“His servant,” he weaved his fingers together and apart again.
“Oh,” she looked surprised a moment before covering her expression with a smile. “When I heard he’d recommended you to Dedelion as an apprentice, I’d simply assumed—”
“It’s all right,” Kareth shrugged. “I had assumed Imotah would help me to see the Paref and instead he sold me. And, well, you heard the rest.”
“We were in the same building,” she said thoughtfully. “Cousin Imotah hosted us for a banquet one night, shortly after we arrived. I wonder what you were doing that night.”
“Probably working in the stables.” He’d worked in the stables so briefly it was a distant memory, and it almost made him laugh when he’d considered it the worst time of his life. Even drunk and angry old Piye didn’t seem so bad in memory compared to Dedelion. “I was here, too. Well at the Paref’s palace, helping make the coronation feast. I kept looking for you, but you have no reason to be in the kitchen.”
She laughed suddenly. “Oh, I don’t know. When we were still children, my sister and I would often sneak into the kitchen to spirit away some sweets. The kitchen master always chased us away, threatening to sneak sneezing potion into our meals, but I think he must have had a soft spot for us, because of course, he never told our father, and of course, he never gave us sneezing potion…if such a thing exists.”
“He must have liked you; it’s impossible not to,” Kareth said and immediately felt like he wanted to jump into the garden and hide behind the peacock. He was acting like an utter idiot! She was going to think he was strange and leave and they’d never speak again!
“I felt the same about you, from the moment we met. I knew we would be friends,” her hand moved forward slightly, and for a moment he thought she was going to take his. His entire body became rigid, anticipating the touch, but she stopped moving and her cheeks became a deeper shade of red.
“And…” Kareth cleared his throat, “and what happened to you?”
“Since coming to Nepata?” Her smile fell into a frown, but even her frown looked kind and lovely. “Of course, since coming here all attention has been on Merneith. I guess I should say High Wife of the Paref now. Ha, I keep forgetting.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. We were supposed to only come here to see my sister wed, but then,” she shifted her linen tunic slightly, “Paref Rama is a great man…well, of course he isn’t a man at all, he’s a god,” she looked him straight in the eye. “He took a fondness to me.”
Kareth wasn’t sure he understood the words. “He took a what?”
“When my father realized that the Paref was interested in me, he wanted to stay and see if he could convince the Paref to take me as another wife. The only reason it hasn’t happened yet is because my uncle, King Arma, opposes it.
“Why?”
“Oh, uh,” she frowned. “It’s just…politics,” she laughed but it sounded different from her previous laughter, somehow lower. “I don’t really understand a lot of it.”
Her gaze wandered over to the peacock in the garden. As if noticing its sudden audience, the peacock’s head came up and its tail feathers spread into a kaleidoscope of shapes and shades. Kareth wondered if you could even find a name for so many different colours.
“Kareth,” he turned around at the sound of Yunet’s voice.
Yunet stood in the open doorway to the private chamber. Kareth could just make out the figure of a woman lying on a bed, a gaggle of maids swarming her, patting her forehead with cold cloths, holding her hands or petting her arms while giving her shushing tones. Yunet paused a moment as she looked at Harami, then turned to Kareth with an annoyed look.
“Where are those herbs, boy? If I don’t drug her soon, she’ll take my head off,” she walked over to him, and Kareth quickly offered her the bowl.
She gave Harami one last lingering look before walking back to the room, as she closed the ornately carved door, he could just make out the woman saying something about ripping off Yunet’s face if she didn’t take away the pain soon, but then the door was closed and all he could make out was groaning.
“So…” he turned back to Harami. “You’re going to marry the Paref?”
“If he wishes it,” her voice lacked any tone, any hint of feeling.
“Don’t you want to?” He thought his voice sounded a little too high pitched. How did that happen?
She laughed a real laugh this time, like rain pattering on the leaves of trees. “Are you serious? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It must be different for a Go-man.”
