Despite that, if I need to run, I’ll gird my skirts like a Rashardian screamer, embarrassment be damned. It was a funny thought, and it helped to dispel the anxiety Nalia felt roiling in her stomach. With every step, her heart fluttered.
Danger lurked in the drab, rounded tent on the hill.
The Mala’kii warriors watched her approach with stony expressions. They made no move to threaten her, nor did they eye her the way a hungry beast might regard its prey. Nalia sensed an aura of respect in the warriors’ postures. Both nodded to her as she drew near, but the older of the two held up a hand to Yurian.
“Your man must stay here,” the warrior said.
“I go where the Princess goes.” Yurian’s tone was dangerous.
The Mala’kii refused to acknowledge Yurian. “Your man must stay here.”
Yurian started to say something else, and the tone of the interaction changed. The two warriors shifted their grips on their swords, eyes darting to Yurian. The captain of Nalia’s Sworn Men sensed the danger and shifted his own posture, moving to place himself between the warriors and Nalia.
“No men inside,” the second warrior said, eyes still locked to Yurian. “It is the way.”
“It’s alright, Captain.” Nalia raised her hand to stall the coming violence. “We must honor their customs.”Yurian relaxed, though he looked as if he’d swallowed a rock. “As you wish, Highness. I won’t move from this spot.”
Nalia gave Yurian a nod over her shoulder, feeling his displeasure like a furnace at her back. She turned her gaze on the two Mala’kii warriors and raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the tent. The two men bowed their heads and stepped to either side, watching Yurian through narrowed eyes. With a short, deep breath, Nalia steeled herself and ducked through the entrance. Jaylenia followed close behind.
The interior smelled pleasant, heady. The floor of the tent was covered in a dense mat of woven grass and an expensive Moravian rug. The carpet was cleaner than Nalia would have thought, with no tracks or burn marks in its surface.
There were no furnishings in the room, save for a brazier in the center—the source of the intoxicating smell. The brazier was another expensive piece, with twisting metalwork on its sides. It looked like it would be more at home in a lord’s manor than a savage tent in the Haunted Hills. Nine women sat in a circle around it, all regarding her with interest.
They were a motley group, alike only in forms of dress and the sandy coloring of their skin. Otherwise, the women couldn’t be more different from one another. A few were still in their prime child-bearing years, somewhere between sixteen and twenty-four springs. Others were a bit older, perhaps in their thirties, and there were even a pair of wizened old crones watching Nalia with wrinkled, intelligent eyes.
None of them wore dresses.
These women are a different sort altogether. Most of the women had tattoos over the bare parts of their skin, with twisted designs over supple arms, or wild patterns of dots decorating the edges of their faces. They all had dark hair, from auburn to jet black—save for the crones, whose hair was peppered with gray and silver. Some of the younger women were striking in appearance, with a wild, dangerous beauty. They reminded Nalia of mountain cats.
Every pair of eyes in the room watched as Nalia turned to face them. One of the crones let out a low, musing noise as she leaned forward to add something to the brazier, which let off a thin, blue smoke. The pleasant smell increased as the smoke filled the tent, and the sizzling of the coals gave the room a tense quality as the Mala’kii women waited for Nalia to speak.
Moving forward, Jay cleared her throat. “I present Her Highness Nalia Arynthaal, the Ice Princess, eldest daughter of King Vardic Arynthaal, here to speak as the voice of the Galanian Empire.”
The Mala’kii women traded a confused glance and broke out in raucous laughter.
Nalia’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment. For the space of a dangerous, endless second, she had no idea what to do. She glanced at Jaylenia, who looked scandalized, then turned her glare on the Mala’kii women.
“What is this?” one of the Mala’kii said, slapping her knee. “You have a slave who follows you around to tell people who you are?”
“I need one to do this thing,” said another, one of the old crones. “I can send him to tell Juro when I am returning to our tent, so he can have my blankets ready.”
