03 - The Eternal Rose

by Gail Dayton

  The magic swelled to its own crescendo. The stutter vanished, smoothing out. Not as if Stone had been erased, but as if he were still with them. It was, Kallista realized, the same thing she'd felt just before he died—Stone's love for them.

  If not for you— the thought was Fox's, for the whole ilian—he never would have known love, would never have understood what it was.

  Kallista bathed in the magic, wallowed, poured it over the others and scrubbed them with it. Stone was gone, but the love wasn't. Not while they still lived, still loved. As long as any of them was alive, any of their children, their children's children and beyond, the legacy of that love would continue.

  On its own, the magic began almost to glow, stoking the fires of passion in slowly building waves. Kallista moaned, her hands sliding along sleek, warm flesh. She wasn't sure whose, but she knew it was one of the men. She'd never been so lost in the sensations before. She kissed, caressed, loved, riding with the magic in control as it carried them along, into the rapids to drop them screaming together over the cliffs.

  Daylight was creeping through the gauzy draperies when Kallista floundered back to consciousness. All nine of them were crowded together onto a bed meant to hold no more than four. She struggled to breathe under the weight of five or six arms draped across her chest—no, that one was a leg. And the hair veiling her vision was not her own since it was a reddish gold rather than darkest brown. So the leg by her face didn't belong to Fox.

  It slid up onto her neck—Obed's leg—and she shoved at it. “Get off. Get up. We need to go visit Bekaara today."

  Torchay groaned. One of the arms across her middle was his, but Aisse was squashed between them. “How can you be so energetic? I'm flattened."

  “Well, get your flat self up out of this bed and get yourself fed and dressed.” Kallista squirmed through the tunnel of arms and legs—there were more across her lower body—to the foot of the bed and out onto the floor. Then she slapped the nearest backside to get Leyja moving. “Let's go, people. We have things to see. People to do."

  “I thought we did them all last night,” Fox mumbled, shoving his hair out of his face.

  “Bloody hell.” Keldrey sat up, his mouth working as if to rid itself of a bad taste. “I'd ask what I did last night, but I don't think I want to know."

  “You were fabulous, lover,” Joh teased, leaning in as if he meant to kiss Keldrey.

  “Bugger off.” Keldrey planted a hand in Joh's face and shoved him away. “I know I saw you with Vee."

  Joh tugged his hair from beneath Leyja. “Part of the time, yes. The rest—is something of a blur."

  “Stop talking.” Kallista pulled on a toweling robe and clapped her hands in meager hope of actually getting them to do what she said. “Start moving. Go. Wash. Eat. Dress. Now."

  She turned and walked out of the room. Maybe without her there, they would get moving. But even if they kept talking instead, she wouldn't be there to hear it.

  “Hey.” Torchay trotted barefoot down the corridor after her, a bit of cloth—a pillowcase?—clutched round his hips for modesty's sake. Though truth be told, he didn't have much of that virtue. “Are you all right?"

  Kallista flashed him a smile. “Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

  “Let me think—Stone's dead. You spent most of last week wandering the dreamscape looking for him. You had to put me back together—again—before I died. This time I wasn't gutted, but I think it was a closer thing, wasn't it?” He raised an eyebrow at her, obviously waiting for an answer, so she nodded.

  “If that's no’ enough,” he went on, “Stone's boy is still Habadra's slave. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of other Adaran slaves who need rescuing. And there's a trial-by-combat tournament coming up that we have to win if we're to winkle Sky out of that woman's hands."

  “But I'm fine. Truly.” Except for that weird feeling she had of something being ... not right, that had started before Stone's death. Before they'd left Adara, perhaps. But she couldn't pinpoint what it was, and it always went away again. If the feeling got worse, she would deal with it then. She had enough to deal with just now.

  She opened the bathing room door and went in, Torchay following her. “And if I'm not fine,” she said, “you can sort me out when we figure out what it is."

  “Right.” He dropped his pillowcase, stepped into the pool and sank until the water closed over his head. When he came up again, he shook water from his face. “Come on then. Bathe. We've got things to see and people to do, I believe you said."

