The Very Best of Kate Elliott

by Kate Elliott

  Peddonon scratched his head.“Why act now?”

  Mai caught Zubaidit’s wrist and drew her to a halt, so the three of them stood tightly together. “He is giving us notice that he is done letting Bronze Hall maintain its autonomy. He’s moving in. This means our uneasy truce is over. We truly are at war with Anji now.”

  Zubaidit tapped a foot on the ground as she shook her head. “We have always been at war with him, since we all broke with our superiors and came to live here. I’d best return to the temple. I will speak to you both after the Ghost Days.”

  She kissed Peddonon on the cheek and Mai on the mouth, and left.

  Mai resumed picking shoots into the shallow basket set on the earth. Peddonon sat on a bench, tapping one foot on the ground, watching her.

  “I should have been able to prevent Orhon’s murder,” he muttered.

  “Can you prevent something you never expected?” She smiled sadly at him. “Do you know, it’s my old dreams that plague me most, the story I told myself of how the tale would have a fine, romantic ending. In my heart I guessed that the tales of true love and noble adventure where justice wins and wrongdoing is crushed were a sort of falsehood. I saw the evidence for that every day in the home in which I grew up, for it wasn’t a happy place! But I wanted to believe so badly. The bold captain! The shy fruit-seller he plucks out of the market! I thought with Anji that my tale was one of those rare few that would have a happy ending. So after all, it’s really myself I betrayed, isn’t it, by insisting on something that could not be true?”

  “I don’t think so, Mai. I think he betrayed all of us, and you most of all when he stole your son. As for the rest of us, he brought us peace, at a cost. But peace nevertheless. He’s a fair man in his own way. That he is also a tyrant simply makes the situation more complicated.”

  “Now that I think about it more clearly, Anji would never agree to send a good-looking man like Badinen to spy on me. His weakness is that he believes he cannot hold onto a thing he desires without a chain to leash it.”

  Peddonon’s was an observant gaze, and he had an even temper even in such circumstances, but his anger was visible in the deep lines at his eyes. “Is peace and order nothing more than a harness that keeps us bound?”

  “I can’t answer for the other people of the Hundred. I made my choice by leaving Anji.”

  “You lost your child.”

  As sharp as a well-honed blade, that pain would never ease. She scooted to a parallel row and began stripping dill for a garnish.“The boy had already been taken from me. I see now I could never have gotten him back.” She shook her head to throw off the old sorrow. “I think of my beautiful little Atani every day, but he calls another woman ‘mother’ and I have to believe that she cherishes him or I would not be able to sleep at night.”

  “War, then,” said Peddonon with a sigh. “I did not much like Orhon but I respected how he ran Bronze Hall. His ‘old ways’ were what kept Bronze Hall from being absorbed into the new reeve hall structure imposed by King Anjihosh. That, of course, and your presence here in Mar.”

  “Yes.” Her lips twisted as the memory of her months as Anji’s wife floated before her. Those days had been sweet because she had been so ignorant and so young. “I still have power over him, of a kind, because he still desires to possess me. But he is not a man who chooses to reveal his weaknesses, so up until now he has held Mar at arm’s length because I live here. I suppose that sounds terribly vain, but I fear it is true.”

  “One thing you are not is vain.”

  “Certainly not! That is why I own the finest collection of silks in Salya and likely all of Mar. Not liking to risk my complexion being seen contrasted with second-quality silk.”

  He laughed.

  She shook her head as her smile faded.“I’m not minded to acquiesce. Are you?”

  “I am not.”

  “Then we must plan our own campaign.”

  The bell rang from the kitchen.

  “You’ll stay for the feast?”

  “Of course. Let me go make sure all is settled with my eagle.” Broad face creased with a frown, the reeve crunched away over the garden path.

