An Accident of Stars Read online

  A shaven-haired girl with high cheeks and a narrow, stubborn chin stared up at her. Though her clothes were unfamiliar, and her left hand, when she held it out, was undeniably maimed, Saffron was startled by how much the strange reflection looked like her. The shaved head sharpened her features in a way that was almost flattering. The thought was dizzying, and for a moment, she couldn’t see anything at all.

  “Come on,” Zech said, holding out a hand. Saffron took it automatically, her vision returning, and felt a shudder of indescribable relief when the younger girl showed no revulsion at her missing fingers. “We need to go. Yasha’s waiting.”

  “All right,” she said. She didn’t look back.

  Seven

  Hurt, Not Broken

  Yasha, the Vekshi matriarch, wasn’t what Saffron had been expecting. From Gwen and Zech’s descriptions, she’d been picturing some cackling, bent-backed crone going bald with age, like a stereotypical cartoon witch. Instead, and despite the disconcerting incongruity of a woman in her eighties having a shaved head, she reminded Saffron more of Judi Dench: powerful, self-assured, and sharp enough to skewer with a glance. Though her papery skin was frog-spotted in places and slack with age, the scrape of grey stubble across her skull lent a military sharpness to her features, while her eyes were such a distinctive shade of brown as to be almost topaz. They made her look tigerish, and every time they fixed on her, Saffron gulped. Thankfully, this wasn’t often: like everyone else in the room, Yasha was far more concerned with what had happened the previous evening than with the strange girl in their midst.Throughout Zech’s recitation, Saffron kept in contact with her, feeling her Kenan vocabulary expand at a dizzying pace. It felt as if a balloon of knowledge were being inflated inside her skull: the magic was blizzarding her, not just with words, but with images and feelings too, the combination so overwhelming that she struggled to parse the actual narrative.

  Even so, it was impossible to miss either Yasha’s near-continuous interjections or the effect they had on Gwen, who was visibly gritting her teeth. If the matriarch noticed this disapprobation, however, she didn’t show it, continuing to probe Zech on the makeup of the crowd, the presence of the arakoi, the reactions of nearby stallholders. Mercifully, Yasha remained silent as Zech narrated the loss of her fingers – Saffron shuddered to hear it, fighting off a sudden attack of nausea – and once the tale was told, the room fell silent.

  Saffron squeezed Zech’s hand, and was relieved to feel her squeeze back: Yasha’s scrutiny had left them both trembling. For her part, the matriarch sat back in her chair and scowled.

  “I don’t like it,” she muttered. “All Karavos has been buzzing since yesterday. Whatever my little friends have to say, I’d wager it won’t be good.”

  Gwen nodded agreement. “I don’t like that talk of unity in the realm, either – not when Kadeja’s the one saying it. Who knows what she means?” She turned to Zech. “You said she was wearing a taal?”

  Zech’s brow furrowed. “If you could even call it that. It was belted with metal, made of silk–”

  “–half lady, half penitent,” Pix concluded, not without disgust. “Very nice. Next thing you know, she’ll shave half her head and laugh as the courtiers call it fashion.”

  Saffron looked hesitantly at Gwen. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why do her clothes matter? Why shave half her head?”

  Gwen answered in Kenan, speaking slowly. “The taal is a commoner’s garment. There are lots of different kinds, and if you know how to look for it, they tell you who the wearer is. How they’re wrapped, the material they’re made of – everything points to class, wealth, status. It’s not something a noble would wear unless they wanted to show humility. It means Kadeja went to the Square of Gods as a penitent, trying to show deference to Ashasa. But it was richly made, designed to show her beauty at the same time. The Vex’Mara is vain, girl. She claims still to be a priestess – it’s why her hair is uncut – but if she meant true deference…”

  Squashing down her fury at the woman, Saffron scoured her own memories. “Before Zech came, she did cut some of her hair and drop it in the fountain. She was going to cut her arm, too, but then she noticed me.” And all while you stood there wondering what she was looking at.

