by Foz Meadows
“You could,” said Gwen, carefully. “If you wanted to.”
“But I don’t know that yet, do I? Right now, it’s all just hypothetical – get home, explain why I was gone, and then what? Years of therapy? Years of alcoholism? Both? I’m already having nightmares, Gwen, and sometimes I think the only reason they’re not worse is because I haven’t really processed everything yet. Since I’ve been here, we’ve never really stopped – so many people have been hurt, and I fucking killed someone, Gwen. I took an axe and I killed her and that horse–” her breathing became rapid as she spoke; she could smell the blood as though it were still happening, and it took all her energy just to fight the memories off, “–but it’s all been normal, somehow. I mean, I don’t mean normal normal, just that everyone else has kept on going too, because we’ve had to; because there hasn’t been a choice. And so I keep waiting for someone to come along and say to me, You’re traumatised, you need help, only nobody does, and so I can keep pretending I’m not and that I don’t, but that’s the point, isn’t it? As soon as we get home again, that’s all anyone will ever say to me, all they’ll ever see in me. Because–”
“Because,” Gwen finished softly, “there’s no lie you can tell to explain all this that won’t leave people thinking you’re a victim of something horrific.”
For a moment, the world fell away from her. “Am I, then?” Saffron asked hoarsely. “Is that what all this has made me? Just a victim? Nothing else? Because I still can’t decide whether coming here was the best or worst thing that’s ever happened to me, or if it can somehow be both and neither at the same time.”
“I’ve spent thirty-three years trying to puzzle out that question,” said Gwen, “and the closest I’ve come to an answer is, maybe. It depends.”
And in that pinpoint moment, when the terrible weight of everything came crashing down – the air gone glassy and thick, her stomach clenched like a boxer’s fist at the thought of going home – Saffron burst out laughing, because it was laugh or cry, and there were tears enough in her past and her future that just this once, she could set them aside. And then Gwen was laughing too, the pair of them holding their sides and roaring as the tears leaked out of their eyes; and only after they’d finally stopped, when the last wrenching chuckle fled her lungs and healthy silence reigned again, did Saffron look back to Gwen and say softly, “I know what the lie should be.”
* * *
Viya and Amenet stared at each other. The screams grew louder and louder. Outside, Viya thought numbly. It’s coming from outside, not downstairs.
Which means there’s still time to defend ourselves.
The spell broke. Wheeling, Viya strode across the library, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. There was a small, ornate hand axe mounted on the far wall, which was certainly an option, but apart from being too high up for easy access and too securely fastened to remove without difficulty, it was clearly made for display: the blade was heavily decorated with gold and other soft metals, and with every second potentially vital, Viya disliked expending precious energy to obtain a weapon in whose usage she wasn’t schooled and which might well break or buckle under the strain of actual fighting. That left a wicked-looking letter knife she’d pushed to the side of the desk when she first came in; it was small, but undeniably sharp, and made from a strong enough metal that even if she couldn’t use it to turn a blow, it could still acquit itself by landing one. Decision made, Viya reached for it – but Amenet got there first, closing her fist over the handle and drawing it slowly into her lap.
They looked at each other again.
“They’re here for me,” Amenet said calmly. “You know that. I can’t fight, and I won’t be taken by them. Not again. The best I can hope for, if they make it up here, is to ensure there’s nothing left to take.”
Viya’s mouth went dry. She fumbled for words, but couldn’t find any, and all the time the screams were growing louder. Instead, she stood by and watched as Amenet pulled aside the folds of her clothes, revealing a leather belt hung with two proper Kenan throwing knives.“I carry them out of habit,” she said, using her shaky right hand to unbuckle the belt, which she handed over. “You take them.”
Quickly, Viya donned the belt, drawing one blade and making sure the other was loose in the scabbard. “They won’t make it this far. I promise.”
Amenet’s smile was equal parts cold determination and kindness. “My Alixat. Make no promises you can’t keep.”
