Rain pattered against the canopy overhead. Feeling something land on his head, Danjin looked up. A patch of water had somehow made its way through the dense, oiled cloth. He dodged another drip, sliding along the seat of the platten, then reached into his pocket for a cloth to wipe his scalp.
Instead, his fingers encountered a piece of parchment. Danjin withdrew it and sighed as he saw it was his father’s message.
Theran has returned. I have invited your brothers for dinner.
Your presence is required.
Fa-Spear
“When I said it would be pleasant to have some time to myself again the gods must have been listening,” he muttered. He looked up at the canopy. “Great Chaia, what did I do to deserve this?”
“Neglect your family?” Silava suggested.
Danjin looked at the woman sitting opposite him. The light of the lantern softened the lines on her face. They were mostly the lines gained from smiles and laughter. Mostly. There had been less pleasant times. Just as many as experienced by those who married for love, he had noted in recent years. They had both been unfaithful, both learned that honesty was the hardest but only path to forgiveness. While they had never been passionately in love with each other, they had, eventually, become the best of friends.
“Which family?” Danjin asked. “Mine or ours?”
She smiled. “You should ask that of an unbiased judge, Danjin. Just be sure that our family will always want to see more of you. Especially once your grandchildren are born.”
Grandchildren. The thought of becoming a grandparent was both delightful and dismaying. It meant he was getting old. It also made his daughters happy. They were flourishing in their new homes. He was relieved to have chosen good husbands for them, though he had mostly taken Silava’s advice on the matter. Pity one couldn’t choose one’s parents.
“If it is my father’s family you mean, then you are being punished, too,” he pointed out.
“That is true. But he ignores me at these dinners. It’s you he will target.”
Danjin scowled at the reminder. Silava leaned forward and patted him lightly on the knee.
“I left a bottle of tintra on the reading-room table for you.”
He smiled with appreciation. “Thank you.”
The platten slowed. Danjin peered out of the canopy and felt a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach as they pulled up outside his father’s mansion. Then he remembered the ring on his finger. He took some strength from the knowledge that the Gods’ Chosen did not think him the failure his father believed his youngest son to be.
He climbed out of the platten, then turned to help his wife disembark. The rain was falling heavily, wetting their tawls quickly. They both breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the door of the mansion.
A tall, thin man with a lofty expression ushered them inside. Danjin regarded Forin, the head servant, suspiciously. The man had an apologetic way of announcing Danjin’s arrival as if it were an interruption rather than a requested visit.
“Welcome, Danjin Spear, Silava.” Forin inclined his head to both of them.
“Adviser Danjin Spear,” Danjin corrected. He untied his tawl and held it out to the servant.
Forin’s eyes gleamed. His mouth opened, then his eyes dropped to Danjin’s tawl and he hesitated. Danjin realized the man was staring at the white ring shining on his finger.
“Of course. Forgive me.” He took Danjin’s tawl and Silava’s, then hurried into another room.
Silava glanced at Danjin as they entered the communal room. She did not smile, but he recognized that familiar glint of triumph in her eyes. The one he normally received when he lost an argument.
Two of Danjin’s brothers waited in the room, standing beside braziers. Seeing them, Danjin felt satisfaction from the small victory melt away. His siblings’ greetings were formal and awkward. Their wives spared thin smiles for Silava, then returned to their conversation, ignoring her. The rain fell through the roof opening into a pool below. Benches covered in cushions and luxurious blankets were arranged with perfect symmetry around the walls of the room. The floor was polished veinstone and the walls were painted with murals depicting ships and trade goods.
A servant appeared with warmed Somreyan ahm. As he sipped, Danjin considered his family. No doubt Theran, the favored brother they had all been invited here to see, was staying in the mansion and was with his father already.
All of Fa-Spear’s sons had joined in the family’s trading enterprises, with varying success. Theran, the second son, was a natural trader. Two of the younger brothers had died in a shipwreck twenty years before. Ma-Spear, who had never fully recovered from birthing Danjin, had sickened and died soon after. A year ago the oldest brother’s heart had stopped, so now there were only four sons left: Theran, Nirem, Gohren and himself.
The seven sons were supposed to expand the Spear trading empire. Danjin had tried, but he hadn’t lasted any longer than his first voyage at sixteen. Within two days of arriving in Genria he had befriended a distant nephew of the king and found himself surrounded by political maneuverings far more thrilling and meaningful to him than the long journeys and constant tallying and calculations of trade. Distracted, he had not been present to inspect the grain loaded onto the ship, and by the time he returned to Jarime half of it was spoiled by pests.
His father had been furious.
“Danjin?”
At his wife’s murmur, Danjin, looked up. Two men were walking down the corridor to the communal room. Form moved to the center of the room.
“Fa-Spear and Theran Spear,” he announced.
The old man’s face was a mass of wrinkles and he walked with the aid of a staff. His eyes were sharp and cold and flicked from face to face. To his right walked Theran. The older brother smiled at Nirem and Gohren, but his expression became more forced as he met Danjin’s eyes. Instead of dismissing his youngest brother, as he usually did, Theran raised his eyebrows.
