Steelflower

  I shrugged again. The weariness of travel settled deep in my body, familiar but painful all the same. “I have no sorcery, Kesa’li. The G’mai have been working with Power since the Moon was made, if I had my share they would never have cast me out. I was shunned from my fifth summer on; ten summers later I came back to my room to find all possessions gone. Vanished. I had only my sword and the sweat in my clothes to leave with.”

  Kesa watched me, her pretty mouth pursed. I had never told her this tale. I stared at the diamond dangling from the fine silver chain that had somehow found its way into my hand, stared as if it could tell me the future. “Now I am faced with a G’mai man who thinks I am his adai. He will be lucky if his true adai does not shun him for consorting with me, once he finds her. Which I gave my word to help him do.” And I do not think I can live with this small crumb snatched from me again. “Gods, Kesa. What a mess.”

  “You are ridiculous.” Thunder rattled again, faraway. Storm from the sea, and we had just missed being caught in it. “Is it so outlandish to think you might be mistaken?”

  I kept my silence, staring at the gem. Not outlandish, Kesa. Terrifying. Yes, that is the word.

  Kesa sighed. “Finish your kafi, Kaia’naa. Then we shall have a nice long civilized bath, and you shall dress properly for dinner. Jettero will wear his best. You do not wish to disappoint him, do you?”

  “I have never cared much for Jettero’s disappointment.” I watched the diamond swing back and forth.

  “Then,” she answered lightly, “think of mine.”

  Chapter 20

  Proof And Tidings

  I left my hair down.

  Twas childish. G’mai adai’sa braid their hair. Always. There are poems of a s’tarei watching his adai twist her hair; love-poetry, of the bittersweet taste G’mai adore.

  I did not want any reminder of G’maihallan. And so, unbound hair, an insult at worst, a deliberate flaunting of polite convention at best.

  Over Kesamine’s objections, I wore a fresh suit of travel clothes. The only concession I made to style was a pair of silver and ruby ear-drops I stole from a Taizmiri lord in my very first days of traveling. Twas a miracle I had not since lost them. They rather suited me, even if it did hurt to have them in my ears again. The G’mai do not wear such things.

  Still, their weight reminded me of stealing them, and of surviving an unpleasant experience. I had traveled far enough from that memory to transform it to strength instead of a fearsome thought.

  I chose a black linen shirt, my second leather vest, and a nice pair of black Shainakh silk trousers. I went barefoot.

  My hair was a trouble, since I could sit on it when unbraided. But I had decided, and twas too late now. So I gave the soft knock required by politeness and strolled into Kesamine’s dining room, fresh from the bath and with rubies swinging against my cheeks.

  Jettero sprang to his feet. “Ah, Kaia—” He stopped in confusion, eyeing me in my unbraided glory.

  I smiled sweetly. “And good evening to you, Jettero.” I bowed, a lovely, courtly bow, if I do say so myself. My hair fell forward over my shoulders and I winced internally at the thought of tangles.

  Kesamine’s dining room was reached through her sitting room, done in blue Kshanti silk and graceful Clau furniture looking far too delicate to withstand the use I knew it could. I once hit an assassin on the head with a spindly little Clau folding stool, surprised when it killed him. Of course, I had been bleeding from the mouth, the shoulder, and the leg at the end of that fight, and I never dreamed I would be rescued by a chair.

  A row of windows looked out on the harbor. As I glanced out, a flash of diamond lightning speared darkness, and thunder rattled the sky. I returned my gaze to Jettero. “What a marvelous instinct I have for making entrances.” Twas the right thing to say, self-deprecatory and amusing.

  Jettero had, true to Kesamine’s prediction, dressed like a lordling. Crimson silk shirt and trousers, loose and elegant, and a finely worked leather swordbelt too. His hat, with a huge sweeping feather, lay tossed on a low Clau couch, the kind with only one pillow at the end, done in blue satin.

  She has such exquisite taste, my Kesa.

  Any other time, I would have dressed to match him, even borrowed a gown from her. But tonight, no. As it was, my plainness set him off to advantage, and he preened.

