'Do you not?' she asked, slipping off her veil and hood. Since becoming a dama'ting she had regrown her hair, which hung long and thick in ebony waves, banded with gold. Her bido wrap was now secured at her waist alone.

Ahmann's eyes widened. 'Inevera.'

She felt her heart skip at his recognition. He had seen her face but once, and been dulled by pain at the time, but even after all these years he remembered. The terror left his eyes, replaced by a smoulder that seemed to burn through her. Suddenly it became harder to draw a full breath in the perfumed air.

'The night we met,' Inevera said, 'I finished carving my first alagai hora. It was fate; Everam's will, like my name. I needed a question to ask. A test to see if the dice held the power of fate. But what question? Then I remembered the boy I had met that day, with the bold eyes and brash manner, and as I shook the demon dice, I asked, "Will I ever see Ahmann Jardir again?" '

'And from that night on, I knew I would find you in the Maze after your first alagai'sharak, and more, that I would marry you and bear you many children.'

Inevera had rehearsed the tale so many times that she spoke with utter conviction, despite the lies and half-truths. But in the end, her words did not matter. Their union had been destined by Everam. They were meant for each other. That was why he was looking at her that way, making her face heat and her dama'ting calm slip. She was caught in his wind.

She almost broke and told him everything. Looking into his honest eyes, she had little fear this one would grow into a monster. He was chosen by Everam. If any could shoulder the burden, it was he.

But how does one tell someone he might be the Deliverer? It was too much, and this night was too important. It must be perfect.

She shrugged her shoulders, and her white robes fell away with a sigh of silk. She was clad only in her bido now, finger cymbals tucked into its weave. She rubbed her thumbs over the smooth tips of her index fingers, limbering them. She would step into him, allowing him to caress her until his breathing laboured; then she would use sharusahk to break the line of power in his leg, a whisper touch that would send him stumbling back onto the pillows. Then she would slide her fingers into the cymbals and beat a rhythm to set his loins ablaze.

And then she would dance, slowly unweaving her bido for the last time. The dance, like the speech, had been rehearsed so carefully every move was a part of her.

When Ahmann was firmly under her control, she would fall into the pillows and ruin him so utterly that every woman to come after her would prove a disappointment.

But he was still staring at her, and the smoulder in his eyes was brightening into fire. She felt its heat, and flushed. The incense hung heavy in the air as she tried to breathe, making her dizzy, her centre elusive. She knew she should act, but the thought came as if from outside her body.

She watched helplessly as Ahmann stripped his outer robe and went to her bare-chested, crushing her to him and running his hands over her body. He inhaled the perfume at her throat and let out a growl that seemed to resonate between her legs. He held her close to him, kissing her and stealing her breath, her centre. She felt the stiffness in his pantaloons, and knew all her plans might be undone if she allowed him to take her like a common jiwah, but somehow he had broken the lines of power in her limbs, and she was helpless as he threw her down to the pillows.

He was on her in an instant, hands and mouth roaming her body, kissing here and biting there, squeezing so hard in places that she squirmed. His hands found their way between her legs, caressing the silk of her bido weave. Inevera groaned, grinding into him further.

I must take control, she thought desperately, or he will ever have of me as he will.

She twisted and rolled atop him, undoing the laces at his waist and untying his bido. There was oil in the chamber, and she wet her hands in it, taking him in the first of the seven strokes.

Ahmann grunted and fell back, caught in ecstasy, and Inevera began to breathe again.

I have him now.

But she didn't have him for long. The strokes were designed to take a man's arousal to a steady pace and hold him there, but Ahmann only became more incensed. She altered her strokes, but still they were not enough for him. He took her in his powerful arms and reached down, sticking fingers into her bido and attempting to yank it off.

But the nie'dama'ting bido wrap was made of stronger stuff, and thwarted him. He grunted and yanked harder. Inevera gasped.

Ahmann growled, fumbling at the weave for its ends and failing to find them. He locked his fingers into the weave and tried to snap the silk, but it resisted even when he ground his teeth in strain.

'You will not get through until I unweave it,' Inevera told him, pushing him back into the pillows. 'I will dance ...'

'Later.' Ahmann grabbed her arm hard, pulling her back down with him. He reached into his pantaloons and pulled forth a knife.

'You cannot ...' she gasped.

'I am your husband,' he said. 'I have been dreaming of you for years, and now you are in my arms. It is inevera, and I will not wait a moment longer.'

She could have stopped him. Could have numbed his knife arm, or twisted away, but she hesitated. In an instant the silk was cut and he was inside her.

None of Inevera's lessons had prepared her for the rush of pleasure as her husband took her. She might have been overwhelmed, but for the countless hours spent practising the pillow dance. Her hips moved of their own accord, twisting as her thighs gripped him, pulling him into her more forcefully at times, and holding him at bay at others.

But Ahmann was no meek eunuch, and she found the practised poses harder to hold when her own senses were aflame. Ahmann made up for his lack of experience in passion, and they wrestled in the pillows for control. Inevera felt her own climax building and against all wisdom let it take hold, racking her from skin to centre. She howled, and Ahmann began to thrust with abandon. She tightened, her nails digging into his hard buttocks until he roared and they both collapsed panting and spent.

They slept for a time, and then Inevera woke to Ahmann caressing her again. His breathing was deep and even.

Even in his sleep, my wolf paws me, she thought with pride, and wriggled her hips back into him, feeling his night stiffness.

