CHAPTER 16

BELOVED

334 AR

The Par’chin walked Jardir out to a clearing from the tower. “Think you got the hang of it?” Concern showed in the Par’chin’s aura, and it was touching. Twice now, Jardir had tried to kill him, and still his greenland brother fretted for his well-being.

“I will be fine, Par’chin,” Jardir said, quelling his own doubts.

“Gets windy, gotta be ready…” the Par’chin began.

Jardir chortled. “Enough, Par’chin! I have a doting mother and fifteen wives. I don’t need you trying to suckle me as well.”

“Had to make it awkward.” The Par’chin put out a hand, but Jardir disdained it, wrapping his ajin’pal in a tight embrace.

“Time’s against us,” the Par’chin said. “Take care of your business, but don’t get pulled in.”

“And you, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “Take care with your jiwah away. Shanvah’s honor is boundless, but her love for her father is a weakness Alagai Ka will exploit, given the chance.”

The Par’chin nodded. “Got this. Just…hurry back, ay?”

“Ay,” Jardir said, taking the Spear of Kaji from his back and holding it crosswise like a dama’s whip staff. There were thousands of wards etched into the weapon’s electrum head and shaft. As with the crown, Jardir had come to understand the purpose of many of them, but others remained a mystery, and some he had only just discovered.

He laid his thumbs on wards of air and gathered his will, calling forth the power contained in the ancient weapon as he leapt, winds gathering to lift him high into the sky.

He climbed higher and higher, laughing aloud as he watched the land shrink beneath him. The wind on his face was exhilarating, fresh and cold in his lungs. The stars of the night sky brightened, and he felt at one with the beauty of Everam’s creation as never before.

As the Par’chin warned, the currents were stronger in the sky, but he compensated well until he entered a low patch of cloud. Suddenly blinded and lashed with water and ice, Jardir lost his concentration, plummeting toward the ala.

He managed to gather the power again, buffeting the ground, but while it blunted the impact it did not keep him from tumbling into an open field, tearing through the tall, half-frozen grass.

He got to his feet, cursing and spitting straw as he attempted to brush the filth from his robes. The power gathered in his body kept him from harm, but Leesha’s Cloak of Unsight was dirtied—a sully to her honor that pained him. He sent power through the cloak’s wards, burning away the stains like water from a pan.

At least I am too far for the Par’chin to have seen, he thought.

He began to gather his will for another attempt, but checked himself at a low growl. There was only an instant’s notice before the field demon pounced, but Jardir, trained by decades of fighting alagai, needed no more. He spun, impaling the beast on the end of his spear and Drawing its magic like sipping through a straw.

Again he leapt into the sky, wobbling slightly as he gained altitude and speed, but eventually leveling off. It was cold up in the clouds, but he Drew more power, warming himself as he streaked northwest toward Everam’s Bounty.

A shriek rang out in the night, and Jardir turned to see three wind demons following him, their great leathery wings beating hard as they sought to close the gap.

He could have increased his speed, but it felt beneath him to flee the beasts, leaving them to prey on Ala. He pulled up instead, climbing higher and looping back to put the demons in front of him. Careful not to upset the delicate interplay of wards and Draw that kept him aloft, he pointed the Spear of Kaji at one of them, sending a blast of magic that streaked the sky, only to miss the speeding creature. He fired again, and again, before finally puncturing its wing and sending it tumbling through the air. The ala was more than a mile below them. Even the powerful healing magic of the alagai could not recover from such an impact.

The other demons caught sight of him again, banking in opposite directions to circle back and come at him head-on, wing talons extended. Speeding toward them, Jardir did not trust his aim for another blast, nor did he relish attempting to absorb the impact of a direct clash and remain airborne.

But there were other options at his disposal. He sketched wards of cold as one of the demons passed through a patch of cloud. The moisture clung to its leathery skin, freezing into a coating of ice that dropped it like a stone.

The last demon was coming in fast, and Jardir made no attempt to strike or flee, simply hovering as best he could in place, an easy target. As he did, he called upon the power of his crown, forming a shield around himself, impenetrable to the servants of Nie.

The demon struck the barrier with such force, its hollow bones shattered like a bird striking a thick glass window. Ichor spattered, leaving a black smear as the alagai fell away. The ichor blew away as Jardir dropped the shield, resuming his flight.

In control now, he flattened himself to minimize resistance to the wind as he caught sight of the Messenger road, a tiny thread far below, leading him inexorably home.

He waited until he was far from the tower before attempting to contact Inevera, lest he risk servants of Nie spotting the resonance in the air. The last thing he wanted was to lead them to Alagai Ka’s prison. He and the Par’chin had agreed an hour should be enough, but time was difficult to gauge in the sky, and it was a guess in any event.

Everam’s Bounty was still hundreds of miles distant, too far for the tiny hora stone in his earring to reach, but Jardir was fully in control of his power for the first time in his life, and understood intimately how the delicate bit of magic worked. He needed only to concentrate, boosting the ring’s power with his crown to set its twin buzzing in his Jiwah Ka’s ear.

No doubt she would be furious, but Jardir could not help but smile at the surprise in store for her, nor keep his heart from beating faster in anticipation of hearing her voice.

It was long moments before he felt the connection open, the magic flowing freely through Inevera’s ring and back into his own. “Who is this?” she demanded angrily. “Who dares…?!”

“Peace, Jiwah,” Jardir said. “Whom did you expect, if not your husband?”

“Ahmann Jardir is dead,” Inevera rasped. “I will not be fooled by some changeling speaking in his voice.”

Jardir frowned. He had anticipated many reactions, but outright denial was not one of them. “It is I, wife. We met in the dama’ting pavilion, the day Hasik broke my arm. You taught me to embrace my pain. You were beautiful, and I carried your face in my mind’s eye for years, until I saw it again on our wedding day.”

There was a pause, then a whisper more timid than Jardir had ever heard from his fearless bride. “Ahmann?”

Jardir felt his throat tighten. “Yes, beloved.”

“What is that sound?” Inevera’s voice was shaking. “Do you speak to me from Heaven?”

It took a moment for Jardir to realize what she meant. He laughed. “No, jiwah. That is only the wind, rushing by as I speed my way to you.”

“How can it be?” Inevera asked. “The dice said you were dead.”

“Did they?” Jardir asked. “You taught me the alagai hora do not lie, but sometimes they do not mean what we think.”

“They said the alagai went to desecrate the corpse of Shar’Dama Ka, half a year ago.”

“That is true, but it was not me they sought to defile,” Jardir said.

“It cannot have been the Par’chin,” Inevera said. “If you had defeated him, you would have returned.”

“It was not the Par’chin,” Jardir agreed. “The alagai princes went to Anoch Sun, to lay waste to the city of Kaji and shit upon his bones.”

Inevera’s gasp was nearly lost in the rush of wind in his ear. At the sound of her voice, he had instinctively put on speed, desperate to have her in his arms once more.

“You could not allow that,” she guessed.

“No,” Jardir agreed. “And yes. Knowing where the alagai princes would strike, this once, forged an alliance that might have been impossible otherwise. The Par’chin and I traveled to Anoch Sun together, and were waiting when they came to the resting place of Kaji.”

“What happened?” Inevera asked.

“I cannot speak of it until we are together, safe within the protection of the crown,” Jardir said. “Tell me of you. The months of my absence must have been difficult, but there is no one in all Ala more able to bear such burden. Are you well?”

“My heart was broken, but I remain unbent.” Jardir breathed in relief at Inevera’s words.

“Your glory is boundless,” Jardir said. “Did you put Ashan on the throne?”

There was a long pause. Enough that Jardir sent a touch of magic through the earring to assure himself the circuit remained.

“Wife?”

“Perhaps that is best spoken of when we are together as well,” Inevera said at last.

Inevera was waiting on the rooftop when Jardir soared to his palace atop the great hill at the center of Everam’s Bounty. Diaphanous red robes billowed in the night air, illuminated by the glow of her jewelry. He could see the curves of her body silhouetted in the silk, leaving little to the imagination.

He’d hated those scandalous robes once, a reminder that his power over his First Wife was by no means absolute. But now, after months apart, all he could think about was her beauty. He inhaled, tasting her perfume on the night air, and felt himself stiffen.

