by S. D. Tower
I cast about frantically. “I have bad dreams. From Bara. It was ... bloody. And we had to kill so many of our wounded, to keep them from the Exiles.”
“Ah. Blood and death trouble you, do they?”
“Sometimes. Because there was so much of it.” In fact I’d never dreamed about the battle.
“For someone of your training, this seems peculiar. You’ve killed.”
“Yes, but that seemed different.” I felt as if I were trying to clamber out of a sand pit, but my struggles only dug it deeper.
Nilang appeared to study the Taweret signs she’d applied to the walls. I’d never been sure if the polychrome pattems were writing or images; perhaps they were both. But when I saw them from the comer ofmy e}^ theyalways seemed to writhe a little, and I never looked at them too closely.
“Proximity to another person,” she said softly, “can sometimes bend one’s convictions—even if these convictions are strongly held—toward that other person’s point of view. Such influences become all the more powerful if one senses an affinity with that individual.”
I felt a spasm of fright. Did she suspect my growing uncertainty, or was this merely a general waming? “My convictions are unshaken, mistress. But I will take your words to heart and redouble my guard against improper influences.”
Her gaze was still on the wall, but I knew she was observing me. “I wonder if they are as unshaken as you would have me believe. Or as you would have yourself believe.” How could she suspect anything? These must be merely probes, as if she searched for signs of infection in a wound.
“I can only repeat what I’ve said,” I told her. “My convictions are not influenced by his.”
She folded her arms and slid her narrow hands into her sleeves. Then she said, “Mothers and daughters arise in several ways. There is the natural way, by which we all enter the world. There is the merciful way, by which a woman cares for the girl of a deceased relative. There is the charitable way, by which foundlings are brought under a mother’s care, although there is no conjunction of bloodline.”
She paused, leaving me not only uneasy but mystified. “Yes, mistress,” I murmured.
“And then,” she said, “there are the other ways. I have my daughters, too, Lale. You’ve met them.”
Her gaze slid to mine and held it. I felt the blood drain from my face. This was a waming, and no doubt about it. And in that moment my understanding of my plight crystallized, as swiftly and icUy as frost flowers bloom on a winter window.
I was trapped. I had been trapped from the moment I set foot in Three Springs, although only now did I understand the unseen manacles that bound me: my love for Mother, my filial obligation to her, and my duty to my sisters, all stronger than iron links could ever be. But there were other fetters, too: my terror of the wraiths, my fear of Nilang’s sinister powers, my dread that the Chancellor would discover me and that I would die the foul death of a traitor. I was chained hand, foot, and neck.
Even so, I thought: What if I told Terem what I really am? What if I confessed everything?
Clammy sweat broke out all over me. Adrine’s shrieks rang again in my ears as the wraiths made her tear at her flesh. She said they’d begun to go for her eyes. What would it be like, to lose control of my hands, to feel my fingemails ripping at my eyelids, thumbs digging into the sockets, screaming at myself to stop? Bile rose in my throat and I choked it back, barely.
And the wraiths weren’t all that awaited me if I confessed. For I was far more a traitor than poor Tsusane had ever been; for me there would be no exile. If the wraiths didn’t finish me off, I would die by slicing, unless my confession moved Terem to commute it to an easier end. But my treachery was so profound and complete that perhaps he would not.
As for running away and keeping silent about Mother’s secrets, I remembered what Tossi had told me at Three Springs: Nilang and my erstwhile sisters would hunt me down, and I’d be watching my back for the rest of my life, which would probably be short.
Perhaps I could try to help Terem covertly, by giving Nilang false or inadequate information, but I had no confidence that I could deceive her for long. And when she uncovered my deceit, what would she do to me? What sor-cerous punishments could she inflict? The thing that had almost devoured me in the Quiet World, could she give me to thatl
I didn’t want to go into the Quiet World, either by death or sorcery. I had so much: wealth, fame, youth, a measure of power. I wanted to stay alive to enjoy it for as long as I could. But the only hope of that was in perfect, unstinting loyalty to Mother. Every other road led to death, or worse.