  Darik rose slowly from a fragile-looking Clau chair. Kesa must have dressed him, because he wore black silk in the Kshanti style, a high-collared tunic and loose trousers. It suited him. His dotanii rode his back as mine did, and his eyes glittered black. I could not guess if twas fury or embarrassment that made his gaze so bright. His face, when he registered my unbound hair, was priceless. First his eyes narrowed fractionally, then his mouth firmed just a little. His shoulders were rigid under the black silk.

  A deep and nasty satisfaction welled up inside me, too sharp to be clean.

  He looked every fingerwidth the prince. His hair was silk, all trace of dust gone, and he moved with the unconscious grace of someone drilled in the publicity of royal life.

  Jettero regained himself. “Indeed you do, Iron Flower. Come, we have had a fascinating discussion. Your friend knows nothing of your fame. I have taken it upon myself to remedy that.” Jettero’s lean face split into a smile.

  I almost lost my temper. If I cuffed Jett now we would have a sharp, vicious fight, and Kesa would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself.

  “You are filling him to back teeth with ridiculous bits of minstrelsy, you mean.” I made a little tsk-tsk sound. “Pour me a cup of wine, Jett, and do stop being a fool.”

  Darik gave me a correct little half bow. “I had no idea you were so famous, Kaia’li,” he said, in commontongue.

  “Hardly.” My smile fixed upon my face. Jett poured wine from a smoky glass bottle into a silver goblet. “Jett likes to lie to the naïve. Tis his only real hobby.”

  “Oh, you are harsh.” But Jett’s tone was mild, as if he realized now was not a fine time to bait me. “Cha, sit down, and give me some gossip. I’ve a few pieces to make that lovely hair curl.”

  I moved across the room. Rain splashed the windows—a downpour I was more than happy to witness rather than bear. Storms moved in from the sea at the end of harvest season and sometimes continued during the lean winters. Vulfentown was on the main southern road to Shaituh, so it still received trade income that way, but a storm so early in the harvest season spelled bad luck. Not only would trade suffer, but if it stormed more, I could not take ship for Antai.

  I would be in Shaituh for the snows. Again.

  I took the goblet Jett offered me and smiled.

  Darik’s chair had its back to the wall housing the fireplace. He must have arrived first, since Jett would have taken that place otherwise. Since Kesa’s customary chair had its back to the other wall, Jett had chosen the chair across from Kesa, to Darik’s left, with its back to the bank of expensive windows. That left me with my back to the door, highly uncomfortable. So I took the small, thin-framed Clau chair and moved it at an angle to the table. Kesa would only see a slice of my face, but she would understand. If I could irritate Darik enough that he left the room, one of us could take his seat. I had to pull my hair aside gracefully or risk sitting on it.

  Once settled, I took a sip of the wine. Baiiar, a nice white, very sweet. Kesa must be seeking to sweeten my disposition. My palms were damp.

  Why?

  Damn the G’mai. He had robbed me of the pleasure of a long dinner spent gossiping with friends. The dauq’adai was warm and hard against my skin. I saw Darik’s eyes drop—he could not tell if I wore the Seeker, the chain was hidden under my shirt. “Jett, my dear.” I leaned back against the chair. “What’s the Guild up to these days? Any dues I should know of?”

  “Business before dinner?” Jett raised a single eyebrow. His hair was freshly washed, and he had a braided bit over his right eye, tied off with red thread. For luck. Thieves are a superstitious group. “Cha, love,
you know I cannot do that.”

  I turned my smile on him. “Oh, cha. Let us finish the boring things, so we may enjoy dinner.” I tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. “I hear the High Shaikuhn lowered tariffs. Trade goes well, then?”

  “Ah.” Jett shrugged. “Not as well as it could. They doubled the tax on rice and flour. And salt.” Jett swirled the wine in his own goblet, his long horse-face thoughtful. “Now why, do you suppose, is that?”

  “Orders from the Emperor.” I wriggled my toes against the hardwood. “Old Azkillian is planning another war.”

  “They are already bled dry over the Danhai.” Jett’s eyes flicked over the table, a habitual movement. “New offensive?”

  Darik said nothing, simply watching me. The table was set for four, and there was the traditional dish of salt, as well as two graceful Clau glass candlesticks with white candles burning, Kesa’s little joke. When our hostess came, the appetizers would arrive.

