An Accident of Stars (33 page)

Gwen, however, had long since sought the relative peace and quiet of Trishka's room, where she'd settled herself in a sparse wicker chair by her friend's bedside. Though Trishka's burns were all but healed, distinguishable as recent injuries only by the lighter shade and pinched shininess of the new skin, the consequences of ripping open an unplanned portal were yet to diminish. She'd woken briefly since they'd arrived, enough to be updated on the progress of Zech and Saffron, but not since; and Gwen, despite herself, was beginning to worry. In all the long years that they'd known each other, she'd never stopped feeling guilty at the fact that Trishka routinely risked pain and exhaustion to send Gwen back and forth between Earth and Kena (and sometimes, without Yasha's knowledge, to other worlds entirely). Over and over, Trishka had tried to reassure her: it wasn't the distance that caused the difficulty, but how familiar she was with the end location. By now, she'd visioned so much of Earth and opened so many portals there that it had long since become second nature.But when they'd fled the compound, she'd been flying blind, groping desperately for safety with no time to prepare. The strength it must have taken – of mind, of magic, of body – was incredible.

Gwen's fingers clenched. It had all gone so horribly wrong, and it all came back to her and Pix. If they'd only known–

“Stop torturing yourself. I know that look.”

Startled, Gwen jerked her head up. It was Matu, leaning insouciantly against the doorframe. His long hair, usually sleek, was a dishevelled mess; not unattractively so, because he was still Matu, but enough to mark him out as preoccupied.

“I didn't even hear the door open,” Gwen grumbled, by way of greeting.

Matu grinned. “My stealth is legendary.” Glancing at Trishka, he came inside and shut the door. “How is she?”

Gwen sighed. “As well as can be expected.” She rose, not liking to sit while he stood. Though Matu was taller than her, they were almost of a height. Without volition, her fingers began to twitch against her thigh. She badly wanted a cigarette, but Matu's supply of cahlu had run out days ago, thanks in no small part to his consistent generosity in sharing it with her.

Matu grimaced. “I don't think I can bear the waiting much longer. It's too much. Waiting for Zech and Safi… I still can't believe I didn't catch what she was planning. If something's happened to her…” He shook his head, visibly pained, and forced himself to continue. “Waiting for Trishka. Waiting for Leoden to make his next move. Waiting to hear from Pix again. Waiting for… waiting for Amenet.” He laughed bleakly. “But then, I've always been waiting for Amenet, one way or another. And it never gets any easier.”

He fell silent then, and his silence matched hers, each sliding towards the other like oildrops in water. Gwen's fingers twitched again, refusing to be still. Without even thinking, she reached up and brushed a lock of Matu's hair back from his cheek, smoothing the long, soft strands behind his ear – and then she paused, cheeks burning like a teenager's, when she realised what she was doing.

Yet she didn't drop her hand.

Matu looked at her, handsome and calm, a strange smile tugging the edge of his lips.

“Gwen–”

“I'm a foolish old woman,” she said. “Not as old as all that, surely?”

“Matu, I–”

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first, and she was so surprised that she almost pulled away, thinking it must be charity, he was doing her a kindness, there was no other explanation (
stars in the Many, let there be another explanation
), but then he moved his own hand to cup the back of her head and she knew, she
knew
it was more than that (
I'm not so old, there's blood in me yet
), and she kissed him back as she hadn't kissed anyone in years, not even her marriage-mates, pulse thundering like a waterfall.

Matu sunk his fingers deep into her hair. When he finally pulled away, he withdrew the hand slowly, letting his fingertips graze her softly from cheek to chin. He was smiling.

“Do you know,” he said, “I've been wanting to do that for quite some time.”

“I… me too,” said Gwen, still somewhat dazed. “But I… We… That is, I mean–”

“Gwen.” He took her hands in his. “You're already married. I know that–”
well, Gwen thought, that answers
that
question
, “–just as you know that whatever else I might say or do, I've never stopped loving Amenet. But that doesn't mean you aren't beautiful to me, or that you're duty-bound to ignore such wily charms as I have to offer.”

His self-deprecating smile as he said it prompted a snort of laughter from Gwen. “Such wily charms indeed.” She raised an eyebrow. “So this was…?”

