by Gail Dayton
He laughed. “No, cousin. These symbols were made by men as signs of devotion and achievement. The One made Her own mark upon us.” He brushed Aisse's short-cropped hair aside. The small woman didn't have to bend to allow Bekaara to see the rose-shaped mark on the back of her neck. “We all bear this sign."
"My mark is different,” Kallista said. “A rose like that with the addition of the One's compass points. Because I am the naitan and given the ability to use the magic poured into my godmarked by the One."
"It is magic?” Bekaara breathed the words.
"Yes.” Kallista frowned. “Do you not have naitani and magic in Daryath? I had not heard that you have lost these gifts."
"There is magic,” Bekaara said. “But it is not so common as in Adara. It is rare and precious. Even those who have the homely South magics are taken into the temple to serve there with their blessed sisters, where they are safe and protected."
Baking bread that would keep for a year seemed an odd service for a temple to need. “Where is the temple?” Kallista asked. She hadn't seen any building that resembled the four-petaled temples of Adara, with their high central sanctuaries.
"Beside the Seat. Didn't you see it when you rode in yesterday?” Bekaara led them deeper into the broad reception room as servants passed carrying trays of drinks.
Kallista selected one at random and called a thread of magic to test it. It was safe to drink. She checked all the food and drink and found nothing suspicious.
"The walled building.” Obed sipped at his wine. “The one with the painted scenes—"
"Oh yes. All those pictures of people burning in fires and impaled on stakes and—” Kallista shuddered. It seemed awfully gruesome for a place of worship, but different people emphasized different aspects of the One. In Daryath, the face of Judgment seemed pre-eminent. “That was the temple? But—where do people go in to worship?"
Bekaara frowned now. “Worship is in the plaza outside the walls, under the One's own sky and sun."
Kallista thought about that a minute, then nodded. “Hmm. I suppose it doesn't get as cold here as at home in Adara, so—What about the healers?"
"Why would healers be in the temples?” Bekaara asked. “The people are in the city."
"Even those with healing magic?” Kallista tried to piece things together.
"There is such a magic?” Bekaara sounded stunned.
They were getting nowhere answering questions with more questions, but Kallista didn't know enough to do more than guess. “So—no one goes into the temple—"
"Of course not. Who would carry our petitions to the One if no one entered?"
Kallista thought it was easier to carry her own petitions to the One herself, but she wouldn't say that. Not until she knew Bekaara better. “So who does go into the temples?"
Bekaara's confusion showed. “There is only one temple. The clerics and the prelates live on the temple grounds and the prelates go into the temple itself to plead on our behalf with the One."
"What about the naitani? Those with magic?"
"They are prelates, of course. Is it not so in Adara? Are you not yourself a prelate?"
Kallista scratched her head and exchanged a glance with Obed and the others. How to explain this? “Now,” she said. “Now that I am Reinine, I am a prelate. Technically. Officially. But before I was selected, I was a soldier. My parents were both prelates of Riverside Temple in—"
"What?" Bekaara's shock resonated through the room.
Kallista reviewed what she had said. No, no mention of iliani. What could have—?
"Adara has many temples,” Obed was saying very quickly. “There are six in Arikon alone, five in Turysh, three in Ukiny. Every village has its own temple. And remember, Adara has many, many naitani. They are almost commonplace. You traveled there in your youth. You remember. You told me of the wonders you saw."
"I remember.” Bekaara nodded. “I had forgotten, but I remember now that prelates in Adara marry."
"That's right.” Kallista smiled at Obed to thank him for his rescue. “Do they not marry in Daryath?"
"It is not forbidden,” Bekaara said. “But I have not heard of such a thing in many, many years. Of course, we hear very little of what goes on behind the temple walls. Only the clerics come out. The prelates stay within."
"But what about the schools?” In Adara, children were educated in the schools held in the south wing of every temple. “Where are they?"
