The Daylight War. Peter Brett V.

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      So Inevera listened. Listened and tried not to feel replaced. Supplanted. Humiliated.

      She breathed, restoring her calm. The woman would be returning to her barbarian village soon enough, and good riddance. Inevera would reclaim her rightful place in Jardir’s bed, and all would be as it was.

      Perhaps.

      The moans and cries of passion faded, replaced by gentle murmuring. Inevera strained her ears, trying to make out the muffled words. This was worse than the cries of passion and the slapping of flesh. Inevera had watched her husband with other women many times, and knew well the sounds he made, and those he drew from women. Confident in her pillow dancing, Inevera had no fear of anything Leesha could do in love. It was the quiet moments, when he and Leesha lay intertwined, that Inevera loathed.

      ‘Marry me,’ Jardir said.

      ‘How many times must I refuse you, before you stop asking?’ Leesha replied, feigning ignorance of the incredible honour she was being paid.

      ‘If you refuse me ten thousand times,’ Jardir said, ‘I will ask ten thousand more. Come, there is still time. I am Shar’Dama Ka, and can marry us with a wave of my hand. Wed me now, in secret. Your mother and Abban can bear witness and sign the contracts. No one else need know until we deem otherwise, but we would know.’

      Abban. Inevera’s lip curled. He was wrapped up in this, making his own plays for power and Jardir’s ear. He would need to be dealt with, as well.

      ‘Ask me ten thousand times, or twenty thousand,’ Leesha said, ‘the answer is still no. You have enough wives.’

      ‘I will deny them all my bed,’ Jardir said, and Inevera bristled. ‘All save Inevera,’ he amended, and she found her breath again, still stunned at his foolishness. It was said Sharum could not haggle, and Jardir was Sharum to his bones.

      ‘So I would only have to share you with one other woman instead of fourteen?’ Leesha asked.

      ‘You share me now,’ Jardir growled, and Inevera bit her lip at the sound of their renewed kissing.

      ‘We are alone, Ahmann,’ Leesha said, and Jardir gasped in pleasure. ‘For the next few hours, I am not sharing you with anyone.’

      ‘Damajah!’ Melan cried. ‘Your hands!’

      Inevera looked down and saw blood running from her clenched fists. Her long painted nails were sharp, and had cut hard into the heels of her hands. Numb, she hadn’t even realized it. Even now, they seemed someone else’s hands as Melan and Asavi took them, carefully cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

      How had it come to this? How had she failed Ahmann, that he shamed her so? She had seen him trained and educated before the Sharum could beat the potential from him or see him killed in waste. She had handed him a unified Krasia, and given him the tools to drive the alagai all the way back to Nie’s abyss. She had given him four sons and three daughters, and selected Jiwah Sen to keep his bed warm and provide him with yet more children.

      ‘Perhaps I should have selected Northern whores for him to slake his lust for white skin upon,’ she muttered.

      ‘Men are predictable creatures,’ Melan said.

      ‘The first thing they do when they overpower something is hump it like a dog,’ Asavi agreed. ‘Many of the Sharum are developing a taste for pale skin.’

      Still lovers after all these years, Melan and Asavi shared quarters and were always at each other’s side. They had no personal interest in men beyond their seed, and had long since used the dice to choose a father for their daughter heirs, both doing the deed in one night and never seeing him again.

      But for all their bias, the words rang true enough, and Inevera should have anticipated it. Now, because she hadn’t, her husband was bewitched by an infidel whore in the perfumed chamber where they had lain so many times.

      Already Leesha’s whispered advice had begun to change Ahmann, making him rethink centuries of culture and tradition. Some of his resulting decrees were innocuous enough, but others were dangerous, alienating his own people for the sake of Northern sensibilities, forgetting they were meant to be his subjects, not allies.

      They did not have years to treat with the chin. Sharak Ka was coming. In some ways, it had already begun.

      

      7

      Training

      300 AR

      Inevera always hated when her father brought Sharum to their home. She and her mother did all the cooking and serving while her father shouted and swatted at them, making a great show before his friends as they grew increasingly drunk and rowdy, playing Sharak with clay dice. Even before he took the black, Kasaad had forbidden Soli to do work of any kind. ‘You’re a warrior, my son, not some khaffit or woman!’

      When she was younger, the men had ignored Inevera and leered at Manvah, but as she approached womanhood some of those leers had turned Inevera’s way. One Sharum, a disgusting man named Cemal, had even tried to paw at her.

      But though he could not cook or carry, Soli was always there to protect. Cemal’s hand had barely begun to squeeze before her brother put a hard knee between the man’s legs and broke his nose.

      Kasaad had laughed, mocking Cemal and congratulating his son, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at Inevera to see if she was all right. Worse, he had continued to invite Cemal into their home, and did nothing to stop the leering. Inevera knew the Sharum were only waiting for Soli’s attention to lapse.

      Serving her father and half a dozen drunken Sharum terrified Inevera, but not half so much as serving Waxing Tea to the dama’ting.

      A semicircle of velvet pillows was spread on the thick carpet of the dining chamber. Kenevah sat first at the centre, and was immediately served a steaming cup of tea by Melan. The girl was like a wisp of smoke, appearing to fill the cup and then vanishing again.

      ‘Qeva, sit at my right,’ Kenevah bade, gesturing at the pillow there. ‘Favah, my left.’

      Qeva sat as she was bade, as did Favah, a venerable Bride who looked older even than Kenevah. Asavi and another nie’dama’ting stepped forward to serve them.

      Kenevah lifted her cup, and the three women drank. Then Kenevah invited two more Brides to sit, one on each side. They were served hot tea, and all five drank.

      The tea for the next pair of women, served from the same pots, was barely hot. For the next pair, it was merely warm. By the time the last Bride sat and all of them drank, it was cold.

      Food was served in the same order, with Kenevah’s most favoured getting the choicest cuts of meat, though all dined on food finer than Inevera knew existed. The smell of it made her dizzy with hunger.

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