The benefit of telling the truth, as Rory had once said, is that no one believes you.
The young women tittered and smirked. The steward frowned, her gusty sigh a whip of disapproval. But the older women looked thoughtful, and an elder abruptly declared she had it in mind to have a story. A djelimuso sang the tale of Keleya Konkon’s prodigious cooking pot, which was, in truth, an exceedingly grand story. I did not get to hear the end of it, for a male steward arrived.
I had been summoned by the mansa of Four Moons House.
I thought I would be asked to pour wine for the mansa’s noonday dinner, where at least I would get to see Vai even if I was not allowed to speak. But the steward escorted me instead to the most splendidly decorated suite of rooms I had ever seen, all gilt trim and ceilings painted in a distinctive style that intermarried Celtic knotwork with the arcane symbols of the Mande hunters. An armed attendant locked me into a small antechamber, where I paced rather than sitting on the cushioned bench. A latticework window overlooked a parlor, from which double doors opened onto a larger audience room beyond, where men circulated, talking. I looked for Vai but did not see him.
The mansa entered the parlor together with the Two Gourds mansa, an elderly man with a seamed face and black hair shot through with white. They stood by a window overlooking a garden, too far away for any ordinary mortal to overhear, but I cast my threads through the tangling magics of the House and listened.
The mansa of Two Gourds House spoke in a low voice. “His birth is low but his power is clear, so I have not questioned your plans. But now Lord Marius returns and tells me the girl has been working with Camjiata. That she was the general’s agent all along, and seduced your young magister into doing the general’s work. Are you certain this course is the wise one?”
“Leave him to me. I have him coming along just as I wish. He will guard his mother’s honor with his own.”
“And the girl?”
“She is part of my plan. He is badly infatuated with her.”
The Two Gourds mansa clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “A woman is wet clay. If he does not shape her to obedience now, he will have trouble later.”
“Lord of All, my brother, you must have felt ardent about one woman or another in your youth! Never mind. What matters to us is that for all he is the most cocksure of young men, he desires above all things to seem a man in her eyes.”
“Yes, yes, I vaguely recall how it was to be young and led by my passions. I suppose he will get her pregnant soon enough. But a Phoenician mercenary house is not a worthwhile ally. I understand it was your council’s only way to bind the Hassi Barahal clan back when they had information about the general at the end of his first campaign. I can see why you married her to him when you thought he was of little utility to your House. But now he is your named heir! If you mean to follow through with it.”
“Despite every hesitation, there is no better candidate. You know what he did at Lemovis. It would be better to kill him than to see him defect to the general. But to kill one as powerful as he is would be a terrible deed we would all regret. He belongs to Four Moons House, and now I have made sure of it.”
A chill of horror spun through my bones.
The Two Gourds mansa went on, “Is it true the marriage contract constrains you? I would give you my youngest daughter for him, even as a second wife. She has seen the boy and approves.”
“It was a chained marriage. Magic binds our hands in this regard.”
“Is the Phoenician girl truly worth that much to you?”
“You will soon see.”
A steward appeared at the far doors. “Your Excellencies, if you will.”
The men flowed away into a room I could not see from my unlit prison. I heard men’s laughter and the clink of utensils as they sat down to their meal.
That sounded ominous.
Footsteps scraped the corridor. The lock clicked, the door opened, and a steward led me into the dining room. Two Gourds was a traditional household. The old mansa’s young kinsmen served their elders while his wives and daughters poured wine for the more than thirty men in attendance. Vai was describing how a cold mage might defuse a square of riflemen without getting killed.
“The risk to the cavalry will be great, but that risk arises regardless. If the cold mage is placed at the center of the horsemen, the riders can sweep in and out at speed. The proximity of the cold mage to the combustion will kill their shot. If it is coordinated properly, then a second cavalry charge can break the enemy square during that interval when the riflemen and cannon cannot fire.”
“An excellent idea,” said Lord Marius, “but horses will not break a wall of infantrymen.”
“Lancers? Mounted crossbowmen? Longbowmen can surely do damage from a distance. The point is that Camjiata relies on superior firepower, and we can render his guns impotent in bursts. And then take advantage of their weakness.”
The entire table might as well have been feeding him fruit with their own hands, the way they were seducing him with their respectful attention. The young woman who had made slighting comments about Phoenician baby-killers and whores offered him more wine. He glanced up with a smile that stabbed right through me, until his gaze flicked past her and I realized the smile was for me. The Two Gourds mansa raised a hand for silence.
Every person in the room turned to look at me. Six djeliw were present.
“So, young Andevai,” said the old Two Gourds mansa. “Let us see what your wife can do.”
Vai’s smile vanished. People whispered as they cast glances at me. It took me a few moments to realize my expression must have matched my heart. I was no actress, to pretend to a bland, agreeable character that wishes nothing more than to jump through hoops like a trained dog. My gaze raked the table, for I was determined that these high-and-mighty men would not see me cringe or smile to please them.
It was a high-and-mighty gathering indeed! Six mansas were present: Four Moons, Two Gourds, Five Mirrors, and Viridor of White Bow House, as well as two others I identified by the tasseled whisks hanging from their robes. A Roman legate wearing the purple stripe of his rank was flanked by four fawning young tribunes. Lord Marius sat at the other end of the table beside an ornately dressed man who was surely the Parisi prince. At least ten other Celtic-born princely lords with their thick mustaches filled out the august assembly.
“She’s just a girl,” said the legate. “She doesn’t even look like a Phoenician, if you ask me. But it would be like them to cuckoo a child into a nest of magisters, would it not?”
Lord Marius raised his glass of wine mockingly, as if toasting me with Amadou Barry’s blood. “We dare not bring in a mirror, for fear she will cut a door and through it flee with the young man in tow. But let us see what else this strange creature can do.”
“Eh? What manner of creature is she?” demanded the Parisi prince, lifting a pair of spectacles to his eyes to peruse me more clearly. “Bold Hunter! My grandaunt was northern-born, up in the princedom of Carn. When I was but a little lad she used to frighten us with stories of black-haired beasts who had eyes the color of amber. They crept out of the ice and turned into lads and maidens to tempt the willing and then rip out their throats.”
My hands curled into fists. My chin came up.
Vai said, coolly, “I cannot sit and listen to my wife being spoken of with disrespect. I will not tolerate it.” He paused to survey the table. No one spoke. The legate coughed. Lord Marius set down his glass with the nod of a man who has just won a bet with himself.
Vai’s gaze settled on me. The tension in his shoulders spoke more loudly than words. “Catherine?”
I was not a dog to perform tricks.
But I could not be the means by which he lost face in front of all these men.
So I wrapped the shadows around me, and vanished.
In the eruption of commentary and astounded exclamations, I padded over to the table, snagged Lord Marius’s wineglass, and drained it. The wine rushed down my throat, pear essence kissed with a faint rind of peppery oranges. I flung the glass into a corner, where it shattered most pleasingly while I skated over to where Vai sat.
My lips brushed his ear as I muttered, “Don’t push me too far.”
Last I walked to the djeliw, who watched my perambulations with astonishment as our mansa watched
