CHAPTER 5
KAJIVAH
333 AR AUTUMN
Ashia looked up in shock as wardlight flooded the room where she wept. How long since someone had been able to sneak past her guard? Had she forgotten everything her master taught?
Enkido would be ashamed of you, Micha said, and it was true. How could she lead the Sharum’ting when she could not even lead herself?
She turned to the doorway expecting to see Kajivah, but her heart sank farther at the sight of her husband. Perhaps it was inevera that Asome should find her so, eyes puffed and wet, as much a failure at motherhood as she was in alagai’sharak. He would tell her now, as so many times before, that she should give up her spear. And perhaps he was right.
“Tikka was having one of her fits.” Asome produced a spotless white cloth from his sleeve, handing it to her to dry her eyes. “But I wore her down with patience, though Everam knows, a mountain does not have enough.”
Ashia laughed, sniffing into the cloth.
“Word of your exploits in the night has already reached the palace, jiwah,” Asome said.
Ashia looked at him weakly. He knew. Everam damn him, he already knew of her loss on control out beyond the Maze. Would he have her stripped of her spear, now that the Deliverer was not there to stop him? Asome and her father had both argued long and hard to keep her from alagai’sharak. With Ashan on the Skull Throne, this was all they needed. Even the Damajah could not stop them.
“Those men were foolish to leave their unit behind,” Asome went on. “It was only by Everam’s infinite mercy that you should have been there to save them from themselves. You have done well, jiwah.”
Relief flooded Ashia, though it was mixed in a sickening swirl of guilt. Was she less a fool?
Even more confusing was the source of the praise. Had Asome ever spared a compliment for her? Words failed as she watched him, waiting for the twist.
Asome crossed the room to the greenland bed in her pillow chamber. He sat, sinking into the feathered mattress, then immediately stood back up.
“Everam’s beard,” he said. “Do you actually sleep on that?”
Ashia realized her husband had never even seen her sleeping chambers before. She shook her head. “I fear it will swallow me. I sleep on the floor.”
Asome nodded. “The greenland ways threaten to make us as soft as they.”
“Some, perhaps,” Ashia said. “The weak of will. But it is to us, the blood of the Deliverer, to show them a better way.”
Asome looked at her a long time, then began to pace the room, arms crossed behind his back, hands thrust into his sleeves.
“I have failed you as a husband,” he said. “I knew I would never be good at it, but I did not realize what it would drive you to.”
“My path was laid down by Everam before you took me to wife,” Ashia said. “I am what the Damajah made me, a spear sister of Everam. She knew this, and advised against the match, but our fathers would not listen.”
Asome nodded. “Nor Asukaji, who pressed for the match at every turn. But perhaps it is inevera. My mother told me on Waning that a great man does not fear his wife will steal his glory. He uses her support to reach even higher.”
He moved over to her, offering a hand to pull her to her feet, mindless of the greasy black ichor that stained her fingers. “It seems I am not a great man, but perhaps, with your help, it is not too late.”
Ashia’s eyes narrowed. She ignored the hand, curling her legs and kicking herself to standing. “What are you saying, husband? You must forgive me if I require plain words, but we have had many misunderstandings. What support do you wish from me?”
Asome bowed. Not so long and deep as to show deference, but still a sign of respect that surprised her. Her husband had not bowed to her since their wedding day. “This night? Nothing save a peace between us, and a renewed hope to preserve our marriage, as the Deliverer has commanded. Tomorrow …” He shrugged. “We shall see what the dawn brings.”
Ashia shook her head. “If by ‘preserving our marriage’ you mean I submit to your touch again and bear you further sons …”
Asome held up a hand. “I have eleven nie’dama brothers, and dozens more among the nie’Sharum. Soon I shall have nephews in the hundreds. The house of Jardir, nearly extinct a generation ago, is thriving once again. I have done my duty and produced a son and heir. I need no further children. What child could be greater than our Kaji?”
Asome cast his gaze to the floor. “We both know I am push’ting, jiwah. I do not crave a woman’s touch. That night was …” He shook his head vigorously, as if to throw the image from his mind. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. “But I am proud of you, my Jiwah Ka. And I can still love you in my way, if you will allow it.”
Ashia looked at him a long time, considering. Asome and her brother had been dead in her heart since the wedding night. Was there any return from the lonely path?
