The Black Khan Page 10

  Sinnia nodded at him briskly, taken aback by this news.

  “Yours is a fool’s errand,” Larisa persisted. “They will hunt you into the ground. Better that you escort the Companion safely back to Black Aura.”

  “I can’t,” he said again. “I have a mission to complete. You needn’t worry—anyone who could betray me here I’ve already killed.” He touched the crimson splash at his throat. “This will get me into the Plague Wing.”

  Elena cleaned her sword on the Technologist’s smock. “What is it you seek to find?”

  His eyes met hers, a banked flame in their depths. “Did you never learn why these prisoners submit to the Ahdath’s tortures—why these Basmachi in particular were captured by the Crimson Watch?”

  She frowned at him, unwilling to admit her ignorance of anything concerning her men.

  “They keep the Technologist focused on themselves to draw him away from the Plague Wing. Each man here volunteered. Each has a loved one who suffers the torments of the Plague Wing. It’s what keeps them here, deflecting the Technologist’s attention.”

  Her voice softer now, Elena asked, “And what of you, Ahdath?”

  Illarion shrugged without meeting her eyes. “They have my sister. It’s why I joined the Salikhate. Now go. You’ve delayed too long as it is.”

  Elena’s voice was matter-of-fact as she gathered up her weapons. She had shut her father out of her mind, to force herself to focus on their plan.

  “Take the Companion to Black Aura,” she told Larisa. “Father must decide his course for himself, and you know the way back, so you won’t be needing me. I’ll meet you in Marakand. This Ahdath won’t make it to the Plague Wing on his own.”

  Illarion’s eyes jerked to hers. “What? Anya, no—”

  “My name is Elena,” she said. “And no one knows Jaslyk like me.”

  19

  WINE, MARE’S MILK, HONEY, AND BLOOD. THESE WERE THE LIBATIONS that flowed from the silver tree at the center of the Authoritan’s court. The Ahdath and the doves were gathered in the great hall, as an audience for a program arranged for their amusement.

  The Ahdath commanders who had gathered were eager to prove themselves in combat against the Silver Mage, hoping to earn the Authoritan’s trust, or to impress the coterie of doves whose favors might be won by their display. The Ahdath drank the wine freely; the doves tasted only mare’s milk. A few among the more exclusive ranks of Ahdath were served the blood libation in tiny golden cups. Nevus was among these, his eyes fixed on Arian. When he’d captured her at the Bloodprint’s mausoleum, he’d paid her scant attention. He was a man more focused on his enemies than on the pleasures of the court. But ever since Arian had been collared and dressed in the seductive manner of the doves, his attention had strayed from the Wall. She was kneeling on a stool beside the Khanum’s throne, staring out at the display from the dais. In this ignoble position, she was a curiosity to be marveled at, and marvel the Ahdath did. Their lascivious interest reminded Nevus of the Khanum’s first appearance at the Ark.

  The Khanum had once been the most beautiful woman in Black Aura, but the mask of lead had sapped her vitality and diminished her physical allure. When she’d first come to Black Aura as a gift of the One-Eyed Preacher, she’d been a broken thing, powerless and abused. The Authoritan had made her over in his image, raising her to the throne as his consort—and this without ever tasting of her blood. The Authoritan had been wise: she’d repaid his clemency a thousand times over. Her gifts of Augury were the one thing Nevus knew to respect. They kept him in command of Black Aura.

  And now her attention had diverted to this Companion, the First Oralist of Hira, who knelt on a cushioned stool in a position of great discomfort, her arms bound behind her back, in a pose that displayed her beauty. She was a pet on the Khanum’s leash more than a plaything of the Ahdath, though her flesh had felt firm and enticing under his palm.

  Dressed as she was now, in pale green silks patterned with gold, her hair dressed with jewels and her soft skin shimmering, he knew he would have her and soon. The Authoritan recognized his value. He had never constrained Nevus’s private vices. He had earned this Companion for himself.

  When the First Oralist’s troubled gaze strayed in his direction, he raised his gold cup and knocked back a draft of blood. He touched his fingers to his lips and then to the blemish on his face. When she shivered at the gesture, he knew she understood.

  He smiled, blood staining his teeth and lips.

