An Accident of Stars (22 page)

Gwen let out a long, sharp sigh of relief. “She'll live?”

Though her veil made it impossible to tell, Gwen felt that Dom was smiling. “She'll live. Still, we ought to keep camp here tomorrow too, so that the wounded have a better chance at recovery.”

“And for us to replenish the sevikmet,” Kada added, weariness in his tone. Knitting Saffron's fingers closed had left a single healer sweaty and drained, but the Shavaktiin had been working for hours on far more serious wounds. Without their veils and robes, she would have seen it earlier, and yet the Shavaktiin's garb, so adept at hiding gender and age and origin, had also concealed their exhaustion.

“Is there anything I can do?” Gwen asked.

“Let them heal,” Kada said, tiredly.

“You think I wouldn't?”

Dom shook her head. “Not you. Yasha.”

“Be their advocate,” Kada said, and then repeated, “Let them heal.”

For what felt like a long time after the pair departed, but which in reality was only a few minutes, Gwen stood, shocked, and stared into space. After her altercation with Yasha on the Envas road, she'd kept her distance from the matriarch, who in turn had kept her distance from Gwen. Each woman had, in her own way, tended the wounded: Gwen had overseen the injured girls, while Yasha had taken the opportunity to remember that Trishka was her daughter, and had stuck to her side like a burr.

Only now, thinking about it, did she realise that she'd fallen out of touch with Pix and Matu. All she'd seen of them after the battle was that they were whole, and well, and willing to help the Shavaktiin as they cleared away the bodies. But though it had been a long ride to the camp, Gwen hadn't spoken to either of them since the road. Instead, the Shavaktiin had become intermediaries as well as healers, taking charge of their group so naturally and comprehensively that none of them, in the aftershock of the battle, had thought to question it. Even Yasha, who was usually so sensitive to anything that even remotely resembled a challenge to her authority, had acquiesced to the Shavaktiin – and with that realisation, Gwen shivered. Yasha quiescent was Yasha planning, and after today, she wasn't minded to view that benevolently.

Coming back to herself, she glanced down at the trio of children: Saffron, Jeiden and Zech.

“Will you be all right?” she asked, as much of Jeiden as Saffron.

“I will,” they said in unison. Their likemindnedness startled them both into smiling: a tiny, unmagical miracle. The fact that they were capable of it at all lifted yet another worry from Gwen's shoulders, freeing her to go and find Pix and Matu.
I need to know what Yasha is up to. And I really ought to see how Trishka's doing.
She'd managed to push her friend's injuries to the back of her mind only because there'd been so much else to preoccupy her, but now her old concern came flooding back.

“Find me if you need me,” she said, and when they nodded, she headed off in pursuit of Yasha's plots.

S
affron sat
with Jeiden and Zech for a long time. She wasn't reconciled to the death she'd caused by any stretch of the imagination, and deep down, she suspected she never would be. The fact that Gwen was right, that it had been self-defence, didn't mitigate her horror at the willingness with which she'd swung the axe, nor did it erase the terrible, ear-burning memory of the horse's screams. She knew she'd have nightmares – or at least, she couldn't see how to avoid them – and when she looked down at her hands, they were shaking. But even so, somewhere between Gwen talking to her and the Shavaktiin transfusing her blood, she'd slowly come back to herself. She could function now, if she needed to, more or less. Saffron was shaken, hurt and lost, but she wasn't yet broken.

“Thank you,” Jeiden said, breaking the silence. “For the blood, I mean.”

Saffron looked at him. He was pretty in a way that she'd never before associated with men or boys, and though it didn't attract her – he was far too young, and even if he hadn't been, her preferences ran more to women – it nonetheless soothed her now: a reminder that there was still beauty in the midst of a horrific situation.

Still, she faltered, not knowing how to respond. The regular niceties didn't cover it, and she was too worn out to think up a better response. Instead, she blurted, “Why are they veiled like that? The Shavaktiin?”

It was a question part of her had been wanting to ask ever since the Envas road, but which grief and shock had kept locked away until now. To Saffron's eyes, the Shavaktiin's robes were virtually indistinguishable from colourful burqas, and so she'd been startled to learn that some of the wearers were male.

If Jeiden was perturbed by her sudden change of topic, he didn't show it. “I don't know why, exactly,” he said, “but I think it's part of their beliefs. The Shavaktiin are… well, they're the Shavaktiin.” He spread his hands, as though this somehow explained everything.

“They're storytellers,” said a new voice.

Saffron leapt to her feet, frightened of another attack. Her panic was such that it took her several long, heart-shuddering moments to recognise the speaker as Yena. Clearly startled herself by Saffron's reaction, the other girl took a half-step backwards, hands raised in a show of peace. One, the left, was tightly bandaged with blue cloth, and the sight of it brought Saffron back to the moment.“Sorry,” she gulped. “Sorry, Yena. I didn't hear you come up, that's all.” She ran a hand over her stubbled hair, the smallest loss of many.

