Two seasoned guards preceded him as he made his way down the hall. The two guards rapped on the doors in unison, and like a massive vault, the doors slowly opened. The entry hall was grand, but the room beyond was a sumptuous feast for the eyes. A table laden with bowls of tantalizing vegetables and salads drew his eye first. Then a line of women with ice blue eyes wearing veils and jeweled headdresses bowed gracefully, parting to reveal the house Patriarch, Vyzad Ibazz, seated on a gold-trimmed pillow. He was older, with gray at his temples and beard, but he seemed fit.
“Heath Gissasos.” Vyzad rose and extended his arms. “Be welcome in my home and partake in Ohan’s bounty, may He be praised forever.”
“May His light shine eternal.” Heath flashed an ivory smile and bowed slightly.
“May His radiance fill every dark corner of the world,” Vyzad said with a hint of challenge in his voice. “Even to the depths of the darkest oceans.”
Heath smirked. “And to the corner of every ignorant mind, that they may see His truth, bless His name from each generation to the next.”
Vyzad laughed. “I see you have studied our customs, but I warn you, these professions of faith can be quite lengthy affairs. Abaya and Galut declared their love for Ohan for fourteen days before the Messenger had to intervene and judge their love for Him equal. However, you do not need to impress me. Your eyes tell me more than your words.”
Heath nodded. “I was a priest of Ohan before Kondole. I still have love for Him, but Kondole has chosen me personally.”
Vyzad stiffened at the mention of the Father Whale’s name. He spoke as if his words tasted like rotting meat. “Yes… it has.”
The Baashan tradition of Ohan’s worship was sincere to the point of zealotry. By contrast, the Hierocracy in Rivern had been a bureaucracy of opportunists going through the motions of faith because the church served as a source of influence. During Heath’s time in the Inquisition, he had violated every single one of Ohan’s commandments in the service of punishing the wicked. In Baash, they really believed, which was both admirable and stupid.
Vyzad clapped his hands. “Tea for our guest! I hope you like mint.”
Heath nodded graciously. “I love mint.”
Heath took his seat on a pillow brought before the table by two of Vyzad’s daughters. Like a finely trained drill team, they brought him a bowl of rose water for his hands and set down a silver teapot with a gold-rimmed porcelain cup to go with it. Another daughter poured. Heath noted her skin was pale ivory, unlike her sisters. No alcohol and nothing but young women besides Vyzad. Maddox would be miserable.
Heath held his hands over the washbowl and willed the water to come to him. A little display of power. A pair of watery hands emerged from the bowl and cleaned his own. He acted casually as one of the daughters stifled a gasp. Once his hands were clean, he pressed them together and bowed to the one who hastily snatched the bowl away as if it might burn her.
“Stormlord,” Vyzad said. “I would ask you to refrain from using your… god’s powers in my home.”
Heath shrugged. “My apologies. I have become so used to it, I do not even think about it. I will not be so thoughtless in the future.”
“Bah.” Vyzad shrugged. “It is only theurgy. Still, my daughters are not so worldly on these matters. Please eat.”
Heath reached for a bowl of cumin pastries, a local delicacy he’d come to enjoy, but before his hand could reach the pastry, one of the daughters grabbed it and held it to his lips. Awkwardly, Heath bit into it, nodding appreciatively as she continued to feed him the entire thing. “Thanks,” he said.
“Please try the meat.” Vyzad waved for a daughter to bring a slice of rare beef sprinkled with black pepper.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Heath gently interjected, “I would prefer to feed myself.”
Vyzad nodded. “Suit yourself. Perhaps my sons would have pleased you better.”
Heath folded his hands. “I hear they’re handsome, but no, Vyzad, I’ve just never been a fan of theater. So we’ve praised Ohan, we’ve cleansed, and we’ve eaten. Am I correct in assuming it’s sanctioned by Ohan to discuss business?”