  Pix frowned. “A small penance, but even so–”

  A sudden commotion from outside cut her off. Yasha stood instantly, her staff in hand before Saffron could so much as blink. The noise grew louder: voices shouting, the stamp of feet, and the unmistakable whinny of horses. This last surprised her, as the only horse she’d thus far seen belonged to the Vex’Mara – and at that thought, her blood turned icy. What if she’s found me? What if she tracked us here?

  “Everyone with me. Now.” Yasha’s tone brooked no disobedience.

  Saffron walked between Zech and Gwen. The latter flashed her a grim smile.

  “This won’t concern you,” she said in English, “but whatever it turns out to be, you keep with me, just to be on the safe side. All right?”

  Saffron nodded, not trusting herself to speak in either language.

  Though she’d caught glimpses of people other than Zech, Yasha, Gwen and Pix around the compound, it hadn’t prepared her for the reality of how many women – and they were overwhelmingly women – were filing through the hallways and out to the courtyard. Blinking in the daylight, Saffron felt a clench of trepidation. The gates were open, though several children rushed hurriedly to close them, and a pair of snorting, lathered horses pranced awkwardly around a third whose rider had fallen from the saddle, one long leg comically raised where his boot was caught in the stirrup. In the middle of all this, a skinny boy with golden skin and hair like black feathers was struggling and failing to grab hold of the trailing reins, trying not to step on the man in the process.

  It was like something out of a pantomime. Yasha made a disgusted noise and clicked her fingers at Zech.

  “Go and help that useless master of yours, will you? And Jeiden, too, if his pride will allow it.”

  Grinning, Zech rushed to obey. She was, Saffron had to admit, quite effective; whereas the boy’s quick movements had startled the horses into dancing away from him, Zech approached calmly, grabbed their reins, handed them to the boy – who favoured her with a truly mutinous stare – and then began to free the man’s boot from the stirrup.

  “Zechalia!” the man called out, lifting his head slightly from the dust. Even to Saffron’s unpracticed ear, his words were decidedly slurred. “Good t’see you! Ugh!” As Zech freed his boot, his leg fell down with a thump that further startled his mount.

  “Matuhasa idi Naha!” Yasha called angrily. “Get up this instant or I won’t be responsible for your sister’s actions!”

  Perhaps it was a side effect of the zuymet, or maybe she was imagining things, but just at that moment, Saffron would’ve sworn that Zech’s whole body went tense. Too quietly for anyone else to hear, she saw the man say something to his student, then Zech relaxed again, and began the laborious process of trying to haul him upright by his armpits.

  Saffron couldn’t say later why she chose that moment to walk forwards and help, despite the strangeness of the situation and the fact that Gwen had specifically told her to stay put. But move she did, earning herself a scowl from the boy and a grateful smile from Zech, who quickly made room for her.

  “You take his left arm; I’ll take his right. On three?”

  “On three,” Saffron affirmed.

  “You’re new!” said Matuhasa, squinting up at her. He tried for what was probably meant to be a roguish smile; it looked more like a grimace. “Be gentle with me, will you? I’ve had a hard ride.”

  “One,” said Zech, favouring him with a stern look.

  “You know, I can prob’ly manage on my own, if you’ll just let–”

  “Two,” said Saffron.

  “Or not,” said Matuhasa. “Remember, be–”

  “Three!” said Zech and Saffron, hauling together.

  With a dru
nken half-roar, Matuhasa braced against the ground, pushed backwards, and somehow managed to stagger to his feet. He was so tall that halfway through his straightening up, both Zech and Saffron had to step backwards. Matuhasa staggered, bracing himself against the neck of the nearest horse, which snorted and rolled an eye at this ungainly treatment.

  “–gentle. Or not,” he muttered, reaching out and ruffling Jeiden’s hair. “Good lad. You’ll see to the horses?”

  “Right away,” said Jeiden, his voice stiff with humiliation.

  “Good lad,” Matuhasa said again, swaying upright and clumsily brushing his hands down his clothes. “Well, then. Let’s go, hmm?”

