The Black Wolves

by Kate Elliott

  “It wasn’t your fault, Lord Tyras. It’s hard not to feel shame at being treated like that but I hope you don’t.” Gil was surprised such a gentle tone could pass the lips of such a brute of a man. Then he ruined it. “I guessed they were going to go after one of you two cockwitted lords sooner or later. You stand out like beacons in this group.”

  Tyras buried his face in his arms and did not reply.

  “Are there any others besides you?” Gil asked.

  “Not that I know of but that doesn’t mean a thing. We have to assume the guards have their own spies among the work gang.”

  “You mean besides the soldiers who are marching with us in disguise?”

  Adiki had startlingly white teeth, a flash in the night when he grinned. “You noticed that, too?”

  A guard paced into view out of the gloom, making his rounds. Gil sank back so they wouldn’t be caught talking and for good measure settled on his back. The thought of being dragged away into the night to be assaulted made it impossible to sleep. The moon rose higher and then sank. Adiki breathed easily beside them. Very late, Gil woke from a doze to hear Tyras weeping with snuffling tears he tried to muffle in his arms. He didn’t know how to comfort him, what to say, what to do. So he said nothing and pretended he was still asleep.

  The worst thing in the middle of a long night with no hope of anything but more of the same on the morrow was that he could not stop thinking of Sarai, trapped in the upper palace with no one to guard her back. At least he and Tyras had each other and now this new ally.

  Silently he prayed first to Beltak the Shining One as everyone must who steps foot within the palace. He chanted the offering prayers to the seven gods as his grandmother had taught him, although he had nothing to offer except his voice. He asked the Merciful One to watch over them, She in whose compassionate embrace all hurts and miseries fade into oblivion.

  “Let her people’s Hidden One keep Sarai-ya safe,” he murmured to the heavens.

  The lambent stars offered no hope and no answer.

  40

  Every morning Tayum opened the door of Sarai’s cubicle at dawn to escort her to the shrine for the dawn worship service. Every morning Sarai drew her shawl across the lower half of her face to signify her refusal and her defiance. Every morning after the other women had filed into the shrine’s balcony, she tested all the doors that led out of the queen’s wing of the palace; they were always barred to her.

  But even if her body was trapped and her wealth held hostage, her mind could range where it willed. Every morning during the long prayer service she walked in the queen’s garden on the pretext of cataloging the plants and their pharmacological properties, which she shared as her contribution at the daily Recitation even though few of the women could understand the Hundred-speech. Meanwhile she recorded her observations of the queen’s court in code while also devising a glossary and verb table for the Sirni language as she worked to learn it without anyone being the wiser.

  Baby’s delight flowers with the first rains. Its crumbled petals sweeten cordial and other dishes prepared for the new year festival.

  Queen Chorannah presides over exactly thirty-two noble ladies; a woman was sent to her country estate to make room for me. Her household officials number sixteen. Probable that the servants number sixty-four. Eunuch guards likewise. Everything in multiples or divisions of eight: poems with sixteen stanzas; embroidery flowers with eight-sided blooms; twenty-four dishes brought in four courses for dinner.

  Shrubs of purple thorn whose bark when ground up keeps away insects.

  The hierarchy of the priesthood is a ladder with eight rungs. Priests known as exalted, that is on the seventh and eighth rungs, veil their faces. At the top of the ladder stands the exalted lord priest who lives in the holy parkland of the Grand Shrine which lies at the center of the Emperor’s Palace. The Emperor’s Palace is a city unto itself at the heart of the vast octagonal city that is really eight cities. These are called Riamru, Hassisadru, Salsali, Vassagri, Jolarno, Magarno, Assaroei, Tirgatoei. The exalted lord priest is said to be so spiritually elevated that he is ageless and cannot die.

  Bright Blue is best known for the powder made from its bulb that stems bleeding.

  The holy parkland and shrine complex at the heart of the Emperor’s Palace at the heart of the octagonal city at the heart of the empire is called Dalilasah. This is similar to a noblewoman’s name, which always ends in -ah. The Beltak doctrine claims that every holy shrine is a feminine structure, being an inert form constructed by the efforts of men, named by men, and given spiritual life by men who go into and out of it with their prayers and enlightened knowledge.

