The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

6. Alliances

“Yeine,” my mother, murdered by jealousy, grasps my hand. I hold the hilt of a dagger that has been thrust into my own breast. Blood hotter than rage coats my hand; she leans close to kiss me. “You’re dead.”

You lie, Amn whore, bone-white bitch. I will see all your lying kind swallowed into the darkest depths of

myself

There was another Consortium session the next morning. Apparently this was the body’s peak season, in which they met every day for several weeks trying to resolve fiscal business before a lengthy winter break. T’vril arrived early that morning to wake me for the occasion, which took some doing. When I got up, my feet ached dully, as did the bruises I’d sustained running from Nahadoth the night before. I’d slept like death, exhausted emotionally and physically.

“Dekarta attends nearly all the sessions, when his health permits,” T’vril explained, while I dressed in the next room. The tailor had worked an overnight miracle, delivering me an entire rack of garments deemed appropriate for a woman of my station. He was very good; instead of simply hemming the long Amn styles, he’d given me a selection of skirts and dresses that complemented my shorter frame. They were still far more decorative and less practical than I was used to, not to mention constricting in all the oddest places. I felt ridiculous. But it would not do for an Arameri heir to look like a savage—even if she was one—so I asked T’vril to convey my thanks for the tailor’s efforts.

Between the foreign garments and the stark black circle on my forehead, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

“Relad and Scimina aren’t required to attend—and they often don’t,” T’vril said. He’d come in to give me a shrewd once-over as I stood in the mirror; by his pleased nod, I evidently met with his approval. “But everyone knows them, while you’re an unknown quantity. Dekarta asks that you attend today in particular, so that all can see his newest heir.”

Which meant that I had no choice. I sighed and nodded. “I doubt most of the nobles will be pleased,” I said. “I was too minor to be worth their time before this whole mess. I imagine they’ll resent having to be nice to me now.”

“You’re probably right,” T’vril said, airily unconcerned. He crossed the room to my windows, gazing out at the view while I fussed with my unruly hair in a mirror. This was just nerves on my part; my hair never looked any better.

“Dekarta doesn’t waste his time with politics,” T’vril continued. “He considers the Central Family above such things. So naturally, any nobles with a cause tend to approach Relad or Scimina. And now you.”

Lovely. I sighed, turning to him. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I might be disowned if I get myself involved in a scandal or two? Maybe then I could be banished to some backwater land up north.”

“More likely you’d end up like my father,” he said, shrugging. “That’s the usual way the family deals with embarassments.”

“Oh.” For a moment I felt uneasy for reminding him of tragedy, but then I realized he didn’t care.

“In any case, Dekarta seems determined to have you here. I imagine that if you cause enough trouble, he’ll simply have you trussed up and delivered to the succession ceremony at the appropriate time. Though for all I know, that’s how the ceremony usually goes.”

That surprised me. “You don’t know?”

“About the ceremony?” T’vril shook his head. “Only members of the Central Family are allowed to witness that. There hasn’t been one for forty years, anyhow—not since Dekarta’s ascension.”

“I see.” I put aside this information to consider later. “All right, then. At the Salon, are there any nobles I should beware of?” He threw me a wry look, and I amended myself. “Any in particular?”

“You’ll learn that before I will,” he said. “I imagine both your allies and your enemies will introduce themelves rather quickly. In fact, I suspect everything will happen rather quickly, now. So, are you ready?”

I was not. And I wanted badly to ask him about his last comment. Things would happen even more quickly than they had been? Was that possible?

But my questions would have to wait for later. “I’m ready.”

So T’vril led me out of the apartment and through the white corridors. My apartment, like that of most fullbloods, was on the topmost floor of Sky’s main bulk, though I understood there were apartments and chambers within the spires as well. There was another, smaller Vertical Gate on this level, intended solely for fullblood use. Unlike the Gate in Sky’s forecourt, T’vril explained, this Gate had more than one terminus; it apparently went to a number of offices in the city below. That way the fullbloods could conduct family business without getting rained or snowed upon—or without being seen in public, if they so wished.

No one else was about. “Has my grandfather already gone down?” I asked, stopping on the edge of the Gate. Like the main Gate and the palace lifts, it consisted of black tiles set into the floor in a mosaic that formed a gods’ sigil. This one resembled nothing so much as a huge spiderwebbed crack in the floor: an uncomfortably suggestive similarity that made me look away more quickly than usual.

