Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Yes, I know.” Vironesh’s tone was heavy with disapproval. “Why else do you suppose we’re here?”

  “How should I know?” I countered. “I’ve had no word from you since the day we parted.”

  “Forgive me for assuming that your new duties would occupy you for at least a week’s time,” he said sardonically. “May I ask why you’re delinquent in attending to your charge?”

  Because my new duties in the women’s quarter consist of endless rounds of bathing and gossip, I wanted to say; something you cannot possibly understand. Because my lion-hearted princess is a prisoner thrice over; a prisoner of her status and her gender, a prisoner of her own poor damaged body.

  Because whether you like it or not, it appears there are pieces of prophecy in play.

  Because it is Zariya’s heart’s desire that I do what she cannot. Because honor beyond honor may mean something more than simply keeping her alive.

  In the end, I said none of these things; and yet I think Vironesh read them in my face.

  He loosed my shoulders with a sigh. Behind us, members of the City Guard were pounding on doors and interrogating denizens of the quarter. “Did you at least see this Mad Priest?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Have you seen him?”

  Vironesh shook his head. “There are always lookouts posted. Anytime we get close, he vanishes.” He glanced behind him. “The Guard is riddled with corruption. I daresay half of them are extracting bribes this very moment. I haven’t figured out who I can trust. No one, maybe.” He looked back at me. “You’re bleeding.”

  Now that he mentioned it, I had felt a sharp blow to the temple. I touched my skin and my fingers came away bloody. “The lookouts threw rocks at me.”

  “Welcome to Three-Copper Quarter,” he said. “Do I need to elaborate on the depths of your folly today?”

  I looked away. “No.”

  “Good. Once we’re done here, we’ll escort you back to the palace, and you can tell me how the hell you found out about the Priest of the Black Star.” Vironesh’s voice took on a gentler note, one tinged with sorrow. “And how you’re finding it to be paired with the young princess Zariya.”

  That was a thing too big for words. All I could do was glance back at him with tears in my eyes.

  He nodded. “I know.”

  As we drew near the palace, I felt the hollowness within me begin to ease. Even so, it wasn’t until I was reunited with Zariya in her chambers in the women’s quarter that it was replaced with a profound rush of relief and elation.

  I needn’t have wondered if she felt the same way. “Oh, my darling!” Her eyes glistened. “I hadn’t known it would be so difficult!” Her gaze sharpened. “And you’re hurt. What happened? You were gone so long! Who dared to hurt you?”

  I smiled at her ferocity. “It’s nothing, truly. But I have a great deal to tell you.”

  Zariya’s face lit up. “Tell me everything!”

  After making sure no one was spying outside the door to her chambers, I sat on the carpet beside her divan and related the day’s events to her. She reclined on her side and listened intently, waiting until I had finished to comment; and if there was something of a child’s wonder in her listening, there was an equal measure of a keen intellect at work.

  “How exciting!” She let out a soft breath of laughter. “I’m not sure which name I prefer best, the Mad Priest or the Priest of the Black Star! They’re both so … evocative, aren’t they? I wish you’d managed to catch a glimpse of the fellow and learn something about him.”

  “So do I,” I said. “But I was impulsive and careless. I should have heeded Brother Yarit’s training and waited until I was able to enter the quarter in a guise that would deflect attention from my presence.” I felt at the mica-flecked scars on my cheekbones. “Though he did not reckon on these.”

  “Well, you were careless to lower your scarf,” Zariya said in a practical tone. “But even had you not, you look every inch the desert warrior.” She paused. “Have you considered women’s attire?”

  I tensed. “No.”

  “It is only that I am thinking a veil would hide the marks of Pahrkun without seeming out of place,” she said apologetically.

  I said nothing.

  “Ah, I have made you uncomfortable again,” Zariya said. “And I have broken my vow to myself and told you a lie.”

  I raised my brows at her. “Oh?”

