An Accident of Stars (38 page)

The second name wasn't one that Saffron recognised, but judging by the way her brows shot up in surprise, it clearly meant something to Zech. “Can you call them back?” she asked. “Preferably without Yasha knowing?”

“I've no magic beyond dreaming,” said Halaya, “but I'll see what I can do. The Shavaktiin have some currency here, and right now we have little to do but spend it.” She hesitated, hands stirring in her lap. “Whatever you said in the dreamscape, Kikra, Luy and Oyako know to keep their silence. But we have only a few hours left before the Council meets. If I knew what you intended, I might be better equipped to help you achieve it.”

When Zech remained silent, Saffron answered cautiously. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether your
currency
, as you have it, carries weight with Ashasa's Knives.”

Halaya inhaled sharply. “I see.” For a long, tenuous moment, she remained silent, the clean lines of her arms and shoulders silhouetted beneath her green robes. “It might,” she said, finally. “It just might – provided, of course, that the blade in question isn't yet blunted.”

The odd turn of phrase made Saffron blink. Inquiringly, she looked to Zech for an explanation, but to her surprise it was Kikra who answered.

“Individuals belonging to Ashasa's Knives are known as
yshra
, blades
.
When they die or retire from service, they become
tak
– blunted.”

Saffron took a moment to process this. Thanks to the zuymet, she already knew the Vekshi words; she just hadn't heard them used in context. The magic worked on the basis of practice, repetition and familiarity, each new conversation calling forth knowledge so concrete yet ephemeral it felt like something she'd learned in a dream. Or not, she wryly supposed; the ilumet was something else entirely.

“You know an old blade?”

“I might,” Halaya said. “But if I do this for you – if I can find and bring here here, and if she has the influence you need – I will ask three things in return.”

“Name them,” said Zech, without hesitation.

“First, that I be present when you talk to her. Second, that if your plan succeeds – and I have every confidence that it will – you will let me, and by extension the Shavaktiin, tell your story in full. And third, a favour from each of you, to be redeemed in the future at my discretion.”

Neither of them had to even think about it. “Done,” they said together – just as Yena returned, laden with food.

Halaya stood. It was difficult to tell from stance alone, but Saffron though she was pleased. “Well, then. It seems we have work to do. Kikra?”

The dreamseer rose, bowing a polite, wordless farewell to the room at large, and made his exit. Halaya moved to follow him, then paused in the doorway. “Who would you prefer to see first – queen or blade?”

“Blade,” said Zech.

“Very good.” Halaya inclined her head. “I will do my best.”

And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

Gwen stared up at the ceiling. She'd given up hope of sleep hours ago, but that didn't stop her from wishing for it. Her whole body was tense in anticipation of dawn and the meeting of the Council of Queens – which, she freely acknowledged, was pointless. Though Yasha had continued her machinations long into the evening, there was little else Gwen could do to help. Whatever happened next was out of her control, and even though she didn't like it, by this point in her life, she ought to have been pragmatic enough for acceptance. Instead, she was restless, every muscle as rigidly tense as a hypocrite's moral outrage.

“Gwen? Are you awake?”

She jerked upright, swearing under her breath. It was Trishka, hovering beside her half-open door.

“I am. Come in.”

Soft-footed and silent, her friend came and sat on the edge of the bed. “I'm feeling better,” she said – redundantly, as she was up and about. Gwen made no answer, waiting for Trishka to come to the point.

“I was watching today, Gwen. When you met with Safi – and with Zech, for that matter – but I know you. Against all reason, it's the Earth-girl you're more worried about.”

“It's not against all reason,” Gwen grumbled, then realised she'd just admitted the very point she meant to refute. Even in the darkness, Trishka's smugness at having procured the confession was as radiant as sunburn, and stung just as much. “Oh, don't look at me like that – you know it's not. Not now, anyway. Zech was never risking death, and I doubt even Ruyun a Ketra would stoop to assassinating an unblooded girl just to spite Yasha, queen or no queen.”

