The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  “Taken? She left with him.” The words were in a tone Fidel did not recognise as Ikara’s. There was much malice there.

  “Whichever, Zeb believes that if they could get a message to her in the palace that she might be able to do something for our cause.”

  She said nothing.

  “We have nothing to lose at this point, we must take any opportunity we can.”

  “Opportunity?” She looked up suddenly, locking sorrow-filled eyes with Fidel. “Zeb was beguiled by that woman the moment he saw her, he has no sense of judgment. And you,” she stood up, her height level with Fidel’s. “You would have us make a deal with the race that has done this?” She gestured to the men who lay lifeless in the room. “Blood can only be paid for by blood, Captain.”

  Fidel flinched at that, the title like a verbal blow. They were friends, but her sadness, her control, would not let her see it. He took a breath slowly.

  “Ikara.”

  “Commander.”

  “As you wish.” He inclined his head. “I am your friend, you know that, I… do not let your grief destroy your military judgment.”

  “You think I will let these murders go unpunished?” She thrust her palms hard against Fidel’s chest, but even her considerable strength barely moved him.

  “The Great Spirit does not ask for punishment to be dealt by us. You know that. He will stand in judgment of all one day. He calls us to make peace where we can.”

  “That may have been us until now, but we will soon be a military force.” Ikara threw back. “Captain Hendra lies to the west in Ishtalia, his securing of the old capital has given us a place to grow our forces and train. We can defend ourselves from there and others can seek refuge with us. We will recruit more of the Laowyn and we will train them to fight.”

  “Ikara, the Great Spirit…”

  “Where was the Great Spirit when these men died?” she screamed. “Where was he when Teo was taken from his mother? I don’t know this God.” Her long fingers clenched in white fists.

  “Do you wish to strike me? If it will make you feel better, if it will right these wrongs,” Fidel jerked his chin towards the dead. “Do it.”

  “Waste my strength on you when I could be killing the Reluwyn?” she sneered, making her face contort into one Fidel didn’t recognise.

  “Her name is Kiara, she is the niece of one of our Elders. Do you not think it’s worth a shot?”

  “A shot?” Ikara’s anger crumbled into despair. She turned back to her task - the preparation of the dead.

  Fidel grabbed her, the action stirring the storm within. She flew at him, her clenched fist raised, and struck him across the face. It drew blood as his teeth cut into the soft skin of his cheek. A drop of blood fell from the corner of his mouth, but he did not retaliate. His eyes were filled with frustration but beneath that was so much care, so much love, that Ikara couldn’t bear to face him any longer. But he refused to release her, letting her struggle before drawing her close and wrapping both arms around her.

  He felt her shudder as she wept for the dead, for the Laowyn who would die in this conflict, for the future which was tainted. What hope had they?

  Ikara was no small woman, but she felt fragile within his arms. She was muscled and strong, but he had seen her skip meals, over the past few days. He held her tighter, his body transferring peace to hers. As leader of the Laowyn she bore the brunt of these circumstances and they were crushing her.

  She pulled back, wiping away whatever remnants of tears remained and along with them any vestiges of weakness. She pushed her fingers through her short hair and looked about her.

  “Where are the families, Captain?”

  And just like that they were back to officialdom.

  “I left instructions with Calev and Jaik to gather them whilst I came to collect you, but,” he hesitated, “Commander, I understand your wishes. We will fight the Reluwyn, we will fight for the survival of our people, but Kiara - whether whore or prisoner - seems to have the Prince’s ear for the moment. We have never had anyone inside the government before, someone who could fight for our cause. Let Zephenesh and Zeb go to her.”

  Ikara was silent for so long that Fidel was about to repeat his plea, but her eyes finally retracted from the faces of the dead. “They cannot go alone. Calev and Jaik can be spared while the Resistance journeys to Ishtalia, but only for two weeks, then they must catch up. They’re excellent close-quarters fighters and I need them to pass on that knowledge before the time comes.”

  Fidel nodded. He would have said more, he would have said what lay in his mind, but Ikara had already moved on. If he said what was on his mind, in his heart, he might disrupt her newly found calm, and the Laowyn needed a leader who was calm in the face of this crisis.

  Chapter 15

  A woman called Nisa was dipping her graceful fingers in paste-like paint and drawing lines across Kiara’s face. They had been at this for over an hour, but the job was not done until all of the Kiara’s body was intersected by the terracotta stripes.

  She had not been told much about tonight’s events. All she knew was that it involved almost all the inhabitants of the palace. Servants had been running to and fro all day, preparing food, decorating and giggling amongst themselves in excitement. The women of the harem had been preparing themselves too. The concubines were evidently accustomed to whatever was going to take place and had been showing the new additions what the appropriate dress was.

  The men on the other hand had totally disappeared – off hunting somewhere, preparing in their own way.

  “The ceremony this evening will symbolise where our race came from. The Tao desert, where the Radichi warriors now reside, is where our people used to live. The men from our people were the hunters and they still honour that tradition. The Radichi took over the lands and we were driven north, but we have since re-conquered our lands and some of our people live alongside the Radichi.”