  I could barely wait, famished as I was. I shook my head, settled back in my chair. “Pesh.” I felt great satisfaction in being able to give the news. “Tis simple, Jett. Sellswords are heading to Shaituh in droves, if you have not noticed. Low tariffs to bring in metalwork, taxing the peasants for staples—and Azkillian cannot take the freetowns, the Blood Years convinced him as much. The freetowns are worth more in trade than he could ever get in tax, and he uses them to corral the Shaikhuns on the coast. No, tis Pesh he has his eye set to. Rich, used to slavery, will bring in tax revenue to balance the Danhai drain, and will rid him of troublemakers in the army. Unless Pesh puts up a savage fight, Azkillian cannot lose—unless of course the Holy City revolts and forces him to change his policy, and tis as much chance of that as there is of me singing in a Rijiin harbara.”

  “Ah.” Jett’s face lit with comprehension.

  “Your grasp of politics never fails to amaze me.” Kesa, at the door. I rose to my feet and, after an embarrassed moment, the two men did as well.

  She wore white, contrasting with the satin of her skin and the golden floss of her hair. I smiled, and wondered which one of the men she was after. Probably Darik—Kesa was little able to resist adding a prince to her list. The dress was long and floating, trailing sleeves, a low neckline revealing more of her milky, beautifully clear skin. “You began the gossip without me,” she chided gently.

  I gave Jettero a reason to stop needling me, and Darik a reason to stay silent. “Merely uncomfortable business before dinner, so we may enjoy the storm and the table at the same time. You look beautiful, Kesamine Drava’s-kin.”

  She accepted the compliment with a courtesy, her skirt pooling on the floor and her elaborately curled ringlets bobbing. “I bought the material from Tanyas Spicetrader. She brought it from Clau.” She straightened, and pulled gently on the rope next to the door. That was the signal for the inn staff to start bringing up dinner.

  My hair was still damp, despite the attentions of the bath attendant. A’lian had pummeled me on the massage table, scolding me for being too tense, and he had clucked over the bruise on my thigh. Twas healing quickly—by now a deep ugly yellow-green with purple spots and still a little tender, but not so bad. “Lovely,” I murmured. “Tis close to a pattern I saw in Tak-Himor.”

  “It is.” She looked pleased. “Very flattering. You were speaking of Pesh? Jettero, pour me some wine. Prince, tis lovely to see you. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

  “How could I resist?” But his eyes were still on me. Black eyes, hot with something unnamable. He lowered himself into his chair slowly, and Jettero dropped into his after pouring the wine. Kesa sank down gracefully, arranging her skirts, and I sat too, gingerly. Kesa sipped at her wine.

  “Azkillian is planning an offensive against Pesh.” I took up the thread of our former conversation. “Tis the only logical explanation. The man is crazed.”

  “Well, that much is certain.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth, a decisive sound. “What made you think so, the tax on staples?”

  “No. Although tis the deciding factor. He will have riots to deal with before long. The peasants will not take kindly to a new tax. They already carry the burden for the Danhai war—and that morass has lasted a decade. You would think a God-Emperor would learn.” I blew out through pursed lips, beginning to forget Darik was there, staring at me. Between Kesa and Jett, I could relax and eat without worrying about where the next meal would come from.

  “Sellswords,” Jettero said thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Kimon Leatherworker—you know, the Hagat’s-kin, the tall one—told me the sellswords passing through are asking for leather armor and light chain. Good for plains-fighting. Lots of horseflesh, too. One cannot buy a horse at the markets, all the horseflesh is bound for Shaituh.”

  “Cha, I know,” I groaned. “I had to pay two Rams for the two I bought, twas in Arjux. I stayed with Doryen. He lost a stablegirl—the brat made off with my cache. He hid it in the stable to keep it from the tax collector.”

  Kesa laughed. “Doryen. No wits at all.”

  “Oh, he is plenty of wit, but very little sense. So, what gossip, Jett?” I spun a kiyan across my fingers and tossed it into the air. He caught it on its descent, made it disappear into one hand. “Nice. I almost missed your fingers.”

  “Tis what they all say.” He grinned, shaking his hair back. “You are a subject of much interest in the marketplace and in the taverns, pretty Flower. The Shainakh remember you and might be wanting to conscript you for their war. Word just arrived from Hain you are wanted for questioning. The entire city’s in an uproar. What did you do?”

