by Gail Dayton
Adara, the warrior-queen Leyja had said. These were the visiting Adarans. Padrey wanted another look at them, to see whether he actually wished to deal. He would try to spot this Leyja in the ranks for whatever he could learn.
The double row of champions marched by, faces impassive under their varied tattoos as they tossed handfuls of coppers into the crowd. Padrey snatched a few from the air, but let the rest scatter on the street for the children and the desperate to gather. He'd had a good night. And he still had the necklace.
Behind the champions, Adaran soldiers rode on compact, heavy-muscled horses. The soldiers wore gray, sleeveless jackets with squared-off tails that came down over their thighs and buttoned up the front in a flash of brass buttons. Their hair, all colors from white blond to sable brown and even shades of red, was tied back into short, braided queues. The sight of them brought a stab of homesickness so strong that Padrey almost staggered. He should have been one of them. Too old now.
More soldiers rode behind the men in gray, these dressed in black trimmed with bands of red at the neck and hem. Padrey shivered a little when he saw them. These weren't mere soldiers. They were more. More deadly for certain.
Some of those in black wore more elaborate uniforms, decorated with gold braid and jewels. There, she had to be Adara's Reinine—the one in the center, in the scarlet tunic stiff with crimson and gold and glittering stones. More braid and jewels twisted up the crimson trousers to her knees.
She wore her darkest brown hair in a military queue like the soldiers, though its greater length, well below her shoulders, and the hair that had escaped around her face softened the look. High cheekbones and a slim straight nose gave her an aristocratic appearance, while the square jaw indicated strength. The wide generous mouth—Someone spoke to her and she smiled, transforming an austere, handsome face into beautiful.
Then she turned and seemed to look straight into Padrey's eyes, the smile lingering on her face. A word chimed through his mind, as if someone had spoken it directly into his thoughts. Freedom.
His whole body shuddered with the echoing reverberation. He gasped. Then he gasped again.
The woman by the Reinine's side, tall and terrible in her elaborately decorated black uniform was the woman who had chased him through half of Mestada. Leyja.
Padrey tugged at the sleeve of the person next to him. “Who are they? The ones in black and red?"
The person he'd accosted shrugged him off, but someone else answered. “The personal bodyguards of the Reinine."
"Even the ones with all the decoration? All the braid and such? Are they just higher ranked?"
"Those are in her household."
"Don't be stupid.” Someone else, a woman, spoke up. “They're her lovers."
"You're both wrong,” came a third, self-important voice. Everyone shut up and listened. This speaker wore the tattoos and belt badge of an en-Kameral champion. He stood at the edge of the street, holding back the crowd. He would know. “They are the Godmarked of Adara."
"What does that mean?” Padrey had never heard of the title, though admittedly he'd been a child when he lived in Adara.
"I'm not sure,” the champion said. “I couldn't hear much, but from the way everyone acted, especially their Reinine, they're very important government officials. Very, very high up. Personal friends of the Reinine."
"See? Her lovers,” the sour-voiced woman said.
"They are not.” The man sounded as if he disagreed with her often. Likely her husband.
Padrey paid them no attention as he eased away. The people he'd come to see had passed. He had no need of the coppers coming at the end of the procession. He needed to think.
Dear Goddess, Leyja was one of these Godmarked. In the highest circles of Adaran government. Judging by the trim on her clothing, she certainly would be able to pay a nice ransom indeed for the necklace. She could also lose him in a dungeon so deep he'd never find his way out again.
Padrey rubbed his palm over his chest, trying to ease the hollow ache there. That word still resonated somewhere inside him, like the lingering vibration of a bell. Could he actually have it—freedom? Could he find it there? With the Reinine?
He shook himself. What was he thinking? He already had it. He had freed himself. Oh all right, he was a thief. He lived in an attic that leaked during the rains and roasted him in the dry. He skulked and lurked, trying to avoid notice, because if anyone noticed, he was dead.
But he did what he pleased—after a fashion. He was beholden to no one—if you didn't count Falon One-Eye who collected the protection money. Though the only protection he provided was from himself. Nor could you count his landlord. Or the owner of the Drunken Weevil. Or—All right, Padrey wasn't beholden to any more people than the average ordinary non-escaped-slave person. He was free. Mostly.
