Ahmann did not believe it to be Alagai Ka, father of demons, but no doubt the creature was his get, powerful in ways even Inevera did not fully understand. It had taken her hora pouch and absorbed its magic effortlessly, leaving her nothing but ashes in place of her connection to Everam.

But while Inevera was blind, she did not waste time on tears, carving boldly into the demon's bones. Her skill had increased tenfold since her years as Betrothed, and now she could see her work clearly in the wardlight. Already three of the seven dice were restored to her, more powerful by far than those lost. Would that they could give her even partial seeing, like a man with one eye, but the seven worked in harmony, the parts useless without their full sum.

The sun was nearing its apex when she emerged from the Chamber of Shadows and returned to the palace proper. Melan and Asavi were waiting for her as she approached the throne room, falling in behind her as the Sharum guards bowed and opened the doors to admit her.

'What word?' Inevera murmured.

'The Deliverer is just beginning court, Damajah,' Asavi said. 'You have missed only ceremony.'

Inevera nodded. It was a calculated move, excusing herself from the formalities of court, filled with long lists of deeds and tedious prayers. The Damajah was above such things, her time better spent in the Chamber of Shadows until her full power was restored. Prayer was pointless to one used to speaking to Everam directly.

Her eyes flicked to the hora pouches of her companions. Had their own dice informed them their Damajah was blind? Melan and Asavi had served her loyally for many years, but they were still Krasian. If they sensed weakness, they would exploit it, as she would in their place. For a moment Inevera considering confiscating their dice or those of a lesser Bride to regain her sight until she had completed her new set.

She shook her head. It was within her power, but the insult would be too great. She might as soon demand they cut off a hand and give it to her. She must trust that Everam would not inform them of her weakness unless she had lost His favour, and now that she and Ahmann had reconciled, there was no reason to think she had.

With a breath to return to centre, she strode through the doors.

As ever, the throne room was crowded. The twelve Damaji stood council to the Deliverer, clustered to the right of the dais. They were led by the heads of the two strongest tribes, Ahmann's brother-in-law Ashan of the Kaji and ancient, one-armed Aleverak of the Majah. Each of the Damaji was attended in turn by the second sons of Ahmann's dama'ting brides save for Ashan, who was shadowed by both Inevera's son Asome and her nephew Asukaji.

Ahmann had promised leadership of the Kaji to Ashan's son, though that left Asome, the second eldest of Ahmann's seventy-three children, heir to nothing.

But there was no animosity between the cousins. Quite the contrary, they were of an age, and had been pillow friends since they were boys in Sharik Hora.

Inevera didn't care that they were lovers but she had been furious when Asome arranged to marry his cousin Ashia, that she might bear him the son her brother could not. It had pained Inevera to give Amanvah away to a greenlander, but better that than risk Ahmann giving her to Asukaji in further incest simply to strengthen his already unbreakable ties to Ashan.

To the left of the dais were the twelve Damaji'ting, led by Qeva. Like the Damaji, these women were followed by their successors Melan for the Kaji and Ahmann's dama'ting wives from the other tribes. Both groups of women were extensions of Inevera's will. While the Damaji argued loudly with one another in open court, the Damaji'ting stood silent.

Hasik was standing inside the doors, and he snapped his feet together at the sight of her, thumping the metal butt of his warded spear loudly on the marble floor. 'The Damajah!'

Inevera did not spare a glance for her husband's bodyguard. Hundreds of alagai had fallen to his spear, and he was her brother by marriage, married to Ahmann's worthless sister Hanya. But Hasik was the one who had attacked and bitten her love that fateful night in the Maze. Ahmann had broken him to heel, but he was still little more than an animal. He knew better than to touch the Deliverer's youngest sister with anything but the gentlest hand, but he had not grown out of taking pleasure in inflicting pain on others. Hasik had his uses, but he was not worthy of her gaze save when she wished to set him to a task.

Everyone looked up at the announcement, turning like a flock of birds to bow as she approached. The Damaji watched her like raptors, but she ignored them, meeting Ahmann's eyes and never breaking the gaze as she crossed the room. She set her hips to swaying as if in the pillow dance, and in her vaporous robes it seemed as if she were caressing the entire room on her way to her husband.

