The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(27)
A heavy burden, this unwanted reason to live. Yet in his innermost heart, he could not lie to himself: it was a relief, as well. The Superior had been right to require this of him.
“We have duties to complete,” Ehiru said at last, and after a moment the boy took a deep breath to compose himself, then nodded. A fine replacement indeed, in spirit if not truth.
Ehiru turned and led the boy out of the Water Garden. They stopped in the silent, dim Hall of Blessings to kneel at Hananja’s feet, where they asked Her to divert a fraction of Her attention from the Eternal Dream long enough to guide their endeavor. Then they left the Hetawa by the Gatherers’ Gate, and went out into the night.
Ehiru had chosen not to travel the streets or rooftops this time. The hour was still early; too many of the city’s folk were abroad seeking entertainments, or working now that the day’s heat had faded. Ehiru and Nijiri had both disguised themselves as wealthy highcastes, so they traveled as highcastes would—hiring a small carriage drawn by a strong young man of the servant caste. With Hetawa-provided funds, Ehiru paid the servant to take them directly to the bronze gates of Yanya-iyan.
At the palace, other carriages had arrived to dispense passengers, and a number of waiting guests milled about the gates and courtyard. Most of them wore the rich colors and silks of foreigners—dignitaries in town for Hamyan Night—and all of them chattered loudly of the sights they’d seen and the pleasures they’d tasted and how marvelous was the Prince’s hospitality. Ehiru had chosen to disguise himself as a wealthy shunha, which allowed him to glide through the crowd in haughty silence. Shunha scorn for foreigners was infamous; none of the guests even tried to speak to them. He drew Nijiri along in his wake as if the boy were a servant or favorite, and was pleased to see that Nijiri played along perfectly, keeping silent with his eyes downcast. The guises were so suitable that the gate-guards waved them through without a second glance until Ehiru paused to flash the Hetawa token concealed in the palm of his cupped hand. The guard who saw it stiffened and looked up at them for a moment, then jerked his head again to send them through.
Word would spread, Ehiru knew—first through the guards, then the servants and lowcastes. By dawn even the royals would know that a Gatherer had been in the palace on Hetawa business. Thus no one would suspect rivals or criminals when the body was found in the morning, and the guards would not be accused of laxity. Hananja’s Law was paramount, but that did not prohibit Her Servants from showing professional courtesy.
Once within, Ehiru led the way up stairwells and through a labyrinth of curving corridors, seeking the halls designated for guests. He did not hurry, for shunha never hurried. The guards eyed but did not question them, and Ehiru did not bother to inform them of his true identity. He had satisfied practicality; now duty took precedence.
The guest halls were lined with thickly curtained entryways, each leading into an identical furnished apartment. The higher floors held even finer accommodations, and their target, but this floor was the means they would use to reach her. There were eight apartments here, two of which were dark and silent. Selecting the first of these, Ehiru pushed the curtain aside without jingling any of the tiny bells sewn along its bottom edge, and entered.
He held himself tense in case the chamber was occupied, but the rooms had a disused and impersonal air. Moonlight filtering through the sheer balcony curtain outlined brocaded cushions and plush couches, allowing them to navigate easily in the dark. Ehiru lit a single candle while Nijiri looked around, his face expressionless even though Ehiru knew the boy had rarely seen such opulence.
“The floors above us are for the lowest-ranked of the royal family and the highest-ranked of the guests,” Ehiru said. “With the palace so full of strangers tonight, the guard will concentrate its efforts on protecting the Prince wherever he happens to be. That leaves all other areas—like this floor—vulnerable.” He began to undress, laying aside the rich garments and jewelry of his costume. “The tithebearer should be in one of the suites on the next floor up.”
Nijiri noted Ehiru’s preparations and began to remove his own highcaste disguise. The boy had applied a cosmetic balm under his clothing, Ehiru saw with approval. The brown pigment would help to dim his conspicuously pale skin.
“Do we know which suite?” Nijiri asked, all business.
“The Kisuati ambassadorial suite is right above this room.”
“I, I see, Ehiru-brother…” In the midst of donning his ornaments, Nijiri fumbled the jungissa—his own, newly issued, and carved in the likeness of a dragonfly. Ehiru winced, but the boy stooped and caught the precious stone before it could hit the floor. He straightened and attached it properly this time, shoulders hunching in shame.
Ehiru watched him. A degree of nervousness was understandable, but if Nijiri could not be calm, he would have to remain behind while Ehiru went up to perform the Gathering.
Either sensing Ehiru’s scrutiny or realizing the problem himself, Nijiri drew himself upright and moved to sit on a nearby couch. His eyes closed; his lips moved in prayer; presently the wire-taut tension went out of his frame.
Pleased, Ehiru went to the balcony. Yanya-iyan’s courtyