Irian frowned. If he would normally object, then surely letting them pass would be suspicious. But even as he opened his mouth to argue this, Ardeyne gave a gracious gesture and ushered the sisterhood party past, giving them precedence.
The young gift-warrior led her people onto the causeway. Several Malaunje warriors and servants followed. A T’En lad rode by. He flushed when Irian caught him looking, and glanced down.
Irian hid a smile. He could remember being that age; how he’d longed to join his brotherhood and make a name for himself! Those last few years in the sisterhood had grated. Turning seventeen could not come too soon.
A newborn squalled. His heart raced, as he spotted the infant in the arms of a Malaunje wet-nurse. A T’En baby, he guessed, handed over by a brotherhood who, unlike them, had obeyed the covenant.
The T’En infant was the reason the gift-warrior claimed precedence. They flaunted their power.
‘I know you,’ one of the females said.
He recognised All-mother Aayelora’s gift-tutor. For a heartbeat he could not remember her name.
A big gift-warrior rode beside her. This one also had a one-kill symbol on her neck torc.
‘Gift-tutor Lealeni,’ Ardeyne greeted her.
‘All-father Rohaayel, Voice-of-reason Ardeyne, Hand-of-force Irian.’ The gift-tutor acknowledged their titles and inclined her head, thanking them with magnificent condescension. She frowned. ‘Where is Devotee Mariska? Her pregnancy went beyond seven small moons. She’s due to give birth to a T’En infant soon.’
‘There was an accident, her horse bolted and she nearly died, gift-tutor. She remained behind to recover,’ Ardeyne said, with just the right tone of regret. ‘We lost the baby.’
Irian felt the moment stretch. Surely, the gift-tutor would see through their lies, denounce them and turn her gift-warriors on them?
Instead she turned to Rohaayel. ‘We grieve for your loss, all-father. I’ll let the lineage-keeper know the sad news.’
Irian glanced over his shoulder and saw their all-father hunched in the saddle, as if he’d suffered a blow.
As the sisterhood party rode on, Irian sucked in a ragged breath.
Mieren merchants continued to pour off the causeway, but Irian made no move to cross. Not yet. He’d wait for his hands to stop shaking.
‘They believed us,’ Ardeyne whispered.
‘Why shouldn’t they?’ Rohaayel countered. ‘No brotherhood has dared to flout the covenant for four hundred years. In their arrogance, the sisters would never expect it.’
Ardeyne grinned. ‘Especially if we continue to hand over all other T’En infants.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Come.’ Irian turned his mount towards the city. He had to trust Rohaayel’s judgement. Their lives and the fate of their brotherhood depended on it.
Glory or destruction.
VITTORYXE HAD UNPACKED and stripped down to her thigh-length undershirt when she heard a cry and pounding footsteps. She took off running down the corridor, bare feet slapping on the slick, cool marble.
A Malaunje servant collided with her at the turn. She steadied the young woman. ‘What is it?’
‘Trouble with the lads. The new one’s fighting–’
‘Where?’
‘In the training yard.’
‘Where’s the hand-of-force?’
‘With the all-mother. She’s gone into labour.’
Vittoryxe cursed and ran down the steps, calling over her shoulder. ‘Tell Egrayne I need her.’
She found the youths in the yard. There were seven of them, aged thirteen to sixteen, and the younger ones had wisely backed off to watch the big lads fight. All skill had been forgotten as they rolled on the ground like a couple of brawling Mieren.
It was Graelen and Ashaayel, of course. He was the only one near the big lad’s size, and an obvious rival. Cursing the male’s instinctive need to dominate, Vittoryxe looked for some way to separate them. She was not going to get between them. Both lads outweighed and out-muscled her and, in their current state, both were just as likely to take a swing at her.
Furious, Vittoryxe strode over to the fountain and filled a bucket, tossing the contents over the two lads.
They came up spluttering, recognised her, and sanity returned.
‘Is this how you resolve your differences? Are you no better than Mieren barbarians?’ she demanded. The problem was, if they weren’t ready to resort to violence by the time they returned to the brotherhoods, they would be seen as prey.