All this went through my mind in the space of a few heartbeats. Then, with a dry mouth, I croaked, “Lady mistress, my loyalty is untainted.”
She pursed her lips a little as she scrutinized me. Then she said, “There is news from Chiran. The Despotana has adopted a daughter.”
I was so relieved at the change of subject that I hardly wondered why Nilang thought this worthy of mention. I said, “The girl is very fortunate. I was destitute and abandoned once, and I know how much better the child’s life will now be.”
“This is not that kind of adoption. The girl is of the Laloi bloodline. She is no waif.”
I said, “Oh.” I knew of the Laloi. They were an old, wealthy Tamurin family with roots going back to the empire, in whose magistracies they had been prominent.
“Her name is Ashken,” Nilang continued. “The Despotana has made the girl her heir and has also taken her into the Seval bloodline. Ashken Seval, as she now is, will rule Tamurin on the Despotana’s death. This news will be in Kuijain soon. The Despotana wished you apprised of it beforehand, as a courtesy.”
Incoherent thoughts swirled through my brain. Of course Mother wouldn’t live forever; she needed an heir. I’d never given the matter much attention, for it seemed to have little to do with me. Yet now I felt a sharp twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t because I’d ever dreamed of being Mother’s heir; that could never happen. No, it was because Mother had given some other girl her bloodline name. Now the girl was a
Seval, while I was just a Navari. It was silly to feel this way, and I was lucky to have a family name at all. But Mother’s act stung my heart nonetheless, though my mind understood the need for it.
“I will write and tell the Despotana how pleased I am for her,” I said.
“Do so, but wait until someone at the palace tells you it’s happened. Now, is there anything else for our beloved mistress?”
Something pecuhar in the way she said beloved mistress, and the fact that she’d never spoken of Mother that way before, gave me pause. There was a hint in the tone of something sardonic, almost of contempt. Yet I wasn’t sure I’d really heard it, or if I had, what Nilang meant by it.
But then, if she did suspect that I might contemplate treachery, as I indeed had with my thoughts of confessing all to Terem, would she not try me in just this way? Was her tone a provocation, a test to see if I might respond to hints of disloyalty on her part, and thereby condemn myself? Or was it something else?
I wasn’t about to be drawn into whatever lethal games she might be playing. So I merely said, “No, there’s nothing.”
“Go, then.”
I did, and gladly. On the way home, I thought about Terem, the wraiths, and about Mother having a new daughter and a real heir. For no clear reason I became so frightened I started to tremble and didn’t stop until after I reached my villa. Usually I felt very snug and secure under its roof, but hours passed before the fear left me, and even then I kept wondering how much Nilang suspected of my disloyal thoughts.
Lesser Frost ended. With its end came the New Year’s Festival of the five Solstice Days, with lavish celebrations both in the palace and in the city. I made myself appear to enjoy them, but my enjoyment was tainted. I slept badly and twice dreamed of Adrine’s death, except that I was
Adrine. I woke sweating and shivering and Terem worried that I was sickening with a chill. He was especially concemed
because that was how Merihan’s fatal illness had begun, so I had to endure the attentions of one of the palace physicians. The woman found nothing wrong with me but asked if I had any signs of quickening. Terem and I had been sleeping together for three months now, so she thought it about time, apparently. I told her I did not, nor did I tell her about the precautions I took against conceiving a child, just as I hadn’t told Terem. I saw less of him now, as he was so occupied with preparations for the war that was to begin in the spring, and I occupied myself with reading and visiting friends.
The month of Snow began. Thin sheets of ice, smooth as fine glass, formed at the margins of Reed Pavilion’s pond. Terem and I moved to the winter bedchamber and slept on the tiled stove. In the other rooms braziers glowed, and in my villa the servant girls wore leggings under their skirts. The month lived up to its name as snow fell twice, but as usual in Kurjain the blanket was only a finger’s thickness and melted by late aftemoon. Still, it clung lacily to the trees and was very beautifull while it lasted.