  “Do not be angry at me, my darling,” she said. “You are a splendid boy. But the choice to raise you as bhazim was made for you, and because it was kept from your knowledge, it carries the sting of betrayal. There is a part of me that cannot help but wonder what choice you would make if you allowed yourself to explore the possibilities available to you.” She smiled gently at me. “Because I think you would make a lovely girl, too.”

  Something in her words made my stomach flutter, and I drew in a long, shaking breath. “I don’t know.”

  Zariya waved one hand. “Consider the Elehuddin! You could be both, my heart. A double-edged blade.”

  “Or neither,” I reminded her. “You said that Liko of Koronis was unclear on that point.”

  “True.” Her gaze was disconcertingly direct. “Either way, you would still be you. Will you at least think on it?”

  I nodded.

  Zariya closed her eyes. “Good.”

  She was right, of course; I would be far less obtrusive in Three-Copper Quarter as a woman in a veil. A part of me rebelled at the notion, but Zariya was right about that, too. The sense of betrayal I felt cut deep, and a measure of my reaction to the thought of donning women’s attire was born of it. But that was foolish. Disguise was a tool, one I had been taught to use. It would be short sighted of me not to use the best possible tool for the job.

  And if I were absolutely honest, there was a small part of me that was curious. What would it feel like to be a girl for a day? It was not something I would have wondered about a week ago, but my life had changed since then. “All right,” I said to Zariya when she awoke from her nap. “I will do it. But I will need to acquire such clothing as will not draw attention in the poor quarters of the city.”

  “I will ask Nalah—” She paused. “No, I think it is best if no one knows of our plans. But one can buy such things in the markets, can you not?”

  “One could if one had money,” I said. “I fear the brothers did not think to provide me with a purse.”

  Zariya slid a thin gold bangle from her wrist. “Here. I daresay this will purchase an ensemble or two. Oh, but we don’t want it noised around the city that the princess’s shadow was seen bartering peasant rags in the marketplace, do we?” She considered me. “Suppose we dressed you in something finer for the excursion? My mother’s dying to see you draped in silks.”

  I hesitated. “That’s not why you’re suggesting this, is it?”

  “Not even the slightest little bit, my darling.” Her reply was swift and sure, and I could tell the question injured her.

  “Forgive me,” I apologized. “I fear I am overly sensitive in the matter.”

  “Yes, and not without cause,” Zariya observed. “It was a thoughtless thing to say, and I’m sorry for it.” She glanced toward the door. “Nalah will be coming to summon us to the baths any minute, but I had another thought regarding the death-bladder venom that killed my brother Kazaran.”

  The way her thoughts darted so quickly from topic to topic made me smile. “Which is?”

  “What if it were stolen?” she said. “You said it was a member of the House of the Ageless that commissioned your Brother Yarit to steal rhamanthus seeds. What if it wasn’t the first time the Shahalim Clan had undertaken such a commission?”

  “It would explain why none of the apothecaries would confess to having sold the venom,” I said slowly.

  Zariya nodded. “Because none of them did.”

  “It would have been some fifty years ago,” I said. “If it were true, whoever stole it may not even be alive.”

&nb
sp; She shrugged. “I expect that the Shahalim would keep a record of such a thing. It’s a powerful piece of knowledge. You said Brother Yarit gave you a means of contacting his clan?”

  I nodded. “The Lucky Tortoise teahouse. I’m to ask if they carry three-moon blend.”

  Zariya smiled at me. “Something to consider.”

  I was grateful to have something to contemplate in the baths, for it served to distract me from the unbridled glee exhibited by the royal women when Zariya mentioned that I had consented to be dressed in women’s finery, as though it were some victory that they had won.

  You would be less gleeful if you knew why, I thought.

  For her part, Zariya was protective. “Khai has agreed to attempt this,” she warned them. “But if it does not suit him, so be it. There will be no further discussion of the matter.”

  Her mother ignored her warning. “Oh, I’m sure it will suit you beautifully, my darling!” she said to me, patting my hand. “You’ll see, Khai! You’ll finally be comfortable in the skin into which you were born.”

  I pulled my hand away. “Perhaps.”