She fell into his arms as he landed, and he crushed her to him. Her body was soft against his, but there was strength as well. He knew how hard her muscles could be when taut. There was so much to say, but he pushed the thoughts aside for a moment, putting his nose into her oiled hair and relishing the scent of her.

They drew apart just enough to press their mouths together hungrily. Jardir felt his heart pounding and pulled back. With a thought, he cast a sphere of silence around them with the powers of the crown.

“The Majah fill the roads,” he said. “What…?”

“Later,” Inevera said, pressing her soft lips against his as she pulled at his belt.

“Here?” he asked. “Now?”

She pulled his belt sash away with a snap. “I will not wait an instant longer.” She pulled Mistress Leesha’s Cloak of Unsight from his shoulders, casting it to the roof like a blanket in the sand.

With a growl, he took her by the waist and kicked her feet from under her. She did not resist as he guided her to lay on the cloak, ripping at her silks when they did not pull away easily enough. She was shaved and oiled, her sex slick as he thrust into her.

There were no dama’ting tricks to their coupling, no pillow dancing or seven strokes. It was fierce, animal passion, venting months of frustration. Biting and bucking, scratching and slapping, communicating needs and desires with growls and shoves. Jardir knew his return should be secret, but in the moment there was nothing but Inevera, his First Wife, and passion ruled.

When it was over, they lay sweating in the cold night air, curled together in a nest of torn clothes. Jardir kept his eyes on her face, drinking it like a man dying of thirst. He brushed his fingers against her cheek and down her ear, feeling the connections of each earring as he did. His other wives. His nieces. Now that he understood their power, he could not believe he had not sensed it before.

“I should be angry at you for keeping the earrings a secret,” he said.

Inevera smiled. “It is the duty of a First Wife to watch over her husband. Had you known, you would have found a way to silence what you did not wish me to hear.”

“Like my time in the pillows with Leesha Paper,” Jardir said.

Inevera kept her composure, but she could not hide the feelings in her aura. He peered into her soul, seeing the pain there.

“You listened to every moment,” he said.

“How could I not?” Inevera said. “I was losing you to that…”

Jardir took her face in both hands, kissing her again. “Never, beloved. We are bound, in this life and the next. I understand now why you lay with the Andrah. I forgive you, though you need no forgiveness for putting Sharak Ka above all else.”

Inevera sobbed, and he held her to him. “I need you, wife. Now like never before, we must be united. No more secrets. No more lies and half-truths. All Ala hangs in the balance, and there is none I trust more than you.”

She kissed him, pulling back to meet his eyes. “I understand why you lay with Leesha Paper. I forgive you, though you need no forgiveness for putting Sharak Ka above all else. I am yours as you are mine. The dice foretold that your return would herald Sharak Ka, and we will weather it as one mind and one heart. No more secrets. No more lies and half-truths. I swear it before Everam on my hope of Heaven.”

She reached out, touching the ring on his ear. “Why wasn’t I able to hear you after you fell?”

“The Par’chin saw the connection in the earrings before I did,” Jardir said. “He blocked their power, and we were soon out of range.”

“The Par’chin,” Inevera spat. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

Jardir shook his head. “And perhaps doomed Ala. It was he who taught me to use the Crown of Kaji to boost the signal and contact you from hundreds of miles distant.”

Inevera’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”

Jardir nodded. “A simple matter. I can teach you to do it as well. The Par’chin taught me much while he held me prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Inevera growled. “He dared…?”

Jardir held up a hand. “Peace, wife. The son of Jeph did what he must to gain advantage in Sharak Ka. As you have always done.”

“I do not believe that,” Inevera said.

Jardir took her gently by the arms, looking into her eyes. “Look into my soul, jiwah. If you believe nothing else, believe me when I tell you the Par’chin looks to nothing more than Sharak Ka. I would have killed him in Domin Sharum, but that was never his intent. He had greater plans. Glorious plans.”

“Attacking Nie’s princelings in Anoch Sun,” Inevera said.

Jardir smiled. “Oh, jiwah. That is only the beginning.”

“Damajah,” Micha said, as Inevera opened the door to the rooftop stair. “Your robes…”

Indeed, they were torn, but holding her top closed with a fist did nothing to lessen Inevera’s regal bearing, her air of command. “It is nothing. Clear the path to my chambers.”

“Yes, Damajah,” Micha said. Jardir was proud to see his daughter moving with easy grace in her Sharum’ting blacks, but he kept Leesha’s Cloak of Unsight about him, boosting its power with his own. Micha, and his other warrior daughter, Jarvah—who fell in behind them as they descended into the halls—did not see him as he followed Inevera to their private chambers.

“See to it I am not disturbed,” Inevera told them, closing and locking the chamber doors, activating a wardnet that would stop an army—human or alagai.

She turned, embracing Jardir once more. “Alone again. We will have complete privacy until we decide how best to announce your return.”

Jardir sighed. “I am afraid that is premature, beloved. I cannot reclaim the Skull Throne yet. Perhaps not ever. None save you must know I have returned, and I must leave before dawn’s light binds me to Ala.”

“Impossible,” Inevera said. “You have only just returned.”

“Nevertheless, it is so.”

“You do not understand,” Inevera said. “So much has happened.”

“Whatever it is, it pales against the path before me,” Jardir said. “The weight of Sharak Ka is upon us.”

Inevera breathed, her aura growing calm as she reached out, taking his hands. “Ashan is dead.”

Jardir blinked. “What?”

“And Jayan,” Inevera went on, clutching his hands tight at the name of their firstborn. “The entire council of Damaji as well, and your son Maji. All murdered in the night by Asome in his ascent to the Skull Throne.”

Jardir opened his mouth, but no words came out. Any of those deaths would have been a blow. Together, it was stunning. He embraced it all, squeezing Inevera’s hands in return. “Tell me everything.”

He listened in disbelief as Inevera related the events in Krasia since his disappearance. He knew his coalition of tribes was fragile, but never dreamed it would dissolve so quickly without his unifying hand.

“It was a mistake to make Asukaji heir to the Kaji,” Jardir said. “It left Asome with no path save to reach higher.”

Inevera shook her head. “It was the right decision, husband. You could not have known he would hold such murder in his heart.”

“To use hora in the night to take the throne,” Jardir clenched his fist, “he dishonors everything we stand for.”

“At the cost of one of our most powerful tribes,” Inevera said. “But now, with you returned, perhaps the Majah can be brought back.”

Jardir shook his head. “I cannot bring them back without revealing myself, beloved, and that I cannot do.”

“Why not?” Inevera demanded. “What could possibly be more important than keeping your forces together with Sharak Ka approaching?”

“Sharak Ka is not approaching, beloved,” Jardir said. “It is here. Now. Already the alagai are massing, establishing hives all over the green lands. I must go to the source and stop them.”

Inevera looked at him, incredulous. “You cannot mean Nie’s abyss?”

Jardir nodded. “It was not to stop the alagai from desecrating our ancestors that we traveled to Anoch Sun. Indeed, we let it happen.”

“Why?”

“We went to capture Alagai Ka,” Jardir said. “And, beloved, we were victorious!”

“Impossible,” Inevera said.

“Nearly,” Jardir said. “Our combined power, along with that of the Par’chin’s Jiwah Ka, Shanjat, and Shanvah, was barely enough.”

“Shanjat and Shanvah found you?” Inevera asked.

“Indeed,” Jardir said. “Thank you, beloved, for sending them. If not for them, we might not have succeeded. Their honor is boundless. Shanvah now claims an alagai prince among her kills.”

“And Shanjat?”

Jardir sighed, telling her of Alagai Ka’s attempted escape, and the crushing of their brother-in-law’s mind. He related the interrogation, and the Par’chin’s plan.

“Madness,” Inevera said.

“Beautiful madness,” Jardir said. “Glorious madness. Madness worthy of Kaji himself. It is a bold plan, but it strikes at the very heart of Nie.”

“You will take the Prince of Lies at his word?” Inevera demanded. “Everam’s balls, husband, are you such a fool?”

“Of course not.” Jardir rolled his sleeve, exposing his forearm. “It is a gamble with all Ala in the wager.” He held out the arm, streaked with countless scars from Inevera’s curved blade. “I traveled all the way back to Everam’s Bounty that the Damajah could cast the bones against its success.”