  The overpowering scent of muzz may conceal strong smells and is traditionally associated with the pleasure gardens dedicated to the Hundred goddess known as Ushara the Merciless One, Mistress of Love, Death, and Desire. This makes sense because muzz, brewed in a strong enough quantity, brings on a woman’s bleeding.

  The words for “woman” and “holy” come from the same root.

  “Sunbright make my favorite garlands,” said a husky voice.

  Sarai looked up, hand poised above the page.

  Attended by a eunuch wearing a guard’s tabard, a tall and lovely woman walked up the path between brilliantly intense sprays of yellow sunbright. “You are Lady Sarai. I have been commanded to give you particular greetings from Prince Kasad.”

  “Princess Kasarah? You look very like your brother.”

  “Most people do remark on how much my twin and I resemble each other.”

  Sarai thought the princess more striking and assured in manner, but she was not about to say so. The princess’s robes draped loosely, the silk textured with leaves and vines woven into a gold-and-brown fabric. Where the prince wore only simple bead earrings, his sister wore four dangling confections on each ear that knocked into each other every time she moved her head. She had covered her hair in the palace style but wore no tiered hat as the other ladies did.

  “I am honored to meet you, Princess Kasarah. I heard a rumor that Queen Dia left the palace and you were coming to stand guard over her territory.”

  “So I have.”

  “How are you come here? I have not seen you in Chorannah’s chambers before.”

  “Chorannah does not control every gate,” said Kasarah with a glance at Tayum, who had moved closer in order to listen. The princess’s smile had the fragility of a fresh line of ink, easily smudged. “Are you writing in your book? What is that stick you use instead of a brush?”

  Her brusque familiarity startled Sarai. “Ah. Well. This is a reed pen, easily cut from several varieties of bamboo.”

  Kasarah peered at the open pages. “Rumor whispers that you write in magical signs.”

  Sarai closed the book. “Among my people, women are taught to read and write and do the accounts. It is nothing unusual or magical for us.”

  “I have displeased you. My apologies.”

  “Of course it is natural to be inquisitive. I am inquisitive myself. That is why I am cataloging all the plants in the garden.”

  “Are you indeed?” The princess looked again at the guard hovering close, then at Tayum’s frowning face, then back at Sarai. She shook out the embroidered hem of a voluminous sleeve, making rather an obvious business of it. “Gardening is my chief love and profession.”

  “How lovely!” Was this an awkward and rushed attempt to befriend her? Or a warning?

  “My mother has a country estate where she has long spent most of her time. My brother and I spent our childhood there. As you know, my mother has built up a great weaving enterprise—”

  “I did not know.”

  “Yes, she makes a great deal of coin selling inexpensive bulk cloth on the market. It’s why she is so rich. She herself is an accomplished weaver. I became interested in dyes, thus I studied plants.”

  Kasarah began walking. Too curious to let the opportunity pass, Sarai followed her under an archway of flowering patience. The two eu
nuchs paced them. Because she and Kasarah were not speaking Sirni she wasn’t sure if the men could understand.

  “Do you not pray at the Shining One’s shrine with the others, Princess Kasarah?”

  Kasarah looked sidelong at her with a knowing smile, like sharing a silent laugh. Her lips, reddened by carmine, looked as soft and pliant as flower petals. “I place my offerings at the altar of the northern deity known as Enne Who Looks Both Ways. Enne is the seed that may wither, or flourish. Enne is the lover’s offering that may be rejected, or accepted. Enne is the friendship that may fade, or prosper.”

  Sarai wasn’t sure if this was an invitation, or just an explanation. Certainly Kasarah had a flair of attractiveness that her awkward brother lacked, and she wore a distinctive and appealing perfume distilled from the sweet-smelling flower called falling-star.

  The princess halted in front of a gate flanked on either side by a eunuch guard standing in the shade of rice-grain-flower trees. The shuttered Assizes Tower rose like a blind man above the wall. Morning light cast the tower’s shadow right over where they stood.

