Steelflower

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “So tis true.” An adai’s voice. I shut my eyes. The weight of Power in the air sparked against my nerves, filled the air with lazy swirls. G’mai, here, close to me after so long. A tear trickled down my right cheek, thankfully hidden because my face was to the fire. I watched the flames twist and lick the wood. “You’ve an adai. K’asai’adai, Your Highness.” Her voice was accented like Anjalismir, but with a faint lisping intonation. Mountainfolk, then, not part of a House. Anjalis-kader, perhaps, or the heights above Siyara. I could see it so clearly, the shapes of the mountains cradling my home rising to knife at the sky, their harsh beauty scoured by wind and snow, each crag and rock fixed in memory.

  “Please, enter, be at ease.” Darik was faultlessly hospitable. I finished another braid. Three more to go. My fingers flew. “You must be Hadarik. In’sh’ai.”

  “In’sh’ai.” Male. A s’tarei, gruff and older, with something close to Darik’s accent. From the land around the Dragon City, then. “Saw you on the practice ground once or twice. Good steel.”

  “My thanks for the compliment.” Darik sounded pleased. They arranged themselves—the adai in the three chairs near the window, probably, the s’tarei standing behind. There was another long silence, I felt eyes on me. I finished another braid, moved on to the next.

  They started exchanging names. I did not listen. I finished the last braids and twisted them all up, running the ribbon through with practiced ease. Then I simply sat and looked into the fire, wishing for my dotanii. Twas braced next to the bed, and I chided myself for leaving it there. But I could not risk their eyes upon me while I stalked to my sword, though my hand ached for it.

  “—begging for your return.” the older s’tarei said, and I slumped further, cupping my chin in my hand. “She sent this, sealed for you, and you alone. Will you accept the message, at least?”

  I heard a sigh. Darik’s voice came from the window. He would be standing, looking out over Hamarh Street

  . “The situation is…complicated,” he said, slowly, and I might have smiled if I had not been so busy trying to be invisible. He used the word for a difficult, long-drawn out battle in which there are no clear victories, with the inflection made it only an incredibly complex problem. Twas neatly done, and managed to convey more than most people could have with a long speech. “I am not interested in the Dragon Throne. I was taught to have no interest. I did not think I would be missed.”

  “G’maihallan needs an Heir,” one of the adai said. An older woman—probably the twin of the older s’tarei. I listened intently. “The Hatai have opened peace negotiations, since the Border is renewed, but the strain is telling on the queen. She grows old, and has lost her prize. We all know how much she loved her daughter.” She used the word that could mean daughter, but was in reality the word for pride. Twas a nice touch.

  “I know better than most how much she loved her daughter.” Darik used the same word, and his inflection was not kind.

  A long embarrassed silence filled the room like wine in a cup. I felt something curious—an urge to turn and meet Darik’s eyes. His gaze was a weight against my shoulders, more a comfort than an irritation now.

  I studied the polished wooden floor, the tips of my toes, my battered, callused feet. Sellsword’s feet that had seen long leagues in boots and hard campaigns. There was a blister under the nail of my left fourth toe, a gift from the duel or from the last fight with bandits. The urge to meet his gaze with mine wrapped inside my brain, teased at my eyes.

  I managed to stay still.

  “You have a duty,” the older s’tarei said, reluctantly. “Please, Your Highness, will you not at least accept it? Tis only a message.”

  Darik’s silence became very much like the quiet I had felt from him as he moved through the woods, night-hunting.

  I wished I could speak to him. What does it matter? At least read it. Then you may decide.

  There was a gasp, and I turned before I could stop myself. The three adai stared at me. Their s’tarei did too, but with decidedly less stunned expressions. The young adai I had seen before the duel—Janaire—reached up to touch her own braids, looking at mine.

  “Very well,” Darik said. “I shall read it, and give you an answer, Hadarik. I warn you, though, my adai is even less enchanted with the idea of returning to G’maihallan than I.”

  One s’tarei—a lean older man with a sprinkling of salt and pepper in his hair and the sharp features of an Insharimir—produced a scroll-case, an elaborately carved ebon cylinder. Twas chased with silver, an elaborate filigree of the royal Dragon breathing fire. Darik took two steps, plucked it from his hand, and half-turned, facing me. He was smiling, but it was a faint hurtful smile, his armored expression.

