by Rachel Ford
Alas, social obligations called. Maggie threw her clothes back on. And carefully, giggling like teenagers the whole time, we opened the door a hair and snuck a peek to make sure no one was around. “It’s all clear,” I said.
“If anyone sees me, they’re going to know I wasn’t in my room,” she said.
“You mean, because you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes?” She nodded, and I grinned evilly. “Don’t worry. As long as they don’t see you leave, they’ll just assume you’re heading back from your fiancé’s room.”
She giggled again. “God only knows what taboos we’d be breaking there.”
“I’m sure it’s not a problem. Kudarians are encouraged to move in together, remember?”
She whacked my arm playfully. “Not under their parents’ roof.”
I grinned, kissing her. “You better get out of here, Magdalene. Or I’m not sure I’ll be able to let you go. And think of how we’d explain that one.”
We checked again. “Coast’s clear.”
“Bye babe,” she said, slipping out the door.
“Bye Mags.” I watched her get to her room, and then shut my own door. I was smiling stupidly to myself as I got ready, and every time my eye would catch the little band on my finger, I’d smile that much wider. Magdalene Landon wants to marry me. The idea was almost unreal to me, it was so beautiful. God, I love that woman.
I was out soon enough, and she was waiting for me. She threw a furtive glance up and down the hall, and kissed me quickly. “Hey again.”
“Hey again,” I smiled. “What if someone sees us heading down together?”
She shrugged. “We’re friends. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s the chance, you think, of us pulling off a sick day, and heading back to our rooms?”
“Knowing these people, they’d probably be worried sick and have a doctor here stat. And the whole gig would be up.”
“Too bad.”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes it is.”
Family breakfasts were a much more casual affair than dinners in the Inkaya household. We gathered not in the dining room, but in one of – apparently – several breakfast rooms. This one was called ‘the green breakfast room.’ It held our party very well, with a few spaces to spare but not so many as to feel lonely.
Kudarians were a people who loved meats, and breakfast was a meal particularly heavy with proteins. There were no sweet or savory soups, as with dinner; there were few breads and rolls. We were served rounds of eggs – poached, braised, and baked, some seasoned heavily, others barely seasoned at all – interspersed with cold and hot meats. This was by design, Frank had explained, as the morning meal was meant to prepare one for the day ahead, and protein was the best start to any day.
It was all good food, and he wasn’t wrong about protein. Still, I found myself craving a piece of toast more than anything that was laid out in front of me.
“Kay,” F’vir said, settling into a chair beside me. He was late to breakfast, and I’d begun to hope he might miss it altogether. Alas, no. “Did you have a chance to ask your friend about your schedule?”
“Oh, yes. She still has to sort it out with Frank. He’s got some ideas, I guess.”
He frowned. “Ah.”
“So tell me about your family, F’vir,” I said quickly. I wanted to preempt any more of these questions, and knowing what I knew of this young man, giving him the go-ahead to talk about himself seemed like a safe bet. “How do your folks fit into House Inkaya again?”
His eyes lit up, and he nodded. “It’s a great story, actually.”
Of course it is.
“I’m actually related twice, or will be soon enough. Once on my mother’s side, and the other on my betrothed’s side.”
“Wait,” I said, “you’ve got a fiancée?”
He nodded. “Yeah, K’ri arn inkaya. Didn’t I mention her?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Oh, yeah. We’ve been betrothed…let’s see. Since the winter before last.”
“Great.” I’d never met K’ri, but I couldn’t help but pity the woman. F’vir’s creepy behavior was, somehow, that much worse in my mind knowing he was engaged. “How’d you guys meet?”
“Oh, we met at our betrothal. She’s only a fifth cousin.” He shrugged. “Still an Inkaya, of course, but not one of the inner circle. Not yet.”
I really felt sorry for her, hearing that. “I see.”
“So, my great-great-great grandfather, on my mother’s side, was from House Ubari. You probably don’t know this, but once upon a time, the Ubaris and we didn’t get along.”
I listened to him drone on, recounting details about these long-dead ancestors with a degree of certainty I couldn’t muster for half of my living aunts and uncles. I learned that great-great-great Grandpa L’kan ark inkaya was allergic to shellfish, and almost died at his own wedding feast. “There was,” he confided, “a rumor that B’lya – the matron of House Inkaya at that time – deliberately instructed the chef to put clams in the chowder to kill him, because she didn’t approve of the match. It was nothing but pernicious lies, though. She didn’t approve of the match, but no Inkaya would murder someone. Not even an Ubari. No, those rumors came from the Ubaris, no doubt about it.” He shook his head. “They were – still are – envious of our House.”
I learned that L’kan’s son L’tarn married a woman with an extremely small pelvis. “Every child,” F’vir nodded confidently, “had to be delivered via surgery. Which meant the priests had to perform the j’karth – a birthing ritual, to simulate the passing of the child through the birth canal, to summon the soul from the spirit realm to enter our world. Otherwise, they would have been j’shal: spiritless. Like…” He frowned in thought. “Zombies, I think, in your language.”
I learned that F’vir’s grandfather enjoyed sweets a little too much. “When he died,” he laughed, “the doctors found twenty-two cavities. Twenty-two!”
