The Skull Throne (11 page)

Enkido opened his arms, and she fell into them. From his robes he took a tear bottle. He held her, steady as stone, stroking her hair with one hand as he collected her tears with the other.

“I’m sorry, master,” she whispered when it was done. It was the first time in years anyone had spoken aloud in the training chamber. The sound echoed to her sensitive ears, seeming wrong, but what did it matter now?

Even the palm weeps, when the storm washes over it,
Enkido signed, moving to hand her the bottle.
The tears of Everam’s spear sisters are all the more precious for how seldom they fall.

Ashia held up her hands, pushing the bottle away. “Then keep them always.”

She looked down, even now unable to meet his eyes. “I should be overjoyed. What greater husband could a woman dream of the Deliverer’s son? I thought that fate was taken from me when I was sent to you, but now that it has come again, I do not wish it. Why was I sent here, if only to be given to a man who would have had me regardless? What point in the skills you have taught, if I am never to use them?
You
are my master, and I want no other.”

Enkido looked at her with sad eyes.
I had many wives before giving myself to the
dama’ting, his fingers said.
Many sons. Many daughters. But not one has made me as proud as you have. Your loyalty makes my heart sing.

She clutched at him. “Asome may be my husband, but you will always be my master.”

The eunuch shook his head.
No, child. The command of the Deliverer cannot be denied. It is not for me or you to speak against his blessing, and I will not shame the Deliverer’s son by coveting what is rightfully his. You will go to Asome a free woman, unbound to me.

Ashia pulled away, walking to the door. Enkido did not follow.

“If you are no longer my master,” she said, “then you cannot command my heart.”

The wedding was everything she might have dreamed as a girl, fit for a prince and princess of Krasia. Her spear sisters stood beside her as she waited for her father to escort her to where Asome waited with Jayan at the foot of the Skull Throne in Sharik Hora.

Enkido was in attendance as well, guarding the Damajah and watching over the proceedings, though none of the guests knew it. She and her sisters knew the signs, saw the slight ripples he left to mark himself to them.

The oaths and ceremony were a blur. Two thrones had been provided for the bride and groom at the feast, but Ashia sat alone, waiting on her husband as he accepted gifts and spoke to the guests, Asukaji at his side.

No expense had been spared, but the rich, honeyed cakes were bland to Ashia’s tongue. She longed to be back safe underground, eating plain couscous at the foot of Enkido’s table.

But for all she walked through the day in a daze, it was the wedding night that brought home her true fate.

She waited in the pillow chamber for Asome to come and take her as a husband, but hours passed in silence. Ashia looked more than once at the window, dreaming of escape.

At last, there was a sound in the hall, but it never reached the door.

There was a vent above the archway. Ashia was up the wall in an instant, her fingers easily finding holds in the minute cracks between the stones. She put her eye and ear to the vent, seeing the back of Asome’s head, with Asukaji facing him. They looked to be arguing.

“I cannot do this,” Asome was saying.

“You can, and you will,” Asukaji said, taking her husband’s face in his hands. “Ashia must give you the son I cannot. Melan has thrown her dice. If you take my sister now, it will be done. One time, and the ordeal be over.”

Realization was a slap in the face.

It was no sin for men to love their own gender. It was common enough in the
sharaj,
boys forming pillow friendships to pass the years before they were old and experienced enough for their first wife. But Everam demanded new generations, and so all but the most stubborn
push’ting
were eventually bound to marry and share the pillows, if only long enough to produce a son. Everam knew, Kajivah had said as much to Asukaji many times.

But she had never thought
she
would be a
push’ting
bride.

They entered a moment later. Ashia had plenty of time to get back in the pillows, but her mind was reeling. Asome and Asukaji were
push’ting
lovers. She had never meant anything to them save as a womb to carry the abomination they wanted to bring into the world.

They ignored Ashia, Asukaji undressing her husband and stiffening him with his mouth until he could do the deed. He joined them in the pillows, coaxing them together.

His touch made Ashia’s skin crawl, but she took shallow breaths, and endured.

