The Daylight War (38 page)

Already, there had been attempts on Inevera’s life. Three times, her food and drink were poisoned. Once, there was a tunnel asp in her bed, and another time a passing eunuch whirled on her with a knife.

Each time, the dice had warned her. The viper she caught and boxed, and the poisons she pretended to ingest with no sign of ill effect. The eunuch she killed, offering no explanation save that he gave her insult. Nothing more was required of a sister.

Never once did Inevera retaliate, or seek the identity of her attackers. It was irrelevant whether the attempts came from the
Damaji’ting
herself or simply other sisters sensing weakness. She’d no time to waste preparing poisons or planting rumours in return. If the dice were giving warning, she was in Everam’s favour, and there was nothing to fear. What was her sister-wives’ regard in comparison with that?

Ahmann was her only concern. Making sure he was safe, and ready to grasp at power when it passed his way. Planting the seeds of that power. If he was allowed to come into his full, all the politics in Krasia would be obsolete. And if not, her people would destroy themselves in a generation.

But today, with his veiling, matters had changed. So long as he slept in Sharik Hora, Ahmann had been protected. Few had known he was even there, and there was no
alagai’sharak
beneath the temple of bones; no rival who would strike at him.

But now he was
kai’Sharum
and would lead men into nightly battle. She feared little for his safety against the
alagai
, but with his skill and prowess, he would quickly come to the notice of the other
kai’Sharum
and the Sharum Ka. The
dama
might not – yet – fear so promising a warrior, trained as one of their own, but the more powerful
Sharum
would see him as a threat to their status.
Sharum
did not do their business with poison and hidden knives, but at any sign of weakness they would challenge him like wolves.

She needed to be by his side, to cast for him daily and keep death at bay. Krasia needed him, and he needed her. The Deliverer could not go unbridled.

– Make him a man—

The words had echoed in her mind as she pressured him into betrothal, and the thrill she felt upon his acceptance was not all in duty to Everam. Illiterate and barely more than a savage just a few short years ago, Jardir could now debate tactics, strategy, and philosophy with the wisest
dama
, and break any that faced him in
sharusahk
.

And he was handsome. All those hours spent watching him in his bido as he grew into manhood had put a longing in her. She ached to unwrap her bido weave for the last time on their wedding night and never tie the cursed thing again.

Inevera reached Kenevah’s chamber and saw Enkido standing watch without. The
Sharum
eunuch had a touch of grey in his hair now, but he was still strong and dangerous, the only man in the world privy to the fighting secrets of the Kaji
dama’ting
. He allowed women to defeat him at practice to show how a move should be correctly applied, but Inevera had watched him closely, seeing how he was always in control. Any
dama’ting
who underestimated Enkido was a fool.

She signalled him in the secret hand code of eunuchs, her nimble fingers speaking quickly, her stance conveying respect but not deference.

He was still a eunuch, after all.

I
must
speak
with
the
Damaji’ting, her hands said.

Enkido bowed.
I
will
inform
her, mistress
, his hands replied. He knocked at the door, and entered upon a call from Kenevah. A moment later he re-emerged.

The
Damaji’ting
bids
you
wait
here
in
the
vestibule
. He gestured towards a silken divan.
May
I
provide
you
some
refreshment?

Inevera shook her head, dismissing him with a whisk of her hand. The eunuch resumed his marble-like stance outside Kenevah’s door. Inevera was left waiting – in comfort, but full view of any passerby – for almost an hour.

Inevera gritted her teeth. More useless tea politics. Kenevah was not in audience with anyone. She was simply making Inevera wait, publicly, to illustrate that she could.

At last there was a ringing of bells, and Enkido signalled her to enter. Inevera moved through the portal, and the eunuch closed it behind her. Inevera bowed deeply. The
Damaji’ting
’s office windows were covered in thick velvet curtains, allowing no natural light. Wardlight kept the room aglow.

‘You do not often grace my doorway, little sister.’ Kenevah regarded her with unreadable eyes.

‘There have been pressing matters to attend, Damaji’ting,’ Inevera said, ‘and your time is too valuable to waste.’

‘Pressing matters,’ Kenevah grunted. ‘May I ask what those are? Your skills are second to none, and yet you spend little time in the palace, or at court. Even in the healing pavilion, you give only the time required of you and not an instant more. My informants have spotted you all over the city, even in territory controlled by other tribes.’

I’ve been blooding boys, searching for more like Ahmann
, Inevera thought.

– Deliverers are made, not born—

She shrugged. ‘I would know the Desert Spear and its people, that I might better serve them.’

‘It gives poor appearances,’ Kenevah said, ‘and it is dangerous to set foot in the territory of other
dama’ting
.’

‘More dangerous than walking these very halls?’ Inevera asked.

Kenevah pursed her lips. It was not a signal that she had ordered the attempts on Inevera’s life, but it was a clear sign that she was aware of them. ‘If my time is so precious, what brings you to me now?’

Inevera bowed. ‘I have decided to marry.’

Kenevah raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Have you, now? And who is this fortunate
dama
? Khevat, perhaps? Or will you marry Baden, since you seem to have no real interest in male company?’

Inevera’s throat tightened. Kenevah did indeed have spies everywhere, but how much had she guessed? Her spell to restore her maidenhead was likely still a secret, but Inevera could not hide the fact that no eunuchs were allowed in her chamber save those too old to use their spears.
Nie’dama’ting
did most of her attendance. It had given her a reputation for liking young girls abed.

‘It is not a cleric, Damaji’ting,’ Inevera said. ‘He is
Sharum
.’

‘
Sharum?
’ Kenevah asked in surprise. ‘Curiouser still. The boy you had shuttled into Sharik Hora?’

