Mage's Blood (46 page)

Decorative?

They had arrived four days since, and something like a routine was being formed. The girls wanted to go out and explore the city, but her husband forbade it. There was constant shouting outside, but the soldiers would not let her walk on the battlements of the red walls that surrounded the house, so she had no idea what it was about. The palace covered four acres in the heart of the city, she had been told, but she was allowed only in her own rooms, her husband’s study and the central garden, and it was suffocating. Only the tower rooms had a view of the city, but she was forbidden entry. The tower stood like a pale fang, rising three storeys above the walls. It was accessible only from her husband’s rooms.

By the time she presented herself in her husband’s study for Rondian lessons the deep furrows on his brow had returned. He was surrounded by letters and missives and looked beaten down again. His thin hair was tangled by worried fingers. She glimpsed a hall where supplicants waited, a mixture of Rondian merchants and Hebb traders in their check-patterned headdresses, including some women in the black bekira-shrouds that even Rondian women wore in public. Meiros acknowledged her distractedly, then told her his daughter Justina would see to her language tutelage from now on. That had been three nights ago. In the evenings she could see light limning
the shutters of his tower-rooms. He did not come to her chamber, and she suspected that he had not slept since returning.

Justina Meiros ignored her requests for language lessons. Olaf was apologetic, but no help. ‘Once the trouble on the street dies down we will summon cloth and jewellery traders for you, Lady Ramita,’ he offered, as if this would satisfy her.
What trouble?
she wondered.

‘But Rondian speak I desire me!’ she burst out in mangled Rondian. ‘Book need I nigh! Nigh!
Nekat chottiya!
’ It was very frustrating. Olaf didn’t seem to understand.

When Huriya asked Olaf about the troubles in the street he said, ‘Because of Madam.’ Huriya passed this on, and Ramita laughed nervously: trouble because of her, in the streets of this foreign city? Huriya must have got the words wrong.

On holy day her husband spoke to her briefly before he left under heavy guard to attend a Kore service at the Governor’s Palace. This governor, Tomas Betillon, was rumoured to eat children, the servants told Huriya. ‘Betillon is a pig,’ Meiros remarked with distaste, ‘yet I must dine with him.’ He looked like he wished to spit.

‘Olaf said that there was trouble in the streets because of me,’ Ramita remarked curiously, staring at the intricate mosaic on the floor.

Meiros had grimaced. ‘Someone has put it about that I have kidnapped a Lakh princess, and have her imprisoned in my tower. Some of the Hebb are burning my effigy and calling for my stoning.’ He chuckled dryly. ‘This is normal here, Wife. Don’t let it concern you. It flares up, it dies down.’

‘Justina will not teach me,’ Ramita complained, feeling curiously neglected.

Meiros grunted and dashed off a note. ‘Take this to Olaf. Justina has obligations to this family, whether she likes it or not. It will give her something constructive to do instead of painting her face and nails.’ He stood. ‘I am sorry I have been busy, Wife, but next week you must attend a banquet with my colleagues, and you must be ready.’

After breakfast Olaf took Ramita to Justina’s quarters. Ramita
waited impatiently while Olaf haggled with Justina’s housemaid. She wished Huriya was with her, but her friend had been allowed to go with the servants to Amteh worship in the city. Huriya had been full of excitement about seeing Hebusalim. Ramita had asked Olaf to give Huriya some money for the markets, and he had casually handed over enough coins to make even Huriya’s eyes bulge.

Finally a servant came out and led her through to Justina’s private courtyard. Two women were sitting cross-legged on Keshi-style low leather seats with no backs, beside a tiny fountain. Incense perfumed the cool air. Both women wore blue mantles. They looked at her distantly as she entered. Justina waved Ramita to one of the seats, then continued conversing with the other woman.

At least it gave Ramita the chance to study Meiros’ daughter for the first time. She had a long narrow head, and her complexion was pale as porcelain. Her full lips were stained red. Her face was mature, but her complexion was clear and smooth. Meiros had claimed his daughter was more than one hundred years old, but she could not tell if this was true. She was a mage; who knew what was possible? Her lustrous black hair had no trace of grey. She wore simple jewellery, but it was all gold. A ruby as red as her lips hung from a gold chain and pulsed at her neck like a heartbeat: a periapt, one of the magical gems of the magi. Justina had a forbidding beauty, as if she had been sculpted, not born.