“It's all right,” Yena said quietly. Even in the torchlight, she looked paler than usual. Her headscarf had slipped back, so that several messy curls hung free around her face. “I shouldn't have snuck up on you.” She hesitated, glancing down at Zech. “Will she be all right?”

“The healers say so,” said Jeiden. “She's just resting.”

Yena let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I… Good.”

With a feeling like hackles being lowered, Yena sat, a gesture that Saffron soon copied. They were side by side, with Jeiden close between them and Zech. The proximity was comforting.

After a moment, Yena said, “I don't fully understand it, but the Shavaktiin believe that all stories are true, and that all truth is stories. So when they act in the world, they do so as storytellers: to shape events, rather than be the subject of them. For them, it's a holy calling. With their veils, they're anonymous, and that puts them outside of things: stories are about individual characters, not interchangeable servants. If they act unveiled, it means they're taking a personal path in the story, though I've never really understood how they draw the distinction. I mean, even veiled,
they
still know who they are.”

Saffron blinked, trying to comprehend the idea. “So they're, what – religious narrators?”

“Something like that.” Yena shrugged.

“And they came to help us.” She gulped, an odd sense of foreboding settling in her stomach. “So what story do they think we're a part of, then? Or whose?”

To that, neither Yena nor Jeiden had an answer.

After that, the three of them fell silent. Exhaustion covered them all like a thick fur cloak, and one that nobody had the strength or inclination to shrug off. Despite her discomfort of the night before, Saffron felt so heartsick and weary that when her eyes began to close, she had no compunctions about stretching out to sleep on the ground, and when Yena tentatively curled up against her back, her injured left hand wrapped around Saffron's waist, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Inexplicably, her final thoughts before falling asleep were of a dusty crossroads, and a field of burning flowers.

T
o her mingled
relief and irritation, Gwen found Trishka, Pix and Matu talking quietly around a small fire on the eastern edge of the camp – relief because Trishka's burns had been healed, and irritation because Yasha, too, was in attendance. Not that she'd counted on the matriarch being elsewhere; it just made ignoring her impossible. Swallowing a sigh, Gwen approached and inclined her head respectfully, though the effort set her teeth on edge.

“Yasha,” she said.

A slight pause. Then, “Gwen,” Yasha said, returning the gesture with equal stiffness.Some tension went out of the air. Trishka flicked her gaze from Gwen to the empty space beside her – a tacit invitation to sit. Gwen accepted it gratefully, joints protesting as she lowered herself to the ground. She favoured Trishka with a long, careful look, eyes raking the place where, up until a few hours ago, the skin of her friend's face had been raw and burnt. Now only faint, clean scars remained: a testament to the strength of the Shavaktiin healers.

“Well,” said Pix. Her voice was unusually soft, and despite the warmth of the firelight she looked pinched and drawn, the strain of the day's events clearly etched on her face. Matu looked little better: his long hair was filthy with sweat, blood and dirt, resisting his efforts to comb it clean with his fingers. Pix leaned her head on his shoulder, prompting him to put an arm around her.

“What a pretty sight we make,” he murmured, giving his sister a squeeze. Almost, Gwen smiled; for all that the siblings bickered, their affection was real.

“Pretty indeed,” said Yasha, “considering that we mightn't have lived to see it.”

“Must you always ruin the moment?” Gwen said, then waved away the remark with a weary hand when Pix and Matu tensed. “Sorry. I don't want to fight.”

“Hmph,” said Yasha, but she shrugged too, which Gwen took to mean that no offence would be taken. “It doesn't matter in any case. We need to get rid of these heretics and ride for Yevekshasa as soon as the girls can bear it.”

“Yevekshasa?” Pix lifted her head. “Shouldn't we go to see Amenet first, at Avekou? Without her support, the Council of Queens–”

Yasha cut her off with a vehement snort of derision. “Don't speak to me of the Council, Pixeva ore Pixeva. Amenet would be unwise to reject the strength of Veksh, but twice and twice again unwise to accept it without bargaining, the process of which takes time that none of us can afford. Present her with the idea of an army, and she can counter with ideas of her own; present her with the army itself, and what can she do but accept or surrender to it? And even if she were rash enough to agree upfront, there's still the queens to contend with – and how would we look if they refused us after we'd already bartered their aid? No. We go first to Yevekshasa, and only then to Avekou.” Her empty hand twitched, as though she'd forgotten she no longer held her staff and was therefore unable to thump it down, this being her preferred method of emphasising such proclamations.

