by Kate Elliott
Dannarah had never in her long life shrunk from a confrontation. She pushed away from the wall and headed down. The darkness made it hard to see but the demon did indeed look like an ordinary woman, one somewhat younger than Tarnit. She was even dressed like a reeve, with an attractive face and a confident stance. Nothing frightening about her at all. Across the gap their gazes met.
A vision of the past blossomed so vividly in her head that it slammed Dannarah to a halt.
The wind buffets her and Jehosh where they stand on his balcony. Far below the boats on the river look like toys. “I need your help, Aunt Dannarah; I am losing control of the palace,” he says as memory skips forward through their conversation. “What person can I trust?”
“Captain Kellas survived.”
Yet all through their discussion she thinks of how ironic it is that she had once ordered Kellas to kill Jehosh.
As if a gale has torn tiles off a roof, her recent meeting with Jehosh scatters and an older memory emerges: She unhooks herself from Terror and runs across a clearing to where Atani lies unmoving on the cold earth, his long black hair fanned out around him and blood seeping from the wound in his back.
Her entire being, all of her mind, winces away from the dreadful memory and the piercing grief. Anything is better than remembering his death.
The demon claws her yet farther back into memories of her youth.
“Captain Kellas, does my father know you are here?” says the girl she was a long time ago.
“He does, Lady Dannarah,” he answers.
Too restless to sit, seventeen-year-old Dannarah paces along a balcony overlooking the ocean at the estate where her mother retreats when she needs a break from the endless intrigues of the palace. The man she admires above all others stands by the door with hands clasped behind his back, watching her with an impassive expression. She is all quivering emotion: joy, anger, demands, ambition, everything on the surface. He never shows the least sign of fear or alarm or pain or anger. He is all the things she wants to be: brave, accomplished, strong, smart, observant, and calm. Except she also wants to be king. She wants a lot of things. She wants a man like him to be in love with her in part because she’s not meant to have a lover at all and it will shock both her mother and her father, but mostly because she is furiously, ridiculously infatuated with him. She has made a story that he secretly pines for her although a princess like her is utterly forbidden to a humble soldier like him. She pretends she is beautiful even though she knows she isn’t. But strength of mind is alluring. Youth is alluring. Power is alluring.
If she gives him a direct order he cannot say no.
“Curse it,” Dannarah said aloud, brushing a hand over her eyes to break the gaze that had hooked her into the past. “I am too cursed old for this. I was reckless and a fool and selfish, and I never thought about anyone’s desires but my own. Are you content, demon? Do you want me to be ashamed? Or have you some other scheme in mind?”
The crinkling crow’s-feet at the demon’s eyes gave her a look of weary resignation, rather like Dannarah herself when she was disappointed in one of the reeves under her command. “I do not expect you to trust me. But I did want to see for myself if we can trust you.”
“Of course you can’t trust me! Steel can’t kill you, but it will stop you for long enough that I can tear off your poisonous skin.”
“That’s how Captain Anji taught his soldiers to hunt down and kill demons.”
“King Anjihosh is his proper name.”
“He was called Captain Anji when he came to the Hundred, before you were born, Lady Dannarah. He took what did not belong to him.”
“He didn’t take anything. He saved the Hundred from destruction and war. He brought stability and prosperity. Do not trouble me with your lies and lures.”
“My lies and lures? Isn’t that a line from the Tale of the Young Carpenter and the Three Lilu?” The demon chuckled as might a comrade when friendly companions are drinking at an inn. The laugh made Dannarah want to trust her, for she wore the aspect of a woman of intelligence and humor. “I am not trying to seduce you.”
“Of course you are! Seduction is about changing people’s hearts and convincing them to act against what they know is right for them. As I did, when I was seventeen and tried to seduce Captain Kellas. When I failed, I used my position to demand he become my lover. I’m not proud of what I did, and it was a long time ago. But you did not answer my question, demon. What do you want from me?”
“I wanted to discover if King Jehosh’s summons is an honest one. It seems that as far as you know, it is.”