“Danjin. I was not expecting you to come. Father says your duties at the Temple keep you from attending most family gatherings.”
“Not tonight,” Danjin replied. And how could I miss the opportunity to be scornfully ignored or made the butt of your jokes?
The old man moved to a long bench and sat down. The rest of the family paused, waiting to be invited to sit. Fa-Spear waved a hand.
“Sit. Sit,” he said, as if their formality embarrassed him. Yet Danjin knew any deviation from this ritual of manners always infuriated his father. They sat at places long established by family tradition: Theran on Fa-Spear’s right, Nirem and his wife on his left, Gohren next to Theran, and Danjin furthest from his father beside Nirem’s wife.
As a succession of delicacies were brought by female servants the conversation turned to trade. Danjin forced himself to listen, and remained prudently silent. He had long ago learned to avoid joining these discussions. Any observation or question he made on the subject of trade was examined as proof of his ignorance of such matters.
No matter how silent he remained, his father always made a point of discussing Danjin’s work. As Theran finished a long description of a successful deal, Fa-Spear looked up at his youngest son.
“I do not see our adviser to the White gaining as much profit from serving the Temple.” Fa-Dyer gestured at the walls. “If you are so important to the Circlians, why is it that a mere merchant lives in better conditions than you? You must ask for an increase in your allowance when you next see your employer. When will that be?”
“Auraya has left for Si, Father,” Danjin replied. “To negotiate an alliance.”
His father’s eyebrows rose. “You did not accompany her?”
“The mountains of Si are not easily crossed by landwalkers.”
“Landwalkers?”
“It is what the Siyee call ordinary humans.”
His father sniffed. “How uncouth. Perhaps it is fortunate she left you behind. Who knows what unsavory habits these people have?” He popped a morsel
of food into his mouth then wiped his hands on a cloth a servant girl held out for him.
“If the Si do ally themselves with Hania, you may see more of them here. They will install an ambassador and others will visit in order to seek education, join the priesthood, or trade.”
His father’s gaze sharpened. He chewed, swallowed, then took a sip of water.
“What do they have to trade?”
Danjin smiled. “That is one of the questions Auraya intends to answer.”
Fa-Spear’s eyes narrowed. “There is opportunity here, son. You may not have a decent income, but if you take advantage of opportunities like this that issue may not matter.”
Danjin felt a flash of indignation. “I cannot use my position to gain trade advantages.”
His father snorted. “Don’t be such a righteous fool. You won’t be adviser forever.”
“Not if I abuse my privileges.” Nor if I follow in your footsteps, Danjin added to himself, thinking of the enemies his father had made over the years. Powerful enemies who had barred him from trading in certain places.
:Why don’t you remind him of that?
Danjin started at the voice in his mind.
:Auraya?
:Yes, it’s me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. The Siyee are asleep, and I’m... well... bored.
He started to smile, and quickly schooled his expression.
“... fame and glory have passed,” his father was saying, “you will soon be forgotten.”
Danjin opened his mouth to reply.
:Your father’s right about one thing. We should pay you more.
He choked.
:How long have you been listening?
There was a pause.
:I peeked a while back.
:Peeked?
:To see if you were busy.
“Are you listening?” Fa-Spear demanded.
Danjin looked up, and quickly considered whether he should explain who he had been communicating with.
:Go on, Auraya urged.
:I mean no disrespect, Danjin told her, but you don’t know my family. Some pots aren’t worth stirring.
“I was considering your advice, Father,” Danjin replied.
Fa-Spear’s eyes narrowed, then he turned to Nirem. “Have you seen Captain Raerig lately?”
Nirem nodded, and started recollecting a drunken gathering in a remote town. Relieved that attention had finally shifted from himself, Danjin let his thoughts stray, until he was brought back by the mention of the southern cult.
“He said they’re good customers, these Pentadrians,” Nirem said. “Half of their priests are warriors. He buys Dunwayan weapons and sells them on the southern continent. Can’t sell enough of them. Do you think we should... ?”
To Danjin’s surprise, his father frowned. “Maybe. I’ve heard they’re gathering an army down there. Your great-grandfather always said war was good for trade, but it depended on who was planning to fight who.”
“Who are they planning to fight?” Danjin asked.
His father smiled thinly. “I’d have thought you’d know, Adviser to the White.”
“Perhaps I do,” Danjin said lightly. “Perhaps I don’t. Who do you believe they’re going to fight.”
His father shrugged and looked away. “For now I’d rather keep what I know to myself. If there’s an advantage to be gained from this, I wouldn’t want a stray word in the wrong place to ruin it.”
Danjin felt a stab of anger. It was not the veiled insult suggesting he’d leak information that riled him, but that his father knew he had information Danjin needed. Information that the White needed.
Then his anger evaporated. If his father hadn’t wanted Danjin to know about the Pentadrians gathering an army, for fear it would ruin some trade deal, he wouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Perhaps this was all the warning his father could bring himself to give his youngest son.
:Are you listening, Auraya?