  I did not think on it, simply found myself on my feet with my hand extended. “I will.” I heard my own accent, the lilting song of Anjalismir. I could be placed easily from that voice, but none of them knew me, did they? I was a stranger to my own House.

  The third adai, motionless in her chair, was a small thin woman with very long braids bound with silver and a silver dauq’adai flashing against her chest. She seemed familiar, but I did not examine her too closely. My own dauq’adai was hidden, a warm lump against my breastbone, and I met her wide dark eyes only briefly before I took the scroll-case from Darik.

  “As you like,” he said, in the personal inflection, and I heard his relief. Maybe none but I would have heard it; since I had traveled hard leagues with him without speaking at all.

  I clicked the scroll-case open and retrieved a thick roll of parchment. Twas sealed with the queen’s personal seal, a reclining dragon over a black Sun. I broke the wax with no ceremony at all and unrolled the top half.

  “To Tar-Amyirak Adarikaan imr-dr’Emeryn, Dragaemir-hai, my son and Heir, greetings from the hand of An’Dragaemiran Tayanikaa imr-Yadorikaa, Dragaemir-hai, queen anointed of G’maihallan and blessed one of the Blessed Ones, Moon on Earth.” I did not let my lip curl. Twas a struggle. “Our son.” The writing was a firm, clear calligrapher’s hand, obviously the queen’s. It was not the carefully round script of a kafa’adai, an adai scribe. “Far have you traveled from Us, and without a message to warn Us of your intent. We were told you had survived the attack on your royal life and traveled to the Dravairehai Temple of the Blessed Moon to receive your dauq’adai, and We congratulate you on your foresight.” I glanced at Darik’s face. His jaw was set. He watched the fire. I moved a step closer to him, continued reading.

  “We are saddened to report to you the loss of Our body-Heir, your cousin Kallistaa. The last attack of the Hatai upon Our westron borders took her royal life. We are saddened by this event more than We can express, and yet are thankful the Moon in Her mercy has left an Heir to the House of Dragaemir.” I swallowed dryly, thought longingly of the soup cooling on its tray.

  Kaia…Darik’s voice, laid in the shell of my ear like a gift. I stayed my course, reading aloud.

  “We ask that you return, to take your rightful place at Our right hand, to act as Our advisor in all things, and to prepare you for the weight of the crown resting so heavily upon Our head.”

  Twas a space, and I unrolled the scroll a little more. The tone of the letter changed completely, from the formal inflection to the most personal of family inflections, used between mother and child. I scanned it, and inhaled sharply. Oh, gods.

  “Adarikaan, bright blade of your mother, I know you hate me. You have reason to. None knows the depths of the harm done to you more than I, and none knows the price you have paid for your bloodline more than I. I thought only to enforce policy and unify G’maihallan. I thought only of the good of the people of the Moon. Surely you cannot blame me for that?

  “G’maihallan needs you. Please, by the mercy of the Moon, come home.” I glanced up at Darik again. His jaw was set, and his eyes were burning black.

  The tone shifted back to formality, the queen addressing a subject and Heir. “In Our hand, and with Our seal, we seal this letter and bid yo
u farewell, hoping to rest Our eyes upon you soon. An’Dragaemiran Tayanikaa imr-Yadorikaa, Dragaemir-hai, queen anointed of G’maihallan and blessed one of the Blessed Ones, Moon on Earth.”

  I unrolled the rest of the scroll. Just another seal, the imprint of the royal House. Darik stood straight as a lance, his shoulders rigid, and his face was terrible in that moment.

  The room was completely silent.

  I reached for him, touched his shoulder. I could find nothing to say.

  “G’maihallan needs you—” the older s’tarei began. I remembered his name: Hadarik.

  I spun to face them, these six G’mai. They resembled me, except for my golden eyes. Twas unnerving, faces so much like my own. I had grown so accustomed to the faces of the Lan'ai Shairukh coast. “Leave him be.” My voice could have cut the window-glass.

