so twice.
The first time to stop the spread of the poison, an act of desperation. The second was even worse, an offer of another’s life in exchange for Satyendra’s.
And I bear the proof of that too.
She put the brush down on the table and ran her hand behind her head until she found it, a different kind of softness nestling within her hair. Sprouting from the base of her skull was a feather, long and black. Over the years she’d tried trimming it back, cutting it off, once in a desperate rage, she’d pulled it out by the shaft. But whatever she did, however extreme she’d been in her self-surgery, she’d find it sprouting there again, good as new, the next day.
Two dealings with the Wild.
Two marks of shame.
She should have told Lord Vasin when he found her. She should have told High Lord Yadavendra. But she didn’t because Satyendra needed someone to hide his imperfections until such time as he’d grown out of them.
At least, that was how she justified her crime to herself.
The truth was she couldn’t bear the thought of being judged any more than she could bear Satyendra being cast out. And beneath that was another truth: she wanted to be there when Varg came back.
Tucked away out of sight in her chambers was an old piece of cloth, and wrapped within it were pieces of a mosaic. Each fragment had arrived quietly, discreetly, pushed into her hand by a travelling merchant who visited the castle the same time each year. Together, the pieces made a picture of two people kissing: a bearded man and a long-haired woman, their lips pressed together in a smile, with a large white Dogkin sleeping nearby.
Fifteen pieces sat within the cloth. Fifteen units of time. Only one gap in the mosaic remained, and it had not escaped her notice that both the merchant and Pari’s rebirth were due any day.
The last piece was coming, already on its way, and Varg with it.
She still wasn’t sure what she’d do when he arrived, but the thought of him, the fantasy of him, had given her a much-needed escape.
And though the wait had been agonizing the years had passed with a strange swiftness. Normal life had muted the reality of her time in the Wild. She’d taken to wearing gloves in public and plaiting her hair so as to tuck the feather from sight. The precautions had soon become habit, almost natural. From a lesser servant, such behaviour might have raised suspicion, but she was above reproach, a model Sapphire. Rather than garner criticism, she’d generated new fashions among the sky-born.
A footstep, close, too close, broke her from her reverie, and she span round in her seat, putting her back and the feather to the wall.
‘No need to be afraid,’ said Satyendra, clearly delighted to have caught her out. ‘It’s only me.’
‘It’s not becoming for an Honoured Vessel to creep about like that. Suns! How many times have I told you to sing for entry like everyone else?’
Satyendra smiled at her, but she did not feel reassured. In the half light his expression was ghoulish, and memories of his face – his other face – rose up from the depths. She had only seen it once, when he was a baby and they were on the Godroad returning home from the Wild. It had been enough: the image was seared into her mind forever. ‘And how many times have I told you I’m not like everyone else. I don’t like singing.’
‘That’s not the point and you know it. You should announce yourself, not sneak into other people’s chambers like a thief.’
The comment seemed to bounce off him without impact. ‘It’s very dark in here, Mother. What are you trying to hide?’
She took a moment to compose herself. Satyendra had a way of being able to get under her skin like nobody else. ‘I’m assuming you came here for something other than to torment me.’
He fell silent then, his dark eyes glittering with hurt, and into that silence poured guilt. She was letting her temper get the better of her and it was most unbecoming. None of this was Satyendra’s fault. It wasn’t right to take out her frustrations on him. He’d come to her for help and she was pushing him away. She forced down her other worries to give him her full attention. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s try this again. You wanted to talk. Is it about the rebirthing ceremony?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I think we need to postpone.’ She took a breath to dispute this but he was already pressing on with his argument. ‘I don’t know the legends well enough yet, and I need to get better at hunting and strategy and understanding the flow of trade. There’s so much still to learn and I have to be perfect, Mother, you know that. Nothing else will do. I’m Lord Rochant’s only chance to return so I have to get it right. So you have to send a message to High Lord Yadavendra and tell him to call off the Bringers. It’s too soon for the ceremony.’
‘This is really worrying you, isn’t it?’
He nodded quickly and she could see his eyes welling up. The sight of it choked her heart. ‘Come here,’ she said, opening her arms, and he flew into them. ‘Oh my poor, sweet Satyendra.’
‘I’m not good enough. I’m not ready. Don’t let them take me away.’
She stroked his hair as he sobbed, so long, so like her own, and it struck her that this might be one of the last times she would be able to comfort him. There was a pain in that thought that she wasn’t sure she could endure. Would postponing the ceremony be such a terrible thing? It would give her more time with her son, and it might make the rebirth smoother. How can I advocate sending him to his death? I know it is a great honour. I know it serves Lord Rochant and the house. But now the moment is here I … How have the other Honoured Mothers and Fathers done this in the past?
She soothed him with gentle sounds and cuddling, as she had when he was a baby.
Eventually, he lifted his head to look at her. ‘Will you tell him?’
‘You mean Yadavendra?’
He sniffed and nodded.
‘He’s the Sapphire High Lord, it’s not my place to tell him anything.’ As Satyendra’s face began to crumple again, she added, ‘But we can ask him, together.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as he arrives. He’s already on his way.’
Pari felt the change in territory before they reached the official border. The Tanzanite lands had a lot in common with their Sapphire neighbours, both contained their share of woodland, threaded through with rivers and lakes. In their own way, both were beautiful. However, her home landscape was more varied, with open plains and hillsides breaking up the relentless forest, whereas here she saw densely packed trees in every direction, like some vast green flood that was only thwarted by the upper reaches of the mountains. Though her own forests were certainly dangerous – the Wild was the Wild no matter where you were born – it was less aggressive somehow.
Once, this view had been tinted by her love for Lord Rochant Sapphire. Now that had been ripped away she saw it in all its menacing glory.
They travelled with only two carriages, one for herself and Arkav,
