“Oh? Then what was she?”
Tereka drew in a breath, her mind racing. What could she possibly say? There was no way she could even touch on the truth in a way that would defend Da. If Tirk had any idea of her real father, he could denounce them all. Of course, that might implicate Groa. But Juquila would come up with a way to protect her sister. If only the blacksmith would stop hammering, she could think.
Tirk curled his lip. “You see. You have nothing to say. Your mother was a trollop. Mam was right to toss you both out.”
“There might be more to the story than either you or I know.”
“I’m sure Da spun you quite a yarn. What did he say? That Mam was cold to him? Wouldn’t give him what every man wants?”
“No.” Tereka wrinkled her face. “I can’t believe you’d even talk about that. I can’t imagine him saying those things to me.”
“He put all the blame on Mam, I’m sure.”
“Tirk, you’re my, uh, we grew up together. Surely you remember how things were.”
“Da never being around?”
“He’s a trader, by all that keeps us safe.” Tereka was losing her patience with him.
“Not all traders are content to live without their wives.” The laughter of two vendors strolling past nearly drowned out his words.
“Maybe coming home and finding me beaten to a pulp had something to do with it.”
“Which happened years after you were born.” He sneered. “You are filth, just like Mam said.”
Something within Tereka snapped. After all the revelations she’d had in the past week, the vandalism of her home, and Kemet’s rejection, she couldn’t endure anymore. She felt like she was nine years old again, fighting with the brother who always insisted on being right. She took a swing at him. Her fist connected with his left eye.
Tirk let out a curse. He touched his eye, then stared at the blood on his fingers.
Her eyes wide, Tereka gawked at it as well. “I’m so sorry, Tirk. I don’t know what came over me… ” She took a step closer and and reached to touch his face. “Let me look at it.”
“Get away from me.” Tirk knocked her hand away. “We may have grown up together, but I was never your brother.” He strode off, leaving Tereka shaking her bruised hand. Tirk had no idea that his words were true.
Tereka made her way home in the fading light. What a fool she was. Hitting Tirk was one of the most idiotic things she’d ever done in her life. Surely he would run back to Juquila with the story of her unsafe instability. And most of all, she’d ruined what they had left of a relationship.
To get her mind off her mistakes, she idly watched the people in the street, walking home from the market or to an inn. An old married couple holding hands. A young couple arguing about day-old bread. A few boys racing a dog. Everyone had someone. Even the hounds fighting over scraps behind the butcher’s stall.
An emptiness grew inside her, a place that used to hold the boy she’d grown up, fought with, and loved. He seemed lost to her, adrift on the lies Juquila and Groa had filled his mind with. There didn’t seem to be any way to change his opinion of her. She was sure her aunt would do all she could to keep them apart. It would take a miracle, or magic. Perhaps her amulets had some power that could be used to change Tirk’s mind. She snorted. That was hardly likely.
But. She tapped a finger against her lips. The Riskers and Da believed they held power. She pulled her eyebrows together. It couldn’t be this sky-god the Riskers talked about. That couldn’t be real. Something else had to power the amulets. Some kind of force, maybe. If she could figure it out, she could use them.
Could the amulets be used to give injury, and not take it away? She shook her head. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, no matter how much they’d wounded her. Maybe she could use the amulets to gain favor with Juquila? Or become the most successful trader around?
Tereka stifled the memory of Osip’s solemn face when he spoke of people who misused the amulets. That had to be some leftover superstition. Or just a warning so people wouldn’t hurt others with the power. Surely that was what he meant, but she wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’d figure out the power of the amulets and use them to become admired and successful. Then Tirk would beg for forgiveness. And maybe Kemet would want her again.
33
Forcing her spine straight, Tereka strode into the questor’s courtroom two days later. The night before she had received a summons to appear, delivered by a breathless clerk who wouldn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t imagine what this was about. Had Hina decided to press formal charges? Perhaps it was just some petty dispute over pricing. She took a shuddering breath. Or did this have to do with the Riskers?
