Inside, tapestries lined the claustrophobic entrance room, all of which depicted moments in Segchyhah and Panthir histories. Falhadn only recognized three of the dozen, but she could learn what the others meant later. “I’d like to see our old friend before I see my apartments. Everyone else, unload in your respective rooms.”
Ylgartz the Indigo let out an obedient grunt and led the other Hillites to their apartments on the second floor. The five of them would have to share three rooms, but Falhadn guessed that wouldn’t be a problem. Nahyra led Falhadn underneath the stone staircase to the first floor apartments.
Nahyra opened a door which read, “second,” in Segchyhah. And there sat a familiar face, masticating a biscuit and reading some old scroll.
“Falhadn?”
“It’s good to see you.”
She hugged Ambassador Yrnhill, though he remained seated. At fifty-six, his sinew had faded and his spine had hunched. “I would stand, but my bones ache like some geyser’s stuck his knife in there.”
“How’s your health?”
Yrnhill the elder rapped at his desk. “Some days are better than others. I don’t regret sending Ganjinhill off without me. In the letter, Ganjinhill said he would make the return journey. Where is he?”
“He’s upstairs. He’ll be down very soon, I imagine.” Falhadn forced a smile. “You left the colony — what? — five and a half months ago? Do you miss it?”
Yrnhill guffawed, then sobered. “I don’t think I’m healthy enough for the return journey. That I now live here, safely tucked away in a distant land, while my family lives in Independence, content to remain put — I try not to think about it.”
“Would you have stayed if you had known you would weaken yet live?”
“If I had known I’d be a lame duck in some foreign city? I would let Ganjinhill go it alone.” He sighed. “If I put away my modesty for just a moment, I will say that I did save Ganjinhill once or twice on the journey west.”
Falhadn looked about the small apartment, cramped yet well furnished. Salyryd let her know that the Segchyhah who had remained in Pereadoc would feed and care for Yrnhill as their honored guest. “Perhaps your sons could visit you?”
He coughed into a frilly handkerchief. “It takes a month to get here, by ship. I don’t think they’ll pay that price.”
Falhadn’s face lit up. “Did you hear? Your niece Sarahedeen is a congresser! And she is due to be married! She may already be wed by now.”
“Tremendous, on both counts! To whom?”
“Drea’s grandson, Dreahall. Actually, Dreahall is probably next in line to be made congresser.”
“Little Sarahedeen, a congresser? She has grown up.”
“I believe, when Kraek stepped down, the congress wanted someone who represented the complete opposite of him.”
“Kraek stepped down?”
“He did not take well to the Segchyhah’s arrival.”
Yrnhill the elder raised his eyebrows, then coughed into his handkerchief. “He’s a fool then. The Segchyhah are exactly the reason we sent out ambassadors — to find viable allies and trade partners. I never reckoned Kraek to be such a fool.”
“I had better get upstairs. I am very glad you are healthy.”
He scoffed. “Come see me when I’ve figured out how to age backwards. Then, you can be glad I’m healthy.” He remained seated as Falhadn hugged him. “And, Representative, if you ever have a gut feeling, think before you act. That’s what I’ve learned, I reckon.”
“Thank you, Ambassador.” And she left the sickly man to his scrolls.
“Well then, happy birthday, Representative!”
“Thank you, Henhadn. Twenty-eight years.”
Scribe Henhadn pointed at a flower vendor near the docks. “Let me pick out some white roses for you!”
Falhadn slowed her gait to see where she pointed. “Aren’t white roses for newlyweds?”
“Yes, but also a woman’s birthday. Though, I may be lying; I’m no herbalist.” Henhadn took Falhadn’s hand and took her to the flower vendor.
Falhadn recalled back to her twenty-seventh birthday. Rapture. Rum. Despair replaced with love. She had decided to terminate the life growing inside her, so she resolved to hide from Falhill. Her preferred hiding place that night was The Bow and Starboard, a dimly lit tavern in the seedier part of Haarzul. It was there she met…
Best not to dwell on love lost.