Padrey slowed his walking and looked around. Where in seven hells was he? He would sure as morning be dead if he didn't pay better attention to where he was going and who was around him. He turned, hunting landmarks—the dome of the Seat or the temple spires—and almost fell over someone.
"Sorry.” Padrey set him back on his feet, resisting the urge to pat him down for treasures. “Wasn't looking. Didn't mean—” He broke off when he got a good look at the young man.
He had no eyes. The man wasn't just blind, he had no eyes. Someone, sometime had brutally removed them, barely leaving enough behind to be sewn shut over the empty sockets. Padrey shuddered in horror and sympathy. Why didn't the man wear a scarf or—or something over his scars?
He was a foreigner, obviously. No Daryathi would let such a cripple run about in the streets of Mestada. Beside that, his hair was bright gold, the yellow of the sun, and his skin was a light golden brown. And he wasn't alone.
"Naitan, are you all right?” The words were Adaran, spoken by a soldier—a bodyguard in unrelieved black—who rushed up to the eyeless man. “I am sorry, I got too far ahead. Is this man accosting you?” The bodyguard turned suspicious eyes on Padrey.
"No, no.” The—the naitan laughed. He actually laughed. “I am fine, Kerry. Neither of us was watching where he was going—"
"B-but you can't.” Padrey didn't realize the words he blurted out were Adaran until he'd spoken them.
The naitan turned his uncanny no-eyes on Padrey, still smiling. “You speak Adaran. Excellent. And it's true. I can't see you” He made a regretful face. “I'm afraid you haven't any magic for me to see."
"'Sall right. I knew that.” Padrey shrugged.
"You're Adaran?” The bodyguard's wary stance didn't soften. He was older than his charge by a dozen or so years, his hair streaked with silver. “What are you doing in Daryath?"
"Parents were merchants. They died. I ... got stuck here.” Why was he telling them truth? Had the world gone crazy? Had he?
"Even better,” the young naitan said. “That means you know your way around. We're lost."
"We're not lost,” Kerry the bodyguard muttered. “We just have to retrace our steps, find where we went off."
"We're lost,” the naitan repeated. He held his hand out to Padrey. “I'm Gweric, by the way."
"Padrey.” Now he was giving his true name? Bemused, he took Gweric's hand and shook it.
"So, Padrey, how do we get to the Adaran embassy?"
The bodyguard grabbed a fold of Gweric's tunic and dragged him a few steps away. He didn't bother to soften his voice overmuch as he spoke. “We can't trust him. He could lead us straight into ambush. To a thieves’ den. Anywhere."
"We can trust him—"
Padrey had to work harder to hear Gweric's reply.
"Because there is a hole where he stands."
What? Padrey looked around himself, trying to figure out what the man meant by that bizarre statement.
"Kerry, there is demonshadow and demonstink all over this whole, hell-kissed city.” Gweric's voice, his stance, his whole being was matter-of-fact, as if the existence of demons was established fact rather than religious super
stition.
"It clings to people here, wafts through them. But it goes around Padrey. If it touches him, it doesn't stay. It doesn't like the taste of him. And anyone the demonshadow doesn't like, I do. We could be trying to find our way back to the embassy until we died of old age. He'll show us the way."
Padrey was suddenly glad he hadn't lifted the naitan's purse, even if it would have been dead easy to steal from a blind, crazy man. No one had trusted him since—well, since his parents died. It made him feel strange. He looked up again, hunting the landmarks he'd forgotten to find. There.
The temple spires speared into the white-hot sky, their onion-shaped domes blazing with color and pattern in the afternoon sun. And there was the dome of the Seat, beyond and to the left. So the Adaran embassy would be...?
"Padrey? Can you show us the way?"
The thief looked at the young naitan, then at the bodyguard, for once not evading any gaze. “Follow me."
