“A dutiful daughter would have inquired from the Shah as to my safety.”
“You ordered me not to concern myself with your safety, Father. Don’t you recall? Besides, even a dutiful daughter would have had difficulty doing anything else, since the house and the ship were under attack by a mob.”
“How did you get out?” he demanded, waving his weapon at her and at Awhero, who went to join Jorub and Kamakama against the wall.
Genevieve leaned down to pick up the baby’s blanket. “I had watched the malghaste leaving the house, and I went out by their route.”
“Well, it is time to return. The Prince has need of you.”
Genevieve joined the others against the wall and sank down next to Melanie, resting her back against the stone as she cradled the child. “The Prince has a need to slaughter nursing mothers,” she said. “Have you seen them do it, Father? Have you seen the great, strong, proud men cut women’s throats on the desert? How unfortunate that my separation from Dovidi has dried my milk. I can no longer provide years of extra life for the Prince.”
The Marshal turned pale, then furiously red, as though he had been drained then refilled to overflowing, eyes swollen with fury. “You are what?”
She merely looked at him, unspeaking. He had heard her. He might kill her now, she supposed, which she would prefer to having her throat slit on the desert. If he was as furious as his face, he would probably kill them all.
“We gave her medicine to dry her milk,” said Melanie. “It was the only sensible thing to do.”
The Marshal growled, and Awhero made a tiny motion, pressing her hand against Genevieve’s thigh. She rolled her eyes toward the entrance, just enough for Genevieve to see. Gilber was just outside. As the Marshal turned to look around him, Gilber slipped out of sight. The Marshal focused on his captives once more.
“I am to be elevated,” he muttered in Genevieve’s direction, chewing his cheek as though it were a cud. “You are my candidate, dedicated to the Prince’s use, whatever use that is. You have had your youth. You have had your years of joy. Now, you will serve me. Put the child to your useless breasts and pray he can suck the juice back into them, or he will die before you!”
“The baby just ate,” said Awhero in a whining voice. “He won’t be hungry for some time. It’s possible his suckling will make her milk flow, I’ve known it to happen.” She nodded, rolling her tongue in her mouth and swiveling her eyes like a witless witch. Genevieve relaxed against the stone. Awhero was playing for time.
“You,” snarled the Marshal, pointing at Kamakama. “Get me food. My rations ran out two days ago. You,” he indicated Jorub, “reassemble that sled. It’ll make my trip back to Mahahm-qum an easier one.”
“You’re going back to Mahahm-qum?” squeaked Kamakama, his voice splitting and sliding. “Back to the Aresians?”
“What Aresians?” the Marshal demanded.
“Men from Ares have taken the city, Father,” said Genevieve. “They’ve also taken Havenor. They are here to find the source of your promised elevation, for they, too, have many men wanting to ascend onto that height.”
“Ares? But they furnished the Lord Paramount’s guards!”
“No longer. The Lord Paramount is gone, Father. The Prince is in the hands of the Aresians. The Shah . . . the Shah is no more.”
He laughed shortly. “No doubt the several of you could have come up with a better lie than that, daughter, if you’d had more time. The Aresians, eh? There aren’t enough of them on Haven to conquer a provincial market town.”
“They came in ships,” said Genevieve, looking through him at the wall. “The three sons of the Chieftain came, with all their men, and their warlords. And they have taken Havenor without a fight. Your armies did nothing to oppose them.”
He laughed again, mockingly. “I’ll credit that when I see it.”
“Food,” said Kamakama, bringing it to him. “And drink.”
“Go help your friend get the sled back together,” said the Marshal in high good humor. “While I am amused at stories about invasions from space.”