An Accident of Stars (20 page)

Safi looked at her oddly. “What makes you say that?”

Viya snorted. “What else do I mean? She has proper skin.”

“And is that all it takes to be Kenan?”

Almost, Viya shot back a quick retort, but checked herself in time, noting Safi's peturbation. Viya licked her lips, trying to think how best to get things back on an even footing. “I only meant,” she said, after a moment, “that she doesn't look like Yasha, and so I assumed she was Kenan. Besides, I've never met a Vekshi who wasn't white, or heard of their children being fathered by Kenan men. Though I suppose it must happen often enough at the border,” she added, thoughtfully.

“Less often than you might think, apparently,” Safi said, distractedly. This annoyed Viya until, with a second glance at Trishka, she saw what she'd overlooked before: the woman had no marriage-braids, her hair cut short as Safi's. Irritation stabbed at her. Why hadn't she noticed? Only last night, she'd eaten at the same table as Trishka: the incongruity of a Kenan woman with Vekshi hair ought to have stood out like a beacon, and yet she'd been just as blind there as in her meeting with Yasha. Despite all of Iavan's training, she'd simply unseen everything and everyone who wasn't Pix, assuming that the woman who most resembled Viya herself – Kenan, noble, familiar with court – must naturally be the one who mattered most.

She faltered, unsure how to proceed. Safi raised an eyebrow. For an instant, Viya was tempted just to ride away and damn her chances of making an ally, but for the sake of Iavan and Rixevet, she forced herself to bite back her pride and speak.

“I hate Kadeja,” she said, her voice vibrating with a rage that, up until now, she'd been forced to suppress. “I
hate
her! Leoden caught me eavesdropping once – that's what he called it anyway, as though I had no right to walk freely in my own palace! – and as punishment, he gave me to the Vex'Mara. She went to the gardens and cut a rod of star-nettle – it's flexible and sharp, and the thorns have a sting in them. She said the Vekshi called it Ashasa's whip, that priestesses used it to deal out discipline to heretics. She said that all the world belonged to Ashasa, not just the north, and that now she was Vex'Mara, that meant Kenans should be subject to the goddess, too. She said that, under Vekshi law, my discipline was her responsibility. So she had her servants hold me down, and then she whipped me raw. Like a
criminal
.”

When she saw the horrified look on Safi's face, she rejected it fiercely. “Don't you
dare
feel sorry for me! I'm the Cuivexa of Kena, Iviyat ore Leoden ki Hawy, and I will not have my strength diminished by pity! I didn't tell you this for the sympathy; I told you this so you understand why, when I look at Yasha, all I see is Kadeja's wrath; why the idea of not being able to tell Vekshi from Kenan unsettles me; why I don't want to travel with you.” Almost shouting she fought to regain control of her voice. “If I must walk in Veksh, I will walk there in my own right, as Cuivexa, and make my own envoy with the Council of Queens. But I will not go there captive as a show of Yasha's strength.”

“Now that,” said a dry, laconic voice, “was a very impressive speech.”

Both Viya and Safi jumped and turned. It was Gwen, her lips curled up at the edges. Viya felt her neck flush with a mix of hope and embarrassment. How long had the Uyun woman been listening? Was she really impressed, or would she run straight to Yasha? Viya stiffened, holding her chin up high. If Gwen was going to punish her, she'd endure it straight-backed.

Much to the cost of her dignity, Gwen chuckled. “Don't fret, girl,” she said. “I'm no tattletale.”

Viya bristled. “The correct form of address is
my liege
or
your highness
.”

“I'm not your subject. And even if I were, it's generally advisable to respect one's elders.”

“I will,” Viya said, coolly, “if you respect your betters.”

“Hah!” Gwen barked merrily. Her brown eyes shone with approval. “That's the spirit,
my liege
. Never let politics get in the way of a good argument!”

Unable to help herself, Viya snorted with laughter. Safi glanced between them, clearly enjoying the show.

“Now,” said Gwen, “while I have a moment, will you do me the courtesy of explaining why it is you're so keen to get away from us, and who it is you're wanting to see?”