The other woman was far less fearsome. Her soft, round freckled face was framed by a tumble of golden curls. She too wore a pulsing jewel at her throat, a large sapphire. She smiled reassuringly. ‘Hello,’ she said slowly in Rondian, ‘you must be Ramita.’ Her voice was warm and sultry. ‘I am Alyssa Dulayne. Welcome to Hebusalim.’ She spoke as if trying to coax a cat to be petted.

Ramita ducked her head, licked her lips. ‘Hello.’

‘So she does have a tongue,’ observed Justina tartly.

Ramita caught the gist of Justina’s remark. ‘Some little Rondian, I have. More Keshi. You Lakh have?’ she added, sticking her chin up a little.

Alyssa chuckled. ‘A good point, Justina. Do you speak her tongue?’

Justina Meiros wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t, and neither do you, Alyssa. Apparently Father expects me to have this girl ready to face the vultures at the next Ordo Costruo banquet. How ridiculous.’

‘What is “rikuless”?’ Ramita asked, trying to quell her dislike.

Justina faced her, looking down her nose. ‘Ri-dic-u-lous. It means “silly”. Do you know silly?’

‘I am not silly,’ Ramita said levelly.

Justina sighed. ‘I never said you were. Kore’s sake, Alyssa, what am I going to do?’

The fair woman laughed gently. ‘Well, why don’t you leave it to me for a while? I’m better at this sort of thing than you are.’ She smiled at Ramita, who felt a sudden fear of what this nice-seeming woman might mean.

Justina drained her tiny cup and rose. ‘Yes, why don’t you, Alyssa? I have no patience at all.’ She bent over, kissed Alyssa’s cheeks and vanished into her suite. Ramita rose, thinking herself dismissed.

‘No, no, sit.’ Alyssa patted the chair Justina had vacated. ‘Come, sit with me.’ She poured green tea, serving Ramita before herself, then she leaned forward and cupped Ramita’s face in soft hands that smelled of rose-water. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll be very gentle, I promise.’

Ramita looked at her, puzzled, then the mage-woman’s gold-flecked brown eyes caught hers, like a hook catches a fish. Her words meant little, but they trilled like a lullaby. Ramita felt strange, caught somewhere between sleep and alertness. Tiny details seemed huge, but she couldn’t have said whether there was anyone else in the little courtyard. Alyssa’s voice brought echoes of Meiros’ lessons to the surface of her thoughts, like bubbles rising in a fountain, and other words were added, a stream of them, as if Alyssa were chanting them into her mind. She felt them sink slowly inside her and slide into orderly formations, schools of words swimming in an ocean of thought. Associations formed, with colours, with numbers, with actions … She felt her eyes fall closed with an almost audible click …

Perfumed hands caught her face and gently shook and she blinked,
startled. ‘It’s all right, Ramita,’ said Alyssa, smiling with satisfaction. ‘That went well, though it was hard work getting you to open up.’ The Rondian woman had a sheen of perspiration on her brow, Ramita noticed in surprise. Surely they had just been sitting for a few moments?

Then it suddenly dawned on her: Alyssa was speaking in Rondian, and she’d
understood
her! Ramita gasped and threw a hand across her mouth. For a second she felt a panicked sense of loss, until she realised her Lakh words were waiting for her, ready whenever she wanted. ‘You Rondian me teach?’ she asked out loud.

Alyssa giggled. ‘Have you taught me Rondian?’ she corrected. ‘Yes, a little – but we’re going to do this for most of the rest of the month so that you can understand Rondian perfectly. All I’ve done is imprint some more advanced grammar and some vocabulary.’ She pointed up at the small square of sky above them. The sun was gone, away to the west. Ramita felt a dizzying wave of tiredness as Alyssa said, ‘We’ve got a long way to go, Ramita Ankesharan-Meiros. A long, long way.’

‘Why not Husband do this?’ Ramita whispered.

‘Oh, I imagine Antonin would not risk it while travelling. Mind-to-mind work like this can be all-consuming, and if you’d been attacked, he would have been almost helpless. And maybe he thought it would scare you; I’m much less intimidating than him. Now he’s returned, he’s very busy. But I find I rather enjoy it.’ The jadugara rose a little unsteadily to her feet. ‘It will take weeks for you to be fluent, but by the time of the banquet I hope you’ll be able to converse comfortably with the other magi.’ She surprised Ramita with a quick hug. ‘You have a nice mind, my dear, wholesome and good.’

Ramita flushed at the strange compliment. She stammered something and tried to rise, but Alyssa sat her back down gently. ‘Wait a little – you’ll be dizzy if you try to move too soon.’ She left, with a friendly waggle of her fingers.