  Saffron stared at him, trying to work out if Matuhasa –Matu–was the tallest man she’d ever seen. Either way, he towered at a height of well over six feet, positively dwarfing Zech and Jeiden. For all his loftiness and long arms, however, he had no bulk; Saffron’s mother would have called him a tall streak of pump-water. Like Pix, his skin was golden brown, his hair the same glossy black as hers, but where his sister’s was worn neatly in braids, Matu’s was left to cascade freely down his back and shoulders, long enough to swing above the middle of his back. His face was scruffy and his brown eyes bloodshot, but even so, he was undeniably handsome, sharp-featured and straight-jawed enough for a magazine cover. Besides the boots that had apparently been his downfall, he wore fitted brown pants beneath a short-sleeved black tunic that was both like and unlike the ones worn by Vekshi women.

  Kenans might not know what a rock star is, Saffron thought, dazedly, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have any.

  As Jeiden sulkily led the horses away, Matu made a faltering gesture of obedience to Yasha, first cupping his outstretched hands, then closing them together.

  “You’re drunk,” said Pix, into the silence that followed.

  “Very,” Matu replied, still swaying on his feet. His bloodshot gaze slid to Yasha. “But then, I s’pose that’s less surprising to some than others.”

  Now, that’s interesting, Gwen thought.

  There was a split-second pause before Yasha elected to reassert her authority. “All right! Everyone, back to your chores. What is this, a temple day? Matu’s back, and he’s drunk, and that’s it. Move!” She emphasised the final word with a habitual thump of her staff. When Matu had the temerity to grin at this, she promptly whacked him about the legs with it, just as she’d done to Gwen the day before. “And you!” Her glower could have melted an iceberg. “Inside now, before you bring further disgrace to that shambling boarding house you Kenans call a family! No offence,” she added, presumably for Pix’s benefit, but for once the ex-courtier appeared more concerned with her brother’s antics than anything the matriarch had to say.

  Gwen glanced back at Zech and Saffron, and cursed under her breath to see that both were flushed. Though the younger girl’s exhilaration undeniably came from having bested Jeiden in front of the whole compound, Saffron’s reddened cheeks were another matter. To say that Gwen was immune to the pleasures of the flesh was inaccurate – her aromanticism by no means precluded her enjoyment of sex, on those (now lamentably rare) occasions when the opportunity of having some presented itself. Nonetheless, she’d grown old enough to appreciate Matu’s beauty in a strictly ornamental sense, the way she might similarly admire a well-made sword or a Ming vase. Or so she told herself, anyway; it made things easier. She’d therefore failed to anticipate the effect he might have on Saffron Coulter, even if her first impression of him was as an unshaven wreck who’d fallen off his own horse. Which isn’t like him at all, she thought, frowning. So far as I know, he hasn’t drunk since–

  Her head jerked up of her own accord. Matu, Pix and Yasha were already heading back inside, but just for an instant, Gwen felt sure she’d seen a flash of triumph in the old woman’s eyes. Surely not, she thought, but her heart was racing anyway, and as she waved Zech and Saffron over, she forgot to be angry.

  “Come with me,” she said. Exchanging a glance, the two girls obeyed, flanking her as they headed back inside.

  “Gwen?” Zech asked, catching her mood. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m starting to have my suspicions.”

  One thing was certain: Matu wasn’t feigning drunkenness, nor had he been exaggerating its effects. He could barely walk in a straight line, continually trailing a hand on the wall for balance. His black hair swung like a horse’s tail – which, if Yasha’s assessment of his private life could be believed, wasn’t far wrong, assuming the horse in question was a stallion. Ming vase, Gwen thought sternly.

  When they reached the matriarch’s quarters, Matu barged ahead to his usual chair and sat down heavily, resting his head in his hands. He was muttering to himself, and once Pix closed the door behind them, he looked up, and Gwen was startled – and, guiltily, thrilled – to see that he was weeping.

  “You vindictive old crow,” he said, staring at Yasha. “You knew, didn’t you? Why else would you send me?”

  Yasha’s eyes glittered. “It’s true, then? She’s alive?”

  “She’s alive,” Matu whispered. “I saw her. Gods forgive me, but I saw her, and I wept, and I’ve scarce stopped since.”

