Even at this hour of the night the streets were well lit. To the south the brightly coloured cloud of the Ancestor’s Shroud loomed over the horizon, surrounded by the sequined black velvet of the night sky. The Ancestor’s Eye blazed a brilliant blue in the impenetrable depths of the empty cowl around it. Rough-edged ponds made from sheets of red stone surrounded layered pools, red-beaked swans drifting like obsidian shadows on the rippled water. There came the faint twang and hum of cables from a nearby gondola as it made its way down the terraces. The air was cool. Perfumed by wet grass and eucalyptus. Mari and her friends followed serpentine paths, where lantern posts and hollow-eyed statues of Avānweh’s long-dead great were clad in the lush finery of orange trumpet vine.
Crossing a small bridge they came to the Caleph-Sayf. Armed members of the warrior-caste stood in doorways, or escorted their patrons with watchful gazes. Some were nahdi, while others wore the colours of a Great House or Family. Avān, Tau-se, Human or Seethe, there was work these days for those handy with steel. Those who could afford it paid well to ensure their blood stayed in their veins where it belonged.
Mari schooled herself to patience, though her natural instinct was to run as quickly as she could to Ajomandyan’s door. She wanted to laugh at herself. Or cry. Indris, the child of her family’s oldest enemies, and she had developed feelings for him. It went against everything she had been taught, which was perhaps why she allowed her feelings to grow. Her mother had always said Mari’s contrary nature would be the end of her, though it had not been.
Yet.
There were times, curled in his arms, his breath sweet and warm against the back of her neck, when she had entertained the thought of a simple life. In the drowsy golden reverie of dawn she had wondered whether he was like her other lovers, the women and men who had come, lingered a while, then left her life. Then she thought of how it felt when she was not with him. The yawning ache that made her want to find him. To talk, to ask even the most banal of questions for the sole reason he would speak and the timbre of his voice would thrill her. In the past she had always managed to disguise her emotional apathy with bravado and the illusion of excitement for the life around her. It worked most of the time, until her own ennui infected her partner and they drifted listlessly apart.
Emotion had crept up on her, masked in all the usual safe feelings, yet hiding something dangerous. Even in her own head she could not bring herself to say the word, for fear saying it would either damn it, or make it real, either of which might cause it to die.
She had faced death many times, but now—confronted with the thought of a life… she had never been more unsure of herself. It had been so simple, when she had not cared deeply enough to be bothered overly much with the consequences of her actions. Had she died, it was only her life that would be lost. But now, the way she felt about Indris—thought of losing him almost choking her with panic—she wondered how so many people managed to feel so deeply, for so long, and not go mad. An admission of love, like the revelation of guilt, the confession of wrongdoing, and the taking of life, was something you could never undo.
“We’re here,” Neva’s voice broke her reverie.
The Näsaré villa was a tiered home built into a wide defile in the mountain. A beautiful bronze awning shaped like a gryphon’s beak shaded the tall keyhole door, itself banded in iron with a robust fretwork grille in front of it. Armoured soldiers in the Näsaré blue and grey—armed with spear, axe and heavy bow—guarded the door.
Neva led Mari and the others through long corridors and up sweeping flights of stairs until they reached a small circular sitting room. The walls were covered in blue and white tiles, the ceiling a dome of blue-stained glass. Mari rested her head against one of the windows where it looked out over the gardened interior of the villa. Ferns, figs, and gardenia grew amongst miniature pines, clinging to the cracks between sharp-edged rocks.
“My granddaughter says you want leave to cause havoc in my city,” Ajo’s voice came from the circular doorway nearby. The two-century old sayf looked somewhat dishevelled in his sweeping grey over-robe, the white wings of his hair swept back from tanned aquiline features. He leaned on his gryphon-headed cane. Yago was behind him, a younger version of his grandfather. Ajo looked Mari and her companions up and down, his expression rueful. “At least you’re polite enough to ask first, despite obviously being in the wars already.”
“I need to understand how far I’m allowed to go before I cross the line of the law.” Mari said. “As the Arbiter of the Change it’s your task to oversee the smooth transition of power, but—”
“That gryphon has fled the eyrie,” Neva muttered.
