He noticed the Damaji looking at him, and realized he’d stopped paying attention. They were awaiting a decree, and he had no idea what for. Some bit of contested land …
Jardir looked to Jayan, standing at the foot of his dais. ‘Jayan my son, what think you of this great crisis between the Jama and Khanjin?’ He made no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice.
Jayan bowed deeply. ‘The Jama have a legitimate claim to injury, Father.’ Jardir saw Damaji Qezan puff up. ‘But so, too, do the Khanjin.’ Ichach straightened at that.
Jardir nodded. ‘And how would you deal with it in my place?’ Both Damaji turned in surprise to look at the young Sharum Ka. Traditionally, the Sharum Ka was the servant of the council, not the other way around, and Jayan was only nineteen. With the exception of Ashan, there was not a man on the council under sixty.
Jayan bowed again. ‘Both tribes have proven they are unworthy of the land. I would confiscate it for the war effort.’
Of course you would, Jardir thought. Jayan had not been happy with the three million draki he had been given, but Jardir had seen Jayan’s clumsy accounting of how he had spent the war tax, and read between the lines. The only one of my sons to have his own palace, and already it must be grander than any other.
He looked to Asome, standing beside Damaji Ashan and Dama Asukaji. ‘And you, Asome? Do you agree with your brother?’
Asome bowed. ‘The land is meaningless, Father, and will not solve the true problem.’
‘And what is that, my son?’ Jardir asked.
‘That Sharak Ka is nigh, yet the Damaji continue to waste the Deliverer’s time with petty matters even children could settle among themselves.’
There was a burst of chatter among the Damaji at this. Jardir thumped his spear on the marble dais. ‘Silence!’
The room quieted immediately. Jardir kept his eyes on Asome. ‘And your solution to this problem?’
‘Let the Damaji settle it among themselves.’ Asome turned, eyeing the two Damaji as his voice grew cold. ‘And give Damajis Qezan and Ichach three lashes of the alagai tail each for incentive.’ He dropped a hand to the barbed whip he carried on his belt. Every dama owned one — a symbol of the new power given when they took the white — but carrying them on one’s person had fallen from fashion over the centuries, only to be brought back by Asome. Now more and more dama carried the weapons with them at all times.
For a moment, there was utter silence, but then the entire court broke out in angry shouting.
‘How dare you, boy?!’ Qezan shouted.
‘Outrageous!’ Ichach growled.
Asome only smiled. ‘You see, Damaji? Already you agree on something.’ Qezan’s and Ichach’s faces grew so red, Jardir thought they might burst.
Careful, my son, he thought. You make powerful enemies.
Other clerics added outrage to the chorus. No Damaji had been whipped in centuries, and certainly not on the orders of a young dama not yet eighteen. They had become so secure in their power over the years they believed themselves above the laws that governed other men. Even Ashan, secure in the Deliverer’s favour and Asome’s uncle, looked at the boy in displeasure.
The Damaji’ting only looked on in silence.
‘Once again, my brother proves why he is heir to nothing,’ Jayan said with a smirk, but Asome did not flinch, his gaze cool. He did not have the look of an heir to nothing.
He has the look of an Andrah, Jardir thought. As if his appointment is a foregone conclusion.
Jardir considered. Asome had masterfully cornered him. If he followed Jayan’s solution, his second son would lose face, and indeed, the true problem would continue. But if he agreed …
Only Damaji Aleverak — once Jardir’s bitter enemy and now one of his most trusted advisors — was unperturbed. Aleverak gave Jardir his own share of frustration, but he was a man of honour and courage, a true leader to his people and not just a despot like many of his brethren on the council. He would never behave so foolishly as these men, and if he did, he would strip his robe and bend to receive the lash without losing a grain of dignity. But even Aleverak would not suggest a whipping in open council. Asome’s directness was a refreshing change.
Jardir glanced at Aleverak, and the ancient cleric gave a tiny nod, the gesture lost amid the chaos. He, too, carried an alagai tail.
‘The Damajah!’ came Hasik’s call from the door. All the men looked up, their conflict momentarily forgotten at the sight of Inevera.
She does take the breath away, Jardir thought, gazing at his First Wife as his council bowed to her.
Inevera nodded in acceptance of the honour, but made no effort to approach the throne. She caught Jardir’s eye and touched her hora pouch, then inclined her head slightly towards her pillow chamber. There was no missing the meaning behind the gesture.
Her new alagai hora were at last complete.
Jardir felt dizzied by the feelings that raised in him. For twenty-five years he had been a virtual slave to the alagai hora, the whole course of his life dictated by their throws. The last fortnight had felt freer than he imagined possible, unburdened by their yoke.
But with that freedom came uncertainty. The dice kept him captive in their way, but they gave him power, too. In those throws were truths he sorely needed if they were to win the Daylight War and Sharak Ka. The problem was that their truths were filtered through Inevera, and she kept her own counsel on which to share and which to keep.
He looked back at the Damaji, still waiting in shocked silence for his response to their petty drama. ‘It shall be as both my sons suggest. The contested land will go to Jayan, and Damajis Ichach and Qezan will have the kiss of the alagai tail.’
All the clerics save Ashan and Aleverak opened their mouths to protest, but Jardir raised the Spear of Kaji and the words died on their tongues. ‘Damaji Aleverak will administer the punishments here and now.’
He set the spear butt on the dais with a thump that made several clerics flinch. ‘Sharak Ka is upon us, Damaji. We have no more time to fight among ourselves. From now on, these matters will be handled within your closed council. Waste my time like this again, and the next whippings will be in the city square for all to see.’
Faces blanched as Jardir descended the seven steps from his dais and strode past them, following Inevera.
Jardir watched the sway of Inevera’s hips as she strode into her pillow chamber, mesmerized as always by her beauty. Like his warriors who absorbed demon magic each night in alagai’sharak, years of manipulating alagai hora had lent his First Wife the air of immortality. She moved with the confidence of a matriarch, yet despite being forty-two and having borne him several children, her curves still had the bounce of a woman on the bright side of thirty.
But only a fool would think her value lay in her beauty. Would he be where he was today without Inevera? Would he have seized power when the opportunity came to him? Would it even have come, or would he be just another illiterate dal’Sharum — or worse, a bleached skull in Sharik Hora?
And I love her still, he thought, hating himself for the weakness. There were times he dared dream that she loved him in return, but in his heart he could not trust her. Not since the Andrah.