An Accident of Stars

by Foz Meadows

  Kadu’s expression softened. “And if you don’t feel up to it–”

  “Father, please!” Viya cut him off. Kadu was visibly taken aback: the words had come out more forcefully than she’d intended. Viya gritted her teeth and tried again, more calmly this time. “Please understand, as Cuivexa, I need your confidence and wisdom. Concern can wait.”Inhaling, Kadu smiled gently. “I… Forgive me.” Reaching out, he briefly touched a hand to her cheek, then let it fall again. “It’s a father’s prerogative to see his children as children even when they’re grown. And you have grown, Cuivexa Iviyat, since last we met.”

  An unexpected lump rose in Viya’s throat. “My thanks,” she said, and surprised even herself by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek.

  Pix raised an eyebrow. “If you’re quite done?”

  Viya’s answering look could have curdled cream. She went to offer a retort, but found herself forestalled by a shout from the end of the drive. A quartet of riders was approaching: a handsome older woman, two honoured swords – one male, one female – and a fourth whose identity was concealed beneath a voluminous cloak, despite the sun’s warmth. A shiver of premonition ran through her; instinctively, she knew the cloaked figure was Amenet, which meant that the older, unarmed woman was Kisavet ore Kisavet. The style in which she wore her marriage-braids was distinctive: two thin plaits looped back on either side of her head until they joined a third, with the rest of her iron-grey hair worn loose. Viya thought it suited her; the observation was strangely steadying.

  Beside her, Pix stiffened and muttered a curse. “They’re early,” she said. “They wanted to catch us off guard. Leave the talking to me.”

  There were times when anger brought Viya clarity, a terrible bright mood that quickened speech and motions both, her thoughts turned river-swift. This was one such time. She’d had enough of feeling slighted and powerless, at the mercy of her elders, and now, in a single moment, all her thoughts and fears and hopes crystallised into a single driving ambition.

  “No,” she told Pix, too electrified by her own intentions to enjoy the courtier’s shock at being gainsaid. “Let me.”

  And before anyone could contradict her, she walked forward to greet the riders. Viya bowed as they halted – not so deeply as to indicate obeisance, nor so shallowly as to betray pride. It was a gesture perfectly calibrated to establish them all as equals, and the significance of it clearly wasn’t lost on Kisavet, who raised a brow and smiled.

  “Iviyat ore Leoden ki Rixevet,” she said, dismounting. “I met you as a child, you know, though you’ve doubtless forgotten the occasion.”

  “Not at all,” lied Viya, racking her brains to recall the encounter even as she accepted the noblewoman’s proffered hand. “Kisavet ore Kisavet ki Oreva, be welcome here – you, and your… associates.” Her gaze flicked pointedly to the cloaked figure, who, like the honoured swords, remained silent and mounted.

  Kisavet frowned slightly. “Might I suggest we repair inside–” she began, but was cut off by a rasping chuckle.

  “Gods in a bottle, Kisa, don’t be so coy. I’m sick to death of playing dead.” The cloaked figure pushed back her hood. “Amenet ore Amenet ki Rahei, alive and…” She cocked her head, lips twisted bitterly. “I want to say well, but that wouldn’t be strictly accurate, would it? Still. I’m alive, and I’m here.”

  Mercifully, she chose that moment to dismount, giving Viya space to control her surprise. Pix had said only that Amenet had struggled to regain the use of her limbs after Leoden had poisoned her, not that she’d suffered facial paralysis, too. Yet the whole left side of her face was flaccid: the eyelid drooped, her mouth turned down at the corner, the skin visibly sagging. Only when Amenet began to limp forwards did Viya understand; it wasn’t just her face, but the whole left side of her body that had suffered. Her left arm hung limp, her left foot dragged, and while the rest of her hadn’t been spared either – her right hand shook with palsy, though she wasn’t yet thirty years old, and her black hair, worn back in a lose singleton’s tail, was brittle and thin – the left side damage was clearly the most severe.

