“Here, Father, give me a few more sheets. I was trying to explain to Nirel how our alphabet differs from hers, but I didn’t have any paper with me. I thought we could do it tomorrow, but now…” She shrugged. “Maybe you can help me. From what she says, I think some of their letters have changed from Ancient Marvannan.”
Gevan knew he shouldn’t linger. He had a great deal to do to prepare for his journey. But he couldn’t resist a chance to learn more about how Tevenar’s language had diverged from the Ancient Marvannan he knew. It wouldn’t take long. He tore out another sheet and gave the pen to Nirel. “Here, write down the letters you use.”
Soon he’d covered a dozen sheets with notes, some for Nirel, some for himself. The changes weren’t that extensive, mainly just the shape of a handful of letters and the sounds associated with a few others. He was sure he could master the differences and become fluent with a little practice. To his delight, Nirel told him that many books were available in the marketplaces of Tevenar, both copies of ancient texts and more recent works. He resolved to purchase as many as he could afford. Surely gold coins would be acceptable to the sellers, even if they were of a foreign mint. He’d have to visit a banker on his way home and withdraw a substantial sum from his personal account.
That reminded him to check the position of the sun. It was much farther down the sky than he’d realized. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he scrambled to gather the papers he’d spread over the terrace wall. “I’ve got to get going.” He pressed Nirel’s copies into her hands. “These should allow you to interpret any text you’re likely to encounter. With practice, you’ll soon be reading as well as you do in your native language. I expect to find you’ve worked hard on it when I return.”
Nirel clutched the notes close to her chest, as if they were a precious treasure. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He grinned at her. “I wish my students at the University were half as enthusiastic as you.”
She smiled back, but her expression was distracted. “When do you think would be the best time? As soon as it’s dark?”
His grin faded. For a moment he’d been able to forget Kevessa’s danger. “No. As late as possible. If you can arrive at the ship just before dawn, that would be best. We sail soon after sunrise. The less time Kevessa’s aboard before we sail, the less chance she’ll be discovered. I’ll try to get there before you.” He turned to Kevessa. “You can hide in my quarters. Once we’re a day or two out of port it will be too late to turn back, and I can bring you out.”
Kevessa patted his hand. “Good. I’d hate to be stuck below for the whole voyage. Just think, you can spend two whole months tutoring me. Perhaps you can begin teaching me Girodan.”
“It’s harder than Marvannan,” he warned her. “They do some very strange things with grammar. The verb tenses are unlike anything you’ve encountered before.”
“I look forward to the challenge.” She caught his eyes as she said it, her voice weighted with more meaning than the simple words conveyed. She really did, he saw, and not just in regards to the language.
Maybe thoughts of the ancient wizards and their powers haunted Kevessa as much as they’d always haunted Gevan. Before long they’d both have the chance to see how closely their imagination matched reality.
He hugged her tight, glad that their supposed parting gave him an excuse to express his emotions more openly than would otherwise seem proper. “Take care while I’m gone,” he said loudly, for the other women’s benefit.
“Good voyage to you, Father,” Kevessa replied in a clear, carrying voice. “May the Mother hold you in the palm of her hand.”
Gevan almost wished he believed in a literal personification of the Mother, so he could offer her blessing to Kevessa in turn. Instead, he stroked her cheek. “I love you, my daughter. I’ll see you soon.” He whirled away, blinking mist from his eyes, and strode across the terrace and out the door.
Back at his apartment, he threw a few undergarments into the bottom of a travel bag. The Matriarch’s tailor had promised to have his new wardrobe delivered to the ship before they sailed. Personal toiletry items took up more space, but there was still a substantial gap at the top. Gevan regarded it thoughtfully, then strode into his workshop. The window glass in its case fit into the top of the bag, leaving enough room to tuck the lodestone and a few bits of metal beside it. A thick sheaf of paper, a handful of pens, and several bottles of ink stuffed the bag so full he had to struggle to fasten the buckles. He’d have plenty of free time on the voyage; there was no reason he couldn’t put it to good use. Kevessa would enjoy assisting him with his research.
