Kushiel's Avatar by Jacqueline Carey

Author:Jacqueline Carey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780312872403
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2003-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

FIFTY-TWO

SPRING CAME to Daršanga.

In the garden of the zenana, it brought a few pale seedlings, straggling, weedy things pushing through the crumbling soil in the corners where the scorched, salted earth was less barren. There was a slow-witted girl from the island of Cythera who tended them whenever she had a chance, crooning over them, bringing stagnant water from the pool inside in a tin cup to nourish them. I would have thought it more like to kill them, but they grew all the same, stubborn little shoots inching toward the sun.

Betimes, Imriel would help her, unexpectedly patient, and I remembered the simple-minded acolyte at the Sanctuary of Elua and her gift with animals—Liliane, who bore my mother's name. Imriel would have known her, of course, nearly all his life. I remembered how our mounts had followed her unbidden. And I remembered too how the Skotophagotis had ridden his ill-tempered ass without so much as a halter.

The gifts of Blessed Elua.

The power of Angra Mainyu.

One of these would prevail, here in Daršanga. And I, who bore this knowledge alone, shuddered under the weight of it. Weak and craven, Kaneka had called the gods of Terre d'Ange; last-born, spineless servants. Even Imriel despised them, and Joscelin ... I did not know what Joscelin believed, not now. He had been Cassiel's priest, once. Now he lived the damnation he believed he had accepted when he chose love over duty.

All around me, the palace of Daršanga breathed darkness and hatred, the hunger of Angra Mainyu waking anew to spring and the prospect of new life to destroy. Its numbers were swelling. From all overDrujan and elsewhere, the ka-Magi returned to the palace, to the Mahrkagir. First there were three, in the festal hall, then five, then eight. The apprentices came too, the scouts in their bone girdles, preparing for their final ordination.

And the Tatar tribesmen came in droves.

Including Jagun of the Kereyit Tatars.

Rushad heard the rumor first, and I prayed it was not true, prayed that Blessed Elua would intercede. 'Twas to no avail. Nariman the Chief Eunuch's face told the tale, his fat cheeks quivering with pleasure as he smiled, his pointing finger summoning Imriel to the festal hall. "You are to attend the Kereyit warlord," he hissed. "See he is well pleased at the banquet!"

Imriel's expression went stony. No one wept for him. I didn't dare.

In the long corridor, he walked like a condemned man going to the gallows, and my heart bled for him. Uru-Azag gave me a sympathetic glance. There was nothing he could do, either.

The festal hall was packed; a full score of us had been summoned. I took my place at the Mahrkagir's side. By this time, it was well established. He kept me next to him as if I were his Queen, even greeting me with a courtly kiss, his eyes mad and adoring. And at his side, I too presided over hell.

The Kereyit Tatars had a place of honor at one of the front tables. I knew Jagun at a glance by the way the others deferred to him.

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