mean, but she was certain it was important. Her first instinct had been to go to Zioban with the information, like she'd gone to him about Bree and Aurelius's affair, but ever since Djana's death the idea made her skin creep.

The words that could lay Bree low hung on her tongue. With an utterance she could change the fates of a few more Semassenqa. She could do that, but what would be the cost? Another woman blinded and thrown from a building to smash against the rocks? Djana had been an entitled, lazy child like the rest of them, but to kill her in such a way?

"You shouldn't be here," Uta hissed. She hadn't meant to let her anger show so plainly, but Uta had been sent by Zioban to look for Prince Ashtaroth during the festival, and when she'd lost the prince on the Shedi-Qalana, she'd followed the crowds to Molot's gardens. She'd seen Aurelius collapse, seen the ambassadors tumbling from the walls.

"Well I am here," Zioban snapped. His voice was rough and strained, not the deep, resounding bellow Uta was used to.

"I use them for the cause," Uta explained, as pinched as Zioban's pose. The way Zioban had said it, it had sounded like a threat. "Why did you call me here?"

Torchlight cut across Zioban's mask as he stepped forward, so that half of it shone white as milk, while the rest of him lay in darkness.

Once, when Uta had been a child, her mother had shown her a small idol of an old Vetnu god with two faces. Its front face had been jolly and kind, but the one on the back had bared its teeth like a demon: a god the picture of any man, two-faced and awkward.

People had such mercenary hearts, mysterious even to their own minds. Why should Zioban be different?

"I only wanted to see you," said Zioban. "To demonstrate my faith in you. What happened in the gardens isn't the worst you'll see done for our cause." Zioban hesitated, choked as though close to tears. It didn't fit the picture of him that Uta held in her heart. What was wrong with him?

Then in dawned on her. Zioban had been broad-shouldered and heavyset, taller than the one who now stood before her. They weren't the same person. It wasn't Zioban's voice, but a woman's. Two-faced, indeed.

Uta glared, but she wasn't fool enough to tear off the woman's mask or reveal what she knew. It could put Uta in danger. Whoever Zioban now was—or had always been—the other rebels served at their will and wouldn't hesitate to rip Uta limb from limb if Zioban ordered it. And perhaps Zioban had been several people all along, each working together to lead the slaves out of bondage. Or else Zioban had been killed or imprisoned, and this new leader was a replacement or imposter. At the very least, two rebels had worn Zioban's mantle.