Mirrorstrike by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

Author:Benjanun Sriduangkaew [Sriduangkaew, Benjanun]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Epic, Dark Fantasy
Google: Yu7CDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07XQHJP3X
Publisher: Apex Publications
Published: 2019-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Seven

Noon comes quickly. When Lussadh looks out the window it is to a city wall on which the sun has poured all its treasury, a largesse of endless gold. So different from in the queen's palace: there the light is wan, as if the queen herself has willed the sky and celestial bodies to her pastel tastes. Lussadh glances at Nuawa, who nestles in the furs, still asleep. It has been strange to settle into intimacy so easily, sleeping together naked, Nuawa's breasts against her back, their legs twined like braided ropes.

She watches the rise-fall of Nuawa's chest, the small but constant motion which signals that the body's alimentary processes turn in proper order. She kisses a pale, narrow shoulder that—like so much of Nuawa—is marked by thin scars. They hint at coherent shapes, like an augur's readings. She pulls the furs all the way up, tucking Nuawa in.

Lussadh puts on a fresh robe that smells of citronella. In Kemiraj everyone knows her preferences, down to the fragrance of laundry. Sometimes she likes to picture what this country will be like after her passing: who will govern it, in what manner. But it will not be her concern. She is no longer prince and succession no longer her task. The most she'd have to do is select a few candidates for the queen to appoint. None of the strife of choosing heirs.

Guryin is waiting in her office, holding a flat paper box in xer lap. "Did you redecorate again, General? I swear this place never looks the same twice."

"It keeps things novel." She does redecorate every so often. Once this office belonged to one of her cousins, her fellow candidate to be king-in-waiting, and she has done what she can to remove traces of that cousin. Currently one wall is covered in masks: theatrical ones from Sirapirat, white horned ones from Yatpun, half-masks in the shape of hawks and monarch butterflies. "How's the prisoner Nuawa brought in?"

"Docile, though she wouldn't talk to anyone else but the lieutenant. She shakes and sweats like she's dying if I so much as pop in to take a look. I thought of leaving one of my shadows in her room, but in a place that small it's going to be ... noticeable." The major waves xer hand. "Especially to the lieutenant, who seems awfully observant. And who is tricky to track—she blinks in and out of my scouts' sight. Very odd, since I never detected any charms on her, and I know she's no practitioner."

"Curious. She wasn't like that in Sirapirat." The court thaumaturge Lussadh brought with her to that tribute game had no issue scrying for Nuawa. Potentially a matter of being a glass-bearer, potentially something else. "What else?"

"Mm. She said in passing that someone witched her wine at the party—not as if she was concerned, so it's possible our lieutenant has protected herself against toxins. Her prime suspect is Minister Veshma, who picked out her glass. Interesting, don't you think?" Guryin turns the paper box over to her.

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