And so, because it was a respectfully-worded question, and because the older woman had made her laugh, Viya told her everything: Rixevet's defection, Hawy's politics, the circumstances of her marriage, Kadeja's poisonous influence and her decision to head north. Her only omission was how she'd managed to leave the palace, as she neither wanted to credit Luy for his interference nor betray the fact that, in one sense, Yasha was right: she
had
known about the compound raid, even if that knowledge was only apparent in retrospect. Both Gwen and Safi listened in silence.

Once she'd finished, the older woman raked her with an appraising look.

“Well then, Iviyat ore Leoden ki Hawy. My thanks for your tale. As to whether or not I can help you, that's a different matter.” She spread her hands, shrugging. “I'll try. We're on the same side in this, but there's more going on than can bend to a single person's desire, no matter how important. You understand?”

“I do,” said Viya. Briefly, she hesitated. “And thank you for your consideration. I am – I have been – Cuivexa in name only, and though I want to change that fact, this isn't how I dreamed it would happen. I have a temper, I know, and it… disquiets me, to be working with other Vekshi. But I was raised to believe that the hottest fires temper the strongest steel. It wasn't of my choosing, but perhaps the gods have sent me here for a reason – and if that is so, the very best I can do is to try to learn their purpose.”

“Fair-spoken,” said Gwen, and looked to say more, but at just that moment, a panicked-looking Jeiden returned to the group at a gallop. Throughout the day, Yasha had been using him as a forward scout, riding down the road ahead to report on any difficulties or dangers. Always before, he'd found nothing, but from the look on his face, things had definitely changed for the worse.

“The Vexes men are coming!” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Twenty honoured swords riding this way from Envas, fast – on horses, not roas! They saw me and chased – Leoden must have sent them word! They'll be here any minute!”

Yasha swore and wheeled her mount around, facing the rest of the column, barking out a string of orders. “Everyone form an outward-facing circle, Trishka and the packbeasts in the middle, quickly! Pix, Matu – dismount and see that everyone's armed, then lead out with me. Jeiden, you're in charge of my daughter – don't move from her side, don't let the beasts bolt, and if anyone asks you to pass them something, do it! Gwen, take the van and keep an eye on Safi – she fights too, but it's your job to keep her alive! Yena to the left flank, Zech to the right – you girls remember what I've taught you, and keep your grips firm! Cuivexa Iviyat, up here with me – we open with knives and close with fists, and if you run, Ashasa help me but I'll hunt you through this world and any other you care to name. Now move!”

No one hesitated. Already, the drumming of hooves was audible: as Jeiden had said, the riders were evidently wealthy and well-trained enough to ride horses rather than roas, which boded evilly for their presence on such a remote stretch of road. Viya's heart beat at double-time as Pix, already on foot, stopped by her stirrup and handed up a courtier's knife-belt and a pair of blade-knuckled gloves.

“My second-best set,” she said, her grin sharp with battle-frenzy. “Yemaya give you strength!”

“Nihun give you courage,” Viya replied. Like all Kenan noblewomen, she'd been trained in the proper use of knives since age six, and though Leoden had taken her blades and denied her practice, still she'd kept up her forms in private. Trotting to Yasha's side, she met the Vekshi matriarch with the calmest stare she could manage.

“I won't run,” she said. “Not until after we win this.”

Surprisingly, Yasha cackled. “Good enough for me!”

As Pix and Matu reclaimed their saddles, Viya sat side by side with Yasha, drew her knives, and watched as a whooping, screaming line of riders crested the hill.

S
affron stared
at the axe in her hands, unable to comprehend quite how it had got there. The whole world was a roar of white noise; then Gwen was shaking her, swearing and shouting, “Focus, girl! You
focus and listen to me
!”

“I'm listening,” Saffron said. Her voice came from far away.

Other people were shouting, too – both men and women, their voices an angry wave.“You stay beside me,” Gwen was saying. “Beside and behind, and if someone gets past, don't aim at them – aim at their horse. You listening, girl?”

“I'm listening.” Her breathing was shallow. The axe was short and surprisingly light, with a wedge-shaped, double-headed blade whose edges tapered to thin-honed sharpness. The grip, which she held, was wrapped with leather and cloth –
like a tennis racket
, she thought desperately. Even the length was similar, and she clung to that sense of it as something more comprehensible, more familiar than a weapon. She gripped it tight in her right hand – hefting it slightly, as if it really were meant for tennis – and clutched the reins with her left. The horse beneath her, a steady grey mare, snorted and tossed her head.