Ramita felt exhausted, but the sound of the fountain was soothing. She wondered if Huriya was home yet and started to rise again, but Justina, reappearing with a steaming pot, said firmly, ‘Sit down, girl.’
She poured out spicy chai and pushed the porcelain mug into Ramita’s hands. ‘Drink some of this before you try to do anything.’ She sat opposite, half in the shadows, and pulled up her hood. She could have been carved in marble. ‘That sort of working is more draining than you realise.’

Ramita took a sip. The chai was sweet and strong, just as she liked it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, then mischievously added, ‘
Daughter
.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ snapped Justina, ‘I’m not your “daughter”, you backwater pagan.’

‘Baranasi
nehin
“backwater”!’ she snapped, ‘and Lakh
nehin
“pagan”. You are.’ How dare this arrogant woman criticise her home town or her people!

‘
Nehin?
Don’t you mean “not”?’ Justina asked scornfully. ‘Find a dictionary!’

‘What is “dictionary”?’

‘A book of words. Alyssa didn’t do a very good job, did she? Or maybe you’re just not a good pupil.’ She leaned forward. ‘I don’t care who you are or where you’re from. I don’t agree with what my senile father has done to you, and if I had my way we’d send you right back. If any further proof were needed that he has lost his mind, his wedding a Lakh peasant is it.’

‘I
nehin
peasant, jadugara. My father is a trader in Aruna Nagar.’

‘I don’t give a
neffing rukk
whether your peasant father owned one piss-pot or two,’ Justina snarled. ‘You’re in Hebusalim now, at the front line of a war, and no matter what price my idiot father paid yours for the right to bed you, you are worth nothing if you can’t get pregnant damned fast. My advice to you is to shut your cheeky gob and spread yourself like a good little whore, and just maybe you’ll get out of this alive.’

Ramita’s temper flared and she raised her fist, thinking
I’ll show you –
and instantly her whole body was frozen, and Justina’s red ruby was glowing rich as blood.

Her icy eyes transfixed Ramita where she sat. ‘Never
ever
raise your hand against a mage,’ Justina Meiros whispered. ‘Never, unless you have the power to kill them.’ She stood up and walked around Ramita,
whose body remained locked in place. ‘You must learn to control your temper, mudskin, or the first person who goads you is going to have every excuse to burn your face off.’

Ramita’s heart drummed helplessly and her whole body was slick with fear.

‘Alyssa will teach you to speak like us, and I will give you a few pointers on who to talk to and who to avoid, but do not ever make the mistake of thinking that you are one of us. Until you are with child, you are nothing but a particularly expensive whore. Now get out.’

As Ramita fled on wobbling her legs, Justina’s cold voice followed her. ‘By the way, what is a “jadugara”, bint?’

Ramita clutched a pillar by the door and let her legs regain a little strength. She turned her head. ‘Look it up in a dictionary,
Daughter
,’ she said clearly. Then she ran.

To her surprise, she heard a sudden burst of harsh laughter.

Ramita tottered back to her room. She needed Huriya, to tell her what had happened, but as she went to pull the door-curtain aside she heard a rhythmic thumping sound and a quiet
uh uh uh
, a girl’s voice. She peered carefully inside, at the hairy bulk of Jos Klein jolting into Huriya’s open body, tiny beneath him. Huriya’s head turned faintly towards the door as if she knew Ramita was there. Then she arched her back and tossed her head with fervent abandon.

Ramita slipped away to her huge, lonely bed. Kazim’s face haunted her dreams.

‘Husband, Huriya has told me of a shrine to Sivraman, here in Hebusalim.’ Ramita proudly said the whole sentence in Rondian. It was the week of the waxing moon and she was sharing coffee with her husband. Though Ramita was not allowed to leave the palace grounds, Huriya was, under guard and during the day, and a Lakh trader from the spice markets had told her of the little Omali temple.

‘What of it?’ Meiros asked distractedly, reading a letter. ‘Hebusalim
has shrines to the Kore, the Sollan, the Ja’arathi and the Amteh faiths – every religion in Antiopia can be found here.’

‘But this is my religion, Husband, and I wish to pray there.’ This was her fertile period, until the end of the full moon. Meiros had come to her chambers for the first time the previous night, but his manhood had failed him and he had shuffled away, leaving her untouched and humiliated. She knew there were things women did to excite men, but she had no idea what, so if he couldn’t manage, then it was in the hands of the gods – which was why going to the shrine was vital. ‘Sivraman rides the great bull, he lends us the animal spirits of fertility,’ she explained.