He was right, of course. But I couldn’t completely dispel the sudden anger that had filled me, and with my head beginning to ache again, I felt it simmering just below the surface.
“I suppose I’d better try to eavesdrop the usual way again. And you have more tricks to perform.”
A grin blossomed on his face. “And more young ladies to amuse.”
I rolled my eyes as Xaron sauntered away to be immediately hailed for a performance. At least someone was enjoying their new position.
I hunted around half-heartedly for another group to pester, picking up my wine and sipping at it again. But before I could decide on a target, Nomusa emerged from the crowd. I knew what she’d say from her black look before she opened her mouth. “It’s time,” she declared shortly, then turned toward the dais.
Quelling my dread, I followed.
Jaxas and Komo, still conversing at the base of the dais, turned as we approached. The young Bali Heir’s face brightened like a boy anticipating a sweet.
“These are the Finches? And one of them Bali!” He spoke with the same accent as the man I’d heard speaking with the Despoina, and in the same sonorous manner, like he wasn’t afraid of his words being heard.
“Yes,” Jaxas responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine. I saw caution written there and wondered at its source. “Shaka-Heir Charatta Yorandu Komo, please meet First Verifier Nomusa and First Verifier Airene.”
“Two Firsts?” the older Bali man standing next to them said. “That is unusual, is it not?”
“It is,” Jaxas acknowledged. “But our First Verifiers work well together, and the times call for unprecedented actions.”
“They do,” Komo agreed easily. “I am glad to meet both of you. Particularly one of my countryfolk.” He extended his hand to Nomusa, clearly seeking to give the usual Bali greeting.
Nomusa didn’t look down at his hand, but gave a short, stiff bow, little more than a nod. She said nothing.
As the young Heir’s brow knit in confusion, I rushed to say, “We’re glad to meet you as well, Shaka-Heir Komo. And which of your warriors do we have the pleasure of meeting?”
The older man laughed, though I noticed the exchange hadn’t escaped his attention. “A charming one, aren’t you? I am no warrior, First Verifier, but the Heir’s advisor. You may simply call me Nkosi. Long have I served his father, and so may I hope to serve him.”
But though Komo had lowered his arm, he hadn’t looked aside from Nomusa. “Why do you not greet me as tradition would bade?”
Dangerous waters, those — I tried to navigate the conversation away. “Nomusa has long since left her homeland, and I’m afraid she no longer practices—”
“Tradition.” Nomusa cut through my rushed words, and to my consternation, the other three focused on her. “What do you know of tradition?”
Komo stared at her in astonishment. “I am young, but I have been well tutored, First Verifier. Yet I do not think this is what you mean.”
Nkosi narrowed his eyes. “A Bali in Oedija, resentful of the Heir. I don’t have to think long to know which ishaka you fled.”
“Nor should you wonder at who is my family,” Nomusa shot back. “If you’ve served his father, their blood is on your hands as well.”
“Blood on his hands?” Komo sounded astonished. “Nkosi is an honorable and loyal—”
“Peace, Heir Komo,” the advisor interrupted him. His eyes did not leave Nomusa. “What she says is true. Her family’s blood does stain my hands, and I am not ashamed to say so.”
Hard lines deepened in Nomusa’s face as she stared at Komo’s advisor. I stood by, helpless to intervene. Jaxas was similarly silent, watching with hollowed eyes.
“Speak plainly,” Komo demanded of Nkosi. “Who is she?”
“Nomusa, as she said before. Eshalo Yorandu Nomusa.”
The Shaka-Heir’s eyes widened. “Eshalo,” he whispered, turning toward Nomusa. “But I was told all of your family had died.”
“No. Your father and I never conspired to deceive you, Komo. But we always knew the Eshalo scion lurked somewhere within the Four Realms.”
Komo bowed his head. “Truly, I am sorry,” he said with his gaze lowered. “Just because your family’s death was necessary does not mean I do not regret it.”