“These are lovely.” Henhadn thrust violets in her face, and Falhadn had to smell them. “Maybe not your shade though.”
“Do you intend for me to wear these flowers?”
“In your hair, mayhaps? You’ll feel beautiful.”
“I have no problem with how I look.”
“What about these?” The sunflowers smelled no different. The stink of unwashed sailors drifted down the streets, masking any pleasant aroma. “The yellow with those chestnut locks?”
“If you insist, I’ll ask you to buy the cheapest ones.”
Henhadn giggled. “The sunflowers, then.”
Falhadn and Henhadn had just finished their daily language lessons with Nahyra. Henhadn wanted to be able to write her chronicles in Hillite and in Segchyhah. Today, Henhadn had told Nahyra about why she became a scribe — in the Segchyhah tongue, of course. As a child, Henhadn made her mother read her histories instead of tall tales — detailed annals instead of nursery rhymes.
Her story had reminded Falhadn of her husband. Falhill told her he wanted to be a royal scribe ever since his father read him historical accounts of kings and queens, knights and knaves. Falhill always remembered the scribes’ names better than the figures featured in the accounts themselves.
Falhadn had first met Falhill in a Hrashery in the capital of Old Coast, Eangd. Falhadn attended weekly prayers because her far off parents threatened to withdraw their financial support if she didn’t. Falhill’s fascination with the written language blended so seamlessly with her own love of the spoken word. Or perhaps I married the feeblest weakling I could find, to upset my father. She missed Falhill. Just as suddenly, a swell of resentment replaced that nostalgic sensation with apathy.
A similar apathy befell her when she stuck the sunflowers over her right ear. She didn’t like that one side of her head felt uneven with the other.
“You look like a princess.”
Falhadn gave a cursory bow of the head. “Thank you, Henhadn.” The scribe began to make small talk, but something caught Falhadn’s eye.
Arfwa’erim entered an alley alongside another man of different ethnicity. A trembling desire pushed at her lungs. She wanted to follow him. Falhadn moved towards the alleyway, squished between a sordid tavern and a rundown inn. “Falhadn? Where are you—?”
“If you’re going to follow me, then stay quiet.”
Henhadn flinched. She whispered, “Should I follow you?”
“Curiosity calls. I’m following someone.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Falhadn moseyed towards the alley. She checked around the corner, and no one was there. Only the back of another building. “Come on.”
Falhadn led Henhadn down the dank alleyway. At its end, a long backstreet intersected — to the right and left. She listened closely. Beneath the muffled sound of merchants and sailors, echoes of footsteps and two men talking. To the left. She crept down the backstreet, her thigh scar pulsing. Henhadn followed, visibly distraught.
A hoarse voice — “How young?”
“Twelve,” hissed another.
Falhadn stopped. To her left, a dozen stairs, carved into the ground. At its base, candlelight glimmered behind a thick brown curtain. She descended.
“And this one?”
“Eleven, fresh from Eorles.”
“Fresh?”
“As a spring apple.”
“I think she’s the winner.”
Falhadn held Henhadn’s neck and whispered, “Grab the nearest two soldiers you can find.” And she dashed away, while Falhadn listened
, made sure the men didn’t run away.
“Something about Dovanthir girls — they mature faster.”
“Give my regards to Alvir. I won’t be able to visit him this time.”
“How unfortunate. He’ll miss your serpent tongue. What? Segchyhah dragging you off so soon?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Their plans will be delayed, I have it on good authority. About Alvir — last time I visited, my wife smelled rosemary on me.”
“May her soul rest in peace.”
“Now I’m betrothed again. I shouldn’t take any risks.”
“Nice to see you again. It’s been too long.”
“Go on. Take your Southern girl and be gone.”
“Come on, you.”
Once Falhadn heard the man approaching, the black curtain opened in a violent gust. Before Falhadn stood a squat balding man. In his grasp hunched a young girl — covered in grime, tear stains down her cheeks, iron choker about her neck. The man cursed and drew a shortsword.
