The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) (18 page)

Below, in the streets, she saw what the boy meant. Amid the drab earth colors of common folk going about their business, flashes of brighter color stood out. A scattering of warriors in bronze half-torso armor moved through the crowd. Their skirts were a rusty red-orange, and their yellow headcloths swung from side to side. Searching. Cold prickled along her spine.

Etissero rose and came to the window beside Sunandi. “That isn’t the city guard. I’ve never seen men wearing those colors before.”

“I have,” Sunandi said. She stepped back from the window, crossing her arms over her breasts to stop herself from shivering. “They are the Prince’s own men, the Sunset Guard. They leave the palace only on his direct orders.”

Etissero raised an eyebrow at her. “If you weren’t Kisuati, you’d be pale now.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering heart. “That Gatherer was sent to kill me. Perhaps the Prince has decided to make certain the job is done properly.”

Etissero nodded slowly. Near the desk, Etissero’s son sat cross-legged on the floor, watching both of them avidly.

“You’ll have to remain here,” the trader said. “No one knows you’re in this house. Stay hidden for a few days and they’ll decide that you must have reached the trade-roads. They’ll move on, and then so can you.”

She frowned at that. “No. Kinja’s information—”

“Has waited since Kinja died, two seasons ago. Whatever recent discoveries you’ve made will survive another fourday’s delay. Leaving now means the Protectors never get this information, because those men will catch you and kill you. Better late than never, hmm?”

He was right. Sunandi began to pace, in an effort to vent her restlessness. “Very well. But not a fourday.”

“If—”

“If what I’ve learned is true, the Prince’s plans could spell destruction for us all—northerner and southerner, Gujaareen and Kisuati and everyone who trades with either land. Better in time than too late, hmm?”

Etissero sighed. “I thank the gods of wind and fortune our women care more about money than politics in the north. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go home to one like you.”

Sunandi permitted herself a small smile.

“Fine, then.” Etissero flicked the hangings around the window closed. “How do you want to do it?”

“See if Gehanu’s group is in town. I’ve traveled with them before, and they make the run from Gujaareh to Kisua often at this time of year.” She took a deep breath. “That leaves me with only one worry.”

Lin. Etissero saw her face and understood.

He went over to his son and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Fetch refreshments for our guest—figs and almonds if we have them, kanpo-nut and cheese if we don’t.” The boy jumped up and went downstairs, and Etissero eyed Sunandi. “You should build your strength for the journey. The desert is hard on the weak.”

His words chafed no less, she decided, for all that they were true. So she seated herself on the hard bench, and ate when Saladronim brought her food, and tried her best to invent new and scathing scolds to heap upon Lin when she finally arrived.

The din of the late-morning market floated in through the narrow cell window in a babble of voices, clanging objects, and the clucks and bleats of animals. There was comfort in it despite the cacophony, for it was the sound of the city’s daily routine. How could Hananja not be pleased by the order and prosperity of Her people? Ehiru smiled to himself as he knelt in the light and listened.

Then, from behind, the sound of his cell door’s lock jarred the steady drone of the market. Ehiru glanced around, curious. The men in the guard-station had been solicitous toward him thus far, their ingrained respect for Gatherers still strong despite the ignominy of his circumstances. They had not disturbed him
since he’d been brought to the station. But now three men stepped within, pausing until the door shut again behind them. Two were the Sunset Guardsmen who had brought him to the station. They took up positions on either side of the door, hands resting on knife-hilts. The third man was a bearded stranger in the garb of a midcasteman—an artisan, Ehiru guessed by the loose smock and headcloth the man wore. And yet… Ehiru narrowed his eyes, frowning at an odd sense of familiarity about the man’s build and carriage.

“Don’t you recognize me, Ehiru? I do this to fool the commoners when I walk among them, but I never imagined it would fool you as well.” The artisan stepped into the patch of light, smiling with lazy—and familiar—amusement.

Ehiru caught his breath. “Eninket?”

The Prince raised both eyebrows, smile widening. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Mind you—I’m supposed to have you killed for uttering it.” He moved past Ehiru to the narrow shelf that served as the cell’s bed, and seated himself with regal grace. “But I think we can ignore protocol under the circumstances.”

As the shock faded, Ehiru composed himself and shifted to face the Prince. As best he could, for the rogue’s yoke interfered with movement, he lifted his arms in manuflection and spoke in Sua. “Please forgive me, my Prince. I meant no disrespect.”

“You need not retreat behind formality, either,” the Prince replied in kind, then switched back to Gujaareen so they could speak casually. “I’ve yearned to speak with you in private for years, Ehiru. I’ll admit this is unfair, doing this when you’re effectively captive, but you refused all of my invitations.”

“I am a mere Servant of Hananja. You are the Bringer of Night, Herald of Dreams, Her consort-to-be in Ina-Karekh. It is not the place of a servant to dine at the master’s table.”

“It isn’t the place of a servant to avoid the master, either,” the Prince retorted, then sighed. “No, this isn’t how I wanted it. We’re here now, Ehiru. Can’t we be brothers again, at least for a few moments?”

Ehiru kept his eyes on the floor, though he finally lowered his arms and dispensed with Sua as well. “Can a bird return to its egg? You call me brother, but we have not been that for decades. And perhaps—”

He bit the words back, closing his eyes as memories assailed him with sudden, painful force. The scent of blood like metal on the tongue. His mother’s mortal gasp. He could almost see the rose-marble walls of Kite-iyan around him…

Vision
, he told himself, and grimly refocused his mind on the present.

