An Accident of Stars

by Foz Meadows

  “You look thoughtful,” Amenet said, breaking her reverie.

  “I am,” said Viya, gulping. “And I think… I think that we should be honest.”

  “Honest?” Amenet raised her right eyebrow, so that her face looked even more lopsided than it already was. “A dangerous proposition, where politics are concerned. How do you know you can trust me to do likewise?”

  Viya met her gaze. “I don’t,” she said, simply. “But after what Leoden did – what he’s done to both of us – I expect we’re both tired of lies.”

  To her credit, Amenet didn’t flinch. “Speak honestly then.”

  It was a challenge – even now, Amenet was too much the politician to take an offer of peace at face value. But then, Viya’s rational self reminded her, if you had been poisoned and left for dead by the last person to propose such a peace, how trusting would you be?

  The moment weighed on her shoulders like a giant’s hands. Everything she’d done since leaving the palace – everything that had happened since Hawy, gods keep her memory, had sent her off to be married, and Rixevet, Iavan and Kadu had left her family mahu’kadet – all boiled down to this.

  “I can’t rule,” Viya said. “I haven’t earned the right. When Leoden and Kadeja are overthrown, I will support you as Vexa.”

  Amenet stared at her. “And what do you ask in return? To be retained as Cuivexa?”

  Viya inhaled deeply. “I ask nothing in return. I want only to serve Kena – to do what is right in the eyes of Ke and Na, and the people we serve. If that means stepping aside, then I will step aside.” She pressed her palms flat to the tabletop. “After fleeing the palace, I found myself in the company of Vekshi women, among others. Leoden lied about their involvement in the death of the Uyun ambassador to justify chasing them all from Karavos. There will be consequences for that, once the truth is discovered. I know nothing of Uyu, but if we’re going to avoid enmity with them once all this is done–”

  “Once all this is done?” Amenet said. There was a strange note to her voice.

  “Of course!”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Amenet began to laugh, a dry, throaty chuckle that set her shoulders shaking. “You are,” she said, “exactly the opposite of what I expected.”

  Viya didn’t know what to say to that, and so remained silent. Amenet shook her head and spoke again. “The first time I came back to myself after dying – and I did die, for a time – I couldn’t move. Not my arms, not my legs, not my head. I was trapped, helpless. I couldn’t even speak. Being awake was bad enough, but falling asleep was worse, because I’d never know if I was going to wake up again, or what would’ve changed if I did. One night, I woke up in the dark. I was completely alone – there were no sounds, no lights, nothing. I didn’t know if I’d gone blind, if I’d been abandoned, or if I really was dead after all. I couldn’t cry or scream. I just stayed like that, trapped in the dark for hours.” She laughed softly. “Or at least, it felt like hours. I’ll never really know how long it was. But eventually, someone came back, and I knew I was still alive.

  “As you can see, I did get my movement back in the end. But it took a lot of work and a lot of time, and all the while… in the middle of everything, when I was at my weakest, that’s when I heard that Leoden had married you. That his Cuivexa was little more than a child, the daughter of one of his followers, practically given to him by her mother, and thereafter never seen in public. I heard you were spoilt, reclusive and stupid. I heard you were a pawn, a hostage to ensure your secondmother’s good behaviour. I heard you were Kadeja’s plaything.”

  “I was all of that,” Viya said softly. “Once.” And not so long ago. Far away, yet not so far. Like a moon-tale.

  “And I hated you. I hated you because you were young and whole and alive, and because as much as you didn’t deserve what was being done to you, you didn’t deserve the slender chance at power it gave you either. I was… very bitter. I still am. But not towards you, now.” She reached across the table, her fingers ghosting above, but not touching, the scar on Viya’s face. “We have both been marked by this.” She let her hand hover a moment longer, then pulled it back.

  “I came here thinking we’d argue. I came here thinking you would demand the crown despite being ill-suited to wear it, and wondering whether I’d have the strength to tell you no when in my heart, I’d gladly give it up.”