  Kiara was almost certain that when Nisa used the term, ‘live alongside’ it meant tribal wars were frequent occurrences. The Reluwyn were a bloodthirsty race. Her mind tripped back over the conversation she had enjoyed earlier with the Prince. He had behaved strangely, almost human, but then he had shut himself off so quickly, so completely when she had mentioned the beating. She wondered who had done it. Who had been outrageous enough to harm the Prince of the Kingdom of Emrilion. She had already excluded all of the courtiers, definitely the servants, and only two people remained. His mother and his father.

  “We are the women...”

  “Really?”

  Nisa rolled her dark eyes at Kiara’s tone and carried on, “When we were nothing but a tribe in the desert, the woman’s role was to…”

  “Keep tents for your master husband and breed him good babies?”

  “That is the tradition in almost every tribe,” countered Nisa. Kiara had only just met her, but as well as being the only concubine willing to help the Favourite to ready herself, she was not afraid of arguing with her either. “Reluwyn women are also in charge of teaching the young to fight, they are the reason that the warrior culture continued within the Reluwyn race, they created what we are today. Hand-to-hand combat has always been taught by mothers. The design of our dress started with the need for fighting moves and has evolved into the alluring one you see now. They would use daggers and other small weapons when preparing the kill for the table and would teach the skills to young children. Larger weapons are the domain of those who are older. Even then, the women are the teachers until the men take over the training of the adolescents. There have been many skilled female warriors in our history, and although traditionally women are put in charge of defending the camp or settlements during a time of war, and men take the offensive, women have fought too in the past.

  “From the age of thirteen, male children are taken on by the men to be taught strategy and battle tactics. The females continue their weaponry study but learn about defensive techniques, guerrilla warfare - and cooking and babie
s.” Nisa looked almost as if she smiled at that. Poking fun at the Favourite. “That is why we paint ourselves like warriors, to honour that part of our heritage.”

  “So, that’s what this is tonight? Celebrating the Reluwyn heritage?”

  Nisa hid another smile. “In part,” she murmured. Her voice was as sensual as her appearance. The woman was dark, like many Reluwyn women, but she stood out from the majority by being incredibly beautiful. Her hair was long, raven black and moved in glossy curls. It was decorated with fine gold chains which wove in and out of the lengths in a careless yet artful way. Her strikingly dark eyes were framed with black lashes and emphasised with smoky kohl.

  She was tall but her figure was lusciously curved, clung to by the thin strips of her Reluwyn dress. Across her arms were designs made with the same paste as Kiara’s but Nisa’s were finer. They ran in spirals in and out and on to the next part of the pattern, creeping down to the bases of her fingers and up across her shoulders, joining at the back.

  Kiara hoped she would not suggest doing any such drawing on herself. Hiding her Ensper was becoming increasingly difficult. She’d had to fashion her own dress for this evening’s event, combining a beautiful silk wrap with a low-backed aqua marine dress. She had checked, behind the locked door of her room earlier today, and the top of her Ensper tattoo showed above the dress back. The Prince had sent the dress to her with no other explanation than that she should wear it tonight. Now she had managed to cut the wrap and had sewn the new fabric across the back of the dress with a needle and thread procured from Coscian. The doubled over material would cover her markings.

  She had not been paying attention to Nisa’s ministrations, but was watching the comings and goings outside the door.

  “Maybe it is that far-off look which captures the Prince so.” Nisa teased.

  “I appreciate your help.” Kiara gestured to the markings, ignoring Nisa’s inquisitive look.

  “I thought it only fair, the other maidens have their helpers.”

  Kiara’s lips pinched a little. Nisa’s attempt at a kind comment was double edged. The other concubines and maidens hated her. Whatever it was that attracted the Prince’s sole attention attracted double the amount of dislike.

  Well, they could all go to the Spirit Realm! She did not wish for the Prince’s attentions, for any of this, and she despised those who did. The look of anger must have showed on her face.

  “They are only jealous,” Nisa said it so matter-of-factly, as though it was something to be gotten over, even rejoiced in.

  “Of what?!” Kiara threw up her hands in exasperation and winced. Her shoulder was mostly healed but occasionally sharp movements would make it twinge.

  “Injury?” Nisa gave her an assessing look, taking in which arm had caused the pain.

  “I’m fine.” Kiara was not fine. If she had just submitted to the Edict she would never have been singled out by the Prince for punishment. If she had submitted to the Grûl guards she would already be dead; if she had done as the Resistance told her she would be back with Zephenesh. But her emotions could not be hidden nor controlled.

  “I have been concubine to my Lord Prince for three years and I have never seen him so obsessed with a woman.”

  “Three years?” Kiara turned, sending a smudge of paste in an unseemly line across her nose.

  Nisa huffed, picking up the damp cloth she had been forced to use several times already.

  “And does he…” Kiara’s forehead puckered. “Does he call you? That’s how it works isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s generally how the role of a concubine works… what am I supposed to call you?”

  “Little One, that’s what he calls me.” Kiara grimaced.

  Nisa’s brows rose. The Prince had given a pet-name to this nobody? She truly had not seen him behave so in her three years inside the palace walls. He had called her a handful of times, she had come to his bed, left him satisfied, and returned to the harem. She had not been called for two years, yet still in the harem she stayed, as did all the others. Why else would she be helping Garesh?