But Ahmann was not quite as asleep as he seemed. He pushed her onto her stomach and mounted her like a dog mounts a bitch, grunting softly as he ground into her.

When you control a man's cock, you control him, Qeva had taught, but Inevera felt no control here. In some ways, she wanted none. How was this possible?

Because he's not just a man, a voice within her said. He's the Deliverer.

She groaned into the pillows.

You have the Deliverer's cock in you.

Her groans became a cry. She thrust back at him hard, and soon he was spent as well, and fell into a deep sleep.

But Inevera did not sleep again. She lay awake through the rest of the night.

The dice were tricky, giving only half-truths at times.

She had known she was to make him a man, but she hadn't expected him to make her a woman as well.

10.

Kenevah's Concern

313317 AR

'My son promised me he would one day give me a palace,' Kajivah exulted as she danced through Ahmann's kai'Sharum quarters in the Kaji palace. It was not even truly Ahmann's, much less Kajivah's, but the woman did not seem to care nor did Ahmann's three younger sisters, Imisandre, Hoshvah, and Hanya, who ran shrieking about the rooms.

'He promised me, and though Everam knows we'd never had much good fortune, I believed him. They said I was cursed for having three girls after him, but you know what I say?'

Inevera closed her eyes and took a breath. It's only wind. 'That Everam blessed you with a son so great, he needed no brothers?' There was no hint of sarcasm in her tone, though she had heard these words a thousand times since meeting Kajivah on her wedding day, barely a week past.

'Precisely!' Kajivah bleated. 'A mother knows these things. I always knew my son was destined for greatness.'

You have no idea, Inevera thought. Indeed, how could she? Kajivah and her daughters were illiterate and uneducated, with little to distinguish them. Dim-witted women who had loved the one male in their family too much and one another not enough. Until recently, they had subsisted on the unskilled work she and her daughters did cleaning the homes of affluent families and the charity of local dama.

Now, Kajivah would never work again, and live always in opulence. That fact alone was almost more than she could contemplate. True greatness was beyond her, like the sky was beyond the fish.

Kajivah continued to prattle on as she surveyed her new surroundings. She was harmless enough, and respectful of Inevera's white veil, but she was forever underfoot, and doted on her son overmuch when Inevera wanted him hard.

She wished she could marry the woman off. She'd had Ahmann betroth his insipid sisters to his lieutenants before they'd even said their vows. They were comely enough, and the marriages would cement the loyalty of his men. The girls had cried with joy when he informed them, not even asking which of them would be betrothed to whom.

But Kajivah was too old to bear new children, and none of the men Inevera had suggested was good enough for Ahmann to agree to give them his sacred mother. And so she was consigned to their household and Inevera's sufferance.

She'll be good enough at watching the children, Inevera supposed, until they turn five and begin to outwit her.

'Mother! Look at this!' Ahmann cried. Inevera turned to see her husband, reaching tentatively to touch the water tinkling from the fountain in their receiving room. Before his fingers touched the water, he snatched his hand back as if he had been about to profane something holy. Having spent the last ten years sleeping in a tiny stone cell, it must seem an impossible luxury.

Inevera remembered her first visit to the Dama'ting Palace, and smiled as Kajivah ran to her son and the two of them began to unknowingly use a porcelain chamber pot as a water pitcher, drinking right from its rim. The girls heard their laughter and came running with a great many shrieks and whoops, all of them tasting of the fountain.

Inevera shook her head, finding peace easily. Kajivah was harmless, and her care was a small price to bring such happiness to Ahmann.

Three years passed, and each summer, Inevera presented Ahmann with a child. Two sons, Jayan and Asome, to be his firstborn heirs, then a daughter, Amanvah, to be hers. She acquired two sister-wives, Everalia and Thalaja, after interviewing every unmarried dal'ting in the tribe and casting the bones over the best of the lot. They were essentially servants, but fit to breed Ahmann sons to increase his status and holdings. Soon both were with child.

Ahmann had proven an excellent kai'Sharum. Given a beginning command of fifteen men, the dama had scoffed when he chose many of his former classmates in sharaj over older, more seasoned veterans. But Ahmann's men knew him from when he had been Nie Ka, and were used to obedience. His unit had tighter discipline than any other among the Kaji, and they fought more fiercely, taking so many alagai that the other kai'Sharum had begun whipping their men to try to stir them to equal frenzy. Soon Ahmann was commanding fifty men, the largest unit in the tribe, and the least of his warriors held a kill count to impress any drillmaster.

Now the other kai'Sharum eyed Ahmann warily. 'Kai Haival dreams of skewering me like a lamb,' he told her one day as she bathed him. 'I can see it in his eyes, though he does not have the courage to challenge me.'

'I will need his blood,' Inevera said.

Ahmann looked at her. 'Why?'

He had always been bold, and that trait grew stronger as the years went by. He continued to obey, but as if Inevera were an advisor, like Shanjat, rather than the voice of Everam. He had begun to question.

'To read his fate,' she said. 'To ensure it does not include killing you.' And to keep searching, she added silently, in case there are more like you.

'I just told you he did not have the courage,' Ahmann said, turning away and leaning back against her. He closed his eyes, serene as she massaged his sore muscles in the steam. Stubborn.

'Cowards kill as often as heroes,' Inevera said. 'Only they do not strike from where they can be seen. A knife in the back; a lie in other men's ears; venom in your food.'

'Even then, he would have to get past my fifty, and then me.' Ahmann had no need to boast of his own unmatched vigilance and strength. It was true the chance of another man harming him was remote.

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. Naive.

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.