  “Your heart…” Viya stared, unable to comprehend what Amenet was saying. “You don’t want to rule?”

  “I want to rule. But I fear, despite all I’ve done, despite everything… I am not what I was.” Abruptly, Amenet looked away. “I have seen the dark, and the dark has seen me. Once all this is done, as you put it, Kena will need strength – strength, and will, and courage. But mine has been spent. I have fits now. Seizures that strike me when I’m stressed, when I’m cold, when I’m tired. I have nightmares–” her voice broke on the word, wavering awfully, but somehow she gathered herself and continued, “–and waking dreams, sometimes, when it feels as though the paralysis has returned and I’m trapped again. Some of this will fade in time, the healers tell me. Some of it will not. But worst of everything is the self-doubt, this feeling as though I’ve missed my moment. I was there, Iviyat, at the start of Leoden’s scheming. As much as he fooled Pixeva ore Piexeva and Gwen Vere, he fooled me too. I might have prevented all of this. I didn’t.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t for you to prevent,” said Viya. “Maybe Ke and Na planned all of this.” But though she said it, she couldn’t make it feel true. For the first time in a long time, reaching for her faith felt like worrying the socket left behind by an empty tooth. She believed in the gods, she did – you have taught me so much; I have so much to learn – but just at that moment, with Amenet ore Amenet ki Rahei sitting opposite, her dark eyes reddened and her left side slack, the will of Ke and Na felt alien and unfathomable, as far distant from this moment as the faintest stars were from Karavos.

  Amenet didn’t answer; she only smiled, and said, “So where does this leave us then? If neither of us can rule…”

  Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, Viya felt utterly defeated. But something in Amenet’s phrasing niggled at her. “Alone,” she said, slowly. “I’m sorry?”

  “You said that neither of us can rule, but that’s not right. It’s that neither of us can or wants to rule alone, or with some other stranger as Cuivexa or Cuivexa. So what if we rule together?” The rightness of it sang through her, a rush of joyful purpose. “Not as Vexa and Cuivexa, I mean, but as equals: Vexa i Vexa, side by side. Like Irivet and Alixat, in the Year of Broken Moons.”

  That’s ancient history!” said Amenet, startled.

  “But still a precedent,” Viya said, leaning forwards. “And it solves our problem. Alone, I wouldn’t be taken seriously; I’m too young, too much an unknown quantity, and tainted by marriage to Leoden. And I… I’m spoilt, as you said. I have a temper about it. Sometimes I speak when I ought to think, attack when I ought to retreat. I’m learning, but it takes time, and right now that’s something we don’t have.” It hurt her to admit as much, and even as the words left her mouth, she tensed up, her anger preempting the condescending agreement that was sure to come from Amenet. But the other woman did no such thing, and in an instant, Viya deflated. Her reaction had only proved her own point, and while part of her struggled to deal with that, the rest of her kept talking.

  “And you – you’re healing. You said it yourself: the problem isn’t what’s been done to your body, it’s learning to cope with it afterwards. You need time too, and support, and if you were Vexa alone, you wouldn’t get it; not in the same way, not like you need. You’d have to show everyone a strong front, pretend you’d taken no hurt. It doesn’t matter how poor Leoden’s rule has been, how many nobles he’s alienated by his marriage to Kadeja. Once he’s overthrown, whoever takes his place will still have enemies. The first few months will be crucial–” she remembered that Kadu had said as much, once, “–and if y
ou show any hint of weakness, they’ll use it against you.”

  Amenet frowned, and for a brief moment, her whole face went blank. And then she said slowly, “You may be right. If I were Vexa and you Cuivexa – or if those roles were reversed, even – there’d be those at court who would cleave to one of us over the other, looking for a way in, some disparity to exploit. And whichever one of us took the secondary role, they’d take it as a sign of inferiority; they’d say that either I’d lost my nerve, or you were still only a figurehead, a remnant of Leoden’s reign. But as co-regents – as Vexas together – we would be strong. Just by announcing it, we’d be forcing people to recognise that we’d negotiated the match on an equal footing.”

