The Garden of Stones

chapter SIX





“Our weaknesses are the levers of our failures.”—Miandharmin, Nilvedic Scholar to the Ivory Court of Tanis, Fourth Siandarthan Dynasty


Day 314 of the 495th Year of the Shrīanese Federation


Corajidin relaxed into the plump cushions of the couch. The languor of Wolfram’s potion seeped through his body to take away the pain. Within the hour many of his symptoms would subside, though it was merely a treatment rather than a cure. When Wolfram arrived, he would need to speak to the witch about making the potion stronger.

The voices of his Ancestors, once as clear as voices in the same room, were a discordant rattle and hum in his ears. He rubbed at his temples to offset the pain.

Thunder growled as dark clouds, swollen and fat, toiled across the afternoon sky. Sheets of water sluiced from the firmament, flattening the waters of the Marble Sea. The air clung sullen and sodden in the confines of the villa he had commandeered on the prestigious Huq am’a Zharsi—the Street of the Golden. Screen doors of yellowed alabaster were open to the garden courtyard beyond. There was no breeze, though the silk panels of fans swung back and forth to bring some relief from the wet-mortar claustrophobia of the air. The silk of his knee-length jacket and kilt clung, though his feet were cool in their gold-chased sandals.

He felt tired watching Belamandris, with all his energy, stalk from one end of the room to the other. His son’s movements were economical, controlled, so much so he seemed to glide across the mosaic floor. Mariam let her head roll on her neck and studied her brother from under lowered brows. She sat slumped in a short scarlet tunic, bare-legged and bare-footed. Thufan wilted on a cushion, while his giant tattooed son, Armal, looked on Mariam with melancholy eyes. Corajidin scowled at the sweat trickling from the glistening stubble on the giant’s head down his rough-hewn features. Only Farouk seemed untroubled by the heat, precise in his uniform with its scarlet braid and commendations.

“I thought you’d see the advantage in letting Ariskander bear the burden of governing Amnon.” Yashamin’s tone was placating. She wore a diaphanous robe, the sleek lines of her body accentuated rather than hidden by the sheer fabric. “It leaves you to focus on what you want: the treasures from the Rōmarq.”

“I also wanted Far-ad-din’s damn treasury!”

“There’s nothing in it,” Mariam said, voice soft and eyes closed. His daughter seemed to wilt in the damp heat. “Far-ad-din managed to smuggle almost everything of value out of the city. The coffers are empty.”

“Meanwhile”—Belamandris stopped his pacing for a moment—“our army is costing us a fortune while it remains camped on the edge of the Rōmarq. We lose soldiers every day. It seems we can’t send a patrol more than a bow-shot away from our camps without it being attacked. Sitting around is doing us no good at all.”

“We cannot leave,” Corajidin said. “I need more money to persuade some of the other Teshri members, and our only hope is to sell some of what we find in the marshlands. Sweet Erebus, it seems the price goes up with each new person I have to buy.”

“Haven’t you bribed enough people to assure you’ll be Asrahn?” Mariam asked caustically. “You should cut your losses and go home, before your tomb robbing is exposed.”

“We’re safe for now. As for the bribes, it never hurts to be sure.” Corajidin scowled. “I have spent too much already to leave anything to chance. Between the bribes to bring the war here, the costs of the army, plus the votes I’m buying, I have had to borrow from the moneylenders of the Mercantile Guild.”

Yashamin curled her lip in distaste. The former courtesan rubbed her hands down her arms, as if wiping something away. “I remember too well those perverted leeches! All the gold in Īa, without a copper’s worth of class. The things asked for…”

“Pacifying the Rōmarq to recoup our costs won’t be any easier if the Asrahn orders us to disband the army.” Belamandris poured his sister a bowl of watered wine. “Mari, did Vashne mention anything else about his plans?”

“No.”

Corajidin scowled at the hesitation in his daughter’s voice. He had noted more conflict in her of late. More hesitation to comply with his will.

