Hasik opened his mouth again, but Abban gestured and the Sharach choked off his words. ‘The time for talk is over, old friend. We were taught in sharaj to embrace pain. I hope you took the lessons better than I did.’
The Nanji worked quickly, skilled as a dama’ting as he wound a tight cord around shaft and sack both, cutting them away and dropping them onto a plate as he inserted a metal tube to drain waste and sewed up the wound with practised efficiency. When he was finished, he lifted the plate. ‘How shall I dispose of this, master?’
Abban looked to Cielvah. ‘The dogs have not yet been fed today, Father,’ she noted.
Abban nodded. ‘Take your sisters and see that they have something to chew on.’ The girl took the plate and the other women dropped their alagai-catchers to follow her out the door, all of them laughing and talking amiably among themselves.
‘I will encourage them to be discreet, my friend,’ Abban said, ‘but you know how women are. Tell a secret to one and soon they all hear of it. Before long, every woman in the bazaar will know to no longer fear Hasik, the man with a woman’s slit between his legs.’
He tossed a heavy leather sack at the warrior, eliciting a grunt of pain as it struck his stomach with a clink. ‘Take that to the Damajah on your way back to the palace.’
Jardir followed Inevera down the winding stair leading from their private quarters to the underpalace. He had never had need to visit the underpalace — he had not hidden in the night for over a quarter century — and was mildly fascinated as they descended. Wardlight lit their way, but Jardir’s crownsight was all he needed. He could see the eunuch Watchers hiding in the shadows as easily as he could in brightest day. Their auras were clean, intensely loyal to his wife. He was glad of this. Her safety was everything.
She led him through twisting tunnels, freshly hewn from the rock, and several more doors, leaving even the eunuch guards behind. At last, they arrived at a small private chamber where a man and a woman sat on pillows, sharing tea.
Inevera pulled the door closed behind them as the couple quickly got to their feet. The woman looked much as any other dal’ting, swathed in black robes that hid all but her eyes and hands. The man was in a khaffit’s tan and pushed hard on a cane as he rose. His aura ended abruptly halfway down one leg.
Cripple, Jardir noted, not having to ask who they were. Their auras told him everything, but he allowed Inevera the niceties all the same.
‘Honoured husband,’ she said. ‘Please allow me to present my father, Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, and his Jiwah Ka, my mother, Manvah.’
Jardir bowed deeply. ‘Mother, Father. It is an honour to meet you at last.’
The couple bowed in return. ‘The honour is ours, Deliverer,’ Manvah said.
‘A mother need not cover her face when alone with her husband and children,’ Jardir said. Manvah nodded, removing her hood and veil. Jardir smiled, seeing many of the features he loved in the woman’s face. ‘I can see where the Damajah gets her legendary beauty.’
Manvah dropped her eyes politely, but she was not truly moved by the words, sincere though they were. Her aura was sharp, focused. He could sense her pride in her daughter, and the respect Inevera gave her in return, but nevertheless there was discomfort in the room. Jardir could see it dancing in the auras of his wife and her parents, a discordant web of anger and fear and shame and love that doubled and redoubled on itself, all of it centring on Kasaad.
He looked at his khaffit father-in-law, peering deeper into his aura. The man’s body was covered in the telltale scars of a warrior, but the wound at his knee was not from the rending claws or tearing teeth of an alagai. It was even — surgical. ‘You were once a Sharum,’ he guessed, ‘but you did not lose your leg in battle.’ The words caused a spike in the man’s aura, yielding another flood of information. ‘You lost the black over a crime. The leg was removed as punishment.’
‘How did you …’ Inevera began.
Jardir looked at her, reading the waves of emotion connecting her to her father. ‘A crime your wife and daughter long to forgive you for, but dare not.’ He looked back to Kasaad. ‘What was this unforgivable crime?’
Shock registered in Inevera’s and Manvah’s auras, but it was worse for Kasaad, who paled in the wardlight, sweat running down the side of his face. He leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself to his knees with as much dignity as he could manage, then put his hands before him and pressed his forehead into the thick carpet.
‘I struck my dama’ting daughter and murdered my eldest son for being push’ting, Deliverer,’ he said. ‘I thought myself righteous, defending Kaji’s law even as I broke it myself with drink and behaviour that brought far more dishonour to my family than anything my son could ever have done. Soli was a brave Sharum who sent many alagai back into the abyss. I was a coward who got drunk in the Maze and hid in the lower levels where alagai seldom wandered.’
He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and turned to Inevera. ‘My daughter was within her rights to have me killed for my crimes, but she deemed it a greater punishment to let me live with my shame and the loss of the limb I used to strike her.’
Jardir nodded, looking to Inevera and her mother. Manvah’s face was streaked with tears to match her husband’s. Inevera’s eyes were dry, but pain streaked her aura as clearly as tears would her face. This wound had been open too long.
He looked back to Kasaad. ‘Everam’s mercy is infinite, Kasaad son of Kasaad. No crime is unforgivable. I can see in your heart you understand and regret your actions, and the loss of your son has punished you more over the years than the loss of your leg and honour combined. You have not strayed since from Everam’s path. If you wish it, I will return your blacks to you, and you may die with honour.’
Kasaad looked sadly at his wife and daughter, then shook his head. ‘I thought there was shame in being khaffit, Deliverer, but in truth I have never been happier, nor seen Everam’s path more clearly. I am crippled and cannot serve you in Sharak Ka, so I beg you let me die as khaffit, that I might strive to be better in my next life.’
Jardir nodded. ‘As you wish. Everam makes the souls of khaffit wait outside Heaven until they have gained the wisdom to return to the Ala with a chance to be better men. I will pray for you, but I do not think the Creator will make you wait long when your time comes.’
Kasaad’s aura changed then, a weight lifting. The web among the three changed, but it was still without proper harmony for a family in Everam’s grace.
He turned to Manvah, peering into her heart as well. ‘You have not been as man and wife since the crime, unable to bear the touch of the man who killed your son.’
Manvah’s calm, focused aura had gone cold with fear and awe. She, too, got down on her knees and put her head to the floor. ‘It is so, Deliverer.’
‘Even the wife of a khaffit must be a wife,’ Jardir said. ‘And so you must decide now. Either find forgiveness in your heart, or I will dissolve your marriage.’
Manvah looked at her husband, and Jardir could see she was peeling back the years, remembering the man he had been and comparing it with who he was now. Slowly, tentatively, she reached her hand out. She shivered when it touched Kasaad’s hand, and he took it squeezing tightly. ‘I do not think that will be necessary, Deliverer.’
‘I swear,’ Kasaad said, ‘with the Deliverer as my witness, that I will be worthy of your touch, wife.’