“ Twice? ”
Reive cowered on the bed. “Yes.” It was as Ceryl had warned her, she would be executed at once, or used as one of Âziz’s timorata —or, worst of all, given to the Compassionate Redeemer in the festival’s propitiary rites.
Shiyung turned to the rasa. “She says she’s scryed it twice.”
“So I heard.”
Shiyung clasped her elegant white hands, looking around the small room as though she expected it to disappear in a mist. “But—this is incredible! The same dream, that dream, twice? Margalis, this could—what does this mean? ”
Tast’annin shrugged, his kimono sliding to reveal the ribbed metal cage of his chest. “It could mean nothing. Or it could mean this morphodite is lying. Or it could be a harbinger of evil things not predicated by your Architects. What do you think it means?”
Shiyung bit her lip. “The ’file of Fasidin the Depraved says that to dream of the Green Country is to dream of the el-bajdia, the engulfing wilderness. It is a terrible omen.” She reached for the gynander and pulled her toward her and for the first time Reive clearly saw the margravine’s eyes: wide and childlike and an alarming shade of emerald. “Come, Reive—we’ll talk someplace safer.”
The gynander cast a final, longing look at her empty plate. “If anyone passes us you’re to keep your head down and say nothing,” whispered the margravine. The three of them left the Howarth Reception Area and hurried down the private gravator that would bring them to Shiyung’s chambers.
Shiyung’s quarters were larger than any Reive had ever seen, larger and hotter and filled with animals, great soft-bellied cats that skulked about the corners and seemed as intent as Reive upon finding something to eat. On the walls hung antique tapestries in somber shades of brownish-red, like dried blood or dung. The room smelled of sandalwood and damp fur, and a faint breeze blew down from vents in the ceiling.
“But why would you say these things about my sister?” Shiyung asked softly. She sat very close to the gynander and stroked her thigh absently as she spoke, tracing the imprint of a bruise on Reive’s white skin.
“Because it’s true,” Reive said sullenly for the tenth time. “We saw the Green Country in her dream. It is in her eyes as well, you have only to look to see it. Please, can we please have something to drink?”
Shiyung pursed her lips in annoyance, then clicked her fingers. Her server listed into the room, and the caracal moaned softly. “Me-suh, bring us some of that aquavit and whatever else there is—fruit or something.”
Frowning, the margravine stood and paced. Behind Reive stood the rasa, so silent that the gynander held her breath, to see if she could hear him breathing; but she heard nothing. His pale eyes glittered as he watched her, and it seemed that his irises bloomed a deeper blue as Shiyung grew more agitated.
The margravine stopped and gazed sharply at Reive.
“Now I can tell you, morphodite, that my sister Âziz would be the last person in Araboth to have that dream. Unlike me she has no interest whatsoever in theological matters, and she is not—shall we say—superstitious. Now I would have thought this was a more commonplace dream, an omen perhaps of unrest during the upcoming holiday. But I find it very interesting that you interpreted it so differently, especially on the eve of Æstival Tide. There are many interesting things about you. For instance, how is it that you came to this level without a sponsor? You were not on the guest list for that inquisition—”
“We were invited—” Reive tugged at the small mesh purse hanging about her waist and pulled out Tatsun Frizer’s allurian calling card. “See?”
Shiyung took the card and read it, then tossed it aside. “Frizer. She’s in Blessed Narouz’s Refinery. How do you know her?”
Reive started to explain about that morning: the walk along the boulevard, the Investiture, and the woman with the puppet who had given her the card. But as she started to speak Tast’annin’s face trapped her, like the black mirrors set by moujiks to capture the souls of the dead. “We—we don’t know,” she stammered.
“She will not harm you, Reive,” the rasa said softly. He moved closer to her and placed one gloved hand upon her knee. He stroked her leg gently, as Shiyung toyed with her caracal. “If what you said was true—if Âziz really did have a prophetic dream—why that is quite an unusual circumstance, and you must understand better than we do what that portends. Don’t you, Reive?”
His voice had grown soft, its monotone and the scent of sandalwood lulling her so that her eyelids drooped and she let herself sink backward into the pillows. She said nothing, her mouth shaping a silent O as the rasa continued.
“You read my dream without any difficulty—perhaps a rasa’s dreams are not so challenging as those others—and so now I will tell you something, Reive. I think you were right. I think Âziz did have the dream of the Green Country.”
Shiyung made a small noise, whether of disapproval or restrained excitement the gynander couldn’t tell. Tast’annin’s hand upon her thigh tightened, squeezing more and more forcefully until Reive cried out. But he did not seem to notice, only went on. speaking in his calm toneless voice.
“You must understand, I have seen before what happens when people do not pay attention to their dreams. Âziz and her clever siblings have been supporting research in distant places, facilities in the wilderness where it was thought safe to perform some rather cruel acts—upon children, among others. I daresay Shiyung has forgotten all about that little project of hers—”
Shiyung blinked her calm green eyes and shook her head. “Children? Which one was that?”
“The Human Engineering Laboratory, The Harrow Effect, that was what they called it. A method of inducing multiple personalities and then using the subjects in emotive engram therapy. Psychic vampires, capable of reading the emotions and memories of others. They would make ideal spies and terrorists for the Orsinate, perhaps even help them to escape their servitude to the Ascendant Autocracy. Only the subjects were so unstable that they often went mad and killed themselves, or induced suicide and madness in others.”
Shiyung furrowed her brow, her little mouth pursed into a frown. The rasa’s voice rose slightly.
“See, Reive! She doesn’t even remember. But I recall when Shiyung was so excited about the Harrow Effect that she couldn’t—well, she couldn’t do much of anything. She and her sisters had great plans—the Human Engineering Laboratory would be a testing ground, they would go on to have child farms where they would raise entire armies of disassociated terrorists, ready to kill and be killed without a single thought. Certainly without a single thought from the Orsinate. They would seize control once more of the ancient capital—ah, see, Reive, she remembers that part—and install a new Governor there, someone chosen expressly for that purpose from the highest ranks of the NASNA Academy. And of course, eventually the Orsinate would move there, at least one of them would—the youngest, perhaps, she was known for a certain recklessness that sometimes passed as foresight. She would not be afraid to go into the wilderness and live in the ruins, once the ruins had been cleaned up a bit—she may be feckless, but she is also a fastidious young woman.”
The rasa’s voice had grown quite loud. When he fell silent its echo filled the room like a bell clanging. Beneath his fingers dark welts had sprung up on Reive’s leg. She covered her face with her hands, biting her lip to keep from crying out again. Abruptly he let go of her. With a cry she backed away from him until she bumped into the wall.