An Accident of Stars Page 7

  Her uniform was covered with blood. She was sore – though surprisingly not too sore – and covered with yesterday’s sweat. Only her shoes had been removed, the black Clarks eerily normal where they’d been placed by the bedside. A strangled noise that was neither a sob nor laughter lodged in her throat. Saffron stared at her hands, at her missing fingers, and remembered dimly the feeling of magic flowing through her: a foreign, fizzing sensation, not quite unpleasant, yet certainly not comfortable, that had knitted her skin together. She found herself wondering how long a wound like hers would take to heal on Earth, in the care of doctors. Weeks at the very least–

  The implications hit her like rough surf.

  Saffron turned and looked at Gwen, not trusting herself to speak. The older woman’s face was lined with exhaustion, her hair in disarray.

  “How long…” She gulped back the question, shying away from the hardest question. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Just one night,” said Gwen, unable to disguise the heaviness in her voice. “Do you remember Zech bringing you back here?”

  Saffron thought of a skinny boy with gentle eyes and strong arms. “Yes. I remember him.”

  Almost, Gwen managed a smile. “Not him. Her. Zechalia’s a girl.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, this simple fact made her want to laugh. Instead, she found herself saying, “My parents will be worried. I told my sister I’d catch her up, but that was hours ago. They’ll think that something’s happened to me.”

  “Hasn’t it?” Gwen asked, softly.

  Saffron felt her throat constrict. Don’t cry, she told herself, but it was easier said than done. She knew what was coming. She stared at her hands, wanting to knot them together for comfort’s sake, but was too repulsed by the sight of her missing fingers. Sooner or later, she’d find the courage to touch the stumps, the impossibly well-healed skin, but not now. Not yet.

  “I can’t go home, can I.”

  It wasn’t a question. Across the room, Gwen sighed.

  “No,” she said, after a moment. “Not for a while yet, anyway. There’d be too many questions about how your hand had managed to heal so fast, let alone how it even happened.”

  “Couldn’t the magic just grow my fingers back?” She hated the desperation in her voice. “I mean, it’s magic, right? Why only heal the stumps?”

  “Healing magic – sevikmet – is miraculous in many ways, but it still has its limits. Most of the time, it does nothing more than what your body would do on its own, only faster – and bodies don’t regrow fingers.”

  “Most of the time?”

  “There are some few exceptions,” Gwen admitted, “but they don’t apply to you. And even if you could somehow convince the temple to try, you don’t get something like that for nothing, and not without risk. When the priest healed you, he used your strength, your physical reserves, to speed a process your body would’ve undertaken on its own – he didn’t try to undo what was done.”

  Saffron frowned, confused. “The magic came from me?”

  “No, no. The magic was his. Think of it…” Gwen paused, chewing her lip. “Think of it like this: if the priest was a woodworker, his magic would be the blade he used, and your body the wood he carved. No matter how sharp the knife, he can only use it to cut what’s there, not make more of it. The wood is finite. The crafter must work with what he has.” She paused. “Most of the time, anyway. It’s a tricky business. The point being, unless you sacrifice something else – and unless we could find a temple willing to heal what would, in their eyes, be a minor hurt – your fingers aren’t coming back.”

  “Oh,” she said again. Silence fell, and in the space between heartbeats, Saffron realised she was crying.

  “Forgive me,” Gwen said, softly. “This is my fault. I was… At your school, I intervened. Incautiously so. I should have just left you alone.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Saffron, rubbing her eyes with her good hand. “You didn’t bring me here. I’m the one who came after you, who jumped through a random portal.” But what did it matter? Her fingers were gone, they weren’t coming back even by magic, and her parents must be worried and there were multiple worlds and she didn’t know what to feel anymore, and so she just cried and sat there while Gwen rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s all right, girl. It’s all right.”

  “Would it have made a difference?” Saffron asked, when the tears had finally stopped. “If that woman hadn’t… if I hadn’t lost the fingers, I mean, if I never fell, and we’d come straight here instead, could I have just gone back home?”

