Markswoman (Asiana #1)(60)

“It is simple, Navroz,” said Tamsyn. “I am surprised that no one else has thought of it. I will present my plan at the meeting in Sikandra, and I am sure that it will be accepted. Please don’t let me keep you any longer; I am sure your pupils await you.” She waved her arm, signifying that the meeting was over.

“You aren’t going to tell us what your plan is?” asked Felda through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about it, my dear Felda,” said Tamsyn sweetly. “Concentrate on those equations of yours—so critical to the well-being of our Order.”

“You can hardly expect our cooperation if you do not tell us what you intend,” said Chintil tightly.

Tamsyn laughed. “On the contrary, Chintil, I know you will cooperate fully with your Mahimata. As will the rest of you.” Her voice was laced with the Inner Speech. Her dark eyes were filled with amusement. They rested on each of the four elders, one by one. When they came to Navroz they lingered a bit longer than on the others. Navroz stiffened, refusing to let slip the slightest emotion under that intrusive gaze.

Finally Tamsyn nodded, as if satisfied with what she had seen. “You may go,” she said.

*

No one spoke until they were outside the caves. A cool breeze had sprung up, and Navroz inhaled the fresh air gratefully. An encounter with Tamsyn always left her breathless and with a pounding headache. She rubbed her temples, hoping the others wouldn’t notice.

“Well, she certainly put us in our place,” said Chintil.

Chintil Maya was younger than most of them, though not as young as Tamsyn, of course—and the best Hatha-kala teacher the Order had seen in generations. At one time, some fifteen years ago, Tamsyn had been her favorite pupil. That had been before Tamsyn overtook them all in both Hatha-kala and the Mental Arts, becoming second to none but Shirin Mam herself.

It was not only Tamsyn’s talent, of course, that had prompted Navroz to announce her as the new Mahimata. In the shock and confusion surrounding Shirin Mam’s death, it had seemed the right thing to do. Tamsyn was the Hand of Kali, the natural successor to Shirin Mam.

Now, however, Navroz was not sure that she had acted wisely. During the ceremony to initiate Tamsyn as the Mahimata, all the torches had flickered out, plunging them into darkness and dismay. It was an ill omen, a harbinger of the bleak times to come.

It was not only the debacle with Kyra, unfortunate as that was. It was the fact that Navroz was no closer to the truth of Shirin Mam’s death than she had been that first night, when she saw the twisted shape of Shirin’s body lying on the floor of her cell. In that moment she had the insight that nothing was as it seemed, that Shirin herself had arranged to be found like this by Kyra. But as time passed she was no closer to understanding why, or even how.

Navroz studied the faces of the other three. Gentle Mumuksu with her motherly ways, gruff Felda, who would be chagrined to know that even a novice could see past her rough exterior to the soft heart within, and capable Chintil, strong and unwavering in her convictions. How much did they know? How much did they guess?

“I have a bad feeling about the clan meeting,” said Mumuksu, sitting down on the dry grass and fanning herself with a leaf despite the cool breeze. “She can undo in one day what it has taken Shirin Mam a lifetime to build. What are we going to do, Eldest?”

They all looked at Navroz expectantly.

“We do the only thing we can,” said Navroz. “We wait.”

The other three nodded as if she had said something of surpassing wisdom.

*

Nineth had been expecting the summons since yesterday evening. Still, when it came, her stomach seized. Tamsyn wanted her in her cell.

“Right away, apprentice,” said Baliya. “Don’t try to run away again, or I expect she will kill you.”

“I wasn’t trying to run away,” said Nineth, scanning the cavern and the passages leading off from it. But there was no sign of Elena; perhaps she was helping Navroz with her healing work.

“Trying to find your friend?” said Baliya, catching her glance. “I wouldn’t bother. She’s in solitary meditation—a small penance for her terrible performance in Mental Arts today.”

Nineth’s heart sank. She followed Baliya down the corridor to the Mahimata’s cell. What penance would she get?

They entered the Mahimata’s cell and Baliya bowed. “Here she is, Mother.”

“Thank you, Baliya,” said Tamsyn. “You may leave. I will take care of our little runaway.”

Baliya simpered and left, throwing a malignant glance in Nineth’s direction.

Nineth stood in front of Tamsyn’s desk, trying to slow her racing pulse. She didn’t want to betray her fear. Tamsyn fed on fear, lapped it up like a cat slurping milk.

The Mahimata tapped an elongated nail on her desk. “Why were you at the paddocks yesterday evening, saddling Kyra’s mare?”

Nineth licked her lips. “I wanted to exercise Rinna, Mother. No one rides her anymore.”

“Indeed,” said Tamsyn. “How thoughtful of you. And yet, that doesn’t explain why you were carrying a sack of provisions.”

Oh no. She’d forgotten about the food. “Provisions?” Nineth pretended confusion. “Oh, I asked Tarshana for some food because I had missed the midday meal. I thought I’d have a little picnic.”