Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (18 page)

*:So,:* Silonyi concluded, her mind’s voice flat,
*:This is all a play-act. Why do it every Festival?:*

*:Because the embargo and tax are specifically
designed to be short-term, holding only for the duration of the Festival.
Otherwise, with a permanent embargo, the Faliel would lose all foreign Trade,
not just the independents. These laws were designed for peak Trade times like the
Festival, to keep the foreign Traders honest, it is said.:*

*:And what keeps the locals honest?:*

Imraja said nothing.

*:Yes, I see that nothing does.:* She sat back to
ponder the situation, the court silent and all eyes on her. Should she
intervene or pass it on? Her gaze wandered as she thought, and settled on the
independent Trader’s face, where he stood patiently awaiting the favor of the
court to turn against him. Something in his countenance of quiet acceptance
moved her. He, too, knew that this was a farce, an excuse to bring forth point
of law.

*:And how much would the Faliel be hurt if they don’t
get this little boost to their profits?:* she asked, still looking at the
foreign Trader. He met her eyes and suddenly smiled, a brilliant, beautiful
smile that told her that he knew of life’s little injustices and that either
way he would get along. That the injustice would only make him and his stronger
and more beloved in the eyes of the Supreme One. That he forgave her already
the inequity that she had not even dealt him yet.

The smile shook her to the core and cut her to the
heart, and fair took her breath away. Such a one did not deserve to be left
with the open side of the palm, this ritual slap to his pride and honor that he
dared not challenge.

Troubled, she sought inward for an answer to the
confusing, uncharacteristic thoughts going through her mind. But the wrongness
said nothing and her teachings held nothing, and this was totally outside her
experience. Strangely, the decision would have to be hers alone.

*:Highness?:* The touch on her shoulder and in her
mind startled her; but she had been trained not to jump at such things, but
rather to react in a certain way. Her reaction was to sit up straighter and
arrange her features into a totally neutral expression.

*:Yes?:*

*:I said that it would not hurt the Faliel too much,
since they base their net profit on what they would have made without the
embargo/tax injunction. The Throne will get five per-crown of the increased
prices under the embargo and two per-crown of the levied tax, and the Faliel
keep the rest of the profit.:*

“I will hear the rest of the case and view the
evidence,” Silonyi said aloud. The court remained silent for two heartbeats,
then broke out into the gentle surf of many whispers. Junu’un’s face, stretched
in a smug, if not over-confident smile, fell like dropped masonry, but smoothed
an instant later. He still expected things to go his way.

The warru Kurja stood to one side with the evidence.
Silonyi beckoned and she approached with the two scales and the tubers. The
scales looked almost identical. But - Silonyi narrowed her eyes. She touched
each scale, then sat back, only then noticing that a slight rise in the
murmuring susurration had begun in the Hall.

“Which scale is yours, Fal Junu’un?”

The man looked around nervously. His eyes jumped
from one scale to the other, then finally he chose the better-kept scale.

Silonyi leaned forward and beckoned to the merchant.
He came forward and she bent close. “Do I look ignorant to you? Now, do you
want to withdraw your claim, or shall I make an object lesson out of you?” She
raised an eyebrow.

The merchant gaped at her. A look of outrage sped
across his face, and he glanced to one of the warru observing. That worthy did
not return his look. Silonyi followed his gaze, and marked the warru. One of
the Crown’s warru was involved in this venture? Maybe getting a payoff for
putting his stamp on the case so that it was sure to pass through the court?
Not anymore.

“Well then, let us continue this farce, and perhaps
root out a bit of the nastier side of the Faliel’s way of doing business. Now,
good Trader, why did you come to this particular lon? Is this Festival
gathering the closest that you could reach in time?”

The tall silent Trader nodded. “Yes, Highness.”

“And are you given a difficult time each cycle?”

Again the nod, and the Trader looked intrigued at
the direction the proceedings had taken. The murmurs that moved through the
spectators were even louder, and uneasy, like the tides before a storm.

“Well, if there is going to be cheating done, it
certainly should be a bit more sophisticated than this. I rule in favor of the
independent Trader.”

Excited and agitated chatter rose in a wave and
broke against the walls of the Hall, washing out most coherent speech. Junu’un
looked ready to kill.

“You cyan’t do that!” he bellowed. “Meh profit
margin for this turn will be a t’ird below line if you do this! He jus’ a
outsider Trader tryin’ t’pull the wealt’ outta we lon, Highness! You cyan’t do
this to the Faliel!”

Silonyi turned a blank expression to him. He
flinched back and froze.

“Imraja, send for the official set of weights from
the Library,” she said quietly, holding Junu’un trapped with her gaze. “And put
a halt to this noise.”

“THERE WILL BE SILENCE!!” Imraja thundered, in the
specially trained tone that all Voices could make use of to silence a large
amount of noise. The absence of sound fell like leaves from a dying tree. She
ordered the weight set fetched forthwith.

“And as to the Faliel, and what I am doing to them,”
she said like quiet death, “loyalty is loyalty, but business is universal. When
one starts depending on profit margins from the cheating of others, then the
rules of business have been violated. No matter how hard a deal you drive, it
must still be done under the constraints and ethics of the ways of Trade. The
Faliel have gone unregulated for, I think, too long. And this cycle, at least,
the Faliel will make their profits as honestly as I have the power to enforce.”

The merchant sweated and fumed and cowered in rapid
succession.

The weights were set before Silonyi. Her eyes never
left Junu’un. “Weigh them.”

“Highness, I protest this - this...!”

“Noted. Weigh them.”

“The Queen woulda nevah...!”

“The Queen,” she said in a voice that froze the
blood of all there, “is not here.
I
sit upon the Throne. Now weigh the
standards, or I will confiscate all of your property under the charge of fraud
and violation of the business ethic, and wasting the matriarch’s time with this
nonsense!”

