5

Maryam

The cold morning air was thick with the noise of Samudabad’s busy docks; fishermen had pulled into port and unloaded their catch, a merchantman from Priestfall had brought aboard her seemingly endless boxes of spices, and a frigate of the Samudabadi Navy was embarking a company of marine infantry. Then, there were the smells – of the fish, and the spices certainly, but of the city itself which was but a short walk away from the docks. Under a cloudless sky, Eliza stood on the deck and observed the everyday lives of thousands. Ordinarily, the sight would have calmed her, but now she saw the people go about their daily lives with dread. Irritated with herself for being constantly depressed, she forced a smile and looked away from the scenes of life and looked, instead, for Harishki and Dazhyen on deck. They were to be, at least for a part of the day, her travelling companions.

She had decided to go off-ship that day for two reasons. First, she liked being around Dazhyen and had wanted to show him the parts of the city she knew. Second, she wanted to visit the Azure Palace and visit her childhood friend, Princess Hereditary Maryam Tophi. The Tophis had been great friends of the Mawers for some generations now, as both families were from the Uttar Raegis and now ruled over foreign lands. The Tophis were, however, Grand Princes or Princesses while the Mawers were Kings and Queens. This disparity in land, wealth, and title did not meddle in their friendship, and they had remained – throughout their two centuries of history – the staunchest of friends. Eliza harboured an ulterior motive for the meeting however. Maryam was gifted with limited magical abilities. Limited, at least, compared to Eliza, and a tenacity that bubbled under the surface. Eliza had no idea what lay in store for her, but she had a feeling that the Gaunt and the fight with this Keegan-Trith would soon consume her days.

It was a foolish impulse, she knew, but it would be nice if she could convince Maryam to join her.

Having not yet spotted Dazhyen and Harishki, she turned her attention back to the city. The air was warm now, and she had long discarded the blankets and shawls she’d wrapped herself with while becalmed. For this warmth, a consequence of the fact that they were nearer the equator, she felt relieved and grateful. For the day, she had picked out a green dress, made of fine cotton, and embroidered with figures from an ancient Sapti poem, the Usurpea. The poem narrated events of great heroism and heart-breaking sacrifice that had taken place, so it said, not far from Afor and, as such, the Afori people had claimed the poem as their own – Azdavery, Sapti, Duoist alike had claimed it. A small token of unity, it made her smile to wear the dress for that alone.

“Hullo!” Dazhyen’s cheery greeting sounded, and she turned to see Dazhyen and Harishki approaching her. They were in their muftis, which flapped in the morning wind. Dazhyen’s eyes remained locked on hers for longer than usual, but soon, after sharing a smile, they moved on. The rest of the morning went by quick after that, with her and Hari – who seemed to know quite a bit more about this city than even Eliza – showing Dazhyen around.

As they walked through that city, climbing up and down its many near vertical slopes, Dazhyen reminded her of an excited pup. She knew that he’d had a sheltered upbringing, in one sense of the word, but only now did she see just how much of the world had been hidden away from him. The city’s qualities as a city were of little interest to Dazhyen, for Afor was a much grander city than Samudabad, but he often stopped at the mouth of an alleyway just to marvel at the construction of the buildings along it. Oftentimes in cities across the Purvat Ahi, a road – flanked by gorgeous and colourful buildings – ran downhill such that it perfectly framed the Bayn Sea. On that calm, still day, the sea was shifting and dancing slowly, with the sun bouncing off every low wave. Above them, streamers of coloured paper were hung from balcony to balcony, flying proudly over the streets. The colours were of the Princedom’s flag and standard – purple and white.

At one point, they found themselves stopped near the peak of the city, resting at a fountain that overlooked the city and sea below. The sun had risen high now and it had become much warmer than Eliza had anticipated. So, she sat herself down on a bench, her back to the fountain, and fanned herself with a dainty hand-fan that she’d bought. Hari, meanwhile, drank nosily from the fountain. “This world is truly beautiful,” Dazhyen said to no one in particular, standing at the edge of the plaza, his eyes fixed on the sea.