“What’s going on out there—?” Arfwa’erim exited the brick alcove, hand on hilt. When he glimpsed Falhadn, he cocked his head. “Wait, Errenby!” He grabbed the bald man’s wrist as he raised the blade to strike. “She’s a Representative!”
“A national tragedy.” The bald man shook free of Arfwa’s grip and lifted his shortsword. Falhadn stumbled out of its trajectory but tripped up the steps. “Caught you now.”
“Stop!” called a voice from down the backstreet. The voice distracted the bald man for one instant, and Falhadn managed to kick him in the face. Inside the alcove, two henchmen dashed through a back exit.
The voice belonged to one of three Panthir guardsmen, and they rushed to Falhadn’s defense. The bald man shouted profanities as he dropped the shortsword and surrendered to the men. Arfwa’erim held his hands high, ashamed and furious. He looked at Falhadn. “You’re dead,” he mouthed. Two soldiers led the men away in iron shackles while the other comforted the six young girls inside.
Henhadn ran up to Falhadn. “Are you hurt? Representative?”
“No,” she replied, rubbing at the spot on her backside where she landed when she had tripped. “Thank you for your quick assistance.”
Henhadn gasped at the sight of the six grimy girls. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she helped the guardsman undo the chokers about their necks. Falhadn sat there, petrified. For some reason, all she could think was, Hrash above, I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Congratulations, Representative.”
“We’re glad you’re alright.”
“Those girls as well.”
Sitting on the side of her bed, Falhadn smiled solemnly. “It was like Hrash guided me to them.”
The Hillite couple shared a newlywed glance. Five months married, and they still have those newlywed eyes. “This should dull the pain,” Glaad said and gave her a short jar of white salve. “Apply each morning after you wake up.”
“Thank you, Glaad.”
The herbalist shared a more concerned glance with her husband. “Actually, I’ve changed my name. To Calnhadn.”
Falhadn raised her eyebrows. “Changed your name?” She had sat in the audience when the Hillite congress rejected Herbalist Glaad’s petition to change her name to Calnhadn.
“Well, what’s a name? It’s something people call you.” The herbalist shrugged. “And I prefer to be called Calnhadn.”
“And I’m Calnhill, now.”
Falhadn nodded. Speechless. “Alright then. Calnhill and Calnhadn.”
“Thank you,” they both said. They giggled like newlyweds. Falhadn disliked them. Even more so, now that they explicitly circumvented the congress’s authority — and more implicitly, her own. No matter that the issue of naming custom was a minor one, Falhadn understood that citizens obeying every law was her key to power. If citizens could pick and choose which laws they liked, why have a congress, or a Representative?
“Every morning,” Glaad repeated.
Calnhadn, Falhadn grunted in her head. “Stay safe. Don’t walk down any dark alleyways.”
The couple chuckled together as they exited Falhadn’s apartment. Nahyra entered and shut the door. Nahyra’s chestnut hair brushed against her severe hips. “Changed their names?”
Falhadn rolled her eyes. “When we Hillites fled our homeland, we changed our naming customs, among other traditions, to set ourselves apart from our undesirable brethren. But those two wanted to keep to the old custom. I would hazard a guess they only wanted to travel with the Segchyhah so they could select which customs they wanted to follow.”
“Sounds a bit immature,” Nahyra replied, and they both laughed at how absurd the situation was. Nahyra’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you yesterday. After our lessons, I wanted to sup with Vaird. He may not be traveling with us to the Shindo’s pregnancy feast.”
“You are to blame for nothing. Don’t upset yourself.”
“Thank you, Representative. And congratulations for unearthing that egregious ring. Hopefully, they’ll be able to interrogate Arfwa’erim and this man Errenby — rescue more girls.”
“I’ve had enough congratulations. I did what anyone would have done.”
“Well, you’re well suited for your first meeting of the Representatives. Jenneseille sent a doveling to tell Salyryd they’re making good time. They’ll arrive in two days’ time.”
