by Kate Elliott
She shifted his hand to a lower spot. “Did you feel him move?”
“A boy? How can you be sure?”
“It’s what the Ri Amarah women say. Oh, Anji, now I’ve gotten Miravia into all sorts of trouble. The men came crashing into the courtyard—breaking everything—the new doors aren’t in place yet—and Keshad came running from the office, not to mention the Ri Amarah guards and O’eki. All those men who aren’t her kinsmen saw her unveiled. That won’t be forgiven, you know. They’ll never let her come here again. Because of you, and the oil of naya, they’ve let me visit her once there. She’s so unhappy.”
“We cannot interfere with the customs which the Ri Amarah hold among themselves. There, now, Mai.” He flicked a finger against her chin, smiling softly. “Did you get it all out?”
She took in a shuddering breath and let it out as a shuddering sigh. “I suppose so.”
“I will stay in Olossi for a few days. The marshal and the Hieros mean to call a council meeting to address this business of the demon. I’ve words to speak about the formation and disposition of the militia.”
“Then you’ll leave again?”
“I will.”
“Why must you be gone so much?” She hated the way her voice sounded, and with an effort, finding her market face and her market voice, she pressed two fingers to his lips to silence his reply and went on in the tone she would use toward customers, light and cheerful. “I know you must. It’s just that I miss you. I got accustomed to being with you every day.”
He kissed her fingers, grasped her wrist, and drew her hand away. “I’ll keep you beside me every waking and sleeping hour while I am here. But these matters will need my attention for some time. We have to prepare. You’re going to the Barrens.”
“I don’t want to go to the Barrens!”
“It’s the only way I can know you are safe. We’ve seen it’s impossible to guard you here. I don’t know who killed Tam, or who sent the demon to kill Chaji, Umar, and Eitai.”
“Demons walk on their own feet, as it says in the songs. They have volition, and thought, and they can hate and love, just as humans can. Maybe no one sent Cornflower. She walked on the trail of her own grievances. Anji! If I’m sent to the Barrens, there’ll be no market, nothing but grass and sheep like out on Dezara Mountain back home. I won’t be able to see Miravia!”
He released her, stood and, after a moment, extended a hand. She considered pleas and protests, but discarded these useless thoughts at once. She knew better. Taking his hand, she allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“I will do what I can,” he said. “This is a temporary measure, but I have decided. There will be no more discussion.”
35
Despite living for twelve years as a slave to one of the most prominent men in Olossi, Keshad had never set foot inside the council hall. As a lad he had often waited outside in Fortune Square for half the day, slumbering in the heat with his master’s umbrella tipped over him to keep off the sun, waiting for Master Feden to emerge so he could shade him on the walk back to the clan compound.
Situated at the city’s highest point, Fortune Square offered a view over tile rooftops and the steep peaks of raftered halls, over narrow alleys and broad avenues, courtyard gardens and humbler courts where washing was hung out. The noise of construction rose out of the lower city, where buildings were rising in the gaps where the fire had eaten holes. The light was muted today, pearly beneath clouds. No one was carrying shade umbrellas.
A pair of militiamen stood guard at the door to the stone watchtower with its open roof and fire cage. A line of supplicants, rain cloaks slung over their shoulders or draped over an arm, waited with varying degrees of patience in front of the council hall. Here a free man could bring a grievance, although no slave ever could. In Captain Anji’s company, Kesh walked past the supplicants and up the steps. The soldiers took up positions on the porch as he followed the others inside. An entry chamber stretched the width of the hall. It was empty except for a clerk sitting at a low table among a disorganized scatter of tablets and scrolls. Looking up, she spattered ink from her brush onto the table.
“Marshal! Captain. Verea.” She offered Kesh a puzzled nod, not sure how to place him, then bent to wiping up the stain. She was a bit older than he was, nicely curved but nothing special to look at even if the cursed reeve flirted with her.
“I’m glad to see you well, Jonit. You and your family survived the assault unscathed, I hope.” The grin flashed.
