Season of the Dragon, page 22
Morana bowed her head. She retreated to the back of her chair, making herself small in the shadow cast by Xa’Vatra’s looming figure.
Xa’Vatra regained her composure, her voice now as calm as Still Waters. “Doj’Anira, former Kovatha Imbica harmed you with an unsanctioned immolation. You are a victim here, though not as great a victim as the Dynasty, to be sure. Still, I would hear what you have to say on the matter. The blade for this former Kovatha, or service to the Mistress?”
Quen had much to say on the matter. First, she wanted to set the Exalted straight. I’m the victim of Imbica’s torture, not the Dynasty. If the Exalted disagreed, she would like to see Xa’Vatra suffer a few moments of Imbica’s immolation. She also disagreed with killing Imbica for violating the Exalted’s command. Sulmére laws and traditions discouraged death as a punishment for anything, even murder, because of the firm belief that taking another’s life forever scars the heart.
But Quen didn’t speak out. Pelagia’s torture was fresh in her mind. She tugged at her still-burning ear.
Though she knew sending Imbica to Pelagia’s meant she would likely lose her tongue, Imbica would still live. Is life without the ability to speak better than a blade through the heart? Quen wasn’t sure. Her palms were clammy, and sweat beaded her forehead.
“Choose one, Doj’Anira,” Pelagia said.
“Servitude,” Quen blurted out.
Pelagia smiled widely.
Xa’Vatra’s eyes glistened with excitement. “Intriguing choice.” She looked down at her husband. “It appears you have another convert to your cause.”
Asar bowed his head to her. “What say you, my love?”
“Imbica di Tikli, born in a granary, you have clawed and climbed your way to a place of respect, but what a scheming, belchiforous ratling you are. The Conclave has never cared for you, to be sure.” She looked at her sisters, and they laughed along with her. “My husband is a poet of sorts, and his justice grows e’er more poetic with each passing year. I am ready to pass judgment.”
Xa’Vatra stood, and the scribe raised her quill, poised to take down the Exalted’s pronouncement.
The pink-sashed man said, “Rise, Kovatha Imbica di Tikli.”
Imbica rose, her face wet with tears and sweat, her head still bowed.
“For damaging Dynasty property without authority, I sentence you to serve the Mistress of the Menagerie. The term… for your natural life.”
Murmurs rose, and people spoke quietly behind their hands. Being forced into bondage as a punishment wasn’t unusual, but it was for a set number of years, not for life. I thought slavery was illegal.
If Imbica was shocked by the harshness of the sentence, she didn’t show it. Imbica bowed low again and muttered, “Merciful Exalted.”
“Those may be the last words you ever speak.” Xa’Vatra banged her little gong, and guards came forth from both sides of the room. “She is Kovatha no more. Strip her of signatories.”
One guard seized the silver silk scarf from around her neck. As spectators pounded their cups, two other guards ripped her embroidered tunic into pieces. Imbica’s top was now bare except for the amber pendant—Quen’s pendant—tied around her neck. But the guards were only interested in stripping Imbica of things denoting her office as Kovatha. They left the pendant alone.
The banging of cups grew louder, and people clapped as well. Two other guards tugged at her black linen pants until they too were rags, and she was naked before the Conclave and all onlookers. Wild cheers echoed in the cavernous chamber.
To her credit, Imbica didn’t weep or attempt to cover herself. She stood stoically, the fat rolls around her middle bare for all to see. She accepted her sentence with the grace befitting a woman who was once a powerful Kovatha.
Xa’Vatra raised a single hand, and the crowd grew quiet. “Prepare her for delivery to the Menagerie.”
The guards escorted Imbica from the room. Somber quiet replaced the once-joyful chatter.
Xa’Vatra broke the silence. “Prelate Vidar, I hope wine has not dulled your senses this evening. The Dynasty requires your services.”
Prelate Vidar had snuggled back into himself and appeared to be asleep. He roused and said, “I stand ready for service to the Dynasty, as I have since the time of your grand-sire.”
Xa’Vatra waved her hand in the air. “Yes, yes. We all know how ancient you are. As if age automatically entitles you to respect.”
“I humbly apologize for any offense, Exalted. What do you need of me tonight?”