  “Do you happen to know what this plant is?” Kasarah asked in an overly loud voice, as if she had abruptly discovered Sarai was deaf.

  “This is the rice-grain-flower,” said Sarai, wondering if the princess was being deliberately obtuse since the plant was common. “You might use its tiny flowers to ornament your hair, or scent tea or clothing. It won’t flower again until the rains, next year.”

  “How many days has it been since you came to the upper palace, Lady Sarai?”

  “Twenty-one days.”

  “You must hope for respite from these walls, then.”

  With a click and a scrape, a shutter was pulled away from a small square grille set into the center of the gate. Someone looked through and saw them. Then the gate opened and King Jehosh stepped into the garden to give a kiss of greeting to his daughter. He waved his fingers peremptorily at the eunuch guards. “I shall bring Lady Sarai back after we have had tea in the commander’s pavilion.”

  “Your Highness, I have orders she must not leave the garden.” Tayum bowed, and kept his body between her and the king. Sarai could not help but look at his strong hands and wonder if the girls would be whipped again.

  King Jehosh had the smile of a man who finds the frustration of his opponents amusing. “I understand that is your duty. However you cannot refuse a direct order from me.”

  Tayum and the two guards watched in silent disapproval as Sarai hurried after the king. She was astounded at her good fortune and prayed, under her breath, that the girls wouldn’t be touched. But she would not let that stop her.

  Beyond the open gate lay a walled courtyard stripped clean of decoration. Here rose the Assizes Tower. A ramp sloped up to the main double doors, which were chained shut. As they crossed the courtyard, a tingling like the swarming of ants buzzed along her thigh where the mirror rested. But when they passed through a second gate and into the king’s garden, the swarming and tickling ceased. Either she had experienced a trick of the nerves because she wanted to get into the Assizes Tower so badly, or something in the tower—perhaps the demon’s coil—was casting off magical power that tangled in the mirror.

  Anyway, right now none of that mattered. She finally had her opportunity to escape.

  “My thanks, Your Highness!” she said breathlessly.

  “You must wait to see how the tea suits you before you thank me for it.” Instead of leading her away to safety, the king ushered her up steps into the central pavilion. Its walls were silk curtains tied back to let the breeze through.

  She looked around a little desperately as he indicated she should settle herself on the cushions. Princess Kasarah shrugged in a way that might be understood as apology, or helplessness. “Did Prince Kasad not explain my situation, Your Highness?”

  “You believe I am helping you flee Chorannah’s vise. But I am not.”

  “Are you not the king, to make it possible?”

  “Am I not the king?” He rubbed his chin. “A question I have come to ask myself more than once in recent months.”

  Over her life Sarai had been more inclined to despair than anger. But his air of self-pity irritated her. She took in several breaths to descend the ladder of anger before she replied as cautiously as she could manage. “Then why the invitation, Your Highness?”

  His gaze skimmed down the length of her body before returning to her eyes. “To offer you a respite from the queen’s court. I have heard you are off your food, and I thought to offer you delicacies that may be more to your liking.”

  He gestured. A soldier brought a tray with ginger tea, sweet rice cakes, fruit lightly dusted with ginger shavings, and rice porridge stewed in coconut milk. She considered an indignant and principled refusal but the aroma of the warm porridge assaulted her nostrils and, after a brief struggle, she sat down and let her shawl drop.

  Kasarah’s gaze flashed to Sarai’s scarred cheek and away.

  Jehosh started with obvious surprise, but once he had recovered he examined her with keen interest. “Your eyes gave me to expect something different, for in truth you look much like most ordinary Hundred folk. You honor me by allowing me to speak to you face-to-face, Lady Sarai.”

  “It is an intimacy that no other Ri Amarah woman will allow you, Your Highness. However, I must advise you that in the lower palace I had already adopted the local custom, so I offer you nothing I have not already given to the people who visited Lord Gilaras and me.”

  “So I am put in my place.”

  “How I act in the queen’s court in protest of her desire to force me to worship at the shrine is another matter.”

