Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  In a week’s time, I met my family.

  The king dispatched a quartet of Royal Guardsmen to escort them to Merabaht; my mother and father and two brothers, one older than me and one younger. Although the village was a mere two days’ ride from the city, there was some delay when it transpired that none of them had ever sat a horse, and my mother flatly refused to do so. After some bartering, a wagon and cart-horses were procured. Once they reached the palace, my family was given lodging in quarters used to house visiting diplomats. Zariya argued that as they were of my blood, they were honorary kin and might be received in the Hall of Pleasant Accord; and to this, too, her father acceded.

  It is an awkward business to meet one’s family as strangers. They stared about them as the Queen’s Guard ushered them into the hall, no doubt looking as dumbstruck as I had when I first entered the palace. All four of them wore cotton garments in a checked pattern of white and red and black, which I later learned was a pattern specific to our village. My father was a tall man and a rather handsome one, his eyes lined with crinkles from squinting against the sun. My older brother took after him, while my mother was short and plump, and my younger brother thin and wiry.

  “Khai?” my mother whispered, her eyes wide over the strip of black cloth that served as her veil. “Oh! Look at you! Such a warrior the brothers have made of you!”

  I had chosen to dress in my desert woolens. “It’s good to meet you, Mother,” I said, offering her a respectful salute. “It’s good to meet all of you.”

  “Your Highness.” My father saluted Zariya, who was already seated prettily on a cushion at the head of the great carpet, which was set with the customary array of tea and delicacies. Blood kin or not, we had determined it best if my family remained unaware of her affliction for now. The king was anxious that word not leak before a betrothal was arranged. “We thank you for this.”

  “Oh, my darling man!” She smiled at him. “Of course Khai must have the chance to meet his family. But you must be weary from your journey, and this is all so strange, is it not? Come, sit, take refreshment. Let us make each other’s acquaintance. Tell me, what is life like in the village where my beloved shadow was born?”

  Although I was their flesh and blood and Zariya was one of the royal Sun-Blessed, it put them at ease in a way that nothing I could have said would have done. In a quarter hour’s time, she had them eating and drinking and chatting with an animated blend of enthusiasm and awe.

  From my father and mother, Zariya elicited the story of how the priestesses of Anamuht had found me by my birth record, and how they had traveled by wagon-train across the desert to the Fortress of the Winds. I learned that of the thirteen babes identified as potential shadows, I was the only girl-child; and I learned too that my parents had known that I was to be raised bhazim.

  It stung a little, an echo of that old betrayal; but my parents had no way of knowing. It seemed I had a distant cousin who was raised the same way, only she knew all along. So had another girl in a nearby village.

  It was not an uncommon practice. I was only unusual in that I had wholeheartedly believed the fiction … and that I had not been required to resume an identity as a girl when I reached adolescence.

  “But of course you couldn’t,” my father said in an understanding manner. “You have your duty.”

  “Oh, Khai is a perfectly lovely girl when he wants to be,” Zariya said airily.

  My mother, who had long since unpinned her veil, gave me a wistful smile. “Is that so? I would like to see it just the once. Just the once, I would like to see the woman my baby girl grew into.”

  “Then next time, I shall wear a dress,” I promised her.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you!” my younger brother, Dinesh, announced, his eyes bright and his mouth full of pastry. “The guards told us stories. They told us you killed a hundred men single-handed!”

  My older brother, Kephos, fetched him a mild smack. “I told you not to speak of such things.”

  “It’s all right,” I assured him. “I do not know if it was a hundred men, only that there were many of them.”

  Zariya shuddered at the memory.

  My father cleared his throat. “We have also learned of Anamuht’s decree,” he said quietly. “I do not know if this is a thing that may give comfort to you, Khai—indeed, I do not know if you are in need of comfort—but although you are desert-raised, the sea is in your blood. Mind you, none of us have ventured far from Zarkhoum’s shores; still, it is our element.”

  “It is good to know, Father,” I said.

  “Speaking of which…” Zariya cocked her head. “May I ask if you know how to swim?”