“Probably,” T’vril said. “He likes to be early. Now, Lady Yeine, remember: at the Consortium you must not speak. The Arameri merely advise the nobles, and only Dekarta has the right to address them. He doesn’t do it often. Don’t even speak to him while you’re there. Your task is simply to observe and be observed.”

“And… introduced?”

“Formally? No, that will happen later. But they’ll notice you, never fear. Dekarta won’t need to say a word.”

And with that, he nodded, and I stepped onto the mosaic.

One blurring, terrifying transition later, I found myself in a lovely marble room, standing atop a mosaic of inlaid blackwood. Three Consortium aides—not so junior this time, or so surprised—stood waiting to greet and escort me. I followed them through a shadowed corridor and up a carpeted ramp to find myself in the Arameri private box.

Dekarta sat in his customary place; he did not turn as I arrived. Scimina sat on his right side. She glanced around and smiled at me. I managed not to stop and glare, though it took a powerful effort on my part. But I was very aware of the gathering nobles, who milled around the Salon floor as they waited for the Overseer to begin the session. I saw more than a few glances directed toward the private box; they were watching.

So I inclined my head to Scimina in greeting, though I could not bring myself to return her smile.

Two chairs stood unoccupied at Dekarta’s left. Assuming the nearer seat was for my yet-unseen cousin Relad, I moved to take the farther of the two. Then I caught Dekarta’s hand movement; he did not look at me, but he beckoned me closer. So I took the nearer seat instead—just in time, as the Overseer called the meeting to order.

This time I paid more attention to what was going on. The meeting proceeded by region, beginning with the Senmite nations. Each region had its representative—nobles appointed by the Consortium to speak for themselves and their neighboring lands. The fairness of this representation varied widely, however, and I could not make heads or tails of how it was organized. The city of Sky had its own representative, for example, yet all the High North continent had only two. The latter did not surprise me—High North had never been highly regarded—but the former did, because no other single city had its own speaker. Sky wasn’t that important.

But then, as the session went on, I saw that I’d misundertood. As I paid close attention to the edicts that Sky’s representative put forth and supported, I realized that he spoke not just on behalf of Sky the city, but Sky the palace as well. Understandable, then, if unfair; Dekarta already commanded the entire world. The Consortium existed only to do the ugly, messy work of world governance, with which the Arameri couldn’t be bothered. Everyone knew that. What was the point in being overrepresented on a governing body that was little more than a puppet show to begin with?

But perhaps that was just the way of power: no such thing as too much.

I found the High North representatives more interesting. I had never met either of them, though I recalled hearing complaints about them from the Darre Warriors’ Council. The first, Wohi Ubm—I think the latter name was a title of some sort—came from the largest nation on the continent, a sleepy agrarian land called Rue, which had been one of Darr’s strongest allies before my parents’ marriage. Since then any correspondence that we sent her got returned unopened; she certainly didn’t speak for my people. I noticed her glancing at me now and again as the session went on, and looking extremely uncomfortable as she did so. Had I been a more petty woman, I would have found her unease amusing.

The other High Norther was Ras Onchi, a venerable elder who spoke for the easterly kingdoms and the nearer islands. She didn’t say much, being well past the usual age of retirement and, as rumor had it, a bit senile—but she was one of the few nobles on the floor who stared directly at me, for nearly the whole session. Her people were relatives of my own, with similar customs, and so I stared back as a show of respect, which seemed to please her. She nodded once, minutely, in a moment when Dekarta’s head was turned away. I didn’t dare nod back with so many eyes watching every move I made, but I was intrigued by the gesture all the same.

And then the session was over, as the Overseer rang the chime that closed the day’s business. I tried not to exhale in relief, because the whole thing had lasted four hours. I was hungry, in dire need of the ladies’ room, and restless to be up and moving about. Still, I followed Dekarta’s and Scimina’s lead and rose only when they rose, walking out with the same unhurried pace, nodding politely when a whole phalanx of aides descended upon us in escort.

“Uncle,” said Scimina, as we walked back to the mosaic chamber, “perhaps Cousin Yeine would like to be shown around the Salon? She can’t have seen much of it before.”

As if anything would induce me to agree, after that patronizing suggestion. “No, thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “Though I would like to know where the ladies’ room is.”

“Oh—right this way, Lady Yeine,” said one of the aides, stepping aside and gesturing for me to lead the way.

I paused, noting that Dekarta continued onward with no indication that he’d heard either me or Scimina. So that was how things went. I inclined my head to Scimina, who’d also stopped. “No need to wait on my account.”