She indicated Quen, who still stood, as did Pelagia, in front of the raised platform. “I need you to inspect this Doj’Anira.”
A grave look came over Vidar. “Here, Exalted? Now?”
Xa’Vatra rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes, here and now. I have waited long for this moment, Vidar. I will wait no more.”
What does any of this mean? How could the woman have been waiting for anything having to do with me when we just met? The word ‘inspection’ made her break into a cold sweat.
Aldewin bounded to the dais from behind and assisted Prelate Vidar to step down from the platform.
“Today, Vidar.” Xa’Vatra’s voice contained the edge of a blade in it.
Pelagia moved aside to give them room, and Quen stood alone.
Vidar smelled of smoke, body odor, and stale breath. Quen was already on the verge of nausea from the evening events and the rich food. She swallowed hard and tried not to throw up fish all over the man.
“This is a mistake. I am only a simple woman from the—” Sky-fire jolted Quen, and she gasped for air.
Prelate Vidar’s voice was soft and kindly. “Please do not fight this, Doj’Anira. I do not want to see you harmed. I will not hurt you, nor will my assistant.”
Aldewin gazed at her, his pale blue-grey eyes rimmed in red. He forced a wan smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Quen appreciated his attempt to allay her fear. He looked younger without his grizzly beard. Quen liked what she saw.
“I assure you, this examination is purely medicinal. You are from the Sulmére, no? Think of my assistant here as a Bruxia. My hands are shaky, and my eyes nearly blind, so he will be my sense of sight and touch.”
Aldewin moved closer and whispered, “I’m sorry if my hands are cold. And for touching you, but I must.”
Please touch me. Tell me again you think I’m lovely.
Aldewin first lifted her arm. He moved his hand up her arm, lingering, feeling every inch.
Does he linger because he enjoys the intimacy as much as I do? Quen’s skin prickled. His fingers were warm, not cold as he’d warned. Heat rose from him, making her insides stir.
Aldewin investigated her other arm and her face. Close enough his breath warmed her cheek. He smelled of orange blossom soap, tobacco, and sweat. She closed her eyes and swayed. Aldewin held her face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing along her cheekbones, then up through her hair.
She wished the moment would last forever. And that it wasn’t being shared with Xa’Vatra’s entire court.
He whispered apologies to her again. “Please forgive my invasion, but I must touch along your sides and spine. May I?”
“Do I have the option to say no?”
His eyes were full of sadness, and he shook his head.
“Go ahead then.” She cast her gaze downward and slumped her shoulders, giving the impression she was resigned to something unwanted. Please touch me.
Aldewin felt along her ribs. Her gown was so thin it was as if he touched her naked flesh. When his warm hands moved across her belly, she shuddered.
“Do you feel anything?” Vidar asked.
Is he talking to me? She wanted to answer, “Yes!” To admit that her legs had become molten, and that the desire to seek Aldewin’s lips had overcome her. I’m like a string pulled nearly to breaking. She’d never experienced such sweet yet agonizing tautness.
But Aldewin answered. “Nothing yet, Prelate Vidar.”
“The upper spine is the last hope,” Vidar said.
Hope for what? Her neck tingled as though anticipating his touch.
Behind her now, Aldewin placed his hands on either side of her spine, just above her buttocks. Nervousness made the edges of her vision swirl. She sucked in a breath. It wasn’t merely because her nether region was tight, and her nipples hardened. Embarrassed by what felt like a display of passion in front of a room of people, Quen’s face grew hot.
As he got closer to her neck, panic gripped her. Rajani. Nixan. Her heart thumped furiously, her ears and neck hot and flushed. What if he feels my deformity?
When he got to her neck, he paused. He pulled her hair to the side. The cool air made her skin goose-pimply. He got closer still, his breath hot against her neck.
Quen feared she’d topple from weak knees. He rested his calloused fingers on either side of her neck and circled his thumbs over her spine, pressing lightly. When he got to where he should have felt her spinal deformity, he stopped. Aldewin let out a long exhale.
He removed his fingers and put her hair back over her neck. Aldewin’s warmth now gone, Quen felt like she’d been thrust into Vay’Nada’s frozen void.
“Well?” Prelate Vidar said.