  Nisa was not about to use the Prince’s pet-name for this fair-haired woman. She had seen the mood the Favourite had left him in, using a name which was clearly a marker of their relationship, whatever it was, and to risk being overheard was simply unwise.

  “Favourite, can I call you that?”

  “I don’t really care.”

  “Very well, Favourite, the role of a royal concubine is prestigious. You are chosen at a young age by the Harem Master. Coscian’s predecessor chose me, and my family were honoured. I was brought to the harem when I was only thirteen, the age I would have learned to take care of a family, instead I was prepared for the Prince.”

  “He… when you were thirteen?”

  Nisa put the bowl down with a clunk. “No,” she looked exasperated at Kiara’s dim-wittedness. “I was brought here to be prepared, much like you and the other maidens, except that I was never destined to be a Queen. Now I have a place here for the rest of my life, excellent food, the best clothing, and access to everything I could possibly want.”

  “Apart from life outside these walls,” Kiara retorted.

  “To be disgusted by something you don’t understand shows ignorance.”

  Kiara flinched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to make you feel as though…”

  “As though I’m a whore?” Nisa’s dark eyes were suddenly enigmatic, she forced Kiara to hold her stare. “What you have yet to realise, Favourite, is the power that lies in the hands of a woman because of her sex.” She licked her lips. “Has that not been your game? I am already a concubine, Favourite, I have no need for more. However, a whore who spends time alone with the Prince behind locked doors, that is a different matter.”

  The concubine let the words hang on the air.

  “A whore am I?” Kiara thought of a thousand retorts, but the cold clarity with which the Reluwyn concubine had spoken stilled her tongue. If she was like all the others, if she truly believed Kiara a whore, then why was she even speaking to her?

  “A woman with her eye on the Queenship.”

  Kiara scoffed at that, rising from the cushions.

  “And do you feel you are more deserving? Your three years of service must count for something, mustn’t they?”

  Nisa’s red mouth curved slightly. “Three years have taught me to know an imposter when I see one. Your harsh treatment is working, soon he’ll dangle the crown just low enough for you to take it.”

  “You think that it’s a game?”

  “What else?”

  Kiara’s body stiffened. Is that why she had been sent here? Or had she come of her own accord? To find out why the Prince was in her thrall? Trevisian wouldn’t have sent her, he knew she loathed him. Maybe he had questioned that earlier when they had talked, but she was sure she had left him more angry than ever.

  So who was Nisa? She talked of Kiara’s manipulations, but what about her own? Kiara had seen her before, mostly on her own or in the company of courtiers who frequently passed through the harem. She could never become Queen, she was no maiden, so what gain was she desiring?

  “I dislike people guessing at my intentions,” Kiara’s safest choice was to remain ambiguous. If she lied and agreed, she could be inviting a future attack from any of the women in the harem, if she told the truth, she was publically denying the Prince’s attentions. “Thank you for the warrior paint.”

  She left the room. Whatever Nisa wanted, Kiara would not give it to her - she could trust no one in this palace.

  Torchlight lit everything in the palace in a hot primal light and Kiara could hear the beat of drums in the distance. She followed the procession of women from the harem, their figures weaving in and out of the shadows. Conversation was hushed but excited. The women walked together whispering, laughing, each casting eyes at the others comparing themselves. Every woman had prepared all day for the night, each now at the height of their beauty
.

  The women had been given different garments but now they were together Kiara could see the similarities. All had their legs bared, their stomachs exposed, but each also had greaves on their legs and leather vambraces on their forearms. They looked beautiful, seductive, and deadly. It was all part of their heritage, Kiara now realised, their warrior past which was so important to the culture. Kiara wondered whether any of these women even knew how to hold a sword. More than that, she wondered how she would have turned out if she had been raised Reluwyn.

  She was walking behind Nisa who stood almost a head taller than the rest of the women. She walked apart from them as well, exchanging greetings with the merest nod of her head but refraining from conversation. Kiara watched Nisa’s skin fall in and out of the torchlight as she walked, the patterns coming alive. She cast an eye across her own arm. Her patterns were just as striking in this light, shimmering.

  The drumbeat was getting louder, deep rumbles bouncing off the stone walls of the palace corridors. Kiara was learning her way around the palace and she now recognised several of the rooms they passed. They were headed to the jewelled courtyard. Were the women to be paraded in front of the men?

  For all her guessing, however, Kiara could not have been more shocked. The troop of women was finally at the wider hallway that led to the courtyard. The women at the front paused on the threshold, but only for a moment, soon they were pouring out, filtering to the edge of the gathering and peering over shoulders to gain a better look.

  Kiara had nearly a hundred women before her, and it took some time to get to a position where she could see. In the end, she climbed onto a small wall which hemmed in a man-made stream along the edge of the courtyard. Now she could see a huge fire which lay at the centre. The drummers were to the left, the animal skin instruments slung across their fronts, their arms thrashing out a constant beat. Kiara could now see why all the women had stopped. Before the fire was a line of young men moving together to the beat of the drum.