“I can not let you have one without having one myself,” said a gorgeous woman in her thirties. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, holding up a hand like an ancient orator addressing a crowd. “Here comes Balidonna, she comes to the latrine pits, clear away so her special bottom can drop its blessing.”
The women all roared at that one.
“I like this idea,” said a middle-aged woman. “Ayara, stand and tell the Ice Princess who I am.”
“I will not!” said a girl no older than eighteen springs.
“You must.” The older woman raised her chin. “You are my daughter, it is your sacred duty under the sky.”
Ayara stood and faced Nalia with a grin on her face. “Ice Princess, this is my mother, Korinella, she who sings with a terrible voice.”
“Do not listen to her, Ice Princess.” Korinella laughed and wiped a tear from one of her eyes. “I have a good voice. My daughter has terrible ears.”
Nalia forced a smile, trying to ignore the indignity of the exchange. “Well met, Korinella.”
Korinella snorted. “Well met, is it? What does this expression mean?”
“It is a courtesy,” Nalia said. “It means I’m happy to have met you.”
“Are you?”
Nalia narrowed her eyes at the woman, frosty anger building in her chest. How dare these women treat her with such disdain! Even the barbarous Dannon royalty hadn’t been so crass when she’d met them. Nalia opened her mouth to assert her dignity, but Jaylenia recovered and stepped forward to save her the trouble.
“One does not speak so to a royal scion of Thardin! Have more care with your words.”
The laughter died with infuriating indifference, with the women all having different reactions to Jay’s threat. Some of them looked abashed, a few made dismissive gestures, and still a few more continued to snicker under their breath. Nalia chose not to engage with the laughter. Sometimes it was better to ignore such things rather than appear an egotistical fool.
Even so, all Nalia wanted to do was command her Sworn Men to cut these harpies down where they sat.
Nalia took a deep breath and smoothed her tone. “Let us dispense with courtesy and move on to important matters. Might I join you so we can speak?”
“Your shoes.” Balidonna gestured at Nalia’s feet.
“My shoes?”
“You must remove them, vela.” Balidonna indicated a spot behind Nalia.
Nalia turned. There was a small mat in the corner with nine pairs of boots—which were as varied as the women around the brazier—resting atop it. Nalia traded a nod with Jay and moved to the mat, removing her boots and sitting them in a neat line beside those of the Mala’kii. Jaylenia followed her lead.
Nalia turned and walked to the brazier, smiling as two of the Mala’kii cleared a space for her and Jay to sit. The heady scent permeated the space around the ornate brazier, filling Nalia’s head with a pleasant, relaxed feeling. She tried to keep her breathing shallow.
Don’t allow your wits to get fuddled. The smoke may be a tactic.
“I am pleased you agreed to this meeting,” Nalia said after she’d settled her dress. “Only good can come of talks between our people.”
One of the crones gave a derisive snort. “Talk—the veledrim always want to talk. Often their words are twisted things, meant to disguise intentions.”
“Veledrim lie.” Balidonna nodded. “It is what they do. Their cities are built on this thing.”
“Ice Princess,” said Korinella, “where did you get that dress?”
“My dress?” Nalia felt another wave of cold anger rising in her
chest.
“Your dress.” Korinella leaned over and plucked at the fabric. Nalia forced herself to sit still as the woman rubbed it between her fingers. “Kaf would like the sight of me in this. It looks comfortable for sleeping.”
“It is not meant for sleeping.”
“No?” Korinella snickered. “There is nothing between your thighs and the grass, yes? What good is a garment such as this, save for sleeping and being mounted?”
The women all shared another laugh.
Nalia felt righteous indignation—something she’d never before experienced. No one had ever dared to say such filthy things to her, to make such a disgusting insinuation. Those words would have meant death for someone in Thardin. For what felt like an eternity, Nalia watched Korinella’s laughing mouth, listened to the chuckles going around the circle, and tried to see past the blood roaring through her skull.
With a quick, nasty little motion, Nalia slapped Korinella’s hand away.