“Oh god,” Saffron moaned. “I think I'm going to throw up.”

But there wasn't time for that. The riders were closing in, and though she didn't want to look, she somehow couldn't stop herself from pivoting in the saddle, turning to stare, open-mouthed, at the scene unfolding before her.

Over the hill came a double line of riders armed with swords and daggers that glinted in the fading light. Almost half were women, and all were Kenan, their hair either bound in marriage-braids or, more rarely, clasped in simple tails. Suddenly, four riders were down, tumbling catastrophically from their saddles as Pix and Viya's knives hit home in their throats.
It's just like a film
, Saffron told herself desperately,
a film, a film
– because even knowing it was a lie, she had to at least try to believe, or else she'd just seen two women she liked take the lives of four total strangers, and that was a truth she couldn't process now.

And then there was Yasha, riding out to meet the line with only her everyday staff in hand. It was agonising – Saffron wanted to scream at her to
come back, come back,
but gasped instead when, contrary to every expectation she had, Yasha swung sideways and down at the horse's delicate forelegs. There was an audible cracking sound; the horse gave a shrieking whinny, stumbled, and ploughed head-first into the ground, catapulting its rider through the air like some twisted mammalian trebuchet. Five down, fifteen to go; the world moved in slow motion, every detail shining and illuminated like lead-lined glass.

Now level with the charging line, Yasha roared like a lioness as her horse reared back on its hindquarters and swung around, pressing herself to its neck as she drew her own knives and, quick as lightning, flung them sideways into the backs of two more riders.

Matu broke ranks and followed her lead, his horse bodily charging side-on into another while he struck out with his sword. And then the line was at Pix and Viya – they drew their last knives, screaming and grappling – flowing around their circle like water, reaching Yena and Zech, the horses adding screams of their own – and then the world was flung back into vicious real-time. Three riders were pressing Gwen; she was armed with a sword, her horse reined sideways in front of Saffron, slashing at whoever came in range. But a fourth – a woman – had bypassed Zech and was coming up on her left, and suddenly, suddenly–

The stranger's horse rammed into Saffron's mount, chest to chest. The rider was right-handed, armed with a knife, and in the moment when she raised it up, Saffron's single, terrified thought, activated by the barely-there part of her brain that thought of the axe as a tennis racket, was
backhand slice
. Her axe-as-racket scythed through the air, connecting meatily with the woman's wrist. It severed her hand with vicious ease, continuing in its downward arc to embed itself in the horse's muscled neck.

Vomit rushed up Saffron's throat. The woman shrieked and flailed, her marriage-braids flying as the horse reared backwards, the axe still stuck in its flesh. The rider, unable to grab the reins, began to slip from the saddle; the horse reared higher and higher, forelegs beating the air in a grotesque pirouette. It staggered away; the woman fell. The horse screamed, and then – Saffron gagged – it collapsed backwards
onto the rider
, crushing her. Landing on the axe. Audibly, something snapped. The
sound
the horse made was terrible, a pain-wet noise like metal being wrenched apart. There was nothing but fear and bile and stench, and darkbright blood on Saffron's hands, the spray from the woman's severed wrist. It was on her face, too, and it hit her then, a raw stunning slap, that she'd just killed someone.
I killed her – I killed it – I killed them –

She sobbed, and fainted, and fell.

“
J
esus fuck
!
You
fucking fuckers
, you
fucks
– come on,
come on!
” Gwen screamed, the words ripped from her throat like scabs from a wound. Years ago, she'd learned that rage was more use in such moments than terror, and though she was no fighter either by nature or tutelage, she'd been forced to learn enough self-defence to (thus far) stay alive. She'd taken down one and Saffron another, but then the girl had fallen and maybe she was dead or wounded and maybe she wasn't, but this next fucker was still pressing her, his blade meeting hers with a strength she couldn't surpass. She was over-matched and tiring fast, they all were, and with no reinforcements to back them up – she thought of Jhesa, Naku, Louis, prayed with a fierceness she seldom felt to find her way back to them again–