The Mirrored City (6 page)

Vyzad’s eyes narrowed. “You are not wrong in this. But how can I accept aid from a heretic and still remain pure in the eyes of my brothers? For if I am judged unworthy, I will not be appointed to the Grand Assembly. It is a perplexing situation.”

Heath rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When Kondole gifted me with his power, he created a new line of Stormlords, nearly equal in power to the Tempest. My progeny will bear my gift. I can give you a child, whom you can raise in the Baashan traditions.”

“The child’s eyes will be silver—”

“Then cut them out or blindfold them,” Heath said coldly. “We do not need to see with our eyes to sense the world around us. Or call the rains.”

Vyzad said nothing.

Heath continued. “The Inquisition never stopped its investigation of your priests. The Hierarch still believes you to be heretics and keeps spies in every house. I know about your secret torture chambers, Vyzad.”

Vyzad said something in Turisian and clapped his hands. His daughters scurried from the dining room, and the Patrean guard shut the heavy metallic doors, locking them in place. The room fell silent and even the bubbling fountains in the corner seemed muffled.

“I know your secrets, too.” Vyzad leveled his gaze at Heath. “Would a faggot, I apologize if that is not the term you use, even be able to get it up with one of my daughters?”

“Honestly?” Heath put a hand to his chest. “You may have many wives, but I’ve slept with at least three times that number. You have no idea what lengths an Inquisitor is ready to go through to get information. Fucking is the least of it. I’ll do all seven just to make sure.”

“And you would care nothing for this child? For the blinded child raised among us backward heretics?”

Heath shrugged. “The child will live better than I ever did growing up. Do you know how many parents would gladly blind their children just to know they would never go hungry? That they would never know the depredations of life on the street? That they would never lack for the Light of a healer when they fell sick with the cough? Besides, you could always grow them a new set of eyes. I’m on my third set.”

“You are a fascinating man.”

“Think about it.” Heath stood and snatched a cumin pastry.

“You will have my answer in seven days’ time, after I have prayed.”

“Pray really hard.” Heath popped the pastry into his mouth and chewed. “I’m meeting with House Ziona tomorrow night.”

S
IX

In Her Arms

L
YTA

Central to the government of Baash are The Seven Great Houses. Each House has seven sons and seven daughters, though not all are the biological offspring of either the Patriarch or First Wife. Seven is a sacred number to the Ohanites, but there is another more practical motivation—seats in the Assembly.

Baash has ninety-nine seats, each held by one of the children of the Patriarchs. The children, in turn, give their proxies to their House, giving each house fourteen votes. They have effectively circumvented democracy by establishing a theocratic city-state within the Mirrored City.

There have been only five opposition candidates to achieve a seat in the past four hundred years; most notable was the legendary Dessim prankster Zanzillo, who convinced a sparsely populated district to vote for him by legally changing his name to ‘Ohan Gruber’. He was impeached shortly after the election and fled back to Dessim to avoid beheading for his blasphemy.

—
SILAS DANE,
PREFACE TO
THE GENEALOGY OF THE GREAT HOUSES

“FATHER INTENDS TO
breed us with that… Bamoran
heretic.
” Shannon’s blue eyes were wet with concern.

Her room was slightly larger than Lyta’s and painted pink. The bright fuchsia tessellated patterns on the columns and arched ceilings reflected a childlike aesthetic Shannon had never reconsidered in her adulthood.

Lyta draped her arm around her adopted sister’s pale shoulders. “You saw all of this in your visions?”

She nodded as Lyta ran her fingers through Shannon’s golden hair. “I saw it mostly through Father’s eyes. The stranger was more difficult to read… But the things he said. They were awful.”

“Shhh. Your gift is growing stronger every day. I am so proud of you.” Lyta pressed her face close to her sister’s bosom.

They had not been raised as sisters. Lyta had been Shannon’s handmaiden before a series of unfortunate events led to the excommunication of the seventh daughter, creating a vacancy for Lyta to fill. She had caught the Patriarch’s eye from an early age, with cocoa skin and eyes as clear blue as any pureblood Turisian. How could Vyzad not covet her?

“This is nonsense.” Shannon kissed Lyta’s breast. “We should run away. I’ve seen how women in Dessim live. They don’t feed men with their hands or wash their feet.”

Lyta kissed Shannon’s head. “They’re also poor. I would never patronize you, dear heart, but you have never had to face true hardships. If you think it is distasteful to wear a veil and feed Father’s guests, imagine how much worse it would be to earn your coin by undressing for strange men and letting their rough hands grope your body.”

“I can see through the eyes of any person I’ve touched,” Shannon countered. “We would not lack for prospects.”

Lyta stroked Shannon’s cheek. “Can you see through my eyes how beautiful you are?”

“You know I can’t. There’s something different about you, Lyta. One day I hope you trust me enough to tell me.”

“I do trust you.” Lyta bent down to kiss Shannon on the lips. She tasted like lavender and strawberries. “And I need you to trust me. We are perfect where we are. As sisters, no one will suspect us of impropriety. Father is blind to it, and our other sisters are terrified of you. We have everything a person could want in this world, in this house.”

“Except we have to hide our love in secret,” Shannon challenged. “I would prefer an honest life to a comfortable one.”

“Maybe you would. But I can’t do it, Shannon. Not yet anyway. There’s a way we can both get what we want. One where we can declare our love openly and live in opulence.” Lyta smiled.

Shannon grabbed Lyta’s breasts, teasing her nipples. “What’s your devious plan this time?”

