An Accident of Stars (13 page)

Dismissively, Leoden said, “I have no need of other worlds. Kena is our holy place, the founding of our future. You'd do well to remember it, Shavaktiin.”

The Shavaktiin!
So that was who he was speaking to! Viya shivered to think of him, remembering their encounter at her wedding. Luy, he called himself, which was no proper name at all. After that first time, they'd never spoken again, though she'd seen him about the palace. His facelessness unnerved her almost as much as his strange religion did.

“My apologies, Vex,” Luy murmured. “I forget myself.”

“Indeed you do.” A short pause. “I should get back. We'll see you at the feast?”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

“Good. Be quick, then. We've much more to discuss.”

And then – Viya could scarcely credit it – there came the sound of receding footsteps. Leoden was walking away! In that moment, her relief was so great that she forgot the significance of Luy not going with him, that the Shavaktiin would soon resume his progress. She could have retreated back from the landing, made it look as though she was only just coming down, but she didn't move in time. When Luy ascended the second flight, he saw the Cuivexa for what she was: a frightened, guilty eavesdropper.

“Well!” he said, looking her up and down. Or at least, that's what Viya assumed he was doing. Like all his kind, the Shavaktiin wore a long veil over his head and face, with only a mesh to see through. His flowing robes likewise left his body shapeless and concealed, so that all you could ever see of him were his hands. And yet she could feel him staring at her, invisible eyes watching from behind a one-way screen.

Viya's throat was dry with terror. All Luy had to do was grab her or shout, and then she was ruined, her gamble lost before she'd even made it downstairs.

“Cuivexa Iviyat,” he said, slowly. “What an unexpected pleasure.” When Viya didn't answer, he cocked his head, his blue veil fluttering silkily. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” The words rasped out of their own accord. She was terrified, but part of her thought,
Rixevet would show no fear
, and so she forced herself to step free of the wall and stand before him, shoulders straight. “I'm leaving the palace,” she said, startled at her bravery in saying so. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Stop you?” Luy shook his head. “Why would I do that? Don't answer,” he added, quickly. “It was a rhetorical question.” He crossed his arms. The motion revealed a flash of his bare hands, and Viya was startled to see how dark they were – just like the Uyun ambassador's. But then, she supposed, the Shavaktiin came from everywhere, and Luy was a foreign-sounding name, so why shouldn't he be from Uyu? And yet–

“You're going to let Leoden kill the ambassador,” she blurted out, “but he's your kinsman, isn't he? But you asked if Kadeja would care that he planned to kill Vekshi, so it must bother you. Mustn't it?” And then, because even terror couldn't quite quell her temper, “Answer me!”

The Shavaktiin chuckled. “The Uyun ambassador is neither friend nor kin to me. But you, Cuivexa Iviyat ore Leoden ki Hawy–” and here his tone turned mocking as he delivered her full set of titles, “–your predicament is the opposite. You have too many ties, too many obligations – all of them conflicting, and all of them family. And so you run, to make the problem simpler.”

“I run,” said Viya, stiffly, “to be safe.”

Luy bowed and stretched out a hand. “Then I will help you.”

Viya stared. “Are you going to betray me? Why are you doing this?”

“I will not betray you. Only and ever, my reasons belong to the story, and the will of the one who scribes it. Today, that makes me a traitor to many people, but you are not among them. Come.” He curled his fingers at her, impatient. “We don't have much time. I can help you to the stables, but after that, you're on your own.”

“I don't trust you,” Viya said, accepting his hand, “but I don't have a choice, do I?”

“Everyone has a choice,” Luy murmured. “Now forgive me for this, but we need to stay close.” Looping an arm across her shoulders, he hurried them down the stairs. It was unnerving being so close to someone and yet unable to see their face. His fingers dug into her shoulder – not painfully, but tight enough to prevent her escape. “Some are just more precarious than others.”

They reached the lower floor, where servants laden with platters of food were already en route to the Hall of High Moons. Viya kept her eyes on the floor. The Shavaktiin moved quickly, navigating their way down a series of corridors, past several high-ranking guests – none of them spared Viya a second glance, though she glimpsed them from the corner of her eye and recognised their faces – and then out into a long, glass-fronted walkway that faced onto the south gardens.

“We're going the wrong way!” Viya clicked her teeth. “Slugwit, the horses are in the
north
stable!”