The woman blushed. “I did, thanks to the Qin.” She smiled nervously at Captain Anji.
Mai smoothly interposed herself into the breach. “Jonit! We’ve met once before, in the guest house of the Haf Gi Ri. Aren’t you a dear friend of—” She hesitated, glancing at the men. “—Master Eliar’s sister?”
Keshad knew that her name must never be spoken aloud. He still did not know it. He closed his eyes, and at once recalled her face, the subtle smile, the moist red lips, the searing gaze that had cut right through him until he could see nothing else.
“Keshad. This way.”
The captain’s voice was as good as a yank on a chained man. Kesh stumbled up another rank of steps, looking over his shoulder at the chamber they were leaving behind. The central screen depicted a lovingly painted Ladytree beneath whose branches lay a pair of abandoned orange slippers. How appropriate! Every council hall ought to ornament its entry hall with the tale of the Silk Slippers, which featured much lying and conniving and brutality, even if the innocent girl did triumph in the end. They crossed under a stone archway that opened onto the council garden. Here council members might while away the heat of the afternoon before an evening council session. Here allies might plot among the troughs and terraces of flowering shrubs and ornamental trees ruthlessly pruned back. Here enemies might agree to agree as they undertook to stab a third party.
He knew what he had to do.
Their allies waited under an open pavilion. The three Silvers—two old and one young—turned toward the approaching company. With punctilious courtesy they greeted Mai, Anji, Marshal Joss, and Jonit. The resemblance between the young Silver man and his sister was noticeable, the same straight brow and full lips, but the brother lacked the intangible boldness of spirit that animated the young woman. Eliar cast a look at Kesh as venomous as the snarl of an enraged lilu thwarted of her prey, so Kesh hung back on the steps, using one of the pavilion’s pillars as a shield. The older men pointedly ignored him, but he knew who they were because they worked with Mai on various mercantile pursuits: Isar, and his elderly cousin Bethen, both with forearms entirely ringed with silver bracelets.
On the other side of the pavilion, across from the Silvers, a curtained palanquin rested across two benches. A youth dressed in vest and kilt bent to tie back the curtains, revealing the Hieros sitting on pillows within. The old bitch greeted Anji and Joss, acknowledged the Silvers with a polite gesture as cold as it was correct, nodded at Jonit to include her, and paused to look at Keshad and then deliberately away. The slight did not disturb him. Nothing disturbed him now, except the memory of her face.
Last, she examined Mai. “Captain, is this your wife?”
Before the captain could reply, Mai stepped forward with a smile and a courtesy. “You are the holy priestess, the Hieros, who presides at the Ushara temple outside of town. I give you greetings, holy one. I am Mai.”
“Prettily spoken,” said the Hieros. “You have not come to the temple to worship.”
“No offense is intended, holy one. I pray at the altar of the Merciful One, who is not known in these lands.”
“Gone altogether beyond. An odd philosophy, if you ask me, but there is no accounting for the thinking of out-landers. There was an orange priest who lived for many years on the Kandaran Pass, begging for alms. He also dispensed healing and—so folk said—wise advice on the topic of household troubles. But he is gone now, to wherever his kind go after their spirit departs the world.”
“You have
heard of the Merciful One!”
“Do not look so surprised, verea. It is my business to keep my eyes and ears open. That is why your husband and I must meet. To exchange information.”
“Of course, holy one.”
“There, now, Captain Anji. I have satisfied myself as to her beauty and her good manners. You are a fortunate man.”
He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender to the inevitable.
“When I was a child, folk would talk about me as if I wasn’t there,” said Mai in a sweet voice.