  Hadarik stopped, and I turned back. “Darik?” I rolled up the parchment, slipped it back into the case, and closed the case with a snap. I touched his shoulder again. The material of his shirt was soft, the brocade a different texture under my fingers.

  He finally gazed at me, not at the fire. Well? he asked. What say you, my adai? Command me to go back, and I will. But not without you.

  His eyes were awful, black holes in his face. My fingers closed involuntarily, digging into his shoulder. I would rather roll in pigshit than go back to G’maihallan. I opened my mouth to say it.

  Tis the queen, Kaia. A muscle in his jaw flicked. Speak to me privately, Kaia. I swear to the Moon, your voice is the only thing that could stop me from… His voice ceased, yet I understood. Twas rage filling his veins, the rage of a s’tarei, not something to be trifled with. Please, please, speak to me thus.

  Very well. You do not wish to return, and neither do I. I am bound for Shaituh. Rik needs me. If you are determined to go with me—

  Why must you even ask? Fury colored his words a deep purple-red, the color of a deep fresh bruise. You know I will follow wherever you tread. You are my adai.

  I cannot leave you and the barbarian here, then. I swallowed dryly. For a dizzying moment, I felt something I recognized in his mental voice.

  Loneliness. A loneliness and hurt, aching anger at least as violent as my own. I knew that feeling, shame and fierceness and stubborn pride mixed together until the resultant stew stopped the throat and choked the heart. We were akin, Darik and I—me shunned by my House, him shunned and trained harshly by his. If any G’mai alive could understand what I felt, my own fury and shame and bitterness, he could.

  Very well, I repeated. You’ve sworn your oath to me, let it be. Let it stand, flawed or not. We shall go to Shaituh. Do you wish to tell them, or shall I?

  He closed his eyes, his throat moving as he fought for control, found it. When his eyes opened he was himself again, and he nodded slightly, his eyes locked with mine. I do not know what he saw in my face, but I saw his jaw relax as if he found what he sought.

  I know what you feel, I told him, silently. I truly do.

  He took the scroll-case, his fingers gentle. Then he turned on his booted heel and faced them. “Do you know of the attempt on my life?”

  All six of them looked on with blank incomprehension, except the older adai, the one in the chair Hadarik hovered over. She folded her hands primly in her lap. “I would guess,” she said softly, “it was not a palace coup, since the body-Heir was not attacked. It is rumored, Dragaemir Adarikaan, that you were the target.”

  A faint smile returned to Darik’s face. I saw the shadow of some deeper sorrow on his face. “Then you will understand why I will not risk my adai in a return to a viper’s nest. Look elsewhere for your sacrifice to the throne of G’maihallan.”

  “Are you uncertain of your ability to protect your adai?” She lifted one elegant eyebrow, an insult to match his.

  I could not help myself. “I am more than capable of defending myself, thank you,” I informed her in sharply polite G’mai. “I was thrown from of my House and he was very nearly thrown from of his. I may have deserved it, but he certainly did not. So the queen requires him now? She should have thought on this before she barred him from the festivals. He might have found a true adai at the festivals, but instead he was forced out of G’maihallan on a coney-chase with a flawed dauq’adai. Now he has a flawed adai, and dueled me seeking to prove it. All this because the queen was too short-sighted to see mistreating him was not the way to ensure her succession.” I had to stop to breathe. They stared at me, the three adai slack-jawed with what looked like amazement.

  “There is no need for—” the older s’tarei began.

  “Do not lecture me on what there is need for, s’tarei’sa.” Twas terrible manners to interrupt, but I cared little. “Where were you when I was thrown from of my House, to tell what there was need for?”

  “Anjalismir,” the third adai said, suddenly. The adai who spoke like an Anjalis-kader, with a slight lisp. “You are from Anjalismir. Anoritaa’s daughter.”

  I studied her. Wide pretty face, dark long-lashed eyes, a pretty chiseled mouth. Her accent almost matched mine.

  Oh, no. “Darminaa.” Disbelief tinted my voice. I knew her. She had been a few summers older than me, not one of my age-mates but close enough. Mother Moon, no.

  “The Heir?” Her s’tarei looked like a Kamarimir, from the northern mountains, a face like a pale stone carving now brightening with interest. “Truly?”