“I'd advise against it,” Luy answered, voice low. “Horses are for nobles or soldiers, and you are fleeing in disguise. A horse would stand out. You're better off taking a roa.”

“A
roa
?” Viya couldn't hide her distaste. “One of those shaggy, smelly beasts? Haven't you seen their
hands
?” She shuddered.

“It's the better choice, Cuivexa.”

“I thought you said that everyone had a choice.”

“They do, but that doesn't mean all choices are equally sensible. Are you acting like a Cuivexa in this, or a spoiled child?”

Viya wrenched away and slapped him. It was an odd feeling. Her palm connected with the cloth of his veil, muting a blow whose strength had been scant enough to start with.“I am
not
a child,” she hissed. “Do not presume to insult me, Luy Shavaktiin.”

If the slap had bothered him at all, it didn't show in his tone. “I'll take it back,” he said, “if you'll take the roa.”

Viya grit her teeth. “Done.”

“My apologies, then.”

“Thank you.”

They glared at each other. It wasn't truly a staring match, as the Shavaktiin's eyes were hidden. Nonetheless, he looked away first.

“Now,” he said, as though nothing had happened, “we'll have to pass the guards up ahead. You keep your eyes down, and if I squeeze your arm, you giggle. Understand?”

Viya made a disgusted sound. “You'd have me pretend to be your servant lover? That's original.”

She'd thought to make him angry, disliking the opacity of his emotions, but in this, as in so much else, she failed. “Some tales thrive for a reason,” he said, mildly. “Now, come.”

And so they resumed their previous posture: Viya tucked firmly against Luy's side, his arm curled around her shoulder. They kept on down the walkway, turned the final corner – and there, sure enough, were a pair of honoured swords, guarding the outside exit. When Luy halted before them, Viya began to tremble.

“You may pass, Shavaktiin,” said one, “but who's this little miss?”

“Some chuckle from the silks, no doubt,” said the other. “Slipped away, has she?”

“Slipped and been caught by willing hands,” Luy said, smoothly. Both men laughed. “Come now! Surely you won't deny my fun? Just because I wear these robes doesn't mean there's nothing under them.” And he gave Viya's shoulder a squeeze.

Like a bellows, she forced out a wheezy giggle. The first guard leaned in close, peering at her. Viya's heart beat fast as a tambour. She flashed up her gaze coquettishly, then down again, which evidently satisfied the guard; he laughed and leaned back.

“Tell me, Shavaktiin,” he drawled, “when you ride, do you keep that face-smock on? Or do you let them as mounts you peer beneath?”

“Why, honoured sword!” Luy's tone turned smoky. “Was that an invitation?”

“It might have been.” The guard leaned in again, his voice low. “I've a powerful curiosity for hidden things. When you're done with her, you find me after the feast tonight, and I'll show you tricks your stories never have.”

“I just well might,” Luy purred.

The other guard rolled his eyes. “You're incorrigible,” he told his friend.

“Better that than a self-gelded mule.” He winked and stood aside. “Go on, then. If you decide to find me later, ask for Rican.”

“I will,” said Luy, but kept his arm around Viya. Through the gate they went, and out to the gardens, following the goldstone path to the roa stables.

Once they were out of earshot, Luy chuckled under his breath. “He wasn't bad looking, truly. I might well take him up on it.”

Viya bit back a rude reply and pressed her lips together, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Ke and Na, who understood all things, and to Sahu, who governed wisdom.
Gods grant me safety and knowledge.

In sight of the stables, Luy left her crouching by a flowerbed and went on alone in case there were any grooms about. The minutes of his absence crawled by for Viya like insects over bare flesh; she yearned to leap up and follow him, skin prickling with the threat of exposure, and yet she didn't dare move. Had Luy abandoned her? The possibility made her sweat, until she remembered she'd never asked for his help. She'd taken it because she had no choice, but if he truly had gone, then she was still capable of setting herself free. That realisation soothed her, and when Luy finally did return with a white-and-grey roa, she was able to thank him calmly.

“Take the Green Gate,” he advised, “and tell the guards there you're riding a message for me. They'll let you through.”

“How could they know that already?”

“Because I do plan to send a message today, which I told them at sunup. When my rider finally does go through – I'll make it late tonight, for your sake – they'll realise something's gone wrong, and come looking. I'd advise you to be well on your way by then.”

