Faster than asps a moment ago, the women now seemed to move like plodding camels. Inevera’s kick connected with Asavi’s chest before her hands were in place to block, knocking her back with plenty of time to pivot and catch Melan’s attack, pulling her into a throw that sent her clear across the room.
At a safe distance, both women reached for their hora pouches once more, but Inevera was faster, raising the fist that clutched her dice and pointing a finger, her sharp nail tracing a cold ward in the air.
Asavi literally froze, a thin rime of white coating her skin. Inevera had not intended to kill her—yet—but she had not anticipated the raw power of the dice. The woman’s aura snuffed like a candle.
Melan shrieked, letting loose a blast of lightning, but Inevera turned, sketching a quick Drawing in the air. Her hand tingled as the energy was absorbed back into the dice.
Gaping, Melan fumbled with her hora pouch, pulling free another fistful of wind demon teeth. Propulsion wards activated as she threw, but Inevera traced the ward in reverse, and the teeth ripped back through the thrower.
Melan gave a sharp cry and fell back, groaning and laboring for breath, riddled with holes. Inevera kept her dice in hand, ready to ward, but the woman’s aura gave no sign that she might continue the battle.
“Killed … Asavi …” Melan said through clenched teeth.
“The same fate she wanted for me,” Inevera noted. “But you don’t fear cold, do you, Melan?” She drew quick wards in the air, and a bright flame hovered above her hand. “Fire has ever been your bane.”
Melan flinched, crying in pain as she curled reflexively, clutching her scarred hand close. “I will tell you nothing!”
Inevera laughed. “I have my dice, little sister. I need nothing you can tell me. Any value you might still hold vanished the moment you mentioned my mother.”
“Forgive our failure, Damajah,” Micha begged when Inevera revived her. Jarvah was only just stirring from the healing magic when one of Inevera’s earrings began to vibrate, signaling that someone had entered one of the secret passages the spear sisters used.
Be silent, Inevera’s hands signaled. She flicked her fingers, and Micha helped get Jarvah out of sight as Inevera raised her hora wand.
The hidden door opened silently, but it was no attacker. Instead she found Ashia, with Kajivah slung over her shoulder and a bundle strapped to her chest. The spear sister’s robes were torn and wet with blood, her white veil splotched red. She left bloody footprints behind her.
“Succor, I beg, Damajah.” Ashia laid Kajivah down and uncovered the bundle, revealing her infant son.
“What has happened?” Inevera demanded, moving to inspect the woman’s wounds. There were bruises and superficial cuts, but a spear had pierced her abdomen and come clear through. She was pale, her aura dim. She would need hora magic if she was to survive.
“Jayan is dead,” Ashia said, “his forces shattered.”
Inevera nodded. “I know.”
“The shar’dama killed their Damaji and took control of the tribes in response,” Ashia said. “All save Maji, who was defeated.”
This was news, and dire. It had been Inevera’s intention all along that Ahmann’s dama sons take control of the tribes, but at a time of her own choosing. The idiots risked everything, and she realized just how far her control of them had slipped.
“And Ashan?” she asked, already guessing the answer.
“My father is dead,” Ashia said. “Asome sits the Skull Throne.”
Worse, still. She had already lost Jayan. It would be devastating if she were forced to kill Asome, as well.
“I turned to Asukaji when the slaughter began,” Ashia said, “just in time to catch a chain around my throat as he tried to kill me.”
“Then your brother, too, is dead,” Inevera guessed.
Ashia nodded, coughing blood, then, and swayed on her knees. Inevera signaled and Micha and Jarvah were there in an instant. “Take the child.”
Jarvah reached out, but Ashia tightened her grasp reflexively and Kaji began to cry. Ashia squinted as if she did not recognize her spear sister, confusion and fear in her aura.
That more than anything frightened Inevera. When had she ever seen fear in Ashia’s aura? Not even when the alagai built greatwards around the city.
“By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I swear I will not harm him, sister,” Jarvah said. “Please. The Damajah must see to your injuries.”
Ashia shook her head, and some of the confusion left her aura. “I have walked the abyss to protect my son tonight, sister. I will not be parted from him.”
“You will not be parted,” Inevera said. “You have my word. But you may clutch too tightly when the magic takes you. Let your spear sister hold Kaji. They will not leave your side.”
Ashia nodded, relaxing her grip. Jarvah took Kaji, holding the thrashing infant beneath the armpits at arm’s length. She looked like she would prefer fighting a rock demon. The Sharum’ting, denied their own childhoods, had none of a mother’s instincts.
Inevera snatched the child from her, bundling his limbs tightly in the blanket. She took the neat bundle and pushed it into the crook of Jarvah’s elbow. “Micha, take the Holy Mother down to the vault. We will meet you there shortly. Go quickly and tell no one.”
“Yes, Damajah.” Micha bowed and vanished.
Inevera swept into the throne room at dawn, her Damaji’ting sister-wives at her heel. The room was already filled with dama and Sharum, causing a great din at the news. Before them, their second sons lined the path to the throne, save for Belina, who glared hatred at Damaji Aleveran. Aleverak’s eldest son, Aleveran had taken the place of his father to lead the Majah—at least for now.
None of the Damaji’ting approved of their sons’ coup, but ties of blood ran deeply in them all. Inevera felt it herself, looking up the steps to Asome, his face grim, eyes still puffed from tears no doubt shed over Asukaji.
There is always a price to power, my son, she thought. Even now, sympathy for the boy mingled with the pain of Jayan’s loss. Some might claim the younger killed the elder, but the truth of the dice was harsher. Asome had goaded his brother, but it was Jayan who defeated himself.
“It is good to see you well, Mother. I feared for you last night.” Asome had wisely uncovered the windows of the throne room, filling it with light that bounced around the room on dozens of new mirrors, but Inevera did not need to read his aura to know the lie.
“I fear for all of us,” Inevera said, continuing on as her sister-wives took their place left of the throne, opposite the new Damaji. “So much that I have taken Kajivah and my grandson into my custody. For their own protection, of course.”
“Of course.” Asome grit his teeth as she began to ascend the steps. She knew he wanted to stop her—every man in the room did—but while it was one thing to have your mother quietly killed, it was another to attack the Damajah in the light of day before the entire court.
“And Ashia?” Asome asked. “My traitorous wife must face justice for killing her brother and my palace guards.”
Inevera resisted the urge to laugh at the irony. “I am afraid your Jiwah Ka was mortally wounded in the battle, my son.”
Asome pursed his lips, clearly doubting. “They must be returned, now that the danger is past. I would see the body of my wife, Kaji must lead his tribe, and my holy grandmother …”
Inevera topped the steps and met his eyes, and he did not dare finish the sentence. As Shar’Dama Ka, Asome’s power exceeded her own, but it was untested, and they both knew Inevera could have both of the hostages killed long before he found them.
“The danger is not past!” Inevera said loudly, her voice echoing through the room. “I have consulted the alagai hora, and the dice foretell doom, should they leave my protection.”
She did not bow, striding as an equal to her bed of pillows beside the throne.