The Mirror Empire (38 page)

“It must have been a difficult decision.”

“This isn’t the Pass War,” Ghrasia said, “but we risk making the same mistakes.”

“We have rules at Liona,” Ahkio said. “If you hadn’t fired on the legionnaires–”

“Spoken like an Ora,” Ghrasia said.

“Or a Kai,” Ahkio said. “I may not like the morality of those policies, but I understand them.”

Ghrasia flexed her scarred knuckles. “I’ll find the assassins,” she said, “but this is all going to get bigger, Kai.”

“One more thing, Ghrasia. When you find these assassins… when you speak to them… don’t be surprised if they look like us. If they speak like us. There’s a reason they’ve been so difficult to find.”

Ghrasia frowned. “And will you tell me the reason?”

“In time,” he said, and opened the door.

 

Ahkio married Mohrai Hona Sorai in the Osono clan square amid a brilliant stir of falling leaves, big as plates, and a cascade of tiny white seedpods carried on the stormy wind. He remembered her hands were soft, and she had a kind mouth, and when she stood next to him, her mother stood a little straighter, too.

They married with every clan leader in the country in attendance, even if a few of them huddled in the council house behind them, surly that it was not their clan he joined through marriage. Liaro drank with them inside. Ahkio did not blame him.

Nasaka came in from the temple, acting in her capacity as Ahkio’s closest kin, and bound their hands in brilliant blue grass and lemon flowers.

After, Ahkio led Mohrai upstairs to his cluttered rooms. Caisa had tried to tidy the trunks and stacks of paper, but even now, married and bound to Sorai, his mind was on the work more than the marriage.

“I expect you’ll want me to go home in the morning,” Mohrai said. She dressed in violet; orange flowers were pinned in her hair.

“I expect you have lovers to get back to,” he said.

“Has Ora Nasaka spoken to you about that?”

“It’s not necessary,” he said. “I need Sorai’s loyalty. Is that less than romantic?”

She smiled. A lovely smile that reminded him of Meyna. “My family has held the harbor for two centuries, Kai. I’m aware of what this match means. I just wanted to make sure you were, too.” She began pulling the flowers from her hair. “I’ve spoken with Ghrasia Madah about the murders she’s investigating, and Ora Nasaka told me about the invaders. I expect my family to be kept in conversation as things progress.”

“You will be. Anything else?”

“I have two lovers, both from Sorai. I’d like permission to continue to court them.”

“You have it.”

“And you?”

“And me what?”

“Lovers?”

“Just my cousin Liaro. And that’s… what it is.”

“Of course. I see no conflict there.”

“Let’s sleep,” she said. “I’ve never seen a man look so haunted. You made a good choice, Kai. Ora Nasaka has your best interests at heart. My family is with you. I am with you.”

Ahkio stared at the stack of temple maps. “Let’s hope it’s enough,” he said.

 

After Mohrai went back to the harbor, Ahkio finalized a draft of the revised Dhai constitution. The clan leaders set their signatures on it, and he took it up to his room to stare at it. They would sit with him at council four times a year, rotating the location of the meeting to a new clan each time, and debate matters of state. Clan leaders would continue to be elected by their clans, and each clan had the same weight when voting motions into law. The Kai line was still hereditary. Oras still chose the Kai from among the Kai line.

But there were more limits. He could request no taxes without their permission. Could conscript no militia without approval. Much of the Kai’s role throughout history was simply as a religious and political leader, someone to help negotiate contracts with neighboring countries and serve as arbiter for clan disputes. Very little of that had changed. Much of the stipulations written in were indicative of the clan leaders’ fears of his attempts to overstep that traditional power. He suspected the ever-widening influence of the Oras inside the clans had caused the distrust more than anything else. If they believed he was Nasaka’s son and not his mother Javia’s… they had every right to fear how Nasaka would use him.

Liaro yawned and stretched in bed. The bed covers were a tangle. He had been out most of the night with Caisa and some of the younger novices and militia, helping with a joint bridge building project at the edge of Osono where a walking tree had smashed much of the bridge’s foundation. He spun a long, drunken tale about fencing with a tree the night before as Ahkio helped him into bed. Sometimes he wondered if he needed an assistant on hand just to care for Liaro.