Jardir resisted the urge to scratch at his arm as he healed Inevera’s latest cut. She seemed determined to drain him of blood as well as seed, casting the bones again and again, seeking answers. The cuts were superficial, easily healed now that the Par’chin had taught him the knack, but the skin itched as it knit back together. For some reason, that was harder to erase than pain.

“What do you see?” he asked when he could take it no more.

“Death,” Inevera said, still staring at the dice, her face illuminated in their eerie red glow. “Divergences. Deception.”

“These words are not helpful, beloved,” Jardir said. “Does the Par’chin’s plan have a hope of success?”

“Scant,” Inevera said. “But you must go, nevertheless.”

The words surprised him. He thought she would say anything to keep him in Krasia.

Ah, beloved, he thought. Again, I underestimate you.

“There are futures where all of you die in the abyss, far from your goal,” Inevera went on. “Others where you find Alagai’ting Ka, only to be overwhelmed. Some where you arrive too late, and the laying is done.”

“But success is possible.” Jardir clenched a fist.

“Possible, as finding a particular grain of sand in the desert is possible,” Inevera said. “And even in that infinitesimal possibility, you will not all survive.”

“Irrelevant,” Jardir said. “Our lives are nothing against this cause.”

“Do not be so quick to martyr yourself,” Inevera said. “You must be vigilant. I see treachery at every turn.”

“But I must go?” Jardir asked.

Inevera nodded. “If you do not…you doom us all. The Par’chin has freed a river, and it will not stop until it reaches the sea.”

Jardir reached into a special pocket in his robes, withdrawing four vials and laying them on a pillow before her. They were filled with a deep red liquid, clinging to the glass. “Blood from the Par’chin, his jiwah, Shanvah, and Shanjat.”

Inevera reached eagerly to snatch them up. “Bless you, husband.”

Jardir reached into his robe, producing a fifth vial. Unlike the others, the liquid inside was black as tar.

Inevera’s eyes flared, her aura going cold. “Is that…?”

“Ichor,” Jardir confirmed, “taken forcibly from Alagai Ka.”

Inevera’s hand shook just a little as she took the last vial. “I will need time, to prepare the dice for new castings, and to formulate questions.”

Jardir nodded. “There are matters I must attend in the meantime.”

“I believe I should go with you when the time comes,” Inevera said. “Like the Par’chin’s jiwah.”

“Absolutely not,” Jardir said, perhaps too quickly. Inevera’s eyebrows narrowed. “Krasia needs you now more than ever.” It was truth, though perhaps not the whole truth, and no doubt Inevera saw it. “The forces of Nie mount, and it will be up to you to keep our people unified for the fight. I have never been the politician you are.”

“Perhaps,” Inevera said. “I will cast on it. But if my presence adds a single divergence where you find victory…”

“Then we will consider it against the divergences where we return victorious to find our people slaughtered for lack of leadership,” Jardir said.

Inevera clutched the vials to her and nodded sadly. Then she laid them aside, going to a polished wooden box and returning with a needle and tube. “I will need more blood. For now, and for when you are gone.”

Instinctively, Jardir scratched at his arm.

She took him again when the bloodletting was done. Unlike the rutting under the stars, this was gentle lovemaking in the silk pillows they had shared for years as man and wife. She began by pillow dancing for him, slipping away her scarves until she was clad in nothing but her jewels, then took kanis oil and performed on his spear all seven sacred strokes laid down in the Evejah’ting.

Only then did she sheathe his spear, bouncing to an ancient rhythm and bringing them both in sight of Heaven before drifting back to Ala.

Jardir’s stomach growled as they lay entwined in the perfumed pillows. “I can heal the cuts, beloved, but the magic cannot make flesh and blood from nothing.”

Inevera nodded. “Of course. But while magic cannot make flesh and blood from nothing, it can make food and drink from anything.”

“Eh?” Jardir asked.

“One of the first spells a dama’ting must master before taking the robe,” Inevera said. “One that will be invaluable on your quest.”

She went to a great clay urn, scooping fine white sand into two large bowls. Smoothing the surface, she drew wards in the sand with one of her manicured nails, a complex net that Jardir watched closely.

A moment later one bowl was filled with clear, cold water, the other with steaming couscous. Jardir took a bite, eyes widening. “I have never tasted anything so…”

“Perfect,” Inevera said. “If drawn incorrectly, the food and drink are poison, but done properly they are sustenance as pure as Everam’s light.”

Indeed, famished a moment ago, a single bite and a swig of water left him satisfied. “The Par’chin says the path to the abyss may take us weeks to traverse. I feared we would have to carry supply for the entire journey.”

Inevera shook her head. “With Everam’s blessing, all things are possible. Now come and strip away those shameful robes. If you go to the abyss, it must be done in raiment befitting Shar’Dama Ka, to cast fear into the hearts of Nie’s servants.”

Jardir looked down, having forgotten the khaffit tan the Par’chin clothed him in during his imprisonment. It was an attempt to humble him—perhaps deserved—but there was no need for it any longer.

And there were other reasons to don his true robes.

Jardir put his hand against the Vault door, feeling the bracelet Inevera had given him warm. The great door, several tons of raw stone reinforced with wards drawn in electrum, swung open with just that touch, silent as a tomb. The hall before him was bathed in wardlight, barren save for the symbols etched onto the walls.

Jardir wrapped his Cloak of Unsight about himself as the door closed behind him and moved quickly down the tunnel until it branched. There was a guard outside the door he sought, a tongueless eunuch in Sharum’s black, wrists and ankles shackled in gold. The eunuch guards were masters of dama’ting sharusahk, quick and deadly.

Jardir traced a series of wards in the air with a finger, powering them with the crown. In moments the eunuch’s eyes began to droop. He fought valiantly, shaking his head to clear it, but the power could not be denied. He put his back to the wall, bracing himself with his spear, and fell asleep on his feet.

Jardir used his crownsight, peering through the heavy wooden door like a pane of glass. His mother was awake within, lecturing her daughters-in-law, Jardir’s wives Everalia and Thalaja, as they dressed her hair. The chamber was richly appointed, but a prison still.

“Not so tight, stupid girl,” Kajivah snapped at Everalia as she wove a perfect braid. “How many years will it take you to get it right? And you.” She half turned to Thalaja, who had brushed her hair to a flawless sheen. “A hundred strokes, I told you. I counted ninety-seven. Begin again.”

It saddened Jardir that his dal’ting wives must share his mother’s imprisonment—slaves in all but name—though no doubt Kajivah’s ordeal was more bearable for it. There was so much about his people, even his own family, that he had been willfully blind to. Could he have done more to stop the cancer growing within his house if he had been sensitive to the trials his mother put his wives through, or to his sons’ ambition?

He shook his head. There was nothing to be gained in looking back. Now was the time to look ahead. He drew more wards, putting Everalia and Thalajah to sleep much as he had the eunuch guard.

Kajivah felt the women’s work cease, looking back to find them breathing peacefully, eyes closed. She let out a shriek. “Insolent girls! You have the audacity to sleep while the Holy Mother speaks?!”

Jardir raised his hand, and the bar on the other side of the door lifted. He entered as Kajivah was about to slap Everalia.

“Do not lay hands on my wife, Mother,” he said. “She cannot hear you. I have put my jiwah to sleep so we may speak privately.”

Startled, Kajivah turned at the sound, letting out another shriek. “Ahmann, my son! My son! You have returned from the abyss!”

She ran to him, weeping with joy, and he returned the embrace as she threw her arms around him. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget his purpose, to be her son one last time, safe in his mother’s arms.

But then she spoke.

“Thank Everam you have come, my son,” Kajivah wept. “That heasah you married has been keeping me prisoner like a khaffit caught stealing bread. You should whip her for her insolence. I’ve always thought you took too lax a hand, letting her dress like a pillow dancer at court and…”

Jardir took her arms, thrusting her back enough to look at him. “Enough, Mother! You speak of the Damajah of Krasia, not one of your dal’ting servants! Every moment of every day, she stands fast against the forces of Nie, while you do nothing but complain and berate the servants and women of our house! You shame our family with your behavior!”

