It was mad to plant a garden while the women’s wing was dying. Five more women had gone pale, the latest named Gala, a merry girl from all reports. Priest Assar only shook his head and gave out phials of poppy-milk: Mirra could be no help in this. And yet Nessaket had ordered plants moved from her temple to be planted here, on the roof. If she waited until Jenni had been caught, or there was no more plague, or for the end of the war, then Siri’s garden would be dead for ever. Let it live one last time. Even if Nessaket had to flee, back to the forested home of her parents or the oceanside manse of Tuvaini’s, she would first see blossoms on this roof.
A few days ago the pika seeds in her pocket had meant everything. Though she had chosen not to use them, Kavic had died anyway. Events had their own way of coming about, as if they had already been written into place and needed only time to arrive there. It made the fluttering of the courtiers seem futile, senseless, the struggles of a butterfly caught in water. The garden gave better results.
Dreshka finished planting the last of the roses and wiped the sweat from her brow with a dirty arm, smearing her face with soil. “Stupid girl,” said Nessaket, wishing Rushes was here instead-but she had disappeared after giving her warning about Jenni. She hoped the girl had not met an ill fate-she was the best spy Nessaket had found thus far. She rocked Daveed in her arms and looked out over the edge, ignoring the guards who hovered, hands reaching out towards the baby lest she lose her grip.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” said Dreshka, “I am a stupid girl.”
Nessaket sighed and looked towards Beyon’s tomb. Odd stories had been told about that place. A curse on her son, they said, for bearing the pattern while he sat the Petal Throne. Now ghosts haunted his grave. And that was not the only place. Some of the women insisted the women’s wing was haunted. “Foolishness,” she said aloud, though the sight of the tomb disturbed her. It was more than the fact her son was buried there; she had become accustomed to dead sons. No, something about the shadows there made her uneasy.
Shadows. That would be where Jenni was hiding. The Grey Service hunted the palace for her, the better she did not give warning to her master. But Nessaket was certain she had not left, that she lurked somewhere in these soft halls, waiting to strike. For Jenni’s master could offer her nothing but death now, unless she completed her mission.
Six more guards climbed the stairs, three and three, with Mesema between them, Pelar in her arms. She smiled and gave Nessaket a kiss on each cheek before pushing between another set of guards to settle on the bench. Nessaket sat beside her and together they looked at the new rose bed.
“She has not been found,” said Nessaket, before the empress could ask. Mesema sighed. “At least we have not been poisoned.”
Nessaket silently agreed. She did not know if she would ever eat normally again, without picking apart her food to check for the crescent-shaped seeds. “I am glad to see you well. This sickness… We may need to leave this place.” “We will survive it,” said Mesema. “Disease has tried to defeat us once before, and failed.” Us. Mesema had named herself Cerani. “We will stay.” But this pale-sickness was not the pattern, and killing its master would not cure. She had lived through other plagues before the blue marks had come, plagues that had killed nearly all the children. She did not feel the empress’ confidence. Her throat felt dry. “Dreshka…” she began, thinking to ask for a cup of fresh water, but a high, keening noise made her turn.
Dreshka fell to one side, her arm jerking among the thorns of a rose bush, blood appearing in streaks where the thorns tore her skin. Her head rested on the stone wall, and she held her eyes open with a confused, lost look. At first her legs kicked lazily away from the garden bed, as if she were cooling herself in a pool, but then with more power, her back arching, head finally falling backwards to hit the floor on the other side. Her body twitched between soil and roses, her legs spread scandalously apart, urine running down to pool upon the tiles.
Mesema screamed. Nessaket put out a hand to stay her. She had seen this before.
The guards lifted Dreshka from the bushes and held her down on the tiles, whether from propriety or to try and save her, Nessaket could not guess. She could not be saved. Spittle flew from Dreshka’s mouth as she tried to speak. “Ah-Ah-Ah-”
Lapella had died silently. “Shhh,” said Nessaket, “Don’t be afraid.”
The convulsions had her now, pulling her up into the air as if held by ropes and dropping her again. Her skull made a rapping noise against the roof, rap, rap, rap. “Can’t you stop her head from doing that?” asked Mesema, tears streaming down her cheeks, hiding Pelar’s face so that he could not see.
It would go on like this for several minutes. Nessaket had seen it before and did not wish to witness it again. “Kill her,” she said to the guard at Dreshka’s shoulder. “Stab her heart.” To her credit Mesema made no protest.
The guard drew a dagger and hesitated. “She’ll die anyway,” Nessaket insisted. Dreshka’s chest was heaving so much that the guard struggled. Five of them held her down, two of them sitting on her hips and legs, so that he could do it. The slave-girl jerked once more, then went still.
Nessaket crouched by the girl, careful not to touch the blood with her silks. She examined Dreshka’s dirty hands, checked her pockets and reached inside her robes. There she found it. Linen folded into a square, containing a bit of bread, some half-eaten cheese, and the stem of a candied fig. “The servant’s meals,” she said, “Of course. She wanted to kill the slave who could identify her.”
“But this wasn’t her-”
And Lapella had been barren. “Yes,” said Nessaket, “sometimes things don’t work out fairly.” She turned to the guards. “Take her away.”
Besides her anger and pity Nessaket felt victorious. Jenni had wasted her only weapon. She might still be in the women’s wing, hiding in niches or under beds, but she posed no threat. By doing nothing but planting flowers Nessaket had defeated her. It would not be long, now. She would be found.