Despite his words, there was jealousy in her brother’s eyes, his face darkening as Asome gasped and saw Everam, seeding her. As soon as the deed was done, Asukaji pulled them apart and the two men fell into an embrace, seeming to forget she was even there.

Ashia thought then about killing them both. It would be simple. They were so lost in each other she doubted they would notice until it was too late. She could even make it seem an accident, as if the act had been too much for poor Asome’s heart. Her brother, distraught at his lover’s death, would have taken a knife to himself rather than live without.

Enkido had taught her to do those things, so cleanly that the Deliverer himself would never know.

She closed her eyes, living the fantasy fully, not daring to move lest she make it reality. She breathed, and eventually her center returned. She rose from the pillows, pulling her wedding robes back on, and left.

Her husband and brother did not notice.

CHAPTER 5

KAJIVAH

333 AR AUTUMN

Ashia looked up in shock as wardlight flooded the room where she wept. How long since someone had been able to sneak past her guard? Had she forgotten everything her master taught?

Enkido would be ashamed of you,
Micha said, and it was true. How could she lead the
Sharum’ting
when she could not even lead herself?

She turned to the doorway expecting to see Kajivah, but her heart sank farther at the sight of her husband. Perhaps it was
inevera
that Asome should find her so, eyes puffed and wet, as much a failure at motherhood as she was in
alagai’sharak.
He would tell her now, as so many times before, that she should give up her spear. And perhaps he was right.

“Tikka was having one of her fits.” Asome produced a spotless white cloth from his sleeve, handing it to her to dry her eyes. “But I wore her down with patience, though Everam knows, a mountain does not have enough.”

Ashia laughed, sniffing into the cloth.

“Word of your exploits in the night has already reached the palace,
jiwah,
” Asome said.

Ashia looked at him weakly. He knew. Everam damn him, he already knew of her loss on control out beyond the Maze. Would he have her stripped of her spear, now that the Deliverer was not there to stop him? Asome and her father had both argued long and hard to keep her from
alagai’sharak.
With Ashan on the Skull Throne, this was all they needed. Even the Damajah could not stop them.

“Those men were foolish to leave their unit behind,” Asome went on. “It was only by Everam’s infinite mercy that you should have been there to save them from themselves. You have done well,
jiwah.
”

Relief flooded Ashia, though it was mixed in a sickening swirl of guilt. Was she less a fool?

Even more confusing was the source of the praise. Had Asome ever spared a compliment for her? Words failed as she watched him, waiting for the twist.

Asome crossed the room to the greenland bed in her pillow chamber. He sat, sinking into the feathered mattress, then immediately stood back up.

“Everam’s beard,” he said. “Do you actually sleep on that?”

Ashia realized her husband had never even seen her sleeping chambers before. She shook her head. “I fear it will swallow me. I sleep on the floor.”

Asome nodded. “The greenland ways threaten to make us as soft as they.”

“Some, perhaps,” Ashia said. “The weak of will. But it is to us, the blood of the Deliverer, to show them a better way.”

Asome looked at her a long time, then began to pace the room, arms crossed behind his back, hands thrust into his sleeves.

“I have failed you as a husband,” he said. “I knew I would never be good at it, but I did not realize what it would drive you to.”

“My path was laid down by Everam before you took me to wife,” Ashia said. “I am what the Damajah made me, a spear sister of Everam. She knew this, and advised against the match, but our fathers would not listen.”

Asome nodded. “Nor Asukaji, who pressed for the match at every turn. But perhaps it is
inevera.
My mother told me on Waning that a great man does not fear his wife will steal his glory. He uses her support to reach even higher.”

He moved over to her, offering a hand to pull her to her feet, mindless of the greasy black ichor that stained her fingers. “It seems I am not a great man, but perhaps, with your help, it is not too late.”

Ashia’s eyes narrowed. She ignored the hand, curling her legs and kicking herself to standing. “What are you saying, husband? You must forgive me if I require plain words, but we have had many misunderstandings. What support do you wish from me?”