After that he lay down and tried to get a little rest before setting out for the ship. But sleep eluded him. He didn’t want to risk not waking up at the proper time. But more than that, he couldn’t stop worrying about Kevessa. He trusted Kabos and the other men of Tevenar. In their company his daughter would surely be safe from any ordinary danger. But he didn’t know what the Purifiers might do.
He stared into the darkness. No one could have overheard them making their plans. But if they had, or if they were watching his sister’s house already, he might have sent Kevessa straight into the danger he’d hoped to protect her from.
“Dear Mother,” he whispered. His voice shocked him. He never prayed; he didn’t believe anyone heard or answered prayers. But he couldn’t stop himself. He felt so helpless, so powerless to do anything to keep his daughter safe. If there was even the slightest chance the Mother that the Keepers described might actually be real, he wasn’t too proud to beg her protection for Kevessa. And if she wasn’t… well then, no one would ever know he’d made a fool of himself begging for help from an imaginary being.
“Dear Mother, please, protect Kevessa. Hold her in the palm of your hand. Bring her safely to the ship. That’s all I ask. Please, Mother, please…”
Seventeen
Kabos’s voice was like iron. “No.”
Nirel stared at him. “But Father, I promised. We have to help Kevessa, she’s my friend. I thought you’d be glad to. If she doesn’t go with Gevan, who knows what those Purifiers will do to her?”
“That’s not our concern.” Kabos turned away from her and stared into the hearth.
Nirel drew a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “Father, Gevan said the Purifiers are the most hostile to the Faithful of anyone in Ravanetha. They’re the ones that drove us out of Marvanna, and they’ll do the same here if they ever get enough power.”
“That’s why we must not draw their attention! Let the followers of the Lady quarrel among themselves. Perhaps they’ll destroy each other and leave us in peace.”
Nirel couldn’t believe how short-sighted her father was being. “It will be far worse for us in the long run if Gevan doesn’t bring a wizard back. The Purifiers are worse than the Matriarch could ever be.”
“I see little difference between them. Enslave us, drive us out, what’s the difference? Perhaps against the Purifiers we could fight back. Are you so eager to see a wizard come here? Do you want to be dragged back to Tevenar?”
“Of course not. But Father, I can’t let Kevessa stay here in danger. I have to help her.”
“No.” Kabos rose. He strode to Nirel and grabbed her wrists, towering over her. “I forbid it. You will not leave the palace. You will not help the Navorre girl. And you will not ask any of the others to do it for you.”
“But, Father, I—”
“I may not remember all the Ordinances, but I know this one. ‘Child, obey your father. His word to you is like the word of the Lord of Justice. Do not turn aside from following his commands, lest he discipline you with the rod of Justice.’” He panted, glowering down at Nirel. His fingers dug painfully into her forearms.
Nirel looked down, away from the rage in his eyes. Fear twisted in her stomach. “Yes, Father. I understand.”
He released her. “Good.” He stepped back, still scowling, though his eyes slid from her
face. “From now on you’re to have nothing to do with that girl. I’ll tell the Matriarch to bar her from the palace.” He pointed toward the door to Nirel’s bedroom. “Go to bed.”
Though it wasn’t yet fully dark, Nirel didn’t protest. As unobtrusively as possible she scooped up Elder Semanel’s book from the couch. Bowing her head in submission, she hurried to her room, not daring to glance back.
After the door closed behind her, she drew a deep breath and let it out with a shudder. She could barely keep her hands from shaking as she lit the lamp. She sank down on the bed, rested her head on her hands, and tried to think.
She’d never dreamed, when she’d so blithely promised her aid to Gevan and Kevessa, that Kabos would refuse. How could he do that? He hadn’t even heard her out before denying her. How could he not see how important it was to prevent the Purifiers from gaining power in Ramunna? And even if he didn’t agree with her about that, how could he not see how important it was to Nirel to protect her friend from danger? She shuddered to think what those fanatics might do to Kevessa in their efforts to force Gevan to follow their will. Far worse, surely, than anything Kabos might do to her if she disobeyed him.