Then, just after the tum of the month, Mother sent word, through Nilang, that she was especially happy with me. This, she indicated, was because she could not allow Terem to inherit Yazar’s realm and riches, and my timely waming of the secret negotiations had given her time to forestall it. I was still enough her creature to be pleased by such congratulations, when I might more justly have tied iron weights to my legs and thrown myself into the nearest canal. But I had no idea, yet, of what I had done.
In early Snow, word came to the Chancellery that Ardavan had concluded an alliance with the three remaining Exile Kings of Suarai, Ishban, and Mirsing. This information was a month old when we got it, and, disturbingly, it also suggested that the three monarchs would provide Ardavan with troops, no doubt in the hope that this might secure their shaky thrones. But unsettling as the report was, it was utterly overshadowed for me by the news from Istana.
This first reached Kurjain around 13 Snow, a day of sleet and freezing fog. But it didn’t come in all at once, and several days passed before the details of the revolt against Yazar became common knowledge. They were horrible, but for me, the worst horror of all came from Nilang.
I’d felt a mounting dread as the stories trickled into Kurjain, and finally I slipped away from Jade Lagoon to find her. I knew I didn’t look at all well, but she made no comment upon it, merely waited for me to speak.
“What happened?” I asked her. “What did she do?”
Her thin black eyebrows rose. “What would you expect? She informed Yazar’s cousins that he intended to bequeath the Despotate to the Sun Lord. They acted.”
Nausea surged in my belly. “But I thought... Mother has so much money. I thought she’d give Yazar what he needed, so he wouldn’t have to go to Terem at all.”
“Why would she pay for a result that others will give her for nothing?”
I could barely speak. “So it was me—”
“Yes. You have given her a great victory over the Sun Lord.”
My next words were like lye in my mouth, but I uttered them because I had to. “I’m glad. Glad that I served her so well.”
“Good,” Nilang said. “But I see that you are indisposed. Go home.”
I did, and before very long I knew the full, hideous story. Warned by Mother, Yazar’s cousins rebelled before he could conclude his arrangements with Terem. Many of the Despot’s unpaid soldiers joined the revolt, but others remained loyal, and fighting broke out in Istana. Soon the people of the city’s poor quarters, who had felt the grip of Yazar’s tax gatherers most bitterly, boiled out of their warrens and added their fiiry to that of the rebels. Other troops marched in from garrisons elsewhere, some declaring for
Yazar, some against him. A fire started in an oil storehouse by the canal docks, and in the turmoil no one tried to extinguish it. The flames spread rapidly, and by evening almost all Istana was alight, except for Yazar’s lovely palace and the prefecture, where Master Luasin and both the theater companies were in residence.
Then Yazar was killed and his last loyal troops gave way, and all that night the mob and the rebels sacked both palace and prefecture. In their fury at Yazar’s luxurious ways, they slaughtered every person they caught within the walls, then bumed everything to the ground. None of the Younger Company, and only a few of the Elder, escaped the butchery. Master Luasin was not among them. Nor was Perin, my sweet beautifiil Perin, my friend. I never found out exactly how she died, but enough stories reached Kuijain for me to know that she’d had no easy death.
When I heard this, I went to my villa on Cloud Mirror Canal and walked its rooms like a weeping ghost. Terem thought it was because my friends were dead. He was right, but what he did not know was that they were dead because I’d killed them.
I didn’t sleep for days, nor did I eat; food sickened me. I went nowhere near Nilang, for I feared that she would look past my grief and perceive the remorse beneath it, and the reason for the remorse. Terem wanted me to retum to Jade Lagoon Palace but I refused, knowing I couldn’t go near him in this state; I didn’t know what my grief might cause me to blurt to him. So I remained alone with my pain, in the beautiful villa I had purchased with my iniquities.
I pulled myself together finally. I could do nothing else; to go on as I was would invite more questions than I could afford to answer. Seven days after I had immured myself at Cloud Mirror Canal, I retumed to the palace, pale and weary, uncertain what to do next.