"Each Line educates its own children,” Bekaara said. “Boys and girls together until they are twelve, when the boys are sent away to the skolas and academies."
"Interesting.” Kallista wanted to know more, but her ambassador was making frowny faces at her. She couldn't let one person, no matter how congenial, monopolize all her time. “We will have to meet again soon to discuss this more."
"My time is at your disposal.” Bekaara bowed. “You have only to send word."
Kallista returned the bow and with a sigh, bent her attention to the difficult task of mingling with the other party guests. She wondered how Stone was faring, but it was too early to check. They wouldn't have left yet for Habadra House. Only a few more chimes to endure before she could escape.
Chapter Eight
Darkness deepened. Dressed in finery equal to that of Kallista and her fellow party-goers, Stone paced in the embassy courtyard, climbing the steps into the entry hall every few rounds to check the time on the table clock there. He would not be late, not for this.
"You can't make the clock move faster by looking at it,” Viyelle said from the courtyard bench where she sat beside Joh.
"Why not? I should be able to. What use is this magic we carry if we can't do anything with it?” He reached for his hair and stopped himself in time. It would not help him to go looking like a madman with his hair sticking on end. It had taken him half a chime and half a jar of hair cream to make it lie down.
"Not even Kallista can make time move faster.” Fox leaned against a column between courtyard and entry.
"We can leave soon,” Joh said. “It will take a little time to walk the distance. The captain will let us know when the escort is assembled."
"I don't know why we need an escort anyway,” Stone grumbled. He collapsed onto the bench where Viyelle patted it.
"So we look important.” She looped her arm through his and Stone took a moment to lean his head on hers, seizing the warmth she offered.
"Why couldn't Sky have been yours?” he grumbled. He'd have liked to have a child with Viyelle. Or Aisse. Another child to tie him closer to them. Another living, laughing expression of the way he felt about these people, these women. The Tibran caste system he'd grown up in separated men from women, and boys from their mothers at an early age—the twins’ age. He much preferred the Adaran way of mixing everyone together. And he loved having a family, one that loved him back. He'd have to try again for a child, try harder, when Sky was home with them.
"He is mine.” Viyelle squeezed his arm and Stone moved away, rising from the bench, afraid she might do more, might betray her feelings somehow.
Be honest. He was afraid the closeness might cause him to betray his own feelings. Tibran Warrior Caste weren't supposed to have feelings, but Stone hadn't been Tibran for many years now. He was Adaran. Ilias. Godmarked.
Since they had reached Daryath, Stone had been set off by himself, alone, separated from the others by local custom and by worry. Would they get their son back? Was he safe? Did he have enough to eat? A dry place to sleep?
Torchay had shared Stone's tent, and in the city, shared his room, but Stone had still felt set apart, separate. Kallista's magic last night had changed that, some.
Now, Stone stood in the courtyard and looked at them. At Joh, who most usually shared Viyelle's bed with him, who had become a second brodir. What was it about these quiet thinkers that made them such good friends? Though Fox wasn't so quiet with his thinking. Stone and Fox had been side by side since they were boys and would stand together
the rest of their lives. But now they had Joh and Torchay and Obed and Keldrey and their women to stand with.
Viyelle. Stone filled his eyes with her familiar face, her smooth caramel brown hair grown longer now for a queue, like most of the others. She wore it loose tonight and it blew in the breeze across the dark wings of her eyebrows, over the mixed green-brown of her eyes. Stone had learned about love in Adara. Tibran Warriors didn't know what it was—women there were treated like pets one could have sex with, though it might have changed since the demon there had been destroyed. But Stone knew.
He loved these people and they loved him. He felt it, knew it every time Kallista called magic. They would not give up until they had his son safe within the family. They believed he could succeed. So he would. He couldn't let them down.
Fox turned his head away as if listening. Stone could hear nothing, but Fox turned back. “The escort is ready."
Viyelle caught Stone's arm before he could bound up the broad steps into the building and pulled him into a tight hug. “You'll do fine. You'll get them back for us."
