Intermix Nation (27 page)

She thinks of Victoria, red water in the
bathtub; of Aneira, lit red with Bilungi’s candles; of the dead
intermix, scorched red in the flames; of Riva and Kasimir, wasted
red on the floor.

Nazirah doesn’t cry.

Chapter
Nineteen

Nazirah sits in an empty corridor, waiting.
She watches from the open archway as black cars line up in the
driveway. The Lords that exit are completely unlike their Eridian
counterparts. They’re heavily armed, surrounded by bodyguards, and
menacing. Nazirah rises to go find Solomon and the others,
reminding herself that she is not in Eridies anymore.

She walks back to the main entryway, from
which Olag leads her into the library. It’s small but lavish, lined
with bookcases, with an ornate wooden table in the center. Nazirah
takes a seat next to Aldrik, near the head, as the Lords file
inside. Nazirah counts a dozen in total, far more than in Eridies,
a much smaller territory. Each Lord sits at the table; at least two
bodyguards armed with assault rifles stationed behind him. Nazirah
wrings her hands in her lap, wishing Solomon hadn’t convinced
Aldrik her presence here would be a good idea. Adamek is unusually
late.

Solomon sits down at the head of the table,
bolstered by several plush cushions, as a man enters the room.
Nazirah knows instantly that this is the Khan. He has skin dark as
night, sinewy muscles riddled with thick, cobwebbed veins. His
ebony mane glistens, oiled and coarse. It’s knotted into a long
braid that falls down his back. Khanto wears a vest of bullets and
a necklace strung with human teeth, his own “scratches.”

The Khan sits down across from Nazirah. He
looks around for Adamek and then focuses on her. “Nazirah Nation,”
he says, voice rolling like thunder. “I am shocked to see you here,
considering the company you keep. Yet I admire your effort to
uphold the honor of your bloodline, misguided as you are. It’s
unfortunate the tapestries of our lives share this common weave,
but it is a pleasure to meet you nonetheless.”

“Er, you as well sir,” she responds stiffly,
unsure if Khanto is complimenting or insulting her.

Adamek enters the library, silver briefcase
in hand. He takes the only unoccupied seat at the table, to the
right of Nazirah. Any warmth immediately vanishes from Khanto’s
eyes. Adamek doesn’t flinch when the Khan’s bodyguards aim their
guns at him, even though he’s clearly unarmed. The Khan, not taking
his eyes off Adamek, slowly motions for the guards to settle down.
They lower their weapons, but the tension remains.

Solomon claps his hands together. “Right,”
he says. “Now that we are all here and settled, let us begin.”

Aldrik talks for several uninterrupted
minutes. He outlines the goals of the rebellion, what the
insurgents hope to achieve, and what they’re offering in return for
allegiance. Solomon translates every word, since the majority of
Red Lords do not speak the common tongue. Adamek then gives a brief
demonstration of the Iluxor, showing the Red Lords a pre-selected
memory from Solomon’s childhood. The Red Lords are completely
mesmerized by the device, and rapidly ask Solomon questions in
Deathlandic, fighting to be heard through the escalating din.

“Enough.”

The room goes silent.

“Lord Khanto?” questions Solomon.

The Khan addresses Aldrik. “I thank you for
bringing this appalling disparity to our attention, my friend. The
desires of the rebellion indeed parallel our own in the Deathlands.
We suffer here, while the capital indulges. We send them our
mercenaries, our spices, our gold for nothing. You are a good man,
Aldrik.”

Aldrik is wary, and Nazirah senses it too.
He says, “But …”

“But,” Khanto says quietly, “I am afraid
that I am not so good a man. I cannot simply agree to these
terms.”

“And what, my
friend
,” Aldrik
grumbles, “do you want?”

Khanto looks at Adamek. He says, “You must
pay the price.”

“What price?” Aldrik asks.

The Khan addresses Adamek in Deathlandic.
Nazirah and Aldrik both look at Solomon, hopelessly lost, but his
face is grave and he has stopped translating. To Nazirah’s complete
shock, Adamek responds to Khanto fluently and without hesitation.
Their voices are even, devoid of anger or other emotion. The men
reach across the table and shake hands firmly.

“Thank you,” Khanto says. Adamek nods once.
Khanto rises from his seat and the entire party of Lords and guards
leave without another word.

