Peter Brett – The Skull Throne (страница 20)

Ashan nodded. ‘That is well, but your time there has come to an end. You are seventeen now, and it is time you were married.’

Ashia felt as if she had been punched in the gut, but she embraced the feeling, bowing again. ‘Has my honoured father selected a match at last?’ She could see the smile on her brother’s face, and knew who it was before her father spoke again.

‘It has been agreed between fathers,’ Ashan said. ‘You are released from the Dama’ting Palace to marry the Deliverer’s son Asome. Your palace chambers are as you left them. Return there now with your mother to begin preparation.’

‘Please.’ Having dismissed her, Ashan was already looking to his advisor Shevali when Ashia spoke.

‘Eh?’ he asked.

Ashia could see storm clouds gathering on her father’s brow. If she were to attempt to refuse the match …

She knelt, putting her hands on the floor with her head between them. ‘Excuse me, honoured Father, for disturbing you. It was my hope, only, to see my cousins one last time before I go with my honoured mother to follow the path Everam has laid before me.’

Her father’s face softened at that, the closest he had ever come to a show of affection. ‘Of course, of course.’

She held her tears until she reached the training chamber. Her spear sisters were practising sharukin, but they stood straight, bowing. Enkido was not to be found.

Nie Ka, you have returned, Shanvah signed. Is all well?

Ashia shook her head. Nie Ka no longer, sister. That title will be yours now, and the care of our little sisters. I am to marry.

Congratulations, sister, Sikvah signed. Who is the groom?

Asome, Ashia signed.

An honour, Micha signed.

What will we do without you? Jarvah’s hands asked.

You will have one another, Ashia signed, and Enkido, until such time as we are reunited. She embraced each in turn, and still refused to cry.

But then the door opened, and Enkido appeared. With a wave, the other girls filed out of the room, dismissed.

Ashia looked at her master, and then, for the first time since she was sent to the Dama’ting Palace, she wept.

Enkido opened his arms, and she fell into them. From his robes he took a tear bottle. He held her, steady as stone, stroking her hair with one hand as he collected her tears with the other.

‘I’m sorry, master,’ she whispered when it was done. It was the first time in years anyone had spoken aloud in the training chamber. The sound echoed to her sensitive ears, seeming wrong, but what did it matter now?

Even the palm weeps, when the storm washes over it, Enkido signed, moving to hand her the bottle. The tears of Everam’s spear sisters are all the more precious for how seldom they fall.

Ashia held up her hands, pushing the bottle away. ‘Then keep them always.’

She looked down, even now unable to meet his eyes. ‘I should be overjoyed. What greater husband could a woman dream of than the Deliverer’s son? I thought that fate was taken from me when I was sent to you, but now that it has come again, I do not wish it. Why was I sent here, if only to be given to a man who would have had me regardless? What point in the skills you have taught, if I am never to use them? You are my master, and I want no other.’

Enkido looked at her with sad eyes. I had many wives before giving myself to the dama’ting, his fingers said. Many sons. Many daughters. But not one has made me as proud as you have. Your loyalty makes my heart sing.

She clutched at him. ‘Asome may be my husband, but you will always be my master.’

The eunuch shook his head. No, child. The command of the Deliverer cannot be denied. It is not for me or you to speak against his blessing, and I will not shame the Deliverer’s son by coveting what is rightfully his. You will go to Asome a free woman, unbound to me.

Ashia pulled away, walking to the door. Enkido did not follow.

‘If you are no longer my master,’ she said, ‘then you cannot command my heart.’

The wedding was everything she might have dreamed as a girl, fit for a prince and princess of Krasia. Her spear sisters stood beside her as she waited for her father to escort her to where Asome waited with Jayan at the foot of the Skull Throne in Sharik Hora.

Enkido was in attendance as well, guarding the Damajah and watching over the proceedings, though none of the guests knew it. She and her sisters knew the signs, saw the slight ripples he left to mark himself to them.

