The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) (11 page)

Kite-iyan had been built on one of the broad, squat hills that bordered the Goddess’s Blood river valley. From there the palace stood sentinel over neatly sectioned tracts of farmland and orchards, and the maze of roads that connected each part of Gujaareh with every other. In the springtime, when the Prince usually made the journey, most of the farms were under floodwaters; now in high summer they were lush and green. As the party continued along the Moonpath, Niyes caught glimpses of workers in the fields below stopping to watch as the caravan rode by. Some knelt and manuflected; the rest shaded their eyes as if it were indeed the Sun himself who passed so near.

The gates of Kite-iyan opened as the palace came into view. When the troop drew to a halt, a dozen children poured out of the palace’s entrance, the smallest of them running to meet the party. The Prince laughed and spurred his horse forward, waving the soldiers aside. He dismounted and then was mobbed by the youngsters, who showed no shyness in tugging on the Prince’s shirt or skirt or even his braids to gain his attention. And he lavished it on them, Niyes saw, ruffling hair here or bestowing a rough hug there, picking up the youngest to carry on his hip, chatting with the rest as he walked.

Niyes signaled the soldiers to dismount and quietly flank the Moonpath and palace entrance. He expected little trouble; the Prince’s decision to visit Kite-iyan had been spur-of-the-moment, and Gujaareh had no enemies—overtly—who could arrange unpleasantness on such short notice. It still never hurt to be certain.

Beyond the knot around the Prince, a handful of adults and older children waited more calmly near the gate. Among them Niyes spotted the Prince’s firstwife Hendet, their son Wanahomen, and Charris, captain of the guard at Kite-iyan. The Prince patted several of the children to send them inside, handed the youngest off to an older sibling, and then paused to exchange affections with his wife and favorite son, kissing the former and playfully gripping the arm of the latter in a mock-combative gesture.

It would not be long before Wanahomen’s combativeness became something more than playful, Niyes gauged, gazing at the young man’s arms; they rippled with muscle beneath the finely tailored linen of his shirt. The Prince still outstripped his son in height and build… but it was cunning, and not physical prowess, that usually decided the contest for the Aureole. Wanahomen was more than old enough for that. Yet there was no cunning in Wanahomen’s eyes, Niyes saw—nothing but adoration as he embraced his father.

“Did you really bring a full forty of men?” drawled a familiar voice.

Distracted, Niyes blinked away from the Prince to see that Charris had drawn near. The guard-captain was smiling, although his green eyes showed more than a little contempt. “Did you expect trouble, Niyes, or are you just becoming paranoid in your old age?”

Niyes set his teeth and smiled back. “When the safety of the Prince and his family are at stake, I take no chances.”

“As you should not,” the Prince said, turning away from Wanahomen to gaze at both men. There was a hint of censure
in the Prince’s face; Niyes knew he detested strife among his soldiers. He bowed over his hand in silent apology, Charris did the same, and the Prince inclined his head in acceptance. Then he added, “As no doubt Captain Charris takes no chances, even here within Kite-iyan’s walls. We will trust his guardianship now, Niyes, and that of the men under his command. Tell your soldiers to relax and avail themselves of my wives’ hospitality until we leave.”

Niyes inclined his head obediently; Charris did too at the corner of his vision. So Niyes turned and gave quick orders to the men to stable their horses properly before taking their unexpected recreation, and then he followed the Prince and his family into the palace.

In the courtyard many more people waited—some of the Prince’s other wives and children, the staff and servants. The Prince moved among them without hesitation, offering smiles and greetings as he walked. Niyes tensed, uncomfortable as always to see Gujaareh’s ruler unguarded amid such a large crowd—but then he noted the scattering of soldiers’ uniforms among the gowns and forced himself to relax.

“Come, Niyes,” the Prince said, pausing at the archway that led into the palace’s heart. “You’ve never been here before, have you? Though you knew Charris…”

“We trained together, my Prince,” Niyes said, moving to join him.

“You’re not friends, I gather.”

The crowd was sparse here at the arch; Charris was still in the courtyard, giving orders to his men. Niyes cleared his throat. “No, my Prince. He is zhinha.”