  “Yes.” Kallista stripped off the robe and laid it on the ledge before slipping into the hot water. Torchay tossed her a bar of soap.

  The bathing room door opened and Fox put his head through. “Safe to come in?"

  “Of course.” Kallista tossed the soap in his direction. “Unless you're worried about drowning."

  * * * *

  It only took two chimes of the clock to get everyone ready to pay their call on Bekaara. Besides getting eight of them dressed and ready and five queues properly braided—Aisse kept her hair short, Obed never wore one and Keldrey had no hair to braid—they had to send a messenger to ask whether it was convenient for a visit. It was.

  Then Kallista had to change clothes when Omri greeted her with a big hug, and jam-coated hands and face. Finally, after Keldrey got back from his time with Sky, they left him with the children, and rode out to Shakiri House.

  A young champion in Bekaara's service met them at the inner gate where their escort remained. He led them through the sprawling residence and up a flight of stairs to a suite of rooms tastefully if sparsely decorated. Kallista studied the wide expanse punctuated with low sofas and thick patterned rugs. She rather liked it. Liked it much better than the rabid ornamentation currently in vogue in Arikon. In the palace there, anything that held still long enough was in danger of being gilded. She had a few army-assigned bodyguards still washing gilt paint from their hair.

  Bekaara came hurrying from one of the back rooms, drying her hands on a towel. Today she wore a simple pale blue dress ornamented only with embroidery at neck and hem.

  “I hope we haven't disturbed you.” Kallista bowed and took the hand Obed's cousin extended.

  “No, no. I was writing letters, had to wash the ink off my hands.” Bekaara squeezed Kallista's hand, patted it awkwardly. “I was absolutely sick to hear what happened to that nice young man. They said you knew the instant he—Well, if there's anything I can do—"

  The open sympathy in Bekaara's face brought tears back to Kallista's eyes. She hated to cry, especially in public, but such a devastation as this ... Kallista smiled—somewhat—nodded and squeezed back. “Thank you. I appreciate your offer."

  Bekaara chuckled, gently. “That's why you're here, isn't it? Because there is something I can do for you. Come then. Sit, sit.” She shooed them all to the sofas.

  “May I offer you tea? Mother will be pleased to hear you've come. She may forgive me yet. The Reinine and all the Godmarked come to visit—well, except—” The expression of horror on Bekaara's face as she realized her misstep made Kallista smile.

  “No need to walk on eggshells,” Kallista said. “We miss Stone, very much, and we are more determined than ever to redeem his son, but we are not so sensitive as that."

  Bekaara's champion brought in a tray with a steaming pot of Daryathi tea, prized all over the known world, and cups without handles.

  Bekaara made a sweeping gesture. He bowed and went to do whatever she had bid while she poured tea and chatted about inconsequential things. When he returned to take up a post at the doorway, she set her cup down and folded her hands.

  “Now.” Bekaara smiled at Kallista, her eyes seeming to gain in sharp intelligence by the tick. “Danek has cleared away any listeners. What is it I may do for you?"

  “I need information,” Kallista said. “Confirmation. Obed has said that you will give me truth, even if it is an uncomfortable one."

  Bekaara took a deep breath and let it o
ut slowly. “Oh. Dear.” She met Kallista's gaze. “Yes. I will give you truth."

  Kallista leaned forward, intent. “I am told that in the jubilee year, when debts are forgiven and bondservants are set free, only the Daryathi gain their freedom. Is this true?"

  Bekaara looked grim as she nodded. “Truth."

  “I am told there are many Adaran slaves here in Mestada."

  “Truth."

  Piece by piece, Kallista went through the information her ilian had learned from the young thief and every word of it, Bekaara confirmed. The Daryathi bred their Adaran slaves in hopes of getting more naitani. Though only one in five women or one in ten men might be gifted with magic, those without magic were kept for the value of their labor and their children. This also meant that impoverished, indebted Daryathi had less opportunity for employment and more trouble paying off debt.