“And with a bite, too,” added the Hieros. “You may come to visit me, verea, if you wish it.” She smiled, seeing the captain’s expression transform from a pleased smile to a sharp frown. “Come directly to me, I mean, without walking in Ushara’s garden, Captain. I have no hidden motives. You outlanders have peculiar customs, binding to yourselves what is meant to be shared freely according to the will of each person. But in any case, I am merely interested in talking to an outlander woman who walked into these lands of her own free will. The few outlander women who come here, come as slaves. They are often ill used. While I accept that those with debts must sell their labor to survive, I agree with my Ri Amarah colleagues, even if they remain suspicious of our gods and of the Devourer in particular. Those who have no choice in the act of devouring are being abused, not honored. Indeed, I say so especially because it is my life’s service to honor the path of the Merciless One, the All-Consuming Devourer.”
“I would like to visit you, holy one,” said Mai, the words so sincerely meant that it seemed she was oblivious to the undercurrents swirling through the pavilion.
“Best we discuss this at another time,” said Captain Anji, looking cursed grim.
The Silvers wore sour expressions, their trim little noses out of joint as if someone had suggested one of their hidden women dance naked at the festival.
With a burst of feeling as strong as being up to his neck in an outgoing tide, Keshad knew where he belonged: on the side of those who thought young women ought not to be locked up in their father’s brother’s house, or bound into years of unwanted servitude to the temple. Yet those who owned the chains would keep binding what they found useful, or desirable.
“I have something to say!” He leaped up the steps.
The captain set a hand to his sword’s hilt, and the marshal gripped his baton. Eliar cocked a fist, ready and eager to take a swipe. The Hieros’s attendant stepped in front of the old woman, his body her shield.
But Kesh plunged on. “You said yourself you meet here today to exchange information. About the goings-on in Olo’osson and the city, I am sure. Yet you also sent a group of scouts into the north weeks ago to see what they can discover about the Star of Life.”
“We have,” agreed the captain, removing his hand from his sword. “And not heard word back. Where are you going with this?”
“No doubt the reeves will be searching for the demon who killed the Qin soldiers, who may also be a Guardian, whatever a Guardian is, since obviously the tales are mistaken.”
“I admit the incident took us by surprise,” said Marshal Joss, “although we’re not agreed on what it all means.”
“If the Guardians have become demons, best we be prepared,” said Anji.
“That envoy wore no shadow,” said the Hieros. “Of that, I am determined.”
Joss nodded toward her. “As it says in the tale, ‘He wore no darkness, not even a shadow to follow him.’ Meanwhile, we’re keeping our eyes open. I’ve sent reeves out to see if they can track the demon.” He nodded at Mai, whose face lost a little of its luster to anxiety. “We’ll try to warn those people who may be in danger, including your uncle.”
“So,” continued Kesh. “All this you have encompassed. But what about these ones Captain Anji calls the Red Hounds? What about men in red caps and their accomplices who stalked the Qin through the streets of Olossi? Who Captain Anji believes came from the Sirniakan Empire in search of him? The ones who murdered Tam?”
He had their attention.
“We have no good sources of information in the empire. I am sure, Your Holiness, that your hierodules and kalos comb what bits of gossip and hearsay they can from those outlander drovers who visit the temple. I am sure everyone in Olossi interviews every merchant who returns from the south.”
“We listen,” said the Hieros. “Anyone would.”
From this angle, he could see across the garden and through the archway, glimpse the figures of men and women passing through the entry way to the council hall, folk who had a stake in Olossi’s prosperity and well-being.
“Advance me coin to purchase trade goods. I’ll go south as a merchant. I’ll investigate this civil war between the emperor and his cousins. I’ll look for traces of the Red Hounds. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. I’ll be your spy.”
“You’ll slip your bonds,” said the Hieros. “Run away. You are our surety for Zubaidit.”
“Do you think there is a life for a man like me in the empire?”
“A merchant can live in the caravanserai in Sarida,” said Anji. “Live well, if his chief concerns are food, drink, and luxurious furnishings.”
“Always as an outlander. But that is the risk you will take, in the hopes of gaining the intelligence you want. I might take the coin, and never return, that’s true.”
“Your sister will be angry if you aren’t here when she gets back,” said Marshal Joss.