Nirel caught her breath. She’d disobeyed her father plenty of times before. She’d never let fear of punishment stop her from doing what she wanted. It hurt, true, but she’d long ago learned to endure the pain of a switching.
This time, though, was different. The fury in Kabos’s eyes and voice promised a far worse penalty. Maybe even as bad as what he’d done to her mother after Ilana was born. Nirel’s thoughts shied away from remembering Sathea’s screams, or the blood her mother had scrubbed from the wooden floors along with the blood of the birth, or the bruises that had turned purple and yellow and green before finally fading.
That wasn’t what was stopping her. She wouldn’t let it. No matter how much terror roiled in her gut or sent waves of weakness through her legs. She owed Kevessa too much for that.
But still she hesitated. She picked up the little book Elder Semanel had given her. For a few minutes she leafed through it, studying the strange letters. Then she pulled out the papers Gevan had given her. Spreading them on the bed around her, she began to laboriously decipher the book’s words.
It took a long time. The book was a compilation of all the Ordinances, with a brief commentary on each one. Luckily there was a listing of the Ordinances with their page numbers near the front. Once she found that, it was easy to locate the section concerning parents and children.
The Ordinance Kabos had quoted was the first one in the section. Nirel stared at the words on the page. She could picture them embroidered in black thread on a crisp white linen scroll, hanging in honor in the shrine on the appointed day.
This was bigger than Kabos. If she went against his orders, Nirel wouldn’t just be defying one man. The Lord of Justice himself ordered Nirel to obey her father. Less than a day had passed since Nirel had committed herself to following his path. She would be breaking that commitment. She would be rejecting the faith generations of her ancestors had suffered to remain true to. She would be cutting herself off from the quiet, warm serenity that had resonated in her heart as she knelt beside Elder Semanel in the shrine.
For the first time Nirel understood why the Faithful considered free will a curse. It would be so much easier if she didn’t have a choice. If she could follow the Ordinances with unquestioning obedience, secure in the Lord’s will, unmoved by any other concern. But the Lady of Mercy had made that impossible. She’d given Nirel the power to break the Lord’s law. She’d made it possible for her to choose the wrong path. And so she’d made it necessary for Nirel to make that choice, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hard it was to know what was right and what was wrong, no matter how little she wanted the responsibility.
Nirel couldn’t break her promise to Kevessa. She couldn’t abandon her friend to the Purifier’s torture. They might even kill her. She couldn’t let that happen if it was within her power to prevent it.
A tear rolled down the side of her nose. Nirel dashed it away before it could splash onto Elder Semanel’s book and mar the page. She scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve as she snapped the book closed. Tears were useless. She’d need all her wits about her if she was going to pull this off.
Nirel stripped off the fancy court clothing she’d worn to dinner. Going to her wardrobe, she hung each piece neatly in its place. She pulled out the plain riding skirt and bodice she’d worn the night before and donned them. If they ran into trouble she’d need to be able to move freely. She checked to make sure the map was safe in her pouch and tied it securely to her belt.
After that, she waited. She blew out the lamp and lay down in her bed, pulling the covers up to conceal her clothing in case Kabos looked in on her. She was glad of the precaution later, when without warning the door creaked open. She kept her eyes closed and her breaths slow and even. A few moments later, it clicked shut again.
She fixed her eyes on the stars outside her window. When they’d moved an hour’s arc across the sky, she slid from the bed and crept to the door. She eased it open, catching her breath every time it squeaked. The sitting room was quiet. The fire had burned down to a bed of ash-covered coals. The door to Kabos’s bedroom was shut, all silent within. She didn’t dare open it to make sure he was truly asleep.
Her feet moved as silently as they had when she’d stalked deer through the jungle. She slid back the latch of the main door of their suite. Its hinges only sighed a little as she pulled it open and stepped into the dark, deserted hall.
