Throne of Ruins (The Powers of Amur Book 5)

by J. S. Bangs

  “So this is your home,” Kest said.

  “Where I grew up,” Mandhi said softly. “Where I lived with Veshta and his siblings, and his grandparents, my father, Taleg—”

  “And where did he sleep?”

  “Downstairs, in the room next to my father’s bedroom. You can see it tomorrow. I’m not sure what Srithi’s doing with it now.”

  “But after you…”

  “Oh,” Mandhi said. “Well, he would sneak up here to see me. He had to sneak back by morning.”

  Kest murmured softly. He walked to the window and looked out over the city. A jumble of white-painted houses, hazy with smoke in the waning heat of the evening. The sunlight from the west gilded the peaks of the estates of the Uluriya district with mango-colored light.

  “And you think the os Dramab can come here? All of us?”

  “I have to talk to Navran-dar. But I think it’s a good place. Close to the Heir.” She paused for a moment. “Someday Jhumitu will inherit this kingdom, as well as being patriarch of the os Dramab.”

  “It’s awfully warm.”

  “Compared to Kalignas? Everything in Amur is warm compared to Kalignas.”

  Kest snorted. “I guess it is.”

  He sighed heavily. Mandhi came to stand next to him at the window. She put her hand on his where it rested on the sill. He stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

  “Kest,” she began, cautious. Quick movement and she might frighten him away.

  His breathing was heavy. He didn’t answer.

  Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “We are alone.”

  “Are we?” There was the slightest twinge of mockery in his voice. “The house is full of people.”

  “But we’re not sleeping crowded on the deck of the ship, or snuggled next to Aryaji on the road.”

  He pulled his hand away from hers, turned his back, and walked a few paces away. “Mandhi, about what happened in Davrakhanda—”

  She walked toward him, reached up, and rested her hand on his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense under her palm.

  “I have come to respect you,” he said. “I appreciate what my brother saw in you. He was not as much of a fool as I first thought when he married you.”

  “Ah, thank you,” Mandhi said. It was more of a compliment than she expected.

  “In Davrakhanda I thought we would both die.”

  “It was a distinct possibility.”

  “But it was…” He turned suddenly and grabbed her arm by the wrist. He looked her in the face, his blue eyes burning. “I don’t need you to throw yourself at me. Davrakhanda was a moment of weakness in a time of danger. But the danger has passed.”

  “Weakness?” Mandhi asked softly. “I don’t remember you being weak.”

  Kest laughed darkly. “I told you once before. I’m not here for my brother’s leftovers.”

  Mandhi shook her arm free of Kest’s grasp. She stepped back to the window and gave Kest a serious, aggressive glare. “I am no one’s leftovers. I gave myself to Taleg because I loved him, and—”

  “So do you love me?”

  Her tongue turned to clay. She stammered for a moment, unable to decide what to say. She couldn’t say yes. She didn’t think she could say yes. Maybe she could say yes. Would she lie? Was it a lie?

  Kest gave her a wounded, knowing smile, seeing her struggle. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Kest, listen to me—”

  “No. You’ve said enough.” He crossed the room and knelt next to the sleeping Jhumitu. Then he lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the wall with his arms slung across his knees. “Go talk to Srithi. You haven’t seen her for ages. I don’t think you’ve said everything you want to say to her yet. I’ll stay here with Jhumitu and rest.”

  She heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess I will.” Maybe Srithi would have something to say to her about her recalcitrant husband. She hung her head and walked past him toward the door of their room.

  “Mandhi,” he said as she passed.

  She looked at him. “Yes?”

  He showed her a weary smile. “I am, nonetheless, glad to be here with you. I hope this will be a good place for our people.”

  It was the best she was going to get. “I hope so, too.”

  * * *

  “And so you have another Kaleksha husband,” Navran said. Subdued amusement played around his eyes.

  Kest placed a hand on Mandhi’s shoulder. The gesture was warm and comfortable, though it was all the intimacy she would get out of him. She smiled nonetheless.

  “I do,” she said. “And I don’t regret it.”