“As you like,” she said, and turned gracefully to follow Dekarta.

I followed the aide down the longest hallway in the city, or so it felt, because now that I’d stood my bladder had become most insistent about being emptied. When we at last reached the small chamber—the door was marked Private in Senmite, and I took it to mean “for the highest-ranking Salon guests only”—it took all my willpower not to rush undignified into the very large, roomlike stall.

My business completed, I was beginning the complicated process of reassembling my Amn underclothes when I heard the outer chamber door open. Scimina, I thought, and stifled both annoyance and a hint of trepidation.

Yet when I emerged from the stall, I was surprised to see Ras Onchi beside the sinks, obviously waiting for me.

For a moment I considered letting my confusion show, then decided against it. I inclined my head instead and said in Nirva—the common tongue of the north long before the Arameri had imposed Senmite on the world—“Good afternoon to you, Auntie.”

She smiled, flashing a mouth that was nearly toothless. Her voice lacked for nothing, though, when she spoke. “And to you,” she said in the same language, “though I’m no auntie of yours. You’re Arameri, and I am nothing.”

I flinched before I could stop myself. What does one say to something like that? What did Arameri say? I didn’t want to know. To break the awkwardness, I moved past her and began to wash my hands.

She watched me in the mirror. “You don’t look much like your mother.”

I frowned up at her. What was she about? “So I’ve been told.”

“We were ordered not to speak to her, or your people,” she said quietly. “Wohi and I, and Wohi’s predecessor. The words came from the Consortium Overseer, but the sentiment?” She smiled. “Who knows? I just thought you might want to know.”

This was rapidly beginning to feel like an entirely different conversation. I rinsed my hands, picked up a towel, and turned to her. “Have you got something to say to me, Old Aunt?”

Ras shrugged and turned to head for the door. As she turned, a necklace that she wore caught the light. It had an odd sort of pendant: like a tiny gold treenut or cherrystone. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was half-hidden on a chain that dipped below her neckline. A link of chain had caught on her clothing, though, pulling the pendant up into view. I found myself staring at it rather than her.

“I have nothing to tell you that you don’t already know,” she said, as she walked away. “If you’re Arameri, that is.”

I scowled after her. “And if I’m not?”

She paused at the door and turned back to me, giving me a very shrewd look. Unthinkingly I straightened, so that she would think better of me. Such was her presence.

“If you’re not Arameri,” she said after a moment, “then we’ll speak again.” With that, she left.

I went back to Sky alone, feeling more out of place than ever.

I had been given three nations to oversee, as T’vril reminded me that afternoon, when he came to continue my hurried education in Arameri life.

Each of the three lands was bigger than my Darr. Each also had its own perfectly competent rulers, which meant that I had very little to do with regard to their management. They paid me a regular stipend for the privilege of my oversight, which they probably resented deeply, and which instantly made me wealthier than I’d ever been.

I was given another magic thing, a silvery orb that would, on command, show me the face of any person I requested. If I tapped the orb a certain way, they would see my face, hovering in the air like some sort of decapitated spirit. I had been the recipient of such messages before—it was how I’d gotten the invitation from Grandfather Dekarta—and I found them unnerving. Still, this would allow me to communicate with my lands’ rulers whenever I wished.

“I’d like to arrange a meeting with my lord cousin Relad as soon as possible,” I said after T’vril finished showing me how to use the orb. “I don’t know if he’ll be any friendlier than Scimina, but I take heart in the fact that he hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”

“Wait,” T’vril muttered.

Not promising. Still, I had a half-formed strategy in my head, and I wanted to pursue it. The problem was that I did not know the rules of this Arameri game of inheritance. How did one “win” when Dekarta himself would not choose? Relad knew the answer to that question, but would he share it with me? Especially when I had nothing to offer in return?

“Tender the invitation anyhow, please,” I said. “In the meantime, it might be wise for me to meet with others in the palace who are influential. Who would you suggest?”

T’vril considered for a moment, then spread his hands. “You’ve already met everyone here who matters, except Relad.”

I stared at him. “That can’t be true.”

He smiled without humor. “Sky is both very large and very small, Lady Yeine. There are other fullbloods, yes, but most of them waste their hours indulging all sorts of whims.” He kept his face neutral, and I remembered the silver chain and collar Scimina had put on Nahadoth. Her perversity did not surprise me, for I had heard rumors of far worse within Sky’s walls. What astounded me was that she dared play such games with that monster.