Kajivah’s eyes grew wide with shock. “But—”

“I do not want to hear it,” Jardir cut her off. “You say I have taken too lax a hand, and you are right. But it is you I should have been more firm with.”

“Do not say such things!” Kajivah cried. “I have always been loyal to you!”

“It was I who put Inevera on the dais of the Skull Throne,” Jardir said. “I who left her to choose my successor. I who trusted her with the safety of our people in my absence. But where has your support been?”

“I supported your sons and heirs,” Kajivah said.

“My sons are too young for the weight of rulership!” Jardir snapped. “Even after Asome murdered his brother and half the council, you think he serves Krasia better than Inevera?”

“What has that woman done but take you from me?” Kajivah asked. “Taken my daughters and nieces, given women the spear—”

“Nie’s black heart, Mother!” Jardir cried. “Can you think of no one but yourself? Sharak Ka is at my heels, and you would poison my court with womanly squabbles? It was I who gave women the spear, not Inevera, and if she had not ‘taken’ Shanvah from you, the girl would have been vapid and worthless. But Inevera has been given the Sight by Everam Himself. She saw my trials, trained the girl, and sent her to me when I needed her most. Without her and her father fighting side by side to shield my back, I would have been overwhelmed these past months. Might have fallen, and all Ala fallen with me.”

“But Ashia struck me,” Kajivah protested. “Killed Sharum and stole my grandson.”

“Ashia is that boy’s mother, not you,” Jardir said. “She cannot steal what is already hers. That girl carries more honor than the greatest Spears of the Deliverer, and because of you she and her child have been forced to flee Everam’s Bounty.”

Kajivah’s aura went cold. “Kaji is gone?”

“He is gone,” Jardir confirmed. “It was the only way to keep Asome from using the boy as a pawn, as he would have used you. A tool to oust Everam’s Damajah and replace her with a foolish old woman who does not understand what it means to rule.”

“Never have you spoken to me this way,” Kajivah said. “I who gave birth to you. I who suckled you at my breast. I who supported you after your father walked the lonely path. What have I done to deserve your wrath?”

“It is my own fault,” Jardir admitted. “I was so focused on our enemies without, I gave no thought to the affairs of the court’s women. I let you lord yourself over them, shrieking at everyone who dared bring you the wrong nectar or braid your hair too tightly. To think that because you were in the palace, it was the duty of all to serve you, and not the other way around.”

Kajivah shrank further and further from him with the words, and he could see in her aura how they pained her. Still he pressed. Their relationship would never be the same, but it could not be helped. This might be his last chance to get through to her—to make Kajivah the ally and leader Krasia needed her to be.

“Listen to my words, Mother, and mark them well,” he said. “All Ala hangs in the balance, and I must know I can count on your support in my absence. I need you in this. Krasia needs you.”

Kajivah fell to her knees. “Of course, my son. That is my only wish. Tell me what to do and it will be done.”

“Every time you vex the Damajah, all Krasia suffers,” Jardir said. “I will leave again on the morrow, and may not return for many months, if at all. You will obey Inevera until I return. Not Asome. Not my sons and grandsons. Inevera.”

“And if you do not return?” Kajivah asked. There was anguish in her aura at the thought, but he had no time to coddle it.

“Then you will obey her until you die,” Jardir said.

Jardir lifted the spear of Kaji, laying it on her shoulder. “Swear it. Before me, and before Everam.”

“I swear,” Kajivah said.

Jardir deepened his voice. “What do you swear, Mother?”

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I swear, before Everam, before my son the Shar’Dama Ka, to obey the Damajah, Inevera vah Ahmann am’Jardir, in all things, from this moment until your return, or unto my death.”

She clutched at the hem of his robes. “But you must return, Ahmann. I could not bear to lose you as I did your father and Jayan.”

“It is inevera, beloved Mother,” Jardir said. “You must hold faith in Everam’s great plan. I will not spend my life cheaply, but if I am meant to martyr myself for the sake of Ala, I will not refuse.”

Kajivah wept openly at the words, and Jardir dropped to one knee, holding her as she sobbed. When it was finished he rose, lifting her with him and setting her on her feet. “I must leave you here now, to be freed when I am gone. No one, not even my Jiwah Sen, must know I have been to see you.”

“But why?” Kajivah asked. “It would give our people such hope, to know you are alive.”

“Because even now, Nie’s forces hunt for me,” Jardir said. “Word of my return would endanger you, and draw the eyes of Her princelings when I wish for them to be fixed elsewhere.”

He went to Thalaja and Everalia, kissing them as they slept. “Blessings upon you, my sweet wives.” He turned to his mother one last time as he headed for the door. “From this day forth, you will show my wives, daughters, and nieces the respect they are due.”

Kajivah bowed. “Of course, my son.”

He stared into her aura a long time, weighing a boy’s adoration against an adult’s wisdom. It pained him to see they were not the same. “I love you, Mother. Though I walk the depths of Nie’s abyss, never doubt this.”

“Never,” Kajivah promised. “Nor you doubt that your mother’s pride and love are greater than those of any who ever lived.”

He nodded and was gone.

Jardir left the chamber, Drawing behind him the magic that kept his wives and the guard asleep. By the time they woke, the Vault door was closed behind him.

Once again wrapped in his Cloak of Unsight, he moved through the palace until he came to an unguarded window, slipping out and taking flight. The power exhilarated him, cold wind rushing his face as the moon and stars lit the night sky. He had to remind himself that flight was a gift of Everam, a holy tool, not a plaything for his pleasure. He flew to the opposite side of the palace, to chambers that had once been his—now claimed by his upstart son.

The windows were well warded and barred against unwanted entry. No doubt Asome feared assassins, and not without cause. He’d angered many of the most powerful in Krasia with his dishonorable rise to power. Instead Jardir chose an outer wall he knew faced a seldom-used corridor, drawing a series of wards he learned at great cost while battling Alagai Ka. The stone of the wall melted away into mud, opening a portal large enough for him to pass through. Once inside, he drew a ward in the air, securing the opening against alagai. Even here, in the center of Krasian power, he would not risk a weakness against the night.

Inside, he once again powered the cloak, moving silently down the hall into his son’s chambers. There, to his sorrow but not surprise, he found what Inevera had told him to expect—Asukaji bedridden, his aura flat and lifeless, and Asome, still wearing his replica crown, tending his lover personally. There were no servants, and for that Jardir was thankful.

Despite Jardir’s camouflage, Asome sensed something amiss. His aura showed it first, then he stiffened slightly, ears perking. He turned, slowly scanning the room, his crown glowing fiercely. The boy had grown adept in its use, as Inevera had warned, and if the circlet had less power than Jardir’s own, it was formidable nonetheless.

“Who is there?” Asome demanded, his eyes drifting over the wall Jardir stood against, struggling to fix on him. He stood, reaching for his spear, another replica bright with power.

Seeing no reason to continue hiding, Jardir threw back his cloak. “Hello, my son.”

He expected surprise, even fright. What he did not expect was for Asome to attack. Like a tunnel asp, he struck, thrusting with his shining spear.

“Impostor! My father is dead!”

Jardir barely had time to get his spear up, batting the point aside. Asome was undeterred, working his weapon with blinding speed as he thrust again and again, each time from a different angle, seeking a hole in his father’s defenses.

It was not surprising that this warrior had fought demons unarmed in the night—had killed his way up the seven steps of the Skull Throne. Jardir trained the boy himself, teaching him and his brothers a blend of the deadliest sharukin of the various tribes. Jayan had been larger, stronger, taking after Jardir himself. For a time when they were young, it was a telling advantage, but Asome had thrown himself into his studies in Sharik Hora and found his own style. He was quick, tireless, and deadly. The spear and crown energized him, giving him strength beyond strength.

An errant blow Jardir diverted struck a marble pillar, thicker than a man could wrap his arms around, sending a spiderweb of cracks clear through to the other side.

Shocked at the sudden ferocity, Jardir struggled simply to defend himself, unprepared to kill his second son, especially after just learning of the death of his first. As his father taught, Asome was careful not to repeat a pattern, his feet in constant motion, next moves unguessable to a common warrior.

But Jardir was no common warrior. He, too, had fought his way to the Skull Throne, and while Asome had grown in skill using crownsight, he had not achieved his father’s mastery. The boy’s aura was steady, but there were ripples along its surface as he sent energy to his limbs. After a moment of adjustment, Jardir knew his son’s moves before they began.

