‘Learning another language requires dedication,’ Ardonyx said.
‘I’m a little rusty,’ she admitted. ‘Shall we practice?’
He nodded.
Imoshen launched into the language of the Sagoras. The only thing she had to be wary of was using T’En names that would betray who they spoke of. ‘Was your new brotherhood leader satisfied with the gift-infusion?’
‘I walk a fine line. I must have his complete trust, yet he must never know about us. He would be devastated if he knew I lied to him, but I have no choice.’
She wondered if he lied to her, as well. It startled Imoshen to realise that she was no longer certain of Ardonyx’s loyalty.
His love, yes, but his loyalty?
‘What of my choice-son? Does he suffer because of his connection to me?’
‘The other brothers were wary of him, but since the sea-vermin attack they’ve accepted him. I know you want me to use the pretext that I cannot speak Sagorese to spy,’ Ardonyx said. ‘But what if the Sagoras consult our old tutor?’
‘Merchant Mercai is probably halfway across the known world, trading and spying in some other centre of commerce and power.’ She looked up. ‘We’re nearly there.’
The Malaunje shipped oars and the boat glided on, carried by momentum.
Meloria leant forward, dropping her voice. ‘Causare, permission to speak?’
‘Speak.’
‘Hand-of-force Kiane told us to wait at this wharf. That way, if there’s trouble, we can row you back to the ship.’
‘Or we could go with you, causare,’ Redraven offered. ‘As your servants.’
‘You honour me. But the Sagoras have specified a delegation of no more than three. I thank you for your concern.’
‘We live to serve.’ They both said the words, but Imoshen’s gift surged, telling her Meloria’s motivation sprang from ambition, not dedication.
Ardonyx sent Imoshen a smile. They were so young and eager for stature.
At the wharf two Sagoras waited. They held lanterns and their light pooled on the still waters of the bay. Wisps of fog clung to the cold sea, curling around the poles of the nearest wharves.
Imoshen’s party stepped onto the floating jetty, and the Sagoras welcomed them in Chalcedonian.
As they left the wharf, Ardonyx walked on her left and Sorne on her right. Either Sorne didn’t know a Malaunje should walk one step behind a T’En, or he didn’t care.
She felt safe with Ardonyx and Sorne, and was tempted to comment in T’En, but there was no guarantee that the Sagoras wouldn’t use the same ploy on them. In theory, only Malaunje and T’En knew the private language of the T’En, and they would die before they betrayed their people, but you never knew.
Imoshen and her two aides were escorted to a waiting carriage. As their vehicle climbed up the long slope to the Halls of Learning, Imoshen noticed that there was not a single tavern open. The port folk had closed their homes and businesses against the T’Enatuath. It made her wonder what terrible untruths had spread ahead of them, and if the T’Enatuath’s arrival was going to cause trouble for the Sagoras.
As their carriage entered the Halls of Learning, Imoshen caught glimpses of formal sandstone buildings. Then they turned left and continued up the rise to the hidden city. The carriage came to a stop and they climbed down.
One of the Sagoras waited to greet them just outside the gate. Only her mouth and chin were visible below the veil, and her hands were tucked under the long folds of her gown.
‘Welcome.’ The waiting Sagora spoke T’En and gave them the appropriate T’Enatuath obeisance. ‘You are Causare T’Imoshen?’
‘I am. Greetings, Venerable.’ Replying in Sagorese, Imoshen took a guess as to her title. The veil hid everything but her mouth and chin, and Imoshen could not tell if the woman had dared to meet her eyes. The Sagora probably thought herself safe from the T’En gifts. Imoshen would be very surprised if the Sagoras did not possess natural gift defences.
‘You speak our language, causare?’ The Sagora smiled.
Imoshen had the impression that their eyes had met. ‘As you speak ours. I had once planned to come here and study. My people prize knowledge above all else. We have much in common with the Sagoras.’ Imoshen switched to the Chalcedonian tongue. ‘These are my assistants: Voice-of-Reason Ardonyx and Ambassador Sorne.’
The Sagora welcomed them. ‘This is the hidden city. Outsiders enter only on invitation.’
‘We are honoured,’ Imoshen said.
Within the hidden city, the buildings were all shuttered and dark, and there was no one in sight. The road continued to rise until they came to a set of wide, shallow steps. Straight ahead was a circular wall, pierced by a simple arch.
