Inarsis pulls his mask back to sit atop his head but Mother keeps her face hidden, her back ramrod straight.
“Let the four Challengers who will run this trial come forward,” says Inarsis.
Ro looks up at me so quickly I realize he must have noticed me come in. I offer him a nod as I descend, and his wry smile answers me, as if he guesses at the words I’ve not said and the choice I’ve made.
Dagger kneels next to me and gives me a friendly kiss-off. Pythias, an Efean man who ran for Garon Stable, is the third adversary; he nods a greeting. The fourth adversary surprises me: he is the stocky older Saroese man who protested my victory in my first Challenger trial, angrily accusing me of cheating. Yet here he stands in the heart of the rebellion, for what reason I cannot know except that someone whom Inarsis trusts vouched for him. But it makes sense. Adversaries meet as equals whether they are Saroese or Efean.
“You know your part,” Inarsis goes on. “Now disperse to your respective stables so there can be no chance that in the morning you are seen to arrive in company with the others.”
Mother says to me, “Please wait, Spider.”
Obediently I retreat to the alcove where Polodos is seated on a bench, peeking out at the proceedings as the boy sleeps. I sit beside him.
“Why aren’t you clerking?”
“My Efean isn’t good enough yet. I can’t record that fast.”
Mis slides back into the alcove. We embrace.
“Take care, Mis. Be safe tomorrow. Are the spiders ready?”
“Your father has taken over command of our unit. I must say, he’s a harder taskmaster even than you.” Before she goes back out she adds, “I brought your Fives gear. Your sister has it.”
When the council is over, Father departs with the spider scouts, not once speaking to Mother. As Maraya enters the alcove she is huffing from climbing the stairs. We hug, although her huge belly gets in our way.
“I’m ready,” she says. “But I have to tell you, Jes. What I found in the crow priest’s gear that you brought me… and what I’ve learned from Sandos… it’s astounding.”
“Sandos? Oh, the crow priest. I’m surprised you trust him with our secrets.”
“He’s a boy who had his eyes burned out because he performed well in a blindfolded test of agility. It’s remarkable what a little kindness and my perfect Saroese diction will do to draw out a vulnerable child. He was so young when he was dedicated to the temple that all he remembers is he had an older sister who cried the day the priests took him away.”
“Where is Gargaron’s son?”
“My exceptional scholarly skills were no match for Amaya’s allure. He stayed in Ibua with her and Denya. Anyway Mother didn’t want Menos here. Menos knows who he is. He would try to escape.”
“So he’s being held as a hostage.”
“Of course he is a hostage. Efea has been held hostage for a hundred years.”
Ro slips inside the alcove and shamelessly smiles at me. Why am I blushing? I look away as Mother arrives, draws the curtain, and pulls off her mask without preamble.
“Jessamy, is your father’s presence here your idea? Inarsis did not have the courtesy to warn me in advance. I feel I am being worked around, and I don’t like it.”
Sandos coughs in his sleep, and at once Mother says to me, “Shhh!” as if I were the one talking in a loud voice.
“Doma, will you have something to drink?” Polodos asks her.
“You’re on edge, Mother,” says Maraya. “Please sit down.”
“Efea needs Father’s help now that the original plan didn’t go as expected,” I say.
She looks away with a frown, and I can see her collect and set aside her anger, just as she’s always done over the years. After a pause she takes my hand.
“My dear Jessamy, you must take care tomorrow. I objected to your part in this, but I was outvoted. In case of trouble I have specifically asked Ro-emnu to get you safely out of Saryenia, as he did before.”
“Mother! I’m not ten anymore. I’m the one who led the revolt at the mine! And most of this plan is my idea!”
That’s when I see in my mother’s face the months of endurance, the shock and the misery, and the way fear has made her irritable. She lost the life she built over twenty years, the life she gave everything to. It’s no wonder she’s willing to place herself at the forefront. Her Efea is gone. What’s left for her is a future she hopes to shape through the lives of others.
“I love you, Mother,” I say.
She embraces me for the longest time, then sets me back and examines me searchingly. “Who did your hair? It’s an old-fashioned village style, a little complicated and showy. It suits you.”
I’m slightly taller than her now. When did that happen?
“You must live, my daughter. That is all I ask when I pray to the Mother of All: that my children, and the land of my birth, can live the lives that should be rightfully theirs.”
29
The Royal Fives Court is built of marble and hung with painted silk tapestries depicting famous adversaries of old, Saroese and Efean alike. A Fives court is the only place in Saryenia where Patrons celebrate Commoners who have dared and won. A buzz of lively and nervous chatter rises from inside the walls. I make my way along the servants’ lane of the outer court amid a group of Efeans carrying baskets of grapes and figs for the kitchens. The highborn crowd must be fed the sweetest and freshest of delicacies. Spiders patrol the exterior, two crouched motionless by each of the main gates.
I glimpse latecomers in the arrival yard scurrying out of their expensive carriages. Highborn women with hair done up in the most outrageous ribbons and bows take comically mincing steps toward the gates, followed by their impatient lords. Sons follow in order of age, oldest at the front and youngest trotting at the rear. Not a single family has more than two daughters.
The gates will be closed when the king and queen make their entrance. Everyone must be in their seats or be locked out, the worst possible fate for people wanting to claw their way into the favor of the new royal clan.
As an adversary I descend through a different gate, one crowned by carvings that depict each animal of the menageries and guarded by men wearing the badge of the firebirds. No onlookers crowd the adversary’s gate today to cheer our entrance, because the highborn are intent on making their presence known inside. But despite their absence, the stairs have been strewn with blossoms of jasmine. Kal has arranged for this offering, I’m sure of it. As our feet crush the blooms their rich scent envelops us.
Two Garon stewards by the entrance mark my spider mask and my gear of ordinary brown, but they don’t try to stop me. We’re still on the court, Gargaron and I. He thinks he’s an obstacle or two ahead, and that’s exactly what I want him to think.
The attiring hall is unusually crowded. If this many adversaries ran we would be at the court for three days. But of course they aren’t all adversaries. Few speak; the atmosphere is one of tense expectation.
As I push my way toward the ready cage a man says my name.