Chapter 37

  Zaidna

  The Empire of Judath

  Bakavoth Palace

  “Empress, please eat!” Aila pushed the bowl of congee closer, and the reek of the colorless glop tore through Sorai’s nose, making her double over in dry heaves. “Not again!” Aila rushed around the low table and fell to her knees beside Sorai.

  Sorai wiped at the spittle that coated her chin and jerked her head to the side as Aila offered her another spoonful. “I can’t!”

  “Please, you have to eat or your husband will punish me!” When Sorai refused to obey, Aila dropped the ceramic spoon back into the bowl and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know how else to help you. You’ve gotten so thin.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sorai murmured. She looked up, hoping to find some words of comfort, but instead froze as she saw Aila’s face. The silver strings were back, crawling out of Aila’s temples and slithering enticingly about the crown of her head. Desperately hungry, Sorai found herself reaching for them.

  “What are you doing?” Aila asked.

  Sorai came to her senses, yanking her bandaged hand back and tensing for the inevitable rush of pain burning through her glyphs. She knew she needed those strings to live, but she couldn’t ever forget what happened to the padu in the jungle when she had pulled at its strings. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting anyone else.

  Aila reached over to take the bowl of congee, but Sorai snatched it back. “Are you sure, Empress?”

  “I’ll eat it,” Sorai muttered abruptly. Already tasting bile and sickened to the point of dizziness, she grasped the ceramic spoon with trembling fingers. She hadn’t forgotten Anoth’s warning about rotting foods—or any foods that weren’t recent kills or just plucked from the vine—but if death were the result of eating food that wasn’t fresh, would that be so bad?

  There was a sudden knock at the doors of the suite, and Sorai dropped her spoon back into the bowl.

  “Now who could that be?” Aila asked aloud. Sorai stood up, pulling her thin, ivory robe shut to hide her shift and scars, and watched as her handmaiden rushed from the sitting room to draw the sliding doors open.

  Waiting in the hall were two engstaxi handmaidens. Their faces were completely hidden by the long, black veils they wore, except for their gleaming eyes. They bowed in unison, and one of them announced, “Her Elegance, Shetsi Tsenax, the empress of Xeshun, requests an informal audience with the esteemed Sorai Lanae, empress of Chalei.”

  Aila looked to Sorai, who nodded without hesitation.

  The engstaxi handmaidens stepped aside to reveal a similarly clothed Shetsi, who slipped timidly into the room, accompanied by the soft, metallic chimes of her jewelry. She was impossibly small, and the numerous layers of green and white she wore did little to bulk her form. “Thank you for your invitation, Sorai,” Shetsi said with a low, graceful bow, her long sleeves brushing the floor.

  As Shetsi walked into the sitting room, her handmaidens quietly closed the doors behind her. Aila rushed to the windows to close the blinds, and the room was instantly bathed in semi-darkness.

  Shetsi unfastened her veil from her cowl and lowered both, revealing a sweet smile and a cascade of white hair. She and Sorai knelt on the floor on either side of the table, which Aila quickly cleared of all dishes. “It’s good to see you safe, Sorai. How are you feeling?”

  “I suppose I’m fine, all things considered,” Sorai answered wearily.

  “Yes, I imagine so . . . .” An uneasy silence stretched between them. “And how are Tashau and your son?”

  “Oh, they’re just wonderful!” Sorai lied, dabbing at her watering eyes with a sleeve. “Forgive me. I miss my Faro so much. I don’t know why I worry! It’s silly. I’m sure he’s just fine.”

  Shetsi nodded and accepted a cup of tea from her handmaidens, who whisked back and forth in the periphery.

  “How are your husband and children?” Sorai asked. “This must be your son’s last year of school.”

  “Angxa is intense as always,” Shetsi replied grimly. “And Xaoshu has graduated early. He’ll be heading off to seminary later this winter, which is just as well. I can’t understand why, but he’s completely smitten with Ravad’s daughter. Ever since we arrived at the summit, he’s been following her around like a pet sazi.”

  “Well, she is a pretty girl,” Sorai offered. “And your daughters? How are they?”

