Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  I told her about my conversation with Dozaren.

  She listened without comment, and when I had finished, rose from the divan, retrieved her canes, and hobbled into the garden.

  I waited a moment before following to stand patiently behind her, seeing from the angle of her head that she knew I was there.

  “I did not want it to be true,” she said presently.

  “I know,” I murmured.

  “You’re sure of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful that he does not wish me harm,” she said in a flat tone. “Since it seems he is very good at inflicting it. You bring me information like a cat dragging a dead sparrow across my doorstep, and once again, I do not know what to do with it. A great many men lost their lives to this plot.” She paused in thought. “The honorable thing to do would be to inform Father. But we have no proof, and I fear that making an enemy of the one contestant for the throne who cares for me is not the wisest course.”

  “I could kill him,” I said quietly.

  Zariya rounded on me. “And be executed for it? You will do no such thing!”

  I swallowed. “I could do it in such a manner that no one would ever know. There are ways.”

  “No.” Her voice was adamant. “There has been altogether too much murder among the Sun-Blessed. Even if I were willing, I would not allow you to sacrifice your honor over this. And to what end? To protect me? And yet Dozaren would make alliance with me, and I am safe so long as I say nothing. To punish him for his betrayal? And yet he is playing by our father’s rules. To avenge Tazaresh? Tazaresh played by the same rules. To exonerate Elizar? I think not.”

  “The guards were innocent,” I reminded her. “And the poor folk who were slaughtered little better than tools.”

  Zariya sighed. “Would that I’d been born a man,” she said with rare bitterness. “I could contest for the throne myself.”

  A thought came to me. “Your father has lost three sons,” I said to her. “He could replace one. He could declare you bhazim.”

  She stared at me. “Oh, my darling! It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? And I doubt I’d live out the week if he did. Rashina would drown me in the bath the first time you turned your back on her.”

  “I’d never leave your side,” I promised her.

  “You’re serious.” Zariya shook her head. “Khai … perhaps it would be different if I had been raised to it, but I wasn’t. And Dozaren and the twins have decades of experience on me. When all is said and done, I’m a sixteen-year-old girl with absolutely no knowledge of governance.”

  “Yes, and a very clever girl with quick wits, a scholar’s soul, and a kind and brave heart,” I said. “I’d wager that Liko of Koronis or one of his ilk have some profound observations on governance to impart to you. And your father might well live for another hundred years.”

  “Not if Anamuht fails to quicken the rhamanthus,” she said soberly. “And to that end … do not mistake me, dearest. I adore the fact that you believe me capable of such a thing. And I will consider it, although I have no idea whatsoever what my father might say if I posed it to him. Regardless, I will do nothing until Nizara returns from the desert, for it is in my heart that if the Sun-Blessed cannot find a way to regain Anamuht’s favor, all of this is moot.”

  I inclined my head to her. “And Dozaren?”

  “Dozaren.” Zariya sighed again. “What he did troubles me deeply, and I am not prepared to ally myself with him. But I will send him an innocuous note, something to let him know I do not intend to betray him.” She gave me an apprehensive look. “Does that disappoint you?”

  Did it?

  I thought about that night of blood and fire, the Mad Priest and the crawling thing in his chest, and there was a part of me that was shocked to the core by the notion that Prince Dozaren might suffer no penalty for having orchestrated it. But while I could mourn the innocent lives lost, I could not grieve for the death of Prince Tazaresh, who was likely a murderer in his own right, and I could not grieve for the wrongful imprisonment of Prince Elizar, who had had his chamberlain executed when the Teardrop was stolen from him; the one thing I had not told Zariya despite the honesty of which I’d been so quick to boast.

  Above all, I could not condemn any decision that led to her safety.

  Honor beyond honor.

  “No,” I said honestly to Zariya. “All that matters to me is that you are safe. In that regard, I think you have chosen wisely; and I think it is wise, too, to await Sister Nizara’s return.”

  “I am glad.” She smiled at me. “And I thank you, my darling.”

