Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (17 page)

Audola raised her hands to glowing eyes, her hands
in which a veritable spider’s web of light flowed out in all directions. Around
her, like streets on a map, short strands of light stood like scattered
threads. She closed her eyes and spread her hands, pulling the threads
together. With fingers sheathed in gold, she braided the strands with loving
care, strands that could have been her daughter’s own hair.

A blinding flash of av’rita rocked the very fabric
space and time throughout the Realm. When it faded, all the Ways were combined
into one. A deafening cheer rose as people stepped from their street, all
across the Realm, into the Ritious City.

CHAPTER
IX

the darkness turned to wine and drained
away, leaving the land and sky stained in all the colors of brilliance...

Silonyi
awoke with a smile, all vestiges of fear and trepidation washed away at the
dawn of a new turn.

Real power! Regent and proxy! She rose without
summoning any servants and went out on the terrace to breathe in the heady rush
of independence. The city spread out before her like a sumptuous buffet, hers
on which to feast. The absence of her mother was like a weight lifted, an
oppression gone, a world of dominance banished.

For the first time, she had real power! Not much,
and not for very long, but still, holding the force to shape the actions of
others to her will felt like standing at the top of the world. It made the
light of Av seem brighter, richer, made the perfume of the early morn that much
sweeter.

One turn this will all be mine,
she thought
gleefully.
One turn I will wake up and hold all this in my hand forever. In
my fist!

And a pulse of wrongness, sharp and acute, rippled
through her and seemed to settle in the clenched hand. She opened it with a
startled cry and the pulse of wrongness flew from her like a bird, cupped in
her hand, released.

Her elation crashed down around her in partial ruin.
The wrongness, again?
Will I never be rid of that cursed sensation?
She
turned angrily to see five of her mother’s servants awaiting her pleasure. She
immediately erased any trace of pique from her expression, and, determined to
enjoy the taste of power no matter what any ignorant sensation implied, she
squared her shoulders and retired to their care. They guided her to a low
table, laying out a luxurious meal before her of jonni-bread and soft cheese,
saltfish cakes, fried plantain and fresh imilan slices, passion fruit juice and
cocoa-tea.

She sat to eat and Imraja, the Second Voice, sat
beside her, bearing the turn’s itinerary.

“Good morn, Princess. Shall I read the turn’s
schedule for you?”

She gave a slight nod of assent. Perhaps not as
minimal a gesture as her mother, but a good start, for Imraja began reading off
the list of duties to be attended and decisions to be made.

“First is morn court, Highness, in which you will
hear petitions, settle disputes, meet with the representatives of the
neighboring lons to the sor’n and este, assign permits and lots for visiting
vendors and meet with the Trade’Marms of the Family Heads to set the minimum
prices for their goods and services. Your morn devotions will follow that. Then
the street routes for the procession need to be blocked out so that the parade
has a clear path and all the businesses will still be easily accessible,” the
Voice said. “Then I have the zenith meal scheduled. Your lessons in loncraft
follow, until mid-afterzen, then you resume court. Last is a lorn with the
Faliel about the renovation of the market-side storefronts and the sins of the
mother.”

Silonyi gasped and immediately choked on a piece of
imilan. She coughed and gagged, was faintly aware of the servants fluttering
about fearfully and Imraja patting her firmly on the back. The imilan piece dislodged
and she spat the offending morsel away.

“What was that last item?” she croaked out between
coughs.

Imraja frowned. “The signs of the Mothram? The
Faliel Mothram have been petitioning since the beginning of the Season for the
right to put up newer and bigger signs. They will try to use this opportunity
of the Queen’s absence to get their petition pushed through. I would hold off,
however; the Queen has her reasons for not granting them their petition.”

“Oh.” She pushed the remains of the meal away,
clearing her throat liquidly and feeling like a fool. Of course it was not -
that phrase. “I see.” She stood and moved toward the bathing lain, suppressing
the impulse to cough again. “I will have a bath now, Imraja, and then we will
proceed,” she said, forgetting about the minimal gestures for the moment. There
was silence behind her rather than the rustle of movements to do her bidding.

She turned to see servants in various stages of
following her, all looking puzzled.

“What?” she snapped, frowning. The servants looked
at each other; then all looked at one girl, unanimously choosing her to be the
spokesperson for them.

“Highness - don’t you - that is, do you...” the
servant girl trailed off in helpless confusion.

“‘Don’t I, do I’ what? Are all of you so incoherent
around the Queen?” Confusion among the servants became fear, and they were
paralyzed either way. Silonyi glared around. This was not a very auspicious
beginning to her short reign as ruler. “Am I speaking to myself? Or in some
ancient tongue? What is the problem, here?” There was no answer. Only fearful
gazes. Silonyi’s face became expressionless, and her eyes flat. “Someone speak
up, or someone will die,” she said coldly. Her eyes settled on the sacrificial
servant. “
Now
.”

The one who was under her stare opened a reluctant
mouth. “H-highness, we live to serve. B-but d-do you want your bath - uh -
brought, or drawn in the bathing lain?”

For that they were hedging and cringing? Did they
think she was up and walking for her health?

“If you do not know by now how to read my actions
and desires as you do my mother’s, then perhaps I should suggest to the Queen
that you all be replaced,” she said, ready for and ignoring the feeling of
wrongness, which squirmed slimy and sickly through her chest.
What good are
servants if they cannot learn to anticipate their monarch?
she thought
angrily at the sensation.
If they cannot do their assigned tasks, they are
worse than useless. They are better off dead.