Kesh wanted to say, Not as angry as you’ll be if you can’t get her in your bed, but he did not. “If I’m not here. If she returns. You can’t guarantee she’ll return. She’ll probably get herself killed, and then where will I be? Working as a factor for the Qin.”
“Do you have complaints of your treatment in our house?” Mai asked with every appearance of genuine concern and a smidgeon of indignation. Or perhaps she had simply the best disingenuous market face he had ever encountered. “You are not being held in any manner of slavery.”
“A chain is still a chain. I live on the sufferance of those of you who are making the plans. Give me eight months’ parole. There’s still time to make the crossing before the snows set in. I’ll gather what news I can, and return to you by the end of the year. Any profit I make after repaying the cost of the goods, will be mine to keep.”
“A bold offer,” said the Hieros. “And a dangerous one. Worthy of your sister, if you can pull it off.”
“Why do you want to do this?” asked the marshal. “For your sister’s sake? To act in service of the captain? Of the Hundred? Or the gods?”
“No.” Kesh glanced at the Silvers, but of course they had no idea of the riot of confusion that raged in his heart. “I act purely on my own behalf. For my own selfish reasons.”
“We have sent spies into the north,” said the marshal. “It’s true we’d be wise to send them into the empire as well. If it can be managed. Keshad knows the territory. But the council must approve the expedition.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if no one else knew?” asked Anji.
“I agree,” said the Hieros. “If too many know, it will jeopardize his mission. Word will get out. Whispers will spread. If these Red Hounds are as skilled as you say they are, Captain, they’ll find out the truth and murder the lad.” She looked not at all distressed while considering such an outcome.
Anji nodded at the Hieros. “It must be assayed in absolute secrecy. Although I don’t like to think of Keshad attempting this alone. I can’t send any of my soldiers with him, either to aid him or to prevent him from running away and cheating us all, or selling what he knows into the hands of our enemies.”
“I’ll go,” said Eliar. “Even with him.”
“Impossible,” said his father.
“Imprudent,” said Anji. “Your way of dressing betrays you. Nor would I ask you to dress in another way to disguise your heritage.”
Opportunity is an open gate. Kesh saw it clear. “Why should he not come along? I am also a foreigner. I might dress the
part, but no one will ever mistake me for a Sirniakan. If he draws attention by his looks and clothing, more may overlook me. As it says in the Tale of Plenty, ‘While everyone watched the barking dog, the carter crept into the storehouse and retrieved the stolen rice.’ ”
“Are you comparing me to a dog?” demanded Eliar.
Keshad smiled spitefully. “It is the custom in the Hundred to ornament our words with our sacred tales. The barking dog is a bold and clever hero.”
Eliar stepped forward, fist raised, jaw clenched.
“Enough!” Joss stepped between the two young men. “I have no patience for young men preening and bumping in this tiresome manner. If you cannot work together, I will not be persuaded of Eliar’s fitness for the expedition. In any case, according to your own laws, Eliar, you must obtain the permission of your elders.”
Scenting victory, Keshad bit back a triumphant smile as he lowered his gaze modestly. The floor of the pavilion boasted a mosaic of tiny tiles cemented together in a stylized pattern of light and dark, fortune falling and rising.
“Let me do this,” said Eliar passionately to his father, “and I will agree to all the demands you’ve made.”
“Even both marriages, your own and your sister’s?” said his father.
Surprised, Kesh looked up.
Eliar flushed, his expression twisted midway between grief and shame. “Even both marriages. May she forgive me.”
The two older Silver men glanced at each other, caught by surprise. “You’re sure, Eliar? You have stood fiercely in opposition to her marriage.”
“I’ll take an oath on it,” he said bitterly, “and hate myself after.”
“Do not make a mock of it, boy,” said his father. “The negotiations with the house in Nessumara are badly damaged, close to falling through, because of your objections and the recent impropriety.” There was a dull anger in Isar’s eyes that Kesh found frightening, although he thought it was not precisely directed at him, the stranger who had glimpsed the face of a daughter of the Ri Amarah, who must walk veiled in front of any man not her kin.
