Peter Brett - The Daylight War

She froze. Inevera was a common name, and she did not know if Cashiv even knew his dead lover’s sister was now the Damajah. But if he were to see her here …

Dama Baden was not a man she wanted to know where the Deliverer’s mother-in-law was hidden. He might not be foolish enough to threaten her openly, but it was a weakness Inevera could not afford.

I will have to kill him , she realized. Quickly, before he can tell the others …

She readied herself, only to have Cashiv and the others pass by without taking the slightest notice of her. One of the warriors said something, and Cashiv brayed a laugh as they turned a corner.

Inevera blew out a breath. They had not seen her.

Of course not, idiot , she realized. You’re all in black.

Inevera waited in Ahmann’s bedchamber for his return. She wore her pillow dancing silks and jewellery, including a new circlet of white-gold coins, adding wards copied from Ahmann’s crown to protect her from a mind demon’s intrusion to those that gave her wardsight and enhanced senses. She could see the glow of magic as it drifted in whorls across the floor like sand devils, drawn by the many wardings around the room.

She had her own chambers, of course. Finest among all Ahmann’s wives, though each had her own private receiving rooms and a richly appointed pillow chamber for sleeping and entertaining the Deliverer, should whim take him to her door. All were freshly shaved and oiled at all times, ready in an instant for his pleasure.

The magic men absorbed during alagai’sharak — leached as they thrust their warded spears into demon flesh — did more than keep them young, more than give them night strength and heal their wounds. It awakened animal passion — to hunt, to kill, to breed. Even before he had tasted the magic, Ahmann had been a man of great lust. Now his desires were endless, and left many of his wives easing soreness in the bath under the massaging touch of the eunuchs.

But while each wife had fine rooms, none could match Ahmann’s own, and it was there he most often took his ease. His Jiwah Sen took it in turns to await him there with bath and refreshment, clad in bright, diaphanous silk.

The schedule was managed by Inevera herself, one of her many duties as Jiwah Ka . Occasionally she used the dice to adjust the schedule to ensure women were kept with child, but even that was at her discretion. Much like Kenevah’s Waxing Tea, Inevera used the schedule to show favour to those who most pleased her, and disfavour to those who did not.

Those selected would wait upon her as well, and have the Shar’Dama Ka’s touch only when she allowed it, which was seldom. Inevera suffered other women to touch Ahmann for the good of her people — that his ties to each tribe remain strong, and his lust be sated when there were other matters for her to attend — but she took him to the pillows personally more than all his other wives combined. Her near-constant use of hora magic had kept her body young and strong, and her own passions were formidable. Ahmann could seldom relax without a woman to put him down, and she, too, felt her patience thinning when it had been too long since she had taken her pleasure. The other women had her leavings, and thanked Everam for them.

But none of his wives had serviced the Shar’Dama Ka since he took Leesha Paper to bed. Inevera had refused to see him in her ire, and his other wives had been turned away as a man with a new stallion will turn down a ride on camelback.

Despite her mother’s words, Inevera still had to fight to hold her centre at the thought of the Northern whore. When she threw the dice for Ahmann’s first trip to Deliverer’s Hollow and the bones told her he would fall in love with a chin woman and get a child on her, she had scarcely believed them. It was the first time in years she had doubted a throw. Not since the coming of the Par’chin.

Inevera prayed nightly while he was gone that her husband’s heart would hold true, for the dice told only what might be, and not necessarily what would.

But her mother spoke true. Ahmann had not forgotten the Andrah. Killing the man had brought him little peace. She hadn’t touched another since, not even her Jiwah Sen , but it did not matter. She could sense the distrust in her husband like a gap in her wards.

Bedding Leesha Paper and shaming his Jiwah Ka would prove no better balm, but that was something Ahmann would have to learn for himself. Surely the man who allowed Hasik to live — to wed his sister, even — could learn to forgive his First Wife.

Everything has its price , the Evejah’ting taught. Ahmann needed her to win Sharak Ka, and she needed him to give her the powers to do it. As Damajah, she could seize advantages for him that would otherwise be beyond her reach. They must reconcile, and quickly, before the schism became insurmountable.

It was because of that she waited for him this night.

That, and not the ache in her heart.

There was a soft vibration in one of her many rings, and she knew the outer doors to her husband’s chambers had opened. She’d left orders not to be disturbed, so it could be none other than Ahmann himself who approached.

Inevera felt the wind of fear. Would he turn her away as he had the others? Even Qasha and Belina, his previous favourite Jiwah Sen in the pillows, had been cast aside in favour of the greenland woman. Was he bewitched by white flesh as Melan and Asavi had warned? What would become of their people’s unity if it were so? The Damaji and Damaji’ting might suffer his taking a chin woman as a well prize and pillow wife, but to put her on his dais would enrage them beyond reason. Her Jiwah Sen would look to her for a solution, and if Inevera had none, their respect and her power would dissolve like smoke.

But fear had no place in the decisions of an ordered mind. She bent and let it pass over her, falling into her breath and finding her centre. She would confront the problem and repair the damage now, before it was too late.

The doors opened, and Ahmann entered. His breathing was even, but there was the scent of sweat and blood on him, as well as the stink of demon ichor. It was the scent of a man returning from alagai’sharak , and she knew her husband had been at the front of the line, leading men where other leaders commanded from safely behind.

The smell intoxicated her. Countless times he had taken her like that, his lust roaring with the magic that flowed in his veins. She would dance for him, and he would forget bath or sweat room until he had bent her over the nearest bit of furniture and had his way. The memory sent a shiver through her.

All about the room items of hora magic glowed dimly, their power contained by the metal shells that protected their demon bone cores from light. There were wards as well, glowing to heat the water in the bath, to cool the summer air, and to protect the chamber from intrusion and spying.

None of it glowed as brightly as Ahmann himself. The ward scars she had cut into his skin shone with the power he had absorbed in the night’s battle, his crown flared even brighter, and the Spear of Kaji shone like the sun itself.

But for all that he was brimming with power, Ahmann’s shoulders slumped as if weary of a burden.

Inevera waved her hand, activating a ruby ring on her littlest finger that contained a tiny bit of flame demon bone. Candles flared to life around the room, and his favourite incense began to burn.

It was then Ahmann noticed her. He sighed, setting his shoulders and straightening his back, eyeing her warily. ‘I did not expect to see you tonight, wife.’