  My father smiled. “Like a fish, Your Highness.”

  I could not imagine how or where such an undertaking might occur, but Zariya had thought this through, too. Less than a league to the north was the king’s private retreat on the coast of the sea, known as the Villa of Heart’s Ease. It had a more vulgar name, too, for it was where he had arranged dalliances with his mistresses, many of whom had gone on to become his junior wives; Zariya knew of it from her own mother’s descriptions. The walled villa could be easily guarded and it perched on a terrace above a fine lagoon. King Azarkal was not enamored of the notion, but he saw the wisdom of it. A sea voyage was an uncertain thing, and I daresay the vision of a capsized ship, his favorite daughter Zariya floundering in the waves and me unable to save her, haunted him as much as it did me.

  So it was that the next day we journeyed to the Villa of Heart’s Ease, disguised as a family of wealthy traders and their household escorted by mercenary guards. It made me uneasy to venture onto the streets of Merabaht with Zariya, but our guise had been a wise precaution. No one suspected our company’s true identity nor troubled us, and by the afternoon, we were ensconced in the king’s retreat.

  Behind the high walls surrounding the estate, it was a delightful place. There were outlying barracks for the guards. In comparison to the Palace of the Sun, the villa itself was small and modest. Zariya and I were housed in the king’s own chambers, which opened onto the terrace with a wide slate stairway that led down to the lagoon. The breeze was cleaner than those that reached the upper tier of the city, smelling of saltwater and frangipani blossoms.

  Gazing at the shining sea, Zariya drew in a long, slow breath. “Oh, I could live here, my darling! Couldn’t you?”

  “Your father gave us three days,” I reminded her.

  “I know,” she said. “Let’s try to make them last.”

  Although I trained harder in those three days than I had since leaving the Fortress of the Winds, it was an idyllic time. The members of the Queen’s Guard who had accompanied us were uneasy about the arrangement, but they determined soon enough that my family presented no threat, and I was grateful for their presence during the long hours I spent in the lagoon.

  It was a blessed relief to be free of the tedium of the women’s quarter, to immerse myself in the quest to master a new skill. At first I struggled, flailing against the water, my mouth filled with the taste of salt and my eyes stinging while my brothers dove and splashed like porpoises; but my father was a patient teacher, and by the day’s end, I learned to trust the water to buoy me. For the sake of modesty, I bound my breasts and wore a sleeveless cotton tunic and a pair of breeches cropped at the knee. Even so, my older brother, Kephos, was careful to avoid looking directly at me. I understood. I’d felt the same way in the baths.

  On the first evening, after I’d washed my salt-stiffened hair and the faint gritty rime from my skin, I suffered Zariya to braid my wet hair and paint my eyes with kohl before donning the orange silk dress with the gold border.

  At dinner, my mother’s eyes shone at the sight of me, and she clapped her hands together involuntarily. “Oh, I did so miss having a daughter!” Her voice softened. “You look beautiful, Khai.”

  I had only done it to please her, but unexpectedly, I felt my throat tighten. “Thank you.”

  “I like you b
etter as a boy,” Dinesh informed me.

  I raised my brows at him. “Don’t worry, I can kill in skirts as well as I can in breeches.”

  He grinned.

  “So this is what it’s like to have a normal family,” Zariya remarked. “A family not bent on plotting against one another. I quite like it, my darlings.”

  One …

  Two …

  Three …

  It seemed I was always counting something; here, it was the fleeting days. I learned that the members of my family were honest and good-hearted; still a bit awed by these sudden circumstances, but stalwart and kind. Sometimes I could almost imagine what our lives together would have been like; but then I would catch Kephos averting his gaze when we swam, or my mother frowning in perplexity at the glinting slashes of the marks of Pahrkun on my cheekbones, and I would remember.

  Still, it was glorious.

