Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

58. The Cruel Triumph

What I thought would be months of longing for Parneres, turned into a year. Taffiz' complaints had been preposterous. He hardly missed anything important in the few weeks he spent conveying Parneres to safety. On the surface, my days were full of activity. I rode across the desiccated landscape of Bhar, I fought, I commanded. My nights were also full, as I shared my bed with Ondrey. Deep down though, I missed my distant love. Like a songbird, love sang out of my reach, making my heart ache with the untouchable beauty.

Despite all that, my decision to remove Parneres to the safety of Char-Kermen into Kozima's care was the right one. Horrible scenes unfolded one after another as Queen Makeda squashed the Scorpia rebellion. Once I had become accustomed to her brutality, I dreaded the grand finale. And I couldn't excuse myself from attending it. So, I showed up for the execution of the leaders—Peleth among them— sick with foreboding. Parneres would have been crushed to witness this.

At first glance, the execution looked like a festival. Crowds packed the streets, balconies and windows around Tongola's central square. The court occupied a giant balcony of the palace that took up one entire side of it. The ladies of the court fanned out around their Queen's throne in dazzling finery.

As the Imperial representative, I was assigned a place of honor, at the Queen's right hand. I did my best to fit in with the court, wearing a white pleated skirt of the finest linen instead of Company's gray. The tight top of the same material was so sheer, two dark circles of my nipples showed through. Jeweled collars clasped my gown at the neck and bicep, studded with garnets, pearls and rubies... though not too many, for nobody was allowed to outshine the Queen. I, however, threaded more precious stuff through my two braids. I even covered the first silver hairs with black henna for the occasion.

"I like local fashions," Ondrey said, grinning. His gaze traveled to the part of the garment that prompted this conversion—the teasing fabric over my breasts.

"I like breaking them," I replied with a smile. Wearing Ondrey on my elbow didn't fit the local fashion, but the ladies were taking notes. My husband towered like a rock in the sea. His tunic blazed crimson. A wide band of gold-thread embroidery around the V-shaped collar echoed the color of his lazy ringlets in Bhar's bright sun. They spilled to his shoulders, tempting me to twirl them over my fingers like precious rings. And his shoulders went on and on...

I wasn't just eager to parade his barbaric beauty before the court or let him bask in glory he earned as my second-in-command. I needed him there. A hanging, a beheading—I could stomach those. Women sinned, women died. Clean and simple. But the execution style that was about to unfold... I had never witnessed such a thing. The high ladies of Bhar competed in describing the gruesome details to me with a morbid delight, so my stomach crawled for a week beforehand.

"The execution wheel," Queen Makeda explained for my benefit, "comes from a battle chariot of my foremothers. It's twelve hundred years old."

"Fascinating, Your Majesty."

The wheel looked newer than that. Its twelve spokes, axle cap and the rim shone in the sun like it was solid gold. The looks were deceiving, of course. The wheel was forged from steel, with the thinnest covering of gold leaf. Its primary purpose wasn't to dazzle, but to bludgeon. A clever mechanism rolled the wheel along the scaffold. It also lifted it to about a human's height with hydraulics, so the executioner didn't have to overtax herself. The wheel's weight took care of falling when it was released.

The team of the executioners was sweating anyway. Tying down the six condemned rebel leaders was hard work in the open space flooded with sunlight. They frowned and yelled at one another, because it was important to fit the condemned just right on the adjustable brackets. Each of them had to go under a joint, a knee, or an elbow, or a hip.

Six regular cartwheels of wood and iron, one per condemned rebel, were lined up by the gibbets, ready for the last part of the spectacle.

There were plenty of moving pieces to this mother-of-all execution machine, but I couldn't look away from Peleth. She resembled Parneres so much from this distance, it could have been him squirming on the rack. But for the grace of the Divines, it could have been him. There was one man among the condemned and five women. Queen Makeda was sending a clear message—she didn't spare those who opposed her because of their sex. I shivered in the afternoon heat.

Drums and pipes played a call to order, then stopped, then repeated. The crowd filled every pause with excited chatter and screams. A keening wail broke through for a far corner. A mother, perhaps, or a sister, or someone too young to care that the guards were poised to arrest anyone displaying sympathy for the accused.

This cacophony was abominable. In conjunction with heat and squeamish rumblings of my stomach it gave me a headache. I was relieved when the executioners finally finished their fidgeting. They stood to attention on one side of the platform, arms crossed beneath their breasts. Drums throbbed once more, pipes moaned in their wake. Then all fell silent. A sigh of relief raised my chest before I realized that this perfect silence pressed on me from all sides worse than the busy noise.

"By the order of Queen Makeda," a herald started in a ringing voice. I focused on keeping my eyes from squeezing shut, fists at my sides from clenching, my stomach from roiling audibly.

She went through the Queen's endless titles, then the rebels' shorter names.

The list of the crimes was long again.

Sedition, atrocities, inciting unrest, blasphemy, Bhuta-worship, deviance, unnatural practices.

Queen Makeda smiled by my side, her very white teeth shining. I suppose she was schooled in holding a fake smile, but there was something frightfully genuine about the dimples on her cheeks and the curve of her lips when the wheel started to raise. The mechanism was well-lubricated, so the same terrible silence fell. It was so much like the sun sliding upward. It shone like the sun too, casting golden reflections on the faces of the people gathered in the square. I clenched my fists, watching it rise. So unhurried. So inevitable.

Its first pass laterally was over the shins of the condemned. Secured on the brackets, the bones broke with a crunching sound. A collective gasp rippled over the crowd. Then there were screams.

I hadn't eaten the day before in preparation, so what rose to my throat was bitter bile.

The twelve-hundred-year-old wheel returned to the start of the row, preparing for the second round of punishment. The thigh bone was next, I remembered. The worst pain there was, according to Gala's healers. My hand found Ondrey's. It was as cold as ice. I couldn't tell which hand was trembling, his or mine. In the heat of the moment, when I wanted to see Peleth die screaming, I forgot the words of the wise. Be careful of what you wish for, or it may come true. 

Oh, Bhutas curse it!

While the wheel made its bludgeoning progress, rising and plunging to smash the legs underneath, I catapulted out of my seat of honor and threw myself on my knees before the Queen. It hid the scene from me, but the blood-curdling sounds resonated in my ears.

"Your Majesty, I made a mistake bringing my husband with me today. I beg your permission to withdraw for the sake of his sensitivities." I didn't know how I managed to say all that, because my tongue was numb.