The Daylight War
Page 65

‘Are you mad?’ the old woman snapped.
Inevera spread her hands, knowing the futility of the gesture, but required to attempt it all the same. ‘Is this not what you wanted? What we spoke of, those many years ago? The Andrah and Sharum Ka are corrupt, you said, favouring the Kaji in ways that were dividing and killing our people. I swore to find a solution, and I have. Now there is a Sharum Ka who is brave and true of heart who will be bound to all the tribes.’
‘And to you most of all,’ Kenevah sneered. ‘Do not think me such a fool as not to see it. And of the Andrah? Will you replace him, too? A few years’ study in Sharik Hora doesn’t make your upstart husband a dama.’
Inevera shrugged. ‘Kaji was no dama. He rose out of the blood of alagai’sharak and united the world under his spear.’
Kenevah laughed. ‘You think you’re the first Inevera to try to fashion herself the next Damajah? The Damaji’ting histories are full of their bloody failures. Or are you fool enough to truly think your husband the Deliverer reborn?’
‘I have seen futures where he is,’ Inevera said. ‘I will ensure they come to pass.’
‘Will you?’ Kenevah asked. ‘How do you think he will react when he learns you had to sheathe the Andrah’s own spear to win him the Spear Throne?’
Inevera felt her face grow cold. Kenevah knew? The gentle wind had become a sandstorm that could flay the bark from the supplest palm.
Again Kenevah laughed. ‘You think you’re special? That old pig has dama’ting offering to work his limp spear for favours every day. I bedded him myself, long before you were a cup of couzi in your father’s pathetic hand. Brides of Everam have never been above whoring for a favour, though it seems you’re better at it than most. Do you think Ahmann will strike you when he hears? It would be delicious irony to end your grab for power by putting your husband to death for hitting his dama’ting wife.’
Inevera felt a wave of fear pass over her. No blood runs hotter than a cuckolded Sharum, the Evejah’ting taught. It was possible Ahmann would fly into a rage and kill her or the Andrah or both. To take the Skull Throne he would need to kill the fat old man one day, but he would not be in a position to hold it until he had nie’dama sons in every tribe. A decade, at least.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘A vial of your husband’s blood, to start,’ Kenevah said. ‘I will cast him myself—’
Inevera cut her off. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You forget yourself, child,’ Kenevah growled. ‘I am still your mistress. You can refuse me nothing.’
Inevera whisked her hand dismissively. ‘The dice have called no other girl. By law, I will be Damaji’ting on your death whether you support it or not.’
‘If you live that long,’ Kenevah said. ‘I will have Ahmann Jardir’s blood, even if I must drain yours first. If he is truly fated for greatness, perhaps he can still be of use as a eunuch after you are safely locked away.’
Inevera sighed. ‘I had hoped to avoid this,’ she said, pulling a flame demon skull from her hora pouch.
Kenevah threw back her head and cackled. ‘A flame skull? You disappoint me, Inevera. I expected more of you.’ No doubt there were anti-flame wards all around her desk. She spread her arms in the air, palms out to show they were empty. ‘Strike. The dice will call another after I have killed you.’ She shook her head and tsked. ‘Such waste.’
‘Indeed,’ Inevera said, nodding. She turned and let loose a great blast of flame, but not at Kenevah. Instead she struck at the thick velvet curtains that covered the Damaji’ting’s great windows. They burst into a roaring flame so intense they came apart in seconds. Bright sunlight poured in, bouncing from the smoke to reach every nook and corner.
A circle of hora around where Inevera stood, obviously meant to trap her, exploded, leaving burning holes in the thick carpets. There were more bangs on Kenevah’s desk, and the old woman shrieked, pelted with burning shrapnel.
Inevera had already hidden her flame skull back in its protective pouch. She stalked calmly around the desk to stand in front of the old woman. The smoke stung her eyes and burned her lungs, but it was bearable. ‘No magic to aid you, old crone. We will settle this with sharusahk.’
To her credit, the old woman did not hesitate. A lifetime of sharusahk was not easily forgotten, even if she had not fought another woman in decades. Her attack, wind snaps palm, was perfectly executed.
But it was slow. Her form might be perfect, but Kenevah was fifty years Inevera’s senior, and it told in speed. Swaying branch diverted wind snaps palm and she stepped past, delivering a kick to the back of the old woman’s knee. Her leg collapsed, and Inevera took hold and bore her down.
Kenevah twisted and actually managed to reverse the hold as they struck the floor. Sharusahk taught to steal free energy whenever possible, and even an old woman could be formidable, given enough force to divert. They rolled about in the smoke and dwindling flames, grunting and growling. There was a pounding at the door, but Inevera had barred it securely.
Kenevah proved more formidable than expected, but the outcome was not in doubt as Inevera ceased giving the Damaji’ting energy to steal and instead pitted muscle against muscle in a slow push until she achieved the desired hold. Seconds later she popped one of Kenevah’s hips from the socket. The Damaji’ting’s howl was cut short as Inevera worked her way around, wrapping her legs tightly about Kenevah’s waist and reaching for the black veil that should have been hers long ago. She found it and pulled it tight around Kenevah’s throat, holding the Damaji’ting prone as her face reddened and seemed to inflate. Soon the old woman’s struggles ceased. Inevera held on a bit longer, then eased her grip and untied the silk.
She was holding the black hood and veil when the doors exploded in a blast of magic and Qeva and Enkido stepped in, followed by a dozen women, dama’ting and nie alike.
Qeva took in the destruction with horror in her eyes. Most of the flames had died out, but the room was filled with wreckage, charred and smoking. She took in the still form of her mother on the floor, stripped of her veil, and turned to Inevera with murder in her eyes.
‘Kenevah was old and weak,’ Inevera said loudly. ‘It is time the black hood passed on.’
‘How dare you?’ Qeva demanded. Killing a Damaji’ting to open a succession was certainly not without precedent, but to do it so openly was unheard of. ‘My mother and I taught you everything you know. For you to betray her after we took you in …’
Inevera laughed. ‘Took me in? I was not some beggar on the street or nie’ting. Do not reweave history to make yourself my saviour. You dragged me from my mother’s arms without a word and threw me in a pit where your own daughter tried to kill me.’ Melan was in the crowd, her clawed hand unmistakable. Inevera met her eyes, daring her to contradict.
‘And when I did not turn out as she wished,’ Inevera went on, ‘Kenevah tried to have me killed. Seven times, the dice tell me. I at least gave her the courtesy of doing it face-to-face.’
‘You lie,’ Qeva growled.
Inevera shook her head. ‘Why would I lie when my words are irrelevant? I am the only one the dice have called to succeed Kenevah. While I live, the Kaji dama’ting are mine.’