“The Asrahn’s going to disband the armies soon, given Ariskander’s established a tenuous peace. The only conflict we’re hearing of is from the Avānese factions in the city,” Mariam continued.

“It hardly matters.” Yashamin gazed at her husband, her kohl-rimmed eyes dark, heavy-lidded. “Though it’s all well and good for prophecies and oracles to fill our heads with hopes, I urged you that sometimes we need to make our own dreams a reality. You can be the supreme monarch of your people without Wolfram’s oracles whispering their poison in your ears.”

“Or you could go home before you’re discovered, where you can work on getting well again,” Mariam murmured.

“Kasra thinks some of what he’s found is a Torque Spindle,” Belamandris said over steepled fingers. “If he can get that working, we can make any army we need. Look how well the Iphyri have served us. Imagine the kind of new warriors we could make and train!”

“And if anybody opposes you”—Yashamin’s expression was self-satisfied—“well, Far-ad-din isn’t the only monarch who can fall by the wayside. Jahirojin is a time-honored tradition. We don’t need a Torque Spindle, or the armies it can produce, to rise to power.”

“Should you order it, sire,” the scar-faced Farouk offered, “I’d shed the blood of anybody you wanted.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Nephew.” Corajidin held up his hands to placate the others. He winced as pain spiked through his shoulders and back. Wolfram’s potions were not as effective as they once were. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Vashne has governed for his maximum three terms, and after fifteen years, Shrīan will know a new master. We do not need to preempt what will happen naturally.”

“And Ariskander?” Thufan cleared his throat loudly, wheezing in the heat.

“He was meant to die at Amber Lake,” Corajidin snarled. “I intend to redress that lapse as soon as is feasible. I need more Imperialists in seats of power among the Great Houses. Kadarin fe Narseh is on our side. Vashne is neutral. But Ariskander, Nazarafine of the Great House of Sûn, and Far-ad-din are all Federationists. We will place so much pressure on Vashne to announce a replacement for Far-ad-din, he will have no choice. Even if he delays, his tenure as Asrahn is almost over. The decision will be made by his replacement, which will be me.”

“Two for. Two against. One neutral. One seat vacant,” Thufan rattled off. “You may do it after all.”

“Take Ariskander off the list.” Farouk smiled. “Nehrun, the little snake, has already confessed to being an Imperialist.”

“And with the balance of power in agreement,” Corajidin said, “the Avān people will reform under a Second Awakened Empire! The world can be ours again.”

It had been almost six hundred years since the schism of the Avān people. When Humanity had waged war on the Awakened Empire, the Great Houses and the Families had rallied to defend it. For almost thirty years, the Iron League of the Humans and the empire had fought incessantly. The Humans were greater in number, but the Avān had the advantages of their flying ships, greater prowess, and the ranks of the scholars, more reliable than the witches who fought for both sides. Generations of Avān and Humans were lost to war. One by one the countries within the empire fell under Human control, until only Tanis, Ygran, Shrīan, and Pashrea remained.

Näsarat fe Malde-ran, Mahj of the Awakened Empire, had feared her people would fall. Using her vast powers, she summoned the Avān dead from the Well of Souls and turned many of the people of Pashrea into Nomads. It was Malde-ran herself who unwittingly toppled the Awakened Empire. By robbing the people sworn to her service of the eternal peace of the Well of Souls, she had betrayed their hopes of an afterlife among beloved family and friends. From that day forth she had been known as the Empress-in-Shadows. Even now she governed her undying nation from the ghost city of Mediin, beyond the Mar Siliin—the Mountains of the Moon—in the south.

The Shrīanese Federation had been created by the six surviving Great Houses and their supporters. It took almost a decade for the Teshri to be formed, then another four years for the first Asrahn to be crowned. The Iron League of the Humans, reeling from their own losses, had been content to leave the Avān be so long as they turned their backs on hopes of empire.

Corajidin chewed on his knuckle as he looked out across the garden courtyard. When the time came, he would register a Jahirojin against Ariskander with the Arbiter Marshal. He had already written it. He only needed a scholar to witness it before it was submitted. Sadly, scholars were not easy to come by, and the Sēq had a long-standing enmity with the Great House of Erebus after so many scholars had died in their service.