“True,” Ajo replied, looking at Neva with hard eyes. “But not to the point where it can not be brought back. Why do you ask, Pah-Mariam?”
“Because I fear my father has made some more poor choices.”
Ajo gestured for them all to sit as Mari explained what had happened. “I’m sure you understand I want to find Indris, Femensetri, and Vahineh before something else terrible happens,” she said when she had concluded, “But I also need to speak with my father about our problems. Ignoring them won’t make them go away.”
“How does your father know who murdered Yashamin?” the Sky Lord asked softly. “If what you say is true, there are none save your trusted circle who were privy to this.”
“I’ve no idea. Nadir was the one who told me, though he didn’t tell me where they learned what they did. True to his word, there were mercenaries who assaulted Nazarafine and her escort on their way to the Qadir Sûn.”
“I had heard of this,” Ajo said. He rested his hands on the head of his cane, his chin on his hands. “Most troubling. Is it in any way connected with the savage murders, or the abductions, happening in my city?”
“I doubt it.”
“Grandfather,” Yago urged, “we must help them find Indris! He’s our blood.”
And somebody Roshana is trying to marry your beautiful granddaughter to. Mari flicked a glance at Neva. The tall gryphon-rider was dashing in her flying leathers, long-limbed and hair tousled, beautiful no matter the grime and dried blood on her skin. She was the kind of woman Indris liked.
“What proof do you have?” Ajo asked.
“They’ve no proof!” Roshana said from behind Mari. Nazarafine, Siamak, Ziaire, and Martūm were with her, all looking as if they had dressed hastily and ridden hard to get there. Martūm, hunched into an expensive over-robe of indigo silk, stitched with amethysts, stared fitfully about. Bensaharēn blinked owlishly, his hair escaping his usual tight ponytail and braids. Yet there was nothing remotely tired about the way he gripped his sheathed sword. Roshana came to stand in front of Ajo, hands on her hips. “I apologise, Sayf-Näsaré. This is a private matter, which doesn’t need your attention. For all we know, this was another attack on us by the Humans.”
“Private matter?” Mari asked incredulously. “And the Humans? Seriously? You sound like my father.”
“Mari!” Ziaire shook her head quickly. “Best leave this alone.”
“I have been told much already,” Ajo said. He glowered at Roshana, Nazarafine and Siamak. “Many disturbing things have come to my attention. Is it true you have decided to Sever Vahineh from her Awakening?”
“What business is it of yours?” Roshana asked, chin lifted beyond the point of belligerence.
“Everything that happens as part of the Change is my business, girl!” Ajo rapped his cane against the tiled floor with a sharp crack. “Look to you. A rahn for weeks, all puffed up and itching for carnage! Your father would never—”
“My father is dead and saw fit to Awaken me—”
“Because Indris refused!” Shar spat. “Never forget you have everything you do because of him! Your Great House still exists, because of him!”
“Watch your mouth,” Roshana snapped. “Because Indris puts up with you, don’t think I will.”
“Regardless of how it was said, it’s the truth,” Mari counter
ed.
“And what about the Stormbringer?” Hayden asked. “Or young Miss Vahineh, who you said you wanted to help?
Nazarafine’s eyes looked tired and sad amidst deep crows feet in her rounded apple face. The portly woman looked her age and then some. Mari noted more white in her hazelnut hair.
“We balance on a knife’s edge.” Nazarafine said wearily. Ziaire sat beside her, taking the woman’s hands in her own. Nazarafine gestured to Ziaire, who produced a rolled parchment, which she handed to Ajo.
“What is it?” Mari asked. She stood. She could see the black and red ribbons and the rearing black stallion of the Erebus that were affixed to the document. Ajo broke the seal and read the message.
“It’s Corajidin’s demand for Nazarafine to observe the Third Dictate. He demands Vahineh be delivered for examination into her participation in the murder of Rahn-Erebus fe Yashamin.”
“It’s an excuse to escalate hostilities,” Roshana said. “He hopes to gain the sympathies of the moderates. Vengeance for the murder of a loved one is something most of us understand.”
“What’s our next course of action?” Martūm looked to each of them. “Does anybody know whether Femensetri and Indris managed to—?”