She could feel the mix of desire and hatred radiating from the Damaji as she passed them on the way to the dais, and suppressed a smile. It was humiliating enough that a woman sat above them, but the lust she aroused was worse still. She knew that many of the Damaji had pillow wives chosen specifically because they looked like her, and took vigorous delight in dominating them. Inevera secretly encouraged the practice, knowing it only put them further under her spell.

'Mother.' Jayan bowed respectfully. Her firstborn waited at the base of the dais, clad in his warrior blacks and the white turban of Sharum Ka.

'My son.' Inevera smiled with her nod, wondering at his presence. Jayan had little patience for clerics and politics. He'd claimed one of the greenland manses as his palace and built a new Spear Throne, spending his days holding court with the Sharum. Whatever else she might say about him, Jayan had made a fine First Warrior.

Two steps down the dais to Ahmann's left knelt the fat khaffit, Abban, dressed in fine colourful silk and ready as ever to whisper in her husband's ear. His presence offended many, though after a few abject lessons, none dared protest it to the Deliverer's face.

For her part, Inevera found Abban's advice to have more sense than that of any other man in the room, but this only made her more cautious of him. Ahmann despised Abban at times, but he trusted him as well. Should it suit the crippled khaffit's purpose, it would be simple for him to whisper poison instead of wise counsel. The dice had never been clear as to his motives, and she had reason to doubt him.

Inevera let the thought blow over her, bowing before its wind. She would deal with the khaffit in his time. She raised her eyes once more to Ahmann.

He had brought the Skull Throne with him from Krasia, and sat atop it on a seven-step dais, looking every bit the Shar'Dama Ka. He wore the Crown of Kaji as comfortably as another man might wear a worn and faded turban. He used the invincible Spear of Kaji like part of his arm, making even casual gestures with it, his every word a blessing and command.

But there was a new element now, the silken warded cloak given him by the greenland whore on their first meeting. Inevera felt her nostrils flare and breathed, becoming the palm.

The cloak was beautiful, Inevera could not deny. It was pure white, embroidered in silver thread with hundreds of wards that came to life in the night, causing alagai eyes to slide off the wearer like water on oiled cloth. The fabled Cloak of Kaji, sewn by the Damajah herself, had similar powers, but it had been lost to the ravages of time, found in tatters in the sarcophagus where they had found the Deliverer's spear.

Ahmann caressed the silk with his free hand like a lover, and its place about his shoulders said much to the assembled men and women. By wearing Leesha's cloak openly, Ahmann was saying that not only was she his intended, but she had a connection to the divine.

As I once did, Inevera thought bitterly. She might have been clad only in vaporous silk, but it was her missing dice that truly left her feeling naked.

Still, she smiled brightly as she presented herself before her husband, slipping into his lap brazenly and lifting her veil to kiss him as she squirmed for all to see. Ahmann was used to this display, but he had never been comfortable with it. She quickly slithered off him and over to the bed of pillows to the right of the throne. As she did, she caught sight of Abban's stare. There was no lust in it, but there was respect.

Remember that, khaffit, she thought. You tried to follow me into Ahmann's bed with your Northern whore, but she is gone. She arranged her hair, subtly turning the bottom of her earring to listen to the words Abban whispered to her husband.

'How have you fared in mustering our forces, my son?' Ahmann asked.

'Well,' Jayan said. 'We have increased the garrisons in the inner and outer city, and begun organizing patrols.'

'Excellent,' Ahmann said.

'But there has been cost,' Jayan said, 'in recalling and conscripting warriors from the chin villages and equipping them in time for the coming Waning.'

'In decorating his palace, he means,' Abban said softly. 'The Sharum Ka's war tax coffers should have been more than sufficient.'

'How much?' Ahmann asked his son.

'Twenty million draki,' Jayan said. He paused. 'Thirty would be better.'

'Everam's beard,' Abban muttered, rubbing his temple as the Damaji began to buzz in agitation. Inevera could not blame them. It was an obscene amount.

'Do I even have that much to spare?' Ahmann asked quietly.

'We could increase the rate we melt and recast the greenlanders' treasury, and the production yield of your gold mines,' Abban said, 'but I think you would be a fool to give the boy a single slip of copper without a full accounting of where the war tax has gone and how the new funds will be spent.'

