Weeks passed, and Inevera found herself standing before a silvered glass, drawing wards around her eyes in soft pencil. She had practised the sigils a thousand times, as they were in the Evejah'ting, and inverted, as she must draw them in the mirror for full potency.

Some of the older girls, Melan and Asavi among them, had progressed beyond pencil, wearing delicate circlets of warded coins across their brows, but Inevera's first circlet was still a clinking collection of unfinished coins and gold wire in a pouch at her waist.

Qeva inspected her closely when she was finished drawing, holding her chin in a firm grasp and roughly turning her head this way and that. She said nothing, giving only a slight huff of satisfaction, but that breath meant more to Inevera than the most glowing compliment. If there had been the slightest flaw, the dama'ting would have announced it derisively to all and made her wash her face and draw anew.

Inevera felt a chill as the dama'ting touched a finger to a small bowl of black liquid. It looked like ink, but she would have known from the stench alone that it was the rendered ichor of demons.

It was warm when Qeva touched the barest smudge to her forehead, but it did not burn as Inevera feared. The spot tingled like static, and she could feel the magic crawling across her skin, drawn to the pencilled wards, dancing along their delicate lines.

And then her eyes came alive, and Inevera gasped for the wonder of it, her centre lost. The dim wardlight of the room was washed out by light from every corner, drifting across the floor and seeped in the walls, shining in the spirits of Qeva and the other girls. It was Everam's light, the line of energy they reached for and drew upon each morning in sharusahk, the fire in their centre that gave life and power to all living things. It was the immortal soul.

And she could see it, as clearly as the sun.

'Praise be to Everam in all his glory.' Inevera fell to her knees, shaking as she wept for the joy and beauty of it.

'Place your hands on the floor,' Qeva said. 'Let the tears fall free, lest they run through the pencil and rob you of the sight.'

Inevera immediately fell forward, terrified of losing this precious gift. Her tears spattered the stone floor, sending tiny whorls through the magic drifting up through the ala. She expected derision from Melan and the other girls, but there was only silence. Doubtless they had all been as overwhelmed as she when they first saw Everam's light.

When her convulsions eased, Qeva dropped a silk kerchief to the floor and Inevera carefully dabbed her eyes. The other girls stared silently at her as she rose.

Qeva pointed to a stone pedestal, its smooth surface carved with dozens of wards, some covered in smooth stones. Inevera had seen the dama'ting use the pedestal to control light and temperature in the chamber, but the pattern was far too complex for her to comprehend.

But now, her eyes awash in Everam's light, she could see the power as it moved through the net. The pattern that had been a mystery a moment before was clear now, a child's puzzle easily solved.

'Dim the lights,' Qeva commanded. 'We will not need them for this lesson.'

Inevera immediately complied, shifting the polished stones to other positions, and removing others entirely, setting them in a small basin.

Immediately the wardlight dimmed, but Inevera's vision only sharpened, an unneeded glare removed, allowing her to see even more clearly in Everam's light.

'The wardsight will be invaluable to you as you learn our craft,' Qeva said. 'It is forbidden only in the deep cells of the Chamber of Shadows where you carve your dice.'

Months passed, and Inevera's studies consumed her. She woke to sharusahk, assisted dama'ting in the healing, and attended regular classes in history, warding, potions, jewellery making, singing, dance, and seduction. The other girls continued to shun her, especially once they saw her carving wooden dice years ahead of many who had been born to the white.

And every night, Melan beat her, calling it sharusahk practice. Even after half a year, Qeva was not sufficiently pleased with Inevera's sharusahk, and Melan was still denied the Chamber of Shadows.

Each night Inevera slept alone with nothing save her Evejah'ting clutched to her breast as the other girls whispered to one another in the darkness, or shared beds and caresses. Even her dreams were haunted by the shapes of the seven dice that had ruled her life since the day of Hannu Pash. She would have wept, but for fear that Melan and Asavi, always together in the bed next to her, would take pleasure in the sound of her sobbing.

Inevera stood proudly as Kenevah inspected the large bowls. There in the sand Inevera had drawn the most complex circles she had ever attempted. Each was made of forty-nine wards, all linked to work in unison. Between the bowls lay her practice box, a single ward drawn at its centre.

The wards were crisp and clear in the fine yellow sand, but Inevera's warding had never truly been tested, and she had no way of knowing if they would hold power.

Qeva stood beside her mother, regarding the wards but saying nothing. She didn't have to. That she had thought Inevera worthy to test for hora after less than two years spoke volumes. Next to Qeva stood Melan, her face serene as her eyes cut at Inevera.

At last Kenevah nodded. 'Draw the curtains.' Inevera did as she was bade, and the Damaji'ting drew a large demon bone from the thick velvet of her hora pouch. Inevera wondered how much Sharum blood had been spilled to collect that bone.