When Asome’s next thrust began, Jardir was already moving. He slipped to the side of the blow, taking one hand from his own spear to grip the shaft of Asome’s. He kicked out hard, and Asome, anchored by his own grip on the weapon, took the full blow on his hip, folding in half as he was knocked back to slam into a wall, leaving Jardir holding both weapons.

“Asome!” Asukaji cried, but it was a hoarse thing, barely audible. His aura writhed in anguish, trying to force a broken body to go to his lover’s aid.

“Now will you speak, my son?” Jardir asked, but again Asome came at him, fearless.

Jardir threw the weapons aside, out of easy reach. He could call the spear back to him with a ward if needed, but if they were to fight, better it be with hands and feet alone, lest he accidentally kill the boy before they had words.

“Begone, specter!” Asome cried as he struck. “Haunt me no more!”

Jardir wasn’t able to catch the punch, but he followed the circle of energy, giving his son no advantage in his next attack. The words gave him pause, and even as they fought he peered into his son’s spirit, seeking their source. Images rose at the beckon of his crownsight—Asome tossing and turning in his sleep, crying out and coming awake in violence. Once he had struck Asukaji in his half-woken state, and they had since slept apart. Another night, he had nearly killed Jamere, choking him naked in the pillows before the young dama had woken him fully.

Indeed, Asome was haunted, seeing his father’s disapproving face whenever he closed his eyes.

As he should, Jardir thought. He accepted a glancing blow to get in close, grabbing Asome’s robe and push-kicking his thigh, forcing his knee to hyperextend. Even Asome’s perfect balance faltered at that, and Jardir used the momentary shift to take him down. They wrestled in close now, too quick and furious to read auras and react accordingly. It was a primal struggle for dominance—the kind of struggle Jardir had known his entire life. Asome was no stranger to such fighting, but as a prince of Krasia he had always known his opponents would fear to kill him.

Jardir had experienced no such luxury in his rise to power. It was what had allowed him to defeat so many dama in his conquest of the Desert Spear, and the key to victory here. Inch by inch, he worked his way to a dominance hold, controlling his son’s midsection to make his legs useless, pinning one arm beneath him and immobilizing the other as he forced his forearm against his son’s throat.

He could have forced the boy’s head aside. Denying an opponent sight of you was a powerful advantage, but Asome’s greatest fear was his father’s disapproving face, and Jardir showed it to him now.

“I am no specter. You are not asleep. I have returned to find the faithless ruin you have wrought upon my court in the short months of my absence.”

Asome’s struggles increased, sheer panic and stark terror giving him new strength, but Jardir had the hold and would not let go. Asome’s blows and thrashes had no leverage behind them, and Jardir was larger, heavier, and stronger. He eased back a moment and Asome rose with him, then he thrust back down, bashing his son’s head against the floor.

“I did not come to fight!” Jardir barked. “I do not seek to kill my son, though I have just cause.” He slammed Asome’s head down again, cracking floor tiles. “But I will, if you leave me no choice.”

At last, Asome’s struggles eased, though if it was submission or lack of air, Jardir could not be sure. He kept the press, waiting until his son’s aura dimmed and his eyes fluttered. Then he let go, standing quickly and stepping back. He drew a ward in the air and the Spear of Kaji flew to his grasp as Asome choked and gasped, putting a weak arm under himself as he struggled to rise.

“Choose,” Jardir said. “Remain on your knees and accept my judgment, or come at me again, and I will send you along the lonely path to be judged by Everam Himself.”

Asome’s aura swirled, and even Jardir could not guess what he would do. He could see the boy had come to realize it was indeed his father, but he had stepped too far in taking the throne and knew there might be no turning back.

At last, he put his hands on the floor, shaking as he pressed his forehead between them. “What will you do with me, Father?”

“That remains to be seen,” Jardir said. “You must answer for your crimes, but it may be there is use for you yet, in Sharak Ka.”

“What crime have I committed, Father?” Asome raised his eyes to watch his father’s aura as they spoke. He was Drawing on his crown, healing quickly. In moments, he would be back to fighting strength. Jardir readied himself in case he was fool enough to attack again.

“Need you ask that, my son?” Jardir asked. “You betrayed your brother, sending him to his death, and killed your uncle to take the throne he had been rightfully given.”

“How does that differ from your glorious example, Father?” Asome asked. “Did you not betray the Par’chin, sending him to his death? Did you not kill Damaji Amadeveram, who trained you in Sharik Hora, and all his sons, on your path to the Skull Throne? Did you not spear the Andrah like a khaffit spitting a pig?”

“That was different,” Jardir said, but whether he was saying the words to his son or himself, he could not be sure.

“How?” Asome pressed.

“It was inevera,” Jardir said.

“Everam’s will?” Asome asked. “Or my mother’s?”

“Both,” Jardir said. “The Andrah was corrupt. His foolishness was killing our people. Amadeveram was a good man, but he was a part of that broken system and would not stand aside. There was no dishonor in his death.”

“My brother was corrupt,” Asome said. “His foolishness was killing our people, forcing us into war before we were ready to slake his lust for conquest and desire to prove himself a worthy successor to the throne. If he had been allowed to succeed, Krasia would have suffered under his rule.”

“Perhaps,” Jardir said.

“And perhaps the Par’chin would have led us to glory when he carried the spear in the Maze,” Asome said. “We make the choices we think best for the good of our people, Father. You taught me that. I took no pleasure in killing my uncle, but he was part of a broken system, and there was no dishonor in his death. I used no hora, and challenged him and the Damaji openly, in accordance with our law.”

“In the night,” Jardir growled. “When all men are brothers. And you goaded my other sons to cheat with hora in their sacred challenges.”

Again Asome shrugged. “Was the Par’chin lying when he spoke of your betrayal before Domin Sharum? Did you not turn on him in the night, throwing him to the demons?”

Jardir grit his teeth. “I did. And it is my greatest shame. Had the Par’chin not proven stronger than I believed, all Ala would have suffered.”

Asome tilted his head. “How?”

“The Par’chin and I have forged a peace. Together we have captured Alagai Ka, and will take him back to the abyss as a hostage.”

If the words surprised Asome, he gave no sign. “To what end?”

“To gain passage through the maze of the abyss and Nie’s endless legions, until we stand before Alagai’ting Ka.”

Asome blinked. “Can even you accomplish such a thing?”

“The alagai hora say I am the Deliverer,” Jardir said, “or the Par’chin is. If any can do this, it is us, united.”

“You may not return,” Asome noted.

“You think to keep the throne you stole,” Jardir said.

Asome met his eyes. “We have established no crime, Father.”

Jardir nodded. “You gave honorable deaths to the Damaji and Andrah. Your brother died of his own foolishness.”

Faster than even Asome could counter, he seized his son by the throat. With his free hand he plucked the crown from Asome’s brow, throwing it across the room. Asukaji gave a hoarse cry as Asome struggled helplessly against his father’s iron grip.

“But there is one crime we have not accounted for,” Jardir growled. “One crime I cannot forgive.”

He pulled Asome so close their noses touched. “You tried to kill your mother.” Jardir lifted his son from the floor by the throat, slamming him against a marble pillar. “That is crime enough to damn any man to the abyss. But Inevera is Damajah, Jiwah Ka of Everam himself.” He tightened his grip, Asome’s face purpling as he struggled for breath. “For that, it would be a mercy to strip you of the white and cast you from the window to your death. It would be a mercy to chain you naked in the bazaar for khaffit to piss upon and use your body as fuel to roast a spitted pig.”

Asome’s hands slapped ineffectually against Jardir’s arm, his last throes. Jardir had meant this as an act, but in that moment he found his rage was true, and was tempted to kill his treacherous son before he could further shame the Skull Throne and its people.

With a roar, Jardir threw his son onto the pillows beside the prone Asukaji. “But you are needed, if you have it in you to find honor once more.”

Once again, Asome was left choking and heaving, struggling for breath, but this time he did not have the crown to Draw upon, and he was slower to recover. Jardir waited patiently, though the night grew long.

