"I guess it's not a bad idea." Shon scratched the back of his head. "Every ruler will meet with a Machat one on one if a prophecy is to be given. I don't see why the Paras would be different. Naatos wouldn't want to risk anyone else getting that information. Not even his brothers."
"Didn't the Machat help capture the Paras and imprison them?" Amelia asked. That memory seemed vaguely important.
"Yes," Shon said. "But that doesn't mean the Machat wouldn't have prophecies for them. Even the barbarians of Nestrof agreed to see an entourage of Machat who bore foresights, and they had tried to wipe out the Machat. Foreknowledge just isn't something that you pass up."
"And if a Machat tells them where something will be, that will be far more persuasive than a Neyeb telling them the same thing." Amelia tapped her fingers on her arm, contemplating this. "I'd have to be a Machat who has suddenly decided she agrees with what they are doing."
"Definitely," Matthu said. "Otherwise that prophecy is going to just be 'hey you, stop that.' Which isn't going to help us."
"Besides," Shon added. "There is supposedly a curse on any who slays a Machat. Not that this has stopped folks in the past, but there's no such curse against killing Awdawms or Neyeb. So you might be a little safer if you can keep up the illusion."
"And if I'm found out, I've got this to prove who I am." Amelia rubbed her thumb across her necklace. For hiding who she was, pretending to be a Machat made more and more sense. "All right. Let's figure out how we would do it."
Within the space of a few minutes, Shon, Matthu, and Amelia came to an agreement. This was a desperate plan, to be certain. One that could easily backfire, but an air of excitement had entered the room, a hope. Together they agreed that Amelia would pretend to be a Machat prophetess, and she would give a secret prophecy to Naatos, insisting he was the only one who could receive it. He would have to go alone to Valne's Peak to find Inale, AaQar to Zaloma's Altar to locate the kolagro, and WroOth to the border of Nalthume to quell an insurgence. Ideally she would kill him at Valne's Peak, but if things grew desperate enough, she could risk shooting him in the palace and then try to escape. Hopefully, it did not come to that. Especially with Naatos's mercenaries already filling up the secret passages and blocking off all escape routes.
As Matthu left to get the proper clothing for Amelia from the long-vacant diplomat's wing, Shon painted the deep red-brown lines along her forearms, neck, and cheeks.
The faint acrid scent of the ink spread throughout the room, the fibers of the brush tickling Amelia's skin. Now that she was alone with Shon, it was hard not to notice him even with her elmis covered.
Shon was a well-built man, but it wasn't simply that. Now that he was near her, she could feel him. Not so much in a physical sense despite being aware of his warm hand against her skin as he guided the brush in its precise designs. No, she could feel him. There were no specific images to accompany this feeling or the knowledge, but it was there, growing.
Her stomach tensed, and once more her elmis pulsed. Perhaps it was old memories coming back, but she had never had a crush on Shon. She'd barely seen him. So where was this awareness coming from?
Whether Shon felt the same thing from her, she didn't know. His pupils were dilated, but that could have been from the low morning light.
He brought the brush up again and made another line down her neck. "Are you doing all right?" he asked.
Amelia nodded slightly, keeping her neck extended. "I've been preparing for this for a long time."
"I can imagine." Shon dipped the brush in again. For a moment, his gaze drifted to her lips, and he cleared his throat. "Do you feel…nervous?"
"A little," Amelia said. There was more to it than that, but she closed her eyes, focusing her mind once more on the task at hand. She envisioned herself standing up to Naatos, picturing the tiniest of details and planning for possible eventualities.