Inevera made a cradle of her hands, and Kenevah placed the priceless bit of alagai hora in them. It was the first time she had ever touched demon bone, and though the Evejah'ting had told her what to expect, it was still an alien feeling, tingling with power and pulling at her blood as a lodestone might pull iron.

Carefully, reverently, she laid the bone atop the ward centred between the two bowls, and the wards began to glow softly, brightening as they drew power from the bone. They flared with a golden light even as the sand darkened in colour. The circles began to swirl. At first was a slow churn Inevera thought she was imagining, but it grew faster, like whirlpools in a cookpot after vigorous stirring, flowing into one another in a figure of eight.

The demon bone disappeared into the centre of that vortex, and there was a bright flash of light before the bowls went black. Colours danced before Inevera's eyes in the darkness, leaving her dizzy and disorientated.

'It is done,' Kenevah said. 'Open the curtains.'

Inevera stumbled through the darkened room more by memory than sight, finding the thick layers of curtain and drawing them back, flooding the room with light.

She returned to Kenevah and Qeva's side, gasping as she saw the bowls, each sitting in a bright beam of sunlight. The sand within was gone, as was any sign of the demon bone laid between them. The bowl to the left was filled with clear water. The one to the right was filled with couscous, steaming and ready to eat.

In preparation for this trial, Inevera had fasted for six days, taking only one couzi cup of water each morning and one at night. Her throat was parched, and her stomach ached, hollow and sullen. It growled unexpectedly at the smell of the couscous.

Kenevah raised an eyebrow at the sound. 'Your fast may soon be over.' She handed Inevera a pair of ivory eating sticks, the handles capped with gold and jewels. 'If you formed your wards precisely, a mere stickful of the food will fill your stomach ...' She produced a golden chalice encrusted with jewels, dipping it into the water and filling it. '... and the water will be the purest, sweetest draught you have ever tasted, quenching your thirst with but a sip.'

She looked at Inevera grimly. 'If not ... you will be dead within moments of either touching your tongue.'

Inevera felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand shook as she took the chalice. 'Must I?'

Kenevah shook her head. 'You can set them aside, but if you do, it may be years before I waste another hora on you if I ever do.'

Inevera found her centre, and her fingers stopped shaking enough to steady the sticks. She reached out, lifting couscous smoothly to her mouth.

She chewed, and her eyes widened. The consuming hunger that had her stumbling on her feet vanished. Already, new strength was flooding through her limbs as she lifted the goblet and drank deeply.

Kenevah smiled as Inevera finished the cup, her eyes aglow. Indeed, she had never tasted water so sweet and refreshing. It was like a sip from Everam's own river.

The Damaji'ting took the sticks and chalice from Inevera, passing them to Melan. The girl's nostrils flared, and Inevera allowed herself a slight smirk. Short of dying at the taste, there was nothing Melan could do now to prevent Inevera gaining access to the Chamber of Shadows.

'Please, sisters,' she spoke the ritual invitation, 'eat and drink of my bounty, for we are all the Damajah's children.'

Melan snatched some of the couscous from the bowl, and dipped the chalice, drinking it quickly to wash the food down. 'The Damajah's children.'

Qeva took the items next, handling them with more reverence and not a little pride. She lifted her veil just enough to bring the sticks and chalice to her lips. Inevera caught a touch of smile at the corner of her mouth as the silk slipped back into place. 'The Damajah's children.'

Qeva refilled the cup for Kenevah, but the aged Damaji'ting handled the sticks deftly, quickly taking a mouthful without dropping so much as a grain. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, then sipped the water, swishing it gently in her mouth. At last she swallowed, drinking again to empty the chalice. 'The Damajah's children.'

The Damaji'ting set the items aside and turned to regard Inevera. 'What are the best conductors of magic?'

Inevera stood silent a moment, sensing a trap. The Damaji'ting might as well have asked her two plus two. It was an idiot's question.

'Gold, Damaji'ting,' she said, 'followed by silver, bronze, copper, tin, stone, and steel. Iron will not conduct. There are nine gemstones to focus power, beginning with the diamond, which ...'

Kenevah waved her off. 'How many wards of prophecy are there?'

Another simple question. 'One, Damaji'ting,' Inevera said. 'For there is only one Creator.' The ward was placed at the centre of one face on each of the seven dice, guiding the throw.

'Draw it for me,' Kenevah bade, signalling to Melan, who produced a brush, ink, and vellum.

Inevera had spent the last few months drawing in sand and the brush felt awkward in her hand, but she made no comment, dipping it carefully and wiping off the excess ink on the bowl's edge before beginning to draw on the valuable vellum.

When she was done, Kenevah nodded. 'And how many symbols of foretelling?'

