The big man’s expression promised more questions of me later, but he played into his part like a temple catamite on feast day. “As a representative of this city’s duly constituted government, I assure Lady Green our full protection.” He divided his attention between me and the protocol master.
Whatever “full protection” meant. No good ever came of trusting the Interim Council, but the statement ought to give the protocol master and his superiors pause. If nothing else, at some point these people needed to be able to make their way safely back to the docks and take ship. Precisely the sort of thing that even this Interim Council could manage to prevent, however hapless they might be in the face of larger pressures.
“Then we shall consider your exile in abeyance,” the protocol master said smoothly, as though he had not moments before claimed quite correctly not to speak for the Temple of the Silver Lily. Ah, the forms of protocol. Like combat, without the pleasantries.
We stepped within.
The front hall boasted that same high-ceilinged architecture so beloved of the important and the self-important everywhere in Copper Downs. The house smelled musty, as if it had been long closed, though an overlay of Selistani spice was working to combat that scent of neglect with the warm, familiar sting of curry and red pepper. I blinked away the particolored sunlight streaming in the stained-glass windows above and looked to see who awaited me here.
All of them, I realized in rapidly dawning horror.
The Prince of the City was poised on a throne in the center of the hall, where by the usual traditions of Haito architecture there ought to be an ornamental pool. Behind him were arrayed a selection of the men and women of his court standing tall, their bird-bright silks gleaming oddly in the streaming morning light. To his right stood the Bittern Court woman with a glare of triumph on her face. To his left was poised Mother Vajpai-senior trainer of the Lily Blades and my longtime mentor, before I was ejected from Kalimpura by her order. Though not, I later came to understand, by her will.
As I understood matters then, these two women were the agents of my banishment. My free hand brushed the hilt of my long knife where it protruded from the bundle of my leathers. On my best day I could barely score a touch on Mother Vajpai. Pregnant, tired after a drunken night’s half-sleep, and dressed in these ridiculous robes, I could scarcely claim even that much skill this morning.
“The girl Green,” said the protocol master loudly in Seliu. “With a councilor of this city, Loren Kohlmann.”
Kohlmann bowed at the sound of his name filtered into our tongue, with its differing inflections of case. I remained alert, tightly drawn for a battle I could not hope to win.
The Prince of the City rose to his feet. “Welcome,” he said warmly in Petraean, focusing his attention on Kohlmann. “We have been awaiting your presence. Would you take some fine southern wine with us?”
Kohlmann bowed. I whispered, “Don’t fall for it,” but he ignored me. Standing straight again, he smiled. “I am blessed by your house,” he said in bad Seliu. Then, in Petraean, “I would be pleased to take wine with you, great Prince.”
Mother Vajpai stepped forward. In a voice straining with memorization, she said in Petraean I knew she did not speak, “I would see my old student.” Someone behind her hissed. She added, “Awhile.”
I turned toward the front door. Kohlmann caught at my arm, nearly earning a deep stab for his troubles. “This is my game,” he growled quietly. “Play it my way. They will not kill you while I am present. And I will not leave without you.”
Though I desperately wanted to ask the man what he would do if my old mistress simply refused to release me, I held my tongue. Unless the Rectifier was in the city, no one in Copper Downs could take down Mother Vajpai in a straight fight. I knew this because no one in this place but the Rectifier could take me down in a straight fight, and I was afraid of Mother Vajpai.
“We will speak of this later,” I said, matching his growl with my own. Stepping forward, I let a smile slip on to my face. It was not entirely a lie-I had always respected Mother Vajpai, and liked her even, while never finding reason to believe the affection was not mutual. I understood even then that my banishment had not been engineered for petty personal reasons. The opposite, in truth, given the pressure for arranging my death or turning me out to the dubious justice of the Bittern Court.
And that smarmy bitch gave me a sweet, gleeful smile over Mother Vajpai’s shoulder as my old teacher swept me into a hug. This raised my hackles as surely as a bared blade would have done. She’d never hugged me before in my life. “Have a care, Green,” Mother Vajpai whispered. She took me by the hand and led me toward a side chamber, away from the entrance, away from Loren Kohlmann, away from all the freedom and independence of my exile.
I almost balked again, except a door ahead of me swung open and Samma stepped forth to usher me onward.
Samma.
I stopped, heart pounding. My mouth ran dry. My hands shook.
Samma. Dark-haired, doe-eyed, sharp-faced, and as always slightly contrary of expression. My very first lover, ever. Closest to my heart for the better part of a year in the Temple of the Silver Lily. Fellow aspirant, and now a Blade, or so I presumed.
Doubting every step, I turned toward her, and allowed myself to be taken away from the man who’d promised to guarantee my safety here among the leaders of my own people.
We perched on a Pilean Era settee. Armless, low-backed, covered in a thick silk brocade that would irritate bared skin, it was a piece of furniture designed for short, intimate conversations without the temptations of further dalliance. The room was likewise, a small parlor off the great hall where people were intended to meet to seal bargains or make arrangements. Narrow paintings lined the paneled walls, while two equally narrow windows opened into the shadows of the lawn to the south-cues of architecture and design intended to push the occupants to discomfort.
All of this was apropos to my being here. Short, intimate, without the temptation of further dalliance. “What are you about?” I hissed to both of them.
Mother Vajpai spoke first, as she always had and probably always would. “The Lily Goddess has sent us for you, Green.”
“No.” I let myself sound cross. “That woman outside, from the Bittern Court. She has longed for my heartsblood for a year now. If you came at the Lily Goddess’ behest, she would not be among you.”
“Surali,” said Samma unexpectedly. “Her name is Surali. And she’s not so bad.”
“Samma.” Mother Vajpai’s voice held a warning tone.
“She has a right to know!” Samma blurted, then cowered back, overwhelmed at her own temerity in speaking. Such classic Samma, I thought. Never quite the nerve to stand up for what needs standing up for. She had sufficient conscience, but not the courage to act.
“You will be silent.” This time Mother Vajpai’s voice was much more severe. Then, back to me, “You are wanted at home. The Temple Mother has passed away, as has Mother Meiko. There is much disruption among all our orders. The purpose for your exile no longer applies. I hear you have vanquished the danger she had concerned herself with.” A smile, as genuine as anything else this very controlled woman ever did. “We need you, Green.”
All my careful thought, my planning, my sense of politics-it all slid away in the face of this woman who had almost been a mother to me in her way. “Who do you need?” I asked nastily. “Green the killer, who couldn’t be trusted? Green the goddess-touched, who wouldn’t cooperate with the priestesses? Green the obsessed, who roamed the docks looking for child traders? Or perhaps Green the sensual, fucking every woman in the temple who would hold still long enough!?”