“Keep your tongue behind your teeth!” Roshana cut the air with her hand. Her features danced from anger, to calm, to sorrow, and back. Mari looked at her with a kind of sick horror, wondering whether Roshana, too, would be overcome by the force of her recent Awakening. Mari further wondered what it would be like to have the memories of a murdered father in her head.
“Martūm was about to say they don’t know whether Indris and Femensetri were successful in Severing Vahineh from her Awakening.” Shar’s voice was hard.
Roshana glared at the Seethe woman, though said nothing to refute her. “It’s to save her life.”
“I do not doubt such is part of it.” Ajo leaned forward in his chair. “So. You took it upon yourselves to appoint a new rahn, without conferring with anybody? This is why we have the Ascension Role.”
“The rahns ultimately decide who Ascends,” Ziaire said reasonably. “And if Roshana, Nazarafine, and Siamak all agree on a candidate, they’ll carry the vote.”
“The law states a Mahj, the Asrahn, or a few members of the Magistratum, such as the Secretary-Marshall, the Arbiter-Marshall, or the Scholar-Marshall, can appoint a rahn. You are none of those things. You would have robbed your fellow rahns of their chance to be heard. It is not so different from what you accuse Corajidin of doing.
“And while I do not challenge the legal right to suggest a candidate, I do challenge the right to withhold the knowledge of a murder against one of the royal-caste. By law you are all implicated—”
Roshana snorted. “For the love of the Ancestors you can’t—”
“Be so kind as to keep your mouth shut,” Ajo growled. He pointed his cane at Roshana. “You, who knew of Yashamin’s murder. Who proclaimed a Jahirojin! Your abuse of power and manipulation of truths is equally as vile as Corajidin’s.”
“You forget yourself old man,” Roshana snapped.
“I forget nothing, girl,” Ajo said softly, eyes hard as chisels. “I’m Arbiter of the Change, and you had best remember your place.”
“What can we do to Sever Vahineh’s Awakening… and save her life?” Martūm asked impatiently, his closing words seemingly an afterthought.
“Your motives are far from altruistic,” Ziaire said, hearing Martūm’s hesitation and levelling a dark look at him. “Just who does settle your debts these days, Martūm? I’m reasonably certain it’s not the Banker’s House or the Mercantile Guild anymore. Is it the Malefacti you’ve turned to, or the League of Silence, perhaps? No, they’re not forgiving of delinquency. A patron from the Hundred—”
“My situation is none of your concern!” The words tumbled out of Martūm’s mouth.
“Peace!” Ajo said. “For the Ancestors’ sake, would you all take a deep breath. Think this through. Your approach to helping Vahineh is laudable, the methods highly questionable. Hired swords attacked Nazarafine and her companions—one of whom happened to be Vahineh—on their way to the Qadir Sûn. But you’ve no proof of wrongdoing on the Erebus’s behalf. Only conjecture they were involved, based on Nadir’s drunken ramblings.”
“A man who sells his sword for gold,” Omen hummed, “reminded us of hearts turned cold, of spiders and webs held iron fast, of villains from the recent past.”
There was silence in the room. Ajo looked at Omen as if he did not know what he was looking at.
“I figure Omen’s talking about that Nix fellow,” Hayden offered. “The last of them bravos mentioned something about being caught in a web and he ain’t ever getting out. He reckoned whoever he worked for would do for his family, too. It ain’t much, no doubt, but it’s something.”
“It is thin,” Ajo shook his head, “and not something I could take to the Arbiter’s Tribunal for them to act on.”
Mari went to the Sky Lord and rested her hands over his, smiling her slow and lazy smile. “We saw him in the Maladhi-sûk talking with Ravenet of the Delfineh the day the Sēq captured the lich there. The Maladhi were ever the shadowy killers for the Erebus. The Delfineh were no better. Add a malign Nomad to that, and surely it’s enough to raise questions! If they were involved, it was to execute my father’s will. Is it enough I could start kicking over some rocks?”
“I forbid it, Mari,” Nazarafine said. “You’re the Knight-Colonel of the Feyassin—”
“But I’m not.” Mari refused to look at Nazarafine, though heard the matronly woman’s sharp intake of breath. “Seriously, how could I be, with my father as Asrahn? Even if we came to some common ground on what happened between us, I could never serve him.”
