An Accident of Stars (25 page)

“Fine, then,” said Viya. “This afternoon it is.”

Satisfied, Pix nodded and turned to go, but hesitated mid-stride. “Oh,” she murmured. “So
that's
what she meant.”

“What?” Still rubbing sleep from her eyes, Viya peered past Pix to the rest of their camp – and promptly blinked in astonishment. Every one of the Shavaktiin was suddenly bare-armed, bare-faced, bare-headed, their veils removed and robes re-wrapped to function like taals. They looked almost normal, and yet totally, utterly alien, their strange faces attached to individuals Viya had come to know only by voice and the colours they wore.

“Why are they doing that?” she asked.

Pix answered slowly. “Dom said that today, we all become part of the story.”

Viya frowned, causing her scar to twinge. “I don't understand.”

“It means,” said Oyako, walking up from the left, “that once we reach Avekou, we all become true participants in this tale – we must act as ourselves, as named individuals rather than anonymous, interchangeable Shavaktiin. And so we remove our robes, to acknowledge we are no longer shaping events from the outside, but from within.”

Viya stared at the dreamseer. She'd recognised Oyako's voice, but the face and form that accompanied it weren't what she'd expected. Oyako was petite and brown, with wide hazel eyes and a tawny frizz of hair that circled her head like a halo – like Gwen's hair, but more tightly curled. She looked to be about Pix's age, and though the lines of her face were sharp, the bridge of freckles that spanned her nose softened the effect, while her bright smile – only those with ready access to healers had such perfect teeth – was both joyful and mischievous. She was, in fact, utterly beautiful, and the suddenness of the realisation took Viya's breath away.

“Ah,” she said, uncomfortably aware that a blush was creeping its way up her neck. “I… suppose that makes sense.”

Pix gave an amused snort. “Staring's rude, girl. Didn't your parents tell you? Pick up your jaw before you trip and break it.”

Furious, Viya went to respond, but found that the combination of Pix's teasing and Oyako's curiously raised eyebrows had rendered her speechless. Mercifully, Oyako broke the tension by giving them both a pat on the arm and heading off to help ready the horses.

Pix ran a hand down her face. “It's going to be a long day,” she said.

Viya didn't contradict her.

By the time they were up and riding, however, some of the shock at the Shavaktiin's transformation had worn off. Two of the archers were revealed to be unremarkably Kenan, while the third was from Uyu. Dom was a different matter: with her straight brown hair, pale blue eyes and skin the colour of bruised fruit, Viya thought she might be from Kamne, a tiny nation wedged between the Bright Mountains and Kena's southeast border, but she couldn't tell for sure, and Pix's expression when she brought it up suggested that asking wouldn't be a good idea. Even so, it was strange to realise the Shavaktiin didn't draw their numbers purely from her own people. Not so long ago, she never would have believed that the gods would choose to act through foreigners, but now she supposed it made perfect sense: after all, if Ke and Na had made the whole world, then surely that meant they'd made all its peoples too?

By noon, the woods through which they'd been riding for the past two days were beginning to thin – not naturally, but as a consequence of active cultivation. Overhanging limbs had been pruned, dead wood cleared away, and the placement of new saplings ordered to ensure a passable space between trees.

“Whose land is this?” she asked, not bothering to look around. She'd thought Pix was closest, but much to her surprise, it was Oyako who answered.

“The land belongs to itself and the gods. We only pretend to own it.”

Viya wrinkled her nose, reining her mare in line with Oyako's. “That's not an answer.”

“It is to me.”

Pix chose that moment to enter the conversation. “In law, this place belongs to Kisavet ore Kisavet ki Oreva, a shrewd old snake with an eye for beautiful husbands. Apparently, she's not given up on the possibility of adding Matu to her collection, even now that we're all disgraced, and if not for Amenet, he might well have taken her up on it. Her lusts aren't subtle, but her politics are: she's calculating and canny – not the sort to back the wrong player, but always careful to keep on pleasant terms with everyone. Which is why she's happy enough to let we rebels and rapscallions jaunt through her woods, provided we don't assume that means she's a wholehearted ally. She's still judging whether or not we're likely to succeed.”