  She lingered in the garden and when she was sure he was well gone she entered the house by a hidden entrance that led directly into her private chamber. In a narrow storage room lined with shelves stacked with more gorgeous silk than any one woman could realistically wear— silk was her weakness—she fished a chain off a hook. An iron ring dangled from the chain: the wolf ’s head that was the sigil of the clan she had been born into in a faraway desert town. She already knew it was the same design as the one the young man in the street was wearing. She studied it for a while, thinking of the man she had married, the son he had taken from her, and the daughter he had left behind.

  Then she put the ring back and joined the others.

  Old Priya and her husband O’eki walked down from their house for the last meal.

  Together the household made the proper offerings, sang the customary songs, and ate their feast in the prescribed order, finishing with the sweet pudding just as the night bells rang down the end of the day, and the end of the year, across the town. Three-day candles were lit in ceramic holders and set one in each room and two on the porch to mark the entry. All the doors were left open so wandering ghosts could exit as easily as they entered. The girls, tucked into bed, made silly jokes about ghosts and giggled a lot. Keshad, Peddonon, and O’eki got into a long and involved discussion about the nature of ghosts as they cleared and washed the dishes with Edi helping. The women sat on the porch, sipping the fermented petal wine that was only drunk during the Ghost Days.

  “I hope the baby doesn’t come during the Ghost Days,” whispered Miravia, stroking her belly. Her gaze shifted inward for a space before she offered them a weary smile gilded by candle-light.

  Priya said,“How often is your womb tightening?”

  “Just now and then,” said Miravia. “I suppose I should never have walked down into the market today.”

  “The child will come when it will come,” said Priya more gently.“Best you rest now. Come inside.” She rose with Derra’s help and at the door the three women turned.“Mai, are you coming?”

  “I’ll sit the first watch,” said Mai.“I’m not tired yet.”

  She sat in the gloom beyond the reach of the candlelight and watched the empty street. Strangely no red cap was visible in the accustomed place. Maybe even the red caps feared to walk at night on the Ghost Days. With no red cap to trail her a woman might walk right down off the porch and into the ghostly city and go anywhere, really, walk to the inn where that good-looking young man was staying. But no person moved about at night during the Ghost Days except for the fire watch, who walked in pairs during these ill-omened nights and besides that went attended by picked ordinands of Kotaru specially blessed and trained to cast off ghostly assaults.

  On Ghost Nights, after the end of the old year and before the priests of Sapanasu rang in the new year, ghosts walked freely at night. You were only safe if you remained within the boundaries of your own compound sealed by offerings and prayers and with the doors left open so no ghosts got trapped inside. Mai did not worship the Hundred’s gods, but she accepted their pre-eminence and followed the customs of her adopted home. So she stayed on the porch and sipped petal wine and listened as the wind sighed over the town.

  “Mai?” Peddonon stepped out from inside the house, then yawned, stifling it behind an open hand.

  “I’m well enough. You sleep now and take the late watch.”

  He bent to kiss her in a brotherly way—the only way he would ever kiss a woman—and went back inside to sleep.

  She sat as the silence drifted down around her like settling dust. Peace kissed her, as on wings. These quiet Ghost Nights held a special place in her heart now, an interval suspended out of time in which she might allow her worries and aggravations to sleep. She tasted on her tongue the waxy lavender scent of the three-day candles.
The bones of the house creaked softly. The world breathed, and if she made herself very very still in the midst of it all she could hear the pulse of the land’s bright heart, a thread of blue-white light that tangled with her own being.

  “Momma?”

  She startled back to awareness. “You’re meant to be in your bed, Arasit.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” said the girl with her mouth turned down and one foot scraping on the planks as though sweeping them. She had Anji’s features more than Mai’s, those brilliantly intense eyes. That absolutely stubborn intransigence was Anji’s as well although he had learned to hide it while playing at being the most reasonable of men.“I want to see a ghost. I’ve never seen a ghost, even though I peek every year. I don’t think there are ghosts.”

  Mai beckoned, and the girl snuggled into the curve of her mother’s arm.“There are ghosts.Your father could see them.”