  “Kaialitaa.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I almost did not recognize you. You are alive—and you are speaking.” Her dress was deep rich red, velvet worked with embroidered, interlocked crescents. Twas a beautiful gown, and I remembered the pattern from Anjalismir when I was a child.

  Did you expect me to creak and coo like a ratbird? “Of course I am speaking. I could always speak. Nobody cared enough to listen.”

  Darminaa did not care for my objection. “When her mother died, she went mute. She would not speak. The Yada’Adais tried everything to reach her, but she was cloaked in silence.”

  I found my voice again. “Cease this. He does not wish to go, I do not blame him, now leave us be.”

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Janaire’s lovely young face was solemn. “I did not think an adai could do such a thing.”

  “She took a wooden practice sword to the practice ground,” Darminaa supplied helpfully. “Her mother’s brother trained her. He said it was not against the Law, and at least she had at last shown an interest in living. The entire House was in an uproar. None knew where she slept, or how she ate. She was a ghost in her House.”

  “Leave us alone,” I said, but none listened to me anymore except Darik, his black eyes thoughtful. There was no further trace of the awful rage. He reached down with his free hand and took mine, his fingers warm and hard, callused from sword practice.

  Like mine. How alike were we, this princeling and I?

  “They sent for trackers, but she simply vanished.” Darminaa tossed her head as if she still had her child’s braids. I remembered her more clearly now—she had fostered at the House but never lost her soft lisp. “Took only a sword and her clothes. She had retreated to a cellar—once they found it, they moved her to her mother’s chambers. She had carried even her books down to the damp little hole.”

  It still hurt. I had created a sanctuary for myself in the cellar, true. Returning to its womblike dimness and finding my belongings gone had been a violation, one I still felt the sting of. I had not stayed longer than necessary in one place since, always moving away, and yet I still felt the thump of fear under my ribs and the unsettled feeling that nothing truly belonged to me, that something had been stolen and I would never regain it.

  “Mother Moon, enough.” Darik’s voice cut through hers. “My adai requires rest.” He held up the scroll-case. “As for this, Hadarik, you may take my answer, written on air. No. Let my lady aunt, the queen, explain my refusal to her council however she chooses. I want none of it.” It was the voice of royalty again, and the other two adai slowly rose t
o their feet, unwilling to disobey.

  “You will not reconsider?” Hadarik asked.

  “No.” The single syllable, in all its curtness, was more than a simple refusal. Twas utter negation. “I crave your pardon for your trouble, Karaiimir Hadarik. Adai’sa, accept my thanks.” He was drawn up to use every fingerwidth of his height, his hand caught in mine. I could not seem to make my fingers let go. He was not pale, but his face was set and his eyes blazed. He looked like a statue of a Dragaemir prince, carved out of something warm and utterly stubborn. Steelstone, perhaps, or heated marble.

  Darminaa seemed as if she wished to say aught else, but I glared at her and her s’tarei—the Kamarimir with the pale stone face—closed his hand over her shoulder, murmured in her ear. She bit back whatever she intended to say.

  Janaire lingered behind, her s’tarei Atyarik seeking to urge her for the door. “You have a great gift. You could be a healer.” Her flawless young face was pale and determined. His face, even and unremarkable for a G’mai, was just as set.

  I could find nothing to say. Her s’tarei finally took her from the room, speaking to her in a low voice.

  “I care not,” she said finally in fluid G’mai, as he pulled her out the door. “She has such Power and she does not use it, simply lets it fester—”

  The door closed. I heard his voice, low and resolute, and hers answering him. The sound of s’tare’atan, the young, cautious s’tarei and the young, headstrong adai, something familiar from my childhood. I had heard that exchange many times in the halls of Anjalismir, always listening from the edges.

  Darik squeezed my hand. “My thanks, K’li.”

  The top of my head reached just under his chin, and his extra size had told on me during the duel. I am built slight, as were all G’mai women. I have extra muscle from years of hard campaigning, but he was s’tarei, and had several muscle-ropy pounds—and several inches—more than I did. “You have let the marshcat free now. Are you absolutely certain—”