Heir of Iron (The Powers of Amur Book 1) (30 page)

Navran grabbed the shoulder of the nearest man who looked like a commander. “Are we in? Do we hold the gates?”

The man staggered back with a look of shock. “We do,” he said. “Are you the one this is for?”

“All of them?”

The man laughed. “You must be him. Yes, all of them. The Uluriya rioted and overwhelmed Thudra’s forces, and we now hold all of Virnas under Sadja’s militia.”

Navran collapsed onto the stone floor, his legs suddenly weak with the exhaustion and terror of their run. “We did it,” he said. He began to laugh. “I can’t believe it worked. I can’t believe it actually
worked
.”

Mandhi sat on a cushion in the antechamber of Veshta’s estate, watching the men argue and wishing they would finish so she could get into the ablution chamber.

“It was a near thing, and it’ll continue to be close.” Sadja said with a glance upward and a gesture of supplication to Chaludra. “We’ll be lucky if we can hold the city for more than a few weeks.”

“That little?” Navran said. He paced at the far end of the antechamber, studying the green marble of the inner wall as if hoping to find a secret in its veins.

Veshta sat on a cushion near Sadja, his hands folded tightly, watching all of them with wariness. “The city’s stores are low,” he said. “The monsoon has only just passed, harvest is far off, and no one was expecting a siege.”

“Can we possibly break out of the siege?”

Sadja scowled. “What army do we have? The Uluriya were able to overrun the gate militia with the advantage of surprise, but I wouldn’t send them into actual battle, especially not against the imperial guard. And I only brought a few hundred with me. We can hold the walls, but we can’t actually take the field in open battle.”

Navran sighed and slumped forward. “And Ruyam may send down his fire.”

Sadja cocked his head. “Fire?”

“You haven’t heard?” Navran raised an eyebrow. “He burned Jaitha from across the Amsadhu, sending down meteors of flame.”

Sadja crossed his arms. “I had heard one version of that, but not details. Is it the kind of thing we can defend against?”

Navran shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Then we don’t worry about it.” Sadja grimaced a little as he said it. “You defend against the things you
can
defend against. The things against which you have no defense… you hope they don’t happen.”

This was why Navran should not have been Heir, Mandhi thought. She admitted a certain respect for the ingenuity with which he had contrived to take the city, but that was hardly the end of it. The Uluriya had held Virnas before, and still the Kingdom of Manjur had fallen. By all signs this history would repeat itself now.

The important thing was for her and her child to get out alive. Navran, left to his own devices, would destroy himself quickly enough. She had to make sure the line of the Heirs did not perish with him. So she posed an innocent question. “What about the rest of the city, the two thirds who are not Uluriya? Will they acquiesce to us holding the city?”

Veshta raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Perhaps we can convince them,” Sadja said. “Thudra will have his partisans, but we can simply expel them or silence them. So long as the larger mass doesn’t turn against us. A riot in Thudra’s favor would end the siege in a matter of hours.”

A matter of hours,
Mandhi thought. Enough time for her to escape. “We need a show of legitimacy, Sadja-dar,” she said. “Give the Uluriya a reason to support their new Heir, and give the rest a reason to go along.”

“What does the Heir do?” Navran asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Veshta asked.

“Once chosen. Is there a coronation?”

“Ah,” Veshta said. “There is an acclamation. The saghada of the city gather in secret to bless the new Heir with ram’s blood. But it’s a private ceremony, known only to the saghada who attend—”

“We’ll make it public. Bring the whole city. Involve the dhorsha somehow.” He gestured at Sadja.

Mandhi snorted. “Does the Heir of Manjur need the approval of the dhorsha?”

“No, but the rest of the city does. Sadja-dar, I beg you to speak to them.”

Sadja nodded. “Mandhi is right about the show of legitimacy, and Navran is right about the dhorsha. I have two of the Ashtya dhorsha in my retinue, and I will seek out the leaders of the Chaludriya dhorsha from this city. How long will this take? Veshta?”

Veshta shrugged. “I wasn’t alive when Cauratha was acclaimed. The books of Ghuptashya have the rites. It’ll be days, at least.”

“We can hold the city that long,” Sadja said.

“Good,” Navran said and sagged against the wall of the antechamber. “Now, if you will, please let me be cleansed and enter. I have not slept in a bed in months.”

For once, Navran was speaking the words of Mandhi’s own heart. She rose to her feet and took a step towards the door of the women’s ablution chamber. “I, too, would like to enter the estate. If I may take your leave.”

