Page 51

Damon says, “I wish to speak with the Juran slave.” He nods towards Lyr.

Lyr swallows.

Kres steps out of the doorway, “Very well, Master. Lyr, you are excused your duties for as long as Master Damon needs you.”

Lyr glances back at Mina before he follows Damon outside. She looks delighted.

They cross the yard and Damon leads Lyr through a gate onto a wide terrace which is being prepared with tables and garlands for the feast. Beyond the terrace is a wooded grove. This is where Damon leads Lyr, unspeaking.

As soon as they get out of earshot of anyone, it’s all Lyr can do not to blurt out, Why have you been ignoring me? What did I do wrong?

But he holds his tongue.

They walk between the trees, different trees this time than the neatly kept ones of the orchard. The trees in this grove are old. “This feels like an ancient place,” Lyr says softly.

“It’s the original grove of the manor. From long ago. When it was built, during the reign of the Hevelikar. Every fine house would have one. Although, truly they are a remnant of an even older time. Before Artemia. Old heathen faiths. But now, many fine houses in Azuria keep a grove for the Feast of Surrus.”

“Surrus is one of the Sidu of Artemia,” Lyr says, “but she is also one of the prophets of Zai.”

“That’s right,” says Damon. “You have been learning. The twelve holy days of Artemia are also observed by Zai. As the Sidusia are the prophets that predicted Zai’s coming.”

“Did they?”

Damon smiles. “So they say.”

“Perhaps the people of Azuria did not want to give up the twelve feasts.”

“It would be hard to persuade people to give up twelve feast days. And they honour the prophets. But this is all I know. I am a soldier, not a learned man.”

“You are not? Are you sure? You recite Magaar poetry because you were educated as a Prince of Azuria.”

Damon shakes his head. “Be sure, Lyr, I am no prince.” He says it so seriously Lyr wants to laugh.

“The Azurians say they are not followers of Artemia these two hundred years, but you all still speak Artemian.”

“We have to communicate somehow. Sarelik could hardly outlaw a language, although I am sure he wished it. I know that on Pluma-Ferris they have been struggling for years to stop people speaking Plumian.”

Lyr shrugs. “I think I heard people speaking Plumian when I went to the market. I was sent to order the fish for tonight.”

Damon smiles. “Did you enjoy it? The market?”

“It was interesting. Attar is very big. And very busy. I saw Atticul.”

“Atticul? In the market?”

“He had one of his men approach me. He took me to his carriage.”

Damon’s voice is stiff with repressed anger. “What did he say to you?”

“He wanted me to betray you. Tell him you were fucking me.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him the truth.” Lyr can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice as he says, “I told him I worked in the kitchens and you never looked at me.”

Damon stops walking and turns to face Lyr. Sunlight through the trees makes patterns on his solemn face. “Lyr, I am sorry. I had thought it best to try and stay away from you. It was the only way I could stand not to touch you.”

“I thought I had done something wrong.”