Lyta rocked back as she let her hands slide down Shannon’s body, peeling off her robes. “It’s Father’s plan… with a twist. We let the Stormlord fuck his seed into you and then we cross the wall to Dessim. Father’s meager fields aren’t the only ones in need of irrigation. We have the bargaining tool.”

“Gross.” Shannon scrunched her nose. “I don’t want a man inside me. I’ve seen drawings of it, and it looks like a stubby worm.”

Lyta laughed. “It’s not so bad. You just lie on your back, and it’s usually over in ten minutes… if that. The Stormlord seems like a man who wants to get the job done quickly. We just have to ensure that one of us carries that child—not our sisters.”

Shannon shook her head. “I will be your eyes and ears, but please don’t ask me to do that. No riches could be worth it.”

Lyta sighed. “You’re like a fish. Riches are your water—it’s such a part of you that you don’t even know you need it to breathe. But there are worse things than keeping secrets from an ignorant father. Trust me on this. Carry his child and then we shall go to Dessim, not as outcasts, but as women of means.”

“Who would have thought my former
handmaiden
was more high maintenance than I was?” Shannon stood and pulled Lyta close, stripping her down so the warmth of their naked bodies could spread. They kissed passionately as their fingers explored the familiar curves and grooves of flesh.

Shannon’s fingernails raked through Lyta’s thick curls of hair, yanking out diamond barrettes. Lyta pressed against Shannon, sending her tumbling back to the circular silk cushion of her bed. Sweaty and heaving, Lyta slid against her lover as Shannon’s fingers involuntarily dug into Lyta’s thighs.

She bent over and kissed Shannon’s shoulder. Lyta sighed as she breathed in Shannon’s perfume.

The girl had always been a means to an end—a comfortable life in one of the prominent houses of Baash, far from the troubled past Lyta had escaped in Dessim. But the silly trifle with Vyzad’s adopted daughter was more real than anything else. Shannon trusted Lyta enough to reveal the gift of sight, yet Lyta still couldn’t open up to Shannon the same way.

“Stop thinking. Be here with me,” Shannon said, gently guiding her lover’s face between inviting thighs.

They fucked hard until neither one could stay awake. They slept in each other’s arms, their hair spilling out, sheets twisted around their bodies.

Prayer was at sunrise.

The women’s courtyard was attended by the female servants, Lyta’s six sisters, and Vyzad’s wives. Safina, the First Wife, led the prayer song, and Lyta professed her faith to Ohan as she had done each morning since coming to House Ibazz. The men’s voices carried over from their private courtyard, mingling with the women’s song. The words rang hollow to Lyta, but she sang them well.

She didn’t hate her life, like Shannon did. That girl would have run off and ended up a street whore if Lyta hadn’t provided a reason to stay. Children who were disowned from the Houses were some of the most wretched individuals. No one in Baash would aid them, and no one in Dessim much liked them either. But Shannon was obstinate in her desire to be free of the confines of House Ibazz.

The Path of Ohan was a good way to live, for the most part. If you were part of the faithful, you wanted for nothing. They lived healthy, simple lives free from the odiousness and distraction of life in Dessim. Expectations were clear.

The song concluded, and the women retired to their dining hall. The family sat at a long wooden table as servants brought them several large dishes of ostrich eggs, pastries, and cured fish. The dishes were massive, and the women passed them around, leaving enough for the servants to eat. Often, leftovers went to the poorest of the flock in Baash.

Across from Lyta sat Bejia, the Fifth Daughter, the last natural offspring of Vyzad. She was a plump and surly woman with straight black hair. She had a penchant for a particular kind of pastry, a baked ring of flaky bread with a fruit preserve in the middle like a bird’s nest. The servants made one for her, and her alone, every day. Of all the seven daughters outside of Lyta and Shannon, Bejia was of age to bear children and therefore was a rival.

Lyta passed the pastry plate, taking a simple ball of baked honey dough. She ate her small breakfast in silence beside Shannon while the other women gossiped.

“He was quite handsome,” Laria said. “Did you see his eyes?”

Safina waved her flabby arm. “The best demon always looks like an angel.”

“How can he serve the Inquisition and the false whale-god?” Laria asked pointedly. “He would have to kill… himself would he not?”

Bejia spat. “He is a pagan. Those people don’t live by any principles.” She snatched her fruit pastry from the plate as it came to her, along with a couple of honey dough balls.

She must really not want a husband,
Lyta thought but then quickly felt guilty. She had so many more reasons to despise Bejia—it felt lazy resorting to comments about her girth.

“What do you suppose Father intends to do? Is one of us to carry his child?” Shannon asked.

Safina rolled her eyes. “You think Vyzad would sacrifice your virginity on that filth? You’re not the only women in this House. He’ll breed him with one of the servants most likely; the heretic won’t know the difference—if he even cares. He needs our votes. Vyzad will adopt the child.”

“He already has seven daughters and sons.” Lyta’s fists clenched. Safina was no fool. She played the obedient wife but was every bit as ruthless and cunning as Vyzad. Lyta felt stupid for assuming it was even a possibility. But… it would have meant everything.
Perhaps there’s still a way.

“We’ll have to make room,” Bejia said with a sneer directed at Lyta.

Safina explained dismissively, “You are Vyzad’s jewels and more precious to him than any riches, save the light of Ohan Himself. He would not trade you like goats to an outsider. So relax. Eat.”

Bejia moaned. Her stomach grumbled audibly as she doubled forward.

Lyta’s lips curled slightly into a smile before she put on a mask of concern.
Enjoying your pastry, sister?