* * * *
Back at the embassy after the reception's end, Kallista beckoned her ambassador into the family gathering room and sent a servant to collect Keldrey. She wanted the entire ilian present for the ambassador's debriefing. Kallista was the last to return from changing out of the elaborate court dress. Of course her clothing was the most elaborate. She felt more tired and irritable than she thought she should. But then, court functions could do that to to a person.
"Excellent. Food.” Kallista clapped her hands together and rubbed them before she fell on the meal Aisse had ordered. “All right, Namida Ambassador, begin. How bad was it?"
"You did well, overall, though by failing to partake of the feast prepared for you, the insult is great. You implied that you feared poison. That you do not trust them."
"I don't.” Kallista beckoned the ambassador into a chair at the table beside her, the ilian filling in the rest of the places. “Is poison likely?"
"It is a common weapon of assassination, yes.” Namida sat primly on the edge of the gilt chair. “But not likely at such a large gathering. And you should not trust them, but you should appear that you do. You should have eaten what they offered."
"I did, a bit.” Kallista made a face. “My iliasti ate the food. My nerves were on edge. I was afraid it might not agree with me. I didn't want to sick up on the flowers."
"Er—no, that likely would not have been beneficial.” Namida seemed flustered by Kallista's easy manner. “And it will have been noticed that your—that the Godmarked did partake."
Namida had been accompanied to Daryath by the three other members of her ilian. Its small size and two-and-two orientation allowed them to avoid unwanted notice, but they were still obviously careful not to even use the words.
The ambassador changed the subject. “Your patience in the assembly room and the number of speeches you heard will go far in making up for any missteps."
"Good. What else?"
Namida produced a sheaf of parchment cards, made beautiful with the flowing Daryathi calligraphy sprawled across them. “I received these invitations this afternoon, on your behalf."
"At the reception?” Kallista spread them across the table, appalled. Almost as many had been delivered to the embassy before she'd arrived in Mestada.
"Yes, my Reinine. You are already committed to Shakiri House tomorrow evening, with your Godmarked, and to each of the other councilors on successive evenings. They are the most important. If you like, I will consult with your chief of staff regarding the rest."
"Viyelle—” Kallista looked down the table and got the prinsipella's nod.
"I'll meet with you first thing tomorrow,” Viyelle said. “Ninth chime."
Namida stood, bowed and made her way out.
Kallista waited for the door to shut solidly behind her before looking up at her ilian. “So? What did you learn?"
"The rivalry between Habadra and Shakiri has escalated in the past year,” Viyelle said. “It's gone beyond who can throw the best party to duels in the streets. And it's spilling over into other Lines. They're beginning to take sides. There are still quite a few neutrals, but I gather that they're beginning to have trouble maintaining their neutrality."
"How did you learn all that at a party?” Stone demanded.
"I listen. I ask questions. People talk."
"I listened. I was listening to you ask questions,” Stone said. “All I learned was that these women have a fascination with blond hair."
"Red hair too.” Torchay shifted. “And they like to pinch."
"I talked to the Habadra,” Aisse said. “Fox and I."
"And?” Kallista leaned forward, as did Stone.
"She was curious. She wanted to know which was Merinda's husband, and seemed very interested when we pointed Stone out."
"When she realized I was blind,” Fox said, “she pretended I wasn't there.” They had decided to conceal Fox's magical knowing sense, to let him play blind man until the moment came when they could gain advantage by revealing it.
"The flawed are hidden away,” Obed said. “The blind and the lamed, the simple-minded."
"All of that fits you, Fox,” Stone said. Fox merely clouted him again. Everyone else ignored him. They'd learned by now that Stone used the jokes and teasing to ease his worries.
"That way,” Obed went on, “the rest of Daryath can pretend they do not exist. Things appear to be perfect."
Obed paused, and blinked as if struck by a thought. “In Daryath,” he said slowly, “appearance is more important than truth. What a thing is does not matter so much as what a thing can be made to seem. They give voice to the ideals, but in reality, they do as they please, as long as they seem to be obeying the Law. Even the ambassador has said so, just now. Do not trust, but seem to trust."
"Which makes me wonder about demons,” Joh said. “Much of the Barbs’ philosophy involved seeming to be one thing in order to conceal the truth."
"Fox?” Kallista looked down the table at her blind Tibran.
