The girl gulped noisily, clearly nervous, but stuttered out her story anyway.
Naranpa only half-listened. She knew she should be paying attention, but really, if the woman had died in her sleep, what was the point? The city would mourn, and she, as Sun Priest, would have to lead that mourning. The funeral alone would require days to prepare, and a star chart for the dead to be divined, but Haisan would find the right songs to sing in eulogy, and Eche, her protégé, who apparently wanted so badly to lead, well, she would have plenty of work for him, too.
The girl wound down with a breathy sob, and Abah, nodding compassionately, hugged her before walking her to the door.
Once Abah was back, she asked, “What do we do?” She wrung her hands, looking genuinely distraught.
“We prepare a funeral,” Naranpa said.
“But the Shuttering—” Haisan started.
“Oh, fuck the Shuttering,” Iktan countered, clearly exasperated. “Mortify yourself for the dead woman, mortify yourself for the sun. What’s the difference?”
“You speak blasphemy!” Haisan exclaimed.
“Yes, I do. And what will you do about it?”
“Enough!” Naranpa shouted. “Both of you.” She took a deep breath. “We need to work together.” She looked around the loose circle they had formed, and when no one countered her, she continued, “We will have a state funeral in four days, as is proper. Exceptions to the rules that govern the priesthood during Shuttering will just have to be made.”
“And what of the governance of Carrion Crow?” Abah asked quietly. “Who will keep them from rioting?”
“Does she not have a daughter?” Iktan asked.
“A son and a daughter,” Haisan agreed. “The daughter here in the Great House in Odo and the son, as I understand it, three years in Hokaia training to become her Shield.”
“At the war college?” Naranpa asked, curious. “Is he a beast rider, too?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
A man of war, then, although it had been a misnomer for the past hundred years to call the school at Hokaia a war college. It still taught strategy and hand-to-hand combat, but it had not trained the continent’s young to be generals of armies for a century. Under the Hokaia Treaty, the Sky Made were meant to send a limited number of their scions to train at the war college in the ways of warfare, but it was considered mostly ceremonial since the clans had not gone to war since the Treaty was signed more than three hundred years ago. The scions who went used their training to become armed escorts and bodyguards, those they called Shield, to the powerful matrons in their respective clans. Protectors more than soldiers, but still considered formidable.
“You will have to anoint the daughter, Nara,” Iktan said. “We can arrange the ceremony to happen after the funeral.”
“An inauspicious time,” Haisan complained. “Your disregard for tradition is already controversial, Naranpa. To hold an investiture for a new matron days before the solstice while we are still Shuttered will not be popular.”
She rubbed a hand over her forehead. Investing any new matron was one of the oldest duties of the Sun Priest. “What would you have me do?”
“Wait until after the solstice,” Haisan urged.
“And leave the seat of matron empty?” Abah protested. “Carrion Crow without a ruler? The Speakers Council without its required four?”
“Only for a brief time.”
“Twenty days,” Abah countered. “Enough time for certain factions to gain traction while the Speakers Council is hobbled.”
“Nineteen,” Iktan corrected unhelpfully. “The sun will rise soon.”
“Even if I waited to anoint the new matron,” Naranpa said, “we cannot assume it would be her daughter. The surviving council members will want their say.”
“And the heavens will have to bless her,” Haisan said.
“We can make the heavens bless whomever we want,” Iktan said.
Haisan drew in a choked breath. “Enough with your heresy, tsiyo! Stop this talk, or leave!”
“I will say who leaves,” Naranpa growled, “and neither one of you is so lucky. But truly, Iktan, stop provoking him.”
“I am simply advocating for the priesthood to take a more direct manner in deciding rulership of the city. Isn’t that what you have been asking for, Nara? A more hands-on approach?”
“Not like that. Our opinions do not matter. We interpret the stars—”
“With our opinions. It is the same.”
“It is not.”