“But in service of her own interests, with spiting Yasha as a pleasant side effect? Never underestimate the venom of Veksh, Gwen.” She laid a warm hand on her knee. “But, here. I'm not trying to shame you over Zech; I only meant that you're taking Safi personally, because she reminds you of you.”

“Perhaps,” Gwen said begrudgingly. “You saw our meeting?”

“I did,” said Trishka. “I even heard it too.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“And?”

“Just keep the braided path in mind.”

“I'm not her mother, Trishka. Her mother is the woman back on Earth, worried sick about a child who'll come home changed in ways she'll never be able to understand. How does your zejhasa
apply to her?”

“The braided path applies to all parents, whether they believe in it or not. That's the whole point. But you're missing mine.”

“Which is?”

“That when you first came to Kena, it was alone, and when you returned home, you were lonelier still. But Safi has you. And in one way, that's a good thing. You can be there for her; you can give her someone to talk to, someone to lean on. But it also infuriates and, yes, frightens you – don't glare so, you know I'm right.”

I don't know anything of the sort,
Gwen wanted to say, but the lie proved far too heavy for her tongue to lift, and she set it aside with a sigh that was one part resentment, three parts relief. “I'm terrified,” she admitted. “Those early years were a nightmare. So much went wrong so badly; there was so much I couldn't say. Even with help, it still would've been difficult, and that's the point – no matter what I do, the consequences won't go away. Her scars alone will change everything. She'll need me enough that I don't have the option of walking away, but what if I get it all wrong, Trishka? What if I make things worse?” She laughed. “Godshit, listen to me. I haven't been worked up like this since the week before Louis was born.”

“Guardianship comes in many forms,” said Trishka, “very few of which have anything to do with blood. You've lived in Kena long enough to know that.”

“I do know that. And yet.”

Mercifully, Trishka fell silent. Gwen closed her eyes, letting her friend's comforting presence relax her knotted muscles. Against all expectation, she even drifted off to sleep.

A voice from the doorway – Yasha's – startled her back into wakefulness.

“What is it?” Gwen muttered, stirring against Trishka. She hadn't heard the first time, and her eyes were still bleary.

“It has begun,” said Yasha again. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature raised goosebumps on Gwen's arms. “The Council is meeting now.”

E
ntering the amphitheatre
, the rumbling murmur of the queens made Zech feel as though she were standing at the heart of a swarm of wasps. Which, in effect, she was: she could feel their eyes on her, a hundred odd women staring down at the child-queen they viewed as enemy, interloper, pretender, problem, and it was all she could do just to keep from turning to Safi, who stood behind her, for support. There were several senior priestesses present too, their bloodred robes like beacons amidst the white and gold of the queens. The top tier of seats was ringed with armed, masked yshra, their presence silently menacing. Ostensibly, they were there to serve as guards, but according to Mesthani, their inclusion was a recent tradition that many (she had whispered) took amiss.

Overhead, threads of sunlight streaked the dark like corruption marbling an old wound. Once the sun was fully risen, the Council would commence. As was traditional, the oldest living queen and the seniormost priestess of Ashasa would officiate. Mesthani had pointed out each one in turn while they'd waited outside – the former was Hekve a Rin, a tiny, fierce-looking woman with bird-bright eyes and a missing right hand, and Sahma a Sani, whose iron-grey hair was long enough that, even confined in a single thick braid, it brushed the backs of her knees. Now, Hekve and Sahma stood side by side on the raised speakers' platform. As though aware of Zech's scrutiny, they chose that moment to turn her way, their expressions hard and unreadable. A sharp, cold pain stabbed through the sword wound on Zech's thigh, making her wince. Despite everything both Shavaktiin and Vekshi healers had done for her, she still walked with a slight limp, the scar itself a deep, ugly fissure in the flesh of her leg.