  “Not right away,” said Gwen. “I told you before that Trishka, who makes the portals, isn’t physically strong. Opening one drains her for days, sometimes weeks afterwards, and even if it didn’t, we’d have to find a new portal point, somewhere outside the city walls.”

  Oddly, Saffron wasn’t upset to hear it. But then, she supposed, it would have been a thousand times worse if the only reason she’d lost her fingers and couldn’t go home was because she didn’t know how to ride an alien animal. That thought really did make her laugh, the sound bubbling out beyond her ability to control it. Her family would be worried sick. Mum, dad, Ruby – they’d all be terrified that something horrific had happened to her, and the very worst thing was, it had.

  But so had something wonderful: she was in a different world. And even now, with her phantom fingers aching against the blanket, she couldn’t quite make herself believe that the horror of it outweighed the marvels.

  “There’s nothing I can do.” She’d spoken aloud without meaning to, and yet the words had a calming effect. She turned to Gwen. “There really isn’t, is there?”

  The older woman relaxed a little. “No, there’s not.” She paused. “So. Do you want to know what it is I’m doing here?”

  Saffron straightened. “Tell me.”

  * * *

  Gwen folded her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to fidget. “For the sake of clarity,” she said, meaning, I don’t know how to tell this story, so one beginning’s as good as another, “you ought to know, this isn’t the only other world besides Earth. It’s a multiverse out there. I call it the Many, from manifold, and over the years, I’ve seen a little of it–” Saffron’s eyes widened pleasingly at that, “–but Kena is where I came first, and Kena is where I live. It’s flawed, like I told you yesterday, but I love it here.

  “Now, maybe there’s a world out there with no magic at all, and that magic can’t touch, though if there is, I’ve never seen it. So far as I can tell, all worlds have at least a little magic, even if it’s a secret thing, diminished or misunderstood.”

  “Like Earth, you mean?”

  “Exactly so. But big or little, magic is different everywhere, and here… I told you that I’m a worldwalker?” She made it a question, only continuing when Saffron nodded. “Well, that’s an English translation. In Kenan, I’m a vekenai-asahuda, which more literally means all-worlds pilgrim. We show up in stories and history, and that gives us a sort of cachet, a novelty, when we appear in real life. Assuming, of course, that whoever you’re talking to believes you.”

  Saffron smiled at that, which was the desired effect. Heartened, Gwen went on. “I mention this, not just because it’s something you ought to know – you’re a worldwalker now, after all – but because it’s a shorthand way of explaining how an outsider came to have any influence at Kena’s court. Pix is a noblewoman, a courtier, and once we met, she introduced me around. Not everyone knew where I was from, or believed it if they were told, but enough did that my knowing her gave Pix status, which gave me power in turn. Not much, at first, but after four years moving in those sorts of circles, it accrued.”

  “How did you meet Pix?” Saffron asked.

  “It was Zechalia, actually – the girl who found you last night. She’s Vekshi – most of the women in this compound are, though you’ll hear more about the why of that later – and when her magic came in… Ah!” Gwen made a
frustrated noise and muttered, “I should write you a bloody pamphlet. I’m bound to miss out something important, the rate we’re going.” And then, in a normal voice, “Right. Well. The Vekshi, among other things, are monotheists. They’ve got one goddess to Kena’s pantheon, but in both cultures, those with magic usually learn from their priests and priestesses, a sort of religious devotion. The thing is, there aren’t any Vekshi temples in Karavos, and Yasha – she’s our resident matriarch, who runs this place – she didn’t want Zech to learn from a Kenan temple, because it would’ve been heresy. Not,” she added, irony shading her tone, “that she’s above hypocrisy or even occasional pragmatism in such matters; mostly, she just likes to get her way.”

  Saffron snorted. “I have an aunt like that.”

