Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(97)
He held out the figurine. It was a mermaid, beautiful and detailed, as fine as the best art by the best artisans in Cuecola. “A gift. So that you remember me fondly.”
“No…” She heaved, the balché she’d consumed over the gaming table churning in her stomach. She pressed a hand to her mouth and kept it down, but her whole body had begun to shake. Because if Serapio was the one prophesied, then that could only mean one thing.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
She shook her head, but he couldn’t see it. “No!”
“Do you need a healer?”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she whispered, horror shivering across her skin. “Tell me it’s not true.” She was crying, tears running down her cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. But it was no good. She was drowning.
“Tell you what is not true?” he asked.
“That you’re going to Tova to die.”
CHAPTER 33
CITY OF TOVA YEAR 325 OF THE SUN
(1 DAY BEFORE CONVERGENCE)
The Four Societies of the Watchers must always work together for the benefit of the people of the Meridian. If there is a disagreement before them, it shall be settled in Conclave before the full delegation of Priests and Dedicants. No subterfuge shall be tolerated, for the Watchers are a body of Reason and Science and beyond the petty squabbles of humankind.
—The Manual of the Sun Priest
Naranpa had been locked in her room for a week after her visit to the Maw before Iktan came to visit her.
She had not been idle. She had convinced the servants, the girl Deeya and the boy Leaya, to aid her. Deeya had agreed to discreetly look for a possible message from Carrion Crow meant for her, and Leaya had agreed to carry a note to Ieyoue Water Strider letting her know of Naranpa’s fate. And Naranpa had listened, just as she had when she herself was a servant, and tried to learn what she could. But being confined left her with scant opportunity to discover what the priesthood was planning.
Zataya’s pronouncement of her impending murder had initially unnerved her, but the immediacy of the threat faded with the passing days. And seeing Denaochi again was an unexpected comfort in and of itself. But as the solstice approached, she knew her time to act was running out.
She had thought to tell the priesthood what she had learned from Denaochi, warn them of the storm coming from the south or the Odohaa’s restlessness. But she suspected they already knew and did not believe or believed and did not care. And if she spoke now, she would have to explain Denaochi and her visit to the Maw, and perhaps reveal her outreach to Okoa and Ieyoue. No, best to keep silent and let them discover it on their own.
The Priest of Knives slid into the room on a whisper. Xe was dressed informally in soft gray, a long skirt and mantle, hair freshly shorn to xir skull. She was loath to admit it, but she still found xir physically attractive, beautiful even. Damn her traitorous heart. But at least she had the sense now to know she could not trust xir anymore.
“What do you want?” She tried to keep her voice calm and flat and hoped her roil of emotions didn’t show on her face.
Xe leaned against the wall by the door and crossed xir arms. “The solstice is tomorrow.”
“I’m well aware.” She arched an eyebrow. “Have you decided to have me resume my duties after all?”
Xe almost smiled. “No.”
“How’s Eche?” She managed to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“He’s competent. Not particularly creative, or smart, for that matter. But he knows how to play the political game. He’ll do well.”
“And me?” she blurted. She hadn’t meant to ask, but she wanted to know.
Iktan sighed. “This confinement is only temporary, Nara, until after Carrion Crow has been dealt with. We’re gathering support from the clans, and Eche is very good at that.”
“You mean he’s an ass-kisser,” she shot back.
“Brown to his ears.”
She smiled, despite herself, but her amusement quickly faded. Her hands were shaking again, but her voice was steady, almost light. “You know the rules as well as I do, Iktan. The Sun Priest serves unto death, so don’t lie to me.”
“An exception will be made for you. I would not have agreed to this without it.”
She scoffed.
Iktan shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable. She knew that look. Xe was going to ask her for something she didn’t want to give.
“I need the mask, Nara.”
Her breath caught. She looked involuntarily over to the narrow dressing table where the burnished mask of the Sun Priest was displayed. She had cleaned it after the riots, wiping Okoa’s blood from the gold mosaic.
“Skies,” she whispered, clasping her hands together in her lap. “Even now, I guess part of me didn’t think this was real, that you would truly go through with it.”
“It’s real.” Xir voice was not unkind.
Naranpa forced herself to stand. The walk to the dressing table felt like a march of miles. She lifted the mask and ran a hand over the broad cheek, admiring the craftsmanship. Wearing it had been the culmination of a lifetime of dreaming, twenty-three years dedicated to the priesthood. But all that looked foolish now, a child’s dreams dashed to nothing.
She walked back and placed it in Iktan’s hands.