“You were not ready for the throne, my son,” Jardir said when Asome’s eyes became lucid. “Your treachery proves it. But for better or worse, Sharak Ka is upon you. The alagai gather. Soon Alagai’ting Ka will lay, and the surface come alive with swarm. Even now, Nie’s princelings seek to form hives across the land, and will muster their legions to defend them. Krasia needs a leader.”

Asome stumbled in his attempt to leave the pillows, falling clumsily to the floor. He struggled, forcing breath through his crushed throat as he knelt, putting his forehead to the floor. “I live to obey, Father.”

Jardir peered into his son’s aura. The truth of those words was unreadable, but he could see already the images forming of Asome out in the night, hunting alagai princes. The boy was hungry for the glory. Hungry for redemption. Hungry to prove, at last, that he was his father’s son.

Jardir drew a ward in the air, calling Asome’s spear to his hand. He set it over his shoulder in the harness for his own spear, then called the crown to him, tying it to his belt sash.

“Tomorrow, before the entire court, you will ascend the seven steps and fall to your knees before the Damajah’s pillows. You will beg her forgiveness for your crimes and pledge to serve her as you would me, in letter and spirit, until your death. Do this with truth in your heart, and she will return the spear and crown to you. Fail, and Heaven will ever be denied you.”

Asome’s aura swirled at that, doubt returning. Jardir demanded he shame himself before the entire court. “She is holding my son, and your mother.”

“Kaji is with his mother. Your Jiwah Ka.” Jardir turned to stare at crippled Asukaji, whose aura colored with shame. “The elder sister you tried to murder.”

He looked back at Asome. “Your claim to the child is denied. Your plan to force an heir upon your cousin was without honor, and I should never have allowed it. Only Ashia can return your rights, and for that you will need her forgiveness, a boon not easily won.”

Asome’s aura darkened, and Jardir knew he might be demanding too much. But the boy touched his forehead to the floor again. “As you say, Deliverer.”

“My Holy Mother will regain her freedom,” Jardir said. “I have already seen to it. Neither you nor Inevera may detain her again. Manvah will be similarly released, and presented to your mother at court when you beg her forgiveness.”

“Of course, Father,” Asome said.

Jardir turned again to Asukaji. “And you, nephew? You who bid to murder your own blood, your father and sister, leaving my eldest sister a widow. Would you continue to lie there, bitter and wretched, as your soul shrivels like Nie’s black heart?”

Asukaji embraced the turmoil in his aura. “No, Deliverer,” he whispered. “I am ready to walk the lonely path and face Everam’s judgment.”

Jardir peered into his nephew’s spirit, rifling through the boy’s hopes and dreams like the robes of his wardrobe. His desire for glory, for greatness, was no less than his lover’s. Asome and Asukaji had played equal part in the treachery on the Night of Hora.

But Asukaji had been humbled that night. The image of his defeat at his sister’s hands was burned into his spirit, a scar that might never heal. Months spent crippled had driven him to the brink of despair. If there had been a way to take his own life, he would have done it long ago.

But deep within, there was a spark of light. He spoke truth regarding his readiness to face Everam’s judgment, understanding at last how he had failed. Born to privilege, he and Asome had taken their right to rule as a given, but still they meant to stand against Nie.

Jardir crouched beside the pillows where the boy lay. “It will not be so simple, nephew. Do you swear to renounce Nie, in this life and the next?”

“I swear it, Deliverer,” Asukaji said.

“Do you swear to serve the Damajah?” Jardir asked. “To beg her forgiveness as Asome must?”

A tiny candle flame of hope lit in Asukaji’s spirit. “I swear it, Deliverer.”

“Will you serve your people, rather than expect they serve you?” Jardir demanded. “From the dama to the lowliest chin?”

It was a question too big for the boy’s mind to comprehend, but he did not hesitate. “I swear it, Deliverer.”

Jardir laid a hand on Asukaji’s forehead, sending his own spirit into the boy, seeking that convergence where his lines of energy had been shattered. He found it, a knot of scars and broken connections, a chasm between mind and body.

With a push, Jardir shattered that wall, rejoining that which was severed. Asukaji cried out, first in pain, and then in ecstasy. He began to laugh, weeping as he flailed his weakened limbs.

Jardir let go and stepped back. Asome rushed to his lover and embraced him, tears mingling on their cheeks. Jardir nodded, wrapping himself in his cloak and activating the wards of unsight. Before they had eyes for anything but each other, he had already stepped into the night and flown back to Inevera’s wing of the palace.

Jardir stepped through the window to Inevera’s chambers, breathing deeply of the perfumed air. He savored the scent, committing it to memory. The Evejah told of the abyss stinking of sulfur, death, and despair.

He went to her perfume table, lifting the delicate vials and inhaling their scents until he found the one he had come to most associate with his Jiwah Ka. He pocketed the vial. In the endless night of Nie’s depths, it would be a defense as strong as any ward.

He found Inevera deep in meditation, staring at the dice scattered before her, aura flat and even. He could tell she was aware of his presence, but he made no sound, waiting patiently until she sat back on her heels, thin silks pulling tight.

Even after their night’s passion, the sight stirred him. He had been too long without her for any one night to sate.

Inevera looked back at him and smiled. “Soon, my love. I will have you again before you leave me.”

Jardir felt his pulse quicken. “You no longer believe you must come?”

Inevera glanced back at the dice sadly. “As you feared, your chances of victory below increase slightly if I come, but even if victorious, we would return to find our people destroyed. Nie waxes strong, my love. All Ala will tremble at Her wrath.”

“What else have you learned?” Jardir asked.

“Alagai Ka is ancient,” Inevera said. “The Prince of Lies spoke true when he claimed to have lived in the time of Kaji.”

“He is the father of demons,” Jardir said. “Perhaps he always was, since Nie’s foul taint first seeped into Ala.”

Inevera shook her head. “He was little more than a hatchling in Kaji’s time, by the measuring of his kind. There have been many fathers of demons, since the coming of Nie.”

“The Par’chin believes there are more,” Jardir said. “That even if we should prove victorious, Nie’s taint will live on. Across the sea, perhaps. Over the mountains. Beyond the Northern snows.”

“Everam and Nie struggle eternally,” Inevera said. “And as above, so below.”

Jardir nodded. “Nothing is as precious, or fleeting, as peace. So Alagai Ka became Consort to the Mother of Demons after the time of Kaji. What else can you say of him?”

“With such a long life, only the barest glimpses can be seen,” Inevera said. “But he is afraid. Perhaps for the first time in his existence.”

“Afraid for himself?” Jardir asked. “Or for Alagai’ting Ka?”

“Himself,” Inevera said. “He cares nothing for the Mother of Demons, apart from the station and power that comes from being her Consort. He fears death at your hands, or the machinations of rivals in his absence.”

“Can we trust him to guide us to Nie’s abyss?” Jardir asked.

“Trust?” Inevera laughed. “You must doubt every word from Alagai Ka, every motive. There is treachery there. Of this there is no doubt. But he will take you to the abyss, if for his own purposes and not yours.”

“A trap,” Jardir said.

“Perhaps,” Inevera said. “Or a trick. Alagai Ka lies with truths, and does not tell all. You must be ready for anything.”

Jardir pursed his lips. It was good advice, but as vague as it was obvious.

“I wish I could tell you more, beloved,” Inevera said. “But the divergences before you are many. You walk a shallow line in the sand amid a storm.”

“You have spoken of pillars in the sand,” Jardir pressed. “Constants amid the future’s chaos.”

“You will find a piece of Kaji,” Inevera said. “A gift from your ancestor to guide you in the dark.”

Jardir leaned in eagerly. “What piece? Where?”

“I cannot say,” Inevera said. “It is not for you to seek. It is fate for you to find. Perhaps the Deliverer, in his wisdom, saw the possibility of his own failure, and left some sign for his successor?”

“Three thousand years ago?” Jardir asked.

“Time means nothing to Everam,” Inevera said. “He exists beyond such things, and speaks to His prophets.”

“And the Par’chin?” Jardir asked.

“He must make a choice,” Inevera said. “Between his jiwah and his duty. Everything is balanced upon it.”

“She carries a child,” Jardir said.

Inevera nodded. “A boy of limitless potential, and a future of despair. He will be born in darkness, and will carry it inside him.”