‘The Font of Knowledge.’ The Sagora hesitated, but Imoshen did not need to be told. She was already removing her shoes. The Sagora scholar smiled and backed away. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Imoshen took a deep breath and prepared herself.
A
RAVELLE CLEANED UP
after the brotherhood’s inner circle had finished their evening meal. She had just sent the last tray back to the ship’s galley when Saskar entered. He did not knock or wait for the all-father to acknowledge him, but tugged on Reyne’s arm and whispered something to him in an urgent tone.
‘What is it?’ Hueryx asked. He was shuffling the cards and did not get up.
‘Dretsun is here, with his hand-of-force,’ Reyne said.
Aravelle felt their gifts surge and the air in the cabin became denser, pressing on her ears.
The all-father gestured to her. ‘Spiced wine, Vella.’
Hueryx and his most trusted advisors settled themselves on the cushions in a half circle, and Reyne signalled Saskar to open the cabin door.
As Dretsun strode in with his hand-of-force, gift energy rolled off him, infecting everyone. He came straight to the point. ‘I offer an alliance, Hue.’
‘We were choice-brothers, All-father Dretsun, but that was a long time ago,’ Hueryx said. ‘Don’t presume to know my mind.’
‘I know you are smarter than anyone else I’ve met. I know you are impatient with pointless formality and I know you despise Imoshen the All-father-killer. Tonight I move against her. I have All-fathers Saskeyne and Abeliode ready to take up arms. Are you with me?’
Aravelle’s mouth went dry with fear. The cabin became utterly still.
‘What’s the plan, Dret?’
Dretsun dropped to kneel across from Hueryx. ‘We all-fathers are going to take our seconds and meet Imoshen when she returns to the wharf. We’ll kill her along with that upstart half-blood and the arrogant sea captain. We’ll dump their bodies in the bay, then come back to our ships. Tomorrow morning, when Imoshen doesn’t return, I’ll call an all-council, and claim the Sagoras have betrayed us and killed Imoshen. I’ll nominate myself for causare and lead an assault on the Sagoras. They won’t be expecting it. We’ll sweep through their hidden city, put everyone to the sword and install our own people in there. Saskeyne’s right, the Mieren of this province are used to serving foreign leaders. They’ll capitulate.’
‘And you’ll be causare?’
‘Of course. The plan is mine. But the causare needs seconds. I’ve offered Saskeyne the role of hand-of-force. I’m offering you the chance to serve as my voice-of-reason.’
Hueryx nodded slowly. ‘It just might work.’
‘So I’ll see you there on the wharf?’
‘You’ll see me there.’
Dretsun nodded and left. The taint of his aggressive gift seemed to linger on the air after him.
Hueryx and his inner circle sprang to their feet, some protesting that the all-father had not consulted them, others insisting they did not trust Dretsun. The elderly gift-tutor and historian advised caution.
As they argued, Hueryx beckoned Saskar. ‘Did he seek out Tobazim before me?’
‘No. He came straight to you.’
‘Go now and see if he’s gone to Tobazim or left the ship.’
Aravelle put the spiced wine chest away and removed the pot from the brazier. There had been no time to prepare it, let alone serve it.
Everything felt unreal. She could not believe Hueryx would do this. She felt personally betrayed by him, as if turning on Imoshen meant he was turning on her.
She realised in a horrible moment of clarity that she loved her T’En father. When had he slipped under her guard?
It didn’t matter. He was going to betray the causare and everything she’d worked for.
A familiar knock sounded on the door.
‘That’ll be Charsoria, here to give her report,’ Hueryx said. ‘Answer the door, Vella.’ He caught her hand and kissed her forehead. ‘Don’t look so worried. Go below and say nothing.’
The last time he had told her not to worry, he’d meant for her to kill the children.
When she opened the door to Charsoria, Hueryx dismissed the all-father’s-voice, saying, ‘We’ll speak tomorrow, when we know what’s going on. Take Vella below with you now.’
Aravelle could tell Charsoria was annoyed with the all-father for cancelling their meeting. When they reached the cabin, Charsoria gestured. ‘Since you’re with us, you can help Nariska put the children to bed.’
So Aravelle was stuck singing nursery rhymes, while above her Hueryx planned a brotherhood uprising.
Someone should warn the sisterhoods. Someone should...
She should do it. There wasn’t anyone else. She’d always been a good swimmer, and it wasn’t far to the causare’s ship. It didn’t matter if her heart was breaking. She had to betray her T’En father for the greater good.