I was certain of one thing, however: I should do nothing without plenty of forethought. To act rashly, given the web in which I was ensnared, was to risk disaster. But if I waited... one never knew what might tum up. This gave me a little hope, and pretty soon I managed to seem like my old self again, if somewhat subdued. Terem was much relieved, and I felt that in a few more days I could brave Nilang’s presence. But sooner or later, I told myself. I’d find some way out of my predicament. I had always been good at getting out of things.
That was at the end of Snow. On 2 Greater Frost, I went with Terem to the army barracks attached to the Jacinth Fortress, to review one of his new brigades. The sun was out and they made a brave sight: thousands of armored men in perfect rank, the officers’ parade plumes bobbing above their helmets, the long pikes stabbing toward the blue heaven, the brigade and battalion standards and the company banners aglow in the winter sunlight.
I watched from the portico of the headquarters building as Terem began the final ritual of the review, the sacrifice to Father Heaven and the Lord of the Dead. It had been a long ceremony. My feet were cold, and I wanted to go home.
Terem had just lit the incense when I heard an urgent voice within the headquarters. A rumpled young man with courier insignia appeared beside me in the portico, along with the fortress vice-commandant. The latter was always the epitome of polite behavior, but neither he nor the courier even glanced in my direction, and I realized that they were both extremely agitated. I wanted to ask them what the matter was, but their grim faces silenced me.
I waited uneasily for Terem to finish. At last he did, the homs boomed, and the brigade began to march off the parade field. As soon as they did, the vice-commandant and the courier hurried onto the parade ground. I followed.
“What is it?” Terem asked as we reached him. “News?” “My lord, yes. The courier has a dispatch from the east. The seals were broken at the Chancellery, and Lord Geray sent it directly here.”
Terem took the packet, opened it, and began to read. I watched his face, my alarm increasing as his mouth grew tight.
“He’s gulled me, by Father Heaven,” he said furiously, rolling up the dispatch. “Well, now we have to set to work. Sooner than I’d expected, curse him. Ah, well, the sooner begun, the sooner ended.”
“My lord?” I asked. “What’s happened?”
“Ardavan’s over the Savath, with more than a hundred thousand men behind him. Came boiling out of his winter quarters eleven days ago. He left twenty thousand to mask Tanay and the border fortresses,
but he’s got plenty left, and it looks as if they’re heading for Gultekin. He means to put an end to us.”
“But it’s winter!” I exclaimed. “Nobody fights in winter! What will they live on?”
“Plunder and scavenging and speed. He’s a gambler, is our Ardavan. Risks all to take me with my trousers around my ankles. But we’ll see if he can move fast enough. If he doesn’t. I’ll give him a trouncing he won’t soon forget.”
He strode into the headquarters building with me hot on his heels, and in minutes we were on our way to the palace. As the sequina raced through the water, with periangs and smaller craft darting out of our way like frightened water beetles, I asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Fight him. He hopes to defeat me a piece at a time, before I can concentrate my strength, so that he’ll outnumber me in every fight. But I’ve got ten brigades at Gultekin, three here, and demi-brigades at Takrun and Malal. He’ll lose men on the march. I may be able to match his numbers by the time he makes Gultekin.”
“But our men are in winter quarters. Will they be ready to fight?”
“They’ll have to be made so. Unless we want Exile horsemen in Kurjain by the time the month’s out.”
He sounded calm, but from the set of his mouth I knew he was very, very angry—^mostly at himself, because he’d underestimated Ardavan’s willingness to gamble his army on a surprise attack. But nobody else had foreseen it, either. In winter, armies belonged in winter quarters. To campaign in bad weather was to invite calamity. Everybody knew that, except, apparently, Ardavan.
To my surprise, Terem suddenly laughed. I said, “What’s so funny?”
He smiled ruefully. “He has nerve. I’ll say that for him. Can you imagine the uproar in the War Ministry if I’d suggested the same thing? He knows how to lead men, no doubt of it. I wish there were two of him, and one was on my side.” “You admire him, don’t you?”
“Yes. And I want him dead. There’s not room in the world for both of us.”