Aldewin was behind her, so Quen couldn’t see what he did, but Prelate Vidar closed his eyes and looked as though he had been told something awful. He nodded once, his look grave.
Aldewin stepped to Quen’s left side. He was silent and stared straight ahead.
He had to feel my deviant spine. How could he not notice it? Yet he neither mentioned it to Prelate Vidar nor looked askance at her. If he felt it and said nothing, it must not be noteworthy to the Exalted. Why else would he keep it from Xa’Vatra and even Vidar? Is Xa’Vatra searching for Nixan? No, not Nixan. She searches for Rajani. But why?
Xa’Vatra’s eyes were wide, her body forward in her seat with anticipation. “What say you, Prelate? Is this the Doj’Anira we have searched for?”
His voice was low, his eyes downcast. “I am afraid not, Exalted.”
Xa’Vatra shot to her feet. “Are you certain? This one is from the Sulmére. It has the blue eye.” Wine slurred her speech. Her voice was loud and filled with venom.
“Perhaps I should inspect her,” Pelagia said. She turned to the Prelate. “You can’t rely on an apprentice. Tell me what you seek, and my capable hands will find it.”
Prelate Vidar slammed his cane onto the marble floor, sending an echo throughout the great hall. He looked in the general direction of Pelagia, but being nearly blind, he looked past her as he spoke. “I have had a seat on the Conclave since before you were born,” he hissed. “You dare question my authority? Do not forget yourself, Mistress.”
The cavernous room was silent.
“Be that as it may, Vidar, the Mistress has a point. You must confirm your apprentice’s assessment,” Xa’Vatra said.
Prelate Vidar looked up at Quen with milky eyes. The condition was common among elders in the Sulmére. She doubted he saw more than a shadow when looking at her.
“Guide my fingers,” Vidar said to Aldewin.
Aldewin took the Prelate’s hand and guided it toward Quen’s neck. He placed the old man’s fingers at the base of her skull.
Vidar’s fingers were ice cold. It sent a chill through Quen, but unlike what she experienced when Aldewin touched her. Aldewin guided the old man’s fingers up and down the upper region of Quen’s neck.
The Prelate shook his head and removed his hand from her neck. Aldewin had not put the Prelate’s fingers over the protruding bone in her neck.
Quen shot Aldewin a sideways look. His face was calm. Serene even. What game does he play?
“And?” Xa’Vatra asked.
“It is as my assistant said. This one may be Doj’Anira, but she is not the one you seek.”
Quen didn’t know if this was good news or bad.
Xa’Vatra sat heavily in her chair. “Your fortune, Mistress, is the Dynasty’s loss. You gained two servants this night.”
Quen had feared this outcome. She moved her tongue around her mouth. By tomorrow, she might have only a nub of butchered flesh where her tongue once was.
She peered sideways at Aldewin again, hoping he would say something to urge Xa’Vatra to not exile Quen to Pelagia’s service. If you’re here to rescue me, now is an excellent time to unfold your plan. But Aldewin avoided looking in her direction and said nothing.
Pelagia bowed deeply. “My humblest gratitude, Exalted.” She rose. “I will ensure this one serves the Dynasty well in the Menagerie.”
Xa’Vatra’s chin rested on her hand. She looked bored beyond measure now, and she waved Pelagia off. “Away with her then.” A servant filled her wine cup, and Xa’Vatra drank deeply then slammed it down on her table, crimson liquid shooting out and staining the white linen cloth. Her voice echoed off the tiger’s eye columns and marble walls. “I command an entire country, yet no one is competent to find me the one Doj’Anira I seek.”
One servant replaced the soiled linen while another refilled her cup. Xa’Vatra waved them off and drank deeply again. “Where is Imbica?”
“You sent her away to be a servant,” Morana said.
Xa’Vatra glared down at her husband. “I should not have listened to you,” she hissed. “Vile Imbica delivered a pile of detritus. I should order her flayed until skinless.”
Her sisters nodded, their heads bobbing.
Xa’Vatra rose and swayed. Her radiant gold headdress had gone askew. “I will flay to death the next person who brings me trash Doj’Anira.” She pointed at the scribe. “Make that an Edict.”
“My love, if you make that a law, no one will bother bringing Doj’Anira to you. They will be too afraid. Only a few of the Conclave know what you search for exactly.”