Ashaayel ducked his head. But Graelen looked her up and down, his mouth twisting in a smile that reminded her she wore only an undershirt.
Her first instinct was to wipe that insolent smirk off his face, but if she raised her hand to him, he might strike back. Unless she wanted to use her gift on him – she was not going to risk dragging him onto the empyrean plane for this – she could do nothing. Oh, she could have broken down his defences and drained him of his gift, then forced her will on him, at least until his gift recovered, but... she was sworn to protect him.
Graelen grinned.
‘What’s going on?’ Egrayne demanded.
Vittoryxe gestured to the lads. ‘More balls than brains, the pair of them.’
Egrayne strode across and casually cuffed both lads across the head. ‘Ashaayel, you and Graelen are to clean up the courtyard.’ It was a Malaunje task, and an insult to their stature. ‘The rest of you, upstairs, bathe.’
The younger lads ran off.
Vittoryxe wanted to tell the empowerer how Graelen had looked at her, like she was powerless. She had never felt so vulnerable and she hated it. She wanted to drive the lad to his knees and make him beg her forgiveness. The force of her anger roused her gift and, for one terrible moment, she feared it would slip her control.
Roskara ran into the courtyard with her weapon drawn, clearly ready to defend Egrayne. The empowerer raised an arm, and her devotee went to her side. They smiled at each other, sharing an intimacy that Vittoryxe found particularly irritating.
As Vittoryxe brought her gift under control, she realised she needed a devotee to add to her stature. She would have to choose the right Malaunje, someone who would be an asset to her, someone ambitious.
‘You’re all right?’ Roskara whispered.
‘Vittoryxe had it sorted.’
Ignoring the devotee’s grateful look, Vittoryxe gestured to Graelen. She wanted him out of the sisterhood. ‘He’d barely walked into the yard before he picked a fight. If this is how he was behaving on his choice-mother’s estate, no wonder she sent him away.’
‘Grae, Ash, come here,’ Egrayne called.
Both lads came over. Graelen’s right eye was swollen and Ashaayel had a split lip. Since Ashaayel was not the sort to pick a fight, Vittoryxe had no doubt who had started it.
Egrayne seemed to have come to the same conclusion. ‘What do you hope to achieve by causing trouble, Grae?’
He glanced from her to Vittoryxe, resentment clear in his mulberry eyes. ‘May I speak freely?’
‘Of course.’ Egrayne seemed surprised that he would ask.
‘I don’t belong here. I belong with my brotherhood. I’m ready.’
He’s right, Vittoryxe thought. Sometimes, when they sent lads off to become brotherhood initiates, it felt like they were sending lambs to the slaughter. Not this one. He needed to be around other, equally aggressive men who could keep him in line.
‘I’ll speak with the all-mother,’ Egrayne said.
Graelen grinned, and Vittoryxe knew he’d gotten what he wanted.
‘Which brotherhood?’ she asked.
He blinked.
‘Which brotherhood are you bound to?’ It would be either Rohaayel’s or Sigorian’s; their sisterhood had been fostering boys for these two since the covenant. Once, there had been more, but the smallest brotherhoods had been plundered and absorbed by greedy all-fathers.
‘Sigorian’s brotherhood,’ Graelen said proudly.
Vittoryxe glanced to Egrayne. ‘That one...’ It had a reputation for cruelty and violence, but what was the point of warning him? He had no choice. He’d been born into his brotherhood, he would die in it.
‘What?’ Graelen asked.
‘That brotherhood has a long and proud history,’ Egrayne said. ‘But I would not rush to leave the safety of–’
‘I’m tired of safety. I want to prove myself. I want...’ His gaze strayed to Vittoryxe’s bare thighs as if he couldn’t help himself.
She felt Egrayne bristle at her side, and fought the urge to confront the youth.
‘We’ll speak with the all-mother,’ Vittoryxe said. ‘Go upstairs. Get cleaned up.’
Both lads gave obeisance and left.
‘We could ask the other sisterhoods,’ Vittoryxe suggested, turning to Egrayne. ‘See if any of their lads are due to join Sigorian’s brotherhood in the near future. It’ll be easier for the new initiates if they can back each other up.’
