The Shining Court by Michelle West

Author:Michelle West
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

15th of Scaral, 427 AA

Tor Leonne

Sendari stared at the bent head of his wife as sunlight dappled her hair, lending it silk's sheen. That hair trailed down her shoulders, pooling like liquid against the surface of outdoor mats. She had chosen, this morn, to wear white, white and gold with a touch of a lovely turquoise that removed the colors from the Lord's Dominion. He should have been suspicious, then. The Lord knew that he had suffered all his adult life from the intervention of women he could not trust.

Wearing a sari that had been his gift when he had been granted a clan's name, she had seemed particularly lovely. She still did; the supplicant posture was absolutely correct.

But Sendari was a man who could appreciate loveliness without being moved by it at all.

The rocks in the garden, the small stunted trees, the flowers whose tints were delicate, rather than gaudily brilliant, moved him more at this moment than the Serra Fiona.

He had never been so close to killing a wife. He might stand on the other edge of that act but for two things: First, he had learned, over time, not to act in anger. Second, and more relevant, he had promised himself—in a youth that was so distant from him there were times when he could not believe it was his own—that he would never make killing an act of passion. The seeking of knowledge, yes. Love, yes. Not death.

"How dare you?"

She spoke to the mats when she finally spoke.

"I am sorry, my husband. I am truly sorry. I did not realize that the Serra Teresa was not welcome in your harem."

"How dare you invite her—from Mancorvo no less—without my explicit permission?"

"I have no excuse, my husband. I am sorry. I judged poorly."

"And she is to arrive when?"

"This evening, if the roads permit; tomorrow, otherwise. She sent word."

"Not to me."

He watched as her pretty, feminine fingers curled slightly around the handle of her closed fan. She had taken to ground so quickly she had not divested herself of her adornments.

"I am sorry, my husband. Forgive me. Forgive me. But the Festival draws near, and it is my duty—because the Tyr'agar has no wife and he has chosen to grace your house with the responsibility—"

"I-am-aware-of-my-responsibilities."

"Yes, my husband. Forgive me. I—I—there is so much to do for the Festival of the Moon; so much has changed in the Tor. The Tyr'agar has cut down the trees and widened the paths; he has changed the pavilions and the platforms by the Lake. What was designed for perfect beauty and privacy has become… more open.

"I am not worthy," she continued. "I have tried to prepare the Tor, but my skills—" She swallowed. He heard it, rather than saw it.

Eyes narrowing, he said, "Fiona, you may rise."

Nothing in his voice offered comfort; he knew it when he saw her lovely face. He wanted to see her speak.

Tears had darkened the corners of her eyes where kohl gathered in the creases sun had worn there, year after year finding some minute purchase that spoke of time's passage.

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