“What is your sacrifice?”
I had come prepared this time. From my hair I drew the metal hairpin I had so loved, the one Likh had first picked for me. The sapphires sparkled in the gloom, bright against the darkness.
“Throw it into the fire.”
Sadly, I watched as the fire wrapped itself around the jewel until it disappeared from my sight.
The oracle stirred, her head inclined toward my direction. “You saw the dragon,” she said. “A mind from which three heads sprout.”
“Yes.” I wondered if she would ask me why I had not come sooner, but she did not.
“They believe that you turned it away. They believe that you have sent it fleeing from Ankyo.”
“Yes.”
“You did not.”
It was a difficult question to answer, seeing that it wasn’t phrased as a question at all. “No, I did not.”
“Why?”
I lifted my head. “Because my mentor is dying. She has never told me this, but I know she is. She has spent her whole life chasing these demons and has nothing to show for it but her failing health. She will not stop, and she has resigned herself to an early death. She refuses to protest her fate, so I am doing it on her behalf. If there is another way to tame these creatures without Dark asha giving up our body and soul, raising and killing daeva for the rest of our lifetimes while the years tick by, then I will do it. Not just for her sake but for mine and for every other Dark asha that will pass through these chambers. I believe that the azi is the key to her salvation and to mine. If I keep it close, then I might learn how.”
I felt chastened by my outburst almost as soon as I said it. For all I knew, the oracle might tell the association everything I said. But for one instant, through the sheerness of her veil, I could have sworn she smiled.
“Come back to me when you have taken two familiars,” she said. “One that lives and another who has never known life. You may leave.”
The crowd cheered again when I stepped back outside, the blue smoke behind me testament to my success, and for their sakes, I tried to smile.
“There is something you want to ask me,” she said.
“You lied.” The taurvi frolicked among the waves, ignoring us. “You sent me that dream on purpose. You summoned me here.”
“I did not lie. You only assumed what you wanted to see.”
“But why? I have never met you before in my life. Why did you call for me?”
“Because your reputation precedes you, Bard. Because you once had a girl you loved, who loved a bricklayer.”
I felt cold. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“More than you think. You know what it feels like to be betrayed by the law, to be betrayed by a society that was supposed to protect you from harm, not a society responsible for your grief. She died, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“By her father’s own hand.”
“Yes.” Waves crashed against the shore, the remains of the water pooling around my feet, gathering dust and sand before sweeping them back out into sea.
“Why?”
“He said she dishonored him by running away. The only way he could salvage his honor was to kill her because every day that she lived was only a reminder of her betrayal.” The sun baked us with its heat, and still I shook. “He killed her, and they said it was lawful and justified—and they let him go.”
The girl laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I chose you,” she said quietly, “because you know what it feels like to want revenge when they kill the person you love. So do I.”
26
To my mortification and to Mistress Parmina’s delight, I found that I had been booked solid for three straight months the day after I had made my debut.
Ula showed me the books she had been working on at my request, not very happily. “I never make mistakes,” she said stiffly. “And if that’s what you’re implying…”
I hastened to mollify her. “Absolutely not. You’ve been Mistress Parmina’s accountant for years, and I trust you. But I’m a new asha. How could I have no free evenings until early winter?”
Ula shrugged. “I only do what the mistress tells me. You should be happy, Lady Tea. Not all asha are requested for as frequently as you have been. At this rate, you’ll be number one for the next few months.”
When entertaining at functions, an asha is charged for every hour that she spends with her guests. The mistresses of the tearooms keep track of the asha who arrive every night as well as the length of time they stay in an official ledger. The next morning, a representative from the asha association visited each tearoom and took these tallies. Accountants like Ula would then note down how much an asha had made that previous night and then send a bill to the cha-khana they visited. The asha-ka then takes a hefty commission after that—more, if they had invested heavily in her, like Mistress Parmina had done with me—and the remainder becomes the asha’s wages.
But unless the asha was away from Ankyo for a lengthy period of time, the asha-ka traditionally held their money for them and managed their tabs with shops in the city, so the latter could charge them for any purchases their asha made. At the end of the month, the association would announce who had earned the most money for their asha-ka, to encourage competition.
I was glad that people took an interest in me—it would go a long way toward paying what I owed the Valerian, and the quicker I could work off the debt, the better—but I was appalled by the idea that I would have no rest for the better part of nearly four months. The only consolation was that my dinners with Prince Kance and Councilor Ludvig were unaffected by my new schedule, Mistress Parmina being clever enough not to distance the Valerian from either noble.
“This is a very good start to your career, Tea,” the old woman said almost dreamily as she looked through Ula’s records. “I don’t see how you can complain.”
“But I’m already overworked! I’m not sure I can juggle my lessons and go to these functions at night and still keep my health! I think I should be scaling back on meeting any more guests after—”
“Oh, really?” Mistress Parmina’s voice took on a flintier edge. “Are you saying that your history lessons are all you need to know about the world? That you are too good to meet with royalty and people of all kinds and learn more about their culture, their kingdoms, through their own words and habits? That you think you would be able to go out into the world and interact with no more than the books you’ve read instead of the people you’ve met? To go to parties may seem like an odd fancy to you, little girl. Oh, I am sure that you will enjoy yourself from time to time—I have seen my share of parties when I was your age and had my fun—but if you think an asha can live by lessons alone, without the support of the powerful kingdoms that surround Kion, then perhaps you should return to your novice lessons until you think otherwise.”