‘Her namelessness may be her curse. But she has defied it and made her own soul. I’ve advised the emperor about her name.’
The warlord sighs. ‘So be it.’ A knock interrupts Akashun’s next words. He hesitates and places his hand on Eliyas’s shoulder, as paternal as our emperor. ‘The delegation is here. Remember why we do this. Our subjects deserve better.’ He bows his head and walks toward the gated entrance.
My legs quiver and I shove a fist into my mouth to stop a strangled cry from emitting. I do not understand much of what they said but I do know one truth: Eliyas is a spy informing Warlord Akashun about my jinn-poisons. I do not know why the poisons are important. But Eliyas has deceived me.
The gates gasp open like a hung jaw. A tension weighs down the air; sweat pools at my back.
I attempt to move, to lift my feet. But try as I must, my senses do not obey. Something claws over my heart.Fear. The marrow-deep kind.
‘Peace of death,’ a new voice greets as the delegation enters the room.
Somehow, my fingers cling to the wooden engravings of the partition. I manage to peer closer. And I wish I had not. There are three people distinguished as warriors by their martial attire and sharpened khanjars.
Two masked men wear pale beaded tunics with unfamiliar embroidery and baggy dark trousers fitted at the ankle, the waist tied by hemp cords. They walk with a silent grace on leathery clogs, washed crimson shawls, with raven feathers, tied under their shoulders, down to their hips. The garb is harsh lines and high collars with odd jewellery of lamb horns and bones, which I’ve never seen before.
A short, sinewy woman, who appears to be the leader, wears layered white linen with drooping sleeves. The bodice is beaded in silver coins, tucked into baggy trousers. Instead of a cap or floral jewellery, she has donned a simple head ornament of curved yak-tail bones and oxidised silver.
She tilts her head and her long braid brushes against her hip, corded by eaves of raven feathers. In a hushed voice, she begins speaking with Akashun, making it difficult to hear anything. A strange marking stands out on her forehead, a black and red line. Around her neck is a pale wolfish mask, adorned with feathers. Unmistakably so their masks—
— of raven feathers reflect the fires blazing around us — the terror on my expression. Uma screams but the raider drags her away. My apprentice,an old voice murmurs.She will carry with her the tales of your greatest joys and fears until the end of her days.I yank myself from the memories, envisioning nur dissipating it.
These are warriors of the Sajamistan Empire. Our enemies. Why is Eliyas meeting them?
A strangled cry starts to wrench from my throat but I lift my shawl to muffle it. The coursing memories are a flood, breaking past any dam I have built. I touch my cheek under the shawl. I do not recall the last time I ever shed a tear.
At the slight sound, Eliyas pauses mid word and glances toward the partition. Only from knowing him for so long can I read the worry betrayed on his face.
One of the Sajamistani warriors follows this movement; his mask hides his features, except his short black hair and narrowed eyes.
His leader calls out to him. ‘Stay on guard, outside,’ she orders him in a varied dialect.
Pulse thundering, I crawl out of the depository room, stumbling down servant corridors to the outer monastic gardens before running to a cluster of thorny olive and vomiting into the plants. I remain there for a long moment.
‘Little bird?’
I glance up to see Eliyas, rushing down the steps toward me.
‘You shouldn’t be here. Are you mad?’ he snaps quietly, dropping into a crouch.
His betrayal is swept from my mind. ‘E-Eliyas,’ I blubber. ‘I-I saw t-the raven masks... m-my tribe... I-I c-cannot move—’
His eyes widen. He has never seen me like this: cowering, afraid. He’s never heard me speak of my past. Self-disgust surges against my fear.
Eliyas takes my hands, pressing them to his lips. ‘Breathe. You must leave before anyone sees you. Please. I’ll find you in the eve, when we go to the bazaar.’
He re-tugs the shawl across my face. I stand shakily and step away. My eyes lift.
The young warrior is there at the entrance of the monastery. He stares at us a beat longer, with a studied interest, despite the rest of the Sajamistani delegation remaining inside. Heart in my throat, I turn my veiled face away, fleeing across the courtyard like the coward I am.
6
The next day, Eliyas cuts our poison tests short. The emperor is permitting Yun and Eliyas to take the youngest clansmen to the bazaar in celebration of the prisoner exchange with Sajamistan.
‘– and tonight is a special evening,’ my father tells me before presenting a pair of silver floral earrings, which piques my memories. ‘Your uma once told me that as a young girl, you wished for a gift during your tribe’s festivals. Instead, as a token for your obedience, I pass on this heirloom as my entrustment, daughter. For this eve, the sky-interpreters foretell that the Heavens will burn with shooting stars.’
He reaches out to rest his hand on my head. My throat tightens. Even seeing his warmth, I’m unable to meet the emperor in the eye. Unable to parse my revelation that his favoured son is a spy, I’ve felt numb all morning.
Or perhaps Eliyas is the one truly deceiving Warlord Akashun, pretending to be an ally, for the sake of the emperor?