Xa’Vatra swayed as she leaned so close to him their noses nearly touched. “Do not question the Exalted, husband, or you will be the next one flayed.”
Asar closed his eyes and looked away.
Quen knew no more of what happened in the great feast hall. Pelagia dug her thin fingers into Quen’s arm and pulled her roughly away. She exited to the left, Nivi at her heels.
As they passed Aldewin, he stopped them. “I am sorry it didn’t work out for you, Mistress.”
She glared back at him. “Apparently, a lowly assistant may know the secrets of the Conclave, but the Mistress of the Menagerie, entrusted with the care of the Dynasty’s Doj’Anira, is not.”
As Pelagia spoke, Aldewin moved closer to Quen and whispered into her ear, “Keep faith. You have friends in the capital.”
It happened quickly. With Quen’s body between them, Pelagia appeared not to notice.
Pelagia roughly jerked Quen forward. As they exited the room, Quen looked back, searching for Rhoji. He was busy pouring wine for the Conclave, but his eyes were on her. He gave her a slight nod then returned his full attention to his duties.
Though Pelagia led Quen toward a life of servitude, hope swelled in her breast. Rhoji and Aldewin have a plan to help me escape. They must. And hopefully the rest of the pod are in Qülla too. Aldewin now knew she was something other than human—had to know—yet he’d not betrayed Quen to the Exalted. I don’t know why he’d risk himself for someone he knows is Nixan, but I’m grateful for his aid. I’ll worry about what’s really going on with him once we’re free of this city.
Thanks to Aldewin’s deception, she was no longer bound by Edict 42. And with Jagaru help, I might even escape the Menagerie before the butcher’s blade takes my tongue.
Chapter 16
Imagining
Imagining Rhoji and Aldewin had planned to liberate Quen from the Palace di Soli, she was disappointed they allowed Pelagia to take her. Excited anticipation of a reunion morphed into panic. She was free of the Edict 42 business, but now Pelagia held Quen by an invisible leash, and Hem was close on her heels. Running isn’t an option. To escape Qülla, she first had to break free of Pelagia’s restraints.
Pelagia gripped the sides of the gib-rig, her knuckles white, her eyes wide and wild. Pahpi once told Quen that a person without control over Vatra fires within was more dangerous than a mother thukna guarding a newborn calf. Pelagia looks like she’s ready to erupt with Vatra. Quen’s innards were a mass of tangled knots.
Quen tugged at the embedded ear cuffs, making her earlobes burn. Blood covered her fingertips. She sucked them, trying to hide the blood from Pelagia.
“Go ahead, yank as much as you want.” Pelagia’s voice was a low hiss. She narrowed her eyes and pressed her face closer. “Only I know how to control—or remove—them.”
The spiny ridge on Quen’s neck—where Aldewin’s fingers had lingered—pulsated. The Nixan soul was pushing itself to the fore. I’m tempted to let it. If I’m Rajani, like Nevara, maybe my inner beast can rid me of Pelagia.
But Quen wasn’t sure she was Rajani. For all she knew, the second beat pulsing within was a spawn of Vay’Nada, like a slint or darmanitong. Worse still, she worried that if she allowed the Nixan to come forth, she wouldn’t know how to become Quen again. She pushed away the urge to let the shadow soul within consume her. She focused on stillness, as Pahpi had taught her. Lumine light my way, she prayed.
It was challenging to quiet her mind with so many questions swirling. Aldewin had felt her spiny ridge, yet he lied about it to the Conclave, as did Prelate Vidar. What game are they playing?
Nevara’s prophecy haunted her. “Wherever you go, tragedy will follow. You will lay waste to entire villages, kingdoms even.” Nevara’s cryptic prophecy was the key to answering many of her questions. Yet Quen was still missing critical pieces of the puzzle.
Upon their arrival at Pelagia’s Palace, Caz waited for them inside the northeastern entrance. She offered a hand to Quen to help her in the dim light.
“You need to attend to her no longer.” Pelagia’s voice was taut with bitter anger. “She is Doj’Anira no more.” Pelagia spoke as though it was Quen’s fault she wasn’t whatever the Exalted hoped she would be.