  The Silver Mage waited for Lania to speak.

  “It is time,” she said.

  “Where do you take me, Lania?”

  “To dress. Tonight you observe the Qatilah against the fiercest warrior of the Ahdath. Either you will kill him or these … encounters between us will come to an end.”

  “If you unchain me, perhaps it stands some chance of enduring.”

  The Khanum smiled. Tonight she was dressed in an excess of luxury, wearing the crimson robe he’d first seen her in. The robe was cinched with a belt of gold. Twelve sprays of rubies that descended from the belt matched the stones in her headdress. On each arm she wore gold cuffs that reached from her wrists to her elbows. These were worked with verses of the Claim inscribed on the cuffs in delicate enamel. Her hair was set high in the front, anointed with a half-crown of pearls that flashed from the long hair trailing loose at the back. Her elaborate plumed headdress was poised upon a pedestal in the center of the room.

  “I foresee you will lose this fight, my lord.” She said it with a smile.

  “If you unchain me I could use my talents as the Silver Mage,” he urged again. When she didn’t reply, he went on, “Who am I to fight?”

  “Nevus. And there is to be a prize at the end of this Qatilah.”

  “What prize?”

  “Whoever wins will be gifted with my slave—the First Oralist of Hira.” And at his look of outrage, she added, “She is mine to dispose of as I wish.”

  “She’s your sister, Lania. She’s spent her life seeking to deliver you. Is this how you repay her sacrifice?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps you will win the Qatilah, after all.”

  “You’ve already Augured my loss. You must unchain me if you are offering up Arian. You cannot let her fall into Nevus’s hands. He will brutalize your sister.”

  Lania shrugged, pearls rippling through her hair. “You will find the daughters of my family are much stronger than you imagine. And did I say I wished you to have her? The talents of the Silver Mage would be wasted on my sister. I thought we had agreed that I am your natural equal. Khawateen!”

  She summoned her doves with a sharp snap of her voice. The beautiful girls of the Transcasp hurried to do her bidding. Daniyar felt himself caressed by many hands, hands that traced and bathed his wounds, clothing him in armor.

  When he was half-dressed and without his breastplate, the Khanum clapped her hands and the doves retreated, kneeling in expectation of her next command.

  “Bring it.”

  The girl with honey-colored hair rose to offer a mother-of-pearl shell to the Khanum. She placed it in the palm of the Khanum’s hand.

  “Let her see this.”

  The Khanum’s doves drew back a curtain that shaded an alcove in the room. The lantern that hung from a brace threw a gilded light over its inhabitant. Daniyar’s breath quickened in his chest. Arian was seated on a tall stool, her arms held behind her back, her circlets polished, her dress exquisitely molded to her body. Was it transparent, or did the light make it appear so? He could not take his eyes from her beauty or from the need in her eyes. Never had she appeared less like Lania—he was struck once again by the knowledge of all he stood to lose.

  “Arian.”

  She couldn’t answer. She was wearing a collar that bound her mouth and throat inside the rough clasp of leather. He read in her gaze that this was a stratagem of the Khanum’s. And he could not promise her there and then that her suffering would soon be ended. If he defeated Nevus—and Lani
a had foretold he would lose this next Qatilah—he would still have to face an army of Ahdath, along with the Authoritan, a man who could break him by raising a pointed finger in his face. And that was assuming he could trust to Lania’s promise. Or that any of his efforts at seduction had swayed her view of his worth.

  What could he do? What would he do?

  He looked into Lania’s catlike eyes and knew the answer was clear: he would do anything he had to.

  Lania circled him, the mother-of-pearl shell held aloft in her palm. A delicate gold dust filtered through the air as she lifted the shell to his chest.

  “You begged me to spare him, so see how I tend him now. I know you will thank me, sister.”

  She dipped one hand into the shell, coating her fingers with the powder. Then she smoothed it over his skin. Though her palm was soft, her nails left a mark. At first he thought she caressed him to provoke a reaction from Arian, seeking to cause her pain. She had loved her sister once. Her time with the Authoritan had eroded that bond—but had it severed it completely? Even his gifts as Authenticate could not read the riddle of her heart.

