Chapter Fifteen

Three days.

Tanitha, who had been pacing from one end of the garden to the other, could not seem to stop her mind from seizing on counting and categorizing as a task. Twenty-five stairs from the terrace to the garden below. Four intersecting paths leading through the garden. Five hundred steps to cross the garden by its straightest path.

And… three days. Three days since her host had spoken with her. Three days that she'd been left completely to her own devices.

The darkness that had surrounded Tanitha's host was frightening and unnerving, but somehow, his silence was worse. She didn't know if he hadn't returned the past few nights, or if he had returned but had simply decided he had no desire to interact with her. She wasn't sure which possibility had worse implications for her.

Every time her last conversation with him came to mind, she looked skyward in frustration with herself. Why, why hadn't she simply been able to hold her tongue? What sort of fool scolded a demon lord, even by implication? A demon lord that had complete and utter control of her fate, no less.

The matter was made even more unnerving by the fact that she had no idea how he was responding to what she'd said. Was his withdrawal a punishment for insolence, a reminder that he was her only available companionship? Or perhaps he was simply annoyed with her and didn't wish to endure her company. The matter of her feelings about the isolation, whether she considered it blessing or punishment, could be completely irrelevant to him.

And then there was the other possibility, one that was even less comfortable to consider; what if his absence had nothing to do with her at all? What if it wasn't by his own choice?

An unplanned absence could mean that something had gone wrong, possibly even that he'd been harmed somehow, though it was always difficult for her to seriously consider the possibility of something harming a demon. Except, of course, another demon. If his decision to allow her to live had been discovered by someone more powerful than he was, it was possible that he could have been punished for it. She could be trapped here indefinitely.

Strangely, though, that thought wasn't the worst part of contemplating that possibility. Trapped or not, she at least wasn't in any physical danger here, and she certainly wouldn't starve. As ridiculous as it might be to worry about the well-being of a much more powerful creature, she couldn't stop herself from doing it. What kind of punishments did demonkind inflict on one another? How badly might he suffer for sparing her?

She shook her head, continuing her pacing. It truly was an absurd worry; of the two of them, he was far more capable of protecting himself. His being in danger was extremely unlikely, which meant that he was ignoring her. And that meant that she was wasting her concern on someone who saw no problem with leaving her in complete isolation.

Her mind returned to its persistent counting. She knew she was just preventing herself from thinking about some things, that her need to categorize and identify things was pure avoidance, but she didn't care. There were times when it was necessary to confront matters, and there were times when she could afford to grant herself some mercy in not dwelling on things that could only bring her pain. And since she apparently had nothing but time right now, that was the route she'd decided to take.

Fifteen fountains, each one practically radiating elemental magic that made the waterspouts curve and dance in elaborate whorls and arcs. Twenty ceramic beehives, each one beginning to drip a bounty of honey. Sixty-two geese in a paddock of rolling pastures, elegant trees, and a placid lake stocked with seven different types of fish. One wall surrounding all of the estate, twelve feet high. Over ten thousand strides to walk the entire inner perimeter of that wall.

Abruptly tiring of her pacing, Tanitha found a broad travertine bench and sat, running her hand absently over the stone's smooth finish, the surface warm in the sunlight. There was another number that kept bothering her, and that number was zero. Zero gates in the long, winding wall. Zero windows in the entirety of the manor. And zero paths that could lead to escape.

Sitting there, alone and with only the quiet hum of insects and the chirps of birds to break the silence, she finally had to face it. There wasn't a way out, but even that wasn't the thing that was truly bothering her. The real crux of the matter was that even if she decided that she had to escape, even if she found a way to manage it, she had nowhere to go.

She held her knees to her chest. That was it, of course. The thing she'd been trying to distract herself from. A part of her had known since she'd awakened that morning that she needed to face it, think about what had happened to her, and that if she stopped moving for even a moment, her mind would turn to it. And so she'd begun exploring the grounds in detail, checking every stone and crevice in the walls surrounding the opulent manor house for a weakness, all to distract herself. All to stop herself from having to think about the fact that she no longer had a home.

She curled her knees tighter to her chest, feeling as young and vulnerable as she ever had in Spaudia. She'd been so determined to secure a place for herself and Lithra, so determined that they wouldn't lose their little corner of safety in the world. The Sanctuary should have been that to her for the rest of her life. And then, for no reason that she could see, a demon had ordered her death. Had ordered someone she trusted to drug her and deliver her to the necropolis as a blood sacrifice.

The thought made bile rise in her throat. Ivathi Yarun, with all his talk about the gods making demands that shattered their followers… it made her sick. Those had been among what he'd thought were her last moments conscious of the world before her death, and he'd spent them telling her how hard it was to bear participating in her murder.

She didn't know what else she could have expected of him. He was a priest, a servant of the One Who Sleeps. He'd hold those vows higher than anything, much higher than her life. Of course he would. Any thoughts that he should have warned her, helped her flee, were nonsense. No one in his position would have done that. She still felt the betrayal keenly, though. He'd been the one to offer a permanent home to her and Lithra. And whichever of the demons had ordered that she be taken from that home, his was the hand that had actually done it.

She buried her head against her knees, trying to force herself to breathe. But even an act as simple as breathing hurt against the ache pain in her heart, the stiffness of her chest. No matter what happened, no matter what news her rescuer brought, she was meant to be dead. She could never return to the Sanctuary. She could never dance alone in the dovecote's courtyard surrounded by the whir of sparrow's wings. She could never sit on the temple's steps listening to the soothing chants of the acolytes' prayers from within. She would never wake to the scent of honey-drizzled flatbread that Lithra had slipped out to buy in the early morning.

She might well never be able to see Lithra again at all.

She finally managed to take a deeper breath, but forcing the air into her lungs broke the wall she'd put up against the tears, and an instant later she was sobbing. The tears streamed down her face, staining the red fabric of the kaftan she was wearing to the darkness of wine. She pulled the shawl tight around herself, desperate for any semblance of comfort and warmth against the aching cold that was working its way through her body. She couldn't go home. She didn't have one anymore. And perhaps, if her home could so easily be torn away from her, she never really had.