Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [170]
"It is true," I said in a tone of offended dignity.
"Perhaps it is." Kaneka wiped her eyes. "Perhaps it is. So you seek the Melehakim? " I stiffened at the word, sending her into further peals. "Ah, my grandmother would enjoy you, little one! I would not have guessed it so. You tell a story as well as she."
"You know them," I said. "The descendants of the Queen of Saba."
"How not?" she asked, pragmatic. "My grandmother kept the stories for the village of Debeho. Well, then, little one, Death's Whore, if that is your quest, I will allow it. Eavesdrop if you will, and learn Jeb'ez. I will not dissuade you."
"Thank you," I said, inclining my head.
Kaneka looked at me strangely, fingering the pouch that held her dice. "You believe in this story, this curse."
"Yes, Fedabin." Show no weakness, Audine Davul had told us, speaking of the Jebeans. Give every courtesy, and never reveal fear. "If you do not believe ..." I nodded at the zenana, ". . . ask the Aragonians and the Carthaginians here if it is not true that the Straits have been opened for the first time in eight hundred years, freeing traffic to Alba. They may not know why, but they know it is so. I know why. I was there."
"If you were there" Kaneka said, "and what you seek lies in Jebe-Barkal, why are you here, little one?"
Her tone made it clear she thought the question unanswerable. Iheld her gaze unblinking. It was not an easy thing to do, for she was an imposing woman and held the will of the zenana in her power, such as it was. "You are the only one here who claims her gods still answer when she speaks to them. Ask them, Fedabin Kaneka. If they answer, we will both know."
"Ah." A harsh smile curved her lips. "And what will you give me for it?"
"Nothing." I shook my head. "You asked the question, not I."
She glanced over her shoulder, only now becoming aware of the incredulous stares of her countrywomen, of much of the zenana. Our conversation had gone on too long., far too long, to be the denunciation of me that they had expected—indeed, Kaneka had sat at my carpet and heeded my story, had laughed. I saw her shoulders stiffen and her nostrils flare. "I do not need to ask! Everyone knows. The gods of Terre d'Ange are weak and craven, the last-born. While the elder gods seek ways to resist Lord Death, the spineless servants of Terre d'Ange send him tribute!"
There were shouts and clapping from the couches of the Jebeans. Kaneka had risen to her feet to glower at me in threadbare majesty. I remained kneeling, hands folded in my lap, and raised my brows at her. "So says the Mahrkagir, Fedabin. Do you accept his words as truth?"
Her anger held a moment longer, then passed; Kaneka sighed, her expression rueful. "Death's Whore," she murmured. "You spoke truly, little one, when first we met. Whatever else they are, your gods are cruel."
And with that, I did not disagree.
FIFTY
IT BEGAN when I got Erich the Skaldi to remove the boards from the garden door.
Not all of them, only the lowest two, making an opening large enough for an agile adult to squirm through. It was on a day when Nariman the Chief Eunuch was gone for several hours, meeting with the Treasurer of Daršanga to discuss the zenana's accounts. Little enough though we were given, there was still the matter of the kitchen's supplies and staff, water-bearers, servants who emptied the privy closet's chamberpots.
Imriel was haunting the door's alcove, as usual, worrying splinters from the thick boards. I watched the Akkadian eunuch Uru-Azag observe him impassively.
"Greetings, Uru-Azag," I said to him. "Tell me, what would happen if the boy were to succeed, now, while Nariman is not present?"
He turned the same impassive face on me. "He will not, lady."
"Nonetheless," I said. "If he did?"
The Akkadian shrugged and looked away.