'I cannot cost my son such face,' Ahmann said.

'The khaffit is correct, beloved,' Inevera said. 'Jayan has no concept of the value of money. If you give this to him, he will be back for more in a fortnight.'

Ahmann sighed. He himself had never been particularly good with money, but at least he trusted his advisors. 'Very well,' he said to Jayan. 'As soon as you have your khaffit deliver a full accounting of how you have spent the war tax to Abban, along with your projections for the additional funds.'

Jayan stood frozen, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.

'Perhaps I can assist, brother,' Asome said. 'You have ever been more adept with the spear than the pen.'

'I need the help of push'ting no more than I do khaffit,' Jayan growled.

Asome did not rise to the bait, bowing with a smug grin. 'As you wish.' He may have been heir to nothing, but it was no secret that both Ahmann's eldest sons aspired to succeed him, and they were quick to cut at each other's favour in their father's eyes.

In the meantime, Asome had asked more than once for his father to reinstate the position of Andrah with him on the throne. Thus far, Ahmann had denied him that honour. Asome was younger than any Andrah in history by a quarter century, and the appointment would put him above his older brother.

Jayan was impulsive where Asome was cautious, quick to anger where Asome was calm and soft-voiced, brutal where Asome was subtle. If Asome were placed above him, there would be blood, and many of the Damaji would support Jayan. The Sharum Ka served the council of Damaji. The Andrah commanded them. It was one thing to take orders from Ahmann, and another entirely to take them from a dama barely a year out of his bido.

'I will have the ledgers brought to you, Father,' Jayan said, glaring at his younger brother.

His zahven.

17.

Zahven

326329 AR

- He will hear a voice from his past, and first meet his zahven- Inevera pondered the throw for a long time. Some of the symbols of foretelling were direct and easy to understand, regardless of context. Most were not. Inevera was more skilled at deciphering them than any woman alive, but even she found more confusion than truth in the alagai hora.

Zahven was an ancient symbol that had taken many meanings over the years, and none could be taken lightly. It could mean 'brother' or just as easily 'rival', 'counterpart', or 'nemesis'. Men referred to those of other tribes with equal standing in the social hierarchy as their zahven, but Everam was also considered zahven to Nie.

But who could be zahven to Ahmann? He had no brothers or even cousins of blood, and his ajin'pal was Hasik, someone Ahmann had already met. Was there another Deliverer in the making? A challenger? Or was he to meet Nie's representative on Ala? It was Waning, when the alagai were strongest, and Alagai Ka was said to rise from the seventh layer of the abyss. Was the prince of demons to come to the Maze this night?

Inevera breathed deeply, letting the fear and anxiety blow over her like wind, maintaining serenity.

But even safe within her breath, another part of the foretelling continued to niggle her. What voice from Ahmann's past, and why did she not know of it?

The past calls when its debts are due, the Evejah'ting taught. Inevera remembered the night Soli and Kasaad had entered the dama'ting pavilion, and could not disagree.

It was just before dawn on the first day of Waning, when debts were paid and oaths fulfilled. Sharum would be sent home with their wages, and sons released from sharaj to see their families.

Inevera put the dice away, breathing until she had her centre, then stood smoothly and went to the pillow chamber where Ahmann slept. Most nights he returned to the palace once the Maze was free of alagai usually still hours before dawn. He would sleep until the sun was high, rising at noon to begin his day.

But on Wanings, he rose at dawn, that he might have as much time as possible with his sons.

She slipped from her robes and crawled into the pillows to wake him.

Inevera leaned against a marble pillar, watching Ahmann with Jayan and Asome. The elder boys were closest to their father, and he stood with them in the centre of the room before a practice dummy hanging suspended in the air, giving them lessons in spearwork and sharusahk.

Her sister-wives were in attendance of course, along with their sons, who knelt in a ring around the room, a small army in and of themselves. Inevera had taken to calling the Jiwah Sen her 'little sisters', much as Kenevah had with her. The diminutive did not please them women in line to hold sway over their respective tribes but none dared protest its use. It was Waning, and Ahmann would give each of his wives and sons his attention in turn before the great meal.

'One day, I will be Sharum Ka!' Jayan shouted, thrusting his spear at the practice dummy.