The Prince laughed, then led him forward into wide, airy halls of high ceilings and artfully arched windows. “Forgive me for laughing, old friend, but you must realize the rivalry between shunha and zhinha has always been amusing to those of my lineage. Look.” He took Niyes’ hand, lifting their hands together to show the contrast: river-earth black and desert-sand brown. “I have the same amount of gods’ blood in my veins as shunha, zhinha, or even Kisuati sonha—leaving aside the fact that as Hananja’s Avatar I hold godly status of my own. And yet because I am a few gradations paler in shade…”

“It is more than that, my Prince,” Niyes said stiffly.

“Yes, yes.” The Prince smiled and released Niyes’ hand. “You’re always so serious. We’re here for leisure—although we must discuss one bit of business first. Come, let me show you around.”

Kite-iyan was a women’s palace; its walls were of rose marble threaded with occasional veins of gold. Troughs lined the hallways at intervals, abloom with flowering plants. Pictographs of Dreaming Moon and her children abounded in the decor, drawn from the more pleasant tales of the heavenly family’s life. They also passed wide chambers devoted to women’s interests—libraries and sculpture halls, practice rooms for stick-fighting and dance. A few of these were occupied, Niyes noticed, as not all of the Prince’s wives had deigned to interrupt their routines for his visit.

“Things are very different here from my youth,” the Prince mused, nodding to women or children as they walked. “In my father’s day, this place was a flower-strewn prison. He took any woman to wife who caught his eye, regardless of her feelings on
the matter. They were brought here, permitted no visitors or holidays, wholly cut off from the world beyond the gates. It was just as bad for us children, though we were at least permitted to visit the city from time to time. Beyond our lessons there was nothing to do but compete for status and our father’s favor, and that we did with a will. Poisonous, all of it.

“Since I began my own marriages I have striven to do better. My children are permitted to know their maternal relatives. Their mothers may continue to manage their own separate households and businesses, and they can come and go as they please. And you see that I take no great care to keep men away. I saw a few of the younger wives considering that sloe-eyed archer of yours. I hope he’s strong enough to endure them all.” He shrugged and grinned as Niyes looked at him in astonishment. “It takes a great deal to keep two hundred and fifty-six women happy, man; your soldiers are doing me a great favor, believe me! Any children who result only add to my glory, after all.”

Niyes nodded slowly, more unnerved than amused by this reminder that the Prince missed nothing. “The highcastes have been discussing your marital reforms, my Prince. Many find the changes… disturbing. But then we shunha have always revered our women in the old ways.”

“Believe it or not, Niyes, I agree with the ideals of the shunha.” They began to climb a staircase that wound in a gentle upward spiral; sunbeams from narrow windows slanted across it like wheel-spokes. “Gujaareh has been influenced far more than it should be by ill-mannered savages who bore holes through their skulls to cure headaches. It’s disgraceful. I cannot
marry fewer wives, but I can remember that they are human beings, not broodmares. I treat my children like the treasures they are. You were watching my son Wana. Were you surprised that he loves me?”

Niyes blinked in surprise. “Yes, my lord.”

“You expected antagonism. The young lion, sizing up the leader of the pride. But we are not animals, Niyes. We are not meant to scrabble over scraps of power, pulling one another down like crabs in a barrel. My father followed that model. So did I, to succeed him. I killed most of my siblings and their mothers. I killed my father, for that matter—sent him to the Throne of Dreams with my own hands. He deserved no less honor.”

Niyes flinched. Only habit, and the fact that the Prince did not slow, kept his feet moving up the steps. That the Prince had assassinated his way to the Aureole was no surprise; half the city suspected it. But for the Prince to admit his crime was another matter altogether.

He speaks to me of treason. Why?

“I mean to change all that, Niyes.”

They passed a landing, heading toward the upper floors of what appeared to be one of Kite-iyan’s towers. The walkways here were empty, Niyes noticed, the steps edged in a faint sheen of dust.

“I mean for my children never to have to murder their own flesh and blood. I mean for my wives to love me—if they wish—and not fear me. I mean for Gujaareh to have strong, wise leadership for as long as it stands. No more madness. No need to rely on the Hetawa for our peace and happiness.”