Kareth felt like someone had reached inside his rib cage and grabbed hold of his heart. “Wh…what?” he looked around the room quickly and gave a nervous laughter. He figured she probably knew he was a Whisperer, but he was worried her servant was listening and might gossip. “I’m not Gogepe—Go-man, that is.”
Harami leaned back, raising her eyebrows, then followed his gaze to her servant. “Oh don’t worry about her. Why aren’t you wearing your Rattlecloak?”
“It’s not a,” he buried his face in his hands. “Don’t call it a ‘rattlecloak,’ at least.”
“Sometimes I wondered if I’d only dreamt of meeting a Go-man.”
He looked up, suddenly worried. “Does your father know? Did you tell him?”
“If my father remembers you at all, he wouldn’t recognize you. He never saw your face when we were sailing along the Hiperu. And anyway, I wouldn’t tell him. Go-men aren’t thought of…fondly in our land,” she frowned. “In the south, I sometimes heard the servants gossiping about your people like one might complain of a gnat, but here…they fear you, I think.”
“If the Paref knows I’m Gogepe, he’ll never see me,” Kareth frowned himself.
“Why do you need to see him, anyway?” She looked at him with an eager curiosity.
He was about to tell her everything about his mission, about the gods and the Rhagepe and the destiny his mother had told him about, about the great calamity that the gods were sending to punish them, but there was something about her face that stopped him. There was a light in her face, in her eyes. There was a kindness there born from innocence. This was a girl who had never known a hard day in her life, who thought love was as easy to pluck from the sky as fruit was from a tree.
“I will serve him, of course,” he said, and then couldn’t seem to stop himself from adding, “I’ve been studying magic, and soon, I’m going to be the greatest sorcerer in Mahat.”
He wanted her to be impressed. He wanted her to look at him in awe. Instead she clapped her hands together. “Oh, how fantastic!” she giggled. He wasn’t disappointed. Her joyful expression was more than he’d wanted for a long time.
He didn’t feel bad about the lie. He kept thinking of her happy face when he had laid out his plan to rise against cruel greedy men like Dedelion to serve the Paref with a pure heart. He felt embarrassed from acting slightly pompous, but the more he’d spoken the more she had smiled and laughed, and before he’d known it, he was performing a simple slight-of-hand trick he’d picked up from watching Dedelion—palming a small gem and then ‘finding’ it in her hair. Walking home he must have had a stupid smile on his face, because Yunet kept glaring at him.
“I’m not a mother, you know that,” she said as they dismounted from the small coracle that had ferried them from the palace.
“What?” He came up from his daze. Had he heard her right? “A mother?”
“I don’t coddle, because I don’t know how to. I don’t piece out advice, because I don’t care to,” she continued, moving through the darkening street with a slight waddle.
“Uh…right, I know,” he nodded. Where was she going with this?
“No, that’s the problem. All children know nothing, and I think you know less than that. Maybe it’s because you’re a,” she glared at a person who walked past them, “well you know what you are. You were raised in a world where you could trust everyone, and after coming here, you should have learned y
ou can’t trust anyone.”
Kareth looked down at the road, kicking at a small pebble but missing. “I know that.”
“Oh do you?” Yunet scoffed.
“All right, what have I done today to anger you?”
“Bah, everything you do angers me,” her face looked pained for a moment and she rubbed her left arm. “This doesn’t anger me though; it worries me.”
“What does?” He was getting annoyed with this game. They were nearly back home, and he just wanted to enjoy his promised beer without having to listen to a lecture.
“You be careful with that girl. You know she’s a princess.”
“So?” Kareth frowned.
“You think she’s your friend? I heard you talking.”
“She is my friend.”
“Oho. Is that so? You’re less than a peasant. You’re a sand snake, and she knows it. A princess is never your friend.”
It might as well have been Tersh walking with him, saying those same words. Why was everyone so quick to judge based on titles? They’d never even spoken to Harami. They were making cruel assumptions. She was the kindest person he’d ever met. Princess or no, he knew he could trust her.