‘I’ll send word,’ Egrayne said.
Vittoryxe had meant the sisterhood as a whole. ‘The inner circle should...’
Egrayne looked down, but her devotee was not so modest.
‘Gift-empowerer Egrayne is now one of the inner circle.’
Of course she was.
Envy curled through Vittoryxe’s body, intimate as a lover.
She congratulated Egrayne and left before she said something she’d regret.
Vittoryxe wanted to rage, but there was no privacy in the chamber she shared with other sisters of her rank. So instead she went to the roof garden and inspected her prize birds. The challenge of breeding them delighted her, and their perfection soothed her. Breeding followed rules. And, if the birds did not breed true, she destroyed the chicks.
But today, the birds did not soothe her. Only working through the exercises to promote balance between body, mind and gift centred her.
THE NEXT DAY, when she was called before the inner circle, Vittoryxe saw Graelen waiting outside the chamber. She had no trouble guessing what this was about. He looked nervous, but hopeful of success. He should have been worried.
Inside the chamber, Egrayne had a place on the inner circle. In this case it was a half-circle, because the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason and several others were attending the birth. When All-mother Aayelora fell pregnant at seventy-five, they’d been surprised. No one really expected her to carry the baby to term, but she had. When she had carried the babe past seven small moons, they rejoiced; the infant would be pure T’En. Everyone was hoping for a healthy T’En girl. No one wanted the heartbreak of handing a boy over to a brotherhood at the age of seventeen.
Vittoryxe dropped to her knees, sat on her heels and prepared to argue in favour of sending Graelen to his brotherhood early. She didn’t have to.
‘You will be pleased to hear another lad of the right age has been located. All-father Sigorian has been notified to expect two new initiates. Graelen will leave us this evening,’ Hand-of-force Mefynor said. ‘Empowerer Egrayne has informed us of events yesterday and the sisterhood regrets you were subjected to this indignity.’
Vittoryxe flushed. She would rather they did not know that she had been at a loss, even for a moment.
‘Gift-tutor Lealeni and Egrayne tell us you made your first empyrean kill and saved the lad’s life. Since Graelen’s choice-mother is not with us and he lives due to your bravery, you will be given the honour of handing him over to the brotherhood.’
Finally, after striving for so long to have her efforts acknowledged. She scrambled to come up with a suitably humble response. And floundered, because it was about time.
‘No, we insist.’ Mefynor misinterpreted her reaction. ‘Egrayne says the honour should be yours.’
When Vittoryxe sought the empowerer’s eyes, Egrayne gave her the slightest of nods. Did she think this crumb made up for the way she’d outshone Vittoryxe on the journey?
Assuming an appropriate expression, Vittoryxe leant forward, placed her hands on the floor, then her forehead on her hands. She forced out the words. ‘I am honoured.’
She straightened up.
Hand-of-force Mefynor nodded as if this was to be expected, then lifted her left hand in an elegant signal. Mefynor was a hand-of-force, trained to kill, but she moved with apparently effortless grace, like a T’En of old. Vittoryxe had long admired her and mirrored her.
A baby cried. Vittoryxe looked over to see the wet-nurse, Choris, enter with the T’En infant they’d just collected. He would need a choice-mother...
They could not mean to... she glanced to Mefynor. They did. Her heart sank.
‘The inner circle has been impressed with your presence of mind on the journey. To acknowledge your increase in stature, we appoint you choice-mother to this infant.’
Vittoryxe swallowed her protests. Rear a boy? See him every day, knowing that she would have to hand him over to his brotherhood? It was cruel.
But it would do no good to object. The inner circle had spoken.
Besides, this was an honour. It meant she would be given a private chamber. She gave a deep obeisance again.
‘I am unworthy,’ she said, not meaning a word of it.
As the wet-nurse glided over to join her, Vittoryxe saw the perfect opportunity to raise her stature even further. For at least a year, she and Choris would be sharing the intimacy of caring for the baby boy. She’d test the young Malaunje woman to see if she was smart and resourceful.
See if she was ambitious.