“I never do,” said Viya, and left before fear could stop her.
As she hurried downstairs, she could hear shouts coming from the front drive, intermingled with those same screams as before. But who was it? The loss of Hawy suddenly struck her afresh, and she almost doubled over at the sudden fear that the screams could be coming from Kadu or Pix. I can’t lose any more family.
I can’t do this again.
And then she was shaking in earnest, Amenet’s blade dropping from her hand with a clatter – she was right back at the battle of the Envas road, rolling beneath a horse’s hooves and feeling her head explode in lines of fire as the skewed blow raked her face. She dropped to her knees at the foot of the stairs, unable to move, unable to do anything except think, distantly, that if she died now and nobody saw, then at least she wouldn’t be remembered as a coward.
The screaming cut out, though the distant shouting continued. Viya barely noticed. Her awareness of the world had shrunk into tunnel-vision, her pulse erratic, her breath too quick, and yet she was frozen in place, unable to move despite an absolute, bone-deep conviction that staying still meant dying. I’m going to die. I should be dead already.
Suddenly Pix appeared, crouching before her. “Iviyat,” she said softly. “Viya. Can you hear me?”
After a moment, Viya managed to nod.
Pix exhaled. “A group of soldiers attacked the house. Not many; only seven or so. They weren’t after you or Amenet, though; they didn’t even know we were here. We took them by surprise, and now they’ve all been taken care of. It was one of them who was screaming. Everyone else is fine.”
Very slowly, Viya came back to herself. “The soldiers,” she said, her voice as thick as if she’d been woken from a deep sleep, “what were they after?”
“Apparently, they’ve been dogging Rixevet for days. She kept beating them back, so they thought they’d try a different tactic – riding hard to beat her here, and taking Kadu hostage. Instead, they found us.”
“Rixevet?” Hope swelled in Viya’s heart. “Is she here?”
Pix shook her head. “She won’t arrive for another day; that was the point of the ambush, apparently. But the soldiers are all gone now, either dead or fled or captured. You don’t have to fight. It’s over.” She hesitated. “Viya? I’m going to hug you now, if that’s all right.”
“It’s all right,” Viya whispered, and as Pix put her arms around her, she collapsed against the courtier, not even sobbing, but howling, a raw, ungainly sound that felt strong enough to be shredding her lungs as she made it. Her whole body shook, but Pix just stroked her braids and held her close, her voice a sad yet comforting murmur in Viya’s ear.
“You’ve been so strong, little fox. You’ve done so much, I let myself forget that there’s always a cost. I let myself believe we weren’t making you choose between grief and respect, but we were, we were, and it’s pushed you too far. I’m sorry. I’m still a mother. I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”
Still crying, but more quietly now, Viya leaned back from Pix, the other woman’s palms braced warmly against her shoulders. She looked at the courtier, really looked, and something in the action calmed her as even the long-overdue apology hadn’t. Pixeva’s eyes were wide, her braided hair dishevelled. Three stray drops of blood sat high on one cheekbone, and her left eye was bloodshot.
“I’m a coward,” Viya said, voice trembling. “I came to fight, but I couldn’t.”
Pix’s gaze flicked sideways, taking in the dropped knife, then fixed o
n Viya again. “Listen to me. Listen. When Zechalia first brought you to us, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t charitable, and I didn’t give you even a quarter of the credit you deserved. Yet all you’ve ever done – all you’ve ever tried to do – is live up to the honour of being Cuivexa. And after the Envas road, as we travelled here, I always woke you from nightmares. Every morning I woke you, and I never said anything, because you didn’t. You talked in your sleep. Sometimes you even cried out. But because you didn’t say anything, I told myself you were coping; I let myself believe that you didn’t remember them. But of course you did. That doesn’t mean you were any less a Cuivexa; but being Cuivexa doesn’t mean you’re any less wounded either. You’re allowed to be both. You’re allowed to ask for help.”
Viya trembled. “I am?”
