chambers, she found two figures waiting for her. One was another of her escorts, Woshaar, ready to take over the duty of watching her-Oraan nodded to him, released her into his care, and departed without even glancing at her. He played his role flawlessly.
The other was a goblin wearing the red corded armband that indicated his service to the lord of Khaar Mbar’ost. “Lhesh Tariic sends a message to Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” he said. “There will be a feast tonight in the hall of honor. You will attend.”
The command drew out a flash of anger, even if the feast was the answer she was looking for. The viceroys and envoys would attend, and she could move among them without her conversations seeming out of place. She bit back her anger. “Tell Lhesh Tariic I am honored,” she said.
“He does not wish a reply.” The goblin bowed and departed.
Ashi’s anger burned a little higher. She turned on Woshaar. “I require hot water and a bathing tub. Demand them of the next servant that passes.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing a startled expression on the guard’s face before she marched into her chambers and slammed the door behind her.
When she had first come to House Deneith and Vounn, one of the house’s most talented ambassadors, had begun the task of turning a barbarian hunter of the Shadow Marches into a proper lady of Deneith, Ashi had chafed at her mentor’s lessons. Particularly those on dress and style. What was the use, she had thought then, of knowing which kinds of sleeves and collars were in fashion, or of knowing that yellow didn’t suit her complexion? Understanding the value of what Vounn taught her had come slowly. Too slowly maybe, Ashi suspected. She’d eventually made her peace with Vounn, and they’d found a respect for each other, but there were some things Ashi hadn’t really found a true appreciation for until after Vounn’s death. The value of masking her true emotions. The necessity of submitting to demands in the short term with an eye on the future.
The potential power in her own appearance.
She emerged from her chambers as the sun set, striding past Woshaar without pause. Her escort fell in close behind her, and turning her head slightly, Ashi caught him giving her surreptitious glances. He seemed to carry himself with more pride than she’d seen before as well, as if suddenly she was worth keeping watch over. He wasn’t the only one whose reaction changed at the sight of her. Servants looked away from her, turning their faces to the ground. Hobgoblin warriors whom she recognized from their service around Khaar Mbar’ost glanced at her, and then looked back and stared. She passed a warlord, Iizan of the wealthy Ghaal Sehn clan, on his way to the feast and deep in conversation with another clan chief. Iizan actually paused, mouth closed, eyes wide, to watch her go by. Ashi raised her head and swept on, up the broad stairs of Khaar Mbar’ost to the hall of honor, the vast chamber that ran from one side of the fortress to the other.
She wore the clothes that Vounn had given her for their first presentation to Haruuc only three months before. A gown suitable for a feast in the Five Nations would do little to impress the goblins of Darguun, so the outfit resembled a parade uniform with polished boots, trim trousers, and a cropped jacket bearing the crest of House Deneith in silver thread. Her sword hung from a belt likewise trimmed with silver. But tonight the Darguuls weren’t the only ones she wanted to impress, and Ashi had taken more care with her hair than she’d ever taken in her life. Washed and brushed, it shone like old gold. She’d pulled it back in a style that was stern but not severe. Commanding, Vounn had called it. Ashi had even raided the small pots of cosmetics her mentor had left. The patterns of the dragonmark that curled over her cheeks made rouge ridiculous, but a light hand with powders around her eyes gave her gaze a startling intensity.
She was a lady of Deneith, and none of the envoys of the other dragonmarked houses could dare deny it.
Ashi paused in the doorway of the hall of honor just long enough for those near the door to get a good look at her-and for her to scan the vast room for familiar faces. The hall was crowded. A long table ran much of the hall’s length, taking up space, but even so there were more bodies present than could have sat at it. That was tradition at hobgoblin feasts, she’d learned. Important guests sat and were served. Less important guests lingered on the fringes.
She spotted Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith. They would make a good place to start her inquiries. Ashi took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and moved into the crowd to join them.
She didn’t get far. A hand reached out from among the shifting bodies and caught the hem of her jacket. “You’ve put an effort into looking your best tonight, Ashi,” said Midian.
Disgust mingled with fear raced through her, but she kept it from her face. Did Midian somehow know what she was up to? Had the puppet already told his master? Ashi forced herself to answer. “Tariic commanded my presence, and I am the face of Deneith in Rhukaan Draal, aren’t I?”
She poured acid into the words as if her appearance was just some attempt to defy Tariic’s power. It seemed to work. Midian’s eyes narrowed briefly, and he gave a mocking little bow.
“Your clothes complement your bracelets,” he said. “I’m sure people will be asking about them all night.”
“Blood in your mouth, Midian.”
“Now, now. No need for obscure Shadow Marches insults, as colorful as they might be.” He took her hand. “There are people you need to meet.”
“I don’t think so.” Ashi tried to take her hand back.
Midian clung to it like a clam to a rock-not with any particular strength but with a determined attachment. “I do. You’re the face of Deneith after all.”
Ashi threw a glance at Woshaar, standing poised in her shadow, and briefly wished Oraan were the one with her tonight, then realized how pointless that would be anyway. In a room full of witnesses, Oraan would do nothing to betray himself. He would do the same thing as Woshaar-follow blank-faced as Tariic’s royal historian dragged her off into the crowd. She caught another glimpse of Pater d’Orien and Dannel d’Cannith watching as well, probably jealous of the special favor she was being shown.
Ashi gave in and let Midian lead her. She’d have another chance with Pater and Dannel. This might even give her a better chance to talk to them. They’d want to know whom she had met. Through the crowd, she caught the eye of Dagii and, a moment later, Senen. The gaze of the ambassador of the Kech Volaar slid over her without acknowledging her presence, but Dagii’s gaze lingered for just an instant. His lips pressed tightly together, and his ears flicked back.
Danger.
Ashi’s belly tightened even as Midian brought her to a stop beside a knot of unfamiliar hobgoblins kept apart from the members of Tariic’s court not so much by physical space as their own haughty presence. Warlords and clan chiefs moved around the strangers like a pack of dogs around new and stronger interlopers, watching but not yet ready to approach. As if he stood outside of any forces of status, Midian spoke directly to the two hobgoblins at the center of the knot, a massive male whose armor bore the face of a demon and a woman wearing a blue-edged mantle. Both carried sword-shaped brands on their foreheads.
“Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” said Midian in Goblin, “meet Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
17 Aryth
Humans, in Midian’s experience, tended to imagine themselves as if they were looking in a mirror that extended from their waist to about a handspan above their eye level. They never really considered what they might look like when seen from outside-particularly from below-that point of view. Hobgoblins, used to dealing with goblins, tended to be more aware. But humans, no matter how frequently they took the time to look a gnome in the eye, usually forgot that a gnome looked back.
“Introduce Ashi to the Kech Shaarat,” Tariic had said. “See how she reacts.”
“Lady Ashi d’Deneith,” said Midian, “meet Taak Dhakaan and Riila Dhakaan of Kech Shaarat.”
He watched Ashi closely, watched the little muscles under her jaws that most humans weren’t even aware of, as she looked over the representatives of the Kech Shaarat. Those muscles twitched, just slightly. Reaction to Riila and Taak’s names then, Midian wondered, or just to their presence as Kech Shaarat?