Vyzad chuckled. “Maybe we are not so different. Yes, let’s discuss business. You have come to Baash because you know this year it is our Council who appoints a member to the Grand Assembly to represent the Mirrored City. Were it Dessim, you would easily have the four votes you need to convince the Protectorate to support Queen Jessa’s claim for the Coral Throne. But not so with the people of Baash, who regard the Stormlords as unclean before the light of Ohan, may He always shine upon us.”
“That’s the sum of it, yes,” Heath stated. “Will the Patriarch support us and ensure a peaceful end to the violence between the Protectorate and the Dominance?”
“No.” Vyzad shook his head. “The Stormlords have persecuted our faithful in Thrycea, and there will be no justice until the Light of Ohan shines upon the sunken palace.”
“Jessa believes in Ohan just as she does Kondole. She will end the persecution, and we will pacify the Stormlords.”
“She is a Stormlord. Her words are hollow. I imagine yours are as well… Inquisitor. It was not so long ago the Hierocracy branded us as heretics for our faith.”
“You have every reason not to trust me,” Heath said. “But you still met with me.”
“I did. Is that not strange?” Vyzad stroked his beard.
“Water,” Heath said.
“Shannon, bring him some water.”
“No.” Heath held his hand. “House Ibazz owns a plot of land on the edge of the fertile valley that provides a modest yield compared to the other houses. You’ve done wonders with irrigation, but your process is inefficient and your wells are running dry. Plants need both light and rain. And I can make it rain.”
Vyzad’s eyes narrowed. “You are not wrong in this. But how can I accept aid from a heretic and still remain pure in the eyes of my brothers? For if I am judged unworthy, I will not be appointed to the Grand Assembly. It is a perplexing situation.”
Heath rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When Kondole gifted me with his power, he created a new line of Stormlords, nearly equal in power to the Tempest. My progeny will bear my gift. I can give you a child, whom you can raise in the Baashan traditions.”
“The child’s eyes will be silver—”
“Then cut them out or blindfold them,” Heath said coldly. “We do not need to see with our eyes to sense the world around us. Or call the rains.”
Vyzad said nothing.
Heath continued. “The Inquisition never stopped its investigation of your priests. The Hierarch still believes you to be heretics and keeps spies in every house. I know about your secret torture chambers, Vyzad.”
Vyzad said something in Turisian and clapped his hands. His daughters scurried from the dining room, and the Patrean guard shut the heavy metallic doors, locking them in place. The room fell silent and even the bubbling fountains in the corner seemed muffled.
“I know your secrets, too.” Vyzad leveled his gaze at Heath. “Would a faggot, I apologize if that is not the term you use, even be able to get it up with one of my daughters?”
“Honestly?” Heath put a hand to his chest. “You may have many wives, but I’ve slept with at least three times that number. You have no idea what lengths an Inquisitor is ready to go through to get information. Fucking is the least of it. I’ll do all seven just to make sure.”
“And you would care nothing for this child? For the blinded child raised among us backward heretics?”
Heath shrugged. “The child will live better than I ever did growing up. Do you know how many parents would gladly blind their children just to know they would never go hungry? That they would never know the depredations of life on the street? That they would never lack for the Light of a healer when they fell sick with the cough? Besides, you could always grow them a new set of eyes. I’m on my third set.”
“You are a fascinating man.”
> “Think about it.” Heath stood and snatched a cumin pastry.
“You will have my answer in seven days’ time, after I have prayed.”
“Pray really hard.” Heath popped the pastry into his mouth and chewed. “I’m meeting with House Ziona tomorrow night.”
SIX
In Her Arms
LYTA
Central to the government of Baash are The Seven Great Houses. Each House has seven sons and seven daughters, though not all are the biological offspring of either the Patriarch or First Wife. Seven is a sacred number to the Ohanites, but there is another more practical motivation—seats in the Assembly.
Baash has ninety-nine seats, each held by one of the children of the Patriarchs. The children, in turn, give their proxies to their House, giving each house fourteen votes. They have effectively circumvented democracy by establishing a theocratic city-state within the Mirrored City.
There have been only five opposition candidates to achieve a seat in the past four hundred years; most notable was the legendary Dessim prankster Zanzillo, who convinced a sparsely populated district to vote for him by legally changing his name to ‘Ohan Gruber’. He was impeached shortly after the election and fled back to Dessim to avoid beheading for his blasphemy.