“You are,” said Pix, “but I still need to apologise, because Cuivexa or not, you’ve been a young woman under my care, and you shouldn’t have had to ask, or to steel yourself into not-asking, just because I was too busy with politics to see you as a person. But, Iviyat – to walk down here alone, willing to fight, after everything you’ve been through, for no better reason than that you thought it was the right thing to do, even though you were frightened? That takes more strength, more bravery, than fighting ever could. You are not a coward. You are magnificent, and whatever comes of all of this, you have my loyalty.”
And she lifted Viya’s fingertips to her lips, and kissed them to show her fealty.
“Pixeva ore Pixeva ki Tahun,” Viya said, too overwhelmed to manage anything else. Which, as it turned out, was fortuitous; at just that moment, Oyako came running up. Viya jerked to her feet, self-consciously wiping the tears from her eyes, but if the dreamseer noticed her disarray, she gave no sign of it. Her face was alight with purpose.
“Word from Yevekshasa!” she panted, coming to a halt. “Kikra reached me just as the last of them fled.”
“What news?” said Pix, standing.
“Zechalia and Safi both live, with the former now counted as a queen of Veksh. The Council meets at tomorrow’s dawn, and when they do, not only Zech’s ascension to their ranks, but Gwen and Yasha’s plea for aid, will be heard and judged.”
Pix’s brows shot up. “So soon? We’ve not much time for planning then.”
“No,” said Oyako, then hesitated, her gaze flicking to Viya. “Which is why we think a conference might be in order.”
“We?” said Pix, sharply. “And who, pray tell, is we in this situation?”
“The Shavaktiin,” said Oyako, her eyes still fixed on Viya. “Please, Cuivexa. Whether you’ve always known it or not, the Shavaktiin have been your champions even before we found you by the Envas road. In fact, it was one of our number who helped you escape the palace.”
Viya opened her mouth, then closed it again. Luy. In all this time, she’d barely thought of him, let alone truly contemplated the relevance of his being a Shavaktiin – and nor, she realised belatedly, had she ever disclosed his aid to anyone.
“How do you know that?” she asked, more sharply than she’d intended.
Pix stared at her. “You never mentioned any Shavaktiin when we took you in.”
“I didn’t trust you then,” said Viya stiffly, not liking to admit it, “and afterwards, it didn’t seem important. His name was Luy, and he was Leoden’s advisor. In any case, he gave the impression that other Shavaktiin thought badly of him. That he needed to redeem himself. And given that he otherwise stood at my husband’s side, I didn’t see any reason to doubt it.”
“Luy.” Pix looked thoughtful. “I feel like I’ve heard the name before, though I can’t quite remember…” Her voice trailed off as she stared dreamily into the distance; several seconds passed before she shook her head, abandoning the attempt at recollection. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it does,” said Oyako. “Not that you’ve heard his name before, I mean, but Luy himself. It’s true, what the Cuivexa said – there are some among the Shavaktiin who believe him to be a traitor, that his interpretation of the Great Story is flawed and his role in steering it a form of sacrilege. But not everyone in our order thinks likewise. The members of our coterie are numbered among his supporters.” She hesitated. “Halaya and he are lovers.”
“Truly?” said Pix. “And here I’d been thinking you were an order of celibates.”
Oyako laughed at that. “Though we wear robes, they yet conceal flesh and blood. The fact remains, however,” and here she turned serious again, “that Luy’s actions have become integral to the story. Which is why – assuming you agree to a conference of minds, Cuivexa – Luy will be one of those present.”
“A conference of minds?” asked Viya.
“A meeting in the dreamscape,” Oyako said. “Facilitated by Luy, Kikra and myself, enabling a conversation between yourself, Zechalia a Kadeja, and Safi a Ellen.”
“But not me,” said Pix, “nor Gwen, nor Yasha, nor any other soul? Why?”
“Because the story is theirs,” said Oyako, simply. “We participate in order to guide them, not to be guided by other interests.”