T
HE STONE WAS
dry, warm and dusty under Sorne’s bare feet as he followed Imoshen and Ardonyx up the shallow steps. They paused in the shadowed archway of the Font of Knowledge.
There was no ‘font’ as such, and no lanterns. The large moon had yet to rise high enough to shine into the courtyard. The pale paving stones glowed softly, illuminated by the small moon and the stars.
On the far side, seven kneeling figures formed a semi-circle. An eighth figure lay face-down in the centre, swathed in long white robes.
Imoshen shivered, and Sorne felt her gift rise and Ardonyx’s respond. They knelt and gave the deep obeisance.
Imoshen greeted their hosts in Sagorese. ‘The causare thanks the Sagora Seven for agreeing to see us.’
Although the night was cool, the stone was still warm from the day. Sorne felt the warmth seep into him. He took out his scriber, ink and paper board. He wasn’t sure how he could write anything but chicken scrawl in the semi-dark. Sorne knew the two T’En would have gift-enhanced their sight to make the most of the slight glow coming off the white stone, but he did not have that advantage. He had expected there to be a table and lamps.
No one spoke.
The Sagora Seven all wore masks in place of veils, leaving only their mouths visible and, with their hands tucked under their formal robes, they gave nothing away. Sorne wondered if Imoshen could still read them.
She waited.
Not one of the Sagora Seven spoke.
Last night he had met the Sagoras representing Houses, Pavoii, Felinii and Vulpii. Tonight there were four more Sagoras, two wearing masks based on birds, the third a fox and the fourth a crested mountain bear.
In front of the Sagoras, in the centre of the courtyard, the figure continued to lie face-down on the stones, arms extended, head towards the Sagora leaders. Whoever it was, they appeared to be bald. Perhaps they were one of the mysterious Sensitives Imoshen had mentioned.
‘I am the causare,’ Imoshen started again, this time speaking Chalcedonian. ‘This is my assistant, Voice-of-reason Ardonyx, and Ambassador Sorne. He’ll take notes of our discussion in the Chalcedonian tongue, so there can be no misunderstandings.’
Her words hung in the courtyard as she waited for them to respond.
Then the prone figure came to their knees, bowed and stood. Graceful as a willow, the stranger danced to music only he – or she – could hear, long triangular sleeves swirling around, hands obscured, hairless head gleaming in the starlight. The figure’s eyes were in shadow, and their face was mask-like in its beauty and stillness.
As their arms lifted, the large moon crested the wall and a finger of silver light struck the white-robed figure.
She, or he, dropped.
The moonlight hit Sorne and the two T’En in the face. For a heartbeat he was blinded. He felt both Imoshen and Ardonyx’s gifts rise.
When he could see again, Sorne realised the courtyard’s white stone was inlaid with silver, reflecting the moons’ light. The three of them had been placed so that they were fully illuminated, while the Sagoras, on the far side of the courtyard, remained in shadow.
Subtle and secretive, the Sagoras lived up to their reputation.
The robed figure rose with exquisite grace. Sorne was convinced this was a Sensitive. How could they blind and geld one of their own people?
The figure glided towards Imoshen. As the Sensitive approached, Sorne realised the dancer’s eyes were shadowed because they were empty. His stomach turned in revulsion.
Without warning, the Sensitive seized Imoshen’s arm, then released her just as swiftly, and backed away.
‘The causare thinks us barbarians,’ the Sensitive announced in T’En, voice revealing he was male.
‘I deplore the maiming of healthy males,’ Imoshen said. ‘And I deplore the wilful blinding of perfectly good eyes.’
‘Ah, but you don’t know what I can see,’ the Sensitive crooned.
‘I believe one should respect the customs of others,’ Imoshen said. ‘Amongst the T’En only those we trust have the right to touch us.’
‘Apologies, causare. Our Sensitive is young and he “seeks stature,” as you would say,’ the raven-masked Sagora said.
Imoshen inclined her head. ‘And your name?’
‘I am House Hrafnii,’ he answered.
The Sensitive retreated to kneel behind the Sagoras. He tilted his head and sniffed the air every now and then in a manner that was not quite human.
‘When we said we would meet you, causare, we did not expect you to arrive with all your people. The invitation was for you alone,’ Felinii said. ‘Why did you not come to negotiate when you first received our reply?’
‘I was in Port Sorvernia with my fleet when I received your invitation,’ Imoshen said.