18

The world was a great blanket of green tinted with the colors of autumn and rumpled where mountains burst through the fabric. Rivers glistened like silver thread. Tiny buildings, like scattered mosaic tiles, clumped here and there, connected by brown roads. When Auraya looked closely, a multitude of little movements revealed minute animals—and people.

Auraya would have liked to fly closer to the ground, but Zeeriz preferred to keep well away from landwalkers, despite her presence. It was exhausting for him to remain in the air all day. Flying was not as effortless as Siyee made it appear, and Zeeriz was stiff and sore by the time dusk brought them to the ground. Auraya could not imagine how taxing Tireel’s journey was: he had flown on ahead to warn the Siyee of her coming.

After several hours even the world below couldn’t keep her entertained. There wasn’t much to occupy her mind but the coming negotiating with the Siyee, and eventually she tired of worrying and planning for that. Instead she had learned to mimic her companion’s movements—to act as if wind, momentum and the pull of the earth had the same effect on her as they did on Siyee. By doing so she could better appreciate the limitations of their physical form.

She had also drawn much from the ambassador’s mind about his people. His thoughts ranged from his responsibilities, fear of landwalkers, hopes for the future and memories of childhood. Most interesting was the suppressed resentment he felt when he saw her mimicking his flight. He wondered why the gods had given a landwalker access to the air with none of the restrictions and penalties the Siyee endured.

That the Siyee had overcome the limitations and consequences of their creation was a source of pride. All Siyee were taught that their ancestors had willingly accepted pain, deformity and early death in order that the goddess Huan might create their race. They continued to pay the price even now, but the numbers of crippled babies had been decreasing over the centuries. Their population had been growing slowly. Only the Toren settlers threatened that.

Something must be done about those settlers, Auraya thought. It would not be a simple task. Huan had decreed that the mountains to the east of Toren belonged to the Siyee. Land-hungry Toren settlers interpreted “mountains” as being any land too steep to cultivate and had slowly taken over the fertile valleys and slopes. She doubted the King of Toren knew of the activities of his people, and fully expected that if he did, he had no intention of doing anything about it.

But he will, if the White insist that he must.

She smiled grimly. The Siyee needed this alliance with the White. They wanted it, but feared they had little to offer in return. They believed they were neither strong nor skilled enough to be of use in war and had no resources to trade. It was her task to find something they could offer in return for the White’s protection—or simply convince them that whatever small help they could offer in war, trade or politics would be enough.

She looked at Zeeriz again. He glanced at her and smiled.

Little was known about their people. Auraya had learned much from Tireel and Zeeriz, but she would gain a greater understanding of the Siyee by meeting leaders and observing their everyday activities. That the White made the effort to visit a country always pleased its inhabitants. The two ambassadors were delighted that she was taking the time to see their homeland, and she hoped this sentiment would be shared by the rest of their people. If all went well, she would gain their respect and confidence on behalf of the White in the next few months.

Looking toward the dark line of mountains in the distance, Auraya felt a thrill of excitement. In truth, she was as pleased to be visiting Si as the ambassadors were to be escorting her there. She was going somewhere few landwalkers had been, to learn about a unique race of people.

I couldn‘t be happier.

At once she felt a familiar disquiet. It was not doubt in herself or fear of failure. No, it’s the thought of the mess I’ve left behind.

“You have an interesting way of saying goodbye,” Leiard had said. A memory of sheets bunched up at the end of her bed flashed through her mind, then one of naked limbs tangled together. Then tantalizing earlier memories arose.

Who would have thought? she mused, unable to help smiling. Me and Leiard. A White and a Dreamweaver.

At that thought she felt her smile fade and her mood begin to sink toward a darker place. She resisted halfheartedly. I have to face this. I have to do it now. Once I reach Si I’ll be too busy to spend time agonizing over the consequences. Sighing, she asked herself the question she’d been avoiding.

How will the other White react when they find out?

Dyara came to mind first. The woman all but growled with disapproval whenever Leiard was around. Dyara would not easily accept him as Auraya’s lover. Mairae, on the other hand, might not mind it at all, though she’d probably prefer it if Auraya hadn’t chosen to bed a Dreamweaver. Rian wouldn’t like it. He had never suggested that the other White ought to choose celibacy as he had, but he was sure to dislike the idea of one of them bedding a heathen.

