But where there was one man driven towards jealous fantasy, there would be others. If protecting the Deliverer meant casting for every man, woman, and child in the Desert Spear, she would do it.
‘And if he lashes instead at your wives?’ she asked. ‘Or your children? The histories are full of such tales. Can you protect all of us, all the time? What harm is there in knowing how deep his hate?’
Ahmann sighed. ‘He does not hate me now. He is simply jealous. But he will begin to hate when I must break his nose tomorrow, that I might bring you the bloody glove. You speak of unity, of our people coming together, but how will that ever be reality if your mistrust of even our own tribesmen is so strong?’
Inevera stiffened, but she bent in the wind and calmed before Ahmann could notice. ‘Perhaps you are right, husband.’ She dried him and led him from the bath. After a night’s battle and a hot soak, even Ahmann’s hard muscles were relaxed, and she danced for him before mounting him and putting him down.
Later, as he snored contentedly, Inevera slipped from his embrace and padded away to one of her personal chambers. Ahmann’s words continued to haunt her. They were foolish. Naïve.
And yet they were the very sorts of wisdom Kaji gave in the Evejah. The Damajah had trusted no one, but the Shar’Dama Ka always reached for the best within people, inspiring them to acts of incredible loyalty.
Perhaps he really is the Deliverer.
She knelt on a velvet pillow, spreading a casting cloth on the floor before her and taking out her dice. She kept a vial of Ahmann’s blood on her always, and sprinkled a few drops of the precious fluid on them as she shook.
‘How can Ahmann unify our fractured people?’ she whispered, and threw.
— The Deliverer must have brides to give him sons and daughters in every tribe.-
Inevera started. Often the dice were so cryptic their advice was meaningless, or gave only the barest shred of knowledge. Other times they were a slap in the face. Not only was marrying outside the tribe certain to get Ahmann — and her — ostracized, the symbol for ‘bride’ was the same as the one for ‘dama’ting’. Did Everam wish her to share her husband with other dama’ting? It was too much to countenance. Everalia and Thalaja might breed with Ahmann, but they had none of Inevera’s wit or skills at pillow dancing, no beauty to match her, or skill with magic or healing. Another Kaji dama’ting would be challenge enough as Jiwah Sen, but one of another tribe? Eleven of them?
Inevera breathed to find her centre. She was Everam’s servant, the instrument of His will. If the dice commanded this, so it would be.
She gathered the dice again, daring a second throw. ‘How do I select Ahmann’s brides?’
— They have already been selected.-
Inevera was kneeling in a small casting alcove in the Andrah’s Palace when Belina arrived. There were many such chambers. When council was in session, the Andrah and Damaji frequently demanded minor spells and foretellings that were beneath the Damaji’ting to cast personally. These were delegated during recess to an army of senior Brides from each tribe who attended their mistresses at court.
As Kenevah’s third, Inevera was expected to attend, though sacred law did not require it. The older women had all been scandalized when she first skipped a session at the demands of her dice, collecting advantages for her husband. It happened many more times over the years, and the implied insult to Kenevah had not been without consequences.
The tribes might often be at odds, but all dama’ting took their wisdom from the Evejah’ting, and thus all called their new leaders from outside the palace. A few years after Inevera had begun coming to court, the first of these girls appeared — to a one younger than she.
Since then, all had taken a black veil. All save Inevera. Whenever she was at court, it was a constant reminder of her sacrifice for Ahmann. Dama’ting could speak volumes with their eyes, and to a one the new heirs sneered at Inevera, standing still as they moved forward.
She hated them. Belina of the Majah, most of all. The diminutive dama’ting had nothing but disdain in her eyes when she looked at Inevera.
And so it was all the more unexpected when a day earlier, Inevera had passed her a note in the hall, so swiftly that none but they two noticed the exchange.
Inevera’s casting chamber was richly appointed, as befitted her place as third of the Kaji. It was secure from sunlight, lit in the soft glow of wardlight. A silver tea service rested next to Inevera, heat wards keeping it steaming.
She poured as Belina entered. It was a calculated gesture, though Inevera rankled at the submissive stance before one she must dominate. ‘I thank you for coming, sister.’
Belina accepted the cup gracefully. She was a tiny thing, a full inch shy of five feet. But her frame was sturdy, with a small waist, big, heavy breasts, and round hips. She looked fit to breed an army. She cast a suspicious eye upon Inevera. ‘I am still not certain why I am here.’
Inevera kept her eyes down as she poured her own cup. ‘Let us not play games, Belina. We both cast the bones before this meeting. Tell me what your dice told you, I will tell you what mine told me.’
Belina’s teacup twitched — the only sign of her surprise, but for a dama’ting she might as well have dropped it to the floor. Casting was a private communion with Everam, and while Brides sometimes debated meanings with their closest and most trusted allies, it was the height of rudeness to ask outright what another had seen.
They watched each other silently a while, sipping their tea. Finally, Belina shrugged. ‘They said you would give me a gift, and then offer me your husband.’
She looked at Inevera with hard eyes. ‘But I have no interest in marrying some piddling kai’Sharum, especially one of another tribe. They say your own Damaji’ting denies you the black veil over it. No gift you can give will change this.’
Inevera let the insult pass. ‘I will not ask you to agree to marry a kai’Sharum. It is the Sharum Ka you will marry, and the Sharum Ka has no tribe.’
This got the other woman’s attention. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji will be the next Sharum Ka? You know this?’
Inevera nodded, suppressing a smile. Even now, her ‘piddling’ husband’s name was known to the dama’ting of other tribes. ‘It is inevera.’ She made no mention of the price she must pay for it. That, too, was Everam’s will, and not to be denied.
Belina sipped her tea. ‘The Andrah himself has not had a Damaji’ting wife in five generations. Even the Sharum Ka would be beneath me …’ She met Inevera’s gaze with a hard one. ‘… and I would never accept being beneath you.’
Inevera nodded. ‘And so the gift, at the command of my own dice. Blood to show you part of Everam’s plan. Hold out your dice.’
Belina looked at her warily. Her hand went to her hora pouch, but whether it was to clutch it or draw forth protective magic, she seemed to have no intention of removing her dice. ‘You offer me your husband’s blood?’ That would be an incredibly powerful gift — one that could give Belina great power over Ahmann. Like asking about another’s casting, it simply wasn’t done.
But Inevera shook her head. ‘Not his.’ She drew her knife and sliced the meat at the base of her fist. ‘Mine.’ Belina gasped as Inevera held out the fist, blood welling into the first drop. ‘Hold out your dice.’
No one trained in hora magic would pass up such an offer. This time, Belina obeyed instantly.