“Yes,” Sadja said, rising with a little nod. “Don’t wait for me. We can meet again tomorrow.”

Mandhi bowed to him and slipped through the heavy curtain into the women’s purification chamber, feeling like she was entering the pool at the gate of paradise. The darkness, the cool water, the quiet, the moment to sit down and wash her dusty, aching feet. To be free from traveling, from the crowds and discomfort of the road, and from Thudra’s prison.

“I will wash my hands in purity,” she said, dipping her hands into the laver. A groan escaped her lips, interrupting her prayer. It felt so good. Not just the clean water, though that was much of it. The chance to be pure again, and to be in a house where she no longer had to worry about how the food was prepared and consider what the debt of purity would be when she returned to the Uluriya. Her last full ablution had been in Majasravi. So long ago.

The bottom fell out of her gut with that memory.
Taleg. Taleg.
And mingled with that grief was a growing anticipation. She touched her stomach, and a bewildering tumult of joy and pain and bitterness washed over her. She had to talk to someone. She needed to see Srithi.

She said the rest of the prayers slowly and luxuriously, taking extra time to wash the grime of the road from the bottoms of her feet and her hair. When she finally finished, she noticed the little maid Kidri peeking through the curtain of the inner doorway.

“Srithi waits for you in her chamber,” Kidri said, bowing from the waist.

“I’ll come immediately.” She shouted through the curtain into the antechamber, “I’m finished,” then she followed the Kidri into the courtyard.

Home.
Her heart twisted as she saw it: the colonnade around the courtyard, the palms at the corners, the light glinting off the pool, the green baskets hanging between the arches. Her eyes flooded with tears, not because of what was there, but because of what was missing.
Her father. Taleg.

Kidri didn’t notice her sniffling. They climbed the stairs to the second story, and the girl pulled aside the curtain to Srithi’s chamber.

“Mandhi!” Srithi called out from within. “Mandhi! You’re here!”

Mandhi didn’t get a second step into the chamber before Srithi crushed her into an embrace. Mandhi squeezed her back with equal ferocity, kissing Srithi’s cheek and burying her hands in Srithi’s hair. Srithi’s bulbous breasts pressed against Mandhi’s chest, and Mandhi staggered backwards in surprise.

“Srithi! Where’s your baby?”

Srithi laughed. “Right here. Sleeping, for once. Come and see.”

She pulled Mandhi over to her bed. Atop a folded mat of straw, a little brown face peeked out from white cotton swaddling. Its eyes were closed, but its pink tongue pressed against its lips as it pretended to suckle in its sleep.

“Her name is Gapthi,” Srithi said.

Mandhi picked up the girl and cradled her against her stomach. The baby squirmed for a moment within her swaddling but did not wake. Mandhi felt a pang of apprehension. She would have to tell Srithi soon about Taleg’s child.

“It’s a family name,” Srithi went on. “One of Veshta’s aunts had the name. Amashi insisted on it, and Veshta wasn’t about to contradict his mother. And I don’t mind it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met an aunt of Veshta’s named Gapthi,” Mandhi said.

“Oh, no, she died when Veshta was a boy I was told. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Gapthi is a nice name, and she is a very nice girl.” She grinned at Mandhi.

“Was the birth difficult?”

Srithi shrugged. “Typical, I guess. Amashi was there, and the midwife Harati. Do you remember her? They both said I did fine.”

“I’m sure you did.” Mandhi gently rocked the child. “Does she sleep well?”

“She does now,” Srithi said. “It was very tiring at first—but you know that. The same complaint that every new mother has. But there’s a bright side. Veshta is talking about having Kidri serve Amashi alone and bringing in someone else just for me. My own maid. Can you imagine?”

Mandhi smiled. “So you’re well. What else has happened?”

“So much! You heard about Ruyam?”

Mandhi stifled a laugh and tried to respond without sounding too scornful. Srithi, after all, had barely any idea what Mandhi had been doing. “Yes, I heard about Ruyam. Did you hear about Taleg?”

Srithi dropped her head. “Yes,” she said. “The stars upon his memory. Word arrived several weeks ago, when the first people fleeing from Majasravi reached us.” She threw her arms around Mandhi again, taking care not to crush the child between them.

Mandhi leaned her face on Srithi’s shoulder. Her eyes grew heavy with tears, but she didn’t weep. She set the child down gently on its bed then wrapped her arms around Srithi again.

“I haven’t had anyone,” she whispered. “I needed you. It was just me and Navran going to Ternas, and then him and Gocam when we fled to Jaitha. I would have soaked your shirt with tears then. Now, maybe I’ve run out.”