  Navran folded his hands under his chin. He looked from Mandhi to Kest with bright amazement, then looked at his wife sitting next to him. “Remarkable. We were both alone when you left. Now both married.”

  He still wore gloves on his hands. Surely his hands were healed by now, but they must bear scars. His face was marbled with veins of pink and white where Ruyam’s hands had burned him. And there was something sad about his eyes, the beginning of something that might be wisdom, or maybe just weariness. He had certainly borne enough in his time ruling alone.

  Utalni, Navran’s young wife, sat beside him on the bench in the shaded corner of the garden. She could hardly look away from Kest. Mandhi wondered whether she had ever seen a Kaleksha this close before. They were rare enough here in the south, and the daughter of a majakhadir might never have met one. The quiet, timid girl had barely spoken a word since Navran introduced her, though she seemed to be kind enough to Navran. It wasn’t surprising that Navran had made a political marriage; Mandhi was simply glad they both seemed content.

  Mandhi went on. “As Heir, you should make an effort to know the os Dramab. Jhumitu will be the Heir of Manjur and the patriarch of the clan. I don’t know what that will mean. But I’m sure a clan of Kaleksha converts will be some use to you. Perhaps a dedicated palace guard, after we’ve pried them away from Sadja-daridarya.”

  “My guard is very good,” Navran said. He glanced up the garden path toward Dastha, who stood watching them. “But if the Emperor was impressed enough to conscript your os Dramab, then I can’t say I’m not interested. A clan of brawny Kaleksha….”

  He glanced appreciatively toward Kest, who couldn’t help but smile.

  “How long will Sadja-daridarya keep them in Jaitha?”

  “Until he has faced the Mouth of the Devourer,” Mandhi said. She had already told Navran of Sadja’s muster in Jaitha and given him the Emperor’s orders. “But after that’s resolved—”

  “If it’s resolved,” Navran said.

  “Do you doubt it?”

  Navran was quiet for a while. He rested a hand on Utalni’s knee, then rose to his feet and began to pace. “The Mouth of the Devourer took Tulakhanda and Majasravi. Daladham told me stories. And now Davrakhanda….”

  “I fought the Devoured,” Kest added softly. “It’s hard to fight what cannot die.”

  Navran nodded. “I worry.”

  “Did you think that Ulaur set you on the throne of Virnas only so the Heirs could be extinguished by a peasant sorcerer?” Mandhi asked.

  Navran gave her a sharp, curious look. “I don’t know what Ulaur wants.”

  “You’re the Heir of Manjur.”

  “Doesn’t mean that Ulaur speaks to me.” He sighed heavily. “I want your opinion.”

  “I’m here as your advisor,” Mandhi said.

  “You were,” Navran said bluntly. “I was without you for too long.”

  “So you’ve struck out on your own?”

  “Somewhat.” He continued pacing. “You brought the os Dramab into the Uluriya. I want to bring others… in a way.”

  “Really?” She hadn’t heard about this. Navran had seemed reluctant to proselytize before.

  “The dhorsha.”

  Mandhi was stunned. She looked over at Kest, who bore a similar expression of confusion, though she doubted he understood what it meant. “I don’t kn
ow what you mean.”

  Navran took a deep breath. “The Emperor sent me four men bearing a book saved from the fire in Ternas.”

  “I know. I was there when they read it the first time.”

  Navran nodded. “Daladham, Nakhur, and Bhudman have been reading the book. They came to me with a proposal.”

  “To convert the dhorsha?”

  “Not convert,” Navran said carefully. “To submit the Powers to Ulaur. But allow the dhorsha to keep their rites.”

  A lurch of revulsion in Mandhi’s gut. If Navran had found a way to convert the dhorsha, as she had converted the os Dramab, that would have been miraculous. But what he had just said was blasphemy. She spoke carefully. “Explain yourself.”

  “Bhudman would explain better,” Navran said. “The book says that once the Powers served Ulaur. So the Uluriya call them rebellious—”

  “Faithless,” Mandhi said softly. “The word we use in the prayers is faithless.”