For an instant Inevera’s
dama’ting
calm slipped, and she feared her eyes had told Kenevah much when the old woman laughed. ‘Do you think me a fool, girl? Even if you hadn’t caused one holy stench in the Kaji palace after refusing the boy the black, your hours spent haunting the catacombs to observe his training were obvious to all.’

Kenevah held up her hand, holding an ancient set of dice. ‘And I have bones of my own.’

Inevera’s fingers itched to reach for her
hora
pouch. Her most powerful bones could send a blast of magic at the old woman, killing her instantly. Black veil or no, with no other called by the dice, Inevera could immediately lay claim to the
Damaji’ting
’s throne, though she would likely have to kill Qeva and a few others to hold it.

I
have
bones
of
my
own
, Kenevah said. It was a reminder of her ability to foretell, but a threat as well. Inevera had a handful of
hora
she had collected since taking the veil. Kenevah likely had hundreds. No doubt she was protected in ways Inevera could not see, and a failed assassination attempt could have only one result.

She relaxed, and Kenevah nodded, slipping her dice back into their pouch. ‘You did not consult me on the match.’

‘I consulted the dice,’ Inevera replied.

A flash of anger crossed Kenevah’s eyes, though it never touched her face. ‘You did not consult
me
. What if you read the dice wrong? No
Damaji’ting
has married in a thousand years. Everam is our husband. Do you truly have no interest in my office?’

‘There is nothing in the Evejah’ting that says I cannot take the black headscarf if I marry,’ Inevera said. ‘That it is rare is irrelevant. The dice have instructed me to bear him sons, and I shall, in accordance with Evejan law.’

‘Why?’ Kenevah demanded. ‘What makes this man so special?’

Inevera shrugged and gave a slow smile. ‘The Evejah’ting says that the right wife is what makes a man special.’

Kenevah’s eyes darkened. ‘Off with you then, if my counsel means so little. I’d thought to guide you in your role as heir, but I can see my time is better spent looking for poison in my tea … or preparing my own.’

Inevera felt stung, but there was nothing for it. That the
Damaji’ting
was aware of Ahmann at all was a danger. She could say nothing without risking further scrutiny of the man.

Ahmann gripped Inevera’s hand tightly as he led the way to their wedding chamber. She went willingly, but it seemed he would drag her if she did not keep his frantic pace. He moved like a wolf that knew it was being stalked as it brought a kill back to the den.

The men saw this as eagerness, cheering him on as he drew his new bride to the bedchamber and shouting crude suggestions. Warriors loved to boast their sexual exploits, thinking themselves djinn simply for being able to make a woman grunt.

But countless pillow dancing classes had taught Inevera to see and exploit inexperience in a man. Ahmann was still a boy in that regard. He had never so much as seen a woman unclad, much less shared a kiss or caress. He was terrified.

It was adorable.

They were both virgins of a sort, but while Ahmann had no idea what to expect in the pillows, Inevera knew they were going to her place of power. She knew the seven strokes and the seventy and seven positions. She would dance and weave him into her spell, coaching him on to glory without ever letting on that he was not in control.

– Make him a man—

They reached the perfumed and pillowed chamber, carefully prepared by the Brides. Incense smoke scented and thickened the air, and candles cast a dim, flickering glow. There was a broad area of floor for her to dance in, surrounding a pile of pillows on all sides. She would toss him into those pillows, and he would be hers, caught like a fly in a spider’s web.

Inevera smiled beneath her veil as she drew the heavy curtains behind them. ‘You seem ill at ease.’

‘Should I be another way?’ Ahmann asked. ‘You are my
Jiwah
Ka
, and I do not even know your name.’

Inevera laughed. She did not mean it cruelly, but it was clear from the look on Ahmann’s face that he took it as such, and she immediately regretted it.

‘Do you not?’ she asked, slipping off her veil and hood. Since becoming a
dama’ting
she had regrown her hair, which hung long and thick in ebony waves, banded with gold. Her bido wrap was now secured at her waist alone.

Ahmann’s eyes widened. ‘Inevera.’

She felt her heart skip at his recognition. He had seen her face but once, and been dulled by pain at the time, but even after all these years he remembered. The terror left his eyes, replaced by a smoulder that seemed to burn through her. Suddenly it became harder to draw a full breath in the perfumed air.

‘The night we met,’ Inevera said, ‘I finished carving my first
alagai
hora
. It was fate; Everam’s will, like my name. I needed a question to ask. A test to see if the dice held the power of fate. But what question? Then I remembered the boy I had met that day, with the bold eyes and brash manner, and as I shook the demon dice, I asked, “Will I ever see Ahmann Jardir again?” ’

‘And from that night on, I knew I would find you in the Maze after your first
alagai’sharak
, and more, that I would marry you and bear you many children.’

Inevera had rehearsed the tale so many times that she spoke with utter conviction, despite the lies and half-truths. But in the end, her words did not matter. Their union had been destined by Everam. They were
meant
for each other. That was why he was looking at her that way, making her face heat and her
dama’ting
calm slip. She was caught in his wind.

She almost broke and told him everything. Looking into his honest eyes, she had little fear this one would grow into a monster. He was chosen by Everam. If any could shoulder the burden, it was he.

But how does one tell someone he might be the Deliverer? It was too much, and this night was too important. It must be perfect.

She shrugged her shoulders, and her white robes fell away with a sigh of silk. She was clad only in her bido now, finger cymbals tucked into its weave. She rubbed her thumbs over the smooth tips of her index fingers, limbering them. She would step into him, allowing him to caress her until his breathing laboured; then she would use
sharusahk
to break the line of power in his leg, a whisper touch that would send him stumbling back onto the pillows. Then she would slide her fingers into the cymbals and beat a rhythm to set his loins ablaze.