'Three hundred and thirty-seven, Damaji'ting,' Inevera said. The symbols of foretelling were not wards, but rather words that represented different twists of fate, one adorning the centre of each remaining face and along each side of the seven polyhedral dice the dama'ting used to read the future. Instinctively, Inevera clutched at her hora pouch and the clay dice it contained, their edges now worn from a year of careful study.

Each die had a different number of sides four, six, eight, ten, twelve, sixteen, and twenty. Each symbol had multiple meanings, based on the pattern of the surrounding symbols and context. The Evejah'ting contained detailed explanations of those meanings, but reading the dice was less a science than an art, and one that was much disputed among the dama'ting. Inevera had witnessed them arguing frequently over the results of a throw. In the most extreme cases, Kenevah was called upon to make a ruling. No one ever dared argue once the Damaji'ting spoke, but they did not always appear convinced.

Kenevah signalled Melan, who laid a fresh sheet of vellum before her. Inevera dipped her brush again. She drew the symbols smaller this time, and though her hand moved with quick precision, it was some time before she was finished. The Damaji'ting had been watching over her shoulder the whole time, and nodded immediately when she was done.

'Have you dice of clay?' Kenevah asked formally.

Inevera nodded, reaching into her hora pouch for the clay dice the Damaji'ting had first given her. Kenevah took them and set them on the table next to a block of ivory. This she lifted, smashing it down on the dice until they were little more than shattered lacquer and dust.

'Have you dice of wood?' Kenevah asked. Inevera reached into her hora pouch a second time, producing the dice that she had painstakingly carved, sanded, and etched from a solid block of wood. Her hands were crisscrossed with tiny scars from the work.

When Qeva had given her the block, Inevera had thought warding the dice would be the most difficult part of the process, but she had no skill at woodwork, and coaxing even the simplest shapes from the wood almost proved her undoing. She cut herself numerous times, casting aside uneven chunks of wood again and again before setting the block aside and carving from soap until she mastered the tools.

The simple shapes, four, six, and eight, came quickly after that, but even with the geometric calculations laid out in the Evejah'ting, it took hours to carve the ten-sided die, and even then one side was slightly larger than the others, coming up more often than not when thrown. She had to discard it and begin again. For her to pass the test for hora, the dice she gave Kenevah had to be perfect in every way.

Kenevah examined the dice carefully, then set them in a brazier. Melan squirted the precious things, the product of untold hours, with oil and set them ablaze. Inevera had known to expect this, but was still unprepared for how the loss cut at her. Melan looked up at her with a smirk of her own.

Inevera breathed deeply, finding her centre as Kenevah looked at her again. 'Have you dice of ivory?'

Inevera reached for her pouch a third time, emptying into her hands the dice she had carved from camel teeth, these done blind, with strands of bido silk woven over her eyes. They had taken even longer than the dice of wood, months of work, and every time she needed to request a new tooth, she had spent a week washing bidos.

Kenevah rolled the ivory dice through her fingers, studying them intently. Then she grunted, hurling them against the stone wall of the chamber with surprising strength. The fragile dice shattered on impact. She reached out and took the empty hora pouch from Inevera's hands, throwing it onto the pyre of her wooden dice. The velvet caught flame, giving off a thick, black smoke.

'You may enter the Chamber of Shadows,' Kenevah said, handing Inevera a new hora pouch, this even finer than the first, black velvet tied with golden rope. 'Inside you will find eight alagai hora. You will carve your seven dice from them, preserving every shaving. If you make no mistakes, the last is yours to use as you see fit; if you need more, it will be a year's penance for every bone.'

The Chamber of Shadows. Other nie'dama'ting spoke of it only in hushed whispers. Deep in the bowels of the palace, untouched by sun or candle or chemical light, it was said the chamber was so dark its walls seemed miles away at times, and closing in on one the next. A darkness so complete it seemed like the abyss itself, and if one was quiet enough, one could hear Nie whispering in the black.

Melan's eyes were those of a tunnel asp as Inevera took the pouch.

No sooner had the Vault doors closed for the night than Melan shoved Inevera to the ground. She was fifteen, and Inevera not yet eleven. The difference was clear in their size, though not as great as it had been when Inevera first came to the palace.

'My dice were nearly done!' Melan shouted. 'Another year at most, and I would have been able to take the white veil. The youngest since the Return! But instead I waste two years trying to teach sharusahk to a clumsy pig-eater, only to see her enter the Chamber of Shadows before me!'

She shook her head. 'No. This will be your last lesson, bad throw. Tonight I kill you.'

Inevera felt her blood run cold. Melan looked angry enough to mean it, but what would the dama'ting do if she carried out her threat? She looked to the other girls around them.

'I see nothing.' Asavi, ever loyal to Melan, turned her back on the scene.

'I see nothing,' the girl next to her said, turning as well.

'I see nothing. I see nothing.' It was repeated like the names of the sharukin as each girl turned her back.