“Regarding Ariskander?” Mariam asked. “Is it wise to deprive Shrīan of another one of its rahns? Particularly now?”

“Is your blood thinning on us, Mari?” Belamandris asked.

“I never said it was wise.” Corajidin quaffed his wine, then refilled his bowl. The wine helped settle the slight anxiety he felt after drinking Wolfram’s brew.

Mariam came across to sit beside him. “I wonder whether you’d be so quick to end him if he wasn’t a Näsarat.”

“True enough,” he admitted. Corajidin could feel the coiled serpents of his bowels begin to loosen slightly. Another sign of illness. “The oracles have blessed me with their visions of success, Mariam. If it was not my place to be here, now, doing what I am doing, they would not have confirmed my road. If Ariskander is supposed to survive, then no doubt his own fate will protect him.”

“Don’t hide your interests behind some call to destiny. The armies are here because of you, not for the good of our people as you’d have us believe.”

“If you opened your eyes, you’d see they’re one and the same,” Yashamin said quietly. “When your father finds what he’s after, then the price will have been worth it. I’m worried at your attitude, Mariam. Perhaps you should leave the service of the Asrahn sooner rather than later? You could start a military company of your own, like Belamandris’s Anlūki.”

“There would be hundreds of high-caste warriors knocking on your door for the chance to serve with you, Mari,” Belamandris agreed.

“I’d serve,” Armal offered with a smile.

“No doubt,” Farouk muttered. “Though the service you—”

“Mariam is useful to me where she is. For now.” Corajidin patted Mari’s hand. He was about to continue when Wolfram limped in. The witch smelled of rotting mulch and carrion. The hems of his robe, as well as his old cracked boots, were caked with filth. “Wolfram? Where in Erebus’s name have you been?”

Wolfram turned the shaggy silhouette of his head toward Corajidin. “Elsewhere, doing what was necessary. I’m here now, great rahn.”

They congregated around a wide round table. Maps were unrolled along with scrolls inked with neat rows of names. Numbers and dates, promises and threats.

The sayfs—the leaders—of the Hundred Families were ambitious. Most were neither wealthy enough nor influential enough to rise in rank without the support of their fellows or the patronage of a Great House. Those who could see the lay of the land had been bribed. However, there were still those Families who remained loyal to the Great Houses that sponsored them. As far as Yashamin could calculate, there would not be enough of them to be a threat. Corajidin felt a small thrill when he looked at the long list of names that had been lured to support his bid for ascendency.

Corajidin refilled his wine bowl. He had drunk more wine than was good for him. A slight breeze stirred the air, a tiny spoon in a too-large pot of soup. He stood beneath the fan, the silk panel painted with peacocks and colorful flowers. It was a relief to feel the air move. If only the storm would come.

Of them all it was Yashamin who had surprised him the most. Corajidin knew the House of Pearl trained their nemhoureh well. Their companions were skilled in history, music, art, philosophy, and literature, and many other skills beyond seduction and the lover’s arts. Yet Yashamin had shown a keen insight, a gift, for strategy. Indeed, Corajidin sometimes needed to remind himself where her ideas ended and his began.

Corajidin had given Yashamin the duties of house chamberlain and seneschal when she had become his contracted concubine. She had demonstrated insightful skills of organization, more so than his wives. As a result, the Erebus treasuries had grown prodigiously under her care. Yashamin had also invested wisely in buying the favor of a goodly number of the Families, as well as many senior officials of the Mercantile Guild and several veteran nahdi companies. All of them would be turned to fruitful purposes.

