Heart Stone

1 BETROTHED Tanzaa looked up when the eunuchs came in to collect her. She had known. All the other girls in the harem glanced secretively at her with a mixture of jealousy and excitement. It was mid-winter day and one of them would be called, as was tradition, on any of the equinox or solstice days. Her best friend, Zamira smiled, for she had been selected just before at fall equinox to become a concubine at the spring festival and was only three months into her preparations. They would be together in their selection. Tanzaa felt her stomach plunge as the tall eunuchs stopped and stood before her. She carefully set aside the music she had been studying and rose. The silence echoed among the other girls, for they envied her, but dared say nothing. They would never know how her heart broke for the love she lost. Obediently, Tanzaa followed the guards out of the garden room and to her bower where she would prepare to meet with the king. She bathed thoroughly, and then let her servants wash and oil hair and select her richest clothing. They wove silver beads and jeweled pins through Tanzaa’s blonde tresses, to match the gray velvet gown. Unlike the current fashions in Umzulio, this draped frock allowed her free movement. Perhaps the king would request her to dance at this court review and she must be able to do so without argument. In a few moments, she would be setting fashion in the entire capital. Tomorrow the popular tight bodice and heavy skirts would fade from favor very quickly, all because she was selected to become the next concubine of the King of Demion. When she had been prepared properly, Tanzaa followed her escorts toward the throne-room. As she walked, Tanzaa began silently composing the letter she would write to Dayvian when she returned to her rooms. He would get the note as soon as the weather in the pass lifted. Without meaning to, she glanced out the huge windows of the foyer. She saw that a storm brewed, with wind bending the trees of the palace gardens. The winter’s cold sleet reflected her mood. Yet her gloom must not impact her dancing. She must never let the king know how she despised his offer to select her for his consort. My Beloved Dayvian,… She entered the main hall and tried not to react. Over fifty other concubines and a vast assortment of Lords along with their ladies, all turned to look at her. Their brightly colored robes flashed like summer flowers against the gray of the stone chamber. The king stood, resplendent in gold, on the dais, smiling grandly down at her, stretching forth his arms as if to invite her into his embrace. She wanted none of him. Zamira would remind her she would never want for anything, jewels, prestige, security, servants, power. She might even have a bit of freedom, as far as the demon would allow, but painful sorcery would rule her life. Tanzaa would have everything except affection. The one requirement of becoming a king’s consort was to house a demon and take on the magic that went with such possession. Tanzaa shivered in terror at the thought but did not hesitate. She did as was expected. She held her head high and strode bravely through the gathered courtiers. Then Tanzaa knelt at the foot of the dais, her arms outstretched before the king, forehead on the running carpet. King Zathuramin owned her already. She had lived in his household, under his protection for most of her life. All her training as a courtesan was his. Tanzaa, the dancing harem girl would become Lady Tanzaa, the courtesan of the king. Outside, the gathered storm struck, rattling the windows in the foyer, beyond the tall wooden doors. “Ah, Tanzaa, my love,” the king announced. “As lovely as ever. You wore silver and I stand here in gold. You have me under your spell, and even before you take on the power. Dance for me, will you?” He didn’t need to ask, she thought. She lifted herself off the floor and glanced around for the musicians. Zamira had not rejoined the musical group, for the choosing-brand on her wrist still prevented her from playing the lute, her best instrument. Zamira would return in a few weeks to playing, just in time for her wedding that was to take place at Spring Equinox. Even without her friend, Tanzaa knew to dance in obedience. Six other harem girls had gathered on the side steps and smiled down at her as they struck up a lively winter tune, designed to counter the dire weather outside. Dance, Tanzaa. She spun and sculpted the air with her arms like she had wings. Her delicate feet hardly seemed to dust the chamber floor like snowflakes flitting across an ice field. The loose hair across her shoulders shielded Tanzaa’s impassive face from the awed onlookers. She twisted in impossible contortions, imitating a swan lifting free from the winter lake and fleeing into the sky. The courtiers watched, enchanted and murmuring their approval. King Zathuramin collected such stunning specimens, gifted with talents that would only be enhanced as they became hosts to demons. Oh, Tanzaa would be an exquisite addition to the menagerie, they thought. The swan landed again on the ice and settled. The music faded and the king began to clap his approval. “Yes, you will do,” he almost whispered. “You will be my sixty-third wife, my lovely. You will dance for me…after you have healed. Tanzaa resumed her kneeling on the carpet, with her arms in front, but she could not stop the slight tremor of fear rippling down her limbs. She struggled to get her breathing under control before the next stage of this ceremony. Tanzaa heard the tramping of the eunuchs’ return. She did not struggle as they carefully stretched her legs out behind her so she lay sprawled in front of the king. She could not watch as a priest approached and the eunuchs held her down, both arm and leg. The priest peeled her dancing shoes off and then, with little ceremony, placed the glowing red iron seal against the heel of her right foot. Zathuramin’s mark on her talent. She could only dance for him. The pain tore from her throat, but she smothered it into the carpet. Tanzaa hoped her bowed head and shrouding hair hid the tears and fury she could no longer contain. Outside, the storm raged on.