“Do not presume to speak to me that way again.” Nalia’s tone was clipped, her words bitten in her anger. “The next time you open your mouth to spew such nonsense at me, I will have you stripped and beaten through the streets of the Imperial war camp. You’ll spend a night in a kennel before having your guts ripped out before a crowd.”
Korinella smiled. “So, the—”
“Speak another word,” Nalia said, “and I’ll cut your tongue out myself.”
The room went dead silent. The Mala’kii women looked around the circle, their expressions varied. Korinella looked ready to fight, and her posture made Nalia’s hair stand on end. She could feel Jaylenia tensing beside her, and Nalia readied herself to spring to her feet if need be. One of the younger Mala’kii chuckled under her breath.
“It seems we have found her strength,” the laughing girl said. “This one is fierce.”
One of the crones nodded. “I would not let Korinella speak such words to me, either. I like this Cold Woman.”
“I like her dress,” said a woman with a scar down the side of her face. When a few of the others scoffed at her words, she shrugged. “The color is nice. It would fly when I ride, like a flag.”
Balidonna laughed and resumed her orator’s posture. “Here comes Linella, the prettiest malahim on a horse.”
Linella scowled at Balidonna. “I think you are wanting a fight. Keep talking and I will take your spear and give you to the Ice Princess as name-slave.” She looked at Jaylenia. “This one is too pretty to be a slave.”
Nalia looked around the circle as the banter continued. She still felt the ghost of her anger, but she could see now that the women had been testing her. Korinella wasn’t angry—she was laughing with the rest of the Mala’kii, her argument with Nalia forgotten.
Which one of these is the Maihdrim? Nalia tired of this interplay. She started to open her mouth and say so but decided to stay silent and observe instead. The Maihdrim had to be one of the women sitting around the circle, but it was hard to say which. None of them looked more prestigious than the others, and none seemed to show the first bit of deference. The women all wore jewelry, but did so in a haphazard, unrefined way, as if the pieces were thrown together with no thought to uniformity or purpose.
One of the crones? Would the Mala’kii choose the wisest to lead?
The idea didn’t sound right to Nalia. The Mala’kii were a warlike people—that much was obvious. These women valued strength as well as cunning, and only one of the old women looked hale enough to charge into battle on horseback.
It can’t be one of the girls. No one would follow a young girl without royal blood, or some other form of nobility being a factor. The Mala’kii didn’t seem to place importance on bloodline, at least not in the way the Thardish did. The Maihdrim would probably be a leader on and off the battlefield, most likely one of the middle-aged women.
Nalia examined them in turn and doubted her inference. Balidonna was boisterous and enjoyed baiting the other women into exchanges of insults. She wasn’t the type of person others followed. Korinella was too hot-headed—besides, if the Mala’kii had planned to test Nalia, she doubted the Maihdrim herself would be the one to do it. An intelligent leader would remain on the edge of the conversation to examine Nalia’s reactions.
It’s not Linella. She can barely speak the World Tongue, and she doesn’t seem intelligent.
Nalia looked again to the three younger girls. Ayara was barely paying Nalia attention, instead choosing to speak with her mother. One of the girls, the youngest of the three, had been silent the entire time, listening like a student with a tutor. She was too excited to be in this tent, too happy to be part of the meeting. The third girl, though—the one who had chuckled about Nalia being fierce—was watching. Nalia turned to the girl, who appeared no more than eighteen springs of age, and gave her a silent nod.
The girl winked at her.
Found you. By the gods, she’s so young!
The youthful woman had the sort of beauty that might one day blossom into something striking. Her hair was shiny and black, not unlike Nalia’s own, and fell to the center of her back. She was average height with an agile build, like a fox ready to dart in any direction. Her eyes, which were a vibrant blue, held a fierce intelligence that seemed well beyond her years.
She’s a sorceress. Don’t forget that.
“Are you quite satisfied?” Nalia asked the girl. “I tire of this.”
The young girl—the Maihdrim—smiled at Nalia and held up a hand. The gathering went silent, the women all smiling as if they’d devised some grand prank and been found out. Nalia supposed, everything considered, they had.