Once Corajidin was Asrahn, Yashamin explained, they would have greater freedom to convince the Teshri and the people of the wisdom of reformation. The weapons and wisdom they expected to claim from the Rōmarq, as well as the possibility of a Torque Spindle army, would give the Erebus an advantage no other House had enjoyed since the early years of the Awakened Empire. Corajidin would unite the leadership of Shrīan in declaring a Second Awakened Empire on the five hundredth anniversary of the Shrīanese Federation. Shrīan needed to be seen as too hard a target for the Humans’ Iron League, or the neutral nations, to aim at. It would be the beginning of the long reign of a new imperial Erebus Dynasty.

“Tanis is governed by Avān nobles, though they’re not Awakened,” Belamandris said. “They could use our help in the Conflicted Cities. That would buy their support as the first kingdom to be added to the new empire.”

“In due time.” Corajidin nodded. “They seem to be holding their own with the support of various companies of nahdi. If their situation changes, we will step in to help. Until then, we need to get our own nation in order. We’ll need to subjugate Pashrea and remove the Empress-in-Shadows from power before we look farther afield.”

“Easier said than done,” Belamandris muttered.

Corajidin saw movement from the corner of his eye. The flash of white robes. A glimpse of purple and gold. Soldiers scrambled out of the way of the Feyassin and the Asrahn as they approached the sitting room via the courtyard garden. Corajidin snapped a warning to the others. They hurriedly gathered up parchments and books to be unceremoniously thrown into a nearby chest. Mari swept up her sheathed sword. Hooked the scabbard to the rings on her belt. Corajidin eyed his daughter as she slipped away, wondered at whatever guilt she felt that made her reluctant to be seen in the company of her family when the Asrahn came calling.

Moments after Vashne arrived, he asked Corajidin to dismiss the others so they might talk in private. The others took to the gardens without comment.

Corajidin offered Vashne a bowl of wine, which was politely accepted. “What brings you to my door, Vashne?”

“May I?” Vashne gestured at one of the chairs. Corajidin nodded his assent, then sat opposite the Asrahn. Vashne’s gaze remained fixed on the wine in his hand. His lips were pressed to a thin line against his teeth.

“Ariskander came to me an hour or so ago.” Vashne looked up, his eyes wide and large and dark. “He says he has evidence concerning the source of the allegations raised against Far-ad-din. Knight-Colonel Ekko, who led the search for Far-ad-din, has revealed to Ariskander information regarding the identity of those who are trafficking in proscribed relics from the Rōmarq. He wants to contact the Arbiter Marshal in Avānweh to start a formal investigation. We are going to discuss it at an emergency Teshri session tonight.”

Corajidin marshaled his features to stillness. Tonight? Curse Ariskander! May his mewling Ancestors turn their backs on his immortal soul forever. If Corajidin’s efforts in the Rōmarq had been discovered, then he would be forced to execute Wolfram’s exit strategy. The witch had warned Corajidin this might come to pass, and his solution was as simple as it was ruthless. No survivors, no witnesses. It would be expensive in people and matériel, though better than Corajidin and his fellow conspirators being hauled before an Arbiter’s Tribunal, found guilty, and then either incarcerated for life in Maladûr gaol or ritually executed. He imagined he could already feel the length of yellow silk being wrapped around his throat. Constricting. Crushing. Squeezing the life from him as he was denied sweet breath. Wolfram and Brede would remove every trace of evidence that the Great House of Erebus had ever set foot in the Rōmarq…

“Femensetri has also heard from her peers in the Magistratum,” Vashne continued. “Observations have been made regarding Far-ad-din’s sudden disappearance, the lack of proof of wrongdoing, and that there has been too drastic a change to the power base of the Greater Houses and the Hundred Families of late. We lost a lot of lives at Amber Lake, some of the leaders of the Hundred Families among them.”

“So, the panicked rustlings of dusty bureaucrats brings you here, Vashne?” The Asrahn’s returned smile was rueful. He shifted in his chair. Refilled his wine bowl to give himself time to marshal his comments. “I would not worry overly much about what they have to say. You cannot be reelected. Enjoy the respite due you and let these troubles line another’s brow.”