  “Ah. I see. A justifiable cause, and I am pleased to hear you are refusing Chorannah what you have freely offered to me. Will you have porridge and a cake?”

  “If you please.”

  The king himself served her. His hands were callused from riding and weapons training. His regard was disconcerting but he had a gift of seeming charming rather than intrusive, as if he was completely delighted by their meeting. “I hope this food is more to your taste than what is served out of Chorannah’s kitchen. Ginger is soothing to the stomach. I have heard a rumor you have as yet shown no sign of a woman’s bleeding. It is presumed you may be pregnant by the disgraced Lord Gilaras.”

  She set down her spoon. “You are a blunt speaker, Your Highness.”

  He cast a smile to the winds, swift and sure. “It is one of the privileges of being king, Lady Sarai.”

  “How am I to answer such an intimate question?”

  “With the truth?”

  “Why is it important to you to know, since you have already refused to help me find a way to rejoin my lost husband?”

  “The situation in the palace is always complicated.”

  “Truly it is. Queen Chorannah and my uncle are scheming to annul the marriage with Lord Gilaras and ally my clan’s wealth to one of her high officials.”

  “I have heard this rumor but it is good to hear you confirm it.”

  “Then you can see why I am desperate to escape.”

  “And you can surely see, Lady Sarai, that I need a better source of information in Queen Chorannah’s court. More tea?”

  When she nodded, he poured. Chimes hung at each of the four cardinal directions, singing as the wind stirred them and also, she supposed, tangling with their words so that guards listening from afar would have trouble hearing what was said, just in case not all of the king’s guardsmen were loyal.

  “Your Highness, do you hope to keep me in Queen Chorannah’s company to spy on her? Because you know I don’t want to be there and so that means you believe you can trust what I tell you?”

  “You are a clever enough woman to work your way into Chorannah’s good graces, Lady Sarai. Play upon the mystery and attraction you offer. The scar gives you a rather bandit air, does it not? How did you get it?”

  “What if we strike a bargain? Release my husband from the
work gang in exchange for my help.”

  “That I cannot do.”

  “He is innocent of the crime he was arrested and condemned for.”

  “No Herelian is innocent. Need I remind you that Lord Gilaras’s father murdered my beloved father?”

  “Gil did not kill your father. He wasn’t even born yet. If you can’t help me get him back, and you won’t help me leave here, why should I help you?”

  The king had lovely eyes, although not as lovely as Gil’s long-lashed deep-set orbs. But Gil never looked at her with such an odd mixture of interest and calculation. Gil was not a mystery to be solved, as this man was.

  He picked up the teapot and, as he spoke, refilled all three cups.

  “This place where we sit is called the commander’s pavilion, after my grandfather, King Anjihosh. He was a military man from an early age. When I was a young man I desired to be like him. It is said he captured that which he desired most, first of all the heart of a beautiful maiden and afterward the war-ridden land of the Hundred, to which he brought peace.”

  “Did he bring peace to the heart of the beautiful maiden as well?”

  He set down the teapot. “The story goes that she died, and broke his heart.”

  “An odd way to phrase it, as if she died in order to break his heart.”

  Kasarah plucked a cake off the tray, the first time she had moved since they had sat down. “My honored mother once said you always wanted a captured maiden of your own, Father, just as your grandfather had.”

  The king pressed fingers affectionately on his daughter’s hand. “I can only imagine the snap of her eyes and the blistering heat of Dia’s tongue as she said it. Fortunately your mother has not died and broken my heart.” Having said the words lightly, he frowned, eyes dark. “Bad enough—”

  Kasarah sucked in a warning breath.

  He rose and took a turn around the pavilion, tapping each set of chimes to make them ring. Then he sat back down.

  “Lady Sarai, when I am in the upper palace I take tea here in honor of my grandfather’s memory. In this way I honor the work he did in bringing peace and stability to the Hundred. Do you not also want the Hundred to be at peace? For I am sure you have heard there is unrest in the city. Many people blame the Ri Amarah for the ills that afflict them, because they need someone to blame.”