No reply came. Danjin turned the ring around his finger and considered what he ought to do. Find out more, he decided. Make my own enquiries. Next time Auraya spoke to him through the ring he would have something substantial to tell her.
19
A feeling of suffocation woke Leiard. He sat up, gasping for breath, and stared at his surroundings. The room was dark and he sensed dawn was not far away. He could not remember the dream that had woken him.
Rising, he washed, changed and slipped out of his room. Creating a tiny spark of light, he crossed the communal room and made his way up to the rooftop garden. He stepped outside into the chill air and approached the garden seats where he held Jayim’s lessons.
Sitting down, he considered his dream. All that remained was a feeling of fear. He closed his eyes and concentrated on a mental exercise designed to retrieve lost dreams, but nothing stirred. Only the fear lingered.
The dreams he did remember were of Auraya. Some were pleasant, filled with joy and passion. He hadn’t had such arousing dreams since... so long ago he could not remember. Unfortunately, some of the dreams were full of unpleasant consequences, of accusation and retribution and terrible, terrible punishment.
You should have left. You should have reminded yourself of what she is, a voice said in his mind.
I did.
You should have reminded yourself harder.
This other voice in his mind - the thoughts that Arleej believed were a manifestation of Mirar’s link memories - spoke to Leiard often now. It was logical that, if he was going to be arguing with himself over Auraya, this illusionary Mirar would side against him having anything to do with the White. Mirar had been killed by one of them.
He had wondered, briefly, if Mirar had influenced him somehow that night in Auraya’s room. Leiard was wary of blaming this secondary identity for any of his own actions, however. There had been no voice encouraging him to seduce Auraya. Mirar had been silent until early the next morning, not speaking until Leiard left the Tower.
Auraya had kissed him goodbye, then asked him to keep their tryst a secret. A reasonable request, considering what he was. What she was. Had anyone seen him leave? He had seen no sign of servants, but had been prepared to behave as if nothing other than a late-night consultation had occurred.
The lie sounded implausible, however. Servants liked to imagine more exciting matters than political discussion went on behind doors late at night, especially if that consultation lasted all night. If they did suspect he’d bedded Auraya, the other White would have read it from their minds. If any of the Gods’ Chosen wanted to confirm it they had only to summon Leiard and read his mind.
No summons had arrived. He was hoping this meant his visit had not been noticed or speculated upon. When he thought of the consequences to his people if such a scandal became known, he shivered with dread. Yet whenever he wasn’t worrying he found himself planning ways to visit her secretly when she returned.
If she wants me to. She might regard me as a night’s entertainment. A lover she’ll cast off when she realizes how inconvenient he will be to keep around. If only I could find out what she wants.
There was a way, but it was dangerous. He could dream link with her.
Don’t be an idiot. If she reports you they’ll have you stoned.
She won’t tell anyone.
“Leiard?”
He jumped and looked up, surprised to find Jayim standing in front of him. The garden was now lit by the faint light of dawn. He had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed.
The boy yawned as he took the seat opposite Leiard. He had wrapped himself in a blanket. Winter is coming, Leiard thought. I should teach him ways to keep himself warm.
“Will we practice mind-linking again?” Jayim asked.
Leiard considered the boy. They hadn’t linked since the day Jayim had observed Leiard’s attraction to Auraya. He had been so disturbed by that, he had put off further lessons in the skill.
Now the thought of linking with his student filled him with fear. If he did, Jayim was
bound to learn of Leiard’s night with Auraya. He would see, too, Leiard’s hopes to continue the affair. If Jayim knew that, there would be two people in Jarime from whom the White could read Leiard’s secret.
“No,” Leiard replied. “The air is chill this morning. I will explain the ways the body is affected by cold, and teach you how to counter it.”
High Priest Ikaro paused outside King Berro’s audience chamber. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Attendants, advisers and representatives of the greater trades stood about the throne. The seat was empty, however. The king was standing before an enormous urn.
It was decorated in the new style, Ikaro noted. A black coating covered the urn, then designs and figures had been scratched out of it, revealing the white clay beneath. The king glanced at Ikaro, then beckoned.
“Do you like it, High Priest Ikaro? It is of myself naming Cimro as my heir.”
“I do indeed,” Ikaro replied, moving to the king’s side. “There is grace and skill in these lines, and the detail is exquisite. You do me a great honor, your majesty.”
The king frowned. “By showing this to you? I intend to place it here. You will see it each time you enter this chamber.”
“Yet I will not have an opportunity to stand and admire it, your majesty. My attention will always be on more important matters.”
The king smiled. “That is true.” He stepped away from the urn and strolled toward the throne. “I did not know you were an appreciator of art.”
“I am merely an appreciator of beauty.”
Berro chuckled. “Then it is a great irony that you have turned my city upside down looking for an ugly old hag.” The king settled onto his throne. His expression became serious and his fingers drummed on the throne’s arm. “How much longer do you intend us to continue with this search?”
Ikaro frowned. He could not read the king’s mind - he was only able to read minds when Huan was present - but he did not need to. The king was not hiding his impatience. The usual reassurances would not placate Berro this time. He was not sure what would, except...
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