Viya mounted while he spoke. The roa snorted uneasily beneath her, as though able to sense her dislike of it. It was Rixevet who'd insisted she learn to ride roas as well as horses, making it one of the few things Viya had resented her for. Now, though, she was forced to concede the wisdom of her secondmother's choices.“My thanks to you,” she said formally. And then, more out of curiosity than concern, “Will Leoden blame you for this, do you think?”

Luy laughed. “Your husband is not the only one skilled in laying the blame for his actions on other people. The difference between us is that I don't scapegoat innocents. Ride on, Cuivexa. And if…” he hesitated, voice changing slightly, “…if you should happen to meet my people in your travels, tell them… tell them the story will speak for itself.”

“I will,” said Viya, though privately she wished never to meet a Shavaktiin again. Luy had helped her, true, and she was grateful for that, but except for the shape of his hands and the sound of his speech, she had no conception of who he was, and disliked the disadvantage that put her at.

“Go on, go!” he repeated, and with that, Viya clicked to the roa, riding out of the palace and into treason.

A
day ago
, the idea of being present while another person washed, let alone assisting in the process, would have freaked Saffron out completely. It still did, if she was honest – but there was something about being in Karavos, or else the fact that Trishka had seen her cry, that suspended normal conventions. So when the older woman sat up a little straighter and declared that she was feeling much better for having rested, and could Saffron help make her presentable?, her response had been, “Of course.”

Following Trishka's instructions, she left the room and went in search of the same tub she'd washed in earlier. It was just where she'd left it, along with the bucket used to fill it from the pump in the courtyard. For a moment, she contemplated just filling the tub and then carrying it inside, but it would be too heavy to lift when full. Irritation stung her. She'd have to go back and forth, back and forth, until Trishka had enough water to wash in. Couldn't someone else do it? But then she felt guilty, realising that this was how everyone in the compound washed – she was just resentful of how long it took because she was used to indoor plumbing. Trying not to sigh, Saffron carried the tub back to Trishka, and then began the arduous process of walking out to the pump, hauling down on the arm, then heaving the full bucket all the way back to Trishka's rooms. The whole process took nearly twenty minutes, and even though she knew that someone must have done the same for her earlier, she still resented the way her arms ached by the end of it.

With the final bucket emptied into the tub, Saffron set up a modesty screen, standing aside as Trishka came gingerly to her feet. She was short and stocky, dressed in a long-sleeved robe like a dressing gown that belted at the waist. She was shaky on her feet, but managed to walk to the tub unassisted. Even so, she needed Saffron's help to pull her arms free of the robe, and then further assistance to lower herself steadily into the bath. Not sure what else was expected of her, Saffron perched on the end of the bed, waiting.

“I'm not normally this weak,” Trishka said. “But the jahudemet
is always draining, the more so the further I have to reach.”

Saffron rolled the Kenan word, jahudemet, around in her head. It meant something like
the spark that moves through air
, though that was a deeply imperfect translation. Her knowledge of Kenan was instinctive and incomplete, and every time she ran up against such an alien term, a little shudder went through her at the strangeness of it.

“That must be frustrating,” she said instead.

A sloshing noise came from behind the screen, which Saffron took to indicate a shrug.

“I'd like to say I'm used to it, but if I could wish away the side effects, I would.” A pause; the sound of scrubbing. “You'll need to learn Vekshi, too,” she said suddenly.

Saffron blinked. “What?”

“I was watching earlier, when Yasha and Gwen were talking. You're heading north. Gwen doesn't speak much Vekshi – there was never a need – but if you're going to act the part, you'll need to speak the language.” A languid splash. “You're already joined in zuymet with Zech, which is good, but she's still new to her gifts, and I'm not sure she'd be best suited to teaching you two tongues at once. Matu ought to do it.”

Saffron chose her words carefully. “Is he very, ah… stable?”

Trishka laughed. “Oh, he's wild enough at times, but we like him that way, and he knows it. Even Yasha approves of him, and there's not many men of whom that's true, though she'd never admit it. At any rate, he's Zechalia's master in the zuymet, and a skilled practitioner. You can trust him with that.”

Saffron raised an eyebrow, remembering what else she'd heard about Matu. “And can I trust him with me, too?”