  “Is this why Daryath wants a trade agreement?” Kallista paced the room, scarcely noticing how it agitated Danek, or that Fox had stationed himself beside the young champion. “So they can steal more of our people? Enslave us all?"

  Bekaara sighed. “I think some of the Kameri truly wish to be able to hire Adaran nathains, but when others hold slaves..."

  “Slaves are much cheaper than employees, aren't they?” Kallista didn't bother to keep the sharp edges from her voice. “Do you own any slaves?"

  “I do not myself, no. But Shakiri Line—yes.” Bekaara touched the fragile rim of one of the round teacups. “Sometimes I think this is why my mother is determined to live so long. Besides the fact that she hates to give up a single drop of power. She knows the first thing I will do as the Shakiri is to free all our slaves."

  “Whereupon every other Line in Mestada will snap them up."

  Bekaara's eyes held sadness when she looked at Kallista. “I would send them home, to you, on one of Obed's ships."

  “I'm sorry. This just—” Kallista rubbed her aching eyes. She'd always had a temper, but lately it had gotten worse. And she wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Her iliasti complained about it. The worry was getting to her. “It makes me furious and you're handy. How did things get into such a mess?"

  “When I was a girl,” Bekaara said, “Adaran nathains were hired. But—they would leave for higher pay, or to go home. And they were always scarce, especially with all our Daryathi nathains going into the temple. So when magic was needed and no one would work for the pay offered, they began to be ... taken."

  Kallista bit down on her temper. “How long?"

  “I wasn't of age when I first remember hearing of it, so—thirty-five years ago? Forty?” Bekaara scowled, letting go of the teacup she'd been toying with. “The first ones I heard of had been charged with blasphemy, adultery. They were tried in the arena-courts, but too many of them died. Most of the ones arrested after that were simply—enslaved. Others, they didn't bother with arresting. Just took them."

  “And you did nothing?” Kallista's temper got loose again before she could drag it back.

  “What could I do? I was a child.” Bekaara was on her feet now, but kept her distance, which kept Kallista's bodyguard iliasti seated. “What can I do now? I am the heir, not the Shakiri. The Shakiri can order my death and no one can stay her hand. By Law, I am required to kneel before her and bow my head for the blow."

  "Goddess." Kallista flung herself across the room, away from the temptation to attack, or break something. Fewer breakables at this end.

  “When did all the Daryathi naitani begin to go into the temple?” Joh asked. “And why, if you want the magic badly enough to enslave Adarans for it?” Thank the One for cool heads and analytical minds.

  “It began before I was born. Several generations back, I think.” Bekaara returned to her sofa, picked up a teacup again. Perhaps handling the delicate porcelain helped her own temper. If she lost control, she would break the cup. “As for why..."

  She sighed, brooded over her tea a moment. “Religion. The Sameric sect gained ascendancy some hundred years ago, teaching that the nathains, those gifted by the One with magic, were not just blessed, but holy. To be set aside and dedicated to the service of the One.

  “Their sect believes that to be acceptable to God, a person must be separate from the daily evils of ordinary life. Only those with magic are blessed by the One. The rest of humanity can earn the remnants of the One's favor by setting themselves apart—joining the Samerics—or supporting those set apart. Gradually, Samerics took over all the temples in Daryath until now, few dare admit they don't follow Sameric beliefs.” Her voice had gone sour.

  “At first, the nathains lived together in special buildings, rather like a skola, coming out to do their work. But as the Samerics refined their teaching, that the nathains were too holy to even mingle with those denied by the One, they began moving into the temple here in Mestada, closing down all the other temples, and then they stopped coming out at all.” She paused. “I am not Shathina's oldest daughter. Did you know?"

  Obed shook his head for the rest of them. There was too much he did not know, and he hated the feeling.

  “I had an older sister who was taken into the temple. As your sister would have been, Obed, had she not died of the fever. It struck about the time her magic appeared."

  Kallista's lightning could not have stunned him more. “Sister?"