  “For suggesting a course of action that would earn you the enmity of your entire family or for dragging unwelcome information across your doorstep like a cat with a dead sparrow?” I inquired.

  She flushed. “For the kiss.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Some two weeks later, Sister Nizara returned.

  Her entourage had departed without fanfare, but folk in the city had taken notice of it and word of their return spread quickly when their party was sighted along the River Ouris. Despite her comments regarding dead sparrows, Zariya was impatient enough for knowledge that she sent me to observe their reentry into the city.

  People turned out to line the streets and watch. No one threatened violence against the High Priestess of Anamuht or the escort of Royal Guardsmen flanking the procession, but the mood was strained.

  Sister Nizara wore the tall crimson headdress and the veil, so I could not read her face or the faces of the priestesses accompanying her, but from the way she held herself in the saddle, shoulders braced as though carrying an unexpected burden, I knew something had transpired.

  “Elder Sister!” someone called out. “Why has Anamuht the Purging Fire forsaken the Sun-Blessed?”

  She raised one hand and her entourage halted. “Anamuht has not forsaken us,” she said from behind her veil, her voice hoarse. “I will say no more until I have taken counsel with King Azarkal and my kindred.”

  I trailed the party for a few blocks, then seeing neither new information to be gained nor danger averted, slipped past them to return to the palace to engage in pointless speculation with Zariya.

  What had transpired in the desert, we learned soon enough, for Sister Nizara convened a meeting that evening in the Hall of Pleasant Accord with the king and all the members of the House of the Ageless present.

  “Well?” King Azarkal was as impatient as his youngest daughter. “Tell us, what have you learned? Are there amends that must be made? Will Anamuht grant us a harvest or not?”

  She bent her gaze toward him. Her unveiled face looked gaunt and sun-scorched, the sockets of her eyes hollow. “On the advice of the Seer, I held a vigil in one of the high places of the desert. On the third day, the Sacred Twins appeared in the distance. I waited and Anamuht the Purging Fire approached me, a column of flame as tall as the plateau on which I sat, and spoke to me.”

  The fine hair on my forearms rose at the memory of her presence. Beside me, Zariya reached for my hand.

  Sister Nizara took a sip of water scented with orange blossoms and cleared her desert-parched throat. Her gaze shifted to Zariya and me, and there was sympathy in it. “Anamuht the Purging Fire said to me that the Sun-Blessed have grown too insular here in Zarkhoum,” she said softly. “And that the youngest of our number must wed a foreigner and venture forth from our shores. Once the nuptials have been agreed upon and the betrothal announced, then, and only then, will Anamuht quicken the rhamanthus, and three thousand seeds shall serve as the dowry for this marriage.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Zariya’s mother let out a wail of anguish. A dozen other voices rose. “Three thousand seeds wasted on a foreign dowry!” one muttered in disgust. “It’s a travesty.”

  I felt Zariya’s pulse quicken against our clasped palms and stole a glance at her. “Across the sea, my darling!” she whispered to me, her eyes shining. “Think of it!”r />
  Someone exclaimed; something else had transpired.

  “Ah, no!” King Azarkal was holding out his hands as though to implore the gods, and beneath his ageless brown skin, the steadily beating pulse-points of khementaran glowed at his wrists and the sides of his throat. It had happened. The moment of khementaran had come upon him at last. “Not Zariya. Please, not my little lion-hearted daughter! Has she not suffered enough for one lifetime? I beseech you, do not take her from me. Say it is not so.”

  “Oh, Father!” Tears stood in Sister Nizara’s eyes. “Forgive me. But I cannot gainsay the will of the Purging Fire.”

  It felt to me as though the world was tilting like a hawk soaring on angled wings. All around the hall, glances were being exchanged as the Sun-Blessed assessed the significance of this turn of events, the one-two punch of them landing like thunder and lightning; Zariya to wed a foreigner and depart Zarkhoum, and the king entering khementaran.

  “I am not afraid, Father!” Zariya said in a clear voice. “I will do my duty with honor.”

  “Of course you will, my heart,” he said. “And yet I am afraid for you.”