Shon fell silent until he finished the design on her neck, cheeks, and forehead. "Hopefully, this will fool Naatos," he said. "That Machat in the passage was the first I've seen in a long time. Remember though, you don't want to talk to WroOth. So emphasize that this is for Naatos's ears only. WroOth was the Para of Reltux, which means he had the most contact with the Machat, and he's the most likely to call your bluff. Of course, if Naatos gets angry—"
"Don't worry. I have the necklace. And my gun." Amelia remembered what Naatos had told her about it. Hopefully, that wasn't a lie. Regardless, she didn't want to see WroOth. Though Naatos terrified her, WroOth had hurt her the most. She'd genuinely liked him. For a brief period, he had been a wonderful friend. The intensity of those memories stung more than the scorpion sting in her palm. "You and Matthu focus on getting things ready for the escape. I'll be fine. "
"I hope so." Shon then instructed her on what she should do and how she should behave to be the most convincing Machat possible. Amelia paid careful attention. The Machat were a quiet people, reserved and often vague in their statements unless pressed. She wore long sleeves to hide her lack of the Machat's extended fifth finger on each hand. "We'll have to attach your sleeves to your hands to hide your fingers," Shon said. "And you'll have to remove those gloves."
"No." Amelia shook her head firmly. "I can't. They're hiding my Neyeb markings."
"We could cover them with ink," Shon said.
Amelia looked at the brown ink with skepticism. "My marks are about two shades lighter than black," she said. "That ink literally won't mask them. Besides…" A flush of embarrassment crept through her. "Who knows what will happen if I have them exposed?"
"You don't know how to control the blood curse yet?" Shon asked.
Amelia half laughed, but the sound was more bitter than she intended. "I don't even know what the blood curse is for sure except that its other name is Sevro's Pact. We went to see a lot of strange people, but no one knew anything about it, let alone how to control it. All we have to go on is the letter Uncle Joe found with me."
"That had to be frustrating." Shon placed his hands over hers. "I believe you will be able to control it when the time comes. Do you think that now might be the time to remove the coverings and see what you can do?"
"Before I face Naatos at Valne's Peak, I will, but not any sooner if I can help it," Amelia said. There was no way she was removing them any sooner if Shon was nearby. Uncovered elmis were unpredictable.
Shon's hand, warm and firm over her own, should have sent her spiraling into an emotional storm of desire based on her earlier reactions. But the thought of the blood curse and her lack of knowledge tainted the moment. Over the years she had envisioned the blood curse playing out in many ways, none of them ideal. It was most likely a sort of madness, something that drove her to kill. Something that turned her into a monster. The thought horrified her. Particularly since she did not know how to end such a state.
She curled her fingers back and pressed her hands together as if to shield herself further. "I just don't know what to expect. Whenever I take them off, everything gets much…clearer. I feel more. I'm aware of more. Almost too much. I think, when the time comes, the gun will make the killing faster, but the curse will make it easier."
"Have you learned how to read minds?" Shon asked.
"Not intentionally. As long as my elmis are covered, I'm pretty sure I can't. Things seep in sometimes. Sometimes I know a lot more than I should. But it's never really intentional, and I don't know how to control it." More frustration and more failure had come in Amelia and Uncle Joe’s attempts to locate someone who could teach her anything about mindreading because there were so many fakes. She'd tried learning on her own, but that had resulted in headaches.
"At least there are no fingers to these gloves. If we put the sleeves just right, Naatos may not even notice," Shon said.
Amelia hoped so. Then again, hoping was one of the things she did often. Shon continued to speak about what she needed to know, his tone calm and his manner suggesting he wasn't particularly concerned about her being under a curse.
When Matthu returned, he carried garments for a large Machat woman from one of the ceremonial wardrobes. He handed them to her with an apologetic half-smile. "I don't think they're going to be comfortable. The Machat are really really…um, narrow."
Yes, they were. Particularly from the looks of these garments. Amelia shook the layered dress out and tried to slip it over her own clothes. It was too bulky, barely reaching her breasts before it was too tight. Removing the duster helped. Even so the sepia, sienna, and gold robes barely fit over her. It cinched tight at her waist, squeezed at her hips, and stretched extremely taut over her bust.
Amelia grimaced.
"Maybe if you weren't wearing your regular clothes." Matthu's cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat. "We could always leave the room and give you privacy. Or you could at least take off the bag and the weapons."