The Asrahn laughed, a bitter sound. He rubbed his face with his hands. “I was also accosted by the emissaries from the Iron League. The ambassadors from Atrea, Imre, Jiom, Manté, Angoth, and what remains of Orē are concerned about the army we have here. Corajidin, they will go to war against us if we provoke them. Now is not the time to bear our fangs: the Humans will not scare as easily as you think.”

Let them come! he thought. Let them feel our teeth in their throats! “We have what, some thirty thousand soldiers, including the nahdi companies we hired? It is hardly an army for the combined strength of six Human nations to be concerned about.”

“This has been the first time in almost five hundred years we have marshaled such an army. Our Ancestors toppled the Petal Empire with less, Corajidin, and the leaders of the Iron League know it. They also know the army here is a fraction of our strength.”

“As I said, these troubles will weigh on another’s head soon enough. If the Humans do not like what is happening here, or anywhere else on Īa, then let them return to the stars from where they came.”

“The Humans—the Starborn—almost defeated the Seethe and ended the Petal Empire before we were ever created. You would do well to remember that.” Vashne’s smile disappeared. “My friend, the Magistratum has informed the Speaker for the People that they have submitted an amendment to the Constitution of the Shrīanese Federation.”

“An amendment?” Corajidin asked. “I had not heard anything about it.”

“The amendment will allow, in times of crisis, an Asrahn to be elected for more than three consecutive terms.”

Corajidin laughed. He finished his wine in one gulp. His hand shook as he poured another bowl, dark red splashing across the table like watery blood. “Good news for me. It is common enough knowledge I will be elected as the next Asrahn.”

“Ariskander is popular and influential,” Vashne countered, gaze keen. “The Federationists hold the balance of power in the Teshri. My friend, there have been rumors of your tomb robbing and smuggling in the Rōmarq. Your designs are not as opaque as you may think. You need to tread carefully.”

Corajidin masked his expression behind a sip of his wine. How much did Vashne, or Ariskander, really know? “There is no more logical, more realistic, choice than me for Asrahn.”

“‘Such confidence, as born of overweening pride, gives us wings to soar higher and fall the further,’” Vashne quoted. He reached into the folds of his robe to withdraw a long, curved bundle wrapped in tapestry fabric. The Asrahn’s fingertips rested on the object, as if there was part of him unwilling to let it go. “I have a gift for you. It is something that once belonged to your Great House. I give it to you now in the spirit of friendship, cooperation, and patriotism I know you feel keenly.”

Bemused, Corajidin reached out to touch Vashne’s gift. Vashne sighed as he stood. He loomed over Corajidin, a silhouette against the hammered pewter of the overcast beyond.

Vashne had started to speak again, his voice as soft, compelling, studied as always. Corajidin felt the weight of each word as it dropped on him, boulders on a cairn for his hopes.





He looked at his own reflection in the mirror. His face was florid, and the white hair at his temples shone against the red of his skin. There was a dense pressure behind his eyes, as if too much blood coursed in his brain. The veins in his neck protruded like worms in ruddy earth. He watched his mouth move as it spewed forth a stream of invective.

Only Yashamin dared approach. She caressed, soothed, gentled him as a wrangler would calm a maddened stallion.

“What happened?” Mariam leaned in to ask Belamandris as she returned. Her brother only shrugged slightly in response.

Thufan hurried forward with a bowl of wine. “Get away from me!” Corajidin snarled. He knocked the bowl from Thufan’s hand. It smashed against the man’s nose with such force it drew blood. Reflexively Armal dropped one massive hand to the long curved dagger at his waist.

Farouk leaped forward, his own knife drawn in a whisper of steel on silk. The stiletto was long, the blade blackened. Armal chopped at Farouk’s wrist with one broad hand. The fist that followed connected with Farouk’s jaw. Farouk reeled backward. Stumbled to his knees. He leveled a murderous look at Armal, skin dark against scars and the white of exposed teeth and sharpened canines.