  “But I have Khai,” she said simply. “It must be for this that the Sacred Twins joined us.”

  The king gazed at his empty hands, at the glowing pulse beating at his wrists. “I have lived too long,” he murmured. “Nizara, tell me, did Anamuht say whom Zariya must wed?”

  “No, Father,” she said quietly. “Only that it must be a foreigner and she must leave these shores.”

  He lifted his head and there were tears in his eyes, too. Whatever his flaws, King Azarkal was a man who loved his youngest daughter. “Then I will send word to our nearest allies in Barakhar and Therin,” he said in a firm tone. “Neither realm is so terribly far away, and I can endure the thought of Zariya living in either one if I must.”

  “What of Granth, Father?” It was one of the twins who posed the question, his brow knit. “We always have need of their steel. And wasn’t our brother Kazaran betrothed to a Granthian woman?”

  “Do not speak to me of Granthian steel!” the king said sharply. “And that is a different matter altogether. Women are not treated with honor in Granth. Your brother was a warrior who meant to become the Kagan. Your sister would be nothing more than a valuable broodmare with an invaluable dowry.”

  The thought sickened me. “I would kill anyone who treated you thusly,” I murmured to Zariya.

  “I know you would, my shadow.” She looked a bit less undaunted. “But even you would find it difficult to dispatch an entire realm.”

  King Azarkal rose and surveyed the Sun-Blessed, who fell silent beneath his regard. “Today is a bittersweet day,” he announced. “Eldest daughter, Nizara, Elder Sister … I am grateful to you for the quest you undertook. You have endured great hardship for the sake of the Sun-Blessed and brought new hope and a path toward a harvest.” He saluted her. “For this, I thank you. Youngest daughter, Zariya…” He paused, then continued in a rough voice. “I honor your courage. I will see to it that you are given a voice in the choice of your bridegroom.”

  That engendered not a few murmurs of envy; no other daughter had been afforded the same luxury. Zariya pressed her palms together and offered her father a graceful salute in silence.

  “I have lived too long, have I not?” King Azarkal mused. “Ah, Kazaran, my son! You were the best and brightest of us. Why did khementaran not come upon me when you were slain? And yet it did not, and now it has, and I must make a choice.” His gaze fell upon his eldest son in the hall. “Prince Dozaren of the House of the Ageless, Sun-Blessed son, come and kneel before me.”

  Dozaren obeyed. I glanced at Zariya again. Her lips were compressed in a thin line, but she gave me a slight shake of her head.

  King Azarkal laid his hands on Dozaren’s shoulders. “In the presence of all here assembled, in the name of the Sacred Twins, Anamuht the Purging Fire and Pahrkun the Scouring Wind, beneath the all-seeing eye of Zar the Sun, I name you my heir and the successor to the throne of Zarkhoum.”

  Dozaren bowed his head. “I know I was neither your first nor second choice, Father,” he said humbly. “But I accept this honor nonetheless, and I will do my best to see that you have no cause to regret it.”

  It was done.

  The swiftness with which events had transpired left the hall stunned. Dozaren stood and took a deep breath. “A bittersweet day indeed, Father. It is in my thoughts that it would be apt to mark it with a grand gesture to demonstrate to the folk of Merabaht that the Sun-Blessed are magnanimous in retaining Anamuht’s favor. Scores of relatives of our attackers languish in prison with no proof that they collaborated in treason. Perhaps we might declare clemency for them, and oversee a distribution of grain in quarters of the city experiencing famine? It could be done in honor of Zariya’s sacrifice,” he added. “For I think that will touch their hearts as deeply as it does mine.”

  “Do as you like,” the king said indifferently. “I cannot find it in my heart to care about the wretched of Merabaht today.” His attention returned to Zariya. “By the standards of our long-lived house, you are young for marriage. We’re not like common folk who breed at the first sign of fertility. We have always had the luxury of time. No longer. It would be best if this were arranged swiftly.”

  “I understand, Father,” she said.