Melan had the other girls well trained. And why not? She was the Damaji'ting's granddaughter, and undefeated among the Betrothed in sharusahk. The other girls looked to her as their leader, and she had indeed been expected to become the youngest dama'ting since the Return. Only her own mother's order prevented that.

Inevera had never understood why Melan's punishment was so severe, and had held on so long. Inevera had excelled at dancing and sharusahk. By her second month in the palace, her forms were as good as the other girls her age. Now, after two years, they were as good as any. Qeva should have lifted the ban long ago, but she had not. Why? It served nothing but to antagonize Melan. If the dama'ting thought she could teach her daughter humility this way, she was a fool.

And then, suddenly, it clicked, as Qeva's words from two years gone came back to her.

If you prove not humble, competent, or strong enough to survive and advance to the white, then that is inevera.

Carving and warding were not the only tests barring the Chamber of Shadows. Qeva wanted the strongest leader for the Kaji, and she had set her own daughter to bar Inevera's path, whether Melan knew it or not.

'Scorpion,' Melan hissed, coming forward hard.

But Inevera was through pretending to be weak. She had spent two years humble before Everam. Now it was time for strength.

Inevera had never fought back during these nightly beatings. There had been nothing to gain. But she had watched, and waited, and planned. She knew Melan's weaknesses now, and in her mind she had fought this battle a thousand times.

She dropped down on one hand and the balls of her feet, driving her stiffened fingers into the point of convergence on Melan's thigh. 'Wilting flower,' she said as Melan's supporting leg lost strength and she collapsed to the ground.

Melan rolled quickly to her feet, massaging strength back into her leg, and Inevera gave ground freely, offering no aggression of her own. More than one of the girls forming a ring around them peeked over her shoulder.

'You see nothing!' Melan shrieked, and they quickly turned away.

'We see nothing,' they all echoed.

'Lucky,' Melan snarled. Inevera only smiled in return as the girl came at her again, meeting Melan's cobra's hood with a deft strike to her throat before melting out of her path.

'Shattered wind,' she said as Melan stumbled past, overbalanced and gasping for air. Girls were looking again, but Melan paid them no mind, turning and launching herself at Inevera, her kicks and punches moving like tunnel asp strikes, followed close behind by targeted strikes at Inevera's own convergence points.

But Inevera bent and swayed like a palm in wind, seeing the lines of energy clearly as Melan set her feet and eyed her targets. Again and again she broke those lines, sometimes simply taking away her breath and balance, other times adding a sharp stab of pain to accentuate the lesson. She was careful to cause no permanent harm, though. Inevera had never told the dama'ting of how Melan and the other girls abused her, but she held no such faith in them. Qeva would be looking for excuses to deny her passage into the chamber, and killing or maiming her daughter would surely qualify.

But she was through being abused. Melan came at her again, appearing to use camel's kick, but then flowing unexpectedly into ram's horn, trying to smash Inevera's nose with her forehead.

Inevera caught Melan's robe, swaying to the side with a leg left in Melan's path to trip her into a throw. She kept a hold on Melan's arm, and if the other girl resisted, her arm would pop from its socket. As expected, Melan added her own momentum to the throw to avoid that, practically leaping along to crash into Asavi's back. Both girls went down in a heap, and the others around them gasped and scattered.

Melan let out a low growl, twisting and scissoring her legs around Inevera's feet, tripping her as well and rolling atop her. They struggled for several minutes on the floor, and here the older girl's strength began to tell as she worked her way behind Inevera into a hold, bashing her forehead against the stone floor more than once. There was a flare of light behind her eyes after each one, leaving Inevera's ears ringing and her equilibrium shattered.

She managed to free one arm as Melan pulled the cords of Inevera's bido around her neck, sacrificing control for the hold. After all, what could Inevera do with one arm and Melan firmly planted on her back? She threw her head back to strike Melan's nose, but the girl was wise to the trick, pulling her face back and to the side.

As Inevera knew she would. Quick as a flame demon, she stuck her index and middle fingers into Melan's nostrils. Her fingernails were sharp, and they cut into the tender cartilage as she pulled hard, threatening to tear Melan's nose clean off.

'Will Asavi still want to kiss you when your nose is a ruined hole?' she whispered.

Melan wasn't the prettiest of the nie'dama'ting, but she was easily the most vain. She shrieked, dropping her hold in order to preserve her beauty. Inevera struck several quick blows in the ensuing chaos, then rolled away and got to her feet. Melan followed wobbling unsteadily. There was nothing she could do as Inevera scorpion-kicked her in the face, feeling Melan's cheek and nose crumple under the blow. Melan hit the floor hard and struggled to rise again.

'When she sees your face tomorrow, I think Dama'ting Qeva will lift your banishment,' Inevera said, holding up her new hora pouch. 'We will enter the Chamber of Shadows together. And I will finish my dice before you.'

8.