“You could serve as my new Poet Master,” Nazarafine said. “Or take on your mother’s title. Her estates of Dahrain on the shores of the Sûn Isles are there for you, should you want them.”
“There is always a place in my household, Pah-Mariam.” Siamak smiled shyly. “We lost almost everybody of experience when Far-ad-din left, and the Teshri invaded Amnon. You would be of immense value to me in Bey Prefecture.”
“But it would all be conditional on me doing whatever you wanted of me.” Mari shook her head regretfully. “I think I need to be my own person for a while. That means going after Indris and the others on my own terms. Remember, Vahineh will be a point of contention for my father as well as a point of pride. He will want her brought to justice, no matter what.”
“You’ll be just another ashinahdi,” Roshana said, “alone and friendless—and that’s how you’ll die if you proceed with this. Worse, your father may take you into custody and then where would you be? You know everything we’ve planned and at some point, everybody reveals what they know. As Ajo said, think this through.”
Before Mari could respond, Siamak said thoughtfully, “Hardly friendless. You did a great service in saving my city and my Prefecture, Mariam. You gave your life willingly and I would be a poor rahn, unworthy of my station, if I were to let you do this alone.”
“And I’ll do what I can.” Ziaire smiled at Mari. “I knew fixing you up when you came to my door would be a mistake. But I’d be a poor friend to desert you now, when you’re becoming even more interesting.”
“Far from friendless,” Shar said, building on Siamak’s words. Ekko and Hayden nodded their agreement. Both Neva and Yago stepped forward. Shar moved across the room to kiss a surprised Mari. The Seethe woman almost thrummed with excitement, her orange eyes blazing, skin flickering like a candle.
Roshana came to stand next to a downcast Nazarafine. The two spoke quietly for what seemed a long time, then nodded. Mari looked on apprehensively. Regardless of the cessation of hostilities they had shared in Amnon, the fact remained Roshana was a dyed-in-the-wool daughter of the Näsarat. She had been taught as a child the long list of crimes the Erebus had committed. Had no doubt learned by rote all the various blows and counterblows, the see
mingly endless list of Jahirojins and Wars of the Long Knife the two houses had unleashed on each other. Now the memories of her Ancestors were in Roshana’s mind, to be played out as if she had witnessed them herself: including the memory of her own father’s assassination at Corajidin’s hands. Roshana need merely open her consciousness to the long line of her Ancestors to be reminded why she hated the Erebus. The fact Mari had tried to help break the cycle was like damming a river with a pebble.
Mari watched as Roshana smoothed the folds of her suede over-robe. There were no rings on Roshana’s calloused hands. No chains about her neck, nor jewels at her ears. Hers were the hands and the sensibilities of a soldier who ever saw the cloud of war looming. She was more like Corajidin than she knew, or would ever admit.
“I recognise the inevitable,” Roshana said finally. “Understand me clearly, Mari: I’m not happy, but you’ll go ahead and do this with or without my support. At least if I help you, I may have some control over the outcome.”
“I’ll not take your fury to my Father’s door,” Mari warned.
“If your father has abducted a Prince of the Blood of the Great House of Näsarat,” Roshana said icily, “then it’s for me to resolve the matter using whatever means are at my disposal.”
“If you can prove he has done so,” Ajo agreed. “Otherwise you will be breaking the law and will be subject to its penalties.”
“I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it. Pray we’re all not in the middle when it happens.”
“VENGEANCE IS THE CONFESSION OF A WOUNDED HEART.”
—Marak-ban, Sēq Knight to the Sussain (345th Year of the Shrīanese Federation)
DAY 354 OF THE 495TH YEAR OF THE SHRĪANESE FEDERATION
Stretching the kinks from his muscles, Corajidin observed his inner circle as they sat around a large octagonal table. The mother of pearl top had a slick, almost oily nacre under lamplight. Nearby several braziers were filled with firestones, the glowing red rocks washing the black walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling with a bloody glow. Scores of gold-plated skulls were arrayed on the walls, fanged mouths wide and silently screaming, eye sockets empty: trophies of those who had defied the Great House of Erebus and not lived to regret it.
The Obsidian Heart Page 23