—SILAS DANE, PREFACE TO THE GENEALOGY OF THE GREAT HOUSES
“FATHER INTENDS TO breed us with that… Bamoran heretic.” Shannon’s blue eyes were wet with concern.
Her room was slightly larger than Lyta’s and painted pink. The bright fuchsia tessellated patterns on the columns and arched ceilings reflected a childlike aesthetic Shannon had never reconsidered in her adulthood.
Lyta draped her arm around her adopted sister’s pale shoulders. “You saw all of this in your visions?”
She nodded as Lyta ran her fingers through Shannon’s golden hair. “I saw it mostly through Father’s eyes. The stranger was more difficult to read… But the things he said. They were awful.”
“Shhh. Your gift is growing stronger every day. I am so proud of you.” Lyta pressed her face close to her sister’s bosom.
They had not been raised as sisters. Lyta had been Shannon’s handmaiden before a series of unfortunate events led to the excommunication of the seventh daughter, creating a vacancy for Lyta to fill. She had caught the Patriarch’s eye from an early age, with cocoa skin and eyes as clear blue as any pureblood Turisian. How could Vyzad not covet her?
“This is nonsense.” Shannon kissed Lyta’s breast. “We should run away. I’ve seen how women in Dessim live. They don’t feed men with their hands or wash their feet.”
Lyta kissed Shannon’s head. “They’re also poor. I would never patronize you, dear heart, but you have never had to face true hardships. If you think it is distasteful to wear a veil and feed Father’s guests, imagine how much worse it would be to earn your coin by undressing for strange men and letting their rough hands grope your body.”
“I can see through the eyes of any person I’ve touched,” Shannon countered. “We would not lack for prospects.”
Lyta stroked Shannon’s cheek. “Can you see through my eyes how beautiful you are?”
“You know I can’t. There’s something different about you, Lyta. One day I hope you trust me enough to tell me.”
“I do trust you.” Lyta bent down to kiss Shannon on the lips. She tasted like lavender and strawberries. “And I need you to trust me. We are perfect where we are. As sisters, no one will suspect us of impropriety. Father is blind to it, and our other sisters are terrified of you. We have everything a person could want in this world, in this house.”
“Except we have to hide our love in secret,” Shannon challenged. “I would prefer an honest life to a comfortable one.”
“Maybe you would. But I can’t do it, Shannon. Not yet anyway. There’s a way we can both get what we want. One where we can declare our love openly and live in opulence.” Lyta smiled.
Shannon grabbed Lyta’s breasts, teasing her nipples. “What’s your devious plan this time?”
Lyta rocked back as she let her hands slide down Shannon’s body, peeling off her robes. “It’s Father’s plan… with a twist. We let the Stormlord fuck his seed into you and then we cross the wall to Dessim. Father’s meager fields aren’t the only ones in need of irrigation. We have the bargaining tool.”
“Gross.” Shannon scrunched her nose. “I don’t want a man inside me. I’ve seen drawings of it, and it looks like a stubby worm.”
Lyta laughed. “It’s not so bad. You just lie on your back, and it’s usually over in ten minutes… if that. The Stormlord seems like a man who wants to get the job done quickly. We just have to ensure that one of us carries that child—not our sisters.”
Shannon shook her head. “I will be your eyes and ears, but please don’t ask me to do that. No riches could be worth it.”
Lyta sighed. “You’re like a fish. Riches are your water—it’s such a part of you that you don’t even know you need it to breathe. But there are worse things than keeping secrets from an ignorant father. Trust me on this. Carry his child and then we shall go to Dessim, not as outcasts, but as women of means.”
“Who would have thought my former handmaiden was more high maintenance than I was?” Shannon stood and pulled Lyta close, stripping her down so the warmth of their naked bodies could spread. They kissed passionately as their fingers explored the familiar curves and grooves of flesh.
