by Foz Meadows
The queens began to murmur again. Ruyun, however, was unimpressed. “Is that all? You–”
“Secondly,” said Zech, cutting her off, “I will enable you to reclaim Vex’Mara Kadeja directly from the palace in Karavos without the need to send Vekshi troops into Kena. And thirdly, in return for your cooperation in this, the Cuivexa of Kena, Iviyat ore Leoden ki Rixevet, soon to rule Vexa i Vexa alongside Amenet ore Amenet ki Rahei, will return control of the Bharajin Forest to Veksh. Or is that worth nothing to the Council?”
Ruyun looked gobsmacked. Queens and priestesses alike began to shout their reactions, and in the confusion before Sahma once more raised her arm and chose a speaker, Zech allowed herself a quick glance in Methane’s direction.
“The Council recognises Ksa a Kaje!” Sahma bellowed, but at her choice of name, the noise in the amphitheatre only intensified. Zech felt her knees go weak.
“Silence! Silence!” Hekve called, thumping her staff on the platform, but Zech was close enough to hear the hoarse emotion in her voice, and to feel it echoed in the sudden, frantic twitching of her fingers.
Grandmother.
The woman who stood was a priestess, her brown hair silvered with salt-and-pepper streaks and bound in a braid. She was tall, regal-looking, and missing her left eye, the empty socket scarred and lidless. Against all protocol, she stepped out from her sixth-tier seat and began to walk down the amphitheatre’s centre aisle, her stately passage silencing all those she passed.
With quiet more deafening than the aftermath of thunder, she stepped into the main circle.
Zech alighted the speakers’ platform without any conscious volition, ignoring Safi’s frantic tug on her hem. Her eyes were fixed on Ksa, whose single eye was fixed on her, and in full silent sight of the Council of Queens, they came within arm’s reach of each other, the moment tense with the poignancy of a lineage lost and rediscovered.
Slowly, so slowly, Ksa reached out and cupped Zech’s chin with her cool, thin fingers.“I thought that all of her was lost to me,” she said softly. “I thought you were lost to me.”
Zech’s throat was tight with tears. “I was lost,” she whispered. “But I came back.”
Ksa dropped her hand to Zech’s shoulder. Without turning her head, she spoke again, loudly enough that the whole amphitheatre heard her. “For too long, I’ve endured my grief in silence. Kadeja broke my heart and Ashasa’s law both, and we let her go because it was easier to have her be someone else’s problem than to claim responsibility. But no more! If she poisons Kena against us – or worse, succeeds in spreading her false truth – then sooner or later, Veksh will wear the consequences. If my granddaughter has found a way to stop that now, without the need for any military action, then I stand with her.”
And then, with a quick squeeze of her hand, Ksa a Kaje turned and walked slowly back to her seat, while the Council of Queens sat stunned and silent.
Ruyun was still on her feet, her face distorted with fury. “How is this miraculous rescue to be effected then?” she asked. “How can a child do what Ashasa’s Knives cannot, and reach safely into the very heart of Karavos?”
The question hit Zech like a slap, startling her out of her reverie. Voice still thick with emotion, she forced herself to answer. “Because,” she said, “Kadeja is my mother. In the dreamscape, I was able to see what ought to have been concealed from me, because I share the Vex’Mara’s blood. Better still, I did so undetected. We have a Shavaktiin ally in Vex Leoden’s court, and with his aid and the aid of Ashasa’s Knives, my blood can be used to make a portal into the palace. My alliance with Iviyat ore Leoden ki Rixevet will see two women – two queens, in truth, with no hostility to Veksh – installed on the Kenan throne. We remove Kadeja to the care of Ashasa’s Knives, and leave behind our allies in her place.”
Ruyun scoffed, but her face was pinched. “And what of Leoden?”
Zech’s voice was flat. “We kill him.”
“That’s all very well,” she said, triumph creeping back into her tone, “but who among the Knives will stand with you? Why should Ashasa’s finest sully themselves with your heathen scheming?”