She tugged the hair on the back of her head. Part of her wished Da were there. He would have wise counsel for her. Another part was glad he’d left on a trade run the day before. She wasn’t ready to tell him about the way she’d hit Tirk. She’d caused enough trouble already. Better to handle this on her own.
The courtroom benches were half full of people, most wearing the villagers’ gray clothing, a few in the brown that marked traders. Yavaros, the questor, already sat at the judges’ table, the silver chain that marked his office draped around his shoulders. Three sets of scales sat on the long wood table, one before each seat. A large map of Tlefas hung on the wall behind him, along with a portrait of the current Prime Konamei, Ultark III. Tereka gazed into Ultark’s face. Gray eyes like winter skies, tight jaw, pinched nose. Not the visage of a man who seeks safety and fairness for all.
Kaberco stalked into the courtroom, scowling. The gold chain over his shoulders clinked as he strode forward. Tereka wrinkled her brow. As far as she knew, he usually didn’t sit in court. Unless one of the cases was unusual or complicated.
The ephor moved to the right-hand seat. Three judges heard each case. The other spots were typically filled by Yavaros’ panel of judges, or at times, the other konameis. Idly, Tereka wondered who the third judge would be.
When Juquila entered the courtroom, Tereka held her face still, suppressing the urge to grimace. She should have known. She watched her aunt take the seat to Yavaros’ left—the third judge’s seat—her turban-clad head held high, the bronze chain of the syndic looped over her shoulders. Her presence meant nothing good for Tereka.
Hemmed in by people on either side, Tereka shifted in her seat. Her scalp prickled. She crossed her legs, ignoring the muttered complaint of the woman to her right. No. Calm down. This is just a coincidence. She’s here for someone more important.
Yavaros turned to Kaberco. “Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for Kaberco to answer. “Court is in session. First case.”
The questor’s clerk, a young woman of about eighteen, shuffled the documents on the table in front of her. With a start, Tereka recognized her as Juquila’s oldest daughter, one of the cousins she’d never been allowed to meet. She ignored the sting of being left out. It didn’t matter. She had plenty of Risker cousins to make up for Juquila’s malice.
The clerk picked up the top document and read from it. “The first case is Chita Panjin.” She handed the paper to Yavaros.
Yavaros repeated the name. “Chita Panjin. Are you present?”
Tereka mused as Yavaros worked his way through the cases. Most of them were trivial crimes that merited only a fine or a day or so of labor. She wondered what brought Kaberco there. Was it for the same case that interested Juquila? Her aunt didn’t pay particular attention to any of the proceedings, just offered her judgment when called upon.
When the time came for the seventh case, the clerk called out, “Tereka Sabidur.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her hands dampened. She stood, and for a heartbeat, she wasn’t able to take a step. Clenching her jaw, she raised her chin and strode to stand in front of the judges.
“It says here you assaulted one of the syndic’s clerks two days ago.” Yavaros glanced at the paper in his hands. “On Trydad of this week. A Tirk Sabidur.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Any relation?”
“Yes, if you please.” Tereka swallowed to fight the dryness in her mouth. “He’s my brother. My twin.”
She peered out of the corner of her eye. Juquila gazed intently at her. She shivered under her aunt’s frosty stare.
Yavaros addressed the spectators. “Where is Tirk Sabidur?”
Tirk rose and walked forward. He stood a few feet from Tereka. “Here, if you please.”
“I see your sister is a trader. Is your father also one?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Trading in Attu and Pir Bakran,” Tereka answered.
The questor studied Tirk’s face. “How did you get that black eye?”
“My sister gave it to me. In a completely unprovoked attack. I was simply trying to help her.” Tirk had started with a whine and ended full of self-importance. Tereka clamped her teeth together. She willed herself to not react.
“How were you trying to help her?” Yavaros asked.
“She’d been falsifying bills of lading for months. I figured it out and confronted her. I told her to turn herself in and pay the fines. If she didn’t, I’d have to report her.”
Tereka gasped and whirled to face Tirk. “I did no such thing.”