“That’s good to—”
A knock at the door stopped Falhadn’s tongue midsentence. Nahyra shrugged and opened the door.
“You should ask who’s at your door before opening it,” greeted Feedra’anam, sandwiched between two of her Shrih guards. “You’ve already made enemies out of some pretty violent criminals.”
Falhadn stood. Her backside ached, but she hid it in her face. “I am so sorry your betrothed was involved in something so heinous. I wish you would have found out differently.”
Feedra’anam stepped inside the apartment. “Arfwa’erim was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He may not be innocent, but he is not the monster you have made him out to be.”
Falhadn had to scoff. “I heard him. Arfwa was the one who arranged for those girls to be presented to the other man, like some perverted auction.”
“Enough! I may not be able to contradict your lies, but do me the courtesy of not lying to my face. We both know you were jealous.”
“Excuse me?”
“Arfwa’erim is a very desirable match. You envied me, coveted after him. He rejected you. Now you’re exacting your revenge.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to get out of my apartment.”
Feedra’anam raised her hands and stepped back. “Unlike you, I’m not too scared to speak truth to your face. I just wanted to let you know where the score stood. I’m not a vengeful woman. But you have been warned.” She left with her guards, slamming the door behind her.
Falhadn fell on her bedside, speechless. Nahyra ran to her and caressed her arm. “Representative? Are you alright?”
“What just happened?”
“You can’t please everybody.”
“She’s delusional.”
Falhadn shook her head. “That woman is out of her mind.”
Nahyra donned a sardonic smile. “You’ll come to learn that most Shrih are pretty intense.”
“Intense?” Falhadn tried to relax her muscles. “I need to rest. Is it alright if I skip lessons today?”
“That’s fine. But, you did agree to meet with a Panthir couple in an hour. Bilgen and Darle?”
“Right.” Falhadn had forgotten. Dalnommeth’s parents. “Tell them my schedule is full. Don’t let them reschedule.”
“You don’t want to speak with them anymore?”
“No.” Like as not, their daughter is right now trying to disrobe my husband. “Make up a nice lie. Can you do that?”
“I’ve had plenty of practice making up lies for the Roamer.” Nahyra blushed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No apology n
ecessary. Salyryd is a good person. I expect the lies you told were in everyone’s best interest.” They laughed together, and Nahyra left Falhadn to sleep. Her midday dreams were of Falhill and Dalnommeth. Then, of her parents. Then, of herself, in an iron choker.
“Ratikit Rolston, of the Dibly Rolstons.”
Falhadn sat across from the bald man, an old rotted table between them. “But I heard him call you Errenby.”
“That is correct. That’s what I told him my name was. I’ve told hundreds of people that’s my name.”
“You were about to cut me in half.”
“Keeping up appearances. I’ll admit, I didn’t know how I was going to convincingly spare you, but I had another two seconds to figure it out.”
“You’re still in your shackles!”
The short man raised his wrists above the table. “Taking them on and off chafes like sandpaper. Ask them if they would, though.”
Falhadn looked to the four guards about the small gray room, then to Salyryd. All of them concurred. “Fine. I’m officially awestruck. Now would you explain why Representative Salyryd brought me to this penitentiary?”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Ratikit said with a droll smile. “I can tell you did it for noble purposes.”
“Save young girls from whatever hell you were sending them to? What other purpose could I have besides a noble one?”
“Commander Arfwa’erim was high up in the chain of things, but I estimate there’s twenty others who outrank him. I’ve been pretending to be Errenby Akalid for six years. I’ve rescued a hundred girls. And I don’t sleep anymore on account of the thousand I couldn’t save.”
“A thousand?”
“Don’t let down your guard. These higher ups are still very upset at the six you freed.”
“You’re telling me you and Arfwa’erim were undercover for six years?”
“You’re not listening. Arfwa’erim is a scumbag, a willing participant in this operation. Hopefully, some Doam brute will knock him around a little too hard for crimes against little girlies before he’s set free.”
The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing Page 34