“It is, Dazhyen, and I am glad that you’ve had the opportunity to see some of it,” Eliza shadowed her eyes from the now blazing sun with her hand and stood up. “But unfortunately, boys,” her voice was loaded with excitement, “I must leave you now. I have an appointment to keep, with an old friend!” as she said so, she turned around and looked up, at the bright Azure Palace – named for its colour – perched atop the city, glinting in the sun.

She wondered how her friend was doing, for it had been some years since last they’d met. Maryam was a year younger than Eliza and the pair of them had been fast friends since childhood. She was, also, nothing like Eliza. Where Eliza was cool, collected, and orderly, Maryam was mischievous and too curious for her own good. These, they discovered, had been complementary virtues and their friendship had remained strong for decades. Now, though, the duties of adulthood had pushed them apart, despite the siege. Eliza shuddered as she remembered those days, which were darker than Maryam allowed herself to know.

When she was 19, Maryam had been sent – along with most of the young women of the Samudabad court – to finish her schooling in Afor, since the armies of Damad had laid siege to Samudabad. At the end of the war, which Samudabad won, she was recalled. From what Eliza understood, she was to be married to the heir apparent of Sunrise – the Prince Hereditary George Maldon – but had heard little from her since. All Eliza knew was that Maryam still lived in the Azure Palace, which told her that Maryam’s marriage to George must never have materialised.

By the time Eliza had arrived at the Palace’s gate, beyond which lay a beautiful manicured lawn through which wound the footpath that led to the door, she had begun to sweat quite considerably. Soldiers of the Red Watch, a regiment named after their distinctive red uniforms, stood guard at the gate. An officer approached her, and Eliza grinned up at the man. “Major Trost!” she said enthusiastically, and the soldier’s hard face softened. He’d been in charge of Maryam’s security in those years she spent at Afor while Samudabad lay besieged. He was a large man, in his late 30s, with fiery red hair that stood out when contrasted against his olive skin, and a moustache the size of a carpet brush. On his lips, there was a smile of recognition. “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” Eliza continued her greeting.

“Your Majesty! I did not recognise you for the sweat,” he saluted. “Shall I tell Her Highness that you have come?”

“Oh, no! I want it to be a surprise.”

“Very well,” he stood aside and ordered the gate opened.

She smiled politely at the guards, and walked briskly past them. It was not the proper fashion, by any means, for a Princess to show at the doorstep of another Princess not only alone and without escort, but having sweat to the point of smelling! But this did not bother Eliza, who had begun her spirited walk to the main door.

Eliza immediately recognised the butler who answered, who also immediately recognised her. Gregory Lock was a kindly old Dunwennish man, whose hair had long taken leave of his scalp and mustered itself instead in a bushy moustache, and whose stomach often entered the room before the man did. He was also the best manservant that Eliza had ever known and had spent those long years of the siege taking care of both Eliza and Maryam (much to the consternation of their respective madams).

“Your Majesty!” he smiled warmly down at her, for he was over a foot taller, and held the door wide open. “Hello, Lock!” Eliza said cheerfully, planting a kiss on his cheek as she used to do when she was younger. Lock did not protest much, and only said “that is perhaps inappropriate, Your Majesty, for you are now a grown woman – no longer are you the child I once knew!”, which he then immediately followed up with a chuckle. Once inside, he showed her to the sitting room and went to fetch Maryam.

The sitting room was among the better ones, in Eliza’s considered opinion. Many nobles and title-bearers considered ostentatious displays of wealth and power to be the height of taste – however the Tophis were more restrained in their decoration. The Tophis were, and had been for some generations, a family of scholars and books were to be found everywhere in the Azure Palace. Even here, in the Blue Sitting Room (palaces had many rooms, each of which served a specific purpose and were named for their most distinctive feature), there was no escape to be had from the family’s immense collection of literature. On the far wall, there was a row of bookshelves and a series of reading and writing desks. On the windowed wall that looked out over the east of the city, there were more bookshelves still – though these were smaller and fewer in number – and in the centre of the room lay the sofas. These were immensely comfortable and a welcome change of pace for Eliza. While she waited for her old friend, a footman brought her tea and cake prepared in the local fashion (an odd fruit called starfruit was turned into jam and layered between two slices of sponge), before leaving her once again to wait. The remaining two walls of the room were bedecked in gorgeous paintings, the hero of which was the piece The City in the Sands by the Medean master-painter Grancino Gamboni. She was studying this painting, which depicted the city of Priestfall – the largest city on Alma – when, from behind her, she heard:

“Well, butter me up, chuck me in the oven, and call me a biscuit!” Eliza had barely enough time to turn around before Princess Maryam Tophi had engulfed her in a hug. “It’s been too long, Lizzie,” this immediately annoyed Eliza, “too, too long!”