And Juran? Auraya frowned. She couldn’t guess what his reaction might be. He had accepted Leiard as her adviser. Would he tolerate him as her lover? Or would he say this was pushing the White’s acceptance of Dreamweavers too far?

No, he’ll tell me that the people won’t accept it. That it will undermine everything I’ve said or done to encourage tolerance of Dreamweavers. People will believe my opinion was based on love—or lust—rather than good sense, and they will remember that Mirar was a seducer of women. They will think I’ve been duped and make their feelings known by attacking Dreamweavers.

It was too soon to expect them to accept this. Perhaps time was the key. She chewed on her lip for a moment. If she kept her affair secret it might give the White and the people time to grow used to the idea. It was not as if she was bedding every attractive, unmarried highborn male in Northern Ithania. If Mairae could get away with that, then surely Auraya could get away with sleeping with one Dreamweaver.

She sighed again. I wish that were true. What chance do I have of keeping this a secret? Everyone knows about Mairae’s affairs, and if Dyara can’t keep her tragically chaste relationship with Timare secret from the rest of the White, how can I keep mine?

Fortunately she was going to spend the next few months far from Jarime. A lot could happen in that time. She could come to her senses. Leiard might come to his.

What if he already has? What if he has no intention of seeing me again? What if he has sated his curiosity and is not interested in anything more? Her heart twisted. No! He loves me! I saw it in his mind.

And I love him. She felt a warm glow of happiness spread through her body. Pleasant memories returned, but were soured when she recalled an image of his Dreamweaver vest and her circ lying together on the floor. That had been a sobering sight. It seemed, somehow, blasphemous.

The gods must know, she thought.

She shook her head. We can’t do this. I should turn him away. But she knew she wouldn't. Until the gods make their feelings known, I won’t try to guess what they think of us.

She looked over her shoulder. Jarime had disappeared over the horizon hours before. How can I leave such a mess behind me? She couldn’t turn around and fly back, though.

She made herself think of the Siyee, and how disappointed and offended they would be. How much she wanted to see their land for herself.

A few months, she told herself. By the time I return I will have decided what we should do.

And hopefully I’ll have gathered the courage to do it.

Rain pattered against the canopy overhead. Feeling something land on his head, Danjin looked up. A patch of water had somehow made its way through the dense, oiled cloth. He dodged another drip, sliding along the seat of the platten, then reached into his pocket for a cloth to wipe his scalp.

Instead, his fingers encountered a piece of parchment. Danjin withdrew it and sighed as he saw it was his father’s message.

Theran has returned. I have invited your brothers for dinner.

Your presence is required.

Fa-Spear

“When I said it would be pleasant to have some time to myself again the gods must have been listening,” he muttered. He looked up at the canopy. “Great Chaia, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Neglect your family?” Silava suggested.

Danjin looked at the woman sitting opposite him. The light of the lantern softened the lines on her face. They were mostly the lines gained from smiles and laughter. Mostly. There had been less pleasant times. Just as many as experienced by those who married for love, he had noted in recent years. They had both been unfaithful, both learned that honesty was the hardest but only path to forgiveness. While they had never been passionately in love with each other, they had, eventually, become the best of friends.

“Which family?” Danjin asked. “Mine or ours?”

She smiled. “You should ask that of an unbiased judge, Danjin. Just be sure that our family will always want to see more of you. Especially once your grandchildren are born.”

Grandchildren. The thought of becoming a grandparent was both delightful and dismaying. It meant he was getting old. It also made his daughters happy. They were flourishing in their new homes. He was relieved to have chosen good husbands for them, though he had mostly taken Silava’s advice on the matter. Pity one couldn’t choose one’s parents.

“If it is my father’s family you mean, then you are being punished, too,” he pointed out.

“That is true. But he ignores me at these dinners. It’s you he will target.”

Danjin scowled at the reminder. Silava leaned forward and patted him lightly on the knee.

“I left a bottle of tintra on the reading-room table for you.”

He smiled with appreciation. “Thank you.”