  And I learned the sea, or at least what I might of it in the sheltered lagoon of the Villa of Heart’s Ease. I could not hope to acquire the skill of a lifetime in three days, but I was a swift learner. I learned to dive so as to part the waters as cleanly as a blade, and I learned to propel myself through the waves with long arm-strokes and a steady kicking rhythm. Every day I trained to the point of exhaustion, reveling in the familiar languor in my muscles when at last I stopped.

  “Never fight the sea, Khai, for she will always win,” my father counseled me. “Do not seek to swim against the current, great or small. If the tide takes you, drift and be patient. The sea is as fickle as Eshen the Wandering Moon, but if you let her aid you, she may.”

  “I will remember,” I promised him.

  All too soon it was over. With regret, we donned our merchant guises and returned to the Palace of the Sun.

  When Zariya’s mother enfolded her in a weeping embrace upon our return to the women’s quarter, I assumed Queen Sanala was merely indulging in a flair for the dramatic.

  I was wrong.

  “What is it, Mother?” asked Zariya, who knew her mother far better than I did. “What’s happened now?”

  It was Queen Adinah who answered in a gentler tone than I’d ever heard her use before. “The Granthians have gotten wind of Anamuht’s decree,” she said. “And they’re demanding the right to contest for your hand.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Not only was Granth demanding the right to contest for Zariya’s hand—and the prospect of the invaluable dowry of rhamanthus seeds that would accompany it—but they were threatening to declare war over the issue.

  The news struck me like a blow to the gut.

  “What does Father mean to do?” Zariya asked, her face pale, but her voice steady.

  “He hasn’t decided, dearest,” Queen Adinah said, still in that unwontedly gentle tone. “It’s not a simple matter.”

  It seemed that outright refusal was not an option. If the king had been confident that the Sun-Blessed yet enjoyed the full favor of the Sacred Twins, it might have been another matter. Hundreds of years ago, when Granth sought to conquer Zarkhoum, it was Pahrkun the Scouring Wind who drove the winged stink-lizards with their deadly acid bile from the sky, and the desert tribesfolk who united under his banner to drive the Granthian warriors from our shores.

  But even if King Azarkal were willing to risk all-out war, with Anamuht’s favor contingent on Zariya’s betrothal to a foreigner, he could not be certain that Pahrkun would come to our aid if he refused to entertain a foreigner’s suit.

  The debate raged for days, during which time my family took their leave of Merabaht.

  Zariya offered them the opportunity to stay, assuring them that a place would be found for them. I think she had developed a genuine fondness for them during our time at the Villa of Heart’s Ease. Although they thanked her profusely for the offer, they declined it.

  “If you and Khai were not leaving, I would consider it, Your Highness,” my mother said shyly. “But the city is very big and full of strangers. As splendid as it is here, I miss my home.”

  “You could stay until Zariya’s betrothal is arranged,” I suggested. “And perhaps even see Anamuht herself striding through the city to quicken the rhamanthus!”

  “Or the riots if the harvest fails,” my father said quietly; he was a man who listened to what was said around him. “Or the fighting if Granth does not get its way. No.” He shook his head. “It is best that we go. I pray that what I have taught you serves you well, Khai.” He offered Zariya a heartfelt salute. “Your Highness, we are undeserving of the honor you have showered upon us.”

  She smiled at him. “You are deserving of every honor for giving me Khai, my darling man.”

  I embraced my mother and clasped forearms with my brothers, and last of all my father. His grip was firm and his palms were as callused from hauling nets as mine were from squeezing rocks and hilts.

  “My daughter-son.” The lines fanning from his eyes crinkled. “I am proud to call you mine.”

  Again, my throat felt tight; I had not expected to be so affected by meeting my blood kin. “And I to call you Father.”

  The day after their departure, King Azarkal called for a summit in the Hall of Pleasant Accord. Since khementaran had come upon him, the weight of his years showed more visibly.

  “I have made a decision,” he announced. “Two Granthian suitors will be allowed to seek Zariya’s hand in marriage.” A dozen voices rose in a chorus of protest, and the king raised his hand to silence them. “Abide,” he said grimly. “The Kagan of Granth demanded that we hold an open tourney. This, I deemed unacceptable, as do the ambassadors of Barakhar and Therin, each of whom have named a worthy suitor. But in keeping with the customs of Granth, I have agreed to allow two competing suitors from their damned bloodthirsty realm to duel for the honor in Zariya’s presence.”