Maryam was, by all accounts and by any description, a beautiful woman. Though she too was Uttaric like Eliza, her skin was a shade brighter and her face was irritatingly symmetrical. Her hair, black and curly, framed her face perfectly as it fell naturally to her shoulders, and her nose seemed to be handcrafted. Her eyes were a deep shade of green and beautiful to behold. Her figure, too, was a masterwork. It was not, however, these details that mattered to Eliza in that moment.

“I’m trying to eat cake, Mar!” she protested as her friend released her, though her cake was now smeared across her face and crumbs had fallen into her dress. That, she knew, would irritate her for the rest of the day.

“It is good cake! Did you know, the jam is made in the palace?” Maryam switched track without taking a breath.

“Yes, I know that. Of course, it’s made in the palace! Your father won’t tolerate sweet made by unknown faces with dirty hands,” said Eliza, as they both sat down and both picked up a slice each.

“Yes, papa is a weird one… Not as weird as your ‘father’, though!” she chuckled as she ate. “Oh, by the way! Have you heard?”

Eliza did not have time to respond, but was certain that she had not heard whatever information Maryam was about to relay to her. “The Atashgah fellow in Casata was murdered!” Eliza stopped mid-chew. “Yeah! A mail ship came by a couple days before you pulled in, and brought us the news. Apparently, the chap who did it was some sort of master assassin – no one saw him enter or leave!”

“Really?” Eliza did not have to work too hard to show surprise, for she had been shocked that Maryam knew of this. “Do you know what happened?” Maryam was now pouring herself some tea. She pulled her leg up and folded it underneath her, the other still dangling off the sofa. “Oh, if Stapith saw you now!” Eliza joked and Maryam giggled at the reminder of her stern mistress.

“She’s been dead nearly a year, so that would be difficult!” she said with a mouthful of cake.

Eliza’s question went unanswered as they both now nursed their expertly made teas. Eliza sipped and asked her next question. “How have you been, Mar? It’s been nearly 3 years since last we spoke! I’ve missed you,” her friend looked at her with curiosity.

“Have you not gotten my letters?” she was puzzled.

“Eh? No! I had no clue you’d sent letters!” Eliza was suddenly heartbroken. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mar! I don’t know why I didn’t get your letters, I’m so sorry…” Maryam broke out in laughter. “Oh you, dickhead,” Eliza laughed in spite of herself.

“Oh, I’ve not had the time to send too many letters, Liz. To you or anyone else, really. I’ve only just returned, in fact, from Grand Circle College in Adhikabad!” she explained herself. The Grand Circle College was an institution that specialised in the training of those born with the ability to affect the meya. Not pur raktali, exactly, but something approaching it. People, that is, like Maryam – who could control fire and water, but nothing else.

“I’m just about better than I was, to be honest… but I can exercise greater control now! Watch,” and as she spoke, droplets of hot water spilled through the spout of their kettle and rose into the air, as if they could not fall. “It’s tricks, mostly. I’m not very powerful,” Maryam sounded almost disappointed. “In front of you,” Eliza had shown Maryam some of what she could do with the meya, “I am incomparable, to tell the truth.” Maryam sounded almost despondent. But soon her smile reappeared. “Remember what your father told us? When you made me show him my abilities?”

“What? That the meya is balance? Therefore, you can control fire and water, for one without the other would be imbalanced?” Eliza cast her mind back, but that was all she could remember.

“Yes, that. But also, that I had a rare gift? Turns out he was right. No one in the Grand Circle College could do elemental manipulation – I was the only tatvait. Largely, my cohort was just wizards and witches.”