“So he will live,” Jardir said. It meant Renna would survive long enough to deliver him, and that, at least, was something.

“Perhaps,” Inevera said. “If Renna vah Harl am’Bales am’Brook accompanies you into the darkness below, there are futures where her son lives, and others where he dies. Some where he is born in captivity, mother and child food for Alagai Ka’s table. Others where he is born an orphan, cut from her cooling body.”

Jardir clenched his fist. The Par’chin’s jiwah was brash and disrespectful, but she carried greater honor than any woman he had ever known short of Inevera herself.

“And if she remains behind?” he asked.

“You will fail,” Inevera said flatly, “and all Ala be consumed.”

“Then we must hold faith in her,” Jardir said. “I have looked into the daughter of Harl’s spirit. She will not falter.”

“We must pray not,” Inevera agreed.

“The Par’chin, too, will hold the course,” Jardir said. “Even if the price be his wife, his child, he will strike a spear into the heart of Nie Herself.”

“Do not trust in that,” Inevera said. “Whatever your feelings for him, whatever you have seen when you peer into his spirit, he is a man, and men are fallible, especially when their mates are concerned.”

Asome’s face flashed in Jardir’s mind’s eye, purpling as his father strangled him for daring to strike at his jiwah. “There is wisdom in your words, beloved. I will be there to keep the Par’chin on his path. Is there more?”

“Nothing else yet,” Inevera said. “I will cast again when I have some time to meditate upon what the dice have already shown.”

“With the amplified power of the earrings, you should be able to speak to me until we reach the mouth of Ala and travel into the dark below,” Jardir said. “The magic will interfere with the resonance once we are beneath the surface.”

“In the meantime, there are other matters to discuss,” Inevera said.

Jardir produced Asome’s spear and crown. “Asome and Asukaji will kneel before you on the morrow, to beg forgiveness and ask you to restore their power. All will know they are yours, if they should convince you.”

Inevera blew a breath, making her veil dance like smoke. “My mother?”

“She will be released to you at the same time.” Jardir gave her a hard look, brooking no debate. “As will my mother. Neither of you will detain her again.”

“Of course, beloved. I spoke the truth when I said it was for her own protection. I would never have harmed her.” Inevera’s bow seemed sincere, but there was dissembling in her aura.

“I thought we were past lies, beloved,” Jardir said.

Inevera met his eyes. “I put Sharak Ka above all else, husband. I detained Kajivah so I would not be forced to harm her should Asome attempt to supplant me.”

Jardir’s teeth clenched, but he embraced the feeling. He could not fault his wife for that. He loved his mother, but she was in no way qualified for the burden of the seventh step.

He switched topics to break the tension. “Where is Abban?”

“Alive, the dice tell me,” Inevera said. “I believe Hasik killed Jayan to get to him, and stole the khaffit away. Ashia hunts for them even now.”

Jardir scowled. “I was a fool to leave Hasik alive. Every time I have shown him mercy, I have regretted it.”

“Mercy should never be cause for regret,” Inevera said. “It may be that Hasik yet has a part to play in Sharak Ka.”

“Perhaps,” Jardir conceded. “My time grows short. What else is there to attend?”

In reply, Inevera touched one of her bracelets, and there was a sound of a latch turning behind them. The door opened to admit Amanvah and Sikvah.

Jardir looked back at Inevera in irritation. “I said to tell no one.” Despite the words, he could not deny his pleasure at seeing his eldest daughter clad in a black headscarf, and his niece in a white. Gentle Sikvah looked fierce in her armored robes, armed with spear and shield, and the sight filled him with pride.

“Amanvah and Sikvah have vital news,” Inevera said. “You will want it directly from their lips.”

“Father.” Amanvah knelt before him, putting her hands on the floor. “My heart sings to see you returned alive. I had judged the Par’chin a man of honor. I am glad to see that faith was not misplaced.”

Jardir opened his arms. “Rise, beloved daughter, and embrace me.”

Amanvah flew to his arms faster than might be considered proper, but Jardir only laughed, crushing her to him. When was the last time he held her thus? Before she was sent to the Dama’ting Palace, a decade and more ago. He and Inevera spent so much time grooming their children to lead, they neglected to show them a parent’s love.

It was too late for many of his children now, but for one moment he allowed himself to set aside the mantle of Shar’Dama Ka and be a father. “I am proud of you, daughter. Never doubt this.”

“I will not, Father,” Amanvah said, drawing back as reluctantly as he. Her eyes were wet.

Jardir did not pull away completely, keeping an arm around her as he reached out to Sikvah. “And you, niece. I mourn your loss. The son of Jessum carried boundless honor. Ala is darker without him, but no doubt Heaven shines brighter than ever.”

The fierce façade fell away, and she was gentle Sikvah again, joining her sister-wife in his embrace, the two of them weeping openly. In his crownsight, Jardir could see the ambient magic drawn to their emotion, imprinting upon the tears. They ran like streaks of light down their cheeks, beautiful beyond words.

Inevera produced a tear bottle, collecting the precious drops. When it was full she stoppered it and held it out. The vial glowed with power, much like the hora jewelry she wore.

“A keepsake to carry next to my perfume as you journey to the abyss.” Her smile was wry. “A reminder of love, in that place of endless despair.”

Jardir took the bottle reverently, bowing as he slipped it into his pocket.

“Is it true that Shanvah will travel into the dark below with you, Uncle?” Sikvah asked.

“It is, niece,” Jardir said. “Your spear sister carries untold glory. A demon prince fell to her spear, and for a time she stood alone against Nie’s hordes while the Par’chin and I fought to subdue Alagai Ka.”

Sikvah knelt again, slipping the bright spear and mirrored shield from her back. They were glass treated with electrum, forged and warded by Inevera herself. Sikvah stripped herself of rings and bracelets, anklets, necklace, and choker. All of them shone bright with power, the intricate script of his wife and daughter glowing white in crownsight.

“For such a quest, my spear sister must have the finest weapons and equipment, Deliverer,” Sikvah said. “I would be honored if you would give these to her with my love and blessing.”

Jardir laid a hand on her shoulder. “With pride, Sharum’ting Ka, it will be done.”

“Tell her the Song of Waning will protect her in the night,” Amanvah said. “If her voice is strong, it will protect you all, as you walk the path to Nie’s abyss.”

Jardir nodded. “The son of Jessum saw what we had forgotten. Preserved in the ancient songs of prayer to Everam is true power against Nie. When we join him in Heaven, we will find your husband seated at Everam’s table.”

Fresh tears met the words, but there was little time for weeping. They all knelt on pillows in a ring facing one another. Inevera’s wards were strong, but Jardir took no chances, raising the crown’s protective field as well.

“Mistress Leesha has given birth to your child, Father,” Amanvah said. “I delivered the babe myself.”

Leesha’s letter told him of the child, but this was news. His eyes flicked to Inevera, but her aura remained serene.

“I cast the dice in the child’s birthing blood, Father,” Amanvah said.

Jardir clenched a fist and had to embrace the sudden tension. He had dozens of children. Why did the fate of this one matter so much to him? “What did you see?”

“Potential,” Amanvah said.

“All Everam’s children have potential,” Jardir said.

“Potential to be Shar’Dama Ka,” Inevera cut in. “Potential to save the world, or doom it.”

Jardir looked from Inevera to Amanvah and back. “You’re certain?”

“As certain as anything the dice can tell,” Amanvah said.

“Our daughter has a keen eye, beloved,” Inevera said. “I examined the pattern myself. The child is like you—like the Par’chin.”

“A Deliverer,” Jardir said.

“Deliverers are made,” Inevera said. “The question is, can we trust your chin heasah to teach the child what it must know?”

“Do not call Leesha Paper that,” Jardir snapped. The words struck Inevera’s aura like a lash, but it could not be helped. “She is the mother of my child, a worthy foe of Nie, and has stymied your attempts to kill or silence her more than once. You need not show her love, or kindness, but by Everam she has earned your respect.”

Inevera’s jaw tightened, but she bowed. “I apologize, beloved. When it comes to your greenland jiwah…”

Jardir held up a hand. “I understand, beloved. You have no reason to feel otherwise. But Sharak Ka is upon us, and we must rise above such things and forge peace with our Northern cousins, if humanity is to survive.”