Shannon’s fingernails raked through Lyta’s thick curls of hair, yanking out diamond barrettes. Lyta pressed against Shannon, sending her tumbling back to the circular silk cushion of her bed. Sweaty and heaving, Lyta slid against her lover as Shannon’s fingers involuntarily dug into Lyta’s thighs.
She bent over and kissed Shannon’s shoulder. Lyta sighed as she breathed in Shannon’s perfume.
The girl had always been a means to an end—a comfortable life in one of the prominent houses of Baash, far from the troubled past Lyta had escaped in Dessim. But the silly trifle with Vyzad’s adopted daughter was more real than anything else. Shannon trusted Lyta enough to reveal the gift of sight, yet Lyta still couldn’t open up to Shannon the same way.
“Stop thinking. Be here with me,” Shannon said, gently guiding her lover’s face between inviting thighs.
They fucked hard until neither one could stay awake. They slept in each other’s arms, their hair spilling out, sheets twisted around their bodies.
Prayer was at sunrise.
The women’s courtyard was attended by the female servants, Lyta’s six sisters, and Vyzad’s wives. Safina, the First Wife, led the prayer song, and Lyta professed her faith to Ohan as she had done each morning since coming to House Ibazz. The men’s voices carried over from their private courtyard, mingling with the women’s song. The words rang hollow to Lyta, but she sang them well.
She didn’t hate her life, like Shannon did. That girl would have run off and ended up a street whore if Lyta hadn’t provided a reason to stay. Children who were disowned from the Houses were some of the most wretched individuals. No one in Baash would aid them, and no one in Dessim much liked them either. But Shannon was obstinate in her desire to be free of the confines of House Ibazz.
The Path of Ohan was a good way to live, for the most part. If you were part of the faithful, you wanted for nothing. They lived healthy, simple lives free from the odiousness and distraction of life in Dessim. Expectations were clear.
The song concluded, and the women retired to their dining hall. The family sat at a long wooden table as servants brought them several large dishes of ostrich eggs, pastries, and cured fish. The dishes were massive, and the women passed them around, leaving enough for the servants to eat. Often, leftovers went to the poorest of the flock in Baash.
Across from Lyta sat Bejia, the Fifth Daughter, the last natural offspring of Vyzad. She was a plump and surly woman with straight black hair. She had a penchant for a particular kind of pastry, a baked ring of flaky bread with a fruit preserve in the middle like a bird
’s nest. The servants made one for her, and her alone, every day. Of all the seven daughters outside of Lyta and Shannon, Bejia was of age to bear children and therefore was a rival.
Lyta passed the pastry plate, taking a simple ball of baked honey dough. She ate her small breakfast in silence beside Shannon while the other women gossiped.
“He was quite handsome,” Laria said. “Did you see his eyes?”
Safina waved her flabby arm. “The best demon always looks like an angel.”
“How can he serve the Inquisition and the false whale-god?” Laria asked pointedly. “He would have to kill… himself would he not?”
Bejia spat. “He is a pagan. Those people don’t live by any principles.” She snatched her fruit pastry from the plate as it came to her, along with a couple of honey dough balls.
She must really not want a husband, Lyta thought but then quickly felt guilty. She had so many more reasons to despise Bejia—it felt lazy resorting to comments about her girth.
“What do you suppose Father intends to do? Is one of us to carry his child?” Shannon asked.
Safina rolled her eyes. “You think Vyzad would sacrifice your virginity on that filth? You’re not the only women in this House. He’ll breed him with one of the servants most likely; the heretic won’t know the difference—if he even cares. He needs our votes. Vyzad will adopt the child.”
“He already has seven daughters and sons.” Lyta’s fists clenched. Safina was no fool. She played the obedient wife but was every bit as ruthless and cunning as Vyzad. Lyta felt stupid for assuming it was even a possibility. But… it would have meant everything. Perhaps there’s still a way.
“We’ll have to make room,” Bejia said with a sneer directed at Lyta.
Safina explained dismissively, “You are Vyzad’s jewels and more precious to him than any riches, save the light of Ohan Himself. He would not trade you like goats to an outsider. So relax. Eat.”
The Mirrored City Page 4