“Ah, yes! Spell-jockeys,” Eliza let out a sigh. In the rare subset of people that were born with the ability to interact with the meya, wizards were the most common. They could exert their will only by making their intentions clear – by verbally casting a spell they commanded the meya to obey. Theoretically, anyone could become a wizard, for it was a learned skill. Still, it was easier for people who could feel the meya. Wizards, therefore, settled for what they called magic – motes of fire, spells of light and shadow; that sort of stuff. They were largely tricks, and could easily be dispelled by tatvaits like Maryam, and left no lasting impact on the world.

“Don’t worry, I treated them like your father would have. Burned an idiot’s face by accident, though. She was trying to work a spell to put out a candle while I empowered the flame.”

“And? Were you punished?”

“Ha!” she laughed aloud. “It was her spell that failed, so they punished her.”

As they ate the last of the cake and chatted about things inconsequential, Eliza spoke up. “Mar, you shouldn’t compare yourself with me,” she seemed to have taken her friend by surprise. “What I can do… it’s just pure chance. Gunada called it a roll of the dice. What you can do is still a thing of great power, Mar,” there was a sincerity in her tone that she rarely used, and Maryam smiled slightly.

“I know, Liz. I just… I want to be powerful.”

“Why?”

“Well, why not?” That, Eliza felt, was a good enough reason, but not the truth of the matter. Still, for Maryam’s sake, she let the matter drop and switched subjects.

“Why did they teach you only parlour tricks at the College?” Eliza was genuinely curious.

“They did – at least, they would have. You see, I enrolled myself in the college after the engagement fell through,” immediately she forestalled Eliza’s question, “the Prince Hereditary Maldon, it turned out, was a vile man. My father chucked him out, and his entire family. Almost caused another war!” she laughed awkwardly, as if it were true. “And so, my future uncertain, off I went to make something of these powers,” she stared down at her open palms, above which the droplets of water and tea danced a foxtrot.

“Then I met a man in the College. I was certain he was the one – I almost wrote to you about him! He just wanted my money, it turned out, and when it became clear that I did not intend to sign my family wealth away, he left without so much as a goodbye. I couldn’t stay in the College after that humiliation.”

There was silence then, broken only by the rhythmic sipping of tea. “I could kill him,” Eliza was only half-joking when she broke the silence and Maryam laughed aloud. The smile had returned to her as she spoke again. “Truth be told… I want to get out. I feel stifled here. This place has been a prison, of my own making but a prison nonetheless, for the past many months.”

“Well, come with me! Spend some time in Afor!” Eliza offered without hesitation, leaping on the opportunity. For a split second, she felt a stabbing of guilt. She couldn’t force Maryam into the fight, she realised. So she wouldn’t – but she would present her the option.

“I was rather hoping you’d say that,” Maryam smirked and was on her feet in a second. “I shall go pack,” she cast her gaze outside – it was early evening now. “Why don’t you spend the night here? I’ll have a place set at the dinner table for you, and I’ll send a message down to your ship.” Eliza felt that this was not an invitation, and was more a command, but she was hoping to spend the night regardless and was more than happy to oblige.

It was to a symphony of seagull calls that the Heiress put to sea yet again. It was early in the evening and Maryam had retired belowdecks immediately after boarding, taking her maid – a tiny woman called Fae – with her. Eliza had forgotten that Maryam did not much enjoy life on the waves. For her part, Eliza continued her evening tradition of dining while watching Dazhyen train. The rest of the day was filled, for Eliza, by reading or catching up with Maryam after many long years apart. But no matter how she filled her days, or how enjoyable her evenings were, her nights were filled with haunting thoughts. Odehi’s face, his limp body, and the dark disease which struck him down were all she saw in the blackness of the night, when the world was silent and she was alone. But, of course, she could not speak of this to anyone on that ship – not that she wanted to, for each night she reached the same conclusion; she needed to speak to Gunada and Raidas, as they were the only people who could make sense of the Gaunt.

It was in this quiet and unremarkable fashion – quiet, that is, for all save Eliza – that they made their final few days’ journey to Afor, before finally the city loomed large on the horizon.

It was a sight Eliza would always love – the towers climbing into the sky, the lantern lights flickering endlessly, the Blue Temple unmistakable on the edge of shore. Immediately, she felt her muscles relax and, in that moment, she realised how tense she had been since leaving Casat. Not even re-uniting with Maryam had relaxed her so. Eliza was standing at the fore of the ship, observing the city as it moved ever closer, when she heard a shuffle behind her.