Niyes frowned, distracted from his growing unease. “Admira
ble goals, my Prince—but while you are certainly a wise ruler, you cannot guarantee that all your heirs will be. As long as power is the prize, they will compete, and the ruthless will win.”

“Yes. I know. It weakens us, all this infighting. Like you and Charris, shunha and zhinha, Gujaareh and Kisua. When we weaken ourselves so much, it becomes easy for others to dominate.”

They stopped at another landing, this one fairly high in the tower. Afternoon sunlight cast an overlapping pattern of red-gold rectangles across the floor. At the end of the landing stood a heavy wooden door, braced and decorated with metalwork in the northern style. A large, ornate lock was set into the band across its middle.

A door? In Kite-iyan?

“My Prince…” Niyes swallowed and found his throat suddenly dry. “If I may ask, where are we? What are we to discuss, all the way up here?”

The Prince walked to the door and reached into his shirt, pulling out a long, heavy key on a slender gold chain. “One of my wives is here.”

“One of your—” He stared at the Prince in confusion. The Prince gazed at the door, holding the key but making no move to open it.

“I grant my wives a great deal of freedom, but I expect loyalty in return. This one spied on me for the Hetawa.” He glanced at Niyes, his eyes distant and hard. “Betrayal is the one thing I cannot forgive.”

Coldness slithered along Niyes’ spine.
I will die today
, he thought.

The Prince gave a slight, sad smile as if he’d heard those words, then turned to unlock the door. His voice, when he spoke again, was light, conversational, as it had been throughout their tour. Still, there was an edge to it now that Niyes did not miss.

“You must realize, Niyes: I understand why she did it. She was raised in the Hetawa’s House of Children; they were family to her. She followed her conscience, and I don’t blame her for that. Indeed, I admire her integrity… but betrayal is still betrayal, and it cannot go unpunished.”

The Prince pushed open the door and stepped within, turning back to gaze at Niyes. After a moment, slower, Niyes followed.

Beyond the door was a narrow chamber lined along one side by windows—an extension of the hall that must have at some point been walled off to form a storage room. The windows here had been bricked shut, however, save a small one at the far end. Shadows shrouded the room, except where a single bloody rectangle of light spread across the floor. The air smelled of dust and wood resin, and things less wholesome. Stale sweat, unwashed flesh, an un-emptied toilet box. Niyes squinted into the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. All he could make out at first was a woman’s bare foot, lying motionless at the edge of the light. Her leg, and the rest of her, disappeared into the shadows beyond.

From somewhere in the direction of her body, Niyes heard harsh, uneven breathing.

The Prince closed the door behind them. The clack of its heavy foreign latch was very loud in the small space.

“The plain fact of the matter,” the Prince continued, “is that
the Hetawa is no threat. They can do nothing to me without harming themselves. But Kisua is another matter, Niyes. You’ve forced my hand by involving lovely, clever Sunandi. I must push my plans forward by several months because of this, even once I kill her. And that, too, is a true shame; I liked her very much.”

“My Prince—” Niyes caught himself, even as his heart began to thud uncomfortably fast. It was too late. Had been too late the moment he’d decided to take the corpse from the prison as evidence; he had known that all along. Still, he was shunha, born of one of Gujaareh’s oldest lineages. He would die with dignity. “… It was for Gujaareh that I did it, my lord.”

The Prince’s eyes softened. He gripped Niyes’ arm for just a moment, then let him go. “I know, old friend. I don’t blame you either, though I believe you judged me wrongly. I too do what I must, for Gujaareh.”

From the far end of the room they both heard the harsh breaths quicken. A man’s voice, thick as mud over stones, spoke. “I… can smell the Moons, Brother. Night comes.” Then lower, hungry—“I am empty. I hurt.”

The Prince glanced in that direction. With one hand, he plucked something from the hipstrap of his loinskirt and rapped it against a nearby wall. A faint, high-pitched whine sang in response, maddeningly familiar—and then Niyes remembered. The Hetawa. Every month when he went to offer his tithe of dreams. Jungissa, the stone that vibrated with a life of its own, essential for magic.