“You don’t look drunk enough for a man stuck in a political marriage,” Liaro said, peering at him. He squinted at the light from the windows. “What time is it?”

“Midmorning,” Ahkio said. “I was surprised you came home alone.”

“You being Kai isn’t helping,” he said. “Everyone I talk to is afraid of you.”

“Me?”

Liaro sat up and shrugged. “Well, your wife. I suspect she’s trying to make dead certain she’ll be the only one carrying an heir.”

“I’m not foolish enough to challenge her claim,” Ahkio said. “It’s fine, Liaro. She and I came to an agreement.”

“Good. Let those women fight over whose baby is Kai. Either way, it will be yours.”

“I’m cheered that it’s me in this seat and not you.”

“Cheered by that, are you?” he said, gesturing to the revised constitution. “Looks like the same old story to me, though.”

“Most people don’t actually want power,” Ahkio said. “They want this illusion of power.”

“Is that from the Book?”

“I’m paraphrasing, yes.”

“You need some better lines, Ahkio.” Liaro pulled on his tunic. “Have you heard from Ghrasia yet? It’s been over a week since she left for Raona.”

“No. I needed to tie up things here before we joined her.”

“You want to go to Raona? Where there might be assassins killing people across Dhai?”

“Just get Caisa up here.”

“Fine, all right. Do this, Liaro, run here, wear this, dance around, Liaro.” He slipped on his shoes and headed downstairs.

Ahkio went to the window. What did it feel like when someone tightened a noose around your neck in Dorinah? Was it like this? A sense of dread and powerlessness? He’d untangled the notes his sister and Aunt Etena had written in the book, most of it related to philosophy, but the conversations about the soul of the temple bothered him. He couldn’t get that symbol out of his mind. What way was barred? Why?

Caisa entered and announced herself. “You asked for me?”

“I want you to ensure that all of the clan leaders leave today,” Ahkio said. “It may be some time before we gather in one place again.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I need the Oras and militia attending me to pack up,” he said, “we’re going to meet Ghrasia Madah in Clan Raona.”

“Where you think the assassins are? Is that wise?”

“I really do need to keep you and Liaro apart.”

 

31

The weeks in Dorinah passed slowly, coldly, for Zezili’s husband, Anavha. He spent most of those autumn days sleeping. He slept because he could dream when he slept – dream he was a pirate like the ones that pillaged slaves from the Dhai coast, or the man in one of the romance novels Zezili’s sister Taodalain bought for him, saved from assassins and kidnappers by a handsome legion commander like Zezili. With so much time spent sleeping, he kept himself out of trouble. The dajians avoided him. Daolyn sat up and read him Zezili’s letters when they came. It was his quiet, stifling life. Every day the same, waiting for Zezili’s return, waiting for news of the outside.

Low autumn lengthened to high autumn, then low winter. One cool evening, he passed time with Daolyn in the sitting room. A squat stove brought in from storage warmed them, but Anavha still wore a coat over his under-tunic and girdle. He was preparing to pull out yet another crooked seam in his embroidery when a heavy knock sounded on the front door.

Daolyn set aside the garments she was mending and stood. Anavha followed her. He paused in the doorway of the sitting room and watched her cross the yard to the main gate.

“Who’s there?” Daolyn called.

“Tanasai Laosina!”

“Syre Zezili isn’t here,” Daolyn called. “I’ve told you, she no longer permits you within her house.”

More voices filtered in from outside. Anavha heard the sound of dogs barking, the jingle of tack. Tanasai had not come alone.

“Open this fucking door, you fucking dajian, or I’ll fucking burn it down, you hear me? You think I won’t fucking burn it down and cut you open from slit to tit?”

Daolyn hesitated another moment, then pulled back the iron latch.

Anavha thought she was mad until he saw Tanasai enter, and behind her, half a dozen women in chain mail wearing infused weapons and helmets. If Daolyn had not opened the door, they would indeed have forced it open.

“Where’s my bloody cousin?” Tanasai said. Her voice was slurred. The others were snickering and stumbling over one another.

Anavha stepped out of the sitting room and hurried across the courtyard toward his room, trying to stay in the shadows.