“A kiss between friends,” said Matu seriously, with only the barest twinkle in his eye, “exchanged in the spirit of mutual respect, attraction and affection, and also because we're out of cigarettes.” So saying, he raised her hands, dropped a kiss on her knuckles, and let them go again. “Fair, my lady?”

“Fair,” said Gwen. Her lips and knuckles tingled from his touch, and deep in her core, she felt as though part of a burden had been lifted. Jhesa and Naku would tease her shamelessly for it, when she told them. She allowed herself a moment to look forward to that conversation, then paused, breathed deeply, and changed the subject. “How's Jeiden?”

“Guilt-ridden and desperate to see Zech. I can sympathise,” Matu sighed. “In fact, I should get back to him. Yasha isn't exactly known for her sympathy, and the Shavaktiin have their own problems.”

Gwen crossed her arms. “Matuhasa idi Naha. Did you, or did you not, come in here with the sole purpose of kissing me once and then leaving again?”

Matu's answering grin lacked even the barest flicker of contrition. “Not the
sole
purpose. I also wanted to see how Trishka was doing. And now I have, and will take my leave.”

And before Gwen could answer, he gave a cheeky half-bow and ducked out of the room again.

For a long moment, Gwen was silent.
Did that just happen? Did I really just–
“Now
that
,” said a weak voice from the bed, “was interesting.”

“Trishka!” Gwen whirled, rushing to kneel by the bedside – a little too enthusiastically, as the sudden motion sent a pang of pain through her knees. Cursing, Gwen resettled herself, and found that her friend was looking up at her with the exact same expression she'd once worn while watching a much younger and boisterously drunk Gwen fall down an incline seconds after uttering the immortal phrase, “Nothing can stop me now!”“Don't,” she warned. “Don't even say it.”

“You
vixen!
” Trishka exclaimed – in English, not Kenan. It was an old joke between them, dating back to when Gwen had first been dragged through the Many. There was no equivalent expression in Kenan that conveyed the same sense of scandalous female behaviour, because there was no cultural sense in which female sexuality was considered particularly scandalous in Kena, and they used it – now as ever – to express their wicked delight at each other's actions.

Gwen could have wept with relief. “Vixen yourself,” she murmured, squeezing Trishka's hand. And then, switching to Kenan, “How are you?”

With visible effort, Trishka squirmed upwards in bed, until she was half-sitting against the wall. “I've been better. But more importantly, I've been watching the queens. As much as I can do, anyway. Most of the citadel is warded against crying through the jahudemet and ilumet, but the rooms where they're keeping Zech and Safi are clear.”

Gwen's heart seized. She wanted to say,
you shouldn't have pushed yourself, you need to heal,
but instead she asked, “Did you hear anything, or was it just images?”

“Here and there,” Trishka replied. “You know how it is; everything comes and goes, especially when I'm tired. And don't look at me like that,” she added, as Gwen opened her mouth. “You know perfectly well that a little tiredness on my part doesn't matter against war and queenships.”

“It matters to me,” Gwen said softly.

Trishka smiled wearily. “I know.” She closed her eyes in a long, slow blink, then opened them again. “The queens are divided. That's why they've kept Yasha from seeing Zech and Safi. The fact that they passed the trial… when Zech invoked the law the way she did, some of the queens said they ought to have set a precedent and forbidden her to even attempt it, on the grounds of Kadeja's expulsion from the temple. They'd never had to deal with a retroactive case before, and in the end, they only agreed to let her try because the dissidents believed she'd die in the process. But both girls lived, and now there's uproar. They can't invalidate her trial, they can't deny Safi's new rights under Vekshi law, but they want to, Gwen, and badly. Ashasa's Knives have too much power now. That's why they're stalling. But I think…” She trailed off, eyes going glassy as she dipped back into her magic. Gwen waited, holding her breath.

“I think,” said Trishka, after a minute or so, “that things are starting to settle. Either that, or they're unravelling in a way that's to our advantage. The girls need to see someone friendly, and as much as I love her–”

“–it shouldn't be Yasha,” Gwen said, rising. “I'll go, then. Gods be willing, Yasha won't notice.”

“Good.” Trishka folded her hands on her lap, then added innocently, “Matu will still be here when you get back.”

“You're enjoying this far too much,” Gwen muttered darkly. “What are we, still green girls?”

Trishka smiled. “Forever and always, in our hearts. It's only flesh that ages.”

