Qeva knelt across from Cashiv as she reached into her hora pouch. ‘Have you the dama’s blood?’ Cashiv drew forth a polished wooden box. Contained within was a delicate porcelain vial. He passed this to the dama’ting, who emptied its contents onto her dice.
‘Lower your veil.’ When Cashiv complied, she asked, ‘Do you swear now that this is the true blood of Dama Baden, and that you speak with his voice — his words and not your own — with Everam as your witness?’
Cashiv put his hands on the canvas floor of the pavilion and pressed his forehead between them. ‘I do, Dama’ting. I swear before Everam himself, in the name of Kaji and on my honour and hope of Heaven, that this is Dama Baden’s blood and I have memorized his questions precisely.’
Qeva nodded, raising her hand and causing the dice to flare with a harmless glow. Cashiv flinched in spite of himself. ‘Then ask, Sharum. The dice will know if you lie.’
Cashiv swallowed hard and drew deep breaths, finding his centre in much the same way as a dama’ting. Their sharusahk might be vastly different, but the philosophy at its core was not.
Cashiv met Qeva’s eyes, his words slow and careful. ‘What will be my greatest loss this year, and how can I profit from it?’
‘Well said,’ Qeva congratulated. ‘That was two questions last year.’ Without waiting for a response, she shook the dice in her hands, chanting as they began to glow. She threw, then studied the pattern carefully.
‘A sickness will spread through the goat herds this winter,’ she said. ‘Only two in five will see the spring, and those too weak to have much value. Tell Dama Baden to sell his stock now and buy as many sheep as he can afford.’
Cashiv bowed and asked his second question. ‘As my palanquin passed through the city a month ago, a khaffit spat upon me from the crowd. How may I find this one again, to visit justice upon him?’
Inevera knew full well what ‘justice’ the dama meant. One fool enough to spit on a dama no doubt deserved it, but it said much of Baden’s pride that he would waste such a valuable question on revenge.
Qeva showed no emotion at all as she consulted the dice. ‘You will find him in the bazaar. His stall three hundred twenty paces east of the statue of the Holy Mother near the Jaddah gate in the Khanjin district. A seller of …’
Inevera tilted her head, studying the pattern still glowing softly on the dice. Honey melon, she read.
‘Honey cakes,’ Qeva said after a moment. Inevera stiffened, looking at the dice again, positive of her reading. She glanced at Qeva, and did not know what filled her with more fear, that Dama Baden was going to torture and kill the wrong man, or that her great teacher had made an error.
She hesitated. Should she speak? She quickly dismissed the idea. If she pointed out the mistake in front of the Sharum, it would likely mean her life, as well as that of all the warriors present, Soli included. The dama’ting could not be seen as fallible.
She breathed, finding her centre, and did nothing.
Cashiv bowed again. ‘Dama Lakash is attempting to end the exception that the personal Sharum of dama need fight in the Maze only on Waning. How can this be prevented?’
Qeva grunted and threw the dice a third time. ‘Dama Lakash’s son-in-law and heir Dama Kivan has spoken ill of you in council. Claim insult and kill him, taking his Jiwah Ka, Lakash’s eldest daughter Gisa, as your Jiwah Sen in recompense. Marry her that night, and get a daughter on her the third afternoon after the ceremony.’
Cashiv’s face wrinkled at the thought. ‘This brings me to the dama’s final question, Dama’ting: “I remain vigorous with men, but have lost my ability to lie with and seed my wives. How can this be restored?”’
Qeva snorted and put her dice away. There was a tinkling clatter of small corked bottles as she rifled through the pouch at her waist, finally selecting one. ‘Apply this personally to the dama’s spear before he does the deed, and tell him to be quick about it.’ She tossed the bottle to Cashiv. ‘If that doesn’t work, stick a finger in his arse.’
Cashiv and the other Sharum laughed at that.
‘And the boon?’ Qeva asked.
‘My master has lost nine poison tasters in the year,’ Cashiv said. ‘He suspects one or more of his many sons.’
‘Yet he wastes a question on a spitting khaffit,’ Qeva noted.
Cashiv bowed low. ‘My master’s sons add to his power, and he would not wish to kill one, nor does he think it would deter the others if he did. He asks instead for a chalice, ornate as befits his stature, magicked to turn poison to water.’
‘A precious gift,’ Qeva said. ‘Difficult to make.’
Cashiv smiled. ‘My master prays it will be less so, with the bones of a water demon.’
Qeva nodded, rising to her feet. ‘You may go. Tell your master his chalice will be ready on the first Waning after spring equinox. We will teach him a precise way to hold it, so that only he may activate its power.’
‘The Dama’ting is generous beyond measure.’ Cashiv touched his forehead to the ground and got to his feet. As he and the others turned to go, Soli looked back. For an instant, he met Inevera’s eyes.
And winked.
The days that followed were a horror, as Inevera and the other nie’dama’ting who had earned the Chamber of Shadows rendered the demon’s flesh with acid and fire, leaving the hora untouched. The bones were then polished with sacred oils as the nie’dama’ting chanted endless prayers to Everam until they were black and hard as obsidian.
The putrid acid slurry was neutralized with a base, the resulting liquid poison to the touch, but thick with magic the dama’ting could tap. It was drained into large vats connected to pipes that sent the stuff through the palace walls like a circulatory system, powering the wardlights, climate control, and countless other spells warded throughout the palace.
The work left the other girls pale and retching, their hands burned and eyes watering, but Inevera barely noticed. Her mind was far away from such inconsequential wind. She breathed through her mouth as she chanted, letting her hands work the monotonous task on their own as her thoughts danced with the image of Soli. She had worried greatly about him over the years, her heart clenching every day Sharum wounded were brought to the pavilion. It would have been enough to see him and know he was alive, but the wink had changed everything. He knew her fate and loved her still. He would tell Manvah that she was well and calm their mother’s heart.
The chamber rang with the sound of Inevera’s cymbals as she gyrated and spun, the grip of her bare feet sure on the polished stone floor. She was thirteen, but already she had a woman’s body, lithe yet well curved. She snapped her hips at Khavel and saw him rock back with every thrust.
The younger girls watched in fascination. Inevera taught the beginner classes in pillow dancing now, though the bido wrap she wore meant she herself had yet to experience the dance in full.
Sacred law held that Everam’s Betrothed remain virgins until they took the veil, as signified by the bido. That first night, the Damaji’ting would break her hymen to consummate the marriage to Everam, and Inevera would become a full Bride.
The second night, she would be free to love any man or object as she pleased, for what were they, compared with Everam’s embrace? Playthings.
Inevera met the eunuch’s gaze as she writhed before him. Firmly under her spell, his eyes were glazed, head swaying in time with her movements. He was hers.