Inevera breathed to find her centre. She was Everam’s servant, the instrument of His will. If the dice commanded this, so it would be.
She gathered the dice again, daring a second throw. ‘How do I select Ahmann’s brides?’
– They have already been selected.—
Inevera was kneeling in a small casting alcove in the Andrah’s Palace when Belina arrived. There were many such chambers. When council was in session, the Andrah and Damaji frequently demanded minor spells and foretellings that were beneath the Damaji’ting to cast personally. These were delegated during recess to an army of senior Brides from each tribe who attended their mistresses at court.
As Kenevah’s third, Inevera was expected to attend, though sacred law did not require it. The older women had all been scandalized when she first skipped a session at the demands of her dice, collecting advantages for her husband. It happened many more times over the years, and the implied insult to Kenevah had not been without consequences.
The tribes might often be at odds, but all dama’ting took their wisdom from the Evejah’ting, and thus all called their new leaders from outside the palace. A few years after Inevera had begun coming to court, the first of these girls appeared – to a one younger than she.
Since then, all had taken a black veil. All save Inevera. Whenever she was at court, it was a constant reminder of her sacrifice for Ahmann. Dama’ting could speak volumes with their eyes, and to a one the new heirs sneered at Inevera, standing still as they moved forward.
She hated them. Belina of the Majah, most of all. The diminutive dama’ting had nothing but disdain in her eyes when she looked at Inevera.
And so it was all the more unexpected when a day earlier, Inevera had passed her a note in the hall, so swiftly that none but they two noticed the exchange.
Inevera’s casting chamber was richly appointed, as befitted her place as third of the Kaji. It was secure from sunlight, lit in the soft glow of wardlight. A silver tea service rested next to Inevera, heat wards keeping it steaming.
She poured as Belina entered. It was a calculated gesture, though Inevera rankled at the submissive stance before one she must dominate. ‘I thank you for coming, sister.’
Belina accepted the cup gracefully. She was a tiny thing, a full inch shy of five feet. But her frame was sturdy, with a small waist, big, heavy breasts, and round hips. She looked fit to breed an army. She cast a suspicious eye upon Inevera. ‘I am still not certain why I am here.’
Inevera kept her eyes down as she poured her own cup. ‘Let us not play games, Belina. We both cast the bones before this meeting. Tell me what your dice told you, I will tell you what mine told me.’
Belina’s teacup twitched – the only sign of her surprise, but for a dama’ting she might as well have dropped it to the floor. Casting was a private communion with Everam, and while Brides sometimes debated meanings with their closest and most trusted allies, it was the height of rudeness to ask outright what another had seen.
They watched each other silently a while, sipping their tea. Finally, Belina shrugged. ‘They said you would give me a gift, and then offer me your husband.’
She looked at Inevera with hard eyes. ‘But I have no interest in marrying some piddling kai’Sharum, especially one of another tribe. They say your own Damaji’ting denies you the black veil over it. No gift you can give will change this.’
Inevera let the insult pass. ‘I will not ask you to agree to marry a kai’Sharum. It is the Sharum Ka you will marry, and the Sharum Ka has no tribe.’
This got the other woman’s attention. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji will be the next Sharum Ka? You know this?’
Inevera nodded, suppressing a smile. Even now, her ‘piddling’ husband’s name was known to the dama’ting of other tribes. ‘It is inevera.’ She made no mention of the price she must pay for it. That, too, was Everam’s will, and not to be denied.
Belina sipped her tea. ‘The Andrah himself has not had a Damaji’ting wife in five generations. Even the Sharum Ka would be beneath me …’ She met Inevera’s gaze with a hard one. ‘… and I would never accept being beneath you.’
Inevera nodded. ‘And so the gift, at the command of my own dice. Blood to show you part of Everam’s plan. Hold out your dice.’
Belina looked at her warily. Her hand went to her hora pouch, but whether it was to clutch it or draw forth protective magic, she seemed to have no intention of removing her dice. ‘You offer me your husband’s blood?’ That would be an incredibly powerful gift – one that could give Belina great power over Ahmann. Like asking about another’s casting, it simply wasn’t done.
But Inevera shook her head. ‘Not his.’ She drew her knife and sliced the meat at the base of her fist. ‘Mine.’ Belina gasped as Inevera held out the fist, blood welling into the first drop. ‘Hold out your dice.’
No one trained in hora magic would pass up such an offer. This time, Belina obeyed instantly.
It’s a start, Inevera thought.
Command what only a fool would refuse enough times, the Evejah’ting taught, and even the proudest Jiwah Sen will become accustomed to obedience.
Inevera watched the Andrah begin to wheeze as she danced for him. He was grossly fat, and seemed to labour under the weight of simply inflating his enormous chest.
He will have trouble performing. She had already laced his food and drink with potions to keep him aroused, but there was only so much that could be done with such a man.
When she had his robe off, she had to search under the rolls of his belly to even find his member, and it took all seven strokes to stiffen it enough for her to mount him. Twice, he came close to Heaven in her hands, but she pinched him down, knowing that her husband’s fate depended on their union. When it was in, she made it quick, howling for his benefit, false sounds that barely covered her disgust, but nevertheless drove him to frenzy. With a twist and a clench, she finished him and left him panting in the pillows.
‘Fine,’ he gasped at last, struggling to rise and pull on his robes. ‘The son of Hoshkamin will be the next Sharum Ka.’
Inevera was the palm, bending in the wind as she left, but when the curtains fell around her palanquin, the tree snapped, and she wept. She had known for years that she and Ahmann were fated to marry, but she had not anticipated falling in love with him.
Mere hours after Ahmann took the white turban of Sharum Ka and petitioned the Damaji for a bride from each tribe, Kenevah summoned Inevera to her office. The lesser tribes had been thrilled, their Damaji’ting all but drooling at the prospect of placing agents in the Sharum Ka’s pillow chamber – not yet knowing their own heirs would be chosen, and thus fall under Inevera’s command.
But the Kaji had been first among the tribes for as long as any could remember, and Damaji Amadeveram had been enraged at the idea of mixing Kaji blood with that of a lesser tribe. Kenevah had given no sign in court, but her eyes were hard when Inevera entered.
‘I had thought your husband clever when he made his mad request,’ the old woman said. ‘Imagine my surprise when my dice,’ she rattled the bones in her hand, ‘told me that you were behind the move.’ She did not appear surprised.
Inevera said nothing, and this seemed to irritate the Damaji’ting even more.