  From thence, the conversation turned to Izaria’s impending wedding, now merely a week away, and I was glad of the reprieve. The ceremony was to take place in the High Temple of Anamuht, and would be followed by a procession through the city in which the might and majesty of the House of the Ageless would be on full display, reminding the citizens of Merabaht that they had been chosen to rule Zarkhoum by Anamuht the Purging Fire herself.

  “It will be good to have an occasion for the Sun-Blessed to make a show of force,” Queen Adinah noted, and for once, none of the royal women disagreed with the sentiment she expressed.

  I wondered what any of them would make of Three-Copper Quarter, or if they had any idea such a place existed.

  I thought about the queue of men and women in Fazarah and Tarkhal’s courtyard, and the line of carters trudging up the ramps.

  I thought about stolen venom, and wondered if the Shahalim Clan would be willing to give up their secrets if it were true.

  In the morning, there was a pair of seamstresses in the Hall of Harmonious Beauty. A stunning array of Barakhan silks was spread over every available surface, and the royal women were already perusing them with delight. Although I had hoped that this would be a more private undertaking, it was clear from the outset that that was not to be. Izaria took me by the hand the moment Zariya and I entered the hall.

  “Come, my darling, you must choose which ones you like best,” she announced. “I will show you the ones I think will suit you.”

  I was not insensible to the beauty of the fabric. I had always admired the crimson-and-gold silks of the Royal Guard. These were every bit as vibrant and far more intricate in design, gold thread creating patterns of flowers and waves and shells and leaves against backgrounds of turquoise, purple, orange, and green, as well as the familiar crimson and gold.

  Izaria held up a bolt of bright orange silk with a border of gold in the shape of waves. “This would complement your skin tone.”

  “Yes, one needs a darker tone to wear that hue,” Queen Makesha observed. “It doesn’t flatter me, obviously.”

  I shot a glance at Zariya, who hid a smile and made the hand sign that meant Be patient and hold your ground.

  “And I thought this one would echo those strange scars of yours.” Izaria raised a length of lavender silk with a silvery undertone alongside my face.

  “Those are the marks of Pahrkun the Scouring Wind,” Zariya said from the divan on which she had reclined. “You might wish to speak of them with a measure of respect, dearest.”

  “I’m only trying to help, my darling,” her sister replied, unperturbed. “Khai, do you like them?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” She beckoned to one of the seamstresses. “Then let us begin, shall we?”

  Had I not grown somewhat accustomed to the ritual of the daily bath, I would have found the business of stripping naked to be draped and measured and pinned before so many onlookers a difficult ordeal to bear; as it was, I surely cannot say I was comfortable with it. But I will own that the sensation of silk against my bare skin, soft and flowing as water, was a pleasant one.

  “What is it made of?” I asked Zariya, running a fold between my forefinger and thumb. It was so fine it caught on my callused fingertips. “Surely no animal has a coat so soft.”

  “It is woven of thread spun by silk-worms,” she said. “Silk-worms which eat a particular kind of leaf from a tree that grows only in Barakhar.”

  Thread from worms! I shook my head in wonder.

  Once the seamstresses had done with me and set about their work, it seemed it was not enough that I should don women’s attire; it was also expected that I would be oiled and braided and painted in the manner reckoned essential to a woman of the upper classes of Zarkhoum.

  I scowled at Zariya. “This, we did not discuss.”

  She looked contrite. “It is part and parcel of the whole, my heart. I assumed you knew. But you needn’t do it if you don’t want to.” Someone snickered, and I understood that if I did not do this, I would be nothing more than a jest in these clothes, a desert barbarian dressed in women’s finery.

  And so I consented.

  While the seamstresses’ needles flew and the royal women gossiped, maidservants attended to me. They rubbed the skin of my face and arms and hands with scented oil, combed and braided my hair, and twined fine lengths of thread to pluck hairs from my eyebrows.

  “Not too much,” Zariya cautioned them. “Khai will want to keep his fine strong brows.”