  She took a quick, shallow breath. “To the death, Father?”

  “It is an unpleasant compromise that will result in an unseemly spectacle,” the king said with distaste. “But in exchange, Granth has agreed to my stipulation that the final choice of whom you shall wed resides with you, and you alone.”

  A faint line etched itself between Zariya’s fine brows. “Why would they do that?” she mused.

  King Azarkal smiled humorlessly. “From the wives of the Kagan to the lowliest peasant, any status Granthian women enjoy derives from their husband’s skill at arms. Granth expects you to be overwhelmed by the victor’s prowess.”

  Zariya gave me a sidelong glance. “In that, I suspect that they are very much mistaken.”

  Once the matter was decided, things moved quickly.

  We learned that the suitor that Barakhar had put forth was one Prince Heshari, the queen’s second-born son, only three years older than Zariya. As a man, he was not eligible to inherit the throne, but he was well placed in the royal court and had been blessed as a child by Lishan the Graceful herself.

  The Therinian suitor, Lord Rygil, was known as the Keeper of the Keys, which Zariya explained to me was a hereditary title that meant he held the keys to the royal treasury and the ability to allocate funds, a position that carried a considerable amount of power, prestige, and wealth in Therin. He was young for the post, having inherited it at twenty-four when his father was killed in a fall from a balcony.

  It gave me pause to hear it, for if such a thing had occurred in the House of the Ageless, doubtless it meant the man had been pushed, but the Therinian ambassador had offered assurances that it was an accident and no conspiracy was involved.

  Of the Granthian suitors we knew nothing, for Granth had chosen to hold the open tourney they desired to select the two warriors who would be given the honor of dueling to the death in Zarkhoum.

  “I do not like to think about how much blood will be spilled in my name,” Zariya murmured when we learned this piece of news.

  “They are not doing it for your sake,” I observed. “They are doing it for their own notion of honor and the possibility of three thousand rhamanthus seeds.”

&nbs
p; Each prospective bridegroom would present his suit before King Azarkal in the throne hall. As the royal heir, Prince Dozaren would stand at his father’s right hand. A great fretted screen was erected beside the sunburst throne, its apertures carved at cunning angles so that one could see through it from the back, but not the front. This would allow Zariya—and her mother, Sanala, who had demanded to be included—to observe and participate in the proceedings while remaining discreetly unseen.

  “I should like to know what they say when I’m not present, my heart,” Zariya said thoughtfully. “And people will speak freely in front of servants. How would you feel about attending their entourages?”

  I smiled and saluted her. “I am yours to command, Your Highness.”

  The Barakhan embassy was the first to arrive, a vast ship of state docking in the harbor. After being offered hospitality and a day to refresh themselves, they were escorted into a sitting room to await their audience with the king. Clad in the long white linen robes, veil, and gold sash of an upper-echelon palace servant, I greeted them in the traders’ tongue and bade them make themselves comfortable and partake of food and drink.

  I had always admired the nimble grace of Barakhan sailors in the harbor, but the members of the royal family made them look crude by comparison. Prince Heshari was tall and lissome. Like most Barakhani, his skin was a brown so dark it was almost black, with a deep violet undertone. His hair was sheared close to his scalp, which served to emphasize the elegant shape of his skull and the perfect symmetry of his features. His eyes were large and lustrous, his lips full; and yet there was nothing feminine about his beauty.

  He was beautiful, so much so that I was hard-pressed not to stare. There was grace and elegance in every move he made, large or small, in the way he seated himself on a cushion, in the way he reached for a goblet.

  Anything can be a weapon, kid, Brother Yarit had once told me. Grace and guile can be deadlier than a stink-lizard’s bile, and luck can change any outcome.

  I wondered if it had been prophetic, though he had said it before he became the Seer.