The Second Voice stepped forward and bowed.
“Highness, I beg your pardon for cutting in, but you have strayed from your
usual routine and your desires are not clear to us. If it pleases you, we beg
that you instruct us in what you desire and forgive our ignorance.”

The servants threw her grateful glances. Silonyi
looked hard at the Voice. So she was sticking up for the servants and casting
her lot in with them, was she? Perhaps Silonyi should include her in that death
threat. But she rejected the thought as soon as it formed. The Voices were
sacrosanct, answerable only to the High Priestesses of the Goddesses, the
Gadayi. Not even the High Queen could inflict harm or pass judgment on a Voice.
Silonyi cooled her temper, banished such thoughts. Imraja was just trying to
smooth things over. That was her function.

“I desire,” she said without a hint of irritation,
cocking an eye at the Voice, “a bath in the bathing lain. Now!”

The servants jumped and scurried like a jak’spanya
nest overturned.

She sneered at the wrongness which had fled again,
before realizing that the decision to use the bathing lain had been brought
about by the wrongness in the first place.

turned, the
light, dull and tarnished...

Morn court had to be the dullest of duties in the
Realm. It dragged on and on, case after insignificant case of petty disputes,
complaints and petitions, all of which could have been handled by a much lower
authority than the Throne. So Silonyi only half-listened to most of the opening
statements before delegating the cases to the aides of the Throne. Silonyi
glanced around, distracted, bored, taking in the large, light-filled oval
Laine. Spectators lined the sides; court flowers and flunkies, socialites and
servants, nobles and merchants. Down the middle of the hall, lengthwise, was
the petitioner’s aisle, where those who felt they had a matter worth the Throne’s
attention came, after having first presented their cases to the court
chancellor, who was supposed to weed out the petitions not worth the court’s
time.

Apparently that person is not doing her job,
Silonyi thought
sourly as she delegated another case. How her mother stood the whole thing was
beyond her. In fact, how any of the Queens...

Silonyi raised her head.

“Stop.” She looked down on the merchant who halted
in mid-word. “Repeat what you just said,” she commanded, frowning. Something
about this case caught in her mind. Some tingle ran briefly through her; not
the wrongness, but more of a sharpening of interest.

The merchant, Junu’un, caught off-guard in the
middle of his animated and impassioned speech, gestured meaninglessly for a
moment as he backtracked his thoughts.

“He uh - this - this miscreant cheat me out of a
fourth ten-weight per tanya per silver piece,” Junu’un repeated. “I plead that
the court do justice by its citizens...”

“How did he do that?” Silonyi interrupted
impatiently. “Didn’t you see him weigh them? Didn’t you check the weight on
your own scales?”

“I did, Highness, and I sent meh wares to this -
this man tru meh assistant in good faith, and see how I been rob blind!” He
glared at the accused trader, who looked stoically at her, ignoring his
accuser.

“I see.” Silonyi rubbed her lip thoughtfully, made a
declining gesture when the Voice asked if she wanted to delegate the case. She
looked at the tall, silent defendant, appreciative of his dark, rich brown skin
and statuesque features.

“You are not from here, are you?” she asked him
finally.

He shook his head. “No Highness. I come for de
festival.”

“And have you anything to say in your defense?”

Again the head shake, coupled with a shrug. “Would I
be believe?”

“Tell your view of the story and we shall see who
will be believed.”

The elegant shrug. “De assistant bring de tanya dem,
and tell me de propose price. I weigh dem and tell what my scales say, mek me
own quote. I t’ought we woulda haggle, but de assistant, he look at de scale
and take de price I say, but he write de wrong amount on de receipt, de price
he
quote; me din know til latah. And den me hyere, bein’ accuse of stealin’.”

Silonyi glanced to the court warru Kurja off to the
side who was in charge of gathering any evidence necessary to a case if it was
heard in court, immediately drawing her attention. The warru came forward.
“Gather all the pieces of evidence in this case.”

“They are ready for your review, Highness.”

“Bring them to me.” The warru nodded and disappeared
out of a side entrance. She gestured to Imraja, who leaned close. *:How would
my mother handle this case?:* she queried.

Imraja considered. *:She would most likely delegate
it to Umer’l, the Head of the Faliel Trade Egwa’tu for disposition, Highness.
This is a fairly common occurrence.:*

That sounded reasonable enough - until she looked at
the foreign Trader’s face and considered his words.

*:Then what usually happens?:* she asked curiously,
turning her head a fraction toward Imraja.

The Voice seemed to hesitate before answering
*:Usually, then there is a lorn of the Faliel Heads to review the litigation.
Both sides tell their stories and then the Egwa’tu makes a decision.:*

*:And what is usually the ruling?:*

*:The usual ruling is a dropping of the serious
charges and the payment of a small fine by both parties for taking up the Egwa’tu’s
time. One or the other might also win remuneration for the difference in the
disputed price.:*

*:So where is the advantage?:* Silonyi pressed.
*:Why even bother with bringing this case to court?:*

*:The advantage is that because the trustworthiness
of the foreign independent Traders has been called into question, and none
would dare call the Faliel out and risk a slight to their honor. The F.T.E.
will be able to implement a partial embargo against the foreign independent
Traders like the defendant on certain goods and services, and to levy a two
per-crown tax on other premium goods that the independents will have pay and
subsequently add to the prices of their goods. On the first, the local
merchants have the advantage of almost total exclusivity and can raise their
prices as high as they like without being undersold. On the second, they would
have the advantage of first customer-choice, since their prices would then be
lower on the premium goods - not by much, but enough to sway the custom and
improve their net profit.:*