“Oh, Mandhi.” She held Mandhi for a moment longer. Then she said, “But Gocam? Why were you traveling with Gocam?”

“You haven’t heard the story. Too much for now. But neither of them was—oh, Srithi. It’s been so hard. And now my father—” And then the sobs bubbled up and choked out her words.

She lost track of how long she stayed in Srithi’s embrace, shaking with weeping and feeling again the wound. The pain had dulled to an ache over the previous months, not because it had healed, but because it had been ignored. And returning to Veshta’s house, she suddenly felt the reality of her father’s absence and Taleg’s loss. Srithi bent and kissed the tears on her cheek, and her hand fell and brushed against Mandhi’s stomach.

Mandhi straightened. “That reminds me,” she said. She wiped her face dry and took both of Srithi’s hands in hers. “I haven’t told anybody yet, because I only realized it when I returned to Jaitha and calculated the days. The journey back from Majasravi was so long, I lost track, and I convinced myself it wasn’t so long since we came to Majasravi, since Taleg and I were last together.”

Srithi’s eyes grew wide and her face contorted with incipient comprehension. “You don’t mean….”

“Srithi, I’m carrying Taleg’s child.”

Srithi put her hands on her mouth. She stared at Mandhi, speechless for several minutes. “Should I laugh or should I cry?” she squeaked.

“I don’t know.”

Srithi threw her arms around Mandhi and pulled her into her chest for the third time that day. “I mean, it’s wonderful—but its father is already gone—but your father—”

“It’s probably best that he never knew.” Mandhi dropped her head into her hands. “Do you know how complicated this makes things?”

“But wonderful! Mandhi, we’ll be mothers together!”

“Yes.” Assuming they didn’t all die because of Navran. But Srithi, poor girl, seemed to barely appreciate how much danger they were all in. Probably Veshta hadn’t told her anything. Mandhi did not have that luxury. “I need to talk to the saghada that married me and Taleg.”

“Of course, of course. You’ll need to prove that the child is not a bastard.”

She had almost forgotten that aspect of it, actually. But let Srithi think that was all. She was the daughter of the Heir, and she was going to be a mother. Her child might be all she needed.

Darkness covered her steps away from Veshta’s estate. She had bribed Kidri with a candy and slipped out before any others noticed, and once she crept beyond the light over the front door, there was no one who would recognize and stop her.

She had walked this path once with Taleg. The pain of memory reminded her of why she went.

The main roads were patrolled by Sadja’s militia men, keeping a nervous, quiet peace. The noises of drinking and singing which would normally disturb the night were silent. As she crossed the post into the East Quarter of the city, she saw white-clad Uluriya holding weapons at guard. Were these men who had come to guard their friends and neighbors on their own account? Or was this the Uluriya militia that Navran and Sadja had talked about this morning? She doubted they could find men that quickly, but both of them had at times surprised her by their agility and determination.

In any case, the Uluriya patrollers saw how her hair was tied and nodded at her silently. Even without Taleg’s protection, she arrived at Ghauna’s door unmolested.

The door was shut, but light shone through the curtain. She paused there.
Taleg.
Stepping onto the threshold was like stepping onto a thorn of bittersweet memory. An upwelling of tears threatened to ruin her composure, but she swallowed the urge to sob and shook the sorrow from her face. Tonight she would secure Taleg’s memory, not mourn his loss.

She knocked on the lintel of the doorway. Ghauna’s face appeared through the curtain. “Yes?” he said.

“Ghauna,” she said. “You should remember me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he grumbled. “What is this about?”

“Look more closely.”

Ghauna widened the curtain and let the lamplight from his house fall on Mandhi’s face. “Oh. You’re the girl I married to that Kaleksha a few months back.”

“Yes,” Mandhi said. “And you need to talk to me. Let me in.”

He muttered under his breath but pulled the curtain over the door aside and let Mandhi enter. Once inside, she saw the man’s wife and child eating in a corner. The boy looked at her with shameless, wide-eyed fascination, and Ghauna scolded him.

“No, let him look,” Mandhi said. “I want your family to hear this and remember me. Soon, I want everyone to hear this.”

Ghauna gestured for Mandhi to take a seat on a cushion at the table. “Go on.”

She remained standing by the door. “You never knew Cauratha, the previous Heir, while he was alive, did you?”

“I live on the far side of Virnas,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “I met him a few times, at festivals and consecrations. I never knew he was the Heir, of course, until his death.”