I’ll need her favor. I lock the door the of comm room and locate the Eye. It’s near Olethia still, close enough to contact from here. I key in the request code, then sit back to wait.
It takes over an hour to receive a response, but the face that comes up on the screen is Zomah, the High Priest himself. I can barely see him, because he’s chosen to camouflage against his dark cloak so his face disappears inside the voluminous hood. I only recognize him by the large, golden eye pendant he wears around his neck. I can’t help but think of the red glass version hidden under my sveli.
“Jara Nik, what a surprise. What errand has the Emperor sent you on today?”
Bait. I don’t take it. “Lothan does his own errands, unlike my father. I’m actually contacting you about another member of my family.”
“Ah, yes. You’re too late to speak with your brother. Lyro has gone to fetch the terrakin the Empress is so eager to have in her clutches. A pity you missed him.” Even in the shadow of his hood, his teeth flash.
My heartrate ticks up, and I automatically slow down my speech and breathing to get it under control, as though Zomah is facing me in the pits and not through a comm screen. No matter how friendly his tone, we are opponents. “I meant my mother. I think you know her. Nikkava is her name. I’d like to see her.”
The screen goes dark, and I laugh aloud. Zomah was so surprised by my request, he ended the comm. I could not have asked for better confirmation that my mother is on the Eye. But I quickly sober as I key in the request code again.
This time, he answers more quickly. “Jara. We had some technical error.”
“Yes. My apologies. The connection from Usuri is unreliable. We were speaking about my mother, Nikkava. I’d like to visit with her.”
“I imagine you would.” Zomah’s smooth reply belies the yellow-orange panic that flashes over the tips of his fingers as he touches the closure of his cloak. He is very worried about what might happen if he admits he’s been holding Chanísh’s concubines hostage. I have to soothe his conscience.
“I appreciate that the Eye has offered her and my father’s other females refuge during their time of grief. I’m sure it has been a comfort to them to be so close to the goddess.”
He inclines his head, neither a confirmation nor denial.
“I’d like to offer my support to the Eye. Both political and literal, in perpetuity. I will sponsor your seat at the council table and provide the Eye with resources to continue operation. In addition, I will grant space on Usuri to build a new Temple of Alioth and mineral rights to extract epylium, should you wish to mine.” I let that sink in for a few beats.
“How generous,” Zomah replies thinly. “I assume you would like something return?”
“I ask that you allow my mother and the other females my father brought to the Eye to travel freely, should they so desire. Allow them to visit their sons and live where they please.”
“And?”
“That is all.”
The High Priest scoffs. “Why would anyone give so much for such a small favor? I can sense the Emperor’s trap even at this distance. You insult me with your transparency, Jara. May Alioth smile on you and cast all your lies in shadow.” He ends the comm abruptly, leaving me sitting in darkness without the glow of the screen.
He has my mother and the other concubines. That is certain. But he is not willing to let them go and lose his grip on Lyro. I offered him everything I could—everything I have, every scrap of power, every resource—and it was not enough temptation. He thinks I’m a liar, that my promises mean nothing.
Frix.
My skin aches, and I need a good fight, so I go to the pits. Some injured warriors are still resting here until the miner’s quarters are repaired, but enough space has been cleared that there’s room to fight. The mood is subdued in the wake of yesterday’s deaths. With the healers absent and so many apprentices assigned to repair the damage from the mine explosion, no one is sparring.
“You.” I point to one of the more experienced apprentices who I know will be a worthy adversary. He puts aside the blade that he’s sharpening and stands up. “Choose your weapon and face me in the pits.”
“Yes, Jara.” He bows, and a burst of orange pain flowers across his shoulder blades.
I stop in surprise. “You’re injured. Badly enough that you cannot suppress your pigment.”
“Yes, Jara.”
I growl with displeasure. “Why would you agree to spar?”
He shifts uneasily. “It is my duty as your apprentice.”
Frix, is that what they think? That they cannot refuse any request or ask for small considerations? “You’re useless to me if your body is ruined. Why would I spend years training you and then treat your health so casually?”
“Warriors should be able to fight through pain.”
“In a battle, yes. During training? No. It is not your duty to break yourself. It’s your duty to heal.”