It was Maryam, who had braved the constantly bobbing top deck and come to observe alongside Eliza. “Bessamere mark my words, Liz,” Eliza wished she would stop calling her Liz in front of the crew, but she could do nothing to stop it, “this is my favourite sight in the world. Watching Afor, breathing in its every detail, as it comes ever closer.” Eliza turned back to the city and smiled. She missed her friend and she was glad that Maryam was back in her life. She hoped Maryam would stay, but it was not her fight she reminded herself.

When, finally, they tied up on the pier, Maryam left quickly, and did not linger – after all, they would see each other constantly, given that they would be staying together in the Palace. However, she did not have the time she would have liked to have had to say goodbye to Dazhyen. She learned that he was staying with the ship as the conditions of his release allowed him to do so without issue. and that he would be coming down to train with Master-at-Arms Cermak while the Heiress was dry-docked for maintenance. That was all the conversation she had time for, however, as – within minutes of her setting foot on dry land and striking up conversation with Dazhyen – a pair of Lifeguards approached her. The Lifeguards wore sparkling silver cuirasses (which were more symbolic than of any practical use), under which they wore the flowing uniforms that were coloured their regiment’s colours. Their helmets were plumed and they wielded fine sabres which were paired with even finer flintlock pistols. Often, they carried muskets or rifles, but these two did not.

She observed them marching down the pier in perfect lock-step, like a pair of flames in the day’s fast fading light. Eliza seemed to be the only one not awed by the two Lifeguards, as people scrambled to get out of their way, for they stopped for nothing and no one. Beside her, Eliza could feel Dazhyen tense up and, had she glanced him, she would have seen him frozen in something nearing fear. But as it was, she was focused on the soldiers that were now within a few feet of her.

“This is where I must leave you, Dazhyen,” she turned to her friend, her voice snapping him out of his paralysis. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” his voice trembled with trepidation, but he seemed to have calmed down as he’d realised the Lifeguards were here for Eliza, not him. They’d now come to a stop, hands on sabres, and one of them spoke up, “His Majesty summons you, Your Highness,” he said without looking at Eliza. The other one was sizing up Dazhyen.

“Goodbye, Daisy,” Eliza said as she wrapped her arms around a still-stunned Dazhyen, whose eyes were fixed on his own boots. The hug, however, he returned as warmly as he could. Eliza surmised that he too knew it would be some time before they saw each other again.

The carriage ride back to the palace had not calmed Eliza’s nerves. With every display of ordinary life to which she bore silent witness, the dread in her deepened. The bakery with a long line as people queued for evening tea and biscuits, the library teeming with students, the markets overflowing with merchants – they were all in danger and she was powerless, utterly and completely powerless, to protect them. She could kill and she could fight – but what use was that against the Gaunt? What could she do against, ostensibly, the will of a goddess? For that matter, she thought, what could Gunada or Raidas do? They were mortals too, after all, despite all their power and skill.

No, a voice inside her rebelled, they must have an answer. They will. She chose, in that moment, to believe that voice of hope and pushed aside her fears. Still, she could not help but imagine what the city would look like after the Gaunt had torn through it.

“We’re here, Your Highness,” one of her escorts knocked gently on her door, and only then did she realise that the carriage had been standing still at the Palace doors for a few minutes and she’d been sat inside motionless. "Yes, thank you," she said, putting on a show as if she meant to take her time, and got out. Immediately she set off for Gunada’s private study, without paying attention to her Lady’s Maid who had come to welcome her back home.

The door to the study was open – which was a first – but slammed itself shut behind her when she entered. Immediately, she found herself tangled in Gunada’s hug. “It is good to see you again,” his voice was heavy with relief. “Word of Odehi’s death reached us long before you did,” he said as he pulled away, and now that Eliza could finally see something other than the fine silks of Gunada’s clothes, she saw Raidas standing by the window, arms folded. “Welcome back,” he said with a slight smile.

“You did well,” said Raidas, who did not move to hug her, “in killing Odehi. Sit,” his voice had changed and Eliza knew to do as she was told. Gunada, too, sat in his own chair across the table from her and spoke just one word; “Well?”.

Eliza then, began her tale.