Them. Yes, he was negotiating for Merinda too. Sky would need his mother. Stone hugged Viyelle, kissed the spot on her right temple—never the left—that always made her shiver. “Yes."
Joh extended a hand and when Stone clasped his wrist, Joh used it to haul him in for another embrace. “Luck."
Stone tugged Joh's queue because he couldn't force out more words, and went to give Fox a back-pounding hug.
"Enough,” Fox said, turning Stone round and shoving him toward the door. “I'm going to be black and bruised where you pounded me. My next hugs are reserved for Sky."
Yes.
* * * *
Habadra House sat almost atop the Seat of Government, a good fifteen-tick journeyaway.The soldier escort lit the waywithtorches,pushing aside groups of already drunken revelers. Patrols of face-tattooed champions gave sullen way, sending prickles of warning down Stone's neck.
Trouble waited here. It only required the proper match to send it raging out of control. He'd seen it, been one of those ruthlessly quelling the riots, when he'd been part of Tibre's conquering army. He'd felt the trouble build until it burst, unable to predict when or where it would begin, only knowing that it would. Mestada's night had the same feel.
The gong-like city bell had just sent its booming sound shuddering out over the night when Stone stopped before the iron-barred gate in the high, white stone walls surrounding Habadra House. When the sound faded, Stone rapped at the bars of the gate with the stick hanging there from a braided purple cord for that purpose.
"Stone Varyl vo'Tsekrish,” he said to the gatekeeper when she appeared. “Godmarked of Adara. I am invited here with my—with these other of the godmarked to meet with the Habadra Khori on a matter of family and business."
The gatekeeper frowned. “Only you were invited. I am not authorized to allow these others within."
Stone gave his iliasti a “what now?” look. He did not want to go in alone, but he would not leave without meeting the Habadra.
"We will wait,” Viyelle said. “Might we wait in the public courtyard, Aila?” She used the Adaran form of polite address.
The gatekeeper pondered the request for a long moment. “The god-marked may enter the courtyard. I may not permit armed champions of another Line within this gate without authorization from the Habadra."
"That means the troop escort stays in the street,” Fox murmured.
"I know that,” Stone snapped. He knew Fox was teasing, pretending he needed the explanation, but Stone's patience and his sense of humor had both abandoned him. He bowed to the gatekeeper, not low, and waited for the gate to open.
"Be polite.” Joh spoke quickly and quietly as they entered the courtyard together. “Don't commit to anything. Don't blink, no matter how outrageous her demands. Don't say yes or no to anything. Remember it's a battle. But not with swords."
"Right.” Stone took a deep breath, tugged his elaborately decorated tunic—red for the warrior he was and for the godmarked magic—into place, and stepped through the simple wooden gate into the private section of the Habadra House front courtyard.
Another servant, this one male, waited to escort Stone into the house. The heavy carved doors opened onto a wide entrance hall. In the precise center of the room, a delicate stand of Adaran ironwork held an exuberant mass of flowers nearly overflowing the pale vase that attempted to contain them. They perfumed the air as Stone followed the servant through the candlelit room and out into the courtyard beyond.
The sound of water trickling from one of the ever-present fountains covered the footsteps of the woman who approached, holding her hands out in greeting. Confused, Stone took her hands and bowed awkwardly over them.
This was indeed the woman who had been introduced yesterday at the en-Kameral as Habadra Khori. He recognized her square-jawed face and sharp, high-bridged nose. But rather than the heavy pectoral collar of yesterday, she wore a narrow chain with an amethyst pendant carved into a crane over her simple white muslin dress. Stone felt incredibly overdressed.
"Welcome to my home, Stone im-Varyl.” The Habadra tugged him down to kiss him on each cheek.
He thought about correcting her, but decided against it. If she thought of him as a son of Kallista's Varyl Line, maybe she would give him what he wanted all the sooner. The Tibrans in Kallista's ilian had all adopted her family name, since they'd had none of their own. “I am honored to be here, Habadra."
