The new Damaji all stepped back, clearing the floor for Asome and Aleverak. The ancient Damaji took position before the steps to the Skull Throne, blocking Asome’s path.
Ashan stood ready atop the steps. Tradition demanded he wait until the path between them was clear, but her father had a warrior’s heart. He was eager for the fight.
“You honor our people this night, Damaji,” Ashan said. “Everam will open the gates of Heaven to you Himself.”
“We’re not dead, yet,” Aleverak said as Asome came at him.
Ashia could see no glow of hora about her husband. He might have allowed his brothers to win dishonorably, but he fought as tradition dictated.
He struck hard and fast. Aleverak slipped to the side, but Asome was ready for the move, twisting to drive an elbow into Aleverak’s armpit. He caught the limb as it lost strength, pulling the old man off balance. He grabbed the Damaji’s belt, lifting him clear off the ground, then planted his knee and broke Aleverak’s spine across it.
Asome let the Damaji collapse, limp and forgotten, as he rose to his feet, eyes on Ashan.
Ashia had managed to slowly work another finger into the chain. It was not yet leverage enough to break free, but she wheezed in a breath, and it doubled her power.
Asukaji tightened his grip. “Everam’s beard, do me the honor of dying before my hair grays, sister.”
Ashia had a third finger in place now, but she made choked sounds and fell limp while she gathered her strength.
Ashan strode down the steps from the throne, and Asome gave ground before him, that they might stand as equals on the floor. His brothers cleared the dead from the path between them.
“Does your mother know your betrayal, boy?” Ashan asked. “You, whom I raised as my own son?”
“My mother knows nothing,” Asome said. “She shall ever be blind to her sons, the dice told Melan about my mother, and it has proven true time and again.”
“She will not let you keep the throne,” Ashan said.
“She will give up hers as well,” Asome said. “My grandmother is a more fitting Damajah. Her beatification will be my first decree as Shar’Dama Ka.”
“First you must reach the steps,” Ashan said.
As the Shar’Damaji looked on impassively, Asome and Ashan battled for the Skull Throne.
Aleverak lasted longer. Asome parried his uncle’s first three blows, setting Ashan up for an aggressive kick inside his guard. He deflected the blow, but could not prevent Asome leaping to hook his leg around Ashan’s neck. His own weight did the rest.
Ashia’s father was a sharusahk grand master before his fortieth year, but Asome broke him like a nie’Sharum. The snap of his neck echoed in the great hall.
Asome looked to his brothers. They hurried to kneel in proper order along the path to the throne, foreheads pressed to the floor as Asome began his ascent.
It was then, with all eyes on her husband, that Ashia struck, throwing her head back as she yanked hard on the garrote chain. She felt Asukaji’s nose crumple, and his grip loosened, allowing her to slip the chain.
All eyes turned to them in surprise, but Ashia did not hesitate, delivering a precise strike to the nape of her brother’s neck, shattering bone and severing his spinal cord.
“Asukaji!” Asome roared, his cold aura at last turning hot.
But he did not stop his ascent, taking the remaining steps in two great bounds to reach the dais. Ashia burst into a run for the rear exit that would take her to the royal quarters.
Asome leapt onto the throne, eyes turning to glare hate at her as he roared, “Kill her!”
Ashia threw herself against the exit to the Damajah’s wing of the palace, but as Asome warned, Melan had sealed all the doors with hora magic. She might as well have thrown her shoulder against the city walls.
She rebounded in a new direction, darting for one of the great pillars as the sons of the Deliverer turned their fury her way.
The moment their line of sight was blocked, she rolled to a second pillar, springing high and climbing quickly. By the time her cousins rounded the pillars and saw she was gone, she had already slipped into one of the alcoves used to guard the Damajah.
Everam’s spear sisters had their own exits from the throne room, and the dama’ting had not barred these.
The wards of silence around the court had kept the outside guards in ignorance. They stood calmly at their posts, easily avoided until she got to the open hall. Any moment, Asome would break the seals and put the entire palace on alert, but for now the way was clear. Her duty was to protect the Damajah, who might even now be facing a coup of her own.
“Everam forgive me,” Ashia whispered, running in the opposite direction.
“No, I most certainly will not give him to you!” Kajivah held her infant great-grandson protectively as Ashia reached for him.
“It isn’t safe for either of you,” Ashia said. “Asome is killing the Damaji in the throne room. I will take you into the Damajah’s protection until the unrest has passed.”
Kajivah took another step back, but Ashia caught her grandmother’s thumb and gave a half turn, catching Kaji smoothly as he fell from her grasp.
“How dare you lay hands upon me, you … !”
Ashia nestled her son into her breast, binding him to her in a sling of silk. Half awake, the boy began sucking at her robe, seeking a nipple. “He is my son, Tikka, not yours. If you would keep him safe, we must go. Now.”
“Your son?!” Kajivah demanded. “Where is your nipple when he hungers? Where are you when he cries? When he soils his bido? Off fighting alagai. And then I find you covered in demon blood, trying to crush the life from him …”
Ashia felt her face heat. “It wasn’t like that. That was an accident.”
Kajivah lifted her veil and spat at Ashia’s feet. “The accident was being cursed with a deviant granddaughter who brings shame to our family.”
It was so ludicrous Ashia had to laugh. “Are you that foolish, Tikka? Can you truly not see my ‘deviance’ is your doing? You pushed me and my sisters into the Dama’ting Palace without a thought of what it meant. I am what you have made of me, and nothing more.”
“And now you expect me to seek the Damajah’s protection?” Kajivah asked. “The very woman who twisted you is to protect me from my own grandson?”
Ashia pulled open her veil, showing the angry red line across her throat. “My own brother tried to kill me this night, Tikka. No one is safe.”
“Asukaji?” Kajivah asked in shock. “What did you do to him?” She came at Ashia in a rush, beating with her fists. “Witch! What did you do to Asukaji?!”
Ashia turned away to protect Kaji, diverting the blows easily. She caught the woman’s arm and put her thumb on a pain convergence, guiding her for the door. Every time Kajivah made to go any direction save the one Ashia wished, she sent a jolt of agony through the old woman, quickly overcoming resistance.
They made it to the hall before there was a shout, half a dozen Sharum rushing in on either side to block their path.
“Thank Everam we have found you safe, Holy Mother,” the kai’Sharum leading them said. “Your grandson is eager for news of your safety.” He turned, leveling his spear at Ashia. “Give the child to the Holy Mother and step back. Now.”
Ashia reached a hand behind her, wrapping it around the shaft of one of the short stabbing spears she wore crossed at her back. “My son belongs with me.”