“The few fullbloods, halfbloods, and quarters who bother to do any legitimate work are often away from the palace,” T’vril continued, “overseeing the family’s business interests. Most of them have no hope of winning Dekarta’s favor; he made that clear when he named his brother’s children potential heirs rather than any of them. The ones who stay are the courtiers—pedants and sycophants for the most part, with impressive-sounding titles and no real power. Dekarta despises them, so you’d do better to avoid them altogether. Beyond that there are only servants.”

I glanced at him. “Some servants can be useful to know.”

He smiled unselfconsciously. “As I said, Lady Yeine—you’ve already met everyone who matters. Though I’m happy to arrange meetings for you with anyone you like.”

I stretched, still stiff after the long hours of sitting at the Salon. As I did so, one of my bruises twinged, reminding me that I had more than earthly problems to worry about.

“Thank you for saving my life,” I said.

T’vril chuckled with a hint of irony, though he looked pleased. “Well, as you suggested… it could be useful to have influence in certain quarters.”

I inclined my head to acknowledge the debt. “If I have the power to help you in any way, please ask.”

“As you like, Lady Yeine.”

“Yeine.”

He hesitated. “Cousin,” he said instead, and smiled at me over his shoulder as he left my apartment. He really was a superb diplomat. I supposed that was a necessity for someone in his position.

I went from the sitting room into my bedroom and stopped.

“I thought he’d never leave,” said Sieh, grinning from the middle of my bed.

I took a deep breath, slowly. “Good afternoon, Lord Sieh.”

He pouted, flopping forward onto his belly and regarding me from his folded arms. “You’re not happy to see me.”

“I’m wondering what I’ve done to deserve such attention from a god of games and tricks.”

“I’m not a god, remember?” He scowled. “Just a weapon. That word was more fitting than you know, Yeine, and how it burns these Arameri to hear it. No wonder they call you a barbarian.”

I sat in the reading chair beside the bed. “My mother often told me I was too blunt,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason? Maybe I just like being around you.”

“I would be honored if that were true,” I said.

He laughed, high and carefree. “It is true, Yeine, whether you believe me or not.” He got up then and began jumping on the bed. I wondered fleetingly whether anyone had ever tried to spank him.

“But?” I was sure there was a but.

He stopped after his third jump and glanced at me over his shoulder, his grin sly. “But it’s not the only reason I came. The others sent me.”

“For what reason?”

He hopped down from the bed and came over to my chair, putting his hands on my knees and leaning over me. He was still grinning, but again there was that indefinable something in his smile that was not childlike. Not at all.

“Relad isn’t going to ally with you.”

My stomach clenched in unease. Had he been in here all along, listening to my conversation with T’vril? Or was my strategy for survival just so painfully obvious? “You know this?”

He shrugged. “Why would he? You’re useless to him. He has his hands full dealing with Scimina and can’t afford distractions. The time—of the succession, I mean—is too close.”

I had suspected that as well. That was almost surely why they’d brought me here. It was probably why the family kept a scrivener in-house, to ensure that Dekarta didn’t die off schedule. It might even have been the reason for my mother’s murder after twenty years of freedom. Dekarta didn’t have much time left to tie up loose ends.

Abruptly Sieh climbed into the chair with me, straddling my lap, knees on either side of my hips. I flinched in surprise, and again when he flopped against me, resting his head on my shoulder.

“What are you—?”

“Please, Yeine,” he whispered. I felt his hands fist in the cloth of my jacket, at my sides. The gesture was so much that of a child seeking comfort that I could not help it; the stiffness went out of me. He sighed and snuggled closer, reveling in my tacit welcome. “Just let me do this a moment.”

So I sat still, wondering many things.

I thought he had fallen asleep when he finally spoke. “Kurue—my sister, Kurue, our leader inasmuch as we have one—invites you to meet.”

“Why?”

“You seek allies.”

I pushed at him; he sat back on my knees. “What are you saying? Are you offering yourselves?”

“Maybe.” The sly look was back. “You have to meet with us to find out.”

I narrowed my eyes in what I hoped was an intimidating look. “Why? As you said, I’m useless. What would you gain from allying with me?”

“You have something very important,” he said, serious now. “Something we could force you to give us—but we don’t want to do that. We are not Arameri. You have proven yourself worthy of respect, and so we will ask you to give that something to us willingly.”