Belamandris the Widowmaker stepped in. He slapped Armal’s hand away from his dagger. Drove his elbow into the big man’s abdomen. Armal danced back. The Widowmaker followed. Rammed his shoulder into Armal, who fell from his feet. The tattooed man drew his blade. Belamandris waggled his finger at the spymaster’s son. Armal wisely froze in place. The Widowmaker leveled a warning look at Farouk as the man scuttled forward, knife extended. Farouk paused. Sheathed his blade with a mouthed curse.

Yashamin poured another bowl of wine and pressed it into Corajidin’s hands. Held it there, guided it to his lips. Corajidin watched, his head pounding, fit to explode, as Yashamin stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. The way it plied the ropy veins and cords of muscle with a tiny, circular, promising caress. Corajidin took a deep draft of wine. Then another. He finished the bowl, then gave it back to his wife. He shook his head in disbelief.

“What did he say?” Yashamin guided Corajidin to the comfort of the couch. She curled herself at his feet. One arm snaked into his lap. The other rested on his thigh. She had been trained to be the ultimate royal-caste companion: part lover, part confidante, part friend, part conscience, part entertainer.

“The Magistratum…” Corajidin began. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Vashne,” he almost spat the word. “The Magistratum is convinced a change in leadership now would be unwise. They intend on continuing Vashne’s rule as Asrahn. An emergency vote of the Teshri is being called tonight at the Tyr-Jahavān.”

“Another five-year term?” Yashamin snarled, her immaculate features twisted to ugliness for a count of heartbeats. “How can they—”

“Maybe indefinitely!” he spat.

“If that’s so, the Asrahn will definitely break up the armies and send the rahns and sayfs back to their lands,” Armal mused. “Ariskander will remain in Amnon, unopposed.”

“This venture may come close to breaking us financially.” Belamandris paced the room.

Thufan tapped the bowl of his pipe against his hook. “Do we have enough influence with the Teshri to—”

“The Magistratum controls the Ministries, which strongly influence the Teshri.” Mariam soaked a cloth in water, wrung it out, then brought it to Corajidin. He took it gratefully, glad for the coolness as he wiped his face while Mariam spoke. Corajidin thought he detected relief in her voice. “They’d make life very difficult for Father if he went against the Asrahn’s and the Speaker’s orders. It’d be best to make a tactical retreat, given what’s happened.”

“You!” Yashamin leveled a baleful glare at Wolfram. “Wrapped in your rags and the reek of monsters, it was your voice set us on this course! Your whispers in the darkness. The money we’ve spent on bribes. The things we’ve done…Your witchery may have ended us.”

“Hold your venom, woman,” Wolfram said dismissively. Yashamin reared at Corajidin’s feet, eyes narrowed to slits. “Save it for somebody who fears you, or cares about your rancor. I didn’t make you do anything. Even so, destiny won’t be denied. The wyrd I have spoken is true. This is but a stone on the road.”

“Are you saying I will still be the father of empire?” Corajidin asked. He almost winced at the quaver in his voice.

“A brave man, a powerful man, may change his destiny.” Yashamin’s expression was calculating. “Isn’t that true, witch?”

“Destiny is like the half-filled page. It can be written on. The story changed.” Corajidin sensed evasion in Wolfram’s words.

“How then…?” Armal wondered. “Surely it’s too late?”

“How can it be too late,” Farouk asked, his voice ironclad with reason, “if something hasn’t happened?”

“All the bribes, threats, and promises will come to nothing,” Mariam said reasonably. “Is that such a bad thing? The last thing we—”

“Maybe Mari is right.” Belamandris came forward to stand near his father. Corajidin looked up at his son, tried to hide the difficulty he had in breathing. “This gives us more—”

Yashamin surged to her feet and slapped Belamandris in the face. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Corajidin saw the imprint of Yashamin’s hand on Belamandris’s cheek, angry and red. Belamandris’s left foot slid backward. His hand dropped reflexively to the hilt of his sword.

Mariam leaped forward to interpose herself between the two.

“I’ll not…we’ll not wait!” Yashamin cried. Corajidin stood to take his young wife in his arms. He gently kissed the mass of her jet curls. “We’ll make our own destiny, as the witch said we can!”