“Now
that
,” said Trishka, “depends entirely on what you want to do with him. If it's children you're after, don't bother, but for anything else, it's your own affair. Only don't go chasing his heart, child, or you'll get yours burned. However he might pass his nights, he's only and all for Amenet.”

A mortified blush crept up Saffron's cheeks. “That's not what I meant! I wouldn't want any of that – I'm way too young for kids and anyway, I prefer women to men. I mean, I do sometimes like men, but I usually like women more.” The latter admission slipped from her by accident. She'd never outed herself as bisexual to an adult before, and was a little scared by how easy it was. “I mean, am I
safe
with him? If he's so… free with himself.”

She thought that was the right way to phrase it; she'd meant to say
promiscuous
, but none of the equivalent Kenan terms had quite the same inference as in English. As best as Saffron could figure it, saying Matu was free with himself simply meant that he was an untethered, unmarried, uncommitted person who nonetheless enjoyed sex.

“Safe?” The question took Trishka aback, though to Saffron's relief, she was utterly unfazed by her orientation. “Why wouldn't you… oh. This is an Earth thing, isn't it? You worry he might try without your consent?”

“Not
worry
, exactly.” Saffron twisted her hands, embarrassed, and tried not to think about Jared Blake. “I just want to know where I stand.”

Trishka sighed. “I won't pretend this world is perfect. Men and women force others here, the same as they do in your realm. But it is not tolerated, not excused, and especially not in Veksh or Kena. Whatever you want from Matu, or don't want, he'll respect it.”

“Good to know,” said Saffron, awkwardly.

Trishka only chuckled. “I'm not offended you asked, child. But if you feel the need for penance, come over here and help me out. This water's so cold, I'm like to freeze my nipples off. Oh! And there's a towel on that chair in the corner, if you please.”

F
or neither the
first nor last time, Viya cursed Luy for making her take a roa. Surely she'd have been just as well off with a horse? Better, even, because she could ride them more competently, and because common crowds knew to step aside when they saw one coming. Instead, she was forced to endure being jostled about by low-ranking ignorants who didn't know any better. The beast itself – she'd named it Mara, for spite – was hard-mouthed and stubborn, responding so slowly to Viya's commands that by the time they'd moved, whatever gap she'd spied in the crush had closed. Part of her wanted to scream,
don't you know who I am?
But of course, she was in disguise; it was good that they looked away, and anyway, shouting about rank was ugly and undignified.

If real life were like the moon-tales Rixevet had told her as a child, Viya thought, some stalwart or other would recognise her anyway. They'd creep up, lay a hand on Mara's bridle and in low, passionate tones, declare their undying loyalty to the Cuivexa and her cause. Then she'd be led down secret paths, away from the crowds and into the protection of her secondmother's agents, who would long since have set out to reclaim her.

But of course this didn't happen, and instead Viya was forced to sweat and push and wait and dodge her way through the chaos of roa riders, carts, foot traffic, stalls, corners, dead ends and shouting that made up the Lower Circle. When she finally spied the massive gates that led to the Warren, she hissed with impatience, dug her heels into Mara's sides and made for it so quickly that the roa clipped a man in passing.

“Hoy!” he shouted after her. A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd.

Viya didn't turn. The man didn't matter. She was almost at the gates–

An irate stranger in the opulent taal of a wealthy merchant laid a hand on Mara's bridle, jerking them both to a halt. Viya was furious. “Let
go
!” she shouted, trying to tug the rein from his grasp. But the man refused to obey her. Mara tossed his head back,
kree
ing as their tug-of-war put pressure on his mouth.

“Insolent chit!” the man bellowed. “I don't know what hovel you rode in from, but above that gate–” he gestured to Viya's destination, “–we act and ride with decorum. Apologise for hitting me!”

“
Hovel?
” Viya hissed, goaded by the term. It was too much, all of it! Oh, if only he knew who she was! “You dare, you filthy thumbcoin?”

Now it was the merchant's turn to look furious. He flushed above his beard, but his voice, when he spoke, was dangerously low. “You would be well-placed, girl, to reconsider that insult.” He tightened his grip on Mara, winding the rein about his hand, so that the poor beast's head was pulled backwards at an angle. Viya felt him shift under her, and tasted metallic fear in her mouth. Even so, it hurt her pride to back down.

“I will apologise for hitting you,” she said, stiffly, “if you will apologise for insulting my home.”