I did not ask what they wanted. It was their bargaining chip; they would tell me if I met with them. I was rabidly curious, though—and excited, because he was right. The Enefadeh would make powerful, knowledgeable allies, even hobbled as they were. But I dared not reveal my eagerness. Sieh was nowhere near as childish, or as neutral, as he pretended to be.

“I will consider your request for a meeting,” I said in my most dignified voice. “Please convey to the Lady Kurue that I will give you a response in no more than three days.”

Sieh laughed and jumped off me, returning to the bed. He curled up in the middle of it and grinned at me. “Kurue’s going to hate you. She thought you’d jump at the chance, and here you are keeping her waiting!”

“An alliance made in fear or haste will not last,” I said. “I need a better understanding of my position before I do anything that will strengthen or weaken it. The Enefadeh must realize that.”

“I do,” he said, “but Kurue is wise and I’m not. She does what’s smart. I do what’s fun.” He shrugged, then yawned. “Can I sleep here, sometimes, with you?”

I opened my mouth, then caught myself. He played innocent so well that I’d almost said yes automatically.

“I’m not sure that would be proper,” I said at last. “You are very much older than me, and yet clearly underage. It would be a scandal, either way.”

His eyebrows flew up almost into his hairline. Then he burst out laughing, rolling onto his back and holding his middle. He laughed for a long time. Eventually, a bit annoyed, I got up and went to the door to summon a servant and order lunch. I ordered two meals out of politeness, though I had no idea what, or whether, gods ate.

When I turned, Sieh had finally stopped laughing. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, thoughtful.

“I could be older,” he said softly. “If you’d rather have me older, I mean. I don’t have to be a child.”

I stared at him and did not know whether to feel pity, nausea, or both at once.

“I want you to be what you are,” I said.

His expression grew solemn. “That isn’t possible. Not while I’m in this prison.” He touched his chest.

“Do—” I did not want to call them my family. “Do others ask you to be older?”

He smiled. It was, most horribly, very much a child’s smile. “Younger, usually.”

Nausea won. I put a hand to my mouth and turned away. Never mind what Ras Onchi thought. I would never call myself Arameri, never.

He sighed and came over, wrapping arms around me from behind and resting his head on my shoulder. I did not understand his constant need to touch me. I didn’t mind, but it made me wonder who he cuddled when I was not around. I wondered what price they demanded of him in exchange.

“I was ancient when your kind first began to speak and use fire, Yeine. These petty torments are nothing to me.”

“That’s beside the point,” I said. “You’re still…” I groped for words. Human might be taken as an insult.

He shook his head. “Only Enefa’s death hurts me, and that was no mortal’s doing.”

In that moment there was a deep, basso shudder throughout the palace. My skin prickled; in the bathroom something rattled for an instant, then went still.

“Sunset,” Sieh said. He sounded pleased as he straightened and went to one of my windows. The western sky was layered clouds, spectrum-painted. “My father returns.”

Where had he gone? I wondered, though I was distracted by another thought. The monster of my nightmares, the beast who had hunted me through walls, was father to Sieh.

“He tried to kill you yesterday,” I said.

Sieh shook his head dismissively, then clapped his hands, making me jump. “En. Naiasouwamehikach.”

It was gibberish, spoken in a singsong lilt, and for an instant while the sound lingered, my perception changed. I became aware of the faint echoes of each syllable from the room’s walls, overlapping and blending. I noticed the way the air felt as the sounds rippled through it. Along my floor into the walls. Through the walls to the support column that held up Sky. Down that column to the earth.

And the sound was carried along as the earth rolled over like a sleepy child, as we hurtled around the sun through the cycle of seasons and the stars around us did a graceful cartwheel turn—

I blinked, momentarily surprised to find myself still in the room. But then I understood. The earliest decades of the scrivening art’s history were littered with its founders’ deaths, until they’d restricted themselves to the written form of the language. It amazed me now that they’d even tried. A tongue whose meaning depended upon not only syntax and pronunciation and tone, but also one’s position in the universe at any given moment—how could they even have imagined mastering that? It was beyond any mortal.

Sieh’s yellow ball appeared out of nowhere and bounced into his hands. “Go and see, then find me,” he commanded, and threw the ball away. It bounced against a nearby wall, then vanished.

“I’ll deliver your message to Kurue,” he said, heading toward the wall beside my bed. “Consider our offer, Yeine, but do it quickly, will you? Time passes so swiftly with your kind. Dekarta will be dead before you know it.”

He spoke to the wall and it opened before him, revealing another narrow dead space. The last thing I saw was his grin as it closed behind him.