  “So do I,” said Gwen. They grinned at each other, sharing a moment of unity, until Gwen waved a hand, determined to get things back on track. “Anyway. There are trained mages outside the temples – kemeta, they’re called – though being freelance, they’re usually considered a bit disreputable. So Yasha, who wanted the best for Zech, hunted around for one with a bit of a pedigree, and finally stumbled on Matu, who’s Pix’s brother. Pix decided to vet us on his behalf – because we’re not exactly reputable, either – and, well. There you go. Following?”

  “Just about,” Saffron said, wryly.

  Gwen snorted. “Fair enough. At any rate, that’s how I came to be at court. How Pix and I ended up involved in the succession debate, though… Well. Partly, it was just proximity. Mostly, I suspect, it’s because the whole thing was a nightmare, and we were both, for various reasons, seen as objective parties. We weren’t the only ones to throw our hats in the ring, but we’re the ones who fucked it all up, so here we are.” She paused again, considering what to say next, and steeled herself for the inevitable segue. “Changing the topic not as wildly as you might think, what do you know about polyamory?”

  “Um,” said Saffron, with a deer-in-headlights look. “That it, um… exists?” And then, frowning slightly, “Wait, do you mean polygamy, or is that something different?”

  “Polygamy means one man, many women, and that’s not what we’re talking about. Polyamory is when multiple people are all in a relationship together, regardless of gender. And Kenan marriage, the mahu’kedet, is fundamentally polyamorous. Usually, you start with a core couple or trio, and then other partners are brought in later, though it works in a lot of different ways. Maybe everyone sleeps together, and maybe only some people do, but any children are raised communally, and every household takes its name from the most prominent member.”

  “Most prominent?”

  “Most powerful or accomplished, and don’t think nobody ever argues about it, because they do. If you want more details–” and here she teetered again, on the precipice of admitting her own marriage, “–Pix is the best person to ask. She has two husbands, Araden and Pelos, and a wife, Mayenet. But right now, we’re talking about the royal family, and for them, the mahu’kedet has different rules. By design, it’s a hierarchy – it’s meant to mirror the marriages of the gods, lots of specific affiliations between roles and tiers and deities, but you don’t need to know all of that now. What matters is, the children born to the royal mahu’kedet don’t necessarily have royal blood, and while most noble families prefer to pick their heirs based on competence, not birthright, it’s different for the throne.”

  “But how do they know whose children are whose?” asked Saffron, blushing slightly. “I mean, are there rules about, um, about having sex, or–”

  “Magic,” said Gwen. “It’s called maramet, the blood-spark. Among other things, it’s used to determine paternity, though it’s commonly part of healing. A specialisation, rather than a discipline in its own right – but I’m getting off track again.” She took a breath. “The point is, the ruler before Vex Leoden – Vex Ralan, his name was – died without either siring an heir or naming one. Killed in his sleep by an aneurysm, no sign of foul play, though you can be sure there was plenty of speculation and panic before Teket’s Kin gave their verdict. So: a sudden death, the court in flux, and everyone scrambling to see who’d get the crown. You still with me?”

  “I’m with you.”

  “Good. There were three main contenders: Tevet and Amenet, sisters related to the royal line through their mother, and Leoden, who was Ralan’s nephew and born to the mahu’kedet besides. Which made things tricky – Ralan had always favoured Tevet, but Amenet was the elder, and neither sister was likely to step aside for the other without a fight. Which left Leoden, who was younger than both, but had the closer blood claim. Not an ideal situation, to say the least. Factions started forming almost before Ralan was cold, and the way things were headed, the worry was that we’d end up in a civil war. We wanted, Pix and I, to make sure it didn’t come to that. The best laid plans of mice and men.” She laughed bitterly.

  “I won’t bore you with the politics of how and why and who helped, but in the end, we came up with a possible solution: if Tevet and Amenet would support Leoden, he’d bring them both into his mahu’kedet as Cuivexa and Vex’Mara – that is, his most powerful marriage-mates. It was Leoden’s idea, of course, though he made us think it was ours. There was plenty of negotiating on all sides, but in the end, only Amenet agreed to Leoden’s terms. Tevet didn’t.”