  Yet for all that, her presence still commanded respect. She was tall and dignified with a determined gleam in her dark eyes. Her features were strong and broad; more handsome than beautiful, but nonetheless arresting, and though recovery had taken its toll on her famed voluptuousness, she was by no means skeletal. Her dress was simply cut, made of rich crimson cloth and tied with a broad belt of gold-bossed leather beneath the unassuming brown of her cloak.Powerfully, Viya was reminded of the fact that Amenet was meant to have been Cuivexa, not her. Leoden had promised them each a future, then stolen it back with violence and lies and Kadeja’s aid. Now they were exiled queens together, both broken, both older, and both with an equal claim to the crown; and just for a moment, the enormity of it all forced Viya to acknowledge, as she’d refused to do since the first day she bound her marriage-braids, that although there was no fair measure by which she could rightly be called a child, she wasn’t quite a woman yet either. Amenet was older, wiser, and cannier – but if Viya were to successfully determine her own future, then only she, and she alone, could negotiate her position.

  Behind her, she was aware of Pix’s impatience: the courtier was clearly itching to regain control of the situation. Viya inhaled deeply. Ke and Na guide me.

  “Amenet,” she said. “I think the two of us should speak. Alone,” she added, before anyone else could interject.

  “Ivi!” Kadu said, shocked. Inwardly, Viya winced to be called by her childhood name at such a time, but managed to keep her expression still.

  Amenet’s gaze flicked to Pix, to Kadu, to Kisavet before finally landing on Viya. A small, sharp smile turned up the good side of her mouth.

  “I would like that, Iviyat. Very much.” She said this firmly, forestalling Kisavet’s obvious wish to comment. She and Viya exchanged a knowing look, the two of them united in their desire to be free from well-meaning interference. “Please, lead on.”

  Viya did.

  * * *

  Gwen stared at her hands, remembering how young she’d been the first time she’d noticed that the skin of her fingers was no longer perfectly smooth. When, as a baby, Louis had curled his whole hand around her thumb, she’d been overwhelmed, not only by the thought that his hands would one day be bigger than hers, but the realisation that the years of her life were written on her skin, while his was still sweet and unblemished. Since then, whenever she was stressed but unable to act, she’d fallen into the habit of examining her palms, fingers, knuckles; imagining when each crease and line and callous had first formed, recalling the origins of scars, wondering if she’d live long enough to see their changes ten, twenty, thirty years in the future.

  Saffron and Zech had been gone for more than half a day by now. Though more than one person had reassured her that both girls were still alive and safe, that was as far as it went. The few queens they’d spotted had all refused to yield to Yasha’s furious questioning, and since then they’d been kept in limbo – waiting, as the queens were surely waiting, to see what happened next.

  Yasha had gone quiet some time ago: a bad sign, if Gwen was any judge. They were back in the rooms Mesthani had originally provided them, and with the exception of Jeiden, Trishka and a handful of Shavaktiin who were asleep, everyone was out in the main room, basking in the sun streaming through the glassless window and trying, with varying degrees of success, to keep calm.

  Gwen, however, had long since sought the relative peace and quiet of Trishka’s room, where she’d settled herself in a sparse wicker chair by her friend’s bedside. Though Trishka’s burns were all but healed, distinguishable as recent injuries only by the lighter shade and pinched shininess of the new skin, the consequences of ripping open an unplanned portal were yet to diminish. She’d woken briefly since they’d arrived, enough to be updated on the progress of Zech and Saffron, but not since; and Gwen, despite herself, was beginning to worry. In all th
e long years that they’d known each other, she’d never stopped feeling guilty at the fact that Trishka routinely risked pain and exhaustion to send Gwen back and forth between Earth and Kena (and sometimes, without Yasha’s knowledge, to other worlds entirely). Over and over, Trishka had tried to reassure her: it wasn’t the distance that caused the difficulty, but how familiar she was with the end location. By now, she’d visioned so much of Earth and opened so many portals there that it had long since become second nature.But when they’d fled the compound, she’d been flying blind, groping desperately for safety with no time to prepare. The strength it must have taken – of mind, of magic, of body – was incredible.

  Gwen’s fingers clenched. It had all gone so horribly wrong, and it all came back to her and Pix. If they’d only known–

  “Stop torturing yourself. I know that look.”

  Startled, Gwen jerked her head up. It was Matu, leaning insouciantly against the doorframe. His long hair, usually sleek, was a dishevelled mess; not unattractively so, because he was still Matu, but enough to mark him out as preoccupied.

  “I didn’t even hear the door open,” Gwen grumbled, by way of greeting.

  Matu grinned. “My stealth is legendary.” Glancing at Trishka, he came inside and shut the door. “How is she?”