  “But rebels can submit.”

  “You mean the dhorsha would continue to give their dhaur to the Powers, but… what? They would add Ulaur’s name to the end of their invocations?”

  “I don’t know,” Navran said. He looked back at the palace helplessly, as if imagining that someone was going to come out and save him. “Ask Bhudman. There will be a council.”

  “With who?” She felt her blood simmering, her incredulity and indignation just beneath her skin. She kept her voice as level as she could.

  “Every saghada and dhorsha in the south. I sent messengers everywhere. The new moon after next—”

  “The next new moon is in seven days.”

  “And a month after that the council will begin.” A look of anxiety crossed his face. “If I had known of the fall of Davrakhanda and Sadja-daridarya’s call for a general muster, I would have convoked the council more quickly. The time will be short.”

  A council, with saghada and dhorsha together. At least there would be saghada. Mandhi would have pull with them, especially if she came with Jhumitu in her arms. She could keep them back from any course that would corrupt their purity. And she doubted that Navran would forge ahead without the support of any of the saghada. He was not as much of a fool as that.

  “You’ll find, I think, that the saghada are less open to your scheme,” Mandhi said softly, carefully tempering her anger with honey. “You probably wouldn’t know. You were not very observant in your childhood. But for those of us raised in pious households… from the time I was a young girl, I had to stay far away from anything having to do with the dhorsha.” The shame and horror of her mother’s death pierced her with the memory of how she’d brought an unclean thing into the house on the very day of her passing. She closed her eyes and let the memory pass. “We can’t bring the dhorsha into the Uluriya unless they’re willing to give up the rites of dhaur.”

  “You brought the os Dramab into the Uluriya,” Navran said weakly.

  “They were purified and submitted to the laws of Ghuptashya. If you’re doing to do that to the dhorsha, then I’ll support you gladly. But are you?”

  Navran sighed. “You would have to ask Bhudman for the details. I believe the dhorsha would like to continue their rites under the auspices of Ulaur.”

  “But that’s the very thing we cannot let happen. To continue in dhaur while claiming to serve Ulaur—the idea is repulsive. And how would that be fair to the os Dramab? They gave up their clan totems to join the Uluriya. The dhorsha aren’t giving up anything.”

  “Bhudman supports it,” Navran said softly.

  “That I don’t understand. I’ll talk to him later. What about Nakhur?”

  “Less.”

  At least one of the saghada hadn’t lost his mind. “Nakhur will carry the saghada,” Mandhi said confidently. “We who have been faithful in the worship of Ulaur will not sully ourselves with dhaur.”

  Navran looked disturbed. “We’ll see,” he said softly. He looked aside at Utalni, who was watching both of them with an expression of guarded fright. She seemed as timid and cautious as a mouse, sitting there in Navran’s shadow, her hands folded softly on a her lap and her narrow, straight brows bunched together. A convert, Mandhi recalled. She wondered about her influence on Navran—or her father’s. Maybe Navran had been right to be reluctant about taking in so many converts.

  “You’ll stay here at the palace?” he asked abruptly.

  Mandhi had come with the intention of saying yes, but caution seemed prudent. Best keep Kest away from the controversy. “I think we’ll stay with Srithi,” she said quietly.

  Kest leaned forward and spoke softly into Mandhi’s ear. “Are you sure?”

  “I think it’s better, for now.” She spoke loudly enough for both Navran and Kest to hear.

  A grimace of pain passed over Navran’s face. “But you’ll come to the palace? Often?”

  “Yes,” she said. She would have to come frequently to monitor what the dhorsha and the saghada were up to.

  “Good,” he said softly. “I… missed you.”

  Could she say she had missed him? She answered with as much honesty as she could muster. “I’m glad to be here. Virnas is where I belong.”

  “I hope so,” Navran said. He rose to his feet. “We shouldn’t be at odds.”

  “I don’t want to be your enemy again,” Mandhi said. She meant it, too; she had spent enough time fighting against Navran when Ruyam had come. He had proved to be a competent Heir, if only she could keep him away from this disastrous mistake.