“Why do you care about Jehosh’s honesty? What can demons know of honesty or loyalty? Are the accusations true? Did you and the other demons plot Atani’s murder?”
“Atani was the last person we would have wanted dead. Did he trust you so little that he never told you anything? Or did he know you were too much your father’s daughter to be trusted?”
The earth swayed under Dannarah like a ship in stormy seas. Staggering, she fell to hands and knees. Only after sucking in deep breaths could she steady her dizzied vision. When she at last raised her head, the demon was gone.
Wind stirred in the foliage, then abruptly died. The whole world seemed to cup around her like she was a seed in a bowl of ill fortune, about to be ground down by the hammer of truth.
Atani hadn’t trusted her.
24
For the first stage of her journey to meet the man she had demanded to marry, Sarai traveled in a closed carriage downstream alongside the River Elshar to where it met the east-flowing Lesser Istri. At the town of Eleford Wash she and her uncle and cousin transferred to a barge.
From the vantage point of a screened and roofed balcony built atop the main cabin she reveled in her freedom as the days went by and she watched the shoreline pass. Villages sprouted in picturesque clusters on the banks. Men tended rice fields wearing nothing more than a linen kilt tied around their waists, their brown skin damp with sweat and rain. Women walked about at all manner of work, usually wearing the wrapped dress called a taloos but sometimes wearing no more than the men.
Every night when they tied up she interrogated Uncle Abrisho and Cousin Beniel.
“I read in one of Uncle Makel’s books that in Sirniaka women live and work separately from men? Do women in the palace live entirely apart? Do they cover their hair? What do I need to know? I should not like to make a bad impression.”
Her uncle pressed his hands together, preparatory to a lecture. “King Jehosh has two queens. Queen Chorannah is a noble princess from the Sirniakan Empire. She lives in the upper palace atop Law Rock according to Sirniakan custom, as you say, women separated from men. They dress modestly and rarely appear in public but when they do they cover their hair. Queen Dia is from Ithik Eldim. Some say the northerners are barbarians but by all accounts she is a savvy businesswoman. However she worships neither Beltak nor the seven Hundred gods but a northern god, and she has few allies at court except the king. He built the lower palace for her.”
Beniel topped off his cup, his moon face already shining with the kiss of rice wine. “Lord Gilaras is a favorite companion of Prince Kasad, Queen Dia’s only son. I’m part of their circle, too. I have been invited to five of the drinking parties hosted by Lord Tyras of Clan White Leaf. I was allowed to be one of the party when there was a horse race across Old Camp between Lord Gilaras and Prince Kasad. Lord Gilaras won, of course.” He had the breathless excitement of a pampered puppy scampering after feral dogs. “King Jehosh favors Queen Dia. So that will be good for you, Sarai.”
“I cannot like these irresponsible adventures and the disrespectful way of speaking you have picked up from the young lords.” Abrisho patted his forehead with a linen cloth, for it was hot and humid, awaiting rain. “The king favors Queen Dia’s bed. That is not the same thing as Dia having power within the palace administration. You must tread carefully, Sarai. Lord Gilaras’s brothers have served loyally in the army and re
stored some of the family’s honor although not their fortune. But Gilaras’s uncle, Lord Vanas, still bears a grudge toward that branch of the clan because gossip says he has never forgiven his older brother for vilely murdering King Atani and thus tarnishing the memory of their noble progenitor, the famous General Sengel—”
“Who was one of the most trusted officers of King Anjihosh. Yes, I remember, Uncle. Are you saying Lord Vanas will try to undermine any attempts by Lord Gilaras to make a place for himself at court? Does Vanas have the influence to do so?”
“He controls the treasury.”
“Then why marry me to Lord Gilaras, if Lord Vanas hates his branch of the family?”
“No one else is desperate enough to marry a Ri Amarah girl. It is worth the risk, Sarai. Even if they never get farther in than the fringe of court circles they still give us access to clans with whom we would like to set up trade arrangements.”