“And what if the Speakers Council suggests someone else besides the daughter to rule, hmm? What then? Will you look to your star charts and challenge them?”
That brought her up short. She was already on very thin ice with the traditionalists. Would she dare cross them so openly? She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came to mind.
“Iktan’s example is a sophistication,” Haisan said dismissively. “The Council would never raise someone whom Carrion Crow did not approve of. Why would they?”
“But what if they did?” Iktan argued.
“They won’t!”
The two bickered on, Iktan in an unusually combative mood and Haisan taking all the bait offered.
Naranpa rubbed her thumb and pointer finger along her temples and looked up at the night sky. Already the eastern horizon was starting to pale, just as Iktan had said. She would need to meet with the surviving matrons of the clans to inform them of funeral obligations. She would also propose Iktan’s idea of letting Yatliza’s daughter succeed her mother immediately. That did indeed seem the most reasonable solution. And, after the Shuttering and the solstice, when the sun was returning and the timing more favorable, if the Speakers Council wanted someone else to rule Carrion Crow, they could all discuss it.
“Haisan,” she said, cutting off whatever the man had been saying, “can you work with Eche to start funeral preparations? Which songs to sing in eulogy? The order of the ceremony?”
He blinked, surprised at her command. “I can.”
“Good. I’m going to call for a Speakers Council meeting.”
“At Sun Rock?” Iktan asked.
It was the usual place, but returning to the location of her attempted murder so soon did not tempt. And now she had the perfect excuse.
“No, let them come here. We are Shuttered, after all. They aren’t. They can come to us this time.”
“I’ll attend with you,” Abah offered.
“No.” Naranpa had already anticipated her request and had a serviceable answer for that, too. “The citizens of Tova will need your healing after such a trying day. I want you and your dedicants to be available at Sun Rock to receive them.”
“What?” Her eyes were laughably wide in shock.
“You heard me. Go minister, Abah. To the masses. Soothe our city in its time of need.”
She crossed her arms like a tantrumming child. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Naranpa raised an eyebrow. “Is it ridiculous to care for our people? Were you not just saying that someone needed to comfort Carrion Crow?”
Abah opened her mouth to protest and closed it shut just as quickly. Naranpa suppressed a smile.
“Fine,” the Priest of Succor snapped.
“I’ll come with you to meet the clan matrons,” Iktan said.
Naranpa shook her head. “No.”
Speaking the word hurt. She wanted Iktan to accompany her. Xe would be a comfort at her side, and bringing a tsiyo would certainly remind the clans that the Sun Priest was more than a figurehead. She was convinced that the assassin had come from the ranks of Carrion Crow’s cultists, but she wasn’t ready to accuse anyone outright, particularly with their matron newly dead. Their meeting should be focused on the funeral and succession, not the attempt against her life. Nevertheless, perhaps she could manage to discuss both.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she being stubborn for no reason? She trusted Iktan. Of course she did. But she didn’t want to appear to depend on xir
so much. She needed to do this by herself, perhaps to prove to herself that she could.
“I will handle the matrons alone.” She looked at the others. “You know your tasks. Let them be done.”
* * *
Iktan caught up to her as she was approaching her rooms. One moment she was alone, the next xe was there.
“That was well done.”
“I wondered when you would show up,” she said, not slowing her pace. “I’m surprised you let me walk this far unaccompanied.”
“You were not unaccompanied. I had one of my tsiyos watching you.”
She had been joking. The truth both pleased and angered her. She wasn’t ungrateful. But if she wasn’t safe in her own home…
“But you still cannot trust Abah.”
“I admit I am surprised she agreed to minister to the public.”
“As am I,” Iktan admitted. “But she must see some personal benefit in it to acquiesce so easily.”
She stopped, turning to Iktan. “How do you think she knew of Ochi?” She was still flabbergasted the girl had brought up her brother. How had she even discovered that he was alive? Naranpa told everyone he was dead, and he was to her. The only person who knew she had a brother who was not only very much alive but also the head of a successful crime syndicate in the Maw was standing next to her.