“You don’t know her,” he scoffed as he felt something rising in his chest.
“You listen here, boy,” she grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking. “You don’t dare make faces at me. You don’t dare dismiss the things I say to you. I took you into my house, and I can throw you back out just as easily. Do you know why? It’s because in this world, you only keep people around who can help you, and snivelling little boys who think they know better than their elders are useless to everyone.”
Kareth pulled away from her grip, but the anger seemed to drain from him. He could remember how the same conversation with Tersh had ended, how in his anger he’d tried to hit her, fallen into the Hiperu, and nearly been eaten alive by a crocodile. He knew there was no chance of the same thing happening, but he could remember choking on water, and how after he’d just felt sorry for getting so angry when someone had just been worried about him. Yunet was just worried about him, too.
“Everyone you’ve met since you’ve come here, Kareth, everyone who’s had a grain of power more than you has only used you for what you can offer them—even me. I like you, even though you can be a real bull when it comes to using your head, but don’t you forget, I’m just as selfish as the rest of them. A royal, even one who means well, doesn’t care for someone like you. She may like you, but only as a girl likes a doll. Toys, that’s all we are to princesses and tzatis and the Paref Himself. It hurts to hear the truth, but there I’ve said it. I hope you remember my words well.”
She walked off, and Kareth stayed a moment, watching her walk away, still feeling the sting of annoyance. There was no way Harami was as selfish or as horrible as Imotah and Dedelion had been. He was sure there were a thousand princesses who were the way Yunet described, but not Harami. Yunet hadn’t met her, hadn’t been there when she had taken his hand and they’d run through the trees together, when she’d taught him to say ‘friend’ in Mahat, when she’d continued to wear the bracelet he’d given her even to this day. Harami was different, and that was the only thought he kept in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.
NESATE
I SPEAK FOR DEATH
Zidante was watching with an unmoving face. Tersh had been clear that if Zidante wanted to watch, he’d have to stay silent. She wished she could have thought of an excuse to keep him outside her room. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. Would this work? The Rhagepe had only showed her once how to make a curse.
Before beginning, right as the sunbeams creeped over the tips of the mountains, fire upon the teeth of the gods, she had closed her eyes and whispered to the Goddess of Death, praying for her help, dredging up all the faith she had within herself. There was only one chance to get this right.
She turned to the fire pit, taking her fire knife in hand, striking it against a stone and a moment later sparks were turning into a fire. She took the necklace of the lizard skulls from around her neck, remembering the moment Rashma Hal’Hotem had placed it there, when the tribes had looked on in reverent silence as Rashma proclaimed her the speaker for the Goddess of the Death. The feeling of pride and apprehension had never left her. She threw it into the pit. The leather cords caught fire quickly, and the tiny skulls began to blacken.
Next to the hearth, she took the small copper cauldron. It had taken more than the turn of a moon to get a hold of it. She’d sent Zidante on a mission to find it—or make one if he couldn’t locate one. She didn’t know the purpose of it, but she knew the Rhagepe always used a copper cauldron during their ceremonies, so there had to be something sacred about them.
In the cauldron she had water boiling. She’d thought about trying to mix in herbs but couldn’t think of what the right ones would be. She didn’t know any of these mountain flowers. She didn’t know which ones had magical properties, and it would have been useless trying to guess. Besides, she had the holiest thing she needed, what the Rhagepe used in every ceremony and what they told her would work as a substitute of the sacred herbs in times of crisis. She took the knife to her forearm and cut deep into her flesh until the dark crimson droplets fell into the water, a red cloud quickly spreading out.
“I am Tersh Al’Farek, of the tribe Go’angrin. I speak for death,” she muttered under her breath over and over again, keeping rhythm with the steady dripping of her blood. “I am Tersh Al’Farek, of the tribe Go’angrin. I speak for death.”
