Chapter 14 Tula
TULA
Tuesday morning crawled by with agonizing slowness. Tula tried to focus on the ancient manuscript she was supposed to be restoring, but her hands trembled as she applied the delicate preservation solution to the crumbling papyrus.
Tomorrow, Areana would call Annani, and everything would change.
Or nothing would change, and they'd all be trapped here forever.
"Careful." Sarah placed a hand over Tula's. "You're going to tear it. Maybe you should take a break."
"I'm fine." Tula set down the brush with exaggerated care. The manuscript might be valuable because it was so old, but it didn't contain anything worth preserving. How could she care about grain distributions in some long-dead city when her entire future hung in the balance?
Shrugging, Sarah returned to her table at the far end of the library.
"Let me see." Tamira moved to her workstation, pretending to examine her work. "You've been jumpy all morning," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Did Areana tell you something?"
"No." The lie came out sharper than intended.
"Don't lie to me." Tamira's eyes narrowed. "I see how you two look at each other," she whispered in Tula's ear. "Those meaningful glances. She has a plan, doesn't she?"
"I don't know anything." Tula turned back to the manuscript.
"Don't keep us in the dark," Tamira said. "We're in this together."
"I said I don't know anything." Tula closed her eyes in frustration. "She hasn't told me anything she didn't tell you. Just to be patient and act normal."
It was technically true.
Areana didn't know how Annani would react to her request, and if she would be willing to help. The secret communication device and the weekly call were secrets Tula would take to her grave if necessary.
Tamira's jaw clenched. "Patient. How can I be patient? And how can you be while your belly swells with every passing day?"
"Shh!" Raviki looked up from her worktable. "What are you two whispering about?"
"Nothing important," Tula said quickly. "Tamira is criticizing my work without providing any suggestions on how to improve it."
Raviki's expression said she didn't buy it, but she returned to her work. The library fell back into its usual rhythm—the soft scratch of brushes, the occasional murmur of conversation, the hum of the climate control system keeping the books and scrolls at optimal temperature and humidity.
But Tula couldn't concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting to last night's dream. Esag's sad eyes. The way he'd looked at her like she was his only hope for what? Forgiveness? Understanding?
Why was he haunting her dreams? The morning dragged on.
Every time someone moved suddenly, Tula's heart raced, and by the time Areana announced they should prepare for lunch, Tula felt like she might vibrate out of her skin.
"Actually…" She stood and stretched. "I think I'll skip lunch and take a nap. I didn't sleep well last night."
It wasn't even eleven yet. The men wouldn't return from their duties for at least another hour, which meant Tony wouldn't be there to follow her to her room and insist on keeping her company.
Areana raised an eyebrow. "It's not even noon, dear. You should eat something first."
"I'm not hungry." Another lie. She was always hungry these days, the pregnancy demanding constant fuel. "I'm just exhausted." She turned to Tamira. "Could you bring a plate to my room? You know what I like."
"Of course," Tamira said while narrowing her eyes at Tula. "I'll pile it up."
"Thank you." Tula turned toward the door.
Sarah stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Are you feeling alright?" she said quietly. "You look pale."
"I'm just tired." Tula managed a reassuring smile. "I keep having strange dreams that wake me up at night."
That, at least, was true.
"Dreams?" Liliat perked up. "What kind of dreams?"
"Nothing interesting. Memories from childhood are surfacing for some reason. You know how dreams are—everything jumbled together in ways that make no sense."
"I had a dream once that I was flying," Beulah said. "Over the ocean, like a bird. It felt so real I was disappointed when I woke up."
As the others launched into a discussion of memorable dreams, Tula slipped out the door.
When she reached her suite, she drew the heavy curtains closed, eliminating the artificial sunlight that illuminated the interior courtyard, trying to emulate daylight.
The bed was neatly made, not by her but by the maid, and it was a shame to mess it up, but Tula kicked off her slippers anyway, pulled back the covers, and then paused.
Should she change into nightclothes? Nah.
Her dress was clean, and it was comfortable.
There was no reason to bother with a nightgown just for a short nap.
She lay down fully clothed, pulling just the top sheet over herself.
The pillow was soft, the mattress comfortable, but sleep felt impossibly distant.
Her mind was on Areana's talk with Annani tomorrow, with Tamira's accusations, and with the constant feeling that the walls were closing in on her and that soon Navuh would find out that she was pregnant and she would be watched even more than she was now.
Think of something else. Something calming.
She closed her eyes and deliberately called up memories from childhood, before everything had shattered, before the world as she'd known it had ceased to exist. Her mother's singing, her father's long-suffering expressions. The way their small house smelled of freshly baked bread in the morning.
Happy memories.
Playing with the carved animals her father made for her. Her mother braiding her hair. Gulan mending her torn dress with tiny, perfect stitches before their mother noticed that she'd added another tear to it.
And then, inevitably, memories of the palace. Following Gulan through those massive doors, overwhelmed by the grandeur. Meeting Princess Annani, who had immediately made Tula feel welcome, made her feel like a friend, a confidant.
"Tula!" Annani had exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. "You're perfect! Exactly my size!"
Annani was tiny, the size of the twelve-year-old Tula, which made Tula the perfect dummy to curl up in Annani's bed and pretend to be the sleeping princess while Annani snuck out on adventures with Gulan.