  Shetsi shifted her ruby eyes to her tea, her smile fading. “Well, I suppose it’s no longer taboo to discuss this, but the twins have been having nightmares for the last few seasons. That’s why we brought them to this year’s summit, to receive counsel from the Nassé.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. But I’m sure the Nassé will be very helpful.” Maybe the Nassé could help Sorai as well if she had a direct connection to Naltena. Why hadn’t that occurred to her before?

  “You mean you don’t know?” Shetsi asked, pressing a gloved hand to her chest.

  “Know what?” Sorai arched an eyebrow, confused.

  “The Nassé is dead. It happened yesterday in the temple. She killed dozens of priestesses before killing herself.”

  Sorai sat back, growing numb as the shock from Shetsi’s words throbbed and faded. “I’ve never heard something so awful.” Now she understood why Tashau left so suddenly yesterday and never came back. “Why would she do something like that?”

  “No one knows yet. The high priests have already been called to gather and convene. They will be cleaning up this mess for weeks to come.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “I can’t believe Xinthi would do that. Why didn’t anyone—” Sorai stopped short, looking down at her lap.

  Shetsi set down her cup of tea and leaned forward, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. “Forgive me, Sorai, but you seem so . . . . Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

  Sorai shook her head, drawing a shivering breath. “I’m fine. I think I may have caught a little something on the way here.” She made a point to sniffle.

  “Hmm . . . .” Shetsi seemed skeptical, but said no more about it. “I know we’re not close by any means, and this might seem odd, but I wanted to tell you that you’ve been on my mind recently.”

  “Oh?” Sorai was glad for a change of subject.

  “Yes. I dreamt of you. Just once, last season, but you were standing alone under a hot desert sun with nothing around to shade you.”

  Sorai stiffened. In her own vision the previous night, she had been in a strange bedroom, but outside the window was a crumbled mountain, jutting up from an endless haze of yellow sand. “Was it a nightmare? Like the twins’?”

  “I’m not sure. Possibly, although I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat as I normally would from a nightmare.”

  Sorai looked down at her bandaged hands. “I know you’re a daughter of the eighth house, so you must dream all the time, but why would you dream about me? What does it mean?”

  “I had it right around the time that we heard Tashau was nearly killed and you were taken. To be trapped under the sun—we assumed that the dream meant that you had died.” Shetsi paused. “Of course, we’re thrilled that you were found safe, but now I wonder what the dream was meant to signify, and why it was sent to me.”

  “Are all dreams that awful?” Sorai asked uncomfortably.

  “Oh. I’m sorry I brought it up. I keep forgetting that you can’t dream.”

  “No, it’s fine!” Sorai forced a hollow laugh. “I’m curious. It must be strange to dream. I, uh, don’t really know if I’d recognize it if I were to have one.”

  Shetsi chuckled at that. “Oh, you’d know if you did. It’s like waking up in another life.”

  Sorai’s heart dropped to her stomach. “So, you just wake up in another life without any say or choice in the matter? You can’t run or hide if someone is after you?”

  “Essentially. But it’s not as bad as you think. The dreams are sent by Naltena herself, always for our benefit.”

  But if last night had been a dream, how could it have been for Sorai’s benefit? In it, she had actually thought Anoth to be handsome—even relished his advances. She shuddered, disgusted with herself. “In your dreams, do you ever do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do?”

  “All the time,” Shetsi answered with flick of her hands. “The goddess leads you to whatever it is you need to see or do, and you just—obey. But I hear that when a Nassé dreams she has free will to choose whatever she wants to do. Sometimes she even sees Naltena in her silvery form, and they walk together and talk.”

  Sorai felt sick to her stomach. In her dream, Aila’s face was obscured, but it was most definitely silver. Had Naltena tried to speak with her? If so, how could the goddess be so cruel as to put Sorai in Anoth’s bed?

  “Oh, don’t cry!” Shetsi comforted as Sorai wiped frantically at her wet face. “Is it so bad that you can’t dream? Count your blessings!”

  “Forgive me,” Sorai sputtered. “I’ve been under a great deal of stress and—”

  “There’s no need to explain. Let me cheer you up. I wanted to give this to you yesterday, but you ran off before I had the chance.” Shetsi pulled a small green pouch from the folds of her robes.