“Because, Ruyun a Ketra,” said a new voice, snapping across the amphitheatre like a whipcrack, “Kadeja the Motherless is our responsibility. Because Ashasa’s Knives are not so much your creatures that we’ve forgotten our duty to Veksh, or to common decency. Because war with Kena – and there will be war, if things continue this way – serves none of our interests. Not yet, at any rate, and not like this.”
Several queens gasped. Even Samha looked shocked. “The Council recognises Kiri a Tavi,” she said faintly.
The priestess of Ashasa’s Knives didn’t bother to stand; she didn’t need to. She was withered and sharp as fractured bone, a woman of angles and edges. Her hair was brittle and white as the sun, and her robes were the red of dried blood. She laughed at Sahma – a rattling sound, like broken stones starting an avalanche.
“Recognise me? You’re half afraid to name me; it’s a wonder you even remembered the words. This Council is rotten as stonefruit left in the sun, and half the reason, Ruyun a Ketra, is women like you who’d rather hoard power than use it. Ashasa’s Knives were never meant to be the military arm of the Council, and yet that is what we’ve become. Yasha a Yasara was right, all those years ago, and before she leaves again I plan to tell her so, and a great many other things besides!” She made a sharp cutting gesture. “Enough regrets! Let the queens vote now, before more lies can pollute the verdict. You know where Ruyun a Ketra, Lekma a Tari and their cabal stand; you know that Ksa a Kaje, Kiri a Tavi and Zechalia a Kadeja stand against her. Shall we bring home Kadeja the Motherless? Hekve!”
At this last, Zech turned, only then remembering that Hekve a Rin was meant to be running proceedings, a fact that even Hekve, as startled as anyone at Kiri’s entry into the debate, had momentarily forgotten. Still, as one would expect from an elder queen, she recovered quickly, banging her staff on the ground and calling for the vote.
“All those in favour of Zechalia a Kadeja’s motion to recall the Vex’Mara Kadeja, stand now.”
Zech held her breath. If they’d failed now – if even Kiri’s support proved inadequate – there was nothing to be done. For a hideous moment, the amphitheatre remained still.
And then, one by one, the queens began to rise.
Ksa was first, then Kiri, heaving herself up with visible effort. Mesthani and Cehala followed suit, as did a woman Zech recognised as Jairin a Jaisi, whom Yasha had also named as a likely ally. But it wasn’t just them: other queens, and even some of the priestesses – who technically held no voting rights, but whose actions nonetheless held the power to influence others – were rising like a spring tide, coming to their feet, and all the while Ruyun’s face grew whiter and whiter, as though pure rage had drained the blood straight from her body. Within moments, the vote had a clear majority; behind her, Zech heard Safi stifle a shout of joy, and though Samha was frowning, the slightest of smiles was evident at the corner of Hekve’s mouth.
“No!” screamed Ruyun. She leapt to her feet, heedless of the fact that the action counted as a formal vote, and before anyone could move to stop her, there was a knife in her hand. Zech stood, dumbstruck, as Ruyun threw the blade at her. Time slowed, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that the queen’s aim was true – that the point would hit her square between the eyes.
A blinding flash of light; a sound like iron exploding. Zech yelped in fright, her ears ringing with the outraged shouts of her sister queens, and as the starbursts left her vision, she saw the knife lay shattered at her feet.
“Now that,” said Kiri a Tavi, in the pause that followed, “was a very poor move indeed. Seize her!”
Ruyun screamed again, a wail of inarticulate rage, and tried to run; she made it little more than three steps before the yshra were on her, tying her hands behind her back and marching her out of the amphitheatre with all the speed and precision for which they were famed.
“The motion passes,” Hekve said, silencing the queens once more, “and on that note, I think it wise to adjourn the Council. Unless, of course, there’s any other business to discuss?”
If there had been, no one was fool enough to raise it after Ruyun’s performance.
“Ashasa guide us,” Samha intoned. “Let her wisdom follow us from this place as surely as our Mother Sun tracks across the sky.”
Hekve thumped her staff a final time. “The Council of Queens is adjourned.”
Dazed, Zech swayed on her feet, unable to take her eyes from the broken remnants of Ruyun’s blade. She didn’t know which of the priestesses had acted to break it, or whether some older magic laid over the amphitheatre had saved her; only that she’d survived. Forcing herself to look up, she saw that Ksa was glancing her way, and felt a rush of commingled guilt and joy at the prospect of reuniting with her grandmother.