I was rethinking the wisdom of this tactic when the doors to the breakfast room opened, and a liveried servant bowed. “Forgive me, Mistress: but Kor ark nikya is here, with urgent news.”
R’ia’s eyebrow twitched, but she spoke in an unaffected tone. “Show him in, then.”
The young man I’d seen two nights ago entered, but he looked nothing like I remembered him. Gone was the easy, casual demeanor he’d left with, the quiet grin and twinkling eyes. His skin was sallow, his eyes sunken, with dark ruts under them.
I wasn’t the only one to notice it. R’ia’s attitude changed from cautious to solicitous. “Kor,” she said, “is everything alright?”
He bowed quickly. “Thank you for receiving me, R’ia arn inkaya. I…I come with terrible news. My mother, Nefi arn nikya: she’s dead.”
“My gods,” Dre breathed.
“Oh Kor,” she said. “I’m so terribly sorry. What happened?”
He shook his head. “They’re not entirely sure. Father was awake early – he always rises early – but when she didn’t come down for breakfast yesterday morning, he went back to their room…” His voice caught. “She wasn’t breathing.”
“Oh Kor,” R’ia had rounded the table, and was leading the young man to a chair, shouting orders as she went. “Bring tea,” and “Have them send up some of those cakes Mia sent.”
Kor sat as he was bid. “They were able to resuscitate her, but she never woke up. And…and she passed away, last night. In the hospital. They think it was a cardiac episode.”
“I’m so terribly sorry,” R’ia said. “What can we do to help?”
“Actually,” he answered, “that’s why I’m here. Her last meal was here…not right here, but in your house.”
“Ah.” The Kudarian matron’s eyes flashed with understanding. I had no idea what the significance of this was, but she clearly took his meaning.
“My father asks – he would have come himself, if he could have; but he’s not up to seeing people. Not yet. He entreats that our priest may be able to p
erform the Rite of the Final Meal in your home.”
“Of course.” R’ia rested a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, Kor. Anything your family needs: we are at your disposal.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Rite of the Final Meal was one of about two dozen death ceremonies performed when a Kudarian died. “The communal consumption of food is very important to our people,” F’vir explained. “So it is important to mark the last meal, that it is a blessing to those who took it with the deceased.” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t want to taint the memory with the sadness of death.”
From his description, I gathered that there were rites to commemorate just about every aspect of Kudarian life. This one, it seemed, would take two days. “No one but the priest will be allowed in the dining room. He’ll burn incense, and pray. And then he’ll shutter the room, so that Nefi may revisit the place where she last broke bread with her friends and family undisturbed. It will remain sealed for two days. Then the priest will come back, and say more prayers.” He shrugged again. “They’re very long. It’s a list of all the reasons that the deceased – Nefi – should move on from this plane, to the next life. Then, when he is satisfied that she’s gone, the room will be opened again.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how much of the ritual was intended to be symbolic, and how much was meant to be interpreted literally. But now was certainly not the time to ask.
On the contrary, we took turns offering Kor our sorrow for his loss. “Thank you, Katherine,” he told me after I’d shared a few words of sympathy. “I appreciate it. Truly, I do.”
He didn’t stay long, once he fulfilled his commission. “With your leave, the priest will be here as soon as he is ready.”
“Of course. We are at his convenience.”
Kor thanked R’ia and Dre again, and took his leave. A quiet settled on our meal after that. “Forgive me, mother,” F’riya said in a minute, “but I’m not very hungry.”
“Nor I,” F’rok agreed.
One by one, we made our excuses and left the table. Frank took Maggie and I aside. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cancel our plan to see the other provinces today.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“They’ll need me and the captain to be here when the priest arrives.”
“Me?” Maggie asked, an eyebrow raising. “Why me?”
“You’re going to be my mate, remember?” he said wryly. “As heir apparent, it’s an obligation I can’t shirk.”
“And as your future wife,” she finished, “I can’t shirk it either.”
“Exactly. I’m sorry, Magdalene.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine, Frank. It was my idea anyway. And it’s not like we could have predicted a woman dying.”
“No,” he said.
“I wonder what happened to her,” I mused. “She looked fine the other night. Pissed, but healthy as a horse.”
Frank blinked at the turn of phrase. “Healthy as a…horse?”
“It’s just a saying. Meaning, very healthy.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t believe she just died like that. I mean, we were eating dinner and talking and everything the night before. She didn’t look sick.”
Frank’s brow creased, and he nodded.
“You don’t always see it coming,” Maggie said. “Especially when it’s something like the heart. At least she was at home, in her own bed.”
“I hope…well, I hope the betrothal didn’t have anything to do with it.”
I glanced from Mags to Frank now. His frown had deepened, and a hint of regret toyed with his features. “Hey,” I said, “don’t think like that. You didn’t know she was not doing well, F’er.”
“And you didn’t do anything wrong,” Maggie put in. “No one has the right to marry you off, Frank. It’s your life. You’ve got every right to decide who and when you’ll marry. If her heart was that bad, well, anything could have set it off. It could as easily have been the myestick pudding as worry.”