  King Azarkal inclined his head to her. “Before you depart from these shores, you will partake of the rhamanthus.” His eyes glistened. “For that, too, you are young, my heart; but if there is a chance that it will allow you to enter into marriage whole and hale, I would give it to you.”

  Zariya caught her breath. “Thank you, Father. And Khai, too?”

  “So it must be according to lore, Father,” Sister Nizara said when the king hesitated. “It will be a great harvest when it comes.”

  “Then it shall be so,” he said. “Is there aught else that you need impart to me, Nizara?”

  “No, Father,” she murmured.

  He turned his hands over and looked once more at his wrists, at the faint blood-red light of mortality throbbing there. “Then I shall go take counsel with my advisors and ambassadors,” he said. “Dozaren, come. You will assume all duties befitting your new status.”

  In the wake of their departure, the Hall of Pleasant Accord burst into a cacophony of conversation: speculation, indignation, despair, gloating. Beside me, Zariya rested her head against my shoulder and I shifted to put my arm around her. Since the matter of desire had been settled, there was a new measure of ease and comfort between us. “Tired?”

  She nodded. “It’s only that it’s a great deal to take in for one morning, my darling. I feel rather as though the earth itself has shifted beneath me.”

  “I know.” I glanced at Sister Nizara. “Elder Sister, did you speak to Brother Yarit of the Mad Priest?”

  “I did.” The High Priestess looked bemused. “He’s quite a character, isn’t he? Very … blunt and plainspoken. Not at all what I expected of the Seer, though you did try to tell me as much. It all struck a chord with him, but he would not deign to say why. I assume he could not.”

  “Did he have any words for me?” I asked her.

  “He said to thank you for what you said about Belisha,” she said. “And he said, ‘Tell the kid I believe in him, but he might want to consider learning how to swim just in case.’”

  Despite everything, it made me smile. “That sounds like him.”

  Upon returning to the women’s quarter, Zariya and I retreated to her chambers, where she perused her books and chose a volume. “Did you know that in Therin it’s considered impolite to say exactly what you mean?”

  “No,” I said. “Why in the world?”

  Reclining on her divan, she paged through the book. “Therin lies under the aegis of Ilharis the Two-Faced. It’s considered a sign of respect to the god to say one thing, and mean quite another. That would take some getting used to, don’t you think?”

  “I do,�
�� I said. “But women are treated well there?”

  “Women are reckoned the equal of men in Therin, for one of Ilharis’s faces is male and the other female,” Zariya said. “Rather like you! Therinians are also fond of games of chance, and all manner of dalliances are permitted without shame. In Barakhar, where Lishan the Graceful sheds drops of dew that imbue her chosen with surpassing grace and beauty, artistry is prized above martial skills and women are reckoned superior to men.” She put her finger between the pages and looked thoughtful. “I must say, either would make an interesting change.”

  I thought so, too.

  In the days that followed, I learned a fair bit more about Barakhar and Therin as Zariya read me passages from her favorite books, trying to guess at what our future might hold. I took heart from the fact that, as the king had suggested, I could endure the thought of Zariya living in either realm.

  I considered Brother Yarit’s advice, too. It may have been offered partially in jest—at a distance, I could not be sure—but he had a point. If I were to accompany Zariya across the sea, it would behoove me to learn how to swim; only I did not know anyone capable of such a feat, and of course, there were the never-ending issues of propriety in the royal court.

  When I said as much to Zariya, she had an unexpected suggestion. “What about your family?”

  I looked at her in surprise. “My family?”

  “Well, they’re fisher-folk, aren’t they?” she said pragmatically. “I imagine they must know how to swim. Khai, I know you’ve wrestled with the notion of what you might say to them. Why not simply send for them instead?”

  “And ask them to teach me to swim?” I said.

  Zariya shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t lead with it, my darling. Get to know them first.”

  I had no idea how such a thing could be accomplished. “How would I even send for them?”

  “I’ll ask Father to arrange it,” she said simply.

  All things are possible with wealth and power, and King Azarkal was minded to give his youngest daughter anything within his reach.