Abrisho nursed his sweet tea as if it were the last cup he would ever see, even though on the river he downed four cups every day to settle his stomach because water travel did not agree with him. Nothing agreed with him, Sarai thought, watching the way he turned the cup, sipped at one side, then turned it to sip at the other, always turning and always restless.
“You have to make a life in the palace, Sarai. You can visit our clan as a guest but never again with the intimacy of a Ri Amarah woman.”
“How am I to manage with no support or advice from the women of my own people?”
“Of course you will consult with me frequently! You have a Book of Accounts. Record everything in it in our usual code, and we will go over it weekly.”
“I have no woman’s mirror,” she said, to see how they would react.
Beniel flinched.
Abrisho slapped a hand down on the table so hard the teacup spilled. “You must never speak of that which we keep secret. Our lives depend on our silence and our adherence to the law!”
“Of course, Uncle.” Her hand trembled as she set out brush and ink and paper. Fear fluttered through her breast. What if the women found out what she’d done? But she refused to regret it. Her mother would have wanted her to have the mirror.
Recording her day’s observations in the letter she was writing for Great-Aunt Tsania calmed her. As she wrote, Abrisho scolded Beniel for drinking too much wine, the words flowing past her in much the same way as the sound of the river rolled along as background noise. Out on the barge the river-men smoked pipes and chatted among themselves. Their accent had an intonation different from the speech of Yava and Elit. It reminded her of gardener Zilli’s; Yava had said he was a newcomer to the area, and apparently he and Elit were allies in some smoky business to do with escaped prisoners being hunted by the King’s Spears.
She had to believe Elit was not involved in any criminal acts. Anyway she could not help but think sympathetically toward people being hunted down by the king’s soldiers, considering her mother had been ruthlessly slaughtered by Black Wolves. That detail was all she knew; it was all anyone in the family knew, really. Her mother had married the richest Ri Amarah man in the Hundred, given birth to a boy and then, later, to Sarai, and afterward fled her home, leaving the boy behind but taking the infant girl with her. Just because Nadai had fled with a wagon driver who was later involved in the murder of King Atani did not mean her mother had been part of the conspiracy, but how could Sarai ever know what the truth was? Proximity equaled guilt. Her mother had been there.
The river widened. They passed towns with houses strung like beads along cobbled streets. Here the banks of the rice fields were feathered with mulberry trees. Cows and sheep grazed in grassy clearings. Necklaces of flowers draped doors and gates. It was a different world, brilliant with color and life. Every bend in the river brought new sights, which she compared with descriptions she had read in books.
One late afternoon the cook fires of dusk hazed the air with a thicker veil than usual. In every direction lamps glittered and fires gleamed. As full night fell, a golden smear brushing the eastern horizon resolved into a beast with a hundred hundred lit eyes: They had reached Toskala.
When the barge was tied up to the dock Beniel left to fetch a carriage. The water that lapped around the barge reeked of rubbish and urine. Voices drifted over the water, their speech as abrupt as hammering rain. Her stomach felt queasy from the heat and the stink and the knowledge that she had come too far to turn back. She grabbed the washbasin just in time to throw up the rice porridge and leek chicken she had eaten earlier.
Uncle Abrisho slid the cabin door aside. “What is that smell?”
“My apologies, Uncle, I am not feeling well.”
“This is a sorry note! I hope you are not sickening. We have arrived just in time. The marriage procession and feast will take place tomorrow!”
“Why so soon?”
“The Hundred-folk take auguries—”
“That’s right,” she broke in, feeling a spurt of interest that took her mind off her nervousness. “They take auguries for the most beneficent days for weddings and funerals and any fresh enterprise, according to their calendar in which each day of the year is designated by one of twelve animals and one of three states, resting, wakened, and transcendent. So, for example, each new year and new month always begin on the day called Resting Eagle. Tomorrow is—”
“Evidently considered a prosperous day for a wedding,” he broke in impatiently. “Which is just as well, since it is best we get it done quickly.”