I put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry she’s dead. I really am. But that was not your fault.”
He nodded slowly, and though a hint of worry lingered in his eyes, the frown eased. “I know. Thanks Kay. Thanks Captain. I just…I wish this whole damned business was avoidable.”
“I know,” Maggie said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But come on. If the priest is going to be here soon, you’ve got to fill me in on what’s expected.”
High Priest Akura arrived within the hour. A look and a sniff in my direction sufficed as far as anything resembling communication. He was only just more civil to Maggie. The Inkayas he greeted with a little more warmth, but it was tinged with disappointment.
“Well,” he said after a few minutes, “let me begin. We’ve lost a fine Kudarian, and her last hours were disappointed ones.” Here, he cast a cold glance in Frank’s direction. “The least we can do is ensure that her passage to the next world is easy.”
“Of course, High Priest. Let us know if there is anything you need from us,” Dre nodded.
“You’re very courteous. But I believe your family has done enough.” He smiled gently, as if to lessen the barb in his words; but he let it linger between him and the Inkaya patriarch for a moment before finishing, “Now, I must try to reach her.”
R’ia and Dre watched with set jaws as Akura retreated to the dining room. Then, politely but as cool as ice, they took their leave too. “Let us know, F’er, if Akura needs anything. Otherwise, we’ll be in my study,” his father told him.
“Well,” F’riya said in low tones, “that was really uncalled for.”
We were standing at the far end of the room, maintaining a respectful distance while the House leaders conducted the grim business of the day. “What?” I said, starting a little at the unexpected sound of her voice.
“Akura. What he said about Nefi.”
I nodded. “Can’t say the man’s a favorite of mine,” I acknowledged.
She smiled. “I think your talents are wasted in engineering, Kay.” In response to my confused expression, she shrugged. “You’re an excellent diplomat.”
Now, I laughed softly, but didn’t belabor the point. Whatever her thoughts on the high priest – and whatever mine – he was still a well-respected member of her church and local community. Since I had nothing good to say about the man, it seemed better to say nothing at all. “So now what? Now that he’s in there, I mean.”
She shook her head. “Now, we wait. He’ll pray for as long as he feels is necessary.”
We grimaced at about the same time. “I’m sure, given the circumstances, that’ll be a long time.”
“I would wager credits on it,” she agreed.
“So we just wait until he’s done?”
“Yup.”
“Great.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’m sure you could leave, if you liked. You’re a guest, and a human: there’s not much expectation that you stick around. But Maggie and Frank will have to stay.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve nowhere to go, really.”
“Well,” she shrugged. “you want to see if they’re up for a hand of chips?”
“Chips?”
“It’s a game. Like your dominoes, or cards.”
“Ah.” I considered, then nodded. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind teaching me how to play.”
“Not at all. But, I should warn you, F’er cheats.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I don’t believe this,” Frank sighed. “Even you, Kay?”
I crossed my arms. “Especially me.”
“And you, Magdalene? My wife-to-be? My beloved?”
“Quit stalling. Show us the damned chips, Frank,” she said.
“So much for true love.” He grinned, flipping the circular tiles, one-by-one. We watched carefully, counting the faces. Then, as of one volition, we hissed at him. There on the table was the very chip he’d said, three turns earlier, he didn’t have: the three-h
eaded water sprite. “Well, well, would you look at that? I wonder how I missed it.”
Groans and aggravated murmurings sounded all around. “I told you he was a cheater,” F’riya sighed.
“F’er forfeits the hand,” F’rok decided.
“Agreed.”
“You’re damned right.”
Frank, though, gaped at all of us. “Forfeit? Come on. I was winning.”
“Yeah – by cheating,” his sister reminded him.
“That wasn’t cheating. I missed it. It was just an honest mistake.”
“My ass,” Maggie snorted.
“And I was winning the hand before that one slipup.”
“How do we know?” his brother put in. “Just because we didn’t catch you doesn’t mean you haven’t been cheating. Hell, you could have been cheating all afternoon.”
It was now that the doors to the sitting room opened. We’d waited here dutifully since morning, learning and playing variations of chips for the past five or six hours. It had been so long since we’d seen him that I almost didn’t dare to hope it might be Akura.
But it was, and the high priest glanced us over slowly, his eyebrow creeping further up his forehead as he took in our occupation. “Well,” he said at length, “I see you have not allowed the gravity of the moment to interfere with your pleasures.” He stared at Frank. “How very human of you, F’er.”
He looked, now, around the room. “Where are your parents?”
Frank rose, his cheeks coloring a little. “As the eldest of my House, and in my mother’s absence, you may speak to me, High Priest.”
Akura glanced him once over, then shook his head. “Very well. You may inform your parents that the first phase of the rite is completed.”
“I will do so.”
“Good. Remember: no one is allowed in or out of the room at any time. We do not want to expose her to anything that might anchor her to this place.” His eyebrow arched. “Not that, I think, we’re in much danger of that. Her time here was not spent pleasantly I fear. Still, she is restless. It was a long and difficult ritual. Her spirit is not easy about leaving – not with so much unfinished. So we must do nothing to make it more difficult.”