“Charming,” said Oyako.

They rode on in silence.

The further they went through the woods, the thinner they became. They stopped to eat within sight of the treeline, but it was a quick meal: they were close now, and nervous anticipation spread through the group like fever. When they finally emerged onto a slim but well-maintained trail that ran parallel to the forest edge, Pix took the lead, setting a faster pace while the others followed single file. Soon the trees fell away altogether, so that the scenery was dominated by the rolling orchards and fresh-tilled fields of Avekou. Viya had come here once before, but at such a young age that her only real memories were of the inside of her family's holdings – flashes of stairs and doorways, the view of trees from her bedroom window. Now, as estates began appearing on either side of the road, she found herself desperately searching for signs of familiarity, some memory-trigger to affirm that she knew this place, or had known it once.

Instead, she found only strangeness. Tilting her head back, her view of the sky was briefly obscured by a flash of black pain as her scar made its presence felt. Unbidden, the words of her favourite prayer to Ke and Na ran through her mind:

Y
ou are
the star and the darkness,

you are the light and the loss

.Guide me like your stars in wheeling;

guide me like your dark at dawn.

Your cupped hands form the firmament – hold me

as those hands hold the world.

Beside you, I am as bright as spilled salt.

Beside you, I am as dark as smudged ash.

I am unspooled cloth awaiting direction:

weave me into your pattern.

V
iya mouthed
the words to the sky, and steadily the pain in her head receded. When she looked forwards again – her mare was evidently content to follow the horse in front – it was to find that Pix had turned up a tree-lined avenue leading to a sprawling estate house. A contingent of honoured swords patrolled the grounds, with several stationed on either side of the main door, and those were only the ones that Viya could see. That wasn't unusual in and of itself – many nobles in residence placed a premium on security, especially since Leoden's siege of Karavos – but the barefooted figure running out to greet them was.

It was a man: tall, slender and bald, dressed in a sumptuous red taal that contrasted perfectly with his skin, which was unusually dark for one of Kenan blood. He was shouting something – inaudibly at first, due to the length of the avenue, but as he came closer, Viya's heart almost faltered under the weight of recognition.

“Ivi! Ivi! Ivi!”

“Kadu!” she screamed. “Kadu!”

The name ripped from her without conscious volition. In that single moment, everything she'd refused herself permission to feel rushed up and overwhelmed her, a maelstrom of loss and confusion. Heedless of propriety, she leapt from her mare and bolted forwards, tears breaking free as she ran. Dimly, she was aware of Pix shouting something, but none of that mattered; Kadu's arms were spread wide, and when Viya reached him, he wrapped them around her and scooped her up as though she were still a child of five, and not the Cuivexa of Kena. Viya clung to her fourthfather, sobbing freely into his shoulder, while he hugged her fiercely and stroked her hair.

“Oh, Iviyat. Ivi. Viya. I thought you were lost.”

“I was,” she whispered, so softly that only he could hear it. “But not anymore.”

Kadu laughed, the sound shaky with shock and relief, and began to ease away from her. Only then did Viya remember that Pix was still watching, that she had her dignity to uphold. Taking a long, deep breath, she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand – the motion caused her scar to pull – and forced herself to step back from Kadu, until they were face to face, not touching. It startled her to find that he looked shorter than usual; once, he'd towered over her, but she'd grown since then, and the gap between their heights was closing. His kind, aesthetic face was more lined than formerly: there were dark circles under his eyes, and they carried a haunted look that had nothing to do with Viya. A terrible fear took root in her chest.

“Something's happened,” she said. “Kadu, what's happened? Is everyone all right?”

His lips parted, trembled, twitched as though attempting to smile, then collapsed into closure; he couldn't speak. He shook his head.

Viya felt frozen. “Who?” she managed.
Not Rixevet. Please, gods, not Rixevet.

Tears stood in her fourthfather's eyes. “Hawy,” he said. “It's Hawy. She was coming to us. When Leoden announced you were missing, she knew it wasn't right. She moved against him – finally, she saw the truth! – but it was too soon, too obvious. He'd been watching the house. He knew.”