V
iya sat
on one side of the table, Amenet on the other. In truth, it was less a table than it was a writing desk, but after finally managing to exercise some control over events, Viya hadn't been in a position to stop and casually ask which of the house's many rooms would be best suited as a venue for her negotiations. Instead, she'd made a snap decision and headed straight for the library, on the not unreasonable basis that she was at least familiar with it. Once there, she bled off some of her nervous energy by dragging Kadu's desk away from the far wall, clearing the surface, and setting a second chair before it.

If Amenet was at all perturbed by these makeshift surrounds, she didn't show it. Instead, she sat gracefully in the nearest chair (the mismatched one, Viya noticed – was she making a statement, or simply opting for convenience?) while Viya shut the door.

Now that they were alone, the silence felt thunderous. Viya's thoughts whirled. All her calculated braggadocio, every claim she'd ever laid to power and respect by virtue of her status as Cuivexa suddenly felt hollow. Leoden had married her, but she'd been Cuivexa in name only, and for so brief a time, under such exceptional circumstances, that it scarcely mattered. All this time, she'd been looking for the deference she felt was her rightful due, but what if it wasn't owed her at all?
Power should be earned
, she thought suddenly.
I cannot be Cuivexa for myself; only to serve others – to serve Kena. But what if that means stepping aside? What if I really should defer to Amenet?
She bit her lip, struggling to hear the will of Ke and Na. Their answer struck her like a blow.
If my only true act as Cuivexa is to give up my power to one who deserves it more, then in that moment, I will still have been a better ruler than Leoden ever was.

“You look thoughtful,” Amenet said, breaking her reverie.

“I am,” said Viya, gulping. “And I think… I think that we should be honest.”

“Honest?” Amenet raised her right eyebrow, so that her face looked even more lopsided than it already was. “A dangerous proposition, where politics are concerned. How do you know you can trust me to do likewise?”

Viya met her gaze. “I don't,” she said, simply. “But after what Leoden did – what he's done to both of us – I expect we're both tired of lies.”

To her credit, Amenet didn't flinch. “Speak honestly then.”

It was a challenge – even now, Amenet was too much the politician to take an offer of peace at face value.
But then
, Viya's rational self reminded her,
if you had been poisoned and left for dead by the last person to propose such a peace, how trusting would you be?

The moment weighed on her shoulders like a giant's hands. Everything she'd done since leaving the palace – everything that had happened since Hawy, gods keep her memory, had sent her off to be married, and Rixevet, Iavan and Kadu had left her family mahu'kadet – all boiled down to this.

“I can't rule,” Viya said. “I haven't earned the right. When Leoden and Kadeja are overthrown, I will support you as Vexa.”

Amenet stared at her. “And what do you ask in return? To be retained as Cuivexa?”

Viya inhaled deeply. “I ask nothing in return. I want only to serve Kena – to do what is right in the eyes of Ke and Na, and the people we serve. If that means stepping aside, then I will step aside.” She pressed her palms flat to the tabletop. “After fleeing the palace, I found myself in the company of Vekshi women, among others. Leoden lied about their involvement in the death of the Uyun ambassador to justify chasing them all from Karavos. There will be consequences for that, once the truth is discovered. I know nothing of Uyu, but if we're going to avoid enmity with them once all this is done–”

“Once all this is done?” Amenet said. There was a strange note to her voice.

“Of course!”

There was a moment of silence. Then Amenet began to laugh, a dry, throaty chuckle that set her shoulders shaking. “You are,” she said, “exactly the opposite of what I expected.”

Viya didn't know what to say to that, and so remained silent. Amenet shook her head and spoke again. “The first time I came back to myself after dying – and I did die, for a time – I couldn't move. Not my arms, not my legs, not my head. I was trapped, helpless. I couldn't even speak. Being awake was bad enough, but falling asleep was worse, because I'd never know if I was going to wake up again, or what would've changed if I did. One night, I woke up in the dark. I was completely alone – there were no sounds, no lights, nothing. I didn't know if I'd gone blind, if I'd been abandoned, or if I really was dead after all. I couldn't cry or scream. I just stayed like that, trapped in the dark for hours.” She laughed softly. “Or at least, it felt like hours. I'll never really know how long it was. But eventually, someone came back, and I knew I was still alive.