Asome bowed. Not so long and deep as to show deference, but still a sign of respect that surprised her. Her husband had not bowed to her since their wedding day. “This night? Nothing save a peace between us, and a renewed hope to preserve our marriage, as the Deliverer has commanded. Tomorrow …” He shrugged. “We shall see what the dawn brings.”

Ashia shook her head. “If by ‘preserving our marriage’ you mean I submit to your touch again and bear you further sons …”

Asome held up a hand. “I have eleven
nie’dama
brothers, and dozens more among the
nie’Sharum
. Soon I shall have nephews in the hundreds. The house of Jardir, nearly extinct a generation ago, is thriving once again. I have done my duty and produced a son and heir. I need no further children. What child could be greater than our Kaji?”

Asome cast his gaze to the floor. “We both know I am
push’ting, jiwah
. I do not crave a woman’s touch. That night was …” He shook his head vigorously, as if to throw the image from his mind. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. “But I am proud of you, my
Jiwah Ka.
And I can still love you in my way, if you will allow it.”

Ashia looked at him a long time, considering. Asome and her brother had been dead in her heart since the wedding night. Was there any return from the lonely path?

“Why are you proud of me?” she asked.

“Eh?” Asome said.

“You said you were proud of me.” Ashia crossed her arms. “Why? A fortnight ago you stood before the Shar’Dama Ka crying shame and demanding divorce.”

Now it was Asome’s turn to stare while he sifted his feelings and chose his words. “And you stood there beside me, fierce and certain of your place in Everam’s plan. I envy that, cousin. Heir to Nothing, they call me. When have I understood my place in it?”

He swept a hand her way. “But you. First of the
Sharum’ting,
giving glory to Everam in sacred
alagai’sharak.
”

He paused, and his eyes flicked to the floor. He let out a sigh and raised them again, meeting her eyes and holding them. “I was wrong to try to deny your wishes,
jiwah.
It was jealousy, and a sin against Everam. I have repented before the Creator, but the sin was against you. I beg that you accept my apology.”

Ashia was stunned. An apology? From Asome, son of Ahmann? She wondered if she were sleeping, and this some bizarre dream.

“Jealousy?” she asked.

“I, too, crave the right to fight in the night,” Asome said. “An honor denied me not by sex, but the color of my robe. I was … bitter, that a woman should be given the right to do what I may not.”

“Traditions change every day, as we approach Sharak Ka,” Ashia said. “The Deliverer was vexed when he forbade you to fight. Perhaps when he returns …”

“And if he does not return?” Asome said. “Your father sits the throne now, but he does not have a warrior’s heart. He will never allow the
dama
to fight.”

“The same was said of my spear sisters,” Ashia said. “If this is what you want, you should be making peace with the Damajah, not me.”

Asome nodded. “Perhaps. But I do not know how to begin. I always knew Jayan was not worthy to succeed my father, but I did not know until today that I, too, had failed my parents.”

“The Damajah has promised you the succession of the Skull Throne,” Ashia said. “That is no small thing.”

Asome waved his hand. “A meaningless gesture. Ashan is young. Sharak Ka will likely have come and gone before Everam calls him to Heaven, with me left watching from the minarets.”

Ashia laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at the touch but did not pull away. “The Damajah is under more strain than you know, husband. Go to her. She will show you the path to honor.”

Asome reached out, entwining their arms as he, too, reached for her shoulder. Ashia stiffened in return. It was a sign of trust among those who studied
sharusahk,
both of them giving the other opportunity for leverage and attack.

“I will do what I can,” Asome said. “But her first command was that I make peace with you.”

Ashia squeezed his shoulder. “I have not broken your arm, husband. Nor you, mine. That is peace enough to build upon.”

Inevera lounged in her new robes on her bed of pillows beside the Skull Throne. Still scandalous by Krasian standards, the bright colorful silks were a shock to the eyes in a culture where every decent woman was in black, white, or tan.

But now the thin silk was opaque. No more would men have a glimpse of the flesh beneath, always ready for the Deliverer’s pleasure. She kept her hair uncovered, but now the locks were tightly woven and banded with gold and jewels instead of falling free for the Deliverer to stroke.