“And what do you propose?” Wolfram goaded.

Yashamin rose up on the tips of her toes to kiss her husband. At first it was proper, yet it soon grew into something heated. Something deep, fierce, almost profane. Yashamin’s pupils were wide, almost eclipsing her dark-honey irises. She looked over her shoulder at the others. An expression she had used before to achieve her aims.

“As I said earlier, Far-ad-din isn’t the only monarch who can fall by the wayside. Jahirojin is a time-honored tradition the upper castes know and understand.” Yashamin took Corajidin’s hands in her own. Raised them to her lips. When she spoke, her voice was filled with the madness few things other than love could inspire. “Murder has its place, especially when it’s us or them.”





Corajidin stared out to where the sun balanced on the edge of the Marble Sea, turning the ghost towns in the ocean to ragged silhouettes against a sheltering sky. He held Vashne’s gift in his hand: a krysesqa from the Petal Empire. Its hilt and sheath were arabesqued in red-gold against blackened horn and steel.

“What are we to do, Mariam?” Corajidin asked tiredly as his daughter came to stand beside him. He turned the knife over and over in his hands. “It is one thing to become Asrahn, quite another to murder one. Even the joy at the prospect of killing Ariskander tastes a little like ashes. What will history say of me?”

“With respect, Father, it was your and Yasha’s ambition which led us here in the first place.” Mariam leaned against a column of pitted bronze, part of a round rooftop gazebo. “The way I see it, you can either murder Ariskander—and the Asrahn, which I’m honor-bound to prevent. Or you can walk away. I’d hesitate before plunging us into a civil war, and that will undoubtedly happen in the vacuum of power. Better to be patient.”

“Did you know about what Ekko told Ariskander?” Corajidin realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

“I’d be more concerned with what Indris told Vashne.”

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is dead,” Mariam said flatly. “This is your wife’s agenda.”

“How did this all become so complicated? It all seemed so simple in the beginning. Everything was in place, and all I needed to do was wait. You know I will not survive unless I find an answer to what is killing me.”

“What will you do?”

For almost an hour they had argued the murder of Ariskander and the Asrahn. Corajidin had been genuinely horrified by the idea of killing Vashne. The man was a friend, as much as any political rival could be a friend. Belamandris, Armal, and certainly Mariam had shared his reservations. Thufan and Farouk had remained quiet, though Thufan had been the first to nod as Yashamin had spoken further of the need for Ariskander and Vashne to die. In response to Corajidin’s hesitation, Yashamin had become scathing.

“Where’s the legendary fire of the Erebus men?” she had sneered. “Men whose Ancestors dared the murder of emperors to get what they wanted? Have your balls shriveled now you’re faced with actually getting your hands bloody?”

“You think this is so simple?” Corajidin had felt as if his head were going to split from the pressure, despite Wolfram’s potion.

“There are few things simpler than taking a life, my husband.” Yashamin had stood before him, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her entire body had seemed to thrum with passion. She’d taken him by the chin. “If I thought they’d be tempted, I’d whore myself to both Ariskander and Vashne, then cut their hearts out!”

“Yash—”

“I’d do this for you, Jidi!” she had promised. “I’d do this for the man I love!”

Enraged, Mariam had taken the knife Vashne had given Corajidin and hurled it toward Yashamin. Its metallic sheath had rung against the mosaic floor. Silence had crashed down as they’d looked at where the knife had come to rest beside Yashamin’s bare feet. The late-afternoon sun had shone from the gold rings on her toes and the strands of pearls around her slender ankles. They had been oddly bright, gleaming, compared to the sullen shadow of the dagger.

“Then do it.” Mariam had pointed at Yashamin, her voice calm. “You talk a good game, Yasha. Let’s see how well you can really play it.”

“Enough!” Corajidin had taken the knife up from where it lay. The look Yashamin had given Mariam had been venomous.

Corajidin had looked at the knife in his hands with morbid fascination.

“You know it’s the only way, Jidi!” Yashamin had urged.