  Gwen sighed. “As well as can be expected.” She rose, not liking to sit while he stood. Though Matu was taller than her, they were almost of a height. Without volition, her fingers began to twitch against her thigh. She badly wanted a cigarette, but Matu’s supply of cahlu had run out days ago, thanks in no small part to his consistent generosity in sharing it with her.

  Matu grimaced. “I don’t think I can bear the waiting much longer. It’s too much. Waiting for Zech and Safi… I still can’t believe I didn’t catch what she was planning. If something’s happened to her…” He shook his head, visibly pained, and forced himself to continue. “Waiting for Trishka. Waiting for Leoden to make his next move. Waiting to hear from Pix again. Waiting for… waiting for Amenet.” He laughed bleakly. “But then, I’ve always been waiting for Amenet, one way or another. And it never gets any easier.”

  He fell silent then, and his silence matched hers, each sliding towards the other like oildrops in water. Gwen’s fingers twitched again, refusing to be still. Without even thinking, she reached up and brushed a lock of Matu’s hair back from his cheek, smoothing the long, soft strands behind his ear – and then she paused, cheeks burning like a teenager’s, when she realised what she was doing.

  Yet she didn’t drop her hand.

  Matu looked at her, handsome and calm, a strange smile tugging the edge of his lips.

  “Gwen–”

  “I’m a foolish old woman,” she said. “Not as old as all that, surely?”

  “Matu, I–”

  He leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first, and she was so surprised that she almost pulled away, thinking it must be charity, he was doing her a kindness, there was no other explanation (stars in the Many, let there be another explanation), but then he moved his own hand to cup the back of her head and she knew, she knew it was more than that (I’m not so old, there’s blood in me yet), and she kissed him back as she hadn’t kissed anyone in years, not even her marriage-mates, pulse thundering like a waterfall.

  Matu sunk his fingers deep into her hair. When he finally pulled away, he withdrew the hand slowly, letting his fingertips graze her softly from cheek to chin. He was smiling.

  “Do you know,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time.”

  “I… me too,” said Gwen, still somewhat dazed. “But I… We… That is, I mean–”

  “Gwen.” He took her hands in his. “You’re already married. I know that–” well, Gwen thought, that answers that question, “–just as you know that whatever else I might say or do, I’ve never stopped loving Amenet. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful to me, or that you’re duty-bound to ignore such wily charms as I have to offer.”

  His self-deprecating smile as he said it prompted a snort of laughter from Gwen. “Such wily charms indeed.” She raised an eyebrow. “So this was…?”

  “A kiss between friends,” said Matu seriously, with only the barest twinkle in his eye, “exchanged in the spirit of mutual respect, attraction and affection, and also because we’re out of cigarettes.” So saying, he raised her hands, dropped a kiss on her knuckles, and let them go again. “Fair, my lady?”

  “Fair,” said Gwen. Her lips and knuckles tingled from his touch, and deep in her core, she felt as though part of a burden had been lifted. Jhesa and Naku would tease her shamelessly for it, when she told them. She allowed herself a moment to look forward to that conversation, then paused, breathed deeply, and changed the subject. “How’s Jeiden?”

  “Guilt-ridden and desperate to see Zech. I can sympathise,” Matu sighed. “In fact, I should get back to him. Yasha isn’t exactly known for her sympathy, and the Shavaktiin have their own problems.”

  Gwen crossed her arms. “Matuhasa idi Naha. Did you, or did you not, come in here with the sole purpose of kissing me once and then leaving again?”

  Matu’s answering grin lacked even the barest flicker of contrition. “Not the sole purpose. I also wanted to see how Trishka was doing. And now I have, and will take my leave.”

  And before Gwen could answer, he gave a cheeky half-bow and ducked out of the room again.

  For a long moment, Gwen was silent. Did that just happen? Did I really just–“Now that,” said a weak voice from the bed, “was interesting.”

  “Trishka!” Gwen whirled, rushing to kneel by the bedside – a little too enthusiastically, as the sudden motion sent a pang of pain through her knees. Cursing, Gwen resettled herself, and found that her friend was looking up at her with the exact same expression she’d once worn while watching a much younger and boisterously drunk Gwen fall down an incline seconds after uttering the immortal phrase, “Nothing can stop me now!”“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t even say it.”