  “Rescued a barbarian.” I hesitated a moment, then told the story of Redfist’s escape from the Dark Sun sect. I spoke of picking his pocket, and waking up to face the Hain guard, slaying two before I was even truly awake.

  Kesa was laughing, and Jett had his hands clutched over his stomach. Tears streamed down his face. They were still chuckling helplessly when appetizers arrived.

  The food was, as usual, superlative. Deep-fried whitefish, sweet rice balls, poppadums. We set to with a will. Darik said nothing, and ate only enough to be polite. It began to feel normal to be watched so closely. Or I set myself to ignore it, as gracefully as I could.

  By the time the first course arrived—sheksfin soup and chaabi stew, with puffy flatbread, served with a clear tart Ambiij wine—we were deep into a discussion of the gossip Jettero had heard about me.

  “So the tale is,” he finished up, “you and the one that calls himself the King of Thieves have declared war on each other.”

  I wiped tears of laughter away. “Why would I? He is far too petty a bandit, I take no such small prey. Is it that minstrel again?”

  “I know not, but tis a song making the rounds—” He whistled a snatch of a melody I had heard before. “Full of the Iron Flower dueling the King of Thieves.”

  “I am going to kill that minstrel,” I muttered. “What of our fine princeling here? I am curious, you understand.”

  Jettero leaned back in his chair, took a long draft of wine. “Cha, Kaia, what is not said of him? The Gemerh search for him—something about a palace coup, and him being an Heir to something. Tis a reward for any news of him, and double the reward if there is news of him with a woman. Word just arrived in the market—suddenly the Gemerh are asking of you, too. Apparently one of them was curious, asked for a description, and decided you could be of their ilk.” Interest was bright and reigned behind Jettero’s muddy dark eyes. “Teyo sang them a few songs, and seemed to interest them. Particularly your name. But the most interesting piece of gossip is about a commander in the Shainakh army. He came back to Shaituh half a year ago from the Danhai border, and let it be known anyone who can carry a message to you will be richly rewarded. Guess who it is.”

  I sopped some flatbread in my chaabi, chewed thoughtfully, took a swallow of wine. Finally I shook my head. “I served out my time in the irregulars. I cannot think of a single commander I would be interested in.”

&n
bsp; “Does the name Ammerdahl Rikyat mean anything to you?” Kesamine said.

  Ah. My spine prickled, as always when I thought of the plains. I leaned back in my chair. Rikyat? Why would he be asking for me? “Ah. A commander? Tis more luck than he ever had.”

  “Well, the Danhai keep killing them,” Jettero said practically. “Advancement is fast on the battlefield.”

  You do not know how correct you are. Memory turned my skin cold for a moment. “He seeks me?” I chewed at my bottom lip. “How certain is this?”

  “Certain enough,” Kesa said. “I’ve heard from the travelers coming from Shaituh—the ones that can reach us. Tis some trouble between here and there, but nobody knows quite what. Even the Gemerh cannot go through.”

  Uneasy news, that. “Odd. You would think the Shaikuhn would keep the road clear. What species of trouble?”

  Jettero shrugged, spreading his hands. “Ask the Gemerh.”

  I would rather ask the wind. I sighed. “It matters little. Shaituh is where I am bound. I must find work, I have been dropping coin all over the barbarian. And if Rik is asking for me…”

  “Old lover?” Jettero wiggled his eyebrows. Darik said nothing. I felt his gaze on me.

  I sighed, rolled my eyes. “Fellow soldier, rode patrols with me out where the plainsfolk hide behind grass and pick off Shainakh like a Pesh picking boyflesh.” The wine was bitter in my mouth, my voice softened. “He saved my life on the S’tai Plain—the last battle I fielded there. Took a crossbow bolt for me. I carried him on my back through the battlefield to the healer’s tents. It was…” I looked down at my bowl, losing my appetite.

  The S’tai Plain. Blood soaking into the long yellow grass, screams, the moans of the wounded and dying. The yells of the Danhai as they took heads from the fallen—war prizes. Lancing pain in my side as I carried Rik’s limp body through the bloodslick grass, slipping and falling to my knees, cursing steadily to keep from weeping. And the dust, dear gods, the dust, rising to choke every breath.