But Tanasai saw him.

“There’s my cousin’s bauble! Come here, boy!”

Anavha ran into his room and shoved his weight against the door, but Tanasai wedged herself in the doorway. Three more women tried to squirm in behind her. They stank, not just of alcohol, but of themselves. They must not have washed for weeks.

“Come here, pretty,” Tanasai said. Her damp hair clung to her flushed face, the skin so dark her freckles were no longer visible. She grunted and pushed at the door. Anavha stumbled back, fell. His head hit his mattress. Tanasai stepped inside. Her women slunk in behind her.

Tanasai reached for him. The other women laughed.

Daolyn pushed inside. She grabbed at the last of the women entering the room and said, “The Empress herself will punish you! This boy was her gift to Zezili. She will punish you if harm comes to him!”

The woman took Daolyn by the hair and slammed her head into the doorframe twice. Daolyn’s body made a dull thumping sound as she hit the floor.

“Let me see you,” Tanasai said, leering at Anavha. “Let’s see what my near-cousin thinks she’s keeping from me.”

They stripped him naked and pushed him onto his belly. Tanasai grabbed hold of his hair, jerked his head back, hissed in his ear, “This is what you’re made for? You forget that?”

She reached beneath him and tugged at his flaccid penis. “What do you think, my women? Think he needs this?”

“No!” one of the women yelled. “Take it off! Leave Zezili with a proper girl!”

“Looks like he doesn’t know what to do with it!” another said, and the others cackled.

Tanasai pressed her big body onto his. She sucked at her thumb and parted the cheeks of his ass. Shoved her thumb inside him.

He cried out.

“No virgin here,” Tanasai said into his ear. Her spittle flecked his face. “Let’s see what else we can get up in there.”

Tanasai let go of him. She reached for the dagger at her hip.

Anavha clawed at the floor. He twisted upright and grabbed at the ring of his dressing table drawer. Tanasai laughed and moved closer.

Anavha jerked open the drawer. It pulled free of its runner. The force of his own momentum and the quick release of the drawer sent the contents clattering to the floor. His container of powder thumped his chest, sent a burst of gold dust into the air. He sneezed. Kerchiefs scattered.

And there was the kitchen knife on the floor beside him; his cutting knife. He took it without being sure what he was going to do with it.

Then Tanasai threw herself on top of him.

Her bulky body pinned him to the floor. She let out a huff of breath, like the wind had been knocked from her. The sordid stink of her breath roiled over him.

Anavha felt wet on his fingers.

“Huh?” Tanasai mumbled.

Anavha kept hold of the knife. Tanasai pulled herself off him. She stood, tottering.

When she was clear of him, a thread of blood spurted from her wound, spraying Anavha’s face. He held up his bloody hands. Dropped the blade.

She dabbed her fingers in the wound, into the gush of blood.

“Oh,” she said. Her face grew pale.

The women behind her fell back, skittish.

Tanasai fell to her knees. The wound continued to gush dark blood. Tanasai toppled against the chair in front of the dressing table.

“Fools,” Tanasai muttered. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Fools. Get me something.”

But the women were retreating. One or two, then the rest. Their bootsteps sounded in the courtyard. Whispered voices. The dull hiss of leather and armor, the clink of chain mail.

An affront to Zezili’s possessions was an affront to Zezili. They no longer had a near-cousin to stand behind.

Anavha watched the blood leave Tanasai’s body. It pooled about his naked feet.

He pulled himself away from her. She spat blood at him.

“They’ll kill you… for this. You’re… Rhea’s now,” Tanasai said. She made a hissing, gurgling sound, like a cough or a sigh.

Then she was still.

It took Anavha some time to move. He crawled toward Daolyn’s crumpled body. She was breathing but not conscious. An ugly black bruise was forming on the right side of her face. He went to Zezili’s room where the big tub was and ran some water. He washed his hands and face. His hands were trembling.

He had done violence. He had done violence against a woman. She had died. Would those women call the enforcers? Or the priests? Karosia Soafin had already been called in once because of something he might have done. This… this was much worse. Zezili was away. She could not protect him from Karosia, or the enforcers.