The platten slowed. Danjin peered out of the canopy and felt a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach as they pulled up outside his father’s mansion. Then he remembered the ring on his finger. He took some strength from the knowledge that the Gods’ Chosen did not think him the failure his father believed his youngest son to be.

He climbed out of the platten, then turned to help his wife disembark. The rain was falling heavily, wetting their tawls quickly. They both breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the door of the mansion.

A tall, thin man with a lofty expression ushered them inside. Danjin regarded Forin, the head servant, suspiciously. The man had an apologetic way of announcing Danjin’s arrival as if it were an interruption rather than a requested visit.

“Welcome, Danjin Spear, Silava.” Forin inclined his head to both of them.

“Adviser Danjin Spear,” Danjin corrected. He untied his tawl and held it out to the servant.

Forin’s eyes gleamed. His mouth opened, then his eyes dropped to Danjin’s tawl and he hesitated. Danjin realized the man was staring at the white ring shining on his finger.

“Of course. Forgive me.” He took Danjin’s tawl and Silava’s, then hurried into another room.

Silava glanced at Danjin as they entered the communal room. She did not smile, but he recognized that familiar glint of triumph in her eyes. The one he normally received when he lost an argument.

Two of Danjin’s brothers waited in the room, standing beside braziers. Seeing them, Danjin felt satisfaction from the small victory melt away. His siblings’ greetings were formal and awkward. Their wives spared thin smiles for Silava, then returned to their conversation, ignoring her. The rain fell through the roof opening into a pool below. Benches covered in cushions and luxurious blankets were arranged with perfect symmetry around the walls of the room. The floor was polished veinstone and the walls were painted with murals depicting ships and trade goods.

A servant appeared with warmed Somreyan ahm. As he sipped, Danjin considered his family. No doubt Theran, the favored brother they had all been invited here to see, was staying in the mansion and was with his father already.

All of Fa-Spear’s sons had joined in the family’s trading enterprises, with varying success. Theran, the second son, was a natural trader. Two of the younger brothers had died in a shipwreck twenty years before. Ma-Spear, who had never fully recovered from birthing Danjin, had sickened and died soon after. A year ago the oldest brother’s heart had stopped, so now there were only four sons left: Theran, Nirem, Gohren and himself.

The seven sons were supposed to expand the Spear trading empire. Danjin had tried, but he hadn’t lasted any longer than his first voyage at sixteen. Within two days of arriving in Genria he had befriended a distant nephew of the king and found himself surrounded by political maneuverings far more thrilling and meaningful to him than the long journeys and constant tallying and calculations of trade. Distracted, he had not been present to inspect the grain loaded onto the ship, and by the time he returned to Jarime half of it was spoiled by pests.

His father had been furious.

“Danjin?”

At his wife’s murmur, Danjin, looked up. Two men were walking down the corridor to the communal room. Form moved to the center of the room.

“Fa-Spear and Theran Spear,” he announced.

The old man’s face was a mass of wrinkles and he walked with the aid of a staff. His eyes were sharp and cold and flicked from face to face. To his right walked Theran. The older brother smiled at Nirem and Gohren, but his expression became more forced as he met Danjin’s eyes. Instead of dismissing his youngest brother, as he usually did, Theran raised his eyebrows.

“Danjin. I was not expecting you to come. Father says your duties at the Temple keep you from attending most family gatherings.”

“Not tonight,” Danjin replied. And how could I miss the opportunity to be scornfully ignored or made the butt of your jokes?

The old man moved to a long bench and sat down. The rest of the family paused, waiting to be invited to sit. Fa-Spear waved a hand.

“Sit. Sit,” he said, as if their formality embarrassed him. Yet Danjin knew any deviation from this ritual of manners always infuriated his father. They sat at places long established by family tradition: Theran on Fa-Spear’s right, Nirem and his wife on his left, Gohren next to Theran, and Danjin furthest from his father beside Nirem’s wife.

As a succession of delicacies were brought by female servants the conversation turned to trade. Danjin forced himself to listen, and remained prudently silent. He had long ago learned to avoid joining these discussions. Any observation or question he made on the subject of trade was examined as proof of his ignorance of such matters.

No matter how silent he remained, his father always made a point of discussing Danjin’s work. As Theran finished a long description of a successful deal, Fa-Spear looked up at his youngest son.