The oaths and ceremony were a blur. Two thrones had been provided for the bride and groom at the feast, but Ashia sat alone, waiting on her husband as he accepted gifts and spoke to the guests, Asukaji at his side.

No expense had been spared, but the rich, honeyed cakes were bland to Ashia’s tongue. She longed to be back safe underground, eating plain couscous at the foot of Enkido’s table.

But for all she walked through the day in a daze, it was the wedding night that brought home her true fate.

She waited in the pillow chamber for Asome to come and take her as a husband, but hours passed in silence. Ashia looked more than once at the window, dreaming of escape.

At last, there was a sound in the hall, but it never reached the door.

There was a vent above the archway. Ashia was up the wall in an instant, her fingers easily finding holds in the minute cracks between the stones. She put her eye and ear to the vent, seeing the back of Asome’s head, with Asukaji facing him. They looked to be arguing.

‘I cannot do this,’ Asome was saying.

‘You can, and you will,’ Asukaji said, taking her husband’s face in his hands. ‘Ashia must give you the son I cannot. Melan has thrown her dice. If you take my sister now, it will be done. One time, and the ordeal be over.’

Realization was a slap in the face.

It was no sin for men to love their own gender. It was common enough in the sharaj, boys forming pillow friendships to pass the years before they were old and experienced enough for their first wife. But Everam demanded new generations, and so all but the most stubborn push’ting were eventually bound to marry and share the pillows, if only long enough to produce a son. Everam knew, Kajivah had said as much to Asukaji many times.

But she had never thought she would be a push’ting bride.

They entered a moment later. Ashia had plenty of time to get back in the pillows, but her mind was reeling. Asome and Asukaji were push’ting lovers. She had never meant anything to them save as a womb to carry the abomination they wanted to bring into the world.

They ignored Ashia, Asukaji undressing her husband and stiffening him with his mouth until he could do the deed. He joined them in the pillows, coaxing them together.

His touch made Ashia’s skin crawl, but she took shallow breaths, and endured.

Despite his words, there was jealousy in her brother’s eyes, his face darkening as Asome gasped and saw Everam, seeding her. As soon as the deed was done, Asukaji pulled them apart and the two men fell into an embrace, seeming to forget she was even there.

Ashia thought then about killing them both. It would be simple. They were so lost in each other she doubted they would notice until it was too late. She could even make it seem an accident, as if the act had been too much for poor Asome’s heart. Her brother, distraught at his lover’s death, would have taken a knife to himself rather than live without.

Enkido had taught her to do those things, so cleanly that the Deliverer himself would never know.

She closed her eyes, living the fantasy fully, not daring to move lest she make it reality. She breathed, and eventually her centre returned. She rose from the pillows, pulling her wedding robes back on, and left.

Her husband and brother did not notice.

5

Kajivah

333 AR Autumn

Ashia looked up in shock as wardlight flooded the room where she wept. How long since someone had been able to sneak past her guard? Had she forgotten everything her master taught?

Enkido would be ashamed of you, Micha said, and it was true. How could she lead the Sharum’ting when she could not even lead herself?

She turned to the doorway expecting to see Kajivah, but her heart sank farther at the sight of her husband. Perhaps it was inevera that Asome should find her so, eyes puffed and wet, as much a failure at motherhood as she was in alagai’sharak. He would tell her now, as so many times before, that she should give up her spear. And perhaps he was right.

‘Tikka was having one of her fits.’ Asome produced a spotless white cloth from his sleeve, handing it to her to dry her eyes. ‘But I wore her down with patience, though Everam knows, a mountain does not have enough.’

Ashia laughed, sniffing into the cloth.

‘Word of your exploits in the night has already reached the palace, jiwah,’ Asome said.

Ashia looked at him weakly. He knew. Everam damn him, he already knew of her loss of control out beyond the Maze. Would he have her stripped of her spear, now that the Deliverer was not there to stop him? Asome and her father had both argued long and hard to keep her from alagai’sharak. With Ashan on the Skull Throne, this was all they needed. Even the Damajah could not stop them.