Page 23 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Khana was fifteen, she had believed she was safe. Yes, Yamueto had taken her to his bed when she’d first arrived at his palace, forcing himself on and in her almost every day for a month, despite her pleas and screams.

But then mercifully, he’d left her alone for a year. He had so many wives and concubines – almost two hundred – that it was easy to get lost in a sea of pretty faces. Sita had helped ensure that the first month did not leave her pregnant, and Khana had dedicated her time to losing herself to music and dance. Ribbon dancing was probably her favorite thing about palace life: the dancer used one or two brightly colored lengths of cloth and twirled them around her body in an elaborate series of spins. More advanced versions even included flips and acrobatics.

One of the older concubines, a lovely woman named Marianya, had taken it upon herself to teach Khana one of Regualli’s oldest and most beloved dances. She was a witch herself and had passed away during Khana’s third year. But before that, Khana had counted her as one of her best friends and allies in this strange, cruel place.

The imperial palace had dozens of rooms suitable for dance lessons: studios and chambers and musical halls. Marianya and Khana had been in one of them with a couple of musicians, going through the next set, when Emperor Yamueto entered the room. The two bowed to him, but he waved it away, saying, “Get back to it,” in that bored tone of his.

Noticeably more tense, Marianya resumed her instruction. Khana focused on the pretty silk in her hands and the proper wrist-flick to get it to flare and spin the way she needed it to. The two of them went through the series of movements slowly, then more rapidly, then to actual music provided by the drummers and flutists in the corner. She’d almost forgotten Yamueto was there. Dressed in his customary black and gray robes, he melted into the shadows.

“Stop,” he ordered.

The musicians stopped, the only sound Khana and Marianya’s labored breathing. The two of them stood at attention as Yamueto ignored his older concubine and approached Khana. Her heart thundered in her chest. Had she done something wrong? How had she caught his attention again?

She wasn’t wearing a fancy silk dress with multiple, intricate layers like she would at court. For a casual workout session, the standard wear was essentially a robe with one knot tied over her shoulder and another at her side. It was simple and made it easy to move.

Yamueto used his thick fingers to tug at the knot at her shoulder, while Khana didn’t dare move. Her dress crumpled to the floor, leaving her completely naked.

“Go again,” he said, stepping back against the wall. He pointed to Marianya. “You, older woman, you rest.”

Khana swallowed salt. Marianya turned away, trying to respect her privacy. Despite the heartbreak in her eyes, she scooped up Khana’s dress, folding it neatly, and ordered the musicians to start again.

Khana danced alone on the studio floor with the silk banner, completely naked. She didn’t dare break routine to wipe the tears on her face.

When the music ended and she finished, Yamueto ordered everyone else out of the room.

Khana woke in a cold sweat, her heartbeat in her ears.

No, that wasn’t her heart. Those were footsteps, thundering down the hall.

Haz burst into her room. “Khana! We need you.”

She shot upright. The fire in the hearth was down to embers, keeping him in darkness, but she heard the panic in his voice. “What is it?”

“Mimi.”

She ignored her boots and cloak, rushing after him out of the room and down the hall, cursing herself. Amati’s cough had gotten worse. She’d been more tired recently, sleeping in later and going to bed sooner. She hardly had the energy for more than sewing. Now Khana didn’t have time to wipe the tears from her nightmare before she was thrust into another.

The old woman lay in bed, her breath raspy. The windows were sealed up tight with animal pelt curtains, and someone had tossed multiple bones in the fire to bring the room to a sweltering heat. Heimili sat next to her, holding her hand, looking anguished.

Khana put a hand on Amati’s heaving chest and winced. There was hardly any aji left in her, and there was something – a couple of somethings – in her lungs.

“Can you heal her?” Heimili asked.

“It’ll take a lot.”

Amati shook her head. “No.”

“Ma…” Heimili insisted.

“We can’t afford…” She coughed, almost hacking up a lung. Heimili and Khana helped sit her upright while Haz poured a cup of water. She drank it down before continuing. “Can’t afford livestock.”

“Maybe Khana can take some of ours?” Haz suggested, glancing at Khana. “Not enough to kill us, obviously, but…”

Amati shook her head. “No. I won’t accept that.”

“And I won’t accept you leaving,” Heimili said, eyes wet. “I’m not ready to say good-bye, Ma.”

She huffed a weak laugh. “I’m eighty-seven. That’s longer than more deserving people get.”

Khana bit her cheek so hard she tasted copper. Amati lay back down. Heimili tried not to cry, and Haz trembled beside her.

Fuck it.

“Death, I wish to trade.”

The world plunged into darkness and shadow. Death stood across from her, multi-colored robe blinding her for a moment. They glanced down at the scene before them. “Ah. I was wondering when I’d have to collect her.”

“Not today,” Khana challenged.

Death grinned at her, their teeth as pasty white as their skin. “What are you giving up?”

She’d planned this ahead of time. It was easier making these deals when she’d already decided which memory to lose, even though the memory of her nightmare was certainly tempting. She couldn’t forget the monster she was running from. She’d thought she was safe then, and he proved she wasn’t.

“The first time Sita gave me birth control,” she said.

The princess had given her dozens of vials over the years. But the first time stood out stronger than the rest, the realization that she had an ally in that cursed place, and the sheer relief of having some control back in her life.

Death held out their hand. Khana took it.

Back in the room. Haz cursed, jumping away from her as she glowed white-red-purple-blue. She knelt next to Amati and poured the aji into her. The tumors in her lungs evaporated. Her heart beat stronger.

When she was done, everyone stared at her. Amati slowly sat up, pressing her frail hand against her chest. “…huh.”

“Are you all right?” Heimili asked, grinning because he already knew the answer.

“I think so,” Amati said. Her voice was stronger, not nearly as raspy as it used to be. She gave Khana a wry look. “How long will it last?”

“I don’t know,” Khana admitted. “You had a couple of tumors in your lungs. They’re gone now, but I think you still have some heart issues that I couldn’t get to.”

She huffed. “You ruined a perfectly good deathbed.”

“Ma, she saved your life,” Heimili chuckled.

“How, exactly, did you do that?” Haz asked.

Khana winced. “Luck?”

All three gave her flat looks.

“You said something about trading with Death,” Haz said.

She sighed. “Yes… that’s what I do. I can make deals with Death to secure aji.”

“What type of deal?” Amati demanded.

“Nothing major!” she promised.

Haz sputtered. “So, you could’ve been producing life force this whole time? Why the fuck have you been draining our livestock, then?”

Khana winced. Heimili scolded, “Haz!”

“No, I want to know. If she can just produce it out of thin air, why force anyone else to lose a part of their livelihood? That’s just selfish!”

She shrank back from his anger. Haz buzzed with it, glaring at her with a sudden mistrust that hurt. That terrified her.

She left the room.