The right size to hide in small spaces and eavesdrop on conversations. The right size to be useful.
Every little service had been rewarded generously—a bracelet here, earrings there. Always with a wink and a finger to her lips. "Our secret, sprite."
Gulan had always tried to return the gifts because they had been too much for the services rendered, but Annani refused to take them back.
The memories grew softer, hazier, bleeding into each other as sleep finally began to claim Tula.
The palace corridors became longer, wider, until she was walking through them not as a child but as she was now, a grown woman, pregnant and desperate to provide her child with a better fate than that which awaited him here.
The dream solidified around her.
She stood in Annani's room, but it was both exactly as she remembered and completely different.
The walls shimmered between past and present, the furniture shifting styles every time she looked away.
Annani sat at her vanity, but when she turned, her face kept changing, not her features, just her expression.
Sometimes she was the young princess Tula remembered, full of spirit and hope for the future, and sometimes she was older, wiser, sadder.
"I have something for you," dream-Annani said, holding out a bracelet.
It was gold, delicate, with tiny bells that chimed when they moved. Tula remembered that exact moment. It was payment for once again taking Annani's place in her bed, pretending to be the sleeping princess.
"We can't take it," Gulan said.
Dream-Tula held on to the bracelet with greedy fingers. She had no intentions of giving it back.
"It's too much," Gulan said.
"I have one for you as well." Annani tossed her another bracelet, which Gulan caught with ease.
"Princess, please." Gulan stood with the bracelet dangling from her fingers, her eyes pleading with Annani to take it back.
"Nonsense." Dream-Annani walked over to Tula and fastened the bracelet around her wrist, but when Tula looked down, it wasn't her child's arm. It was her adult wrist, and the bracelet still fit perfectly.
"See?" Annani said. "It was always meant for you."
The room shifted, colors bleeding like wet paint, and suddenly Tula was standing somewhere else entirely. A tiny workshop, she realized. Hundreds of carved figures stood in neat rows on white shelves, and the smell of wood shavings and linseed oil filled the air.
Esag sat on a stool, a workbench in front of him, a carving knife in one hand, and a half-formed figurine in the other. His red mop of hair was covered with dust from the shavings, and so were his muscular forearms.
He looked up at her, and those green eyes held such profound sadness that Tula's anger faltered.
"Hello, Tula," he said.
The words unlocked something in her, and suddenly she could speak in this dream, could move around instead of just observing.
"Why are you haunting my dreams? Because if you want my forgiveness for what you did to Gulan, you can stop right now. I will never forgive you."
Esag set the knife down and the unfinished figurine. "I didn't even know that I was supposed to seek your forgiveness."
The unexpected answer broke Tula's train of thought. "Where are you?"
He gestured at the very small workshop around them. "I'm here. Carving, remembering, trying to make amends."
"Amends for what?" Tula stepped closer, and now she could see what he'd been carving. It was a woman's face, beautiful and sad. It looked like Wonder but not quite. Like Tula but not exactly.
"For many things. I'm full of regrets. I keep disappointing people."
She tilted her head. "Of course you are. You are selfish."
He shook his head. "I don't think I am. I don't want to hurt anyone, and yet I end up hurting everyone.
I didn't want to hurt Ashegan and break the engagement even though I could barely stand her, and I didn't want to hurt Gulan and end things between us.
I ended up hurting both. I didn't want to disappoint my family, my sisters, my parents, but it was all for nothing.
When I finally found my courage, it was too late. "
Tula wanted to hold on to her anger, but something in his voice, in his eyes, made her pause. "What do you mean, found your courage?"
"I decided to break the engagement, but before I could do that, Gulan ran off."
"You're lying."
He shrugged. "I didn't even tell Wonder about it."
The workshop began to shift around them, the carvings multiplying, covering every surface. Tula recognized faces, some she'd known, others she'd only heard about, all of them carved with heartbreaking tenderness.
"This is what I do," Esag said. "I carve the people I lost. I try to capture them, every face I remember, I try to preserve. It's my way to honor them somehow, but it's not enough. It will never be enough."
"No," Tula agreed. "It won't."
She moved among the carvings, seeing faces from her childhood. There was even one of her, the young Tula, glaring at something off to the side. The disapproving little sister, too young to do anything but too loyal to stay silent.
"Why are you in my dreams?" she asked again. "How are you reaching me?"
"I don't know." He looked at her belly. "I've been having visions of you lately—of you being pregnant and scared."
Tula's hand went instinctively to her belly, even in the dream. "That's none of your business."
"You're right. It's not." He paused. "But I see your fear, and it reminds me of my sisters and what could have been if not for Mortdh.
The little nieces and nephews I never got to carry on my shoulders.
In your eyes, I see the same desperate hope fighting with the knowledge that the world is cruel and unfair and takes what it wants regardless of what we need. "
"Stop it." Tears burned behind Tula's eyes, and she hated herself for the weakness. "Stop acting like you understand. Stop acting like we're the same."
The workshop began to fade at the edges, growing misty and uncertain. The dream was ending. She could feel it, her mind rising toward waking.
She woke with tears streaming down her face, her hands clenched into fists. The room was still dark, still quiet, but everything felt different. The anger she'd carried for five thousand years had shifted somehow. Had become more complicated.