After half an hour it started to get painful.
We were about an hour in, and my legs hurt like hell.
The doors swung open, and an older man in an ornate Harzi tunic stepped out.
Lute put his hand on his sword.
“We welcome you to the House of Morning Sky. Theorsiwill see you now.”
I looked at Lute. My legs had gone numb. He bent down, grabbed me by the elbow, and lifted me to my feet. Ow.
Blood rushed back into my feet. Every step sent needles through my soles all the way through my calves. Ow, ow, ow.
Lute half helped, half carried me up the three steps and inside the house. We walked into a large room with glossy wooden floors stained dark blue and ornate wooden columns. People in Okulan attire waited on the sides: a few retainers in embroidered overtunics and a handful of guards, their swords in plain view. Most of them were tall and long-limbed, with beige skin warmed by a peach undertone and dark brown, auburn, or red hair, worn in half-ponytails or braided away. Rellasian hairstyles emphasized elaborate lattices and flattering curves, while the Okulan hairdos seemed to mostly revolve around getting the hair out of your face and securing it, so it didn’t fly around.
In front of us, on a raised platform, theorsisat in a carved wooden chair. Each Okulan clan was led by atair, the clan lord, a gender-neutral term. Theorsiwere their deputies. The word literally meant “hand.” They looked after the clan’s interests at their assigned posts and spoke with the voice of thetair.
Thisorsiwas young, only twenty-two years old. Unlike most of the Harzi around her, she was on the shorter side, a couple of inches taller than five feet and slender. Her outfit, the same style as worn by the sentry that had met us, was decorated with exquisite embroidery depicting a white bird with long feathers amid red flowers. She had a heart-shaped face with delicate features and chestnut-brown hair that rested on top of her head in an elaborate crown of braids, secured with golden cords and clips carved out of bone. A thin band in matching Harzi blue crossed her forehead, identifying her status. It looked tattooed, but it wasn’t. It was drawn on with a plant-based dye similar to henna, and they had to redraw it every couple of weeks.
Digi Dareel. The first daughter of the Harzi. Smart, gifted, diligent, and shrewd. Everything the heir to the clan should be.
A simple stool waited for me in the center of the floor. No mat to pad it. Assholes.
I gave everyone a shallow nod and sat. Lute parked himself next to me.
Theorsiregarded us with large brown eyes, traced with dark eyeliner and accented with gold powder. Four people stood next to her chair: on the right, a tall woman in her thirties and an elderly man whose hair had gone completely gray, and on the left, a middle-aged man in warrior garb next to a tall younger man with sharp features and a mane of auburn hair. The young man wore an expensive outfit. A cascade of gold loops dripped from his left ear.
Ha. All the right people. Time to get this party started.
The tall woman spoke. “What do you want from Clan Harzi?”
“I need a mordok.”
The tall woman shook her head. “We do not sell mordoks to outsiders.”
“I don’t wish to buy one,” I said. “I have come to offer theorsia secret that will put her in my debt. Should she wish to be free of it, allowing me to borrow a mordok will suffice.”
“You know nothing of us,” the middle-aged warrior man said. “We do not need your secrets.”
“I think you do, Mrest Eser.”
His eyes narrowed. The name was a gamble, but he couldn’t have been anyone else.
“Let her speak,” the man with golden hoops said. “What’s the harm? If we don’t like what we hear, we can throw her out.”
Oh, yes, my gentle lamb. Come to the slaughter, Tarak. You deserve it.
The tall woman opened her mouth. Digi moved her hand, and the retainer stopped and stepped back.
“I will hear you out,” Digi said.
Yessss. “My secret will draw blood. Please be sure that only those you trust with your life remain in the room.”
“There are no traitors here,” Digi said. “You may speak.”
I looked at Mrest Eser. “You should draw your sword. Once I speak, theorsimay be in danger.”
His eyebrows came together.