Shaking with fury, he took his scale and set the
largest weight on one side, then piled all the others, equal to the largest, on
the other. The side with the collection of weights sank lower than the side
with the single weight. There were not as many surprised gasps as she had
expected. Uneasy murmurings moved the crowd like flowers in a freshening breeze
before a storm.

“Kor’ilya,” she called the Warru First to her. “I
want every scale in the city checked before the Festival and public scales set
up so that any who feel that they are not being dealt with fairly may go and
have their claim substantiated or disproved. And as for you,” she said to Junu’un,
“you will remunerate this Trader for the time he has lost to this travesty,
plus the court for the time and energy wasted on your petty greed and the
larger greed of the Faliel. I hate flagrant stupidity and I hate obvious
thievery. Next time, if you are going to try and cheat someone, be a little
more clever about it, and do not bring it to the court’s attention when it is
under
my
rule.”

He bowed under her decision and turned to file out,
clutching his rigged scale. He knew his credibility and name were both in
ruins. The Faliel would lift not a single pudgy ringed finger to back him now.
“The sins of the mother will deal wit’ you,” she heard him mutter under his
breath.

“WHAT?!” Silonyi shot up from her throne, her eyes
ablaze. Spectators cringed and warru hands plunged for weapons. “Detain him!”
she shrieked, a red haze of fury rising before her eyes. “None may slander the
Throne and live!”

The merchant was seized at the door and dragged
back, yelling and fighting like a cornered animal. Silonyi stood over him as if
she would crush him with her presence alone. He cowered before her. In fact,
all the court save the warru cowered before her rage. But she saw only Junu’un.

“How dare you?
How dare you?!
Do you
wish
a quick and painful death?” she hissed. “I can
readily
think of several
ways to deal with an insolent dog like you!”

“Highness, me ain’ say nothin’ ‘gainst the Throne!”
he whimpered, suspended between the two warru, his legs appearing useless.

“Repeat what you said as you approached the door,”
she demanded.

“M - me say, ‘the digns of meh brothers will peal
for true,’ Highness. Tha’s all, I give meh oath!”

The red haze swirled uncertainly. She felt the
weight of his oath, binding his words. Silonyi blinked in confusion. If what he
swore was true, then why had she heard what she thought she had heard? Did that
even make any sense? She sat down slowly. The court was dead silent, all eyes
wide and focused on her.

*:Imraja?:* she wanted to shake her head at the
confusion.

*:It
is
a popular idiom,:* Imraja answered,
her voice uncharacteristically guarded. *:It means that the others of the
Faliel will commiserate for him. The original saying was started by a Family
Head not too long ago.:*

She pondered this as the anger turned to mist and
slunk away, pondered the effect on the court. Had she just made a fool of
herself? What must the court think? The silence was blaring.

“Take him away,” Silonyi said, making a quick
decision. Let the court think what it would. They did not know her, or her ways
- this could not really be seen as aberrant behavior because this was her first
time holding court. Perhaps there was a way to turn this to her advantage. “See
that he pays his fines and turn him loose. I have been counseled to lenience.
Let all know that the Throne is not without mercy in a time that is supposed to
be joyous. He will not die this turn.”

The number of gasps of surprise were much, much more
than she expected. Yes, her blunder had turned to unpredictability. If she
could continue to startle them without making another such mistake, it would
keep them on their toes.

An impulse of something, not
quite
wrongness,
moved from one shoulder to the other, as if confused and trying to make up its
mind. Finally it went away, unsatisfied.

Relief began to flower, then also died away
confused. That damned phrase!

She watched as her bidding was done, and then she
adjourned court early, deciding that she had the beginnings of a massive
headache. She rubbed her temples as the Hall emptied of aides and spectators
and petitioners alike, with Imraja hovering worriedly over her.

“Highness, how fare you?”

“Imraja, I have been better.”

“Perhaps the strain is a bit much to throw on you
all at once.”

“I’m fine. It is not the strain.”
It’s that
bedimmed phrase! If I hear that phrase one more time, I will scream, I swear
it!

Imraja carefully did not ask
what
phrase, for
she was sure that Silonyi did not know that she was projecting her thoughts as
loudly as a shout. But what phrase would almost cause her to order a man’s
death, or choke on a slice of imilan? For the Princess had been projecting her
thoughts then, too. What phrase had she heard twice that disturbed her so?

Imraja pulled her thoughts away from the troubling
coincidence of events. If the Heir would not confide in her, then there was
nothing she could do.

“Perhaps you will find solace in your morn
devotions,” she suggested.

Silonyi cringed inside without knowing why, but
nodded to the Voice. She allowed Imraja and the two warru who were always near
to guide her from the court Laine and escort her on the path to the chi’av’an.
The path passed through the rock of the hillside into which the palace had been
built, the weight of thousands of cycles comforting rather than oppressive. It
gave a feeling of continuity, of connection to roots firmly planted in the
past, the strength of ages and ancestors culminating all in her. At first the way
was as it had always been, softly lit, serene, familiar: the broad stairs
leading through a connecting garden, the long, sinuous passageway. Silonyi felt
her tension beginning to drop away in anticipation of the coming Rite. Then her
perception trembled and, gradually, with each successive step, began to shift,
like the turning of eve upon the land. The way grew from serene to silent, then
to sinister, as if she entered a place long remembered, but with a new and
malevolent guardian. The passage stretched interminably, like the eve six turns
before when the dread had taken hold of her, then it became impassable as the
feeling of malevolence grew. Halfway there she finally balked, the dread
rooting her to the spot she was, one foot forward in the motion of stepping.
Imraja and the warru stopped also, glancing at her with perplexity.