Like an encroaching shadow, Safi stepped up behind her. “The Bharajin Forest,” she said quietly. “You said that Yasha had mentioned it, but you never asked Viya to cede it back to Veksh.”
“I lied,” said Zech, without turning. “Just my leaving wasn’t enough. I had to offer something more; it was the only way to get Kiri a Tavi on side.”
“You lied,” Safi echoed. It wasn’t quite an accusation. “Why?”
“Politics.”
“Politics? That’s it?”
“I wanted to win,” she said, thinking it was what Safi wanted to hear, but realised as she said it that it was also true.
Safi sighed. “You’ll still have to explain it to Viya, you know. She won’t be pleased.”
“She won’t,” Zech said, “but in return for stopping a war and putting her on the throne, I think she’ll understand the loss.”
“I thought you wanted out of all this,” said Safi, frustration creeping into her tone. “I thought you wanted something else.”
“So did I,” said Zech, feeling her heart lift as Ksa approached. “I still do. But maybe I can want this too.”
“Can you still have it, though? You said it yourself – you’ll be the Queen Who Waited.”
“For now,” said Zech. New strength surged through her, potent as blood. “But one day, not too far from now, I’ll be the Queen Who Returned.”
Part Four
Home Again
Twenty-Two
Reality Break
“You’re sure we can trust them?” Amenet murmured.
Viya squeezed her hand, watching in resentful awe as a gold-edged portal opened before them. “Not in the slightest,” she said, “but what choice do we have?”
A day ago, her reply might have been more trusting, but that was before Kikra had spoken to Oyako through the dreamscape and blithely reported that Zech had laid claim to the Bharajin Forest. Viya had been furious – not at the loss of territory, which she could well afford to cede, Kena’s monarchs having kept it largely to spite Veksh rather than out of any real need or practical use for it – but at the presumption of claiming the deal had already been made. She had trusted Zech, and to find herself so betrayed in return – there being no way for Viya to dispute the claim without appearing weak – was unbearable. I will have vengeance for this, she thought. In Ke and Na’s name, I promise you that, Zechalia a Kadeja.
Such were her thoughts as the portal widened, revealing their purported allies: Zechalia, Safi and everyone else she’d travelled with from Karavos, the various Shavaktiin, and a quartet of stern-looking Vekshi women, their faces as pale as undercooked bread. Beside her, Amenet tensed, and Viya couldn’t blame her. The only reason she’d agreed to Safi’s plan in the dreamscape – or at least to the part of it that involved her portalling through to Veksh – was her faith in Zech to keep them safe. At the time, it had been a calculated risk, but now… now, Viya was angry.
“Matu,” Amenet whispered, her grip on Viya’s hand tightening.
Inwardly, Viya cursed. She’d been so consumed with the matter of Zech’s betrayal that she’d forgotten all about the other bargain she’d struck with Amenet – her promise that Matuhasa idi Naha could become their Vexa’Halat. Just for a moment, she let herself forget her own schemes, and watched as Matu stepped through the portal and bowed to both of them.
“Cuivexa. My lady Amenet,” he said softly.
He was, as he always managed to be regardless of the circumstances, beautiful. His unbound hair gleamed warmly in the sunlight, his face transformed by a soft, shy smile that Viya had never seen before. Beside him, Jeiden bobbed nervously in place, his courtly manners forgotten – assuming he had any to begin within, that is; Viya still wasn’t clear on that point – in the face of his master’s reunion.
“Rise,” said Amenet, and Matu obliged. He stood like a statue, and when Amenet pulled towards him, Viya didn’t protest. She suddenly felt like an interloper, or worse, a voyeur, caught up in some sacred exchange she had no business witnessing. As Amenet put a hand on Matu’s arm – as the two of them leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together and murmuring words too quietly even for Viya to catch – she found herself desperately searching for something safe to focus on. She found Jeiden, who was similarly embarrassed; the two of them shared a look, and when he grinned and rolled his eyes, she found herself having to repress a very un-regal giggle. A Cuivexa she might have been, but despite the admiration she felt for Oyako, there were still some few ways in which Viya both enjoyed and acknowledged her youth.