Inevera looked sadly at her firstborn, now twelve. He had been bright, once. Not clever like his brother Asome, but inquisitive enough. Three years in sharaj had burned the brightness from his eyes, leaving him with the dead look of all Sharum that of a brutal, unthinking animal. One that looked upon life and death and saw more value in the latter. Jayan was first in his class at fighting, but struggled with simple sums and texts that Asome, a year his junior, had advanced beyond years since. He was more apt to wipe himself with paper than read the words upon it.

She sighed. If only Ahmann had let her put him among the dama, but no, he wanted Sharum sons. Only second sons were allowed to take the white. The rest were sent to sharaj.

But as she watched Ahmann with the boys and saw the love in his eyes, she could not fault him.

As if reading her mind, Ahmann turned and met her gaze. 'It would please me if my daughters could return home for Waning each month, as well.'

You would spend them like spare coin on men not worthy of them, Inevera thought, but gave only a slight shake of her head. 'Their training must not be disturbed, husband. The Hannu Pash of the nie'dama'ting is ... rigorous.' Indeed, she had been training them since birth.

'Surely they cannot all become dama'ting,' Ahmann said. 'I must have daughters to marry to my loyal men.'

'And so you shall,' Inevera replied. 'Daughters no man dare harm, who are loyal to you over even their husbands.'

'And to Everam, over even their father,' Ahmann muttered.

And to you, most of all, she heard Kenevah say. 'Of course.'

There was a stirring of the guard, and Ashan came into the room. As personal dama to the Sharum Ka, he was seldom seen on Wanings, off giving services and blessings. Asukaji entered with him, and the boy immediately went to stand beside Asome. They looked more like brothers than cousins, far more similar than Asome and Jayan.

Ashan bowed. 'Sharum Ka, there is a matter the kai'Sharum wish you to settle.'

Inevera felt every muscle in her body clench. This is it.

Ahmann raised an eyebrow as she rose to accompany him, but he made no move to stop her not that he could have. They left the palace and descended the great stone stairs to the courtyard, which faced the Sharum training grounds. At the far end was Sharik Hora, and on the long sides between were the pavilions of the tribes.

Near the base of his steps, well inside the palace walls, a group of Sharum and dama surrounded two men. One was khaffit, grossly fat and dressed in brighter silks than a pillow wife. He wore the tan vest and cap of khaffit, but his shirt and pantaloons were of bright multicoloured silk, and the cap was wrapped in a turban of red silk with a gem set at the centre. His belt and slippers were of snakeskin. He leaned on an ivory crutch, carved in the likeness of a camel, with his armpit resting between its humps.

The other was a Northern chin, dressed in worn clothes faded and dusty enough to be taken for a khaffit's tan, but he carried a spear, something khaffit were forbidden to touch, and had nothing of the deference any sane khaffit would have when surrounded by so many warriors. A Messenger from the green lands. Inevera had seen them in the bazaar, but never spoken to one.

Inevera watched Ahmann, seeing recognition in his eyes as they took in the khaffit.

The voice from his past.

Inevera looked closer, studying the man's face. She had to look past the thick jowls and cast back years, but at last recalled the boy who had carried Ahmann to the dama'ting pavilion all those years ago. A boy who had visited the pavilion himself years later, and left with a limp the dama'ting were not sure would ever heal. Abban, son of Chabin, the merchant who used to sell couzi to her father. That was reason enough to dislike him.

'What makes you think you are worthy to stand here among men?' Ahmann demanded. The anger in his tone surprised her. Perhaps the debt of his past was to be collected, rather than paid. Why else would a khaffit come to the First Warrior's palace and risk his wrath?

'Apologies, great one.' Abban dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the dirt.

'Look at you,' Ahmann snarled. 'You dress like a woman and flaunt your tainted wealth as if it is not an insult to everything we believe. I should have let you fall.'

Fall? Inevera wondered.

'Please, great master,' Abban said. 'I mean no insult. I am only here to translate.'

'Translate?' Ahmann glanced up and noticed the Northerner for the first time. 'A chin?' Ahmann turned to Ashan. 'You called me here to speak to a chin?'

'Listen to his words,' Ashan urged. 'You will see.'

Ahmann studied the greenlander a long time, then shrugged. 'Speak, and be quick about it,' he told Abban. 'Your presence offends me.'