  Viya heard the warming enthusiasm in Amenet’s voice and seized on it. “It’s unexpected too,” she said. “It’ll throw people off balance, and we’ll need that among the courtiers. As for the people, well – the ballad of Irivet and Alixat is classic. Everyone hears it in childhood; stop anyone on the street, and I’ll bet they could sing at least part of the chorus.”

  At that, Amenet cracked a smile and obliged, her voice true despite a slight lisp:

  * * *

  “The younger held the elder’s arm;

  they bore each other’s weight –

  two heads to a crown, two hearts, two minds

  within the wheel of fate.”

  * * *

  Unable to help herself, Viya joined in:

  * * *

  “And tongue by tongue, they swore their vows

  beneath the palace stair,

  and the gods, who are three in one, looked down

  and saw one ruler there.”

  They sang the last verse together, voices rising in fragile, strengthening unison:

  “And from that day, when one soul spoke

  she used the other’s voice –

  they lived and died at each other’s side

  and ruled as one by choice.”

  * * *

  They fell silent, smiling at each other. Viya extended a hand across the table.“By the grace of Ke and Na, and at their will, I will rule with you, Amenet idi Kena ki Rahei.”

  Amenet clasped her palm. “And I with you, Iviyat idi Kena ki Rixevet.”

  Viya shivered in anticipation. “Well,” she said, “there’s only three things left to do now.”

  “Oh?” asked Amenet lightly. “And what are they?”

  “First, regain contact with our allies in Veksh. Second, defeat Leoden. And third, and most importantly, decide which of us has the honour of telling Pixeva and Kisavet that they’ve been outmanoeuvred.”

  Amenet laughed – the first truly happy sound that Viya had yet heard from her. “Why, Iviyat! Is it really so hard a decision to make? I say, begin as we intend to go on.”

  “Together, then?”

  Amenet’s eyes shone. “Together.”

  Rising, Viya was halfway to the library door when a distant sound stopped her. A sudden chill coiled in her stomach.

  “What is it?” Amenet asked.

  “Did you hear that? It sounded like–”

  A thin wail clawed the air.

  “Screaming.” Amenet paled. “Someone’s screaming.” She forced herself to her feet. “We’re under attack.”

  Twenty

  Rites of Passage

  Saffron woke from the deepest, most restful sleep she’d had in months to find herself looking up at Gwen. As the events of the trial came back to her, she flinched back into the mattress, fully expecting the older woman to start lecturing her – to say she wasn’t angry that neither Zech nor Saffron had trusted her with their plans, just disappointed; to say they should never have done something so foolhardy and dangerous in the first place; to point out, with weary resignation, how her new scars and tattoo would make everything back on Earth so much more difficult to explain.

  But Gwen did none of those things. Instead, she fondly touched two knuckles to Saffron’s cheek, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  “You’re alive,” she said. “You impossible, wonderful girl! You’re still alive, and near enough a queen.”

  Saffron’s mouth went dry. “You’re not… you’re not cross with me?”

  “I was cross, yes. But not at you or Zech.”

  “Zech.” Saffron forced herself to sit up, looking around for the other girl. “Where is she?”

  “She’s safe. She’s fine.” Gwen laid a gentling hand on Saffron’s shoulder. “Mesthani had her moved to another room. She’s sleeping, but you can see her soon. The Council is meeting in session from dawn tomorrow, and the two of you will be expected to be there. That’s when you’ll make our plea, so it’s best that you and Zechalia sit down beforehand and figure out what you’re going to say. As much as I’d love to be there with you, it’s not permitted. Anyway.” She pulled her hand back to her lap. “That isn’t why I came to see you now.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about what happens when you go home again. When we go back to Earth.”