The sisterhood elders would not be happy if she slipped and imprinted her gift on Choris, but they would not condemn her.
Vittoryxe produced a smile. ‘I welcome my new choice-son.’
Choris went around behind her, and passed the infant through her legs.
Vittoryxe lifted him up, touched the tip of her left-hand little finger to his forehead and completed the ritual. ‘I swear to protect your life with my own. I swear to rear you to revere the heritage of the T’Enatuath and protect our Malaunje.’
‘What will you call him?’ Mefynor asked.
She considered. Never miss an opportunity to flatter those in power. ‘Mefeyne,’ she answered, combining both Mefynor and Egrayne’s name in masculine form.
‘Make a note in the Lineage Book,’ Mefynor told the Malaunje scribe.
The baby wriggled and Vittoryxe handed him back to Choris. As she turned to go, eager to take her pick of the private chambers, the door to the all-mother’s private chamber flew open.
Narisa, the all-mother’s devotee, looked shattered. The birth had drained her and, judging from her expression, it was not good news. The sisterhood’s inner circle came to their feet.
‘It’s a boy,’ Mefynor guessed.
Narisa shook her head.
‘A girl, stillborn?’ Mefynor’s voice broke.
Narisa shook her head.
‘A geldr?’
She nodded.
There were several soft moans.
‘Poor Aayelora,’ the gift-tutor said. ‘She wanted a girl so badly, she must have attempted to use her gift on the developing baby.’
‘Will it live?’ Vittoryxe asked. It would be kinder if the babe died, but it was not her place to say this.
‘She... he... it,’ Narisa corrected herself. ‘It looks healthy.’
‘Does it seem alert?’ Mefynor asked what they were all wondering. More often than not, geldrs grew up to be lackwits.
‘It cries and wants to suckle,’ Narisa said. ‘The all-mother’s called it Tancred.’
Vittoryxe’s new choice-son chose that moment to wail, and she slipped away, her mind racing. The all-mother would be heartbroken and, with this birth, her stature had been damaged. Most of Aayelora’s inner circle were her age or older. They had another ten years at most, and then they would step down. Time for her to gain stature and be ready when things changed.
Her new choice-son – would he never stop yelling? – added to her stature. If she was going to be all-mother, sh
e needed to outshine Egrayne. Which reminded her – it seemed the empowerer had put in a good word for her.
Now that she thought about it, when she became all-mother, Egrayne would make a suitable voice-of-reason.
Chapter Ten
GRAELEN COULD NOT possibly sleep. Not when he knew what was going on outside the brotherhood’s palace. The howls and the clash of metal on metal clawed at his nerves. He wished they’d hurry up and kill the banished warrior.
Without a word, Paryx left his bedroll and climbed in next to Graelen. He could feel the other initiate trembling.
‘Do you think he was guilty?’ Paryx whispered.
Graelen didn’t know what to say. If Dekaron wasn’t guilty, it meant they could not trust the brotherhood’s leaders, and that was a frightening thought.
To think, he’d been so eager to say good-bye to the sisterhood.
Only this evening he’d stood straight and proud as the cloak was taken away to reveal his naked body. By custom, he left the sisterhood as he had entered the world. He lifted his chin, let the gathered sisterhood look upon him. He might have no hair on his chest or chin, but he was no longer a boy. He’d compared himself to the other lads in the bathing chamber and knew he wasn’t lacking.
When Gift-warrior Vittoryxe moved behind him to cut his plait he remained perfectly still. The cutting of hair symbolised death. His plait would be returned to his choice-mother. He felt a pang, but quelled it quickly. She’d pushed him away when he turned thirteen and began his basic gift training. He’d hardly seen anything of her these last few years.
She was the past.
Sigorian’s brotherhood was his future.
He would win honour, rise in stature and one day become Hand-of-force Graelen. But first, there was another sixteen years’ training to complete. He wouldn’t become an adept until he was around thirty-three. He would work hard to make his all-father proud.
He hadn’t looked back as he stepped through the gate of the sisterhood quarter. Five brotherhood warriors stood there. Their silver adept arm-torcs glinted in the lantern light.
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