“Still, though,” said Gwen, glancing at Trishka for backup, “Amenet might stall us even if we arrive with an army. For one thing, she'll have to appease her allies, make them understand that we're there to support her claim, rather than Kadeja's – which, of course,” she added smoothly, preempting Yasha's hiss of irritation, “is exactly the sort of prejudicial ignorance one should expect from Kenan nobles. But one way or another, we have to deal with them, and if haste's the plan, then better to have it done with by the time we arrive, rather than waste more time in debate.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Trishka. Yasha flashed her an irritated look.

“I could go back,” said Matu, just quickly enough that Gwen winced on his behalf. Of course he'd want to see Amenet again! But Matu had always been a hopeless courtier and an even worse negotiator, at least when it came to people he actually liked; and in any case, they needed his skills with the zuymet.

“You can't,” said Gwen. “If nothing else, you still need to teach Saffron Vekshi – and don't try to palm it off on Zech, you know she's not ready to teach two tongues at once. Your sister, however, has no such commitments.”

“
Me
?” Pix looked genuinely startled. “Why in the worlds should
I
go?”

“Why not?” Gwen countered. “It was you Amenet wanted to speak with originally, wasn't it? And you're certainly a better choice than your brother. No offence,” she added, prompting Matu to throw up his hands in mock resignation, “but you both know it's true.”Yasha frowned. “I suppose,” she said, reluctantly, “there
might
be some merit to your suggestion, Gwen Vere.”

Gwen braced herself. “And she should take Viya with her, too.”

Instant silence. Yasha's stare was as cold as week-old embers.

“Hear me out,” Gwen said. “Leoden has no children, and nor does Kadeja. If both of them are deposed, then interim control of Kena will pass straight to the Cuivexa – whose family, might I add, are probably in Amenet's camp already. The best hope for stability will be if Viya joins Amenet's mahu'kedet, but that won't happen if you insist on taking her to Veksh.”

“And why not?” Yasha growled.

“Because–” Gwen began, but Trishka cut her off, laying a hand on her mother's arm as she spoke.

“It'll be hard enough to convince the queens that saving Kena is worth their while without giving them the option of a royal hostage too. It's been more than a hundred years since any Kenan monarch set foot in Veksh, and you want to take the girl there against her will? What would happen to Amenet's cause if Viya were seen to be killed by the Council? We can't guarantee her safety; not with a party this small. But send her to treat with Amenet, and you legitimise her rebellion by putting a member of the royal mahu'kedet at the forefront of it. And besides, the girl wants to go – this way, you don't have to worry she'll try to escape, and she'll owe you a boon for your kindness into the bargain.”

Yasha looked livid, which was how Gwen knew they'd won; only the forced acknowledgement of her own shortcomings could possibly make the matriarch that angry. “Fine!” she barked, throwing up a hand. “As well to be rid of her anyway, the disrespectful snip. Let Pixeva deal with her nonsense, and whatever else comes will come. And,” she added fiercely, glaring at Pix, “you can take the damn Shavaktiin with you!”

“Some of us, anyway,” said a new speaker.

Even Yasha jumped, though Gwen herself was so startled that she forgot to find it funny. A figure emerged from the shadows beyond their circle of firelight. It was the Shavaktiin leader, a green-robed woman with light brown hands and a soft, melodic voice. Her name, Gwen recalled after a moment, was Halaya, and though her latticed veil concealed her expression, her head inclined in apology.

“Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.” Without invitation, she gathered her robes and sat between Trishka and Yasha, completely unfazed by the matriarch's affront. “Nonetheless, I'll be blunt: it was neither by luck nor accident that we found you when we did. One of our sisters in Karavos witnessed the rescue of the Cuivexa by your young ones, and reported it through the dreamscape as a shift in Kena's story. Our dreamseers watched your flight to the Envas road, and as our coterie was closest to hand, it was we who came to find you. Knowing the danger of ambush was great, we hurried; had we done otherwise, all of you would be either dead or captured.”

Gwen shuddered. Yasha clamped her jaw shut. Pix, though, looked enlightened.

“Zech said she thought a Shavaktiin was following her,” she mused. “And just as well too, it turns out.” She smiled at Halaya – the first genuine such expression Gwen had seen on her all day – and though it wasn't clear if the gesture was returned, when Halaya spoke again her voice was noticeably warmer.

“I can understand why you might wish to travel without us. But the matter is out of my hands, and therefore yours. The story moves as it may, and we are bound to follow its threads. Ride from us, and we will be forced to follow. Count us as companions, and we may yet be of assistance.”

“And what makes you think,” said Yasha, her words dangerously soft, “I'd ever beg assistance from the Shavaktiin, or willingly lend myself to your heretical schemes?”

Halaya sighed, the exhalation gentle with amusement and regret. “Because we know you, Yasha a Yasara. We tell your story. You're the Queen Who Walked.”