“The Ice Princess has survived our little game,” the girl said.
One of the crones chuckled. “I think you should hear her. She has steel in her, and her eyes are sharp.”
Linella nodded. “I agree.”
“Does anyone say no?” The Maihdrim glanced around the circle.
Korinella gave Nalia a disdainful sneer. “I do not trust veledrim. I do not trust the Ice Princess.”
“Agreed,” said the second old woman—the one who had first spoken of lies.
The Maihdrim nodded. “I have heard your words. I will speak with the Ice Princess.”
“Nothing good will come of this,” said the old woman. “All there has ever been between Mala’kii and veledrim is blood. That is all that will ever be.”
“You see blood omens in the shapes of shadows, Yeleni.” The Maihdrim placed a fond hand on the old woman’s shoulder.
“As you say, Maihdrim.” Yeleni nodded. “Just remember—sometimes there are blood omens in shadows. Sometimes the Night comes to your tent in the form of a friend to offer pretty words. Lies, Maihdrim. All lies.”
“I will heed your warnings, Yeleni, as always.” The Maihdrim winked at Nalia again.
The women rose and filed from the tent, the younger girls helping the older women to stand. Nalia gave Jaylenia a pointed look, gesturing toward the tent flap. Jay gave her a reluctant nod and rose, heading for the entrance. Nalia looked back at the Maihdrim, waiting for the rest of the women to leave. As they filed out, Nalia overheard a round of laughter and bawdy comments offered to Yurian, who must have been standing just outside. She smiled at the thought of him being accosted by so many savage women, but the Maihdrim raised her hand, and the noise from outside vanished.
“There.” The Maihdrim smiled. “Now we may speak in private.”
Nalia’s skin crawled. “Sorcery?”
“I believe that people consider that insulting in your world,” the Maihdrim said. “But I find no problems with veledrim insults. Yes, the magic will let us speak without being heard.”
“You’ve cut me off from my men.”
The Maihdrim smiled. “You could scream your pretty head off, and no one would hear it but me.”
All you have to do is cry out…
“Not the most friendly way to begin a conversation.”
“Do not worry, Cold Woman.” The Mai
hdrim gave Nalia a wolfish smile. “I have no interest in hearing you scream.”
“That’s good to hear.”
The Maihdrim kept the smile on her face but remained silent.
Nalia cleared her throat. “I want to talk of peace. I came to offer the Mala’kii terms.”
“Terms?” The Maihdrim raised her eyebrows. “Terms of surrender, you mean?”
“Terms of peace,” Nalia said.
The Maihdrim regarded her with a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “Did you know that in every generation, one girl is chosen from amongst the malahim to travel to your city of Tauravon? She is educated there. She learns your ways, your language, your history. We do this to better equip our people to survive in this hostile world.”
“So you were educated in Lesmira, at the Mage Tower?”
“The Mage Tower.” The Maihdrim nodded. “Yes. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
“You want me to know who I’m dealing with.”
“I want you to know you cannot deceive me with clever word games,” the Maihdrim said. “You say you wish to offer terms. When terms are offered, they are always terms of surrender, of submission. When it is peace between equals, your people use the word ‘treaty’. Which do you offer, Cold Woman? Choose with wisdom.”
Nalia ground her teeth. “A treaty, of course. The terms will be agreed upon by us both.”
The Maihdrim gave her a long, searching look. “The terms are decided by the stronger. That is the way of things, despite all the pretty words veledrim use to disguise it.”
“Are you sure that’s a measure you wish to apply?” Nalia raised an eyebrow. “A measure of strength may find the Mala’kii short a few thousand men.”
The Maihdrim shrugged. “Strength is not always a thing of numbers. Sometimes leverage is enough.”
Nalia narrowed her eyes. To what leverage was this woman referring? Did she understand the Empire’s greater tactical situation? Did she know how her raids were impacting the Empire’s long-term military goals?
The City Under the Mountain (The Seven Signs Book 4) Page 20