  “You vixen!” Trishka exclaimed – in English, not Kenan. It was an old joke between them, dating back to when Gwen had first been dragged through the Many. There was no equivalent expression in Kenan that conveyed the same sense of scandalous female behaviour, because there was no cultural sense in which female sexuality was considered particularly scandalous in Kena, and they used it – now as ever – to express their wicked delight at each other’s actions.

  Gwen could have wept with relief. “Vixen yourself,” she murmured, squeezing Trishka’s hand. And then, switching to Kenan, “How are you?”

  With visible effort, Trishka squirmed upwards in bed, until she was half-sitting against the wall. “I’ve been better. But more importantly, I’ve been watching the queens. As much as I can do, anyway. Most of the citadel is warded against crying through the jahudemet and ilumet, but the rooms where they’re keeping Zech and Safi are clear.”

  Gwen’s heart seized. She wanted to say, you shouldn’t have pushed yourself, you need to heal, but instead she asked, “Did you hear anything, or was it just images?”

  “Here and there,” Trishka replied. “You know how it is; everything comes and goes, especially when I’m tired. And don’t look at me like that,” she added, as Gwen opened her mouth. “You know perfectly well that a little tiredness on my part doesn’t matter against war and queenships.”

  “It matters to me,” Gwen said softly.

  Trishka smiled wearily. “I know.” She closed her eyes in a long, slow blink, then opened them again. “The queens are divided. That’s why they’ve kept Yasha from seeing Zech and Safi. The fact that they passed the trial… when Zech invoked the law the way she did, some of the queens said they ought to have set a precedent and forbidden her to even attempt it, on the grounds of Kadeja’s expulsion from the temple. They’d never had to deal with a retroactive case before, and in the end, they only agreed to let her try because the dissidents believed she’d die in the process. But both girls lived,
and now there’s uproar. They can’t invalidate her trial, they can’t deny Safi’s new rights under Vekshi law, but they want to, Gwen, and badly. Ashasa’s Knives have too much power now. That’s why they’re stalling. But I think…” She trailed off, eyes going glassy as she dipped back into her magic. Gwen waited, holding her breath.

  “I think,” said Trishka, after a minute or so, “that things are starting to settle. Either that, or they’re unravelling in a way that’s to our advantage. The girls need to see someone friendly, and as much as I love her–”

  “–it shouldn’t be Yasha,” Gwen said, rising. “I’ll go, then. Gods be willing, Yasha won’t notice.”

  “Good.” Trishka folded her hands on her lap, then added innocently, “Matu will still be here when you get back.”

  “You’re enjoying this far too much,” Gwen muttered darkly. “What are we, still green girls?”

  Trishka smiled. “Forever and always, in our hearts. It’s only flesh that ages.”

  * * *

  Viya sat on one side of the table, Amenet on the other. In truth, it was less a table than it was a writing desk, but after finally managing to exercise some control over events, Viya hadn’t been in a position to stop and casually ask which of the house’s many rooms would be best suited as a venue for her negotiations. Instead, she’d made a snap decision and headed straight for the library, on the not unreasonable basis that she was at least familiar with it. Once there, she bled off some of her nervous energy by dragging Kadu’s desk away from the far wall, clearing the surface, and setting a second chair before it.

  If Amenet was at all perturbed by these makeshift surrounds, she didn’t show it. Instead, she sat gracefully in the nearest chair (the mismatched one, Viya noticed – was she making a statement, or simply opting for convenience?) while Viya shut the door.

  Now that they were alone, the silence felt thunderous. Viya’s thoughts whirled. All her calculated braggadocio, every claim she’d ever laid to power and respect by virtue of her status as Cuivexa suddenly felt hollow. Leoden had married her, but she’d been Cuivexa in name only, and for so brief a time, under such exceptional circumstances, that it scarcely mattered. All this time, she’d been looking for the deference she felt was her rightful due, but what if it wasn’t owed her at all? Power should be earned, she thought suddenly. I cannot be Cuivexa for myself; only to serve others – to serve Kena. But what if that means stepping aside? What if I really should defer to Amenet? She bit her lip, struggling to hear the will of Ke and Na. Their answer struck her like a blow. If my only true act as Cuivexa is to give up my power to one who deserves it more, then in that moment, I will still have been a better ruler than Leoden ever was.