Jaxas looked as astonished at his words as I was. Nomusa’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Necessary, was it? You think to placate murder with words?” she sneered. “You think to rob me of my homeland and make up for it with apologies?” She turned her head aside, fists clenched and arms stiff at her sides.
Komo’s head shot up. “No! Of course not! I merely wished to—”
“Heir Komo,” Nkosi said, reprimand sharp in his voice. “We will speak of this later.” He turned his angry gaze on Jaxas. “You bring us here to negotiate an alliance, yet flaunt this rebel in our face. You play a dangerous game, Archon.”
“Nkosi,” Jaxas started, but the advisor had already turned away.
“Heir Komo, I suggest we retire for the evening to ponder our future relationship with Oedija.”
“As you wish,” the boy said, uncertainty plain still in his voice. As he turned after his advisor, he cast one last lingering look back at Nomusa. I almost pitied the boy for the pain plain in his expression.
“Both of you will come with me. Now.”
I turned toward Jaxas. Never had I seen anger on such open display from the Archon. “Of course.” I glanced at Nomusa.
She still looked aside, hands clenched in fists. When Jaxas began walking away, she finally spoke, her voice tight. “I will return to my quarters now.”
As Jaxas turned back to answer her, she stalked past him and out of the banquet hall. The Archon shook his head sharply and beckoned me to follow him out.
Amidst the stares and mounting murmurs around us, the Archon led me off the carpeted path and up the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief. As terrible as that had been to witness, it had been worse with all those people watching. I’d already gained notoriety from the Despoina’s trial. Finches could only operate effectively from the shadows, and the Order was gaining far too much light for my liking.
As we ascended the stairs and entered Jaxas’ solar, his ire grew almost palpable. Sealing the door and sharply dismissing Nikias, who had scrambled after us during our hasty exit, he stalked over to stand before the cold hearth, facing away from me. “Why,” he began in a low voice, “in the burning depths of the ‘Thae did you not tell me of this before?”
My cheeks burned. “It wasn’t relevant before.”
“And now?” He turned toward me, eyes catching the yellow light of the pyr lamps mounted along the walls. “Leia already walks a thin line. Her recent trial, her erratic behavior, rumors of Myron’s survival, to say nothing of both fronts that Oedija faces — all of these already conspire against this alliance with the Yorandu. And just when I believed we might be making progress, we’re thwarted yet again.”
I thought of the Bali man courting Asileia, and decided now wasn’t the best time to mention that additional wrinkle. “I’m sorry, Jaxas. Things have been moving fast.”
“And you’ve not kept up.” The hollowness of his face was made more prominent by the shadows. “You’ve not been the same since you woke, Airene. You haven’t been to see me, and I’ve heard little of your activities. I need the woman who brought the plans of the Manifest grinding to a halt. I need the Finch who convinced me to put the fate of our city in her hands. Can you be her once again?”
I let his words wash past me as I stared into one of the lamps. I wished I could tell him the truth. But all I had was the same tired excuse. “You must defend our nation,” I said, quiet but firm. “I seek to defend the Four Realms from the threat no one else acknowledges.”
His expression didn’t shift. “You think I don’t know the threat Vusu still poses?”
“Not Vusu. Famine.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. The Archon looked away first.
“Famine,” he repeated softly. “And what can we to do to stop a god?”
“I don’t know. But we must try.”
He straightened. “Be that as it may. I know I don’t have authority over you anymore. So I ask you as a friend. Please, Airene. Don’t forget about your city in your pyr hunt.”
Perhaps he didn’t mean to dismiss my quest, but I couldn’t think he truly understood if he put Oedija above dealing with Famine. All I could manage was a nod before I turned away.
As I put a hand on the door’s handle, Jaxas spoke again. “Tell Nomusa to stay away from Komo. Please.”
I only nodded again.