  Sorai looked up at this, but cringed as she saw more strings becoming visible and floating from Shetsi’s head like a living halo.

  “It’s a gift from Angxa and I. We intended to give it to Tashau to place around your ashes, but since you’re alive, it’s luckier for you to have it.”

  Sorai felt slightly disturbed at how casually Shetsi brought up her ashes, but still reached for the pouch.

  Shetsi pulled her arm back. “Oh my, what happened to your hands?” she cried, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

  “Oh, these?” Sorai asked dispassionately. “I . . . tripped and scraped them is all.” Thankfully, Sorai’s hands had not bled again, not even as Aila cleaned and dressed them, chiding her all the while.

  “I’m so sorry,” Shetsi murmured. “They must sting terribly. Here, allow me.” She loosened the pouch and turned it upside down, pouring a long, braided chain of garnet beads out into Sorai’s cupped hands. “There! Angxa carved the glyphs himself. A bead and a blessing for each year of your life. You are a hundred and forty-five, aren’t you?”

  Sorai stared at the pile of blood red beads, unsure of what to say.

  “Now, I know it may seem a little odd,” Shetsi explained, “but funerary beads are very good luck to my people. No engstaxi would think of being buried without them, otherwise they wouldn’t have any blessings sealed to them in death.”

  “But I’m not dead!” Sorai exclaimed.

  “True, but they are also worn by those who have managed to avoid certain death.” Shetsi’s eyes glittered excitedly. “Escaping your attacker and the jungle on your own was like jumping from your own funeral bier. Now all the charms on these beads are yours to have in life.”

  Sorai glowered at the beads, immediately hating the glyphs carved upon them. The glyphs were too angular and uniform, and reminded her too much of her scars.

  “You don’t like them,” Shetsi sighed.

  “No, I like them!” Sorai lied, not wanting to be rude. She wrapped the beads several times about her wrist and slid the largest bead up along one end of the leather cord, securing it through a braided loop, and was surprised to feel her muscles suddenly relax. The low, steady throb of her scars was also gone. Even her hands ceased to hurt.

  Sorai looked up, numb with shock. She’d gotten so used to being in pain all the time that to not feel anything at all made her lightheaded.

  “The garnets look beautiful against your skin,” Shetsi said kindly. “You’ll see. They’ll bring you luck.”

  Sorai opened her mouth to speak, but realized that the silvery threads about Shetsi’s head had disappeared as well. Reflexively, she tugged at the funerary beads, pulling the largest bead from the loop, and the glyph on her chest roared awake as Shetsi’s halo started to reappear. Sorai hurriedly refastened the beads, and everything somehow seemed calm again. “This is binding ormé. Why is there binding ormé on these beads?”

  Shetsi seemed startled. “They’re just charms! Why? What’s wrong?”

  Sorai thrust out her wrist. She didn’t trust the beads, no matter how they made her feel. Nothing good could come from binding ormé, especially if Angxa had anything to do with it. “What do they mean?”

  Shetsi gave Sorai a curious look, before reaching to pick over the beads. “This glyph here is for luck in love, which of course you already have. These two represent good health. This one is for safety . . . luck with money . . . fertility—what’s this?” Her hand was suddenly tense.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Shetsi laughed, releasing Sorai’s wrist. “Dalanais are hardly ever given these as gifts, and I so rarely see chains with over eighty beads. I just don’t recognize some of these charms is all.” Shetsi quickly downed the rest of her tea before standing and pulling her veil back on. “I really should be going. Angxa will be furious if I don’t make sure that the twins practice their lyres today.” She turned and bustled toward the door, her handmaidens emerging from the shadows and following her, silent as wraiths. “It was wonderful to see you. We should talk again soon, Sorai. You and Tashau should join us for a private supper before the summit is finished.”

  “Wait a second!” Sorai blurted out.

  “Have a nice day!” Shetsi and her handmaidens bowed once, then were gone through the sliding doors.

  Sorai watched as the doors closed quietly behind them, frowning as her left hand fiddled with the beads, unclasping and re-clasping them about her wrist. What just happened? And what was she supposed to do now?