Infidel (8 page)

“Which way did you vote?”
 

Fatima showed her teeth. “We’re no longer children, Nyxnissa. Let’s not fight.”
 

The matron returned from the back. “Blood test says the girl’s ours,” she said. She handed a coded note to Fatima. “Called Ara so Basmirah. One of Shadha’s girls.”
 

“Shadha?” Nyx said.
 

Fatima stared at the coded note. Nyx saw her mouth harden. Then she raised her gaze, and the slip in her expression smoothed.
 

“The council has encountered some conflicts of interest among its members.”
 

“So she’s rogue after all?” Nyx said. There was no more “conflicting interest” in Nasheen than bel dames policing a rogue bel dame.

“That term is a little extreme,” Fatima said. “We have full control over the matter.”

“Isn’t that what Alharazad said before she killed half the council twenty years ago?”

“Thank you for bringing in the head,” Fatima said, avoiding her look. “We’ll get her reanimated and interrogate her. I assume you checked to make sure the diplomat’s name wasn’t on a red note?”
 

“Obviously.”

“And—”

“And I checked for mine,” Nyx said.
 

Fatima nodded, showed her teeth again. Was that supposed to be a smile? Nyx wondered if the facial scar had severed something essential in Fatima’s face. Best she remembered, Fatima knew how to smile, when it suited her. “If nothing else, we’ll discipline her for causing a public disturbance. You should come up to file a report.”

“Why the fuck would I file a report?”

“Records. The council loves them. Indulge me.” Fatima hesitated a moment, then, “What happened in Chenja was a misunderstanding.” Her words came out quickly, like pulling a scab on some old wound. “The Queen saw fit to clarify your purpose for being in Chenja after the fact, but you must have understood my position at the time. It’s another reason you aren’t dead. In the future, it would be… prudent if you informed us of your private notes. It ensures that our interests are aligned.”
 

So, Nyx thought, it had bothered Fatima that she tortured her back in Chenja. That was something.

“The Queen told you Rasheeda was working both sides back then?” Nyx asked.
 

“No note was put out on Rasheeda. She was reported dead six years ago. I assumed you’d killed her.”

“I did, but I never burned the head,” Nyx said. “I guess somebody could have had her reanimated within the thirty-hour window.” Tended to happen, with rogue bel dames.
 

“You, of all people, should know better,” Fatima said. “As it is here, there have been some changes.”
 

“Like you getting elected?”
 

They were only an arm’s length apart now. They could have reached out and strangled each other. Nyx thought about that for a while. “How many council members are rogue, now?” Nyx asked.

Fatima showed her teeth again in her half smile/half grimace. “Bel dames don’t go rogue.”
 

“Like Rasheeda didn’t go rogue? Or this Ara girl? You remember who I am?”

“I remember. Which is why you should come upstairs and file that report.”
 

Nyx could have filed a report in the office. Fatima didn’t invite folks up into Bloodmount proper for paperwork. All told, Nyx was idly curious about why Fatima wanted to pull her away privately. She could kill her easily and legally enough here.
 

Nyx shrugged. “Your time.”
 

Fatima’s mouth twitched.
 

Nyx followed Fatima back into the courtyard. The two bel dames posted outside the door took up the rear. She was struck by how young they looked. Neither was a day over twenty, but they carried themselves with the assurance of bel dames—the cool expressions, squared shoulders. She noted that the pistols at their hips were the new kind—those organic hybrids with green glowing barrels.
 

Fatima led her up toward the primary filter at the base of the hill. Nyx passed through it with a soft pop and hiss. She smelled something strange on the other side, and realized the filter had eaten at the hair on her arms. She touched her scalp, and found that her braids were dry and frayed.
 

“Turned up your filter?” Nyx asked. Her skin prickled.

Fatima half turned, continued walking. “No. Perhaps it simply doesn’t like you.”
 

Nyx frowned. She didn’t want to test any more filters.
 

Fatima turned off the paved road, toward the big stone residence where the bel dame and council offices resided.
 

“You come out for every call from the front desk?” Nyx said.

“I had your code flagged, as I said.” Fatima pressed her hand to the faceplate on the front door. It opened, and they stepped into the cool foyer. The bel dames continued to keep pace with them. Nyx heard the soft
shush-shush
of water being piped through the walls, cooling the building.
 

Fatima motioned to the stairs. “My office is this way.”
 

Nyx hesitated on the stairs. Offices for petty officials and bug pushers were downstairs. The bel dame council offices were upstairs.
 

“When were you actually elected?” Nyx asked.
 

“I joined the bel dame council last year,” Fatima said. She started up the stairs.
 

Nyx followed Fatima into a wide circular foyer. She saw runners on either side of the door, and lifted her head to see the ass-end of a metal portcullis hidden in the deep recesses of the ceiling. The floor was blood-red brick. The bel dame council offices ringed the foyer. All of the doors were made of metal-studded bug secretions. She noted personal filters on each door, and faceplates. At the center of the room stood a ragged bel dame with a face like a smashed melon. She already had both hands on the hilts of her pistols when Nyx and Fatima entered.
 

Fatima keyed Nyx into her office. Inside, there was very little furniture. A low table, some rugs, cushions to sit on, a big standing cabinet. The way the table was angled, nobody would have to sit with their back to the door. Still, Nyx took her time finding a good place to sit.

She eased herself to the floor and pushed one of the cushions behind her. The windows were filtered slits, set just above head height. Every building on the hill was built like a fortress.
 