“Would someone like to tell me what the hell
just happened?” growls Aldrik.

Adamek shrugs wordlessly. He gets up, walks
casually out of the library. Nazirah looks at Solomon, bewildered.
Aldrik appears ready to explode.

“This is bad news,” Solomon says, shaking
his head despondently. “This is very bad news indeed. Although not
entirely unexpected.”

“Solomon,” Nazirah commands, “talk.”

“The Khan has agreed to ally with the
rebellion, along with all of the remaining Red Lords, their
servants and mercenaries –”

“But that’s good news, isn’t it?” she
interrupts.

Aldrik raises an agitated hand and Solomon
continues. “Under the condition that he and Mr. Morgen settle their
feud the traditional way, within a fortnight’s time.”

“Which is?” asks Aldrik suspiciously.

Solomon glances worriedly at Nazirah. He
squeaks, “A battle to the death.”

#

Later that afternoon, Nazirah ventures into
the conservatory to meet Solomon. She doesn’t really want tea, but
won’t cancel their plans, not when Solomon has been so gracious.
Nazirah thinks about the overlord, about his necklace of canines
and incisors. Will Adamek become the newest addition?

“Hey, Solomon.”

Nazirah spots him alone, sitting at a small
table in the corner. None of the windows in the riad contain any
glass. Nazirah always feels like she’s outside, even when there’s a
roof above her head. She takes a seat beside him.

“Miss Nation,” Solomon greets her, gesturing
to a nearby servant. “I am pleased you decided to join me, even
after the unpleasant business of this morning.” The servant holds a
golden kettle high. He pours the tea into small glasses from
several feet in the air with perfect precision. Nazirah inhales the
fragrant, minty water.

“Sugar?” Solomon asks, offering her a small
jar.

“Thanks,” she says, dropping a cube into her
glass. “And thank you for inviting me, and for the clothes, and for
letting us stay here. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough,
really. Everything here is so beautiful.”

Solomon looks around, smiling. “I am
particularly fond of this old family relic,” he says, patting a
wall. “Though I must confess, Miss Nation, I often feel entirely
unworthy of living here. Especially in light of the insoluble
hardship my territory faces.”

“Solomon,” she says gently, “you can call me
Nazirah.”

“You are far too kind, Miss Nation,” he
says, politely ignoring her request.

“I’m a lot of things, Solomon,” she says
honestly. “But kind isn’t one of them.”

“You are also far too hard on yourself, as
is often the case.” Solomon pauses for a moment before continuing.
“Unfortunate circumstances today,” he says slowly, gauging her
reaction. “I was hoping the Khan would see reason.” He looks at her
searchingly. “But it appears his desire for vengeance has gotten
the best of him.”

“I’m still not exactly sure what happened in
there,” she says quickly, distinctly uncomfortable.

Solomon sets down his glass. “The Khan is a
man of honor,” he says. “As is Mr. Morgen, each in his own way.
They both have codes they live by, rules they follow. Khanto
believes Mr. Morgen has disgraced his name and bloodline by killing
his father. This is how men settle disputes in the Red West.”

“Does Morgen realize what he’s agreed
to?”

“Of course he does!” exclaims Solomon. “Mr.
Morgen speaks Deathlandic better than most natives. And he, like
the Chancellor and other members of government, is well acquainted
with the various customs and traditions each race follows. I would
go so far as to say he expected this.”

Nazirah is nonplussed. “But if he expected
it, why not avoid the Red Lords all together? Why not go directly
to intermix for support, like we tried to do in Eridies?”

Solomon stirs his tea idly. “It is not the
same here,” he says. “In the Deathlands, life is pernicious for
everyone, intermix and native alike. Intermix have served the Red
Lords for centuries. We all work together, towards the common goal
of survival. It is the only way we could ever endure such harsh
conditions. So, unlike in Eridies, the Red Lords have the final say
for everyone. And they live and die under the Khan’s iron
fist.”

“I still don’t understand,” she presses.
“Morgen has amnesty. Khanto wouldn’t be able to touch him if Morgen
didn’t agree to it. Why would he throw that away?”

“Maybe,” Solomon says, “for the same reason
Khanto would not touch him at all if Mr. Morgen did not agree to it
… regardless of amnesty. Maybe, for the same reason the Khan
requested it of him in the first place.”

“Retribution?”