Pix hesitated, then glanced at Viya. “The Cuivexa has my loyalty. I trust her to make the right decision.”
Oyako inclined her head. “As you should.”
“My thanks,” said Viya, finally finding the strength to speak, “but the decision isn’t mine alone to make.” And she told them about the pact she’d made with Amenet.
Both women fell silent. Viya became acutely aware of the sweat dripping down her neck.
“A wise decision,” Oyako said eventually – and despite the delay, it sounded as though she meant it. “But even so, she cannot join in the conference; it would drain us too much to include another mind for such a length of time.”
“I understand,” said Viya – and then remembered, with a horrible, guilty lurch, that Amenet was still in the library, waiting for an attack that would never come. “But even so, I should go to her. Now.”
“Of course,” said Pix. “In fact, we all should. If only you are able to attend the conference on this end–” and here she shot Oyako a calculating look, “– then we should at least discuss what might be said, or not said, beforehand.”
“Agreed,” said Viya. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to be calm. “The library is as good a place as any for such a discussion. While I confer with Amenet, Pix, you can gather Kadu and Kisavet, and Oyako, you may bring any other Shavaktiin whose input you feel will be of use during such a discussion. But only one, mind. There’s still a need to maintain some privacy.” And she held her breath, hoping neither order would be questioned.
“Of course, Cuivexa,” said Oyako, bowing. “We will meet you there.”
“As will we,” said Pix. “Is there anything else you require?”
The relief that flooded Viya was so powerful, she almost swayed. Pix was right. I can grieve and lead. The one doesn’t contradict the other.
“No,” she said, feeling stronger and more herself than she had in weeks. “That will be all. For now.”
* * *
A stillness crept over Saffron once Gwen left. Up until now, the biggest lie she’d ever told her parents – told anyone, in fact – had involved a fictitious sleepover at a friend’s house to cover up their sneaking out to a local music festival, and even then, she’d still slept over there afterwards. But this, what they were planning now… it was so much bigger, so inescapably permanent, that even the thought of telling it left her numb. Once this lie was told, she’d be living in its aftermath forever. There could be no going back.
She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She’d risen only once since waking after the trial, just long enough to piss in a bronze pot, but now she stepped away from the bed, testing her legs. Though her muscles burned from her run through Yevekshasa’s tunnels – though her new scars pinched and stung as the fresh skin stretched with motion – she was able to keep upright. She was also naked, something she’d
noticed earlier without feeling bothered about, though someone had left a kettha and dou folded neatly on a side table. Both were made of soft red cloth, the hems edged in thick bands of a stiffer gold fabric marked with blocky white-and-black patterns. Doubtless, there was some significance to it, but as Saffron put them on, she found she didn’t much care what. She just needed to get out, before the smallness of the room and the largeness of the lie smothered her.
Even so, it could be dangerous. Her proxy status was no guarantee of protection against the violence of Vekshi politics, but Saffron had fought a dragon – had been a dragon, even – and what about this unknown, unseen city could frighten her after that? She smiled at the thought, her lips a twisted sickle of black humour, and just for a moment, she fancied she felt the scale she’d swallowed burning in her chest.
She opened the door and would’ve stepped through, if not for the fact that Yena was on the other side of it, hand raised for a knock that never came. Eyes widening, she lowering her hand, and Saffron’s mouth went dry.
“I was going to ask if I could come in,” said Yena, “but I’m not sure that’s the right question anymore.”
“No,” said Saffron. “It’s not. I mean, I was going for a walk, but… you could come with me? If you wanted, that is. If that’s, um, if it’s allowed.” She ran a rueful hand over her head. “I’m not really sure how things work here.”
“Nor am I,” said Yena, smiling. “But however much you’ve irked the queens, you’re still a proxy, and that means you have power, of a sort. No one will challenge you outside – no one you can’t afford to ignore, anyway – and if I’m with you, then no one can send me away either. Except perhaps you, if you tire of me.”