The Daylight War
Page 39

But though he could not cook or carry, Soli was always there to protect. Cemal’s hand had barely begun to squeeze before her brother put a hard knee between the man’s legs and broke his nose.
Kasaad had laughed, mocking Cemal and congratulating his son, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at Inevera to see if she was all right. Worse, he had continued to invite Cemal into their home, and did nothing to stop the leering. Inevera knew the Sharum were only waiting for Soli’s attention to lapse.
Serving her father and half a dozen drunken Sharum terrified Inevera, but not half so much as serving Waxing Tea to the dama’ting.
A semicircle of velvet pillows was spread on the thick carpet of the dining chamber. Kenevah sat first at the centre, and was immediately served a steaming cup of tea by Melan. The girl was like a wisp of smoke, appearing to fill the cup and then vanishing again.
‘Qeva, sit at my right,’ Kenevah bade, gesturing at the pillow there. ‘Favah, my left.’
Qeva sat as she was bade, as did Favah, a venerable Bride who looked older even than Kenevah. Asavi and another nie’dama’ting stepped forward to serve them.
Kenevah lifted her cup, and the three women drank. Then Kenevah invited two more Brides to sit, one on each side. They were served hot tea, and all five drank.
The tea for the next pair of women, served from the same pots, was barely hot. For the next pair, it was merely warm. By the time the last Bride sat and all of them drank, it was cold.
Food was served in the same order, with Kenevah’s most favoured getting the choicest cuts of meat, though all dined on food finer than Inevera knew existed. The smell of it made her dizzy with hunger.
After these rituals, the dama’ting relaxed, talking quite amiably among themselves. Their handsome eunuchs did the cooking and most of the carrying, but it was up to the Betrothed to attend the Brides directly.
The dama’ting before Inevera finished her tea and set the empty cup before her. When Inevera did not immediately move to refill it, she glanced back with a raised eyebrow. Inevera hurried forward with the pot, spilling a single drop on the table. The dama’ting to her other side glanced at it, sniffing disdainfully.
When she returned to the service, Melan pinched her and it was all Inevera could do not to cry out. ‘Idiot,’ the girl whispered. ‘We’ll all pay for that. Spill again and next time you bathe we’ll hold you under until you meet Everam.’
Even in such exclusive company, the dama’ting kept their veils in place, leaning over their bowls and using a pair of smooth sticks to quickly bring morsels to their mouths. Occasionally Inevera caught a glimpse of a mouth or nose, and immediately averted her eyes. The sight felt more obscene than watching Kasaad bend Manvah over a pile of baskets.
When the dama’ting had finished their supper, the Betrothed served themselves from the remains in the kitchen. Melan and the other girls shoved Inevera to the back of the line, and there was little food remaining when they were through. She managed to scrape a bowl’s worth from what clung to the sides of the cookpots, but even then the other girls sat in tight circles, deliberately shutting her out. She ate alone, and followed numbly as Qeva ushered them back to the Vault at sunset.
The nie’dama’ting slept in a communal chamber, lit by a ceiling that glowed with clear wardlight. Inevera’s eyes drifted up and stared at the magical symbols with unbridled wonder.
‘You’ll learn your warding soon enough,’ Qeva said, noting her stare. ‘Melan, where is your cot?’
There were several neat rows of cots at the centre of the room. Melan pointed to a corner spot, well away from the door.
Qeva nodded. ‘Who sleeps there?’ She gestured to the cot next to Melan’s.
‘Asavi,’ Melan said, and the girl stepped quickly forward.
Qeva grunted. ‘Your pillow sister will have to find a new place. Inevera will sleep next to you for the next twelve Wanings, that you may better instruct her.’
Melan gave an almost imperceptible hiss as Asavi moved to collect her possessions – books and writing implements, mostly. She glared at Inevera as she passed, and the look might as well have been knives.
‘You have your liberty until the wardlight fades,’ Qeva said, and left the room.
Inevera held her breath, waiting for the girls to come at her, but again they ignored her, breaking into small, tight circles, locking her out. Inevera went to her cot, took out the Evejah’ting, and began to read.
It was hours before the wardlight faded, but she had barely made a dent in the thick book. She set the ribbon on her page and passed into a fitful sleep.
Inevera woke to find someone hovering over her in the darkness. Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness, but it was still little more than a silhouette, moving cautiously to keep quiet. She caught her breath a moment, then remembered herself and began an even breathing to feign sleep. She let herself snore softly, as her mother often did.
Inevera had no possessions save for her Evejah’ting and hora pouch, nothing to use as a weapon, if such would even do her good against a room full of girls who despised her. Could they kill her here, in the dark, and get away with it? She tensed to run, though there was nowhere she could run to. Even if she could find the door in the blackness, it was barred from the outside.
But the silhouette moved past, shuffling to Melan’s bed. There was a rustle as the blanket was thrown back.
‘I think she might have heard me,’ Asavi whispered.
There was a pause. ‘She’s asleep. I can hear her snoring,’ Melan said. ‘And who cares what the bad throw thinks?’
Inevera lay in her cot, trying to keep the rhythm of her snoring steady as she listened to the sounds of kissing and whispers of love from Melan’s cot. She had never kissed another girl, never even considered it, but she did envy them. Inevera had never felt so alone.
Inevera woke again, this time to a stabbing pain in her side. She cried out, half sitting, and saw Melan drawing back her foot for another kick. ‘Up with you, bad throw.’
The wardlights were active again, and most of the other girls had already woven their bidos. Aching to make water, Inevera moved quickly for the privy curtain, but Melan caught her arm. ‘You should have woken sooner if you wanted time for that. The dama’ting will come at any moment, and if your bido isn’t fully woven when she arrives, a full bladder will be the least of your worries.’
Inevera’s face went cold, and in an instant she was leaping for a fresh silk, her discomfort forgotten. The other girls watched her with scowls on their faces as she quickly wove her bido.
Asavi spat at Inevera’s feet. ‘So she’s a weaver’s daughter. It proves nothing.’
Barely a moment after Inevera finished tying, the heavy doors to the sleeping chamber opened and Qeva stood waiting. The girls lined up in only their bidos, and Inevera followed them out of the Vault and into another great chamber of the underpalace.
‘We begin each day with sharusahk,’ Melan advised. ‘You will not speak. Do exactly as the dama’ting does.’
Inevera nodded as the girls lined up in neat rows, each standing two paces apart. Qeva strode to a small dais at the front of the room, reaching to unfasten her robe. The silk fell away in a whisper, and she stood nude before the assembled girls, save for her veil and headscarf.
Slowly, she began doing a series of stretches. The other girls copied her, and Inevera struggled to do the same. Qeva’s flesh was smooth and muscled, soon coated in a sheen of sweat and scented oil. Inevera wondered how such slow movement could make the woman sweat as if she had run in the hot sun for an hour.