His bright gold curls were pulled back into a tight queue falling between his shoulder blades. It would take years before it reached the length of Joh's glossy, waist-length braid, but he seemed determined to grow it that long.
"I didn't see anyone who looked wrong in that way,” Fox said. “But I can't tell if anyone is demon-ridden now. Only if they have been in the past."
"So if the demon is here, it's not changing horses—so to speak.” Kallista drummed her fingers on the table.
"Do you have any doubt that it's here?” Joh asked.
"Actually, no. I agree with you, Joh. Too much here feels like demons.” She snagged another meat bun off the tray. “Speaking of which, is Gweric still out?"
"He's just come in,” Leyja said from near the door. “Do you want to see him?"
"Yes. Send for more drinks. He'll be thirsty."
Gweric entered the large airy room, his bodyguard joining the others atthe room's perimeter. Gweric's hair—blond like the rest ofthe Tibrans—stood on end, sticking out in all directions due to the sweat that matted it. He collapsed onto the chair Namida Ambassador had abandoned. He drained the cup of water Kallista handed him, poured another, drank it and poured a third cup of fruit-flavored liquid to sip at.
"Saints, it's hot out there.” He blew out a gusting breath.
"You should have come back sooner,” Viyelle scolded.
Before Viyelle had been marked and married into the ilian, she and Gweric had had a brief “fling.” After some adjustment—Gweric had been more upset over not being marked by the One than losing a lover—they had settled into a sedili sort of relationship, with Viyelle as the overprotective older sedil.
"I meant to,” Gweric was saying. “But I didn't realize how far I'd walked or how far it was to get back.” He stole a bun off Kallista's tray and bit in.
Kallista slid the tray closer to him. “What did you find?"
Gweric's magic involved sight. An odd thing since his eyes had been taken by the demon-ruled Tibran Rulers when they'd made him one of the
ir Witch Hounds, a magic-user forced to use his magic to spy out others with forbidden magic gifts. Without his eyes, all Gweric could see was magic, demons and—sometimes—the future. His bodyguard had a small gift of magic, of striking true with weapons, which enabled him to serve as Gweric's guide when necessary, since the young man could see him.
"There is demon taint all across the city,” Gweric said. Everyone sat up straight at this news. “The shadows and stink are everywhere."
"Is it stronger in any quarter than another?” Kallista asked. “Can you track it to its source?"
Gweric shook his head. “Not where I was today. It's too pervasive. Still, I barely covered a tenth of the city. If that much. Maybe it'll be different in another quadrant. You might be able to track it, but—I just don't know. There's so much of it."
"Damn.” Kallista rubbed her hand across her mouth, trying to think.
"Kallista. Reinine.” Gweric's use of her title had Kallista's head jerking up. Her attention arrowed in.
"I think there is more than one of them,” he said.
Chapter Six
Kallista stifled her oath. “How many?” “I don't know,” Gweric said. “More than one.” “Seven?” Joh asked. Seven demons had stirred up the rebellion that had ended with Kallista being selected as Reinine. "I don't know," Gweric repeated. “There is enough demonshadow for seven. Or perhaps just one or two very powerful, very evil demons. I can't tell more than that.” “One or two more,” Kallista said to clarify. “More than Khoriseth.” Gweric nodded. He shoved the tray of buns away. “Suddenly I'm not hungry.” “I'll send the magic out tonight,” Kallista decided. “At the regular time, so it—so they don't suspect anything out of the ordinary. I hope. I'll see if I can count them.” The door leading to the nursery opened and Niona peeped through, a mischievous grin on her face. Kallista grinned back and gestured her in. “Looks like quiet time is over,” she said. “Playtime now. Magic practice after dinner.” Children flowed into the room, every one of them finding a lap. Only Stone somehow sat alone, too far around the table for the impatient little ones to reach. Kallista met his eyes over Viyelle and Joh's little Sharra in her lap, and her heart nearly broke at his wistful smile. Then Rozite gave up her attempts to wheedle Leyja in favor of pouncing on her Papi, and his attention turned to his daughter. The One willing, they would have their lost son home soon.