The man's eyes glittered dangerously. “And what of your second insult?”

“I will retract it,” Viya said, “the instant you take your hand off my mount.”

A moment of tension hung between them. Then, in voice that was chiselled ice, the merchant said, “My apologies for the slight to your house.”

Viya's smile was a slice of spite. Even so, she condescended to incline her head. “My apologies for the affront to your person. It was unintentional.”

“And the other?”

“Your hand first.”

“Of course,” said the merchant – and wrenched on the bridle, just as he slapped Mara hard on the flank and shouted, “Ha!”

Pained and startled, the roa bolted, and Viya, who hadn't been prepared for it, very nearly lost her seat. Only a frantic grab at Mara's coat saved her, but she dropped the reins in the process, and it was all she could do to gather them back up again without pitching head-first from the saddle. By the time she had them in hand, they'd passed through the gate and were well into the Warren, where Viya had seldom ridden before and never once alone. Panicked that she didn't recognise her surroundings, she hauled on the reins, praying Mara would come to a halt. Instead, the roa lowered his head and twisted in a strange sideways jerk, as though attempting to buck her off. One bystander yelped at the sight, the sound sharp enough to startle Mara anew; and then they were off again, running downhill through the twisting residential streets. The city was a blur of walls. Viya tugged on the bridle, but though she pulled and pleaded, nothing she did made any difference at all.

And then, of his own volition, Mara slowed to a halt. His flanks were heaving, head and tail drooped low. Somewhere inside, Viya was furious at his disobedience, but in that moment she was so relieved they'd stopped that instead of scolding the beast, she patted him weakly on the neck. Her hands shook violently; she could barely stretch her palms out flat. They were in the middle of a narrow alley, its cobbled surface cracked and uneven. On either side towered high, square houses, their walls vividly painted with murals and further brightened by the colourful washing strung on lines between each opposite pair of windows. Ahead, the alley twisted down a slope and out of sight, while the way they'd come was hidden behind a blind corner. The city was more pungent here. Viya could smell cooking and refuse mixed together, a hot, sour scent that lingered in her throat. She could hear children shrieking in play too, mixed in with the muffled clatter of families in their homes and even the discordant jangle of music. It was alien to her, strange and commonplace and terrifying.

“Wretched beast,” she whispered. “Where have you brought me?”

Yasha was talking, and Gwen was trying – and failing – to listen. Unlike Matu, she'd had no pretext for retiring to bed, and so was forced to endure the resulting diatribe. Silence was the path of least resistance, and besides which, for all Yasha's intent to orchestrate a coup with Vekshi aid, she lacked the power to make it so. Only the Council of Queens could do that, and whatever sway she held in her homeland, not even Yasha was so well-connected that she could take their cooperation for granted. Not that Gwen had never been to Veksh, though she'd travelled to other nations in this world besides Kena; even so, she knew enough of the culture to appreciate just how difficult things could get on the other side of the border. “Am I boring you, Gwen?” Yasha asked sharply. She'd been talking about possible routes north for at least the second time.

“Yes,” said Gwen, too tired to lie. “Matu had the right idea. I need a rest.”

Pix stared at her. Yasha only laughed.Ignoring both of them, Gwen stalked out of the kitchen and walked clear to the other end of the house, where she stopped, resting her head against the wall. The plastered stone was cool on her temple.

What are you doing?
she asked herself.
Do you even know anymore?

She closed her eyes as though waiting for an answer. When none was forthcoming, she sighed, straightened and headed back the way she'd come, to Matu's room.

She didn't bother to knock, and Matu, in turn, ignored her entry. The room was dark, the only light seeping in around the curtain pulled across the window. Matu was sitting upright in bed with his back to the wall, still fully dressed, his elbows crooked on his knees. His hair hung like sheets of black water around his face.

“I might be too, in your position,” she said, leaning back against the door.

“Might be what?”

“Staring into space. Angry. Drunk.” She paused, assessing him. “Reevaluating my friendships?”

“Three out of four's not bad.” He didn't say which three, though. “I could kill Yasha.”

Gwen snorted. “So could we all. Often, and with great imagination.”

“You? Kill Yasha? You wouldn't know what to do with yourself without a wall to bash your stubborn head against.”

She'd braced for Matu's bitterness, but the blow hit hard and she couldn't disguise the impact. “I suppose I deserve that.”