Amelia laughed thinly. "Not a chance. These aren't going to fit well anyway, and if I need to change fast, I want to be ready."
She finished adjusting the clothing as best she could. So long as she clipped the sash around her waist rather than tying it, that helped to hide the stretched fabric as well as the bumps from her holsters and satchel. An additional two sashes over her shoulders and chest obscured even more, and a large scarf pinned around her hips helped even more. Not precisely elegant, but sufficient. More the bag lady wandering prophetess than elegant diplomat. When she looked herself over in the mirror, she grimaced. The Machat didn't seem like a people who held much care for clothing or appearances, so hopefully this would be seen as no more than an eccentric prophetess who had turned from her people. At the least, the markings looked legitimate.
Shon rubbed the back of his neck, a frown creasing his forehead. "It's the best we can do. If they ask, you're half Awdawm. Remember, that means your mother was an Awdawm. It's the only way you'd have Machat abilities."
"I remember." Amelia took a deep breath and tucked back a strand of her own hair. "The father's biological race is the child's biological race. Unlike other physical attributes which may favor one or both."
"You could be one of the descendants of those Machat who were stolen two hundred years ago." Matthu came up beside Amelia and adjusted the sleeve so that more of the markings could be seen on her exposed lower arm.
"Possibly." Amelia shifted the skirt once more. The light but coarse fabric grated under her fingers. She set her hand on her hip and turned to the side. The bulges on the outside of her right thigh from her gun were still problematic, the left hid her satchel, and she couldn't reach any of her weapons easily except the boot dagger. Even worse walking was a little difficult.
"Can I borrow your knife?" she asked Shon. When he offered it to her, she cut slits in the skirt and cut up another of the dresses to make additional sashes. That worked much better. Her dark jeans looked like tight-fitted leggings when they did glimpse through the fabric. This entire plan was risky, but there was also something to be said about simply pretending that something was real and legitimate. That was how Uncle Joe had gotten her through many scrapes in Indiana. She had been a literal illegal alien, and yet he had always told her to act like she belonged and had guided her through many challenges. This might work for the same reason.
"That's it then," Shon said. He sheathed his knife after Amelia returned it to him.
"Yes. Let's do this." Amelia gave herself one more appraising glance. This would have to work.
The three slipped out into the hall and then separated once they neared the staircase. Amelia slowly made her way down to the central floor.
It was strange to walk these halls again. The smells were cold and the sound of the invading force distant. The last time she had come through, she'd been trying to find out the reason everyone had fallen asleep and the source of the mysterious tapping. Now the halls echoed with the thudding boots of their enemies.
Excitement and fear mounted within Amelia as she walked down the smaller staircase. It was hidden in a corner of the hall, used primarily by servants and attendants, whereas the large central staircase was a work of art primarily used by the royalty and nobility.
The clattering noise and voices grew stronger. Any minute now they would see her. Except they didn't. Not until she reached the bottom of the simple white stairs and took a few paces toward the central hall. Then a startled shout went up.
Amelia kept her hands folded before herself and waited as one of the guards hurried toward her. "I am here to speak with Naatos." She held his gaze with what she hoped conveyed a sense of mystery and solemnness as well as a confident air that insisted she belonged in this place. "I have a word for him about the Third Nalenth."
All of the other mercenaries had stopped their tasks and stared at her in shock. The perplexed expressions on their faces were almost laughable. Amelia suspected they were wondering how much trouble they would be in for not realizing that a Machat had somehow slipped into the interior of the palace without any of them noticing.
"You're a Machat," the guard who spotted her said.
"I am." Amelia set her hands on her hips and stared fixedly at him. "Now take me to the Para of Eiram. My words are for him and him alone. They are of the greatest importance and must be heard only by him. Cross me, and I shall curse you."
The guard drew back and spoke to a nearby cluster of mercenaries. He shrugged, and another said, "We know what we're supposed to do with Machat."
