The Daylight War

Inevera had never understood why Melan’s punishment was so severe, and had held on so long. Inevera had excelled at dancing and sharusahk. By her second month in the palace, her forms were as good as the other girls her age. Now, after two years, they were as good as any. Qeva should have lifted the ban long ago, but she had not. Why? It served nothing but to antagonize Melan. If the dama’ting thought she could teach her daughter humility this way, she was a fool.

And then, suddenly, it clicked, as Qeva’s words from two years gone came back to her.

If you prove not humble, competent, or strong enough to survive and advance to the white, then that is inevera.

Carving and warding were not the only tests barring the Chamber of Shadows. Qeva wanted the strongest leader for the Kaji, and she had set her own daughter to bar Inevera’s path, whether Melan knew it or not.

‘Scorpion,’ Melan hissed, coming forward hard.

But Inevera was through pretending to be weak. She had spent two years humble before Everam. Now it was time for strength.

Inevera had never fought back during these nightly beatings. There had been nothing to gain. But she had watched, and waited, and planned. She knew Melan’s weaknesses now, and in her mind she had fought this battle a thousand times.

She dropped down on one hand and the balls of her feet, driving her stiffened fingers into the point of convergence on Melan’s thigh. ‘Wilting flower,’ she said as Melan’s supporting leg lost strength and she collapsed to the ground.

Melan rolled quickly to her feet, massaging strength back into her leg, and Inevera gave ground freely, offering no aggression of her own. More than one of the girls forming a ring around them peeked over her shoulder.

‘You see nothing!’ Melan shrieked, and they quickly turned away.

‘We see nothing,’ they all echoed.

‘Lucky,’ Melan snarled. Inevera only smiled in return as the girl came at her again, meeting Melan’s cobra’s hood with a deft strike to her throat before melting out of her path.

‘Shattered wind,’ she said as Melan stumbled past, overbalanced and gasping for air. Girls were looking again, but Melan paid them no mind, turning and launching herself at Inevera, her kicks and punches moving like tunnel asp strikes, followed close behind by targeted strikes at Inevera’s own convergence points.

But Inevera bent and swayed like a palm in wind, seeing the lines of energy clearly as Melan set her feet and eyed her targets. Again and again she broke those lines, sometimes simply taking away her breath and balance, other times adding a sharp stab of pain to accentuate the lesson. She was careful to cause no permanent harm, though. Inevera had never told the dama’ting of how Melan and the other girls abused her, but she held no such faith in them. Qeva would be looking for excuses to deny her passage into the chamber, and killing or maiming her daughter would surely qualify.

But she was through being abused. Melan came at her again, appearing to use camel’s kick, but then flowing unexpectedly into ram’s horn, trying to smash Inevera’s nose with her forehead.

Inevera caught Melan’s robe, swaying to the side with a leg left in Melan’s path to trip her into a throw. She kept a hold on Melan’s arm, and if the other girl resisted, her arm would pop from its socket. As expected, Melan added her own momentum to the throw to avoid that, practically leaping along to crash into Asavi’s back. Both girls went down in a heap, and the others around them gasped and scattered.

Melan let out a low growl, twisting and scissoring her legs around Inevera’s feet, tripping her as well and rolling atop her. They struggled for several minutes on the floor, and here the older girl’s strength began to tell as she worked her way behind Inevera into a hold, bashing her forehead against the stone floor more than once. There was a flare of light behind her eyes after each one, leaving Inevera’s ears ringing and her equilibrium shattered.

She managed to free one arm as Melan pulled the cords of Inevera’s bido around her neck, sacrificing control for the hold. After all, what could Inevera do with one arm and Melan firmly planted on her back? She threw her head back to strike Melan’s nose, but the girl was wise to the trick, pulling her face back and to the side.

As Inevera knew she would. Quick as a flame demon, she stuck her index and middle fingers into Melan’s nostrils. Her fingernails were sharp, and they cut into the tender cartilage as she pulled hard, threatening to tear Melan’s nose clean off.

‘Will Asavi still want to kiss you when your nose is a ruined hole?’ she whispered.

Melan wasn’t the prettiest of the nie’dama’ting, but she was easily the most vain. She shrieked, dropping her hold in order to preserve her beauty. Inevera struck several quick blows in the ensuing chaos, then rolled away and got to her feet. Melan followed wobbling unsteadily. There was nothing she could do as Inevera scorpion-kicked her in the face, feeling Melan’s cheek and nose crumple under the blow. Melan hit the floor hard and struggled to rise again.

‘When she sees your face tomorrow, I think Dama’ting Qeva will lift your banishment,’ Inevera said, holding up her new hora pouch. ‘We will enter the Chamber of Shadows together. And I will finish my dice before you.’

8

Sharum Do Not Bend

302–305 AR

Inevera waited nervously in the dama’ting pavilion, her breath fogging in the bitter cold. Qeva was there, as well as three other Brides, seven Betrothed, and four eunuchs, including the powerful Enkido. The eunuchs were dressed in full Sharum blacks, night-veiled with spear and shield. Under their robes was linked armour of dama’ting craft, enough to turn even a demon’s bite.

But despite the powerful gathering in a familiar space, Inevera shifted her feet nervously. It was deep in the night, and they were on the surface. Evejan law forbade this, even for Brides of Everam, but Qeva and the others stood chatting among themselves as easily as if they stood in the Dama’ting Underpalace. Inevera knew logically the chances of alagai passing the Sharum in the Maze and breaching the great wall was minimal at best – and in truth closer to infinitesimal – but still her heart thudded in her chest.

Fear and pain are only wind, she reminded herself, picturing the palm and finding her centre.

Standing by the tent flap, mute Enkido raised a hand and made a quick series of gestures with his fingers.

‘Oot!’ Qeva said. ‘They come.’

Everyone quieted, and the Brides moved to stand in front, Qeva at their lead. She nodded to Enkido as he opened the tent flap.

Half a dozen Sharum approached the pavilion, one of them leading a camel with feet wrapped in thick black cloth. There was black cloth over its body as well, and wrapped around the wheels of the large cart it pulled.

Their blacks were dusty from the Maze, with fresh dents in their armour and ichor splattering their heavy shields. One walked with a slight limp, and another had a blood-soaked cloth tied around one thick arm. The Sharum all had their night veils in place, but Inevera recognized them immediately by their sleeveless uniforms with breastplates of blackened steel emblazoned with the golden sunburst of Dama Baden. Even without his characteristic swagger and white kai’Sharum veil Inevera would have recognized Cashiv, and even more so the man beside him. His ajin’pal.

Soli.

She had not seen her brother in years, but she knew him instantly even behind his veil. His eyes had the twinkle of her brother’s easy smile, and she knew his walk, his stance, and his muscular arms as well as she knew her own. She suppressed a gasp, but could not help staring.