  When the plucking was done, the maidservants lined my eyes with kohl and painted my lips with carmine. I did not mind the kohl, which felt like nothing once it was done, but the carmine felt thick and greasy on my lips. Such was the length of the procedure and the speed of the seamstresses that by the time they had finished, the orange silk dress and an outer robe were ready for a preliminary fitting.

  I put them on.

  The royal women oohed and cooed over the transformation, loaning me bangles for my wrists.

  Zariya said nothing.

  I felt uncertain and strange to myself. “Well?”

  “You should see for yourself, my darling,” she said. “Aunt, may we borrow your mirror for the occasion?”

  “Of course.” Queen Adinah summoned a pair of guards to fetch the tall standing mirror from her chambers.

  I approached it with apprehension.

  In the mirror, a woman walked toward me. The folds of her silk garments swayed as she did, hinting at the curves of her figure beneath them. The woman’s brown skin had a luminous sheen, and her black hair was coiled and looped in elegant braids. Gold clinked and glinted at her wrists. The strong lines of her eyebrows had undergone a subtle refinement. The woman’s kohl-lined eyes, wide with astonishment, appeared twice the size of my own, and her red lips, parted in awe, were generous and startling.

  If it had not been for the glittering slashes on my cheekbones and the graze on my temple, I would have doubted it was me.

  “Oh,” I whispered. “Oh!”

  I was a girl.

  By all the fallen stars, I was a rather pretty one.

  Leaning on her canes, Zariya came alongside me. “I told you that you would make a lovely girl,” she murmured. “How do you feel?”

  I touched my reflected face in the mirror. “Honestly? I don’t know. Like a stranger to myself.”

  She tilted her head at me. “A stranger you would like to get to know better or a stranger you hope never to see again?”

  I couldn’t stop staring at the mirror. How did I feel? This was a vision of myself I had rejected with disdain and loathing since I was eleven years old, reckoning it weak and soft and everything a warrior was not.

  And yet …

  In our brief time together, Zariya had shown me that one need not be a warrior to possess a warrior’s heart. One need not be a man to possess a warrior’s heart.<
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  “I think…” I paused. “‘Like’ is a strong word. I think it is a stranger I am willing to get to know better. And I think … I think perhaps I am grateful to you for introducing me to her.”

  She sighed with relief. “And I am grateful to hear it, my heart. I feared you would be unhappy with me.”

  I smiled at her. “That, I cannot imagine.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Can one be two things at once?

  It seemed to me that day that one could, for I felt myself to be two things in one skin. The royal women quickly lost interest in my transformation; as far as they were concerned, I had been nothing more than a girl dressed in boys’ clothing, and now I was properly attired.

  For me, the matter went far deeper. When Zariya wrapped a scarf of the shimmering orange silk around my head and pinned a veil of the same material in place, I no longer saw anything of myself that I recognized. Khai the warrior, Khai the honorary boy, had vanished, replaced by an anonymous pair of kohl-lined eyes.

  No one would recognize the royal shadow, that much was certain, and there was a certain exhilarating freedom in the knowledge.

  While Zariya sorted through the remaining silks, I practiced walking. I had noticed a gait particular to the women of Merabaht; a shortened stride that placed one foot directly in front of the other, causing their garments to sway slightly from side to side as they walked.

  “One would almost think you’ve had practice,” Zariya observed. Selecting a bolt of unadorned dark blue silk, she called the seamstresses over. “Let’s do something a bit more modest with this one,” she said to them so naturally one would never suspect there was an ulterior motive behind it. “Something a well-bred woman’s maidservant might wear in public.”

  One would almost think you’ve had practice, I thought silently, but then I supposed in a sense, she had. Growing up in the court of the Sun-Blessed, she’d had as much practice in dissembling as I’d had mastering different gaits under Brother Yarit’s tutelage.

  Resigned to the fact that it would be too late to venture to the market by the time the more modest blue ensemble would be finished, I spent the day in the women’s quarter. And that afternoon, for the first time, I enjoyed a measure of comfort in the ritual of the daily bath.