  Abruptly, Gwen fell silent, the grief of it lodged in her throat. Saffron watched her, silent and still, and though her lips parted, she didn’t ask.

  Softly, Gwen said, “When Leoden met with Amenet, he ambushed her. Killed her, and all her faction leaders. Tevet was furious; we offered to stall with negotiations, give her more time for her levies to arrive, but rivals or not, she’d loved her sister. Wanted to avenge her. She tried–” she broke off, laughter jagged at the painful absurdity of it, “–gods, she tried to siege Karavos. It was her forces that broke the walls, but once she was here, she had to try and fight her way through the city. You’ve seen the streets. It’s a maze, uphill, and even if she’d had all her forces, it would’ve been nigh impossible with Leoden entrenched on the high ground. He picked off her troops on approach, and by the time she reached the palace, all he had to do was circle around and cut off the remainder. It was a massacre. He hung Tevet’s body from the walls afterwards.” My fault. My fault. She bowed her head, and breathed until she could speak again. “He didn’t want the competition, you see? Didn’t want to share power. If Leoden had really married Amenet, she was independently loved enough that his rule would have been a constant negotiation. Instead of Tevet, his Cuivexa is a young noble girl from one of his faction’s families, and instead of Amenet his Vex’Mara is a former Vekshi priestess, one whose people exiled her for the same heresy she’s now determined to spread throughout Kena.” Gently, she reached over and tapped the back of Saffron’s maimed hand. “You met her yesterday, in the Square of Gods. The Vex’Mara Kadeja. She’s the one who took your fingers.”

  * * *

  For a long, silent moment, Saffron couldn’t breathe. She’d been taking care to follow Gwen’s story, trying to get a sense of the situation, but at the mention of Kadeja, everything went blank. She stared at Gwen, dimly aware that she was still talking – something about gods and omens, Vekshi laws and blasphemy – but unable to process any of it. “She cut my fingers,” she said, numbly. “She cut my fucking fingers!”

  She wanted to laugh, or scream, or maybe both. A queen… An almost-queen – the Vex’Mara – had cut off her fingers and dropped them in a fountain. How the fuck was anyone meant to process a thing like that?

  She was saved from trying to answer by a fortuitous knock at the door. Without looking up, Gwen called out in Kenan, and in came Zech, the skinny girl who’d rescued her. Seen in daylight, her skin looked calico, like a cat’s fur: mostly pale, but splotched with varying darker shades in streaks and shading. Her eyes were grey, her face pleasantly androgynous, and her hair – which, weirdly, was also grey – hung raggedly at jaw level. She was small and wiry,
dressed in wide-legged pants and a square-necked tunic top, both made of washed blue cloth embroidered around the hems with white vines and flowers. Her feet were bare, and in her hands was a tray of breakfast: strange foods whose thick aroma of yeast and sharp herbs caused Saffron’s mouth to water.

  She was the perfect distraction. Saffron almost cried with gratitude. “Good morning,” Zech said – in Kenan, Saffron was startled to note, and yet the words were intelligible. Her gaze whipped to Gwen, who smiled and stood up, snagging a strip of flat, pale bread from the tray. “Zuymet,” she said, by way of explanation. Biting into the bread-thing, she chewed and swallowed meditatively, then said, as gently as before, “You’re in good hands, and I need to speak with the others. Let Zech teach you some Kenan, and then you can both join us. Until then, stay. Eat. Get cleaned up. I won’t be far away.”

  Almost, Saffron begged her to stay. But then she caught Gwen’s gaze, and knew she was being given the chance to digest their conversation in private – or, better still, to pretend it away entirely, at least for a while.

  “OK,” she said, and forced herself to smile.

  * * *

  Zech waited until Gwen was gone from the room before setting the tray down and dragging the chair over to Saffron’s side. Saffron watched her with sharp resignation, as though nothing Zech could do or say would surprise her. Impishly hoping to disprove this attitude, Zech resettled the tray on her own knees, gestured to its contents and said firmly, in the language her magic told her was called English, “Eat.”