Amelia frowned and curled her hand up as if preparing to cast out a curse. "If you intend to do anything with me, it had best be to take me to Naatos. He will be quite disturbed if I don't give him this proclamation, and the Third Nalenth's life may be in danger."
The guard flinched. "This way," he said, but he avoided making eye contact.
Amelia followed the guard, remaining alert and focused. Red smeared the marble, the foul air wafted through the open doors, strange faces everywhere. All of it pressed in around her, reminding her of her purpose.
When they passed the Great Hall, Amelia avoided looking inside. She rehearsed what she would say to Naatos instead.
At last they reached one of the smaller libraries on the main floor. The guard left her there, instructing her to wait for the Para. Amelia had never been in this part of the palace before.
The slim wooden door opened into a room only a little larger than her bedroom on Earth. A single table sat in the center of the marble floor, and narrow bookshelves filled the walls. A single tapestry depicting the conquest of Istador hung on the far wall. Amelia paused, remembering Istador as one of the central cities of the Machat. It was no coincidence they'd brought her to a room that held a graphic depiction of one of the Machat's most horrific hours.
Amelia set her hands on the sash and shook her head. The vivid decapitation of one of the Machat leaders was particularly disturbing. "Subtle, you Paras are not," she muttered.
"Subtlety is rarely effective," a voice said from the doorway. "That's why I rarely use it."
Turning, Amelia's heart clenched. It was WroOth.
Great.
11
A Very Strange Machat
WroOth wore the same garments he had worn on the first day she met him. A red and brown layered leather doublet that emphasized his shoulders and matched his brown trousers. The etchings in the sleeves and shoulders depicted chimeras and dragons as well as other mythic creatures in a complex and yet intriguing interlacing that showcased different levels of color. In many ways, he was just as she remembered him. Except taller. She'd overestimated her own growth and the impacts of her young imagination. He was also far colder than he had been when he encountered her in the labyrinth, but that didn't keep the memories from returning.
"Lord Para." Amelia inclined her head forward. "I mean no offense, but my words are for the Para of Eiram, not the Para of the Reltux. I was quite clear that that was essential."
WroOth closed the door and locked it. As he did, he shook his head, then held up his finger. "If you wanted your words to be heard by the Para o
f Eiram, you should have been a Neyeb or someone important. I'm afraid Naatos doesn't have time for anyone else, and I don't like my brother being troubled with…traitors."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Traitors?"
A chill cut through her. There was nothing but hatred and loathing in WroOth's eyes. It frightened her, but she refused to let that show any more than her own feelings of disorientation. Prophets did not show fear.
"You are charged with the protection of Reltux and of the Machat, and you talk about us this way? Maybe you should not be a Para if you cannot handle the responsibilities that come with it."
The ice in WroOth's eyes flickered as he came to stand on the other side of the table. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the polished sugar maple and tilted his head. "Well then, look at you," he said. "And what is your little game?"
"I am here to speak to the Para of Eiram. It is a matter of great importance, and it's only for him." Amelia emphasized the last phrase.
Relaxing, WroOth chuckled. "I am going to take a tremendous leap and assume that, if you are in fact a Machat, you haven't had anything to do with your kind for at least a year." A slow smile spread over WroOth's face as he watched her for any reaction. "That means you aren't a very good Machat. And that means there's nothing you can tell us that we don't already know. I have little use for prophets these days, particularly ones who can't see far enough into the future to know Naatos would never meet with one of them right now. Your people are vindictive blights on the soul of sentience."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?" WroOth started around the table. As he rounded the corner, he clipped one of the books that had almost slid out of the shelf. He smiled.
Amelia immediately compensated for the distance. It was almost harder now that he had resumed an almost friendly facade. It stung deep. All her former tiny hopes that had been crushed with his treachery and lies. She felt as small and helpless now as she had as a child. "Yes, you are. You are very wrong." Her voice shook.
Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles Page 11
