The Daylight War

She hesitated. Should she speak? She quickly dismissed the idea. If she pointed out the mistake in front of the Sharum, it would likely mean her life, as well as that of all the warriors present, Soli included. The dama’ting could not be seen as fallible.

She breathed, finding her centre, and did nothing.

Cashiv bowed again. ‘Dama Lakash is attempting to end the exception that the personal Sharum of dama need fight in the Maze only on Waning. How can this be prevented?’

Qeva grunted and threw the dice a third time. ‘Dama Lakash’s son-in-law and heir Dama Kivan has spoken ill of you in council. Claim insult and kill him, taking his Jiwah Ka, Lakash’s eldest daughter Gisa, as your Jiwah Sen in recompense. Marry her that night, and get a daughter on her the third afternoon after the ceremony.’

Cashiv’s face wrinkled at the thought. ‘This brings me to the dama’s final question, Dama’ting: “I remain vigorous with men, but have lost my ability to lie with and seed my wives. How can this be restored?”’

Qeva snorted and put her dice away. There was a tinkling clatter of small corked bottles as she rifled through the pouch at her waist, finally selecting one. ‘Apply this personally to the dama’s spear before he does the deed, and tell him to be quick about it.’ She tossed the bottle to Cashiv. ‘If that doesn’t work, stick a finger in his arse.’

Cashiv and the other Sharum laughed at that.

‘And the boon?’ Qeva asked.

‘My master has lost nine poison tasters in the year,’ Cashiv said. ‘He suspects one or more of his many sons.’

‘Yet he wastes a question on a spitting khaffit,’ Qeva noted.

Cashiv bowed low. ‘My master’s sons add to his power, and he would not wish to kill one, nor does he think it would deter the others if he did. He asks instead for a chalice, ornate as befits his stature, magicked to turn poison to water.’

‘A precious gift,’ Qeva said. ‘Difficult to make.’

Cashiv smiled. ‘My master prays it will be less so, with the bones of a water demon.’

Qeva nodded, rising to her feet. ‘You may go. Tell your master his chalice will be ready on the first Waning after spring equinox. We will teach him a precise way to hold it, so that only he may activate its power.’

‘The Dama’ting is generous beyond measure.’ Cashiv touched his forehead to the ground and got to his feet. As he and the others turned to go, Soli looked back. For an instant, he met Inevera’s eyes.

And winked.

The days that followed were a horror, as Inevera and the other nie’dama’ting who had earned the Chamber of Shadows rendered the demon’s flesh with acid and fire, leaving the hora untouched. The bones were then polished with sacred oils as the nie’dama’ting chanted endless prayers to Everam until they were black and hard as obsidian.

The putrid acid slurry was neutralized with a base, the resulting liquid poison to the touch, but thick with magic the dama’ting could tap. It was drained into large vats connected to pipes that sent the stuff through the palace walls like a circulatory system, powering the wardlights, climate control, and countless other spells warded throughout the palace.

The work left the other girls pale and retching, their hands burned and eyes watering, but Inevera barely noticed. Her mind was far away from such inconsequential wind. She breathed through her mouth as she chanted, letting her hands work the monotonous task on their own as her thoughts danced with the image of Soli. She had worried greatly about him over the years, her heart clenching every day Sharum wounded were brought to the pavilion. It would have been enough to see him and know he was alive, but the wink had changed everything. He knew her fate and loved her still. He would tell Manvah that she was well and calm their mother’s heart.

The chamber rang with the sound of Inevera’s cymbals as she gyrated and spun, the grip of her bare feet sure on the polished stone floor. She was thirteen, but already she had a woman’s body, lithe yet well curved. She snapped her hips at Khavel and saw him rock back with every thrust.

The younger girls watched in fascination. Inevera taught the beginner classes in pillow dancing now, though the bido wrap she wore meant she herself had yet to experience the dance in full.

Sacred law held that Everam’s Betrothed remain virgins until they took the veil, as signified by the bido. That first night, the Damaji’ting would break her hymen to consummate the marriage to Everam, and Inevera would become a full Bride.

The second night, she would be free to love any man or object as she pleased, for what were they, compared with Everam’s embrace? Playthings.

Inevera met the eunuch’s gaze as she writhed before him. Firmly under her spell, his eyes were glazed, head swaying in time with her movements. He was hers.

Khavel was a perfect physical specimen – the dama’ting settled for nothing less in a pleasure eunuch – with a handsome face, proud jaw, and muscular body glistening with oil. Trained from an early age in massage and all the other ways a man might give a woman pleasure, he would without question be a skilled lover. It was whispered that almost every dama’ting made use of him, and that he was on a constant diet of virility drugs, with a strict ritual exercise and sleep regimen. Practically every new dama’ting in the last decade had summoned him to her chambers on her second night, with none regretting.

But while Inevera could see the eunuch’s beauty, he stirred no desire in her, no more than a perfect statue of a man might. Other girls might be eager to practise the pillow dance fully, but Inevera didn’t spend years honing her skills to waste them on half a man. She would sooner bed a khaffit.

When her demonstration ended, she lined up the younger girls, helping them place their feet and practise the twist and snap of the hips that was the core of the pillow dance.

After the lesson, Inevera went to the baths, breathing steam deeply as the hot water soaked into her muscles. Melan and Asavi were there, pointedly ignoring her, but in the many months since Inevera’s defeat of the older girl, most of the other nie’dama’ting had changed their attitude towards her.

‘Bathe you, sister?’ Jasira asked, holding a soaked cloth lathered with scented soap. She was two years older than Inevera, and had just passed the test of admission to the Chamber of Shadows. Inevera waved her off. Such offers were becoming common, as her power grew and Melan’s waned. As Kenevah predicted, the other girls feared her, whispering among themselves that she would one day be Damaji’ting. Inevera could make willing servants of most of the nie’dama’ting, even so far as taking them as pillow friends and having her pleasure of them. But Inevera had no interest in such things. The girls did not shun her as they once had, but neither were they her friends.

More than anything, Inevera wished she could speak to her mother. Or her brother. The only people she could ever really trust.

As they were dressing, Inevera looked to Melan. ‘Going to the chamber, sister? We could walk together.’ Melan glared at her, and Inevera allowed herself a slight smirk.

‘Smile now, bad throw,’ Melan whispered. ‘Today I finish my dice, and tomorrow I will take the veil.’ She gave a predatory smile, but Inevera only smiled pleasantly in return.

‘I will still be dama’ting before you,’ she promised.