  He looked down at the hand on his chest and dared to hope. She had spread the powder in a pattern: an invocation of the Claim. She was standing in the shelter of his body, his much larger frame blocking a view of her actions from the gallery, where her glance seemed to stray.

  “He bloodmarked you,” Lania said in a low voice. “I mark you with its opposite.”

  She circled him again, studying the lash marks on his back. “Do these pain you, my lord?”

  Her hand began to massage the golden dust into the wounds. He felt his body relax all at once, agility invigorating his limbs. Whatever her powder contained, it was more concentrated than the loess on the walls of his cell. The burning sting subsided. It was possible to bear her touch. And to realize that she wanted Arian to witness the intimacy of this act. He had been wrong to hope: her pursuit of him was driven by her desire to cause Arian pain.

  Close your eyes, he mouthed, but Arian’s eyes remained steady on his, her self-assurance unscathed. She seemed as delicate as a lily poised upon its stalk, yet her posture radiated strength.

  And he knew then that Arian had always been stronger than he, able to deal his love away in the name of a greater good. The knowledge struck him like a wound, swift and secret and deep, his tension apparent to Lania, whose hands still caressed his back.

  “Does this infringement matter more to you than to Arian, my lord?” A cajoling note crept into her voice. “I have tried to show you what you need, instead of what it is that you seek.” She smiled over his shoulder at Arian, lightly licking his ear.

  “Fight for me.” One hand splayed over his chest. “Win for me and Nevus shall not have her. Do otherwise and it will not matter. My influence with the Authoritan does not extend as far as you think.”

  Poised between the woman he loved and the woman he needed to persuade to his side, Daniyar took the space of a breath to decide. “Will you dress me in suitable armor and give me the poisoned blade?”

  “You shall have anything you desire, if you kiss me and make me believe it.”

  His voice rough, he answered, “Close the curtain, then. Arian doesn’t need to see this.”

  Lania took his face in her hands. He could smell the lead on her cheeks. Her tongue darted out to moisten her crimson lips, lips he had claimed for himself, though he loathed himself for it now.

  “But she does need to see, my lord. That is part of our exchange.”

  She angled her mouth over his. Brutally he gave her what she sought, and she flamed to life beneath his lips.

  “Hold me,” she muttered, and his arms came up to embrace her. In another minute or two, he would be forced to fight Nevus in the rites of the Qatilah, but the real test was here with Lania. When he raised his head, she bit at his lips and drew blood. She sighed her satisfaction, casting a feline glance at Arian.

  “The Silver Mage tastes like no one else. I wonder you haven’t tasted him yourself.”

  Daniyar’s eyes met Arian’s with a mix of reluctance and shame.

  She sat silent and composed on the stool, her head tilted away from Lania, to all appearances unmoved. But the radiant fire of her eyes laid bare her passionate fury. She had claimed Daniyar as hers. She would never deal him away.

  Daniyar was dressed in battle armor by the doves while Lania assumed her headdress. She took a seat next to Arian, running her hand over Arian’s circlets, rearranging the folds of her dress.

  “You are breathtaking, sister. You will draw every eye. You would draw the Authoritan’s eye, were he bound to earthly pleasures. You should count yourself fortunate in your escape.”

  Arian frowned. It was clear she was thinking of Nevus.

  “He is not as harsh a man as you envision. He will not brutalize you for the sake of doing so. My doves have taught the Ahdath finesse. And if you bend to his will, you will uncover his weaknesses in time.” Her eyes darkened. “I would not give you to him of my own accord, but the Authoritan will have his duel. He sweetens it with you as the prize.”

  Lania ran her finger along the lip of Arian’s leather mask.

  “It is a pity to mar your beauty this way, but your desperation may drive you to use of the Claim. And as you would not share its secrets with me …” Lania shrugged, causing the plumes of the headdress to sway, its feathers brushing Arian’s arm. “You will not be permitted to use its potency on others. What would you seek? I wonder. To flee Black Aura with the Silver Mage after he has shared my bed?”

  Arian didn’t believe it. No matter his desperation, Daniyar would never betray her. It was time to make Lania understand that Arian couldn’t be manipulated into losing faith in Daniyar. But when she tried to move the muscles in her throat, working them against the tightness of her collar, her voice refused to respond. Lania patted her knee.