“And perhaps we never were brothers?” the Prince asked. His voice was soft and sober in the dim chamber. “So I was right. You don’t understand. Or forgive.” Ehiru said nothing, and the Prince sighed. “There were those who would have used you and the rest of our siblings to sow chaos throughout Gujaareh, Ehiru. Think: your mother was Kisuati sonha, from an old and well-connected lineage. Would her son not have been more palatable to the nobles than the son of a commonborn dancer, as Prince? Even a daughter from a good lineage could have been used to foment unrest, for Gujaareh has had female Princes in its past. I did what was necessary for peace—though I’d never intended for our mothers to suffer. They were supposed to be set
free, not killed.” He sighed heavily. “That was an error, and the men who committed it were punished.”

The vision was gone, but in its place Ehiru discovered a flicker of anger, swiftly growing. He fought to keep it banked and his eyes on the floor. “Death is always difficult to control,” he said, very softly. “I live that truth every night.”

“Then perhaps things would have gone better if I’d had a Gatherer’s discipline.” He paused, gazing steadily at Ehiru. “I kept expecting you to come for me, you realize. As soon as I heard you’d been chosen as the next Gatherer-Apprentice, I thought, ‘Now I will face justice for my crimes.’ But you never came.”

Ehiru forced himself to shrug. “Heirs have assassinated their way to the Aureole since Gujaareh began. Even the Hetawa accepts the cruelty that is necessary to gain and keep power—so long as a Prince uses it to maintain peace from there on. Over time my brothers”—he put the faintest emphasis on the word—“have helped me to understand this.”

The Prince made a sound of disgust, which startled Ehiru into looking up at him. “The Hetawa. You truly have become theirs, Ehiru. How they must love having another of our lineage in their thrall.”

The anger grew by another measure, and Ehiru discarded protocol. “Explain.”

“Ah, so I’ve offended you. But I won’t ask your pardon, my Brother, for I am unrepentant in my hatred of your adoptive family. As should you be.” The Prince gestured toward the rogue’s yoke; Ehiru flinched. “It was they who unjustly put that on you, after all.”

“The Superior said
you
commanded it.”

“I commanded your removal, Ehiru, before the Superior could end your life. Not this humiliation.” Abruptly the Prince gestured to one of the Guardsmen. “Find the key for that monstrosity he’s wearing. I can’t stand looking at it any longer.” The Guard snapped a bow, banged a pattern on the door of the chamber, and exited when the door opened.

Ehiru’s fists, already sweaty and cramped after hours in the yoke, tightened further. “
Explain.
”

The Prince regarded him for a long moment. Then said, “There is indeed a Reaper in the city, Ehiru. It killed quietly until lately—men in the prison, elders whose deaths could be made to look natural, and the like. I’ve known of it for months.”

“And you said nothing to the Hetawa?”

“They already knew.”

Ehiru’s jaw tightened. “I do not believe that.”

“Of course you don’t. And I have no way to prove my allegations to you. Nevertheless, they have kept the news of this Reaper quiet for reasons only the Superior and his highest subordinates comprehend. I’ve been trying to find some means of proving the Reaper’s existence, to force them to act—but there have been other matters distracting me lately. This Kisuati spy, among many.”

Ehiru nodded. “Then the commission came from you. You sent me to Gather her. For
political
reasons.”

“I did indeed. She threatens this city. Why didn’t you kill her?”

“Gathering is not assassination!”

The Prince rolled his eyes. “Have you never questioned your
commissions before, Ehiru? The Kisuati woman would not have been the first.”

Ehiru caught his breath and stared at the Prince, too revolted to respond. In the intervening silence the Guardsman returned. He moved to kneel at Ehiru’s side but the Prince abruptly rose from the cot, brushing him aside and taking the key. He knelt in front of Ehiru. The Guardsman gasped and immediately removed his front loindrape to lay on the ground for the Prince to kneel upon. The Prince waved it away, never taking his eyes from Ehiru’s.

“Remember that I freed you, Brother,” the Prince whispered, “while your Hetawa locked you away. Remember that much, if nothing else.”

Ehiru blinked out of his shock and stared as the Prince deftly undid the locks and buckles of the rogue’s yoke. He pulled it off Ehiru’s arms and threw it into a corner, where it landed with a loud clatter. Ehiru jerked at the noise, then turned his eyes back to Eninket—the Prince—with an effort.

“Why?” he asked, meaning many whys.

The Prince smiled. “I can’t tell you everything. You wouldn’t understand anyhow, isolated as they’ve kept you. Suffice it to say that the Hetawa is corrupt; your brethren are dangerous to you now. I’ll do what I can to clear your name and expose their crimes, but you must do something for me in return.”

The Hetawa was corrupt.
Ehiru shook his head, unable to absorb such a monstrous concept. “What?”

“The Kisuati woman. She cannot be permitted to reach Kisua, Ehiru, or there will be war. My men believe she is still in the outer city, the Unbelievers’ District. Find her. Complete the
Gathering. Do this and I will see to it that you can return to the Hetawa in honor instead of shame. By our holy blood, I swear it.”

To return to the Hetawa. To regain the order and peace that had been missing from his life for what seemed like ages… Ehiru closed his eyes, aching with silent longing.

The Prince smiled and lifted his hands to cup Ehiru’s face. “I know you’ll do what’s right, my brother.”