“Keep walking,” Safi hissed though Zech hadn't meant to stop. Cursing inwardly, she hurried over and sat down in the very front tier of seats, which Mesthani had indicated they should use, and laced her hands tightly together to keep from fidgeting. Her new kettha and dou itched, and the red paint daubed on her face, which marked her as the newest member of the Council of Queens, left her skin feeling taut and strange. Beside her, Safi was nervous but hiding it well; if Zech hadn't known what to look for (finger flicking, a slight twitch in her right knee), she'd never have seen it at all. Not for the last time, she wished she'd spoken to Trishka before the Council met, but after seeing both queens and Halaya's yshra – a quiet, calculating woman named Kari a Tavi – there hadn't been enough time. What happened now was an all-or-nothing gambit.

Silence fell as the sun rose over the amphitheatre.

“In Ashasa's name, in the first light of our Mother Sun, we meet!” called Sahma.

“The Council of Queens is open,” echoed Hekve. “My sisters, you know why we gather today. The trial has been sat. A new queen sits among us – the youngest in over a century – as does her proxy, now granted the rights of a Queen's Equal. Zechalia a Kadeja. Safi a Ellen. Step forwards, that we may know you.”

The words and phrasing were ritual. They ought to have been deserving of her deepest respect, yet Zech still struggled to keep from laughing. The queens already knew her, or thought they did. But she kept her composure, walking slowly back to the speakers' platform – why had they even bothered to sit down, she wondered? – and stood to one side with Safi just behind her. Mesthani had warned her about what would likely happen next. Zech braced herself accordingly.

Up close, Hekve was more intimidating than when seen from a distance. Though more wrinkled even than Yasha's, her face still held a commanding strength, and when she spoke, her deep voice didn't quaver. “Zechalia a Kadeja. Your courage in sitting the Trial of Queens is undisputed, as is your success in having done so. None may gainsay your right to sit this Council.”

Her sharp gaze flicked to the audience, daring contradiction. The queens remained silent as stone.

“However. There are many – myself among them – who question your motives for doing so. The Council of Queens is a sacred institution, and the heart of Ashasa's realm. Yet though you know enough of her laws to have claimed the trial, you have never lived in Veksh. Your only allies, if allies they may be called, are the exiled Yasha a Yasara and her family, an Uyun woman, two Kenan men and an unruly flock of Shavaktiin. Heathens, every one of them; not a single soul who may rightly claim to shine in Ashasa's light. Even your proxy, Safi a Ellen, was not born a woman of Veksh, but is – you claim – a worldwalker.”

A ripple of sound ran through the amphitheatre. Hekve acknowledged it with a wave of her hand, and continued, impassioned. “It is unprecedented! More than that, it is
suspect
. How are we to take you into our trust – you, a girl on whom the sun smiles and frowns – with so many questions raised against your character?”

Zech was proud of her steady voice. “Precisely because, honoured Hekve – and as you yourself have said – the sun both smiles and frowns on me. I was marked by Ashasa; marked to do her will. If our Mother Sun had abandoned me, do you think she would have sent me a sister to stand as the proxy I otherwise lacked? Would she have guided me through the trial? Would I be standing before you now? My mother, Kadeja a Ksa–” the queens hissed at the name, and not just out of loathing for Kadeja: naming the living mother of an exile was taboo, and it had taken all Halaya's Shavaktiin cunning to learn who Zech's grandmother was, “–gave me up because she feared my markings would lose her status within the priestesshood; because she feared her peers would judge her as you judge me now. My loss put a hole in her that never healed. Because of that, her actions now threaten not only Ashasa's law, but the peace of five nations.”

Outrage from the assembled queens; but not all of it was directed at Zech. Sensing chaos, Sahma raised a well-muscled arm and summoned fire. Holy flames licked along her arm, curling in her hand. With a sharp cry, she threw the fireball into the air, where it exploded in a crack of light and a shower of sparks.

“Order!” she barked. “We will have order!” Staring into the crowd, she lowered her arm and pointed at a queen whose shaved head was pink with burn scars. “The Council recognises the right of Lekma a Tari to speak.”

Lekma stood, eyes narrowing as she addressed Zech. “Zechalia a Kadeja, do you really expect us to believe that your mother's heretical views can be blamed on her fear of censure? That everything she did – against Veksh, against Ashasa, against herself and yes, even against you – can be ultimately blamed on the priestesshood?”