“It would not be so hard to find out if one went looking,” Iktan said dismissively. Xe resumed walking, and she reluctantly followed.
They reached the entrance to her rooms. She paused, leaning against the door. “Isn’t it strange, though? For her to know?” She didn’t believe it was Iktan who had told Abah of Ochi, but she also didn’t believe her connections to the Maw and to her last living relative would be as easy to discover as Iktan suggested. Naranpa had been thorough when she had destroyed her past. If someone had gone resurrecting it, maybe Iktan’s first suspicions that the attempt against her life had nothing to do with Carrion Crow might have merit. But she had walked the streets of Odo today, felt the menace rolling from its people all aimed at the priesthood. Having felt that, seen that, and knowing this was the second attempt by someone bearing haahan, it was difficult to entertain some Maw connection. In her experience, often the simplest answer was the correct one.
“What are you thinking, Nara?”
She ran an absent hand through her hair, letting her fingers twist in the strands that had come loose from her coiled buns. “She bested me today at Conclave. Made me look like a fool.”
“Not so badly. You recovered.”
“She should be censured for the way she spoke to me. But if I raise it, it will seem petty. It might be petty.”
“Then we find another way.”
Her vexation gave way to alarm. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” Abah was a pain in her side, but she was still a member of the priesthood, still sacred. “Iktan, please tell me you don’t mean…”
Xir look was baleful. “Despite your belief that I am some kind of monster, Nara, I do not solve all my problems with murder.”
“Fine, fine,” she said, waving xir outrage away. “I apologize. What do you suggest I…”
Her words drifted off as she frowned, noticing something. A scratch on Iktan’s neck, low and just beneath the collar. It looked red and raw and had not been there before the Conclave.
“What happened to your neck?” she asked.
Xe tilted xir head, effectively hiding the scratch. “It’s nothing.”
“It looks like it hurts. Have you cleaned it? I have water and willow bark in my room.” She straightened. “Perhaps you should—”
“I said it is nothing, Nara. I’ll treat it when we’re done here.”
Suspicions blossomed in her mind. “Where were you during the Conclave? I saw you come in late.”
Xe turned dark eyes to her. Xir gaze was always so direct, so intimate. It made her shiver. “No.”
She flinched. Despite their occasional bickering, they never shut each other out like that. “What business could you have when I told you to do nothing until I—”
“It did not concern you, Nara.” And the heat xe pushed into xir voice, the sly emphasis on you, made xir intent clear.
She inhaled sharply in disbelief. Iktan had lovers. Of course xe had lovers. Xe was clever, sensual, beautiful, and dangerous. What person wouldn’t thrill at xir attention? But xe had always been discreet enough not to throw it in her face. And certainly not to show up with love marks on xir neck for the world to see. A sour spike of jealousy shot through her gut, and she did not like it.
“Eche I understand. But you? Led around by your genitals? I thought you had better sense.” It was a low blow, purposefully cruel, and she regretted it the moment it left her lips.
Iktan said nothing, instead staring at someone in the middle distance over her shoulder, not meeting her eyes but not turning away.
And she knew the conversation was over.
Frustrated, she pushed her shoulder against her bedroom door. Before she could fully open it, Iktan slipped in. She followed, watching xir check the corners, the privy, the alcove where she hung her robes. Xe even ran a hand under her bedding, checking for she wasn’t sure what. Even when Iktan was mad at her, which xe clearly was, xe would not leave her in danger. Only when xe seemed satisfied that no one was lying in wait to kill her did xe return to the door.
Xe was going to leave without saying goodbye, and before she could stop herself, she called: “Iktan.”
Xe paused, halfway gone already.
