Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(17)
Naranpa closed her eyes. If Iktan thought it might be subterfuge, then she must consider it. It wasn’t that she was naive, but… oh, perhaps she was naive. She hadn’t been the head of her society long enough to achieve Iktan’s coating of cynicism.
“Kiutue certainly left me a mess,” she murmured. “The Sun Priest weakened, the cultists empowered, the societies at odds. But even he could not have foreseen this.”
“Nara.”
“Yes?” she asked, eyes still closed, chin resting on her chest.
“There have been others.” It was a quiet admission, but it threw her even further off-balance. She lifted her head, eyes wide, pulse suddenly racing, as if the danger was in the room with her.
“What?”
“One other, anyway. I took care of it.”
“You…” She crossed her arms over her stomach as a low anger bubbled in her gut. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was hoping I would not have to.”
“Iktan.” She fought to keep her voice steady, her nerves from fraying. “Carrion Crow?”
Silence.
“And you let me walk through Odo today?”
“If I thought you were in danger, I would have—”
“But I was in danger!” She made herself take a deep breath.
“I was not convinced.”
“But you are now?”
Xe shrugged, a small lift of one shoulder, but it was the most doubt she had ever seen xir show. Iktan might not admit it to her, but the assassination attempt today had rattled xir.
Naranpa spoke calmly, rationally, but her voice held disappointment. “I know the others think I should be no more than a figurehead, but I did not count you among that number. I am not a child you have to keep secrets from. I need you especially, tsiyo, to have faith in me.”
Xe said nothing, and xir face, that damn lovely face, was impassive.
“Go,” she said, weary.
“You need me.”
“Of course I need you.” She sighed, annoyed because xe had made her admit it aloud and because it was all too true. “But right now I need to think. And sleep. I haven’t slept for thirty-six hours, and we have Conclave at high moon. How can I convince the Watchers to take me seriously when it seems I must persuade you, too?”
Iktan uncurled from the bench and walked to the door. Xe paused, a hand against the frame. “Let me take care of this, too, Naranpa. It is not a matter of persuasion but of duty. Mine, not yours.”
She wanted to acquiesce, but she could not. Xe had always made her feel safe, but there was a fine line between protected and coddled, and hiding things from her only made her feel weak. And there was one thing she had to know. “Did you not tell me because we were… we used to… you don’t believe me capable?”
Xe cocked xir head, tiny lines of confusion marring xir forehead. “You have never done anything to make me think you cannot perform your duties.”
“Yes, but…” She pressed a hand to her neck, frustrated. Well, perhaps xe did not think less of her because they had once been intimate, but for one reason or another, xe certainly considered her a child. Or maybe she was being unfair, letting her own insecurities lead her. “Does anyone else know about the first attempt?”
“Only my own dedicants.”
“So they knew when I did not?”
“As I explained—”
She held up a hand. “No, Iktan. When you keep things from me, it undermines my authority, and I am trying to assert some authority despite the fact that Kiutue left me little to work with. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” xe murmured. “Anything else?” Xir words were normal enough, but Naranpa sensed a thread of annoyance underneath.
“No.” She ran a tired hand across her face. Waved her once lover and now personal knife toward the door. “But don’t do anything without consulting me. Can you promise me that? Then I’ll see you at Conclave.”
“I would not miss it for all the stars in the sky,” xe said, and that time she caught the contempt plain enough. “Truly.”
CHAPTER 6
CITY OF CUECOLA
YEAR 325 OF THE SUN
(20 DAYS BEFORE CONVERGENCE)
The sailors of Cuecola are the finest on the Meridian continent and therefore the known world. I had had occasion to sail upon a dozen different ships throughout my travels around the Crescent Sea and never did I doubt their strength and endurance or the savvy of the captain. It is through their labor that Cuecola grows in wealth and stature every day and the riches of the world collect in their coffers. The Cuecola sailor is truly their greatest asset.
—A Commissioned Report of My Travels to the Seven Merchant Lords of Cuecola, by Jutik, a Traveler from Barach
It had all started so well.
Balam had led her through the city and down to the docks where they had found the bathhouse he promised. She’d wanted to linger in the steam, but he had insisted that time was of the essence, so she’d scraped the dirt from her skin and washed her long hair with yucca and crushed lavender, rinsed her clothes and beat the damp from them against heated rocks, and decided that it would have to do. At least she no longer smelled of a night in jail.
The docks themselves stretched across marshland and inlets of seawater. All around her stilted reed paths ran like bridges across the increasingly deep waters where long flat-bottomed canoes that could accommodate twenty men or more were tethered to broad wooden docks. Crews hauled ashore bales of quetzal feathers in bright blues and reds, vats of rich brown honey, and mounds of salt and turquoise, the last trade of the year. Laughter and the sound of labor filled the air, and for the first time that day, Xiala had relaxed. This was her place, her people. Not even among her own Teek did she feel this at home. Commerce, work, the smell of the ocean. This was where she belonged.