Escaping the palace, I didn’t hail a carriage, not knowing which one might bear me, but walked back down to the Aviary. Night had fallen while we’d taken part in the revelry, and though the wind off the sea was cold and wet, and clouds crowded out the lights of the radiant winds and the moons, there was still a peacefulness in the air that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Now that I couldn’t safely wander Oedija’s streets at night, only on Wreath and Conclave grounds could I find this solace.
But I couldn’t find peace tonight. Though it hadn’t been completely my fault, I still felt responsible for what had happened. Somehow, I had to repair it.
But even as I made the resolution, I felt it wilting before my greater purpose. No matter how Jaxas pleaded, no matter how much I felt I was making a ruin of my responsibilities, I had to stay true to my course. Famine was the enemy of all. No other concern could come before him.
As the cold wind bit through my thin dress and whipped my hair into my face, I wondered bitterly how many relationships and people would fall to my quest.
I returned to the Aviary, tore off my borrowed peplos, and unwound my hair, replacing them with tunic and trousers and a simple plait. The chill of the oncoming wet season permeated the room, so I pulled on a cloak as well and clung it tight around me as I sat on my bed. I was restless, far too restless to sleep, yet I didn’t know where to go. I was as good a prisoner here at night, and the chains of safety and comfort were tight about me.
I tried to relax with Eltris’ exercises once again, but found my thoughts drifting. Something nudged at the edge of my thoughts. It was the same feeling as if I’d forgotten something important, but couldn’t for the life of me remember it. I turned restlessly in my bed, trying to quiet my mind for sleep.
My eyes fluttered open, then went wide. The glow of pyrkin from the cracked pot had reminded me of something. The whisper finch. The pyrkin had looked like the glowing patch of feathers on its chest.
They will come for him the night he arrives. The whisper finch’s words came back to me now. In the intervening days, I’d neglected to puzzle them out, distracted by everything else that had occurred. Now, the knot began to unravel. He fears the knowledge he brings to Oedija. The events and players of the evening fresh in mind, the words suddenly took on new meaning.
What knowledge the Shaka-Heir brought to Oedija, and who feared it, I still didn’t know. But Komo was in danger, and I was the only one who knew.
I only prayed I wasn’t too late.
11
Rift
Clepsammia had known Agmon Brandheart would fight until his end. A knowing smile played on her lips, for she knew all that would come of them, and the destiny he would complete.
‘I can help you face Famine,’ said she. ‘You must find the one who may endanger him most and beseech her aid.’
‘How can any being, god or mortal, endanger one such as Famine?’
‘Because she completes him. Go find the goddess Harvest. And then you will have the only ally you need.’
- The Seeds of Famine, a translation from the Lighted-tongue; by Oracle Kalene of deme Hull; 881 SLP
I ran back toward the bridge through the pelting rain.
What I could do to stop anyone who sought to harm Komo, I had no idea. I still couldn’t channel. I could alert Komo’s guards or the laurel guards. But if it were Seeker wardens after him, neither would be enough to stop them.
But there was one person who could help.
I arrived back at the palace doors, gasping and dripping. The amused guards looked me up and down, but glimpsing my medallion, they allowed me to pass. They didn't even check me for a weapon. What they would have done if they’d found my knife strapped against my back, I didn’t know; but it didn’t bode well for them to be lax if assassins were after Komo. I caught my breath as I slowed to a walk, ruining the carpet with every sodden step. I’d look mad enough entering the feast hall dressed as I was — no need to be panting as well.
Reaching the feast hall, I entered within. Finely dressed patricians glanced at me, then looked away with offended expressions. I refrained from smoothing my frazzled hair and looked around. The Despoina no longer sat in her throne, perhaps having found a private moment with the Bali man. But it was Xaron, tucked away in a far corner with giggling girls, whom I sought.
My patience at its end, I wove my way to him, the task made easier by the rich and powerful stepping out of the way, as if afraid of the rainwater dripping from me. Reaching the corner, I pushed past the girls and grabbed my friend’s arm. “Come on. No time to lose.”
The bouquet he’d formed of fiery radiance burned away into nothing. “What?” he objected. “What do you mean?”