“Why are you proud of me?” she asked.
“Eh?” Asome said.
“You said you were proud of me.” Ashia crossed her arms. “Why? A fortnight ago you stood before the Shar’Dama Ka crying shame and demanding divorce.”
Now it was Asome’s turn to stare while he sifted his feelings and chose his words. “And you stood there beside me, fierce and certain of your place in Everam’s plan. I envy that, cousin. Heir to Nothing, they call me. When have I understood my place in it?”
He swept a hand her way. “But you. First of the Sharum’ting, giving glory to Everam in sacred alagai’sharak.”
He paused, and his eyes flicked to the floor. He let out a sigh and raised them again, meeting her eyes and holding them. “I was wrong to try to deny your wishes, jiwah. It was jealousy, and a sin against Everam. I have repented before the Creator, but the sin was against you. I beg that you accept my apology.”
Ashia was stunned. An apology? From Asome, son of Ahmann? She wondered if she were sleeping, and this some bizarre dream.
“Jealousy?” she asked.
“I, too, crave the right to fight in the night,” Asome said. “An honor denied me not by sex, but the color of my robe. I was … bitter, that a woman should be given the right to do what I may not.”
“Traditions change every day, as we approach Sharak Ka,” Ashia said. “The Deliverer was vexed when he forbade you to fight. Perhaps when he returns …”
“And if he does not return?” Asome said. “Your father sits the throne now, but he does not have a warrior’s heart. He will never allow the dama to fight.”
“The same was said of my spear sisters,” Ashia said. “If this is what you want, you should be making peace with the Damajah, not me.”
Asome nodded. “Perhaps. But I do not know how to begin. I always knew Jayan was not worthy to succeed my father, but I did not know until today that I, too, had failed my parents.”
“The Damajah has promised you the succession of the Skull Throne,” Ashia said. “That is no small thing.”
Asome waved his hand. “A meaningless gesture. Ashan is young. Sharak Ka will likely have come and gone before Everam calls him to Heaven, with me left watching from the minarets.”
Ashia laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at the touch but did not pull away. “The Damajah is under more strain than you know, husband. Go to her. She will show you the path to honor.”
Asome reached out, entwining their arms as he, too, reached for her shoulder. Ashia stiffened in return. It was a sign of trust among those who studied sharusahk, both of them giving the other opportunity for leverage and attack.
“I will do what I can,” Asome said. “But her first command was that I make peace with you.”
Ashia squeezed his shoulder. “I have not broken your arm, husband. Nor you, mine. That is peace enough to build upon.”
Inevera lounged in her new robes on her bed of pillows beside the Skull Throne. Still scandalous by Krasian standards, the bright colorful silks were a shock to the eyes in a culture where every decent woman was in black, white, or tan.
But now the thin silk was opaque. No more would men have a glimpse of the flesh beneath, always ready for the Deliverer’s pleasure. She kept her hair uncovered, but now the locks were tightly woven and banded with gold and jewels instead of falling free for the Deliverer to stroke.
She let her gaze slip across the auras of the men in the room. All of them, even Ashan, were afraid of her. He shifted on the throne, uncomfortable.
That, too, was good.
“The Sharum Ka!” the door guard called as Jayan strode into the room and past the Damaji, climbing to stand opposite Asome on the fourth step.
It was an agreement that had only come after hours of negotiation between their camps. The fourth step was high enough to advise quietly, but low enough that their eyes were below sitting Ashan, and level with each other. The dice had predicted blood in the streets should either stand a step higher or lower.
Jayan’s entourage remained on the floor. Hasik, Ahmann’s disgraced eunuch brother-in-law, now heeled Jayan like an attack dog. With him stood kai’Sharum Jurim, who commanded the Spears of the Deliverer in Shanjat’s absence, and Jayan’s half brothers, kai’Sharum Icha and Sharu, eldest sons of Ahmann by Thalaja and Everalia. Both were seventeen, raised to the black mere months earlier, but already they commanded large contingents of Sharum.
“Sharum Ka.” Ashan accorded Jayan a nod of respect. The Andrah had never cared for Inevera’s firstborn, but he was not fool enough to let the rift between them deepen. “How fare the defenses of Everam’s Bounty?”