  “Did you think me a novice in the Claim, sister? I learned its cadences long before you did; I learned the use of its many meanings. Why did I not use it against my captors?” She brooded over this for a moment, one hand straying over a gold cuff. “The Talisman are a brute and primitive force, and I was not as strong then as I am now. You must have learned how desperation unlocks deeper reaches of the Claim.”

  Rage flickered across Lania’s face at the flicker of compassion in her sister’s eyes. She grabbed Arian by the throat, ignoring the bite of the collar’s barbs. Arian tried to twist away from the pressure, the muscles of her throat cramping. Lania held her fast.

  “Do you think you are the first adherent of the Claim to be contained by this collar? It has been tested on members of the Salikhate—I used it on Salikh himself. Do you remember learning of his teachings at our mother’s knee? If I could break Salikh with it—sister, you are nothing.”

  “Don’t harm her!” Daniyar called out. “I go into battle as you ask. I’ve said I am yours to command.”

  Lania bent to her sister’s ear. “Do you see? You will be given to Nevus, and I will take your lover for my own.”

  Instead of despairing as Lania intended, Arian whispered a prayer of thanks. The Qatilah ended in death. If Lania spoke the truth, Daniyar’s life would be spared.

  20

  NEVUS MADE HIS OBEISANCE BEFORE THE AUTHORITAN AND THE KHANUM. He looked taller and stronger than Arian remembered, no trace of levity about him. He nodded at Arian, poised on her stool and bound by the leather mask. He considered the satiny flesh exposed by the neckline of her dress.

  “You’re too beautiful to be marked.” He moved his head so she could better see the blemish on his face. “But I will take pleasure in doing so regardless.”

  Though she couldn’t speak the words aloud, Arian recited a vow of reprisal to herself: the Claim was her sword, the Claim was her shield. She need only wait for her moment.

  Missing the deadly promise in her eyes, Nevus turned to the Silver Mage, who waited with his blade poised between his chained hands. Their swords touched be
fore the dais. Nevus recited the oath of the Qatilah, a bleak inversion of the Claim.

  “Die now and die again, unto a world without end.”

  Daniyar echoed the words back to him, and the heft of the rage he kept tamped down simmered through the vow. He didn’t wait, lunging forward and striking first.

  Nevus stepped back, drawing Daniyar out. “I will mark her as the Authoritan marked me. Do you know how it was done?”

  Their swords met, flashing up and away. They circled each other with care.

  “The Authoritan has a brand.” His tone was conversational. “It is composed of dozens of silver needles and bathed in the blood of his enemies. Then it is fired and set to the skin. But the brand does not burn; it discolors.” He dashed a hand at his blemish. “It is a mark of utmost honor. Every one of the Ahdath seeks to earn it.” He drove his point home with a lunge at Daniyar. “The Claim cannot work against it.”

  A cold smile curled Daniyar’s lips. “Then you’ve nothing to fear from the First Oralist. Why not remove her collar? Or is Nevus of the Ahdath powerful only against warriors who are bound and women who are silenced?”

  He had the other man’s rhythms now—Nevus was not a man for idle taunts or vainglory. As Daniyar had done in subtle ways with the Claim, Nevus was using his words to unsettle his opponent.

  Now the men fought in earnest, steel ringing against steel, one man pursuing, the other feinting out of his path. Nevus was battletested, forcing the Silver Mage to give ground with each powerful press of his arms. A nervous anticipation filled the room. Members of the Ahdath shouted encouragement to their captain.

  Only the Authoritan was silent as the Qatilah pressed closer to conclusion.

  Nevus was right. Daniyar’s subtle invocation of the Claim had little effect on his enemy. Nevus struck his armor twice with painful force. He struggled for breath and then was on the ground, tripped up by Nevus’s superior footwork. The sword of his opponent came down, narrowly missing his head. He rolled to one side, pushing himself to his feet, straight into Nevus’s path. A slash at his shoulder, another quick thrust at his neck that he dodged. He fell back panting and Nevus smiled. He didn’t bother with a mocking display of superiority or seek the recognition of the Ahdath, as Daniyar’s other opponents had done, exposing themselves to the efficiency of his sword.