Down at the river, the horn sounded the beginning of the race. Tain gave me a reassuring smile over the cheers of the crowd. “We’ve got through it all so far. I know the thing with Bradomir was—”
“You know I was right about Bradomir,” I said quietly, hovering to the back of the crowd as most of the group moved toward the open side of the marquee to watch the boats fly forward. I added sarcastically, “Since it wasn’t me who poisoned him, despite what certain others seem to think.”
He looked at me sharply, then changed it to a pleasant smile as another Councilor moved nearer to us. Down on the Bright Lake, the athletes cut across the surface of the water with smooth precision, calling out with their powerful strokes. The red Talafar boat had taken an early lead. We watched for a moment before Tain murmured, “We can’t be sure about anything. Bradomir had plenty of enemies. Fortunes know I won’t miss him.”
I shook my head, and fought to keep my irritation down. “It was the same man, Tain, the same one who’s been watching you. He’ll try again, I’m certain. I’ve talked with your Captain but think—”
“Honored Chancellor, Credo Jovan, how pleasant.” Sjistevo Ash had slithered up without me realizing. There was no black left in his hair or beard but he wore more perfumed oil than a man half his age. “I’ve barely seen you this karodee. I suppose we don’t need to be worried about assassins in the rafters today?” His smirk left his cold eyes unchanged.
“Let’s hope not,” I replied levelly. Honor-down, I was tired of this nonsense. “We’ve got a team to support down there.” Said boat was in a distant third; the Doranites’ inexorable rhythm had taken them past the Talafan boat and into what looked like an insurmountable lead, cutting the gleaming water of the Bright Lake like a gliding bird across still skies.
“I heard your Tashen pulled out of the wrestling,” Tain said innocently. “That was a shame. But I suppose it’s for the best—he wouldn’t have come off that well against some of our international competitors, would he?”
“He was injured,” Sjistevo retorted, nostrils flaring. “After some Darfri woman took offense at something he said, he supposedly slipped on the edge of the canal and broke his elbow. On a perfectly flat bit of ground, mind you.” He glanced around, eyes fixing on several of the Darfri Councilors. He didn’t trouble to lower his voice. “Doesn’t pay to offend the Darfri now, does it?” Sjistevo glared at me before striding away, and Tain sighed wearily. All of the Families had been required to pay reparations to the Darfri and other citizens of the estates they had mistreated, in addition to funding schooling and Guild sponsorships, but they had done so with various degrees of resentment. For all that the city had purportedly embraced its religious history—having that religion come dramatically to life by exploding the lake in our faces made it rather difficult to refute, after all—there remained factions ready and willing to blame Darfri magic for everything that went wrong in their lives.
“They can’t seem to make up their minds, can they?” I took a sip of my kavcha and took my attention from the race to check on Dija. She was mid-mouthful, lines of concentration on her small brow. “Am I a paranoid recluse, seeing conspiracies that aren’t there, or am I some secret assassin behind everything they don’t like?”
A grin. “I’ve always said you have many skills.”
“Ha. Shame understanding Darfri magic isn’t one of them.” I hadn’t meant it to come out so sour, but Tain understood, as he always did. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“It’s a new world for all of us, but especially Hadrea,” he murmured, while the rest of the crowd oohed in appreciation at a particularly close passage through the final arch. “It’s been a lot for her to digest.”
The Compact reached with the Darfri elders after the siege had guaranteed funding for fresken training of potential Speakers, including Hadrea, who had reached adulthood without being taught how to develop and use that potential. It was what Hadrea had wanted her whole life, but frustration with her teacher and the pace of her learning was apparent in her bristling defensiveness or sullen silences if the subject came up. “She’s having a hard time,” I agreed neutrally. I had no desire to talk about it, so I looked around instead. “Where’s Kalina? You said the Prince insulted her?” Hiukipi was watching the race with one of the western nobles but my sister wasn’t with him.
Sudden applause erupted as the Doranite team sailed through the finish point. To my disquiet, as I turned to say something to Tain, the Darfri Speaker An-Ostada stood there instead as if we had summoned her.
She was a large and impressive woman, a charismatic presence who commanded attention and respect without effort. She wore traditional Darfri-styled clothing, with layered skirts and a brightly embroidered scarf covering her speckled gray-and-black hair. Heavy decorative earrings pulled her lobes low and swung down near her shoulders, and her eyes, dark and bright in her wrinkled face, passed over me coolly.
“Credo Jovan,” she said.
“An-Ostada. That was … uh, a good race, don’t you think?”
She shrugged one shoulder, as if to admonish me for my petty enjoyment of such trifles. “I need a word with you.”
I blinked. “With me?”
“Was I unclear?” An-Ostada had reached an age and level of power and influence that overwhelmed any instinct for politeness. As I hesitated, she clicked her tongue, visibly irritated. “Outside, please. I do not wish to be overheard.”
I glanced around the marquee. Dija was still at Merenda’s side, listening to the older woman explain something about the race. Merenda had been something of an athlete, and had competed at the Games herself a few years back. An attractive Perest-Avani diplomat had waylaid Tain, but two blackstripes were within arm’s reach, alert. Still no sign of Kalina.
An-Ostada clicked her tongue again. “All right,” I said awkwardly, and followed her outside the tent. Cries and cheers of the crowd, including large thickets of exultant Doranites, clattered around us. We’d never spoken privately before. In Council and in conversations with Tain and the Darfri Councilors, An-Ostada was reluctant to discuss any matters relating to the spirits or fresken and vocally opposed what she regarded as government interference in religious matters. My apprehension turned hopeful; perhaps this attempt at a private conversation meant she was finally ready to have a more candid discussion.
“What can I do for you, An-Ostada? Is there more news from the estates?” For much of the year An-Ostada and her students had been traveling to the various regions of Sjona, learning to connect to the spirits of the land and educating the local populations about how to live harmoniously with these otherworldly beings. In the last few months, though, they had found regions where local spirits had vanished without explanation, and to the bafflement of locals. An-Ostada appeared to consider it an exclusively Darfri matter, but it seemed either a troubling sign our attempts at restoring balance and correcting our errors were failing, or something more sinister. “The Chancellor is taking it seriously, I hope you know, and so am I.”
She fixed me with her stare, long enough to make me squirm uncomfortably like a child in trouble. “It is about An-Hadrea,” she said at last. “I have some concerns. Perhaps if you spoke to her about her attitude?”