“And your father provided such flexibility?”
“Like a honeycomb arch. In our city’s Holy Design, the Vertex Seal is an anchor, as is the Moon-Eater. The mirané council. Everything that creates law, that provides structure is an anchor. The Great Steeples anchor the four forces in Moonshadow, as these four small pillars around us anchor the design of this dome overhead. The laws themselves, the beliefs and actions of the people are the lines between anchors. The threads of force. The connective joints, and the web itself. But honeycomb arches”—Iriset points up—“make this structure possible. You cannot put a circular or octagonal dome upon a four-postanchor with balance or stability unless you have something that flexes between the rigid shapes. Squinches transition from square to circle. That is what my father does: makes stability possible by providing a possibility of communication between anchors and lines, between the system and its people.”
It’s an inelegant metaphor, but in that moment Iriset believes it with all her core.
Amaranth says, “So by removing the Little Cat, we’ve put Moonshadow at risk.”
Iriset bites her lip, then says, “Yes.”
“There was unrest such as this when your father ruled his undermarket empire. He had little influence over cultist activity.”
“Yes,” Iriset says again. “But in a design so complex as Moonshadow—as the empire—removal of one thread or honeycomb arch or anchor ripples outward, and while it might not cause the entire structure to collapse, the shifting balance will be unpredictable, knots will form. If one of the Great Steeples suddenly fell, most of the city would fall. Or if you took one steeple and stuck it elsewhere, hidden, unable to do what it…” She stops.
Amaranth laughs again, this time as if she’s caught Iriset in a perfect cage. “All the more reason for the army to put down this little rebellion hard and fast, before those ripples expand. And better, then, to not allow men such as your father to grow so powerful in the first place that their downfall will ripple dramatically. That must be the best way to maintain stability, and in stability, progress and momentum.”
“Of course, keep the miran firmly in power,” Iriset says as sweetly as she can. “That is the way of the empire. Crush disruptions, cut out knots in the design. Any break in the gears must be destroyed.”
There’s something of an alliraptor in Amaranth’s eyes as she stares at Iriset. “Seditious, kitten.”
Iriset shuts up. She doesn’t even care about the mirané stranglehold on the city. She cares about her father, and the freedom to do her work. The ways of the miran create the space for apostasy in the first place. Sure, a different system might mean her work wasn’t heretical, but a different system might not provide so much easy access to theory and tools and need for what she does in the first place. Her father didn’t want to rebel, and neither does she. She just can’t keep herself from arguing.
(She thinks about those old rebel songs Dalal and Bittor sang, though. The ones about hope. Until now she only needed hope once before, and it did make her stronger, smarter, better.)
“You like it, Your Glory,” Nielle says with a laugh. It breaks the tension, and Iriset meets Amaranth’s gaze for a moment, then looks away.
“Maybe I do,” Amaranth admits. “But we’re making Singix uncomfortable.”
The princess demurs. “I cannot follow the shades of your argument, Your Glory… That is all.”
Anis says, “We hear you watched His Glory in line with the army. Was he all you hoped for?”
Singix’s eyes widen at the bold talk.
“Garnet,” Iriset puts in, her turn to distract, “is extremely masculine in his form and beauty.”
“Isn’t he,” Anis says with a groan. Sidoné laughs again.
Her Glory reaches for her body-twin and pokes her in the ribs.
Ziyan says, “He is not so lovely as our glorious Ama.”
“That’s right,” Amaranth says slowly and seductively. The pull of Her Glory’s falling force curls around Iriset’s lower spine.
“I am pleased with the beauty of the Vertex Seal,” Singixsays suddenly, and quickly, as if having gathered her courage, it needed to express itself hard and fast.
Amaranth looks directly at Singix. “He has never been with anyone, so you must be gentle with him when the time comes.”
“Never?” Iriset can’t help the outburst.
“His is a taxing job, and any favor he bestowed would mean more than a kiss, so he must be overcautious. Besides,” Her Glory snorts lightly, “my brother’s body is a temple for Aharté, and denial isapparentlya form of Silence.”
“Discipline,” Iriset murmurs, thinking back to the confrontation between Amaranth and the Holy Peace.
Amaranth nods meaningfully. She wants a priest more likeheron the privilege council.
Sidoné says, “Tragic, that both children of the great lover Diaa of Moonshadow are celibate. Until marriage, at least.”
Iriset lifts her eyebrows; she doesn’t believe it of Amaranth. She’s seen the way Her Glory touches Beremé mé Adora, and Sidoné.