Through the pain, the blood was refreshingly warm on her chilled skin. She had thought winter was hard at the foot of the mountain, but she had had no idea what real winter was. Snow drifts blocked her window, the stones felt like ice, and no matter how big she made her fire she never could find any warmth. She’d waited this long to make the curse partly because finding the copper cauldron had taken so long, but also because her fingers had been so numb she couldn’t wield her knife properly.
She let the blood simmer as she reached for a small bowl next to her. Inside was the powder she’d made from delicately grinding down the skull all those moons ago. She began to sprinkle it into the water, carefully speaking the princess’ name as she stirred the liquid with her knife. It had taken her awhile to learn the princess’ proper name, and she’d practiced it so many times she was able to say it with confidence now.
“Princess Kessara, the fourth of her name; daughter of Kessara, Queen of the Mountain, the third of her name. Widow of Alelti, and mother of the moon. Her will be cursed. Her name be cursed. Her Sisters be cursed.”
The liquid was congealing, becoming thick and hard to stir, the colour like mud. Tersh was beginning to doubt their plan. She wasn’t sure they’d be able to hide this in Kessara’s food without her noticing. But of course, swallowing this was not a requisite. It only needed to touch her skin. If she took a bite, even if she immediately spit it out, it would be enough.
Zidante and his uncle, Watallis, who hoped to become the true lord of Damais Tiessar, had made all the arrangements. All they needed from her was a Gogepe curse. Tersh had met a few other lords who were hoping to see the Sisters removed from power. She’d been surprised how many men there were who hated the women enough to plot against them, but it concerned her, too. Was she really helping this land by taking out its rulers and leaving several lords who might fight against each other to claim the throne? She had to have faith that Tuthalya was taking care of things on his end. Tuthalya needed to ensure the kings arrived in Nesate soon after the princess died, to ensure the civil war ended.
She wished Tuthalya would let her in on what his side of the plan was, but her old friend saw her less and less as the moons had waxed and waned. Tuthalya said it was for her own safety, that the less she knew, the more she could deny should they ever come under suspicion, but she missed having someone to talk to. She didn’t like Zidante or the other conspirators. As soon as the spring passed sh
e planned to leave this place and its scheming lords behind.
Zidante was shifting impatiently behind her, but Tersh ignored him, closing her mind to the world around her. She kept stirring, picturing the haggard old princess in her mind, imagining the civil war ending as her body lay cold on her throne made of stone. It would work, because it had to work. And when there was peace in this city, the old ways could return, and the gods would spare this land.
She stopped stirring and looked down at the lump of mud-grey sludge in the bottom of the bowl.
“It’s finished,” she whispered, and Zidante let out a sigh of relief.
“Finally.”
“Pass me the container.” Tersh reached back without looking, and Zindate reached forward and handed her a wooden box with a clasp small enough to fit in her palm. With her knife she reached into the pot and scrapped up some of the goo, slathering it into the box, filling it as much as he could. She went to scrape more from the pot, and a little fell from her blade. She leaned back instinctively, worried the drop might fall on her, but she moved out of the way just in time, and it splattered on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Zidante leaned forward.
“Nothing,” Tersh closed the box and clasped it shut. There was more than enough. She cleaned her knife on a piece of cloth, which she immediately threw in the fire, and placed her knife into her belt. “Now you take over.”
Tersh turned and handed the box to Zidante, but he made no move to take it from the Whisperer. Zidante smiled nervously.
“Sorry, I dare not touch it.”
“The curse isn’t meant for you.”
Zidante shook his head. “My father raised me to be a cautious man.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do with this? You said you would take care of seeing this into her food.”
Zidanted got to his feet, smiling reassuringly. “I have, and I’ll go with you to see it delivered safely, but I will not touch it.”
Tersh tried to push down her anger. Her dislike of this man deepened. She got up after him, realizing for the first time how stiff and numb her legs had become. She needed a moment just to stretch before they could leave the room.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 39