  “I can’t see ghosts. And I’ve never met my father, so how do I know he even exists? He might be a pretend person you made up. I think my father ran away because he didn’t want me. Because I’m a brat. I wish I had a father like the other girls do.”

  Arasit was still young enough that Mai knew how to stroke her scalp so as to relax her. “I tell you what, little one. You close your eyes until I count to ten, but if you open them before I’m done, I have to start over. Then afterward, I’ll tell you a story. One. Two . . . Three. . . .”

  By “seven” the girl was asleep, all curled up like a flower in bud,waiting for the dawn to open. Mai despaired of Arasit sometimes. She was a brat, full of wild outbursts usually calmed only by Miravia and Keshad’s eldest child, Eiko, who was the same age and as steady as Arasit was difficult. But it was more than that. The girl wore a strangeness about her. If a thunderstorm boomed down over town the girl would rush outdoors and refuse to come in. Once in the midst of a frightening crash of lightning and thunder she had climbed up onto the roof and Keshad, raging and cursing, had had to clamber up and actually wrestle her down, not an easy task for she had kicked and screamed the entire time. She adored Priya, though, and would spend entire days there patiently helping grind herbs and blend medicinal pastes. She and Eiko were old enough to attend the children’s school, and Mai would soon have to let her go, although she feared the child would become disruptive or that Anji would send soldiers to kidnap her . . .

  A noise scattered her thoughts into the wind. Her heart lugged, and sweat flushed on her brow, and then she realized she was hearing the unhurried clop of horse’s hooves. More than one.

  Did spirits truly pass through the streets of villages and towns and drag unwilling victims into their saddles and away into one of the hells? She had heard plenty of tales of ghostly vengeance taken for an old grievance. The tales were full of insubstantial Night Riders who abducted people bold and foolish enough to chance the darkness of a Ghost Night, or who unpredictably left dangerous and precious gifts on porches.

  She shivered despite herself. But, in truth, the clip clop sounded like perfectly ordinary hooves. Rising, she stepped in front of Arasit’s sleeping form just as the shadowy figures of three riders sifted out of shadow into view on the street. Anger scalded her, succeeded by fear for her child and, if she were honest, for herself. She knew those silhouettes instantly. She recognized the distinctive armor and stocky horses of Qin soldiers as if they were the familiar profiles of kinfolk, and in some way they were. She had grown up thousands of mey from the Hundred in an oasis town ruled by the Qin, nomadic raiders who built an empire by capturing what they desired to possess. She had been married off to a prince of the Qin although at the time she had thought he was a simple captain. She had borne to him two children. Once, she had believed she loved him.

  Now, with a long in-drawn breath to steady herself, she walked to the steps and waited for the riders to halt on the street below. The second rider dismounted stiffly, burdened by the thick weight ringing his torso, and approached. He halted at the base of the steps so she could identify his face.

  “Chief Tuvi!” Heedless of the strictures of the Ghost Days, she descended the steps in a rush and, without thinking, caught the chief by the shoulders and kissed each weathered cheek. He mewled with a faint noise of discomfort. Startled, she stepped back to see his familiar and much loved smile as he looked her over.

  “You look well, Mistress. I am pleased to see you healthy and blooming.” His voice sounded perfectly normal, just as she remembered it, not mewling at all.

  She glanced past him at the two soldiers, still mounted, but they were not men she knew.“Chief, you and your men must come inside.We have a stable, mattresses for visitors, something to drink . . .”

  Then she recalled that Orhon had just been murdered.

  “I cannot stay, Mistress.” He watched her with the intent gaze she remembered. He was Anji’s most trusted retainer, the man to whom Anji had given the duty of protecting his wife, back when Mai was his wife.“I have been sent by the king.”

  “Tuvi.” She hesitated, not wanting her words to a man she respected to be angry. She could not accuse him of the murder, even though she knew he was capable of killing without regret or hesitation. However, most Qin hated the water, and few of them could swim.