  “Oh yes—” Bekaara looked stricken, as if she wished she'd said nothing. “How would you know about her? It happened after you entered the skola. Your mother was lonely with you gone and your father dead so long."

  “He died when I was five,” Obed said for those who didn't know. “I nearly died of the black-tongue fever as well.” He barely remembered his father, only a deep voice and a sense of safety. The last time he'd felt safe until he found Kallista.

  “That's right. So you were gone and Shaneen took a lover. One of the Shakiri-sa at the estate upriver where she lived. It wouldn't have been so bad, but there was a child, a girl. Mother was furious. She was pleased enough with the girl, but Shaneen had disgraced herself.

  “She refused to break off with her lover as Mother ordered. Actually wanted to marry him—a Shakiri-sa. That had Mother absolutely frothing at the mouth. A Sa as her brother?” Bekaara stopped for a breath in the rapt silence.

  Kallista returned to the sofas, took a seat beside Obed and put an arm around him. He scarcely noticed. How could he not have known this? What else had they not told him? He'd been devastated when he came for his visit to find his mother dead, but this—

  “So,” Bekaara went on. “The Shakiri ordered the Sa's death. When Shaneen found him, she came to Mestada for revenge, but Mother was surrounded by her pet champions. Shaneen's attack failed and she was injured. Mother planned to send her back to the estate, to forgive her, eventually, if she behaved herself. Of course, her baby would stay in Mestada with the Shakiri.

  “Shaneen died before the week was out. She hadn't been injured so badly, but—” Bekaara sighed. “Without her lover or either of her children, I think she simply didn't want to live."

  Obed dragged his hand down over his mouth, trying to wipe away all emotion. His voice shook when he spoke, giving away the earthquake inside. “I did not know."

  He'd had a sister. And he had never known. Yet another thing Shathina had stolen from him as she had stolen everything else in his life. He was no more alone in the world than he had been. He still had his family, his son, Kallista. So why did he feel so much worse?

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Of course not.” Bekaara poured more tea in Obed's cup, urged him to drink. “You were in—what? Your second—no, your third year at that skola. They wouldn't even let us tell you your mother had died. ‘The students must focus solely on their learning.'” She mocked a pompous-sounding official. He heard echoes of the skola's grand master in her voice.

  “By the time they let you out for your visit before you took your dedicat vows, your mother had been dead five years. What use would it have been to tell yo
u all this then?"

  “I might have met my sister.” Obed ground the words through clenched teeth. He had never known, and the loss hurt the worse because of it.

  “Shakiri Shathina forbade anyone telling you. You were qualified for dedicat, the first im-Shakiri dedicat in years. She wanted nothing to interfere with that. She wanted those dedicat skills sworn to fight in the courts for Shakiri."

  “Why was I not told about my sister later?” Obed wanted to snatch up one of the teacups and smash it against the wall.

  Bekaara wouldn't meet his eyes. “After she died? What purpose would it have served? I wish I had said nothing now—I forgot that you didn't know. It seemed mere cruelty, to tell you such a thing when you could do nothing about it."

  The worse cruelty was not telling him from the start. He could have left the skola, given up his vows and become champion. Made a home for himself and his sister.

  Dreamsmoke. Shathina would never have allowed it. Only the completion of his dozen years of vows and earning all nine tattoos had set him free of his aunt and her plotting. And allowed him to find his destiny. Kallista.

  “Perhaps we should visit the temple.” Kallista's voice brought Obed out of his thoughts.

  “Only clerics and prelates go into the temple grounds,” Bekaara reminded them.

  Another reason for the Sameric clerics to preach against Kallista and Adarans, Obed supposed. Who knew what a free, uncloistered magic-user might do? Though none of the Daryathi seemed to know what “godmarked” truly meant.

  “Do we have time for a visit now?” Fox asked quietly. “Before Stone's son is free?"

  Kallista shook her head. “No. You're right. It would be a distraction. Later, if it's necessary, we can visit.” She stood and pulled Obed to his feet. He still felt stunned.