Muwas’s expression was dour. “There have been deaths. One mahtar and two children were taken by the wasting. All three died early this morning.”
Rehada shook her head. “You are sure?”
“There is no room for doubt.”
This was unexpected. Muwas’s mood was perfectly understandable now, for Rehada was feeling the same thing. She had viewed the rift and the wasting as the vengeful will of Adhiya coming to right the wrongs perpetrated against the Aramahn for these many years, but if they were taking even the chosen ones and innocent children, then what were they to think? This could no longer be viewed as a sword, ready to be taken up by the Maharraht.
Muwas stared at Atiana coldly. “As for the princess, I will take her to the lake.”
“I was to take her.”
“Soroush no longer considers that wise, and I agree. You have not been welcome inside these walls for some time, Rehada, something you should have corrected long before now.”
“Speak not of what you do not know.”
Muwas’s expression hardened. “We all lose in this. We have known since the day we joined. Why should your anger over your daughter’s death be different?”
A fury welled up inside Rehada so quickly that she nearly struck him, if only to wipe that self-righteous look off his face, but if she did she would lose her chance to accompany Atiana inside. She needed to see this through, if only because she had spared Atiana that day on the beach. She would know more. She would know all there is to know before giving Atiana up so that Soroush could have his fourth stone.
“I have come prepared,” she said to him finally.
“Fahroz will see through you.”
“She will not.”
Muwas shook his head. “This is not what Soroush-”
“Soroush is not here. I am. And the princess will come with me.”
Muwas was a stubborn man, but he knew their position here was a tenuous one. He could not raise objections-not if they wanted any hope of succeeding.
“Then you will answer to Soroush.”
Rehada bowed her head and turned away. She found Fahroz walking across the courtyard toward her. An ornate, golden circlet wrapped her brow and at its center were three azurite gems. She wore an outer robe of white, an inner of yellow. Her dire expression warred with her bright clothes. “Excuse me, Muwas, I would speak with Rehada alone.”
Muwas nodded and left, retreating through the tall doors to the interior of the village. Fahroz turned to Rehada, her arms crossed over her breast. “I have just come from speaking with Hilal, and there are questions you must answer, daughter of Shineshka.” Before Rehada could speak, Fahroz continued. “Was Soroush one of the men you saw in Izhny?”
“ Yeh,” Rehadasaid without hesitation. There was no choice. Fahroz knew the answer already.
“Why did you not tell us this?”
“One Maharraht or another. It matters little to me.”
“Come, Rehada. This is no Maharraht. You had a child with this man.”
“And that child is dead.”
The wrinkled skin along Fahroz’s cheeks worked as she ground her jaw. “Play me not for a fool. This is more serious than you can imagine. Would you like to know Hilal’s advice?” Again she continued without allowing Rehada to speak. “It was to burn you with no chance to defend yourself. Maharraht cannot be trusted with the truth, he said.”
Rehada stared, refusing to answer the unspoken question.
“Are you Maharraht?”
“ Neh,” Rehada said.
Fahroz shook her head. “I would like to believe you, Rehada.”
Rehada steadied herself, but she displayed what she felt was the proper amount of alarm. “I would never join them, Fahroz. You must believe me. My daughter’s death was tragic. I am scarred, but I would not turn to violence to avenge something that can never be changed.” Visions of the suurahezhan came to Rehada, shaming her even as she stared into Fahroz’s eyes.
Fahroz weighed Rehada’s words carefully as her jaw worked. “I defended you to Hilal. I told him that you would not do such a thing. Am I a fool, Rehada?”
“You are not.”
“Then you will do me the favor of providing a small token of your earnestness.”
Relief swept over Rehada. “Anything.”
“You will confess your daughter’s death, and you will do it today. Now.”
She had known that this was the price to pay, but a well of fear still opened up inside Rehada. “I can’t do that.”
“Do this, Rehada. Do it for Ahya.”
“Do not speak her name.” She said the words because they must be spoken. She was completing a ruse, but she found the same reluctance seething inside her. She did not wish for her child’s name to be spoken. Ahya was hers, no one else’s.
“There is no harm in a name.”
You lie, Rehada said to herself. If that were true, she wouldn’t be feeling the burning weight at the center of her chest. She had come fully prepared to take this step, but now she wanted to leave, to flee, to return to her home and forget all about this.
But she could not. She could not afford to alienate herself from Iramanshah.
Neh. These were rationalizations. The truth was that the link to Adhiya through her stone was the only time she felt any sort of comfort, any sort of release from the pain of losing her child and her never-ending anger against the Landed. She could not bear to have it ripped from her and to go on without it as Soroush did. It would be too painful.
And so she held Fahroz’s gaze and nodded.
“Say it, child.”
“I will confess my daughter’s death.”
There was a tentative satisfaction in Fahroz’s heavy, wrinkled eyes, but it was not a mocking glance. Then her gaze drifted to Atiana. “The fates can be cruel at times, daughter of Shineshka, but I think in this they are right.”
Rehada turned, confused, and looked at Atiana, who was studying the massive celestia atop the nearby hill. Atiana turned then, perhaps sensing that she was being watched, and the moment their eyes met, Rehada understood exactly what Fahroz meant for her to do.
“ Neh, Fahroz,” Rehada said quietly but firmly. “Anything but that. I will confess to you, to Hilal, to the entire village. Anything. But do not make me confess to her.”
Fahroz had already started shaking her head. “Those are my terms.”
The pain in her hands made Rehada realize just how tightly she had been gripping them. She stared at her palms, each of which now contained four crescent-shaped marks of blood. Rather than storm away, rather than hide, Rehada laughed. Fahroz was right. The Fates had finally caught up to her, as she knew it eventually would.
She breathed deeply and released it slowly. Finally she nodded, and Fahroz returned the gesture. And then the two of them hugged.
CHAPTER 47
Rehada held her arms at her side, conscious of her posture and bearing even though Atiana-standing nearly face-to-face with her-and Fahroz-watching from a comfortable distance-were the only ones witness to it. She grew