  Saffron tensed. Here it comes. “And?”

  “I told you, when we first arrived, how I came to be a worldwalker?”

  “You did,” said Saffron, remembering the story. “Trishka’s magic broke loose and opened a portal to Earth; you fell through it, you had some adventures, and then you ended up liking it here.”

  “More or less,” said Gwen. She took a deep breath. “I also said that going home raised questions.”

  Saffron tensed. They’d had a variant of this conversation too, the morning when she’d awoken without her fingers. Ever since then, she’d been doing her best not to think of it, but in the wake of the Trial of Queens, she could put it off no longer. “When I finally went home again,” Gwen said, “the hardest part wasn’t keeping the truth secret – it was making up lies to replace it, and remembering them, and telling them over and over until eventually people believed me.”

  “What… what lies did you tell?”

  “Poor ones,” Gwen said, with a quirk of her lips that was half a wince and half self-deprecation. “What does matter, though, are the lies we’ll tell together.”

  “Together?” Saffron blinked at her. “But I mean, haven’t you been doing this for a while now? Why do you need to lie?”

  Gwen gave a sad smile. “Because I accosted that boy at your school and made myself conspicuous. Maybe the police know I was there, and maybe they don’t, but I’d rather err on the side of caution, and either way, you’ll need an excuse for why you wanted to talk to me. We need to explain my presence in your story first, or else they’ll assume that what happened to you was me. And they’d be right, in a sense – just not the way they think.”

  It took a moment for the full implication to sink in. “They’ll think you’re a suspect?” Saffron said, not wanting to believe it.

  “We vanished off the face of the Earth. Literally. There’s no other evidence to suggest I didn’t do it, because we didn’t leave any behind. I twisted that boy’s arm; we were seen together. There’s a link between us.”

  Abruptly, Saffron remembered something. “Oh god, Gwen. I went looking for you, too – my sister said her friend had seen you behind the chem labs, and I ran straight off. She’ll have told them about you for sure.”

  Gwen blinked, surprised. “You said you wanted to talk to me when we first arrived, but I don’t think we ever reached the point of you telling me why. What was so important that you followed me through a portal?”

  Saffron let out a strangled laugh. “I don’t even really remember.” The words came from far away, too calm and flat for comfort. “Isn’t that strange? It feels like it ought to have mattered more. I think I just wanted to talk to you, but I don’t know what about. Just talking in general, maybe.” She looked up at Gwen, her throat too tight. “Why do I feel like this is going to haunt me, if I can’t remember?”

  “Because it might,” said Gwen. “If you don’t. Or even if you do, dependi
ng on what it was. So before you start racking your brains, take a moment to think about which would be the worst option.”

  Saffron forced a smile. “I’ll do that.”

  “In any case,” said Gwen, after a pause, “it works in our favour, that you went looking for me. It’s not exactly an alibi, but it puts a hole in the theory that my abduction of you was premeditated, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Which brings me back to my original point: once Trishka sends us back, we need to know what to tell everyone. We need to have our stories straight.”

  Saffron nodded. “How much time do we have? I mean, when do you think Trishka will be ready?”

  Gwen looked at her. “Well, that depends, doesn’t it?”

  “On what?”

  “On you. You’ve come this far, girl – you’ve been branded a heretic, dabbled in politics, fought at the side of queens and damn near become one yourself. Which isn’t to say I’d blame you or think less of you if you wanted to head on homewards the very second Trishka was able to manage it. But right here, right now, you need to make a choice. Do you want to see things through to the end?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Saffron held up her left hand, three-fingered at the end of her tattooed wrist. “This world has sunk its teeth into me. I’m bound to it, now. I never asked for any of this, but going back will be hard enough without spending the rest of my life wondering what might’ve happened if I’d stayed a little longer, if I’d been there to help. I mean, I don’t know that I’ll ever get to come back again, do I?”