The Skull Throne

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

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

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

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

“Jealousy?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, too, was good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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