  His attention had already dropped to what she had at first imagined was a belly grown large from too much eating and drinking in the palace of the Hundred’s new ruler. Instead, he unwrapped a swaddling bundle and held it out before her. The candles gave off just enough light that she could discern the thing he had been carrying against his body as he rode.

  It was an infant child, not more than ten days old and boasting a head of coal-black hair.

  “Merciful One, cast your blessings upon the innocent,” she murmured reflexively.

  “Will you take him?” Tuvi asked.

  “Take him?” The anger poured out in a rush.“What, does Anji mean to offer a trade? This infant in exchange for Atani, whom he stole from me and allows another woman to claim as her son? Or is this his way of trying to bind me back to him, to make me surrender—?”

  “Mistress,” he said in that way he had of cutting her off without raising his voice or showing the least sign of irritation. “That is not what this is.”

  She closed her mouth over the rest of her furious words. With a curt gesture she signaled that she would listen to what he had to say.

  “There was another boy-child born before this one, a few years ago. The king’s mother got to him first and had him killed.”

  She sucked in air as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

  “She had him killed so no younger son could threaten Atani’s place as the heir,” he went on, and that only made it worse, knowing that the son she had lost had been the cause of a blameless infant’s death. “She feared that if Lady Zayrah raised a son borne out of her own womb she might come to prefer it over one born to another woman. This baby, this infant boy, would have met the same fate as the other one, smothered at birth. But the king smuggled the infant out of the palace and told his mother the baby was stillborn.”

  Rage simmered in her heart. The baby was so small, helpless against the ruthless machinations of the adults surrounding it.

  He nodded as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud.“King Anjihosh had to decide quickly whom he could trust to raise the boy kindly and with affection. Whom he could trust to never attempt to bring the child into conflict with his heir. So he thought of you.”

  “He thinks of me too much, Tuvi,” she said, for once allowing her bitterness to leak into her voice.

  He inclined his head.“When it comes to you, he will never change.”

  “What if I agree to take the baby only in exchange for Anji letting go of me?”

  “I cannot bargain. You must either accept the burden, or reject it. All else remains as it was.”

  She was by now trembling. Anji knew her too well. At that instant, the baby stirred. A dark infant gaze fixed on her and the little person smacked delicate rosebud lips, thinking of
inchoate hungers. She wanted to take him into her arms but she took a step back instead.

  “Maybe you cannot bargain, Tuvi, but I can, and he knows I will. If he sent the child to me only as a way to bribe me back to him, it will not work. I will not raise a child as a hostage. But if he genuinely wishes the child to live and thrive, then he must give me room. Let him keep his red caps watching the house if he is so selfish that he cannot bear for me to ever again have sexual love with a man. However brilliant he is, in this matter his mind is very narrow. I have love in plenty. But let him leave Bronze Hall alone.”

  “Bronze Hall? The reeve hall?”

  “He sent two agents to steal a courier bag and murder the marshal. They’re staying at the Inn of Fortune’s Star.”

  He said nothing. Either he was ignorant of the matter, which she doubted, or he knew better than to give away the game too early.

  She offered him her market smile, offering much and promising nothing.“I know Anji. If he truly cares for the child he will have given you permission to bargain with me. Bring me the courier bag and your sworn word that he will leave Bronze Hall alone, and I will take the baby as my own. I trust you to fulfill any promise you make to me here.”

  In the deathly hush, every least sound seemed heightened: a splash of wash water being thrown over stones; an unidentifiable thump, heard once and not repeated, like a body falling heavily onto a floor; many streets over the clapping sticks of the fire watch on patrol. A night-jar trilled its delicious song like a spark of unexpected joy.

  He met her gaze with his steady one. “Whatever else, Mistress, he does truly care about the welfare of his children. Let it be done. On my honor as a man and a soldier, I make this bargain on his behalf.”

  “Give him to me,” she whispered hoarsely, extending her arms.“What is his name?”

  He settled the infant in her arms. “He has no name. To give him a name would acknowledge his life, and he is dead to the palace. He must remain dead. The child you hold has no mother but you.”