  “Good, because I’ve learned that it’s dangerous to have you as an enemy.” Navran gave Mandhi a weak smile. “I hope to visit Veshta soon. I need to see Jhumitu and the young prophetess.”

  “Aryaji is working alongside Srithi,” Mandhi said. She wondered briefly if Srithi knew about Navran’s plans. Getting the House of the Ruin on her side would strengthen her cause.

  She and Kest stood. “In any case, we await you at Veshta’s house, my lord and king.” She bowed.

  Kest bowed as well, slightly stiff. He still wasn’t used to the Amuran style of bowing. “My lord and king.”

  Navran drew the pentacle over them. His motion was fluid, as if he had finally gotten used to giving blessings as the Heir. “Remember what I said,” he whispered to Mandhi. “And talk to Bhudman. I’d rather that we not be enemies.”

  We’ll see, she thought.

  DALADHAM

  The servant girl set a lacquered tray with a pot of tea and a pair of blue porcelain cups on the table between Daladham and Praji, the temple mother of the Chaludriya. The girl poured both cups of tea and exited the room bowing. The smell of cardamom, hot milk, and some unknown spice rose from the teacups. It mingled with the refined perfume of rose and orange that followed Praji.

  Daladham reached for his cup, but hesitated. The temple mother across from him kept her hands pressed together in a fluid, practiced Lotus posture. She was watching him. His hand hovered near the cup, then he withdrew it. Let her drink first.

  A tiny smile appeared on her face. She reached for her cup, lifted it off the tray and held it out for Daladham. He lifted his own, and their cups clinked together.

  “The heavenly fire on your tongue,” she said. She took a swallow of the tea and watched him, her eyes twinkling.

  A curious greeting. Did the Chaludriya dhorsha always greet each other that way over tea? Daladham took a sip.

  He nearly spat the tea out on the tray. It wasn’t seasoned just with cardamom, but with chili. His tongue burned. The skin of his lips felt like it was peeling away. He choked it down with a cough, feeling it burn all the way to his stomach.

  Praji laughed. “So, Daladham-dhu. I take it you have not taken tea in a house of the Chaludriya dhorsha before.”

  “No I haven’t,” Daladham wheezed. He set his teacup down. He would need a few minutes before he dared another sip.

  “This spiced tea is a specialty of ours. Unique to Virnas and Jaitha. Those who visit us from the north often fi
nd it overpowering.”

  “Ah, well,” he said, coughing. “It certainly does surprise one used to the milder teas of the north.”

  She gave him a mean, clever look. “It does. But tell me, Daladham-dhu, why is it that you haven’t tasted my tea before?”

  Daladham touched his teacup in nervousness. “What do you mean, venerable mother?”

  “It’s been three months since you arrived in Virnas, and you haven’t taken tea with me or any of my daughters.”

  “Praji-dhu, the Chaludriya dhorsha are not my lineage, and I have spent most of my time with the Amya dhorsha. And with Bhudman and the other saghada.”

  “Even when you invited the dhorsha to the king’s council?”

  “You received an invitation from the king himself—”

  “We did,” Praji said flatly. She took a sip of her tea. “I would have preferred to meet him in person, but I suppose I will accept you as his emissary. Have you brought what I desire to see?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. Navran had sent him to meet with Praji a few days ahead of the formal opening of the council, in hopes of securing the support of the Chaludriya beforehand. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it felt like he had been thrust into battle unprepared.

  He bowed his head. “Forgive me, my mother, but I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “The book, Daladham-dhu. I want to see the book.”

  “My greatest apologies.” He bowed. “I never received any word that you desired to view the book.”

  Praji sighed and looked at him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “My courier spoke with one of the king’s saghada. Is this his way of offering a polite refusal?”

  Nakhur, thought Daladham suddenly. If Nakhur had accepted the message, perhaps he had ignored it to sabotage Daladham’s meeting. “I would have been delighted to allow you to examine the book, my mother, if only I had received word of your request. You are aware, I assume, that it is written in a foreign script.”