“
Honor
.”

“Wouldn’t it be more honorable to let it
go?” she asks. “Not try and kill him?”

Solomon smiles. “I said the Khan follows a
code he sets for himself, a code he never strays from. Because of
this, he is a man of honor. I never said he was honorable.”

Nazirah is annoyed with Solomon’s semantics.
“And what kind of man is Morgen?”

“Only time and God know the answer to that
question.”

“So … one of them is going to die,” she
says, the reality of it sinking in.

“Yes, Miss Nation,” Solomon replies. “One of
them will die.” He sighs dejectedly. “But enough of this morbid
talk! They know the stakes and will realize their fates soon
enough.” Nazirah remains silent. “May I say how pleasantly
surprised I was to find you two had grown closer?”

“It was Aldrik’s idea,” she says. “He thinks
it will help the campaign if it seems like we’re together. It’s all
for show.”

“Is it?”

Nazirah feels like Solomon has caught her in
a lie she didn’t know she was telling. Her voice is strained.
“Yes.”

Solomon is quiet, contemplating his next
words. “Miss Nation,” he says, “forgive me for overstepping my
boundaries, but do you know why Mr. Morgen joined us?”

Nazirah squirms uncomfortably in her seat.
She doesn’t think Solomon would tell a soul she spied on Adamek’s
memories. But she doesn’t exactly want to admit to it, either. “I
know some stuff,” she says finally. “I know it’s because Victoria
died, although he has no idea I know that.”

Solomon gazes outside. “Yes,” he agrees,
“such a tragedy. The Chancellor was never known for fidelity. In
fact, he is quite renowned for his female … appreciation. But when
Gabirel discovered his own wife having an affair, he went insane.
He shot her in her bathtub, several months back, and has been
covering up her death ever since. The rest of the country believes
Victoria is bedridden because of illness. Mr. Morgen found her dead
and swore his allegiance to us from that moment on. He longs to
avenge his mother. I am sure the irony of your situation is not
lost on him.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Solomon smirks mischievously. “Mostly, I
would suspect, the same way you know it yourself,” he says. “I have
seen it.” Nazirah blushes into her empty glass. “Mr. Morgen allowed
me to view his memories many months ago, when he first asked me to
initiate the amnesty negotiations with your brother. He has
incredible patience. The negotiations took me several weeks to
successfully execute.”

“Right after my parents –”

“Yes.”

“But why cover up Victoria’s death at all?”
she asks. “Why not blame it on her health?”

Solomon taps his fez. “Try to think like the
Chancellor, Miss Nation. A dead Victoria Morgen will be
memorialized, celebrated, and glorified. It can only lead to
questions, inconsistencies in the story, which Gabirel desperately
wants to avoid. Especially when dealing with the threat of
insurgence. A sick Victoria Morgen, however, simply fades from the
public eye. She will become a distant memory, long forgotten and
rarely discussed.”

“So that’s it, then?” she asks. “That’s the
whole story? Morgen wants to avenge his mother, so he joins forces
against his father?”

“I would think there is a bit more to it
than that,” Solomon says. “But that is the general idea, I
suppose.”

“Solomon,” Nazirah questions, “do you think
he feels guilty about anything he’s done? That he genuinely rejects
the Medi beliefs? Or is it all just to get at Gabirel?”

“I tend to think the best of people,”
Solomon replies, “often to my own detriment. But if his views did
not shift, I would wonder why Mr. Morgen would go through all of
this trouble, all of this effort? It is, however, a question only
he can answer fully. And maybe you will learn something unexpected,
if you can gather the courage to ask.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” she snaps.

“I did not say you were.”

“But you think I’m afraid?”

“It is easy to hate,” Solomon says. “It is
much harder to understand. I think you might be fearful of what he
has to say and what that might mean for you.”

“Why did you ask me here, exactly?” she
huffs.

“Just for some tea,” Solomon says kindly,
“the pleasure of your company, and to offer you some hard-learned
advice, if you are gracious enough to accept it.”

Nazirah nods slowly.

“Forgiveness usually precedes trust,” he
tells her. “But in your case, I think it is the other way
around.”

It makes sense. Nazirah guesses she trusts
Adamek in some capacity, believes he’s working towards the success
of the rebellion. But she most certainly does not forgive him.
“Okay,” she says. “So?”