The Tower Broken(104)

‘Your Majesty …’ Grada seemed about to curse, but she held her tongue.

Mesema knew she had made a mess of things; she needed no reminder. ‘Listen, do not be angry with me. It will not alter the situation.’

Grada sighed and touched the twisted hilt of her Knife. ‘You must change your guard.’

‘No.’ When Grada frowned, she added, ‘If I do, they will know I am afraid. If I keep the same guard it will show I have no reason to be ashamed – and I will not provide them any further gossip.’

‘I am only concerned that this is more serious than it seems. Daveed—’

‘That has occurred to me too,’ Mesema admitted in a low voice. ‘But I do not believe it. This can wait until after the battle … if we survive.’

Grada gave a slight bow. ‘If that is your decision, Your Majesty. But know that the Knife of Heaven will serve the empire if required.’ Mesema did not know whether Grada meant by that she would kill Dinar, Arigu or the child. The comfort she had felt with the Knife dropped away: Grada could kill even Sarmin, if she thought there was a call for it. She had been relaxed, as if confiding in a friend, but Grada was no friend, nor was Nessaket. Even Sarmin had to balance his affection for her with the demands of empire. She had no friends.

She returned to the bench and faced the great web of fire. It had grown, stretching its tendrils higher into the air, adding green and yellow to its mix of colours. She had heard those in Fryth and Yrkmir could sometimes see bright lights in the northern sky and now she wondered if the army camped before the walls saw any similarity here. But such curiosity no longer mattered; it would never come to anything. They had failed. She had failed.

The heat pressed against her skin; the Storm stood in the way of the mountain wind. And yet a small breeze picked up, blowing petals and dead leaves in a tiny whirlwind around her feet. They rose and blew through the hands of Mirra’s statue, then drifted towards Mesema, settling all around her with gentle touches of rose-scent.

Mesema knelt before the stone goddess. Mirra had sent her a message, just as She had so many months ago, in a different garden, out in the desert. Mesema stood and studied the carved face, limned by the coloured lights of Govnan’s fires. Healing, peace, the growing of things: that was Mirra’s way – but it worked after wars, not during them. With soldiers camped outside the walls it did not seem to be Mirra’s time, but perhaps that was the point – it was easy to follow one’s beliefs when they were not being tested. It was always Mesema’s impulse to look for peace, to love, and she thought she had failed – but Mirra had faith in her. Perhaps there was still something she could do. If this was the only sign she was to receive, then she would pay attention. ‘Thank you, Goddess,’ she said aloud, ‘I will honour you as best I can.’ Light played along Mirra’s arms as if in answer.





45



Mesema


Sarmin waited at her door, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. At first he leaned on the wall, his eyes on the rug, and she thought he was too tired even to meet her gaze. But then at last he found his way in, closed the door and settled on her cushioned bench, facing away from the mirror. He leaned forwards and put his head in his hands. ‘We have found Adam, but not my mother or brother. He says he let my brother go. I fear the first austere’s hand in this.’

She went to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘I regained my pattern-sight, but I can do nothing with it – it is like seeing the words, but not being able to read them. Neither Didryk nor Farid have the talent I once had. Yrkmir waits – the first austere waits – and Govnan cannot last forever. Mesema’ – he reached up and took her hand – ‘I wish I had sent you south. I wish my mother—’

‘I know.’

‘I think the duke regrets his alliance with me. The Yrkmen are strong, and their first austere has magics I cannot touch – not as I am. But I have both Adam and the duke, which is what they want. I could hand them over, say the words of love for Mogyrk … but would it save us?’

She thought of the Red Hooves her father had held captive, and the things they had preached to one another while she played in the grass. ‘No, it would not. Listen: they want to wipe the world clean so that when it dawns again, all will be new. To them we are nothing more than filth to be washed away.’

‘Adam claims to think differently.’

‘Some of them carry the light of their faith, others carry the sword.’ It was so with all things, not only gods. She knelt down before him and brushed a curl from his cheek. ‘Do not betray the trust of the duke.’