She let her gaze slip across the auras of the men in the room. All of them, even Ashan, were afraid of her. He shifted on the throne, uncomfortable.

That, too, was good.

“The Sharum Ka!” the door guard called as Jayan strode into the room and past the
Damaji,
climbing to stand opposite Asome on the fourth step.

It was an agreement that had only come after hours of negotiation between their camps. The fourth step was high enough to advise quietly, but low enough that their eyes were below sitting Ashan, and level with each other. The dice had predicted blood in the streets should either stand a step higher or lower.

Jayan’s entourage remained on the floor. Hasik, Ahmann’s disgraced eunuch brother-in-law, now heeled Jayan like an attack dog. With him stood
kai’Sharum
Jurim, who commanded the Spears of the Deliverer in Shanjat’s absence, and Jayan’s half brothers,
kai’Sharum
Icha and Sharu, eldest sons of Ahmann by Thalaja and Everalia. Both were seventeen, raised to the black mere months earlier, but already they commanded large contingents of
Sharum.

“Sharum Ka.” Ashan accorded Jayan a nod of respect. The Andrah had never cared for Inevera’s firstborn, but he was not fool enough to let the rift between them deepen. “How fare the defenses of Everam’s Bounty?”

Jayan bowed, but it was a shallow courtesy, showing none of the obeisance due an Andrah from his Sharum Ka. “They are strong … Andrah.” Inevera could almost hear his jaw grinding at the title as he looked up at his uncle. “Not a single demon has been spotted within miles of the throne since Waning. The
Sharum
must venture far to even wet their spears. We have built new defenses and established additional fire brigades in the
chin
villages worthy of salvage after the demons burned the fields, and turned others into new Mazes to trap and harry
alagai
in the night, further culling their forces after their defeat at Waning.”

Defeat.
A political choice of word. Even Jayan knew better. The only thing that truly defeated the
alagai
on Waning was the sun. They would return, as strong as ever.

Ashan nodded. “You have done well, Sharum Ka. Your father will be proud on his return.”

Jayan ignored the compliment. “There is another matter I must bring before the court.” Inevera frowned, though the dice had already told her this was coming.

Jayan clapped his hands, and fourteen muscular young men in black bidos entered the throne room, dropping to one knee in a precise line behind him. All carried shields on their backs and spears in hand. Inevera looked at them, seeing her husband’s handsome features on each of their sixteen-year-old faces. One of them was her third son, Hoshkamin, the others second sons of Everalia and Thalaja, and the firstborn of all the
Damaji’ting
save Qeva.

“The Andrah no doubt recognizes my brothers, sons of Shar’Dama Ka,” Jayan said. “Their elder brothers,” he indicated Icha and Sharu, “even I, myself, took the black at seventeen. But while young, my brothers have our father’s
Sharum
heart. When they learned of his absence, all demanded the right to stand in the night. Their training in both
sharaj
and Sharak Hora has been without flaw, and I saw no reason to refuse. I myself stood as
ajin’pal,
blooding them in the New Maze. Each has personally sent more than one demon back to the abyss. I ask they be made
kai’Sharum,
in accordance with Evejan law.”

Ashan glanced to Inevera. Raising new warriors to the black could only be done with the approval of the
dama’ting
who cast the bones for them, and only Inevera and her
Jiwah Sen
could cast for the Deliverer’s sons.

Jayan was wilier than Inevera had given him credit for. The dice told her he had been the one to demand the boys fight, but none had been unwilling. The moment they donned black robes with white veils, each of Ahmann’s sons would command great power among their tribe’s warriors, and all would owe their allegiance to Jayan. Raising them would increase her son’s power greatly at a time when he might still try to usurp the throne.

But neither could she easily refuse. Inevera’s power over her sister-wives was great, but even she would be a fool to insult them all in one move. She had cast the bones for all the boys in their birthing blood, and by law, if they had stood in the night and taken
alagai,
they could claim their birthrights.

She nodded her permission, keeping her face serene.

“It is done,” Ashan said, relieved. “Rise,
kai’Sharum.
Everam looks upon the Deliverer’s sons with pride.”