“That’s right.” Tirk crossed his arms. “You refused to stop giving false documents to the syndic.”
Her rage building, Tereka’s face and neck burned. She pressed her fists against her legs.
Yavaros frowned. “Do you have evidence of these false documents?”
“Yes.” Tirk reached into the bag he carried and handed a stack of papers to Yavaros. “If you please, you can see these are a summary of the bills of lading Tereka submitted. These are the cross-checks to the vendor’s receipts our clerks made.”
Kaberco leaned toward the questor and surveyed the documents. He narrowed his eyes, frowned, and nodded.
Tereka bit her lip. What was he thinking?
The questor inspected Tereka’s face. “What do you have to say?”
She met his gaze. “This is a pack of lies. If you please. I didn’t falsify any records. Tirk and I argued about a personal family problem.”
“Is that true?” Yavaros asked Tirk, tapping his fingers on the table.
“She said insulting things about my mother,” Tirk said.
“If you please.” Juquila stared down her nose at Yavaros. “I don’t think we need to delve into those distractions. The real issue is what to do with someone who has stolen city revenues for months.”
“But I didn’t— ” Tereka said.
“I was speaking.” Juquila’s voice was as sharp as a warboar’s tusk and cold as a mountain peak in midwinter.
As Tereka hunched into herself and hung her head, Juquila spoke about the need to be able to trust traders, and how, in many ways, Tereka was untrustworthy. “Not only does she cheat, proving she has no regard for fairness, she also refuses to leave her weapons at home, insisting on getting in the guardsmen’s way in the extremely rare event of a bandit attack. That demonstrates a selfish contempt for safety.”
“I’m not the only one who tries to defend the caravans,” Tereka said.
Kaberco leaned forward. “You understand, we need everyone’s cooperation to build our safe, fair, and prosperous society.”
Tereka rubbed a hand over the back of her head and tugged on her hair. Was it fair for traders to rely on corruptible, cowardly guards for protection? Fair for the rules to favor the guards over the traders? She narrowed her eyes and looked straight at Kaberco. “Safe and fair for whom?”
The ephor started as if he’d been stung by a wasp. His normally ruddy face turned pale and he stared at Tereka as if he’d never seen her before. A heartbeat later, he pulled his features into a stony, expressionless mask. She gazed at him, wondering what she’d said that startled him so much.
Yavaros leaned forward. “What do you say to the charges?”
“I’m innocent of the violation against safety, if you please,” Tereka replied. “On the few occasions that it was necessary during bandit attacks to defend myself or another, I didn’t get in the guardsmen’s way. I do nothing different than most other traders. I have a bit more to lose if I’m captured, you know.” She paused to gaze into Kaberco’s eyes. He stared at her as if trying to delve into her deepest secrets.
She took a breath and tipped her chin up. “As far as the offense against fairness, I completely deny the charges and request an investigation and a chance to produce my own documents. If you please.”
“Judges, I’ve heard enough. It’s time for a verdict.” Yavaros picked up one of the chips in front of him. “My vote is innocent, pending further investigation.” He paused. “This is a first offense, and the charge is serious. I have questions that must be answered before proceeding.” He laid the chip on the left side of the scale in front of him and turned to Juquila.
At least one of these konameis took justice seriously, Tereka thought. Could it be that she would find fairness despite her aunt?
Juquila placed a chip on the right side of her scale. “Guilty.”
No surprise there.
Yavaros eyed the ephor. “Kaberco?”
Keeping his face neutral, Kaberco met Yavaros’ glance. He picked up a chip and placed it on the right side of the scale. “Guilty.”
Tereka gasped, as did many in the courtroom. Her feet and hands turned icy cold.
“Sentencing recommendations?” Yavaros drummed his fingers on the table. “Suspension of trading license, pending further investigation.”
Juquila spoke quickly. “Taking.”
The word elicited another gasp from Tereka. The icy chill in her hands and feet spread past her elbows and her knees. The muttering in the courtroom intensified. Kaberco stared at his scale. Tereka’s heart pounded, the blood whooshing in her ears. “Taking.”