  Pix sucked in breath, gripping the edge of the table. Her whole body tensed from hip to shoulder, as though she were made of wood. “Matu, if I’d known–”

  “–you’d have sent me anyway. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.” He swiped a hand fiercely across his face, as though such a gesture were all it took to turn off his grief. “Yasha did you a favour. Now I need only hate her, not you.”

  “Who’s alive?” asked Zech, cutting to the quick of it. Saffron looked equally bemused. All the adults froze, as though even saying the name out loud would bring the wrath of Leoden down upon them. Then:

  “Amenet,” Matu said softly. Coming from him, it sounded like a prayer, and even though she’d already guessed as much, hearing it confirmed set Gwen’s head to spinning.

  Saffron blinked. “But isn’t she dead?”

  “She was,” said Matu. “We thought she was, I mean. Everyone did. When she met with Leoden to accept his terms, he poisoned her, killed her guard, then came for her supporters. But whatever she drank didn’t kill her. Instead, she woke up three days later outside the city, protected by men and women she’d never seen before. None of them knew who’d saved her – or if they did, they weren’t telling. Guards don’t have the imagination for long term lies, I’ve found. One of them said they thought a Shavaktiin had got her out, but that can’t have been right.”

  The mention of the Shavaktiin made Gwen think of Louis; it always did, ever since he’d joined that peculiar order of storytellers and mystics. Not, of course, that anyone in the compound besides Trishka knew of it, or of Louis himself, for that matter. Suppressing a maternal pang, Gwen turned a close eye on Matu, wondering how much she ought to revise her previous assessment of his drunkenness. Maybe anger had sobered him, she thought – or maybe he really was that good an actor. Either way, he didn’t slur his words when he spoke of Amenet.

  “She’s been hiding on the border,” he went on, when no one interrupted. “Far enough away from Karavos that no one’s looking for her, close enough to hear the news. And from Veksh, too. All the news from Veksh.” He lolled his head on his palm and stared at Yasha from a drunkard’s angle. “She’s heard a lot about Kadeja, you know. Like how the Kenan Vekshi never spoke out against her joining the mahu’kedet.”

  At that, Yasha at least had the grace to blush. Contrition, however, had never been one of her strong suits. “And what was I to do – endanger everyone under my care for the sake of a dead woman’s pride? What exactly has Amenet been doing all this time?”

  “Healing,” said Matu. “She didn’t die from the poison, but it still weakened her. It’s taken her almost this long to be able to walk again.” He glanced at his sister. “She looked for you, she said, because it’s in the nature of snakes to survive the venom of their own specie
s.”

  “It takes poison to know poison,” Pix muttered, but without any real rancour. Gwen rolled her eyes. Back when she’d been resident at old Vex Ralan’s court, Pix had been famed for her lack of tact as much as for her beauty – but for all that, her loyalties had always equalled her grudges in strength and number. Amenet was a different creature entirely: political to the bone, yet forgiving; graceful in speech and manner, yet sharp as a sword edge when roused. If only Leoden had possessed a lick of sense, he’d have married her instead of trying to dispose of her; but of course, that would have meant a life of constant scheming against a beloved Vex’Mara, one whose family and allies were strong enough to match him when it came to running the realm. Better to kill her straight up, then marry a woman whose instabilities aligned more closely with his own, and who came unburdened with anything so infuriating as independently-minded allies or blood-kin.

  “Sister,” Matu said wearily, “please desist from apportioning blame. You know full well Yasha will hit me again if I leave anything out.”

  “You deserve it either way.”

  “Probably. Oh, gods.” Matu slumped onto his elbows. “It hurt less when I thought she was dead.”

  “Only in your case, which hardly matters,” said Yasha, with typical mercilessness. Somewhat unexpectedly, her gaze then flicked to Gwen. “Well, worldwalker? You’re the expert. Tell us what comes next.”

  Several decades had passed since Gwen was last a student, and yet the matriarch effortlessly made her feel like one. “The obvious option is, replace Leoden with Amenet. He has no heirs yet, legal or otherwise; word is, he hasn’t touched that child Cuivexa of his, and Kadeja is his only other consort. But we’d need an army to do that, and thanks to Tevet, there isn’t one. Or rather,” she said slowly, “not in Kena.”