To Gwen's complete astonishment, Yasha flinched. Her face grew cold and closed. “Some stories are not yours to tell,” she said sharply. Surprised by this reaction, Halaya raised her hands palm out to show she'd meant no offence. But as everyone looked to her for an explanation, all Yasha could do was shake her head, some past fury riding the lines of her face. It was easy to forget how old she truly was – early eighties, at Gwen's best guess – when her usual strength and vigour belied even the numerical evidence of her having a full-grown daughter and granddaughters. For the first time, Gwen found herself wondering how much effort it took Yasha to project the image she did, and how much else she successfully kept hidden.

“Mother?” asked Trishka, breaking the silence.

The sound of her daughter's voice brought Yasha back to herself.

“You'll travel with us,” she croaked. “Ashasa strike me for all my sins.”

And with that, she rose and walked away, retreating into shadow.

For a moment, everyone looked stunned.

“I did not expect that,” Halaya said quietly.

Trishka stared at her. “What did you expect then?”

“Pride, maybe?” The Shavaktiin shrugged and sighed. “My apologies. I forget sometimes that others prefer to keep their stories secret.”

“The Queen Who Walked,” Matu murmured. “I'd almost forgotten that name.”

Pix was incredulous. “You know the story?”

“My dear sister, you can accuse me of being many things, but a bad listener isn't one of them.”

“I think you're bluffing.”

“I think you're jealous.”

“I think–”

“
I
think,” Trishka said, cutting Pix off, “that the pair of you should show some respect. There's a time and place for every tale, and now isn't right for this one. Whatever else you think of my mother, you can grant her that much at least.”

The siblings quieted instantly, as shamefaced as children: Trishka's reprimands were rare enough that in some ways, they were even more fearsome than Yasha's.

Abruptly, Gwen stood. Exhaustion had claimed her, a sleep-winged eagle diving down to latch its claws in her bones. Yasha's departure had left a sour taste in her mouth – not out of sympathy, but because it stood as a reminder of her own ignorance, a quality she had never enjoyed acknowledging.

When the others looked at her, she meant to say g
oodnight
, but what came out was, “I'm too tired for this.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked heavily away – though where to, she couldn't have said. She had no idea where she was meant to sleep, and despite her weariness, her feet kept moving, propelling her on an aimless, slow trajectory.

“Gwen?”

Halaya's voice. Gwen paused mid stride, just long enough for the Shavaktiin woman to come alongside her.

“What is it?” she asked.

Halaya put a hand on her arm, pulling her to a halt. “There's a bedroll and blanket set up for you, on the other side of the camp. I wasn't sure you'd been told.”

“I hadn't been, but my thanks. I'm glad to hear it.”

“It was never my intention to cause Yasha distress.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. You set her reeling a bit, but she'll recover soon enough. She always does.”

Gwen let Halaya lead her back the way she'd come, towards the promised bed. Around them, the sprawling camp alternated between fire and shadow, small campfires sending sparks up into the darkness like tiny wayward stars. Horses and roas stirred sleepily at their perimeter pickets, snuffling in their dreams. Here and there, robed Shavaktiin moved silently between groups of sitting people, some to join the sentries who ringed the camp, the rest on whatever unfathomable business motivated those who believed above all in the will of stories.

As they passed the place where Zechalia lay, Gwen paused, finding strength enough for fondness at the sight of Zech, Jeiden, Yena and Saffron curled together like pups in a basket.

“Like a little mahu'kedet,” Halaya said fondly.

“Indeed,” said Gwen, her gaze lingering on Zech and Saffron. She'd been so worried for both of them, their respective hurts in the wake of the battle forming an awful, perfect continuum between wounds of the body and wounds of the soul, but at the sight of them sleeping, she felt part of herself relax.
Thank luck for
the blood transfusion,
she thought – then stopped, a belated realisation forming in her mind.

“I know little enough about magic,” she said, slowly. “Only that it works. And most of the time that's enough for me, however it bends my head. But it strikes me as odd that a gift which can reknit skin and bone would stumble at the manufacture of blood, or be unable to change one type into another at need.”

Halaya chuckled. “The truth doesn't always make for a good story. Some lies are useful, not because they trick us into thinking the world is different, but because they show us that it could be. One girl needed purpose; the other needed blood. Had they not been depleted from tending so many injuries, I'm sure that Kada and Dom could have saved Zechalia alone; but as they couldn't, neither they nor I saw any harm in taking the opportunity to give meaning to one who required it.”

“You couldn't have known how she'd react.”

“Maybe, but I could guess.” Halaya sighed. “She was lost, Gwen. Everything was beyond her control, and so we gave her a choice that wasn't – one that allowed her to help. Perhaps that was a risk, but it still paid off.”