“I do not see our adviser to the White gaining as much profit from serving the Temple.” Fa-Dyer gestured at the walls. “If you are so important to the Circlians, why is it that a mere merchant lives in better conditions than you? You must ask for an increase in your allowance when you next see your employer. When will that be?”

“Auraya has left for Si, Father,” Danjin replied. “To negotiate an alliance.”

His father’s eyebrows rose. “You did not accompany her?”

“The mountains of Si are not easily crossed by landwalkers.”

“Landwalkers?”

“It is what the Siyee call ordinary humans.”

His father sniffed. “How uncouth. Perhaps it is fortunate she left you behind. Who knows what unsavory habits these people have?” He popped a morsel of food into his mouth then wiped his hands on a cloth a servant girl held out for him.

“If the Si do ally themselves with Hania, you may see more of them here. They will install an ambassador and others will visit in order to seek education, join the priesthood, or trade.”

His father’s gaze sharpened. He chewed, swallowed, then took a sip of water.

“What do they have to trade?”

Danjin smiled. “That is one of the questions Auraya intends to answer.”

Fa-Spear’s eyes narrowed. “There is opportunity here, son. You may not have a decent income, but if you take advantage of opportunities like this that issue may not matter.”

Danjin felt a flash of indignation. “I cannot use my position to gain trade advantages.”

His father snorted. “Don’t be such a righteous fool. You won’t be adviser forever.”

“Not if I abuse my privileges.” Nor if I follow in your footsteps, Danjin added to himself, thinking of the enemies his father had made over the years. Powerful enemies who had barred him from trading in certain places.

:Why don’t you remind him of that?

Danjin started at the voice in his mind.

:Auraya?

:Yes, it’s me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. The Siyee are asleep, and I’m… well… bored.

He started to smile, and quickly schooled his expression.

“… fame and glory have passed,” his father was saying, “you will soon be forgotten.”

Danjin opened his mouth to reply.

:Your father’s right about one thing. We should pay you more.

He choked.

:How long have you been listening?

There was a pause.

:I peeked a while back.

:Peeked?

:To see if you were busy.

“Are you listening?” Fa-Spear demanded.

Danjin looked up, and quickly considered whether he should explain who he had been communicating with.

:Go on, Auraya urged.

:I mean no disrespect, Danjin told her, but you don’t know my family. Some pots aren‘t worth stirring.

“I was considering your advice, Father,” Danjin replied.

Fa-Spear’s eyes narrowed, then he turned to Nirem. “Have you seen Captain Raerig lately?”

Nirem nodded, and started recollecting a drunken gathering in a remote town. Relieved that attention had finally shifted from himself, Danjin let his thoughts stray, until he was brought back by the mention of the southern cult.

“He said they’re good customers, these Pentadrians,” Nirem said. “Half of their priests are warriors. He buys Dunwayan weapons and sells them on the southern continent. Can’t sell enough of them. Do you think we should… ?”

To Danjin’s surprise, his father frowned. “Maybe. I’ve heard they’re gathering an army down there. Your great-grandfather always said war was good for trade, but it depended on who was planning to fight who.”

“Who are they planning to fight?” Danjin asked.

His father smiled thinly. “I’d have thought you’d know, Adviser to the White.”

“Perhaps I do,” Danjin said lightly. “Perhaps I don’t. Who do you believe they’re going to fight.”

His father shrugged and looked away. “For now I’d rather keep what I know to myself. If there’s an advantage to be gained from this, I wouldn’t want a stray word in the wrong place to ruin it.”

Danjin felt a stab of anger. It was not the veiled insult suggesting he’d leak information that riled him, but that his father knew he had information Danjin needed. Information that the White needed.

Then his anger evaporated. If his father hadn’t wanted Danjin to know about the Pentadrians gathering an army, for fear it would ruin some trade deal, he wouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Perhaps this was all the warning his father could bring himself to give his youngest son.

:Are you listening, Auraya?

No reply came. Danjin turned the ring around his finger and considered what he ought to do. Find out more, he decided. Make my own enquiries. Next time Auraya spoke to him through the ring he would have something substantial to tell her.