“It seems,” said Matu, when he and Amenet finally pulled apart, “that I’ll be staying here for the moment.”
“And me?” asked Jeiden anxiously. “Can I stay here too?”
Amenet smiled at him. “I don’t see why not.”
Pix, who until that moment had remained quietly in the background, strode forwards and favoured Matu with a sisterly kick to the ankle, which he endured with only minor complaint.
“Hey!”
“That’s quite enough of that,” said Pix. “As happy as I am for you – for both of you–” she added, nodding respectfully at Amenet, “–the portal can’t wait all day. There’s still Leoden to contend with, and unless you plan on dethroning him through the power of love alone, I suggest you let us get on with it.”
“Far be it from me to stop you,” said Matu. He and Amenet moved to one side, and after a moment, Jeiden followed them. “Be careful,” he added, his tone turned suddenly serious. “Both of you.”
“Of course,” said Viya, and just like that her focus came flooding back.“Together?” asked Pix.
Almost, Viya was tempted to refuse; to stand her ground and keep clear of Veksh forever. But at her back were Kisavet’s hand-picked fighters: the small, elite squad whose job it would be to defend Viya from the likely predations of Leoden’s guards, men and women who looked to her for strength. She’d come too far to back out now, whatever the justification.
“Together,” she agreed.
The portal sent shivers through her skin, as though she’d been doused with ice water. Emerging on the other side, she found herself in a suitably alien-looking courtyard, full of white grass and whiter women. As the portal slid closed behind them, Zech opened her mouth to speak, presumably in greeting, but Viya found she had no taste for pleasantries.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” she said, masking her hostility with false cheer. “The Vex’Mara has control of my country. I’d rather like it back.”
And Leoden killed my bloodmother, she thought, but didn’t say.
Though Zech looked slightly thrown by this, she recovered well – an adaptation that Viya admired even as it irked her – and turned towards one of the Vekshi women, speaking to her in their terrible, jawbreaking language. It sounds like they’re swallowing stones, she thought acidly, but took care to keep the observation from showing on her face.
“Good to see you again, Pixeva,” said Gwen, paying no attention to Zech’s conversation.
“And you, Gwen,” said Pix wryly. “You always find a wa
y, don’t you?”
“More or less. But I didn’t do this. They did.” She nodded to indicate Safi, Zech and Viya in turn – an inclusion which, of all the absurd reactions, made Viya blush. She might have interjected then, but the Vekshi woman had fallen silent.
“Not long ago,” said Zech, switching back to Kenan, “Luy and I checked the palace through the dreamscape. Kadeja, we think, is in her suite; Vex Leoden is in the main audience hall.”
“That could be tricky,” said Viya, after a moment. “He has guards there, lots of them.” Turning, she addressed her captain, a quick, clever-looking man by the name of Rahos. “While I’ve no doubt that you and your honoured swords would defend me fiercely against any number of assailants, I would prefer to kill as few of the palace guards as possible – they’re only following orders. Leoden’s arakoi, however, you may consider fair game.” She paused, thinking. “The main audience hall has only two doors. Both would be guarded from the outside, but with fewer troops than are likely to be stationed inside, and both are accessible from the silver foyer.”
“Should we barricade them in, Cuivexa?” Rahos asked.
“I think that would be best,” said Viya. “At least initially. Then we can deal with them later at our leisure. Agreed?” She turned back to Zech, one brow raised as she waited for an answer.
“Sounds sensible to me,” said Safi, when Zech hesitated.
One of the Vekshi women – a queen, Viya assumed – looked her way and started talking. When she’d finished, Zech translated.
“Mesthani a Vekte wishes to know if you require additional Vekshi forces beyond the single jahudemet-user already agreed upon. While she has no desire to see Kenan civilians harmed at Vekshi hands, she suggests it might be more expedient for everyone if the Vex’Mara Kadeja were ousted by Ashasa’s Knives alone.”
This time, Viya turned to Pix, gauging the courtier’s reaction. Just at that moment, she didn’t trust her own feelings towards Veksh to be either rational or impartial. “Pixeva?”