Mariam’s look of despair had caused Corajidin’s breath to stick in his chest. Belamandris’s expression had been troubled as he’d tapped his sword hilt nervously.

Yashamin had suggested they work quickly but quietly. There was no time to hire bravos to do this. No time to orchestrate a demise by an assassin’s blade. This thing, this murder, would need to be done by Erebus hands tonight. Before the emergency session of the Teshri. Before their conspiracy became common knowledge. She’d urged them think like leaders. To manage the flow of information.

Corajidin had seen the horrified look on Mariam’s face when she was asked, no, told, by Yashamin to fail in her duty to protect the Asrahn. Mariam had left the chamber then, fists clenched, head low. Corajidin had watched her go, torn to see his daughter so confounded. Regicide was not something he had planned.

So he had come to the roof, into fresher air, to think, which was where Mariam had found him.

“Vashne gave me this today,” Corajidin said. He was transfixed by the knife in his hands. “This was the blade Erebus, the first of our line, used to defend Vane-ro-men, the last emperor of the Petal Empire. We Avān were loyal to our monarchs then. Before we betrayed them to form an empire of our own.”

“Why give it to you? What does he know?”

Corajidin drew the knife. It hissed from the sheath. The recurved blade was forged from kirion, arabesqued in silver. The edge of the blade was black, a gentle wave pattern from hilt to point. “I have no idea what he knows. Vashne is a wise man and a gentler soul than I, though no less ambitious. We understand each other quite well. It will be ironic for him to be killed by his own gift.”

“I can’t be part of this, Father. I should be on my way to warn the Asrahn even now.”

“Yet you are not.”

“No, I’m here with you. Don’t do this. To yourself, to the family, to me. Please…”

“By dawn, the Great House of Erebus will rule Shrīan, will be cast out as rebels, or will be dead. I need you, Mariam. Though I would have this otherwise, though I would wish for options, it is not otherwise and there are no options.”

“Find another way.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know you can.”

“I am destiny’s agent in this,” he whispered.

“The old ways are harsh ways.” Mariam turned him by the shoulders gently until he was forced to face her. “The vendettas and blood curses of the royal caste are powerful. If you start this thing, it won’t end with Ariskander and Vashne.”

“I know.” Evening shadows pooled in the creases and gaps between his fingers, dark as blood. “But I do not have years to wait, Mariam. We gambled heavily on this race and cannot afford to lose.”

“Neither can Shrīan afford for you to win. Far-ad-din’s already gone. Please don’t add Ariskander and Vashne to the toll. They’re good men. Wise men.”

“And I am not?” He smiled at his daughter though she scowled at him.

“I didn’t say that. There are worlds of difference between the Erebus and the other Great Houses. The legacies of debt and honor, vengeance and loss that weigh on your soul are heavier than most. I’ve never envied you the burdens you carry, Father, but they don’t excuse you.”

“Then you must choose whom you will be, Mariam. You can side with Ariskander and an Asrahn who is about to fall, or you can remain loyal to your father, your House, and the future.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. They felt heavy, as if the weight of crimes both real and imagined rested in them. He kissed her on the brow. “For both our sakes, please choose wisely.”





“You can do this for me?” Corajidin stared at Nehrun, the man little more than a blurred silhouette against the glare of the windows.

“If possible, I’ll kill Ekko before he has the chance to reveal what he knows at the emergency session of the Teshri,” Nehrun murmured without turning. The prince lifted his hand to the glass, as if touching the sun. “If not, I’ve just told you when and where they’ll be tonight. It’s always handy to have a backup plan.”

“And you’ll support me in my bid to govern Amnon, even after I’ve murdered your father?”

“You give me what I want and you’ll find my loyalties become somewhat less problematic,” Nehrun replied. “As the Rahn-Näsarat, my aim will be to help guide the country in the direction I believe it should go. All you need do is kill my father to gain my support.”

“As you say, all I need do is a kill a man.” Corajidin looked down at the long-knife in his lap. “It seems to be the season for it.”