“Of course.” Inevera breathed deeply, her center returning. “I will make peace with my Northern…zahven, even as you have with yours.”

Zahven. The word meant “rival,” but it meant “equal,” as well. It was the first time Inevera had acknowledged Leesha Paper as such, and he knew the admission cost her deeply.

“A child belongs with its mother,” Jardir said. “And Olive will be safer away from Krasian scheming. Even if Asome finds his honor again, there would be many who would seek to exploit the child.”

“Or slay it,” Inevera agreed.

“But that does not mean we cannot send tutors,” Jardir said. “And bodyguards. Those the dice tell you can be trusted to know the honor they carry.”

“Olive will be raised a girl,” Amanvah said. “We can plant a Sharum’ting in disguise by her side, a secret guardian much as Sikvah served for me.”

Jardir looked to Sikvah. “Who do you recommend?”

“Micha,” Sikvah said without hesitation. “She is eldest, next to me, Sharum blood of the Deliverer and half sister to Olive Paper. She will guard the child with her life, and teach her to defend herself.”

“Very well.” Jardir nodded, looking to Inevera. “And to cast for her?”

“We will send three dama’ting to the Hollow Tribe,” Inevera said. “A maiden, a mother, and a crone.”

“Who will lead them?” Jardir asked.

“Ancient Favah’s skill with the dice was revered when I still wore a bido,” Inevera said. “She will be strict, and not bow before the chin, but a child needs that.”

Jardir knew the old woman. Her stare could unnerve even him, but her spirit was true. “And the mother?”

“Dama’ting Shaselle, who studied with me in the Dama’ting Palace,” Inevera said.

Jardir nodded. Shaselle had served as one of Inevera’s closest advisors during his rise to power. “The maiden?”

Inevera turned to Amanvah, and the girl considered. After a moment, she reached into the pouch at her waist and cast the alagai hora, studying them carefully.

“Dama’ting Jaia,” Amanvah said at last. “She has only recently taken the white, and has yet to produce an heir. The dice foretell she will find a worthy father in the green lands and further cement our ties to the Hollow Tribe.”

“Very well,” Jardir said. “Dawn approaches, and there is one thing left to discuss.”

“The Majah,” Inevera said. “They return to the Desert Spear.”

Jardir paled. “What?”

“Inevera,” his wife said. “It was the will of the dice.”

“Unacceptable,” Jardir said.

Inevera shrugged. “No doubt if you fly into their midst and seize Aleveran as you did your son, you can turn them around.”

Jardir shook his head. “That I cannot do without jeopardizing everything we fight for.”

“Then we must trust in Everam’s will.” Inevera turned to the other women. “Leave us.”

Jardir looked to the window as his daughter and niece left, seeing color wash across the horizon. “You have kept me until dawn.”

Inevera smiled. “A day to rest in safety is no small thing, husband, before you march to the abyss.”

Cold wind blew across Jardir’s face as night fell and he took off from the palace roof. He meant to return immediately to the tower, but found himself turning north instead, flying fast for the Hollow. He had no plan for his arrival, but his failure with his sons weighed heavily upon him. If they did not succeed, Olive might be Ala’s last hope, and he did not think he could bear going into the abyss without at least holding her and whispering a blessing.

The Hollow was alive at night, but—secure in their greatwards—the Hollowers were not in the habit of looking upward. Jardir found the keep Amanvah described easily enough, wrapping himself in his cloak as he peered in crownsight through window and wall alike until he found the room he sought. Within was a cradle, the pure aura of an innocent glowing brightly within.

The wards around the room were powerful, but meant to keep alagai at bay, not humans. Jardir used a flick of magic to trip the window latch and slip inside. He left his sandals by the sill and padded silently to the cradle, careful not to wake the child.

He needn’t have bothered. As he looked down upon her, Olive’s eyes stared back at him, wide awake as if he had been expected.

Her aura was as bright as any Jardir had seen short of the Par’chin and his jiwah, but…clean. Unburdened by compromise, failure, or shame.

And then, shamefully, Jardir’s eyes flicked down.

What he saw surprised him. On hearing of Olive’s condition, Jardir assumed it a weakness she would need to overcome, as if being half of each gender made her less than either.

But as he peered deeper with his crownsight, images beyond count danced about Olive, more than he had ever seen in a single aura. Ghostlike impressions of what she might become. Rather than being halved, Olive’s possibilities were doubled.

Olive cooed softly as he lifted her from the crib. Tears filled Jardir’s eyes at the beauty of the sound. He cradled her in his arm. “Blessings of Everam upon you, daughter.”

She wrinkled her nose, yawning as she snuggled close to him. For a moment, he did not know what to do. He had never held his other children with such tenderness.

Perhaps if he had, things might have gone differently.

“Your mother believes I have been a poor father,” he whispered, “and perhaps, if I am honest, she is correct. Always, my attention was fixed on Sharak Ka instead of my own family. I failed my eldest sons, barely knew my daughters.”

Olive reached up, fingers twining into his beard and pulling with surprising strength. “I cannot promise it will be better with you, Olive vah Ahmann am’Jardir am’Hollow. I walk a path I may not return from, but I do it out of love. For you, and all the people of Ala. I pray you never know this burden, but if one day it fall to you, Everam grant you the strength to bear it.”

“Am’Paper,” a voice said behind him.

Startled, Jardir spun into a defensive pose, blocking the child with his body as he snatched up his spear.

Leesha Paper stood with arms folded into the wide sleeves of her dressing gown, offering no threat. She was just as he remembered, beautiful as the dawn, proud as a mountain. “We are not married, Ahmann. Her name is Olive Paper, not Jardir.”

“She is mine, Leesha,” Jardir said. “It is written across her aura. You would deny my claim?”

“Of course not,” Leesha said. “I will not hide who she is, but your name will draw assassins’ blades every time one of your heirs feels threatened.”

“Asome is cowed,” Jardir said. “He will not…”

“You have over seventy children, Ahmann. Can you speak for every one, in all the years to come?”

“I cannot speak for the alagai, either,” Jardir said. “Nie will strike at one such as Olive all her life. Inevera, she will prove the stronger. That is no excuse.”

“I do not need an excuse,” Leesha said. “We are not married, and the law is clear. She is Olive Paper. And why should she not be? It was I who made her. I who carried her in my own body, nursed her on my own milk. It is I who protect her. I who will raise her.”

“My name and blessing are the only gifts I have to bestow before I go to the abyss,” Jardir said.

Leesha smiled at last. “A middle name, then. Olive Jardir Paper.”

Jardir accepted the concession, looking back into the child’s eyes. “Blessings of Everam upon you, Olive Jardir Paper.”

Leesha came to him, kissing him softly on the cheek. “We made a beautiful child.”

Olive tugged at his beard, trying to pull it into her mouth. “Indeed, we did.”

“Am I right in assuming you would not have come to me, next?”

“In truth, I did not know if I was welcome,” Jardir said. “Your letter did not say. I meant only to bless the child.”

Leesha laid a gentle hand on Olive’s head, stroking her fine black hair. “You already have.”

“Then blessings upon her mother,” Jardir said, “still lovely as the bluest sky.”

Leesha laughed. “Ever the charmer. Don’t think you’ll be putting another in me before you go. One was enough.”

Jardir felt his face heat. “I…did not mean…”

Leesha laughed, cupping his chin. “I am teasing, Ahmann.”

Jardir longed to take her into his arms, and quickly turned his eyes back to Olive. “Inevera will send three dama’ting to the Hollow to advise and teach. With them will be my daughter Micha. She will be in dal’ting robes, but like Sikvah, she studied under Enkido. She will keep her half sister safe. You can trust her in this.”

“I will,” Leesha promised. “Thank you.”

Jardir gently set Olive back in her cradle, disentangling her tiny fingers from his beard. “I must go.”

He turned away, but Leesha caught his arm, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held her one last time, breathing the scent of her hair. She laid her head on his chest. “Be safe, Ahmann. Come back to see your daughter grow.”

“I will not spend my life cheaply,” Ahmann promised. “Everam’s blessing upon you, Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”

He kissed her. A feather-light touch of her lips that lingered even as he pulled away. He stepped back to the window, slipped on his sandals, and leapt out into the night.