“Hawy,” Viya echoed. A weight settled into her stomach. “No, you're wrong. He trusted Hawy. She dealt with him, she supported him, she–”
She gave me to him
, she wanted to say, but the words lodged in her throat.

“He only sent a few soldiers; but then, he didn't need more. When the three of us left, we took most of the honoured swords with us. We thought she'd be safe.” This last came out as a whisper.

“No,” said Viya. Numb. She was numb. “No, Kadu–”

“Hawy bought time for the others to escape. She fought them alone. And she fell, Ivi. Sava saw it herself.”

“No.”

“The palace announced it yesterday. Hawy's dead.”

“
No
.”

Viya dropped to her knees – just dropped, as though her strings were cut. A low moan started to build in her throat, the sound emerging as a wordless, furious keen, building in volume until the whole world shook at the frequency of her rage, her grief.

My husband killed my bloodmother.

“Cuivexa.”

The voice came from far away.
Pix
, said part of Viya's brain. A small recognition, but enough that the noise she'd been making died away.
I am the Cuivexa of Kena, Iviyat ore Leoden ki Hawy –
but no, not
ki Hawy
anymore;
ki Rixevet,
after the next most prominent member of her family. Rixevet led the mahu'kedet, now.

“Yes, Pixeva?”

“Your grief must wait. We need to go inside. Please, Highness.”

“As you wish.” She pressed her palms into the road, clenched briefly, then pushed herself up. This time, she met Kadu's gaze, not as a daughter, but as a monarch. Reaching out, she touched him gently on the arm.

“I'm sorry for all our sakes,” she said tightly. “Leoden will pay for this, I swear by Ke and Na and the Holy Child.”

Kadu nodded, his posture rigid with grief. “Oh, yes.”

Viya turned to Pix. “Thank you,” she murmured.

And for once, there was nothing but sincerity on Pix's face. “Lead on, Highness. We've business to attend to.”

“So we do,” said Viya. “Oh, we do.”

T
he scenery didn't change
when they crossed into Veksh. There were no soldiers, no fences, no signposts: nothing to indicate their passage from one realm into another, and yet Yasha claimed to know the second they made the transition. Inwardly, Gwen felt sceptical of the claim, but as there was nothing to be gained by pressing the point, she kept her doubts to herself. Despite having lived in Kena for a significant portion of her life, she'd never made the trip north to Veksh. Perhaps if Trishka had wanted to go things might've been different, but as Yasha's previous tight-lipped refusal to return had extended to her daughter, there'd never been much point.

Now, though, necessity had superseded curiosity and, in so doing, provoked it anew. They were still days away from Yevekshasa – possibly even as much as a week, depending on whether they met with assistance or opposition at the hands of the native Vekshi – but even so, Gwen felt a pleasant rush of anticipation. Thanks to Trishka and Yasha, she'd picked up some of the Vekshi language over the years, but not nearly enough to help her deal with the Council of Queens. To make up for lost time, she'd had Matu teach her through the zuymet alongside Saffron, the new words settling into her head like fine sand weighted with water. Even so, she was still a slow learner – magic or no magic, older brains required more time and effort to teach than young ones, and even the strength of Matu's gift couldn't wholly compensate for the strain of teaching two people at once.

As a result, her Vekshi was no more than adequate – which, much to her surprise, placed her on roughly the same linguistic footing as Yena and Trishka. It made sense, once she thought about it: both women had effectively learned the language in exile, and while Yasha and the other expatriate members of the compound had spoken it often among themselves, Kenan had still been the default language. Which meant, rather oddly, that of the five fluent speakers in their party, only two were Vekshi: Yasha and Zech, the other three being Matu, Jeiden – who, it turned out, Matu had long since taught on his own initiative – and Saffron, whose youthful brain absorbed new tongues with enviable ease.

By contrast, none of the Shavaktiin spoke more than a few cursory words of Vekshi; Halaya spoke the most, but even then her repertoire was restricted to a few key phrases. When Gwen expressed her surprise at the fact, Halaya shrugged.