She needed help. She’d do Kevessa little good alone and unarmed. Two girls would be just as vulnerable in the streets of the city as one. Luckily, she knew who’d be eager to come to her aid. Shonika never complained, but she didn’t have to. Nirel could see from the tense economy of her movements at meals—the only time Shonika emerged from her room—how much her friend hated being stuck in the palace. She’d leap at the chance to venture out, no matter what the reason. The possibility they might have to engage in combat would only make her more eager.
Shonika wore a forbidding scowl, however, when she opened her door to Nirel’s cautious tapping. “You woke me up.”
“I’m sorry, Shonika. Please, let me in. I can explain.” Nirel put on her most winning smile. “I need help sneaking out of the palace.”
“Hmmph.” Shonika’s expression didn’t change, but she opened the door wide enough for Nirel to enter.
She listened impassively as Nirel poured out her story. When Nirel finished, Shonika looked at her silently for so long her heart fell. But eventually Shonika jerked her head toward a corner of the room. “Get your bow. I had them brought up from the ship.”
Nirel wanted to break into effusive thanks, but she constrained herself to a small smile and nod. She rummaged through the neatly stacked pile of bows and quivers until she found her own. She strung the bow and slung it along with her quiver full of arrows across her back. The feel of them resting against her shoulder blades, ready for use, filled her with a wonderful sensation of confidence. She’d almost forgotten what that was like.
Shonika took only a few minutes to dress and arm herself. In addition to her bow, she’d managed to acquire one of the Ramunnan long knives. Swords, they called them. It hung sheathed at her hip, shorter and wider than most of the ones Nirel had seen, with a plain hilt. Nirel was sure Shonika would use it competently and without hesitation against anyone who threatened them.
Shonika took the map from Nirel, studied it for a moment, then handed it back. She led the way out of her room and through the corridors of the palace.
The guards at the main entrance barred the way with their long pikes. “Ladies, I’m sorry, but the streets of the city are far too dangerous at night for unescorted women.” The guard who spoke bobbed his head apologetically. “Believe me, there’s nothing out there that can’t wait until morning. Go back to your beds.”
Shonika fixed him with her most pe
netrating stare. “Are we prisoners?”
The guard blinked. “Ah—not prisoners, no.”
“Has the Matriarch ordered that we may not leave?”
He deflated under her withering glare. “Not in so many… No.”
“Then let us pass.”
He dithered for a while longer, but in the face of Shonika’s unrelenting silence he finally gave way. He lifted his pike and gestured for the other guard to do the same. “Go ahead.”
Shonika waited unmoving while he fumbled the lock open and pushed the doors wide. Then she swept out without a glance to either side. Nirel did her best to imitate Shonika’s imperious manner. The woman strode with as much assurance as the Matriarch herself.
She dealt with the guards at the stable in much the same way. The stablehands fell all over themselves to give her what she wanted. Quicker than Nirel would have believed possible, they were mounted and riding away from the palace, with Shonika leading an extra horse for Kevessa.
Shonika led them through the dark city streets. Once or twice she stopped, put out her hand for Nirel to give her the map, peered at it by the light of the quarter moon peeping over the rooftops, and handed it back. The rest of the time she wound through the twisting, branching streets as if she’d been born in the city and roamed it all her life.
They passed through a district where lights and raucous music spilled from doorways. Rough-looking men and women wearing much scantier clothes than Nirel had yet seen in Ramunna clustered around tables piled with food and drinks. A few of the men hailed them as they passed. Some of their words Nirel didn’t recognize, but she could guess what they meant. She swallowed and blushed, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead. Mocking laughter followed them.
After that they entered an area with many closed shops, which grew gradually larger and more expensive-looking as they ascended. At last they reached the residential area where the map indicated Kevessa lived. Nirel gawked at the huge houses they passed. Each one rivaled the palace for splendor. Enormous columns supported soaring roofs, and fountains gurgled in walled gardens.
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