“You’re taking him again?” the same spoiled girl as before complained, then muttered, “Greedy hag.”
I ignored her and pulled Xaron through the crowd.
Once we were outside the doors, he pulled away. “What’s going on?” he demanded, bewildered.
“I’ll explain as we walk. Do you know where Komo’s quarters are?”
“No. Why would I?”
I sifted through our contacts. “Nikias. Have you seen him?”
“He followed you and Jaxas out after you made that scene with Komo.”
“Perhaps he’s in Jaxas’ solar,” I muttered. We didn’t have any better chance to find Komo, so I turned toward it. “Let’s go.”
“He’s not that way.”
I whirled toward the unfamiliar voice. An honor stood not six paces away. From her position near the open doors, she’d been just out of sight before. Xaron looked between us curiously, as if we might know each other. Perhaps it was the familiarity with which she’d spoken to us. Honors tended to be deferential and to wait until they were spoken to.
“You know where Nikias is?” I asked.
“Yes. But you wish to know where Shaka-Heir Komo resides. I can take you to him.”
Time was pressing; my questions for her would have to wait. I nodded. “As quickly as you can.”
The honor quickly led us up the grand staircase, then up a second staircase. Taking the hallway south, we entered the same wing of the Laurel Palace as the guest quarters located on the first floor.
I could already tell this wing of rooms was fit for kings and queens. The walls were lined with expensive, lavish paintings of notable people and events in Oedija’s history, and the floor was thick with golden carpets. The honor pointed at the most extravagant of the doors, which was inlaid with gold. It was also the only one with Bali soldiers outside it, dressed in a similar manner to their prince, though without all the feather and silk. Curved swords were belted at their waists. Though one was a woman, her only adjustment was an additional black wrapping around her breasts under the broad, bronze collar.
“The Shaka-Heir is within,” the honor said in a hushed voice, though Komo’s guards had already noticed us.
“Thank you,” I said, then began to brush past.
The honor’s voice arrested me. “Remember this, First Verifier. Remember that I helped in your time of need.”
It was my turn to look back, bewildered. But the honor only gave me a nod before turning and walking quickly away.
“What was going on with her?” I asked Xaron.
“No idea.”
No time to wonder. I drew in a breath and approached Komo’s
guards with as close to a smile as I could manage. “Evening. I need to see the Heir as soon as possible.”
The male guard, a veteran with a scar above one eye that partially closed it, looked me up and down. “I do not think you have the authority for that request. Who are you?”
Xaron broke in. “You should speak with a bit more respect, man. This is the First Verifier of Oedija.”
The man looked unfazed. “And you are the jester, no? Then perhaps this is why you tell me the First Verifier wishes to see the Shaka-na so soon after she and her companion offended him. To do so would seem a jest to me.”
I wondered if this was the First of Komo’s guard, as well-informed and confident as he appeared. But until I knew, I wasn’t sure I wished to confide what I suspected was coming. “I apologize for that, and will be glad to apologize to the Shaka-Heir myself. But my errand is urgent, and I must see him. Will you go to him?”
The guard looked me up and down, then spoke to his companion. “Go to the Shaka-na.”
The woman nodded and turned to knock at the door. A call from within admitted her, and she closed the door as she slipped inside.
The veteran guard stared at us as we waited. I couldn’t keep from shifting my feet. Xaron looked as if he might burst with questions, for I still hadn’t explained what was happening.
“You are as nervous as an asher,” Komo’s guard noted. “I would wonder but that you do not have the fingers.”
Surprise compelled me to look at him, but I could not tell if the man was joking or not, for his expression was as serious as before. “What is your name?” I asked him.
“Zolani.”
“Zolani. How long have you been serving Heir Komo?”
“All his life.” He pointed at his scar with a sudden grin. “And I will serve him the rest of his life, spirits willing.”
I wondered uncomfortably if he had gained that scar killing Nomusa’s family.
The door opened again, and the female guard stepped out. “Shaka-na Komo will see you now.”
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