Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [188]
Uru-Azag, entering the zenana, checked at the sight of me. "It is time, lady," he said as I rose. "Nariman is coming with the summons. You are to attend the feast, and the others to come later, when the wine is poured."
"I am ready." I looked for Imriel. He came forward slowly, dragging his feet, all the fear I felt reflected in his face. "Imriel," I said, stooping to cup his face in my hands. "Whatever happens, stay with Joscelin, do you understand? The Mahrkagir will send you to Jagun, but he will be affected by the wine. Whatever you do, don't leave the festal hall with him. Get away as quickly as you can. Joscelin will do what he can to protect you."
He nodded miserably. I kissed his brow and rose. There was no more I could do.
And so I went to the festal hall for the last time.
There was a little silence when I entered the hall. It seemed to take forever to cross it. They are not used to seeing beauty adorned, in Daršanga, and it was not customary for women to dine among the men. The ancient Magi, the true Magi, were huddled in a group under the shadow of the dais; they drew back in disgust as I passed. The men, Drujani and Tatar, stared. Daeva Gashtaham steepled his fingers and smiled.
"My Queen," the Mahrkagir announced, his eyes shining. "My beloved!"
With that, the feast commenced. I do not remember what was served—fish, I suppose, and boar. There was a good deal of fresh boar, due to the hunt. It might have been sawdust for all that I tasted it. I do not remember what I said, nor how I endured it. Once I caught a glimpse of Rushad lingering inside the doorway leading to the kitchens, and my heart beat so fiercely I thought the Mahrkagir must see it through my gown. I didn't even dare glance at Joscelin.
Dinner lasted an eternity, and when it was done, I wished it had been longer. Servants began bearing wine-jugs from the kitchen, Rushad among them, eyes downcast and humble. The first round would beunlaced; we had all agreed it was safest. Let their palates grow numb before we served the drug. Wine was poured, beer and kumis. The level of noise grew as the men drank, and the women of the zenana entered the hall.
No one betrayed a thing. I, who knew, could see it. The careful pavane of jugs, orchestrated by a terrified Rushad, served by stone-faced women. Imriel was attending Jagun, solicitously filling the Tatar's cup. I gave thanks to Blessed Elua that the Kereyit warlord's attention was fixed on the offering-ceremony. Joscelin, unobtrusive, hovered a few paces away, a thing none of the Tatars had noticed. It was a small thing in which to discern that the hand of Elua was guiding us, but it was all I had.
How long would it take, before the effects of the opium became evident? An hour, mayhap longer. No one knew for sure. Drucilla had calculated it to the best of her ability, but there was no telling. The drug was diluted, and some drank more than others.
And some less. The glowering Tahmuras, for one.
I wondered when the vahmyâcam would begin.
Anywhere else, this would be a sacred rite, with all the attendant solemnities. It did not mean in Daršanga what it meant elsewhere. This profane revelry, held in a desecrated temple—in Angra Mainyu's worship, it was ritual. Not all who were there knew, or cared. It didn't matter. The Âka-Magi knew, and their acolytes. The Mahrkagir knew. And I knew it.
And the god . . . Blessed Elua, the god himself knew it. Living under that dark, ravening presence, I had grown half-used to it. I felt it anew that night. Spring had come to Daršanga, and the offering approached the altar. Angra Mainyu was roused, the bottomless maw of hunger yawning open, eager to devour the world. When I blinked, I saw the walls of Daršanga running red with blood. It was in the faces of the men, keen and wolflike. It was in the mad, beautiful eyes of the Mahrkagir, in the loving smile he bent upon me. It was in the air we breathed, heavy as thunder.
Kill. . . die . . . destroy.
Blessed Elua, I prayed in the silence of my heart, hold us safe in your hand.
"Shahryar Mahrkagir,"