Her jaw dropped and her knees wobbled. How could Kaberco do this? He must have been bribed by Juquila. She glared at him as a guardsman grabbed her arm and hustled her out of the courtroom.
34
Kaberco stared at Tereka’s back as the guardsman pulled her from the courtroom. What had he just done?
But when she had tugged on her hair and posed the question “Safe and fair for whom?” he had the sense of being thrown back in time. He had a flash of memory, of interrogating Iskra in the jail in Gishin, when she used the same gesture and spit the same question at him.
He sucked in a breath. No. It was impossible. Iskra was long gone, her Risker husband dead. She’d claimed the baby had died as well. Had Tereka’s eyes been gray instead of a vivid blue, they’d be Iskra’s. But those eyes met his with a confidence Iskra never had. The Risker he’d caught with Iskra had that same confidence. What did that boy look like? He scoured his memory. Dark hair, maybe. Golden-tan skin. Like Tereka.
His head pounded. Did the baby die as Iskra claimed? Kaberco had never seen the body. And Tarkio Sabidur. He was the one who took Iskra to the Riskers in the first place. If the baby had survived, Tarkio would have been the most likely person to save it.
But what about the brother? They didn’t look anything alike but that wasn’t unusual, especially when the twins were of different sexes. If Tereka wasn’t his sister, would Tirk have known about it? Or had Tarkio and his wife kept it a secret all these years?
Kaberco flicked his eyes to the latest accused making her case. Something about selling candles with crooked wicks. He stared at her hands as she talked, his mind on the charges Tirk had made against Tereka. From what he had seen reading over Yavaros’ shoulder, the columns of figures were damning evidence. A clever fraud, just fudging the numbers so that the difference wouldn’t be noticed. But over time, it added up to a substantial sum.
Unless he read Tereka completely wrong, Tirk’s accusations were a surprise to her. Which meant Juquila was involved. Why was she going after her niece? Did she know about the girl’s parentage? Or did she have some other plot in motion?
&nb
sp; The questor’s clerk stood, handing a sheaf of documents to Yavaros. With a start, Kaberco realized the clerk was Juquila’s oldest daughter. He pursed his lips. So Juquila has one child working for the questor, one for the ludi, and a third busily working his way up through the ranks of the guardsmen. Along with a nephew working for herself. This bore thinking about.
He was sure Tereka’s case was the reason Yavaros had insisted he come that day. Usually, Kaberco was content to allow the questor to handle the proceedings. But he did like to put in an occasional appearance, partly to keep an eye on Yavaros to make sure he was following the proper protocols, but mostly to publicly assert his dominance over his second on the town Konament.
So, Yavaros knew Juquila was up to something and wanted to stop her. But Kaberco couldn’t help him. He tried and failed to take a deep breath. He hadn’t wanted to sentence an innocent girl, but he couldn’t take the chance that Iskra’s mixed-blood child had somehow survived. Kaberco had sworn to the Prime Konamei that the baby had died. It was then he’d been given his post as ephor of Gishin, paving the way for his eventual elevation to his current role. If even a whisper of a hint got out that the offspring of that mixed marriage lived, it would be the end of him. The Prime Konamei would have him taken.
The bile rose in his throat. He gulped to suppress it. The longer Tereka had stood with her chin held high, the more she reminded him of Iskra in those last weeks before she’d fled, when she’d somehow found the courage to defy all the rules. If it were anyone else, he’d have voted to acquit. But if there was any chance at all Tereka was the Risker’s daughter, he couldn’t jeopardize himself.
His stomach lurched the same way it had years ago when Iskra had stared him down, the tears for her murdered Risker husband forming dirty tracks on her face, speechless and enraged by Kaberco’s betrayal. He shuddered, remembering the coarse cruelty of the man they’d chosen for her as he handed her over. Acid shame burned his throat and made his insides writhe, imagining what Iskra must have suffered during the four days she was at Udbash’s mercy.
Flicker of the Flame: A YA Epic Fantasy Page 19