Page 14 of Hot Zone

“Malah.”

“Nice to meet you, Malah.”

The girl ducked her head, embarrassed, and commenced straightening up the room, which took approximately thirty seconds. Nervously, she asked, “Shall I bring food to break thy fast?”

“That would be great.”

In a few minutes, the girl returned with a pottery dish and a small clay jug. The former contained dates, olives, flat bread and a sharp white cheese. The jug held a milky, beige-colored water that tasted faintly of mud. But hey. It was wet. Not to mention she’d taken every inoculation known to mankind before she came on this little junket, and was loaded up on so many antibiotics that no germ stood a chance in her system for weeks to come.

Malah waited expectantly while Tessa nibbled at the meal. All in all, it wasn’t half-bad. The fruit and bread were fresh, and the strong goat cheese grew on her. When she pushed the food away, the servant stepped forward with a small, damp towel and washed Tessa’s hands, which was a little weird. But when in Rome—or when in Persia, as the case might be.

“My lady queen bids me invite thee to her chambers when thou hast broken fast and completed thy toilet.”

Tessa blinked, startled. The girl was talking about her toilette—getting dressed and putting on makeup and otherwise primping. Did she look that bad? She’d already combed her hair and washed her face this morning, and Athena hadn’t sent any makeup with her.

“I’m afraid my toilet is already done,” Tessa replied regretfully. “Am I not presentable enough for Her Highness?”

A fleeting smile crossed the girl’s face. “You are most pesentable. And exotic.”

“Exotic? Me?” Tessa exclaimed.

“I have never seen a person of your coloring. Your hair is like spun gold and your eyes like silver. Your skin is as white as snow.”

She wasn’t that pale. But in comparison to the olive complexions of the locals, she wouldn’t argue. “When have you seen snow, Malah?”

“Back at Persepolis, baskets of it are brought down from the mountains to cool the emperor’s drink in times of hot weather.”

“Speaking of location, what place is this?” Tessa asked curiously.

“’Tis the city of Trachis, recently seized from the Greeks.”

“Where is it near?” The servant gave her a strange look, so Tessa explained. “I was shipwrecked and do not know where exactly I am.”

Malah nodded in comprehension. “We lie at the foot of Mount Oeta, a few days’ march north of the pass at Thermopylae, a short ride inland from the Gulf of Euboea. The emperor makes final preparations for his attack on Athens—” The girl broke off. Then added hastily, “Or so I have heard.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about the emperor’s not-too-secret secret plans. It’s rather hard to disguise the movements of an army this size.”

Malah smiled in relief. “If thou wilt come with me, my lady?”

“I’m not your lady, but yes, I’ll come along.”

The girl mumbled under her breath, “Would that thou were.”

Hmm.Artemesia was a harsh mistress, eh? No surprise. Apparently, the queen was in the know about Xerxes’s military matters, however, which was a surprise. And servants like Malah overheard snippets of the planning meetings.

In daylight, the palace turned out to be a complex of many separate buildings that must’ve comprised most of the city center of Trachis. Tessa followed the servant across rough cobblestone streets that made her grateful for her flat leather sandals.

Rustam jolted awake, disoriented. In his dream, he’d been back on his ship, commanding his crew as he navigated vast crossings. But when he opened his eyes, his ship was nowhere to be seen. Gauze curtains obscured a stone ceiling overhead. Damn. Still stuck in Greece.

A wave of energy crackled painfully across his skin, pricking him with ten thousand tiny needles from head to toe. It must have been this sharp discomfort that had awakened him.

A stronger wave of outright pain washed over him and he lurched upright, looking around quickly. Thank the heavens. He was alone. As a sorcerer he could probably get away with glowing in his sleep, but he would rather not have to explain the phenomenon to these superstitious locals.

He looked down. Odd. He was still glowing.

The energy danced across his body randomly, like heat lightning, not in the usual orderly whirl of his gathered power. The needles became knives, stabbing with a thousand assassin’s blows. What the—?

He lashed out with his mind, slapping the force field away from his skin. That lessened the pain to a bearable level, but the indigo zigzagging rays still tingled sharply.

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