“It’s quiet up here,” Nyx said.
 

 
Fatima sat across from her at the table. “We’re in the process of moving our operations,” Fatima said.
 

Nyx didn’t like sitting on the floor. It was one of the things she missed the least about being a bel dame.
 
“Moving operations? Another bluff, like last time? Don’t shit me, Fatima, bel dames have operated out of Mushtallah for over a thousand years.”
 

Fatima shrugged. Nyx noted that she hadn’t pulled out a slide or some organic paper for a blooded statement. She wished for a cigarette, some sen, a glass of whiskey—something to do with her hands. Sitting across from Fatima this way felt like being back in bel dame school. So she did what they did in school—laid her hands flat on the table. Fatima did the same.
 

“We still have partial residences in Amtullah, which we had begun to establish during the last move.”
 

“You’re clearing the whole quarter?”

“Select training facilities will remain, as well as the reclamation office. We’ll continue taking our oaths in the tower, and Bloodmount is still sovereign. A consulate will remain.”

“A consulate? You’re not a foreign country.”

“After a fashion. It seemed only polite to keep an emissary in Mushtallah, near the Queen’s seat.”
 

Nyx mulled over that for a while. She watched Fatima’s dour face.
 

“You didn’t bring me up here for a statement,” Nyx said.
 

“No,” Fatima said.
 

Nyx’s fingers twitched. She considered stabbing Fatima with one of the poisoned needles stashed in her braids.
 

“I didn’t expect the rogues to come after you,” Fatima said. “But because they did, it does open some possibilities.”
 

“Can we talk about it over a drink?” Nyx asked.
 

“No,” Fatima said. “I know why the rogues want you dead. I thought about it myself, before things got… messy. You must understand the politics of bel dames using rogues to do their black work?”
 

“Yeah, I remember you and Rasheeda sending me to prison.”

“You weren’t rogue. Merely acting against our ethics. We don’t sell out our country on the black market. It’s dishonorable.”

“Ferrying zygotes is hardly—”

“This isn’t the time to discuss it,” Fatima said sharply. “Old days. Old arguments. I speak of today.”

Nyx thought about stabbing her with a needle again.

“Bringing in rogues is much trickier than merely disciplining a morally corrupt bel dame,” Fatima said.
 

“Cause then you’ve got to admit you’re dealing with a bel dame civil war?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“What do you want, Fatima?”

Fatima’s mouth twitched. Another attempt at a smile? “The question is, what do
you
want, Nyx?”
 

Nyx shook her head. “I can’t do what you’re asking.”

“Who better?”

“Somebody who likes life a little less.”
 

Nyx began to rise.
 

“Wait.” Fatima held up her hand. “You haven’t asked what I can offer you.”

“What, money? Me and my team are doing all right. If you asked me up here for this you already know that.”

“What’s the one thing I can offer you that no one else can?”

“Prison?”
 

Fatima clucked her tongue. “Come now, anyone can get you that.” She got to her feet. Nyx noted her favoring her knee, again. She walked to the big cabinet behind her and pressed her hand to the faceplate. The cabinet opened. She pulled out a high-profile document case made of shiny black resin. They were fireproof, waterproof, and generally impossible to open without the right blood code. She palmed it open and pulled out a slick sheet of organic paper. She laid the paper on the table in front of Nyx and took her time sitting down again.
 

Nyx grabbed the paper. She couldn’t make out much. It was First Family nonsense on flowery monarchy script. Official documents like this were why she liked to keep somebody lettered on her team.
   

“What, you want me to wipe my ass with it?” Nyx said. She knew the bravado wouldn’t fool Fatima into thinking she understood it, but it made her feel better.

“That’s a six-year-old request from Queen Zaynab asking us to reinstate your bel dame status,” Fatima said.
 

Nyx felt her gut clench. “I didn’t think she bothered.”

“She did. We’ve been… processing it.”
 

“For six years?”

Fatima shrugged. “Rejected requests are forever rejected. Until it’s rejected, it’s still being… processed.”
 

Nyx really wanted a drink. “What’s your point?”

“I can make you a bel dame again.”
 

“If I hunt down your rogues for you,” Nyx said.
 

“Tell me about your life right now, Nyx.”
 

“I have a good fucking life.”

“Do you? Babysitting diplomats’ daughters. Hunting down First Family servants who’ve stolen their cast iron. Paying miserable wages to a venom addict and harboring an all but illiterate boy shifter—”
 

“Suha’s reformed, and the kid can read just fine.”
 

Fatima raised a brow. “My point. What happened to your honor, Nyx?”

“Like you know what that is. Fuck you.”

“Let me tell you something. I’ve worked twenty years to clean up the bel dame circle. I’ve hunted and bled a dozen petty rogues just like you. You’re the only one we didn’t reform or kill. Why is that?”
 

“You tell me.”

“Somebody was protecting you. I don’t know who it was, and I’m not sure I care to know. But whoever it was isn’t protecting you anymore. I can offer you protection.”

“If I hunt down the rogues.”

“If you work for me.”

Nyx shook her head. “Fuck you.” She started to the door.
 

“Think about it. No one else is powerful enough to offer you protection anymore, Nyx. Not even the Queen.”

We’ll see about that, Nyx thought.
 

She pushed out into the foyer. The hulking bel dame guard was immediately at her side. Nyx jerked away reflexively.