He did not say before they change their minds but she could almost hear his thought.
“Also Beniel has returned with excellent news,” he added. “A suite of rooms awaits you in the lower palace. This is a promising start.”
She clasped her hands together, unable to shake her anxiety. “Am I not even to be allowed to spend one night in the family compound among familiar things?”
He shook his head decisively. “You can no longer enter the women’s compound, Sarai.”
“Never?” Her voice quavered.
“You never have been truly a daughter of the Ri Amarah. Surely you have always understood that your mother’s shame makes that impossible.”
He spoke so calmly that the words hurt worse for his indifference. She pressed a hand to her throat, wondering if she could even count herself as a living, breathing person if she had no kin to call her own, but her heart beat stubbornly and her breath slipped in and out just as always.
Abrisho gave a grimace. “You understood the bargain when you made it, Sarai. You will sleep tonight in the place where you will live henceforth. Now come along.”
As the carriage rolled through the streets Abrisho said no kindly words to reassure her that all would be well, so in her mind she composed a letter to Tsania about the evening smells and sounds of Toskala. By identifying and cataloging them, she found it was easy to forget the dreary dark passage. Of course her family did not want her and were happy to be rid of her stained and shameful presence. But now she was free to explore outside the confines of the estate’s walls.
At length the carriage came to a stop. Guardsmen demanded a pass for entrance. The wheels rattled on a graveled surface, then on a smooth one, then ceased their turning. She emerged from the carriage with her lower face covered by her shawl to find two women standing beside an open gate. The high wooden doors were carved with scenes the lamplight was not strong enough to illuminate. Everything was half seen and imperfectly understood.
“Verea, greetings of the evening,” said the older of the women. “We are hirelings brought in to help you get settled until you can arrange for your own people. I am Welo. This is my niece Iadit. My two nephews are downstairs but will stay out of your way. For indoor servants we have myself, Iadit, and two girls to clean. If you approve, verea.”
“My thanks, verea.”
The woman had the solid, amiable features of a Hundred-born woman, and although she was short and stocky instead of tall and portly she reminded Sarai of Yava. The niece was ab
out Sarai’s age, thin, with her thick black hair braided into a decorative knot at the back of her head. When Iadit caught Sarai’s gaze she winked, a bold gesture that made Sarai flush for she had no idea how she might properly respond. Not that they could see anything but her eyes.
“I’ll leave you here. We will come tomorrow for the sealing of the contract and the wedding feast.” Abrisho abandoned her without even asking to inspect the interior.
“Here now, be welcome, verea,” said Welo with a thoughtful frown as she escorted Sarai across the threshold and into a courtyard barely large enough to receive visitors on a narrow veranda. On this raised porch they took off their shoes. Welo led her up a flight of stairs to a second veranda and into a square room fitted with lamps, woven mats for flooring, a painted screen depicting cranes and flowers, and cushions arranged for seating.
Iadit opened sliding doors to reveal a balcony looking over an expansive garden from which singing and laughter floated up. Welo herded her past the overlook and into a private chamber with doors slid aside to reveal shelves on one side and a small lattice-screened balcony on another.
“There are refreshments on the balcony, verea. Iadit can unroll your bed and make you comfortable for the night. You have traveled a long way.”
Sarai felt like a rat caught in lamplight. The shawl she still held across her face gave her the courage to speak. “My thanks, verea. If Iadit would show me how to arrange the bedding I would be grateful. We use a different manner of bed and I do not mean by that to suggest I am displeased, not at all, it’s just that I don’t know how to make this one into a place to sleep. Afterward, if you please, might I perhaps be alone and we can take up this conversation in the morning for I am indeed very tired from my journey.”
She silently chided herself for how breathless and rude she sounded. And she had forgotten to ask how she might wash and relieve herself! She had a sudden urge to laugh, imagining herself jiggling all night unable to sleep lest she wet herself for not having found a toilet.