She wanted to ask xir to stay, to share her bed, if only for a few hours so she knew she wasn’t alone. And to stake her claim, she admitted, to someone she no longer had any claim to. She had no right to ask such a thing, but she desperately wanted to. She had been so strong for so long, and now with the events of the day, she wanted to be weak, if only for a moment. But she would not allow herself even that. So she settled for “Good night.”
“It’s almost dawn, Naranpa.”
“Of course,” she corrected.
“I’ll leave a tsiyo at your door. Take them with you to the meeting. It’s a small thing I ask. For your safety, Sun Priest.”
Not for love, she thought bitterly. Not even for friendship. But because it is your duty, Priest of Knives.
“Yes. Of course.” It felt silly to argue over such a small thing, and she realized she wanted xir gone.
And when xe was gone, she realized she wanted xir to come back.
CHAPTER 11
THE CRESCENT SEA
YEAR 325 OF THE SUN
(20 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)
Only a foolish Teek speaks when she could Sing.
—Teek saying
They had been at sea pulling strong for a good six hours along the coast when Xiala told Callo to lift paddle and bring the ship to shore.
“There’s a cay not far from here,” she said. “You know it?”
“Lost Moth. I know it.”
“We’ll dock there to sup. Give the crew a night onshore while we can.”
“While we can?” Callo asked, sounding surprised. “We’re making for Tova, Lord Balam said. It’s coastline all the way around.”
She could have kicked herself for the slip, but it was time to let the crew know her plans to take to open water.
“And all hands, Callo,” she said, not answering his question. “No one stays behind. I need to have a talk with my crew.” She started to walk away and paused. “Who’s in charge of the galley?”
“Patu. You know him.”
“I do,” she confirmed. Patu was a terrible sailor. He tired easily and was prone to seasickness, but he was a brilliant cook. He had a nose for good fish that rivaled Xiala’s own without the Teek senses to help. And he’d once made a dish with chunks of watermelon, papaya, and fresh seabird eggs that she still thought about at least once a week. But he was in high demand. Every crew wanted Patu. “How’d you convince him to join up?”
“Not me. Lord Balam.”
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“Ah.” It seemed Lord Cat could buy anything, but this time she wasn’t complaining.
She left Callo shouting orders at the crew and went in search of Patu. The ship was large, one of the biggest she’d ever commanded, but it was still small enough that she found Patu easily, huddled under the thatch looking miserable.
“I’m on break,” he said defensively as she approached. If Callo always looked a bit disappointed at the hand life had dealt him, Patu looked downright affronted. The man was slope-shouldered and round-bottomed, and he wore his hair cut in a blunt bang across a face with eyes too big and a chin too weak. He wore the same white skirt and sandals as the other men, but he also had a thick rough blanket wrapped around his upper body like he was cold.
“Patu,” she greeted him. “It is good to see you.”
He gave her a miserable nod.
“Seasick?”
He shook his head. “Came in on a ship from Huluuc last night. It was raining the whole voyage. Damn near drowned us, we couldn’t bail the water fast enough.” He coughed wetly into his arm. “But this”—he gestured to his body and the blanket wrapped around it—“is nothing to worry about. I have a chill is all.”
Xiala frowned. She didn’t like the idea of having a sick man on her ship, great cook or not. Illness had a way of taking over, and out in the middle of the sea, there was no outrunning a cough that burrowed into your lungs and kept you from keeping food down.
“Callo approved me,” Patu said hastily at her disapproving look. “Just a rain cough. I swear to the deep. I wouldn’t take a commission if it was worse. I don’t need the pay.”
She relaxed a bit at that. He probably didn’t.
“We’re pulling into shore in less than an hour. Nice sandbar I remember from coming this way.”
Patu leaned over to look past her shoulder at the coastline. He studied the limited landscape for a moment. “Lost Moth. Sure, I know it. Docked there once with another crew out of Sutal. Nice sand. Driftwood for making a fire. Fresh water across on the mainland.”
“That’s right. Can you cook us a meal, then? I want the crew well fed tonight.”
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