Stone bowed again, managing to free his hands for a proper Adaranstyle bow with flourishes. Obed had drilled him on forms of address and etiquette. The main thing that had stuck with him was: “When in doubt, bow."
"Come. Sit.” Habadra Khori reclaimed his hand and led him to a cozy seating area beneath the spreading branches of an oak that had dropped its acorns to crunch underfoot. “May I offer you refreshment?"
"Thank you.” Take what was offered. He sat on the cushioned bench and scooted into the metal arm when the Habadra sat close beside him. Too close.
Stone managed not to jump or squawk when she set her hand on his thigh and slid it round to the inside where she squeezed.
"I find many things refreshing, don't you?” the Habadra purred.
Stone cleared his throat. Obed's instructions had not included protocol for handling something like this. Gently, in hopes of avoiding offense, Stone picked her hand up from his leg and held it in both of his, mostly to keep her from putting it back. He floundered for a way out. How would Fox do it? Or Joh? What would they say? “Habadra Khori, I am—flattered."
Would holding her hand like this make her think he was interested? Stone eased himself from the bench and gave her back her hand, stepping a safe distance away—he hoped. “But I am married. I keep my vows, honored Habadra."
She made a face, a pout better suited to a younger woman. “Your wife is my servant. I can order her to divorce you."
Goddess. Was the woman mad? “That would not change my vows, Aila, only hers.” He smiled, hoping he had not ruined things already. If it came right down to it, he supposed he could do sex with this woman if that was the price to free his son and the boy's mother. But he would really rather not.
The Habadra sighed. “Yes, well—I had to try. You're an attractive man, as I am sure you know. Pity that you're an honorable one as well."
She stood and clapped her hands sharply. “I suppose you'll be wanting to see your wife."
"Yes, please, and my son.” Stone bowed again.
"All in due time, my dear.” The Habadra's smile made him ease another step back.
A female servant entered, wearing only the same sort of knee-length kilt as the messenger-champion the Habadra had given Kallista that morning. This one was plain white. The woman was thin, her ribs almost showing beneath dry, dull skin. Her naked breasts sagged and swayed as she strained to carry a heavy tray laden with decanters, glasses and covered platters. Lines of struggle marked her face, spread from the corners of he
r sunken eyes. Despite the drastic changes, he knew her. “Merinda."
Kallista was right. No matter her faults, Merinda did not deserve this. Stone strode across the courtyard, took the tray from her and slid it onto the waiting table. He tipped her face up, brushed back the hair that had escaped from its leather binding. “Merinda?"
He dropped his voice to softer than a whisper, quieter than the murmur of the fountain. "Ilias."
She heard him, he knew, for she blinked, but she would not look at him. She kept her eyes cast down, her face impassive.
Stone wished for one of Obed's overrobes or—he could take off his own tunic and give it to Merinda, give her something to cover her nakedness. But would that play into the Habadra's hands? Give up some advantage he needed?
"I take it then that this is your wife?” The Habadra's voice was dry, all its previous seductive purr gone.
Stone turned away from Merinda. It wasn't easy, but he faced the Habadra Khori. “Yes,” he said. “This is Merinda. My wife. What has happened to her?"
The Habadra shrugged. “Life. Service."
Stone fought to control his temper. He didn't often lose it, but when he did, it sometimes frightened even him. “And my son? Is he in a similar state?"
Again the Habadra shrugged. “I doubt it. Those who come to service young do not struggle so against it."
Stone took a deep breath, intended to calm him, but it didn't help much. “And what is the redemption price?"
Her gaze sharpened. “I would be within the Law to demand that you take the place of your wife and child in my service, in exchange for their freedom."
"But you will not.” Stone was as hard, as unmovable as his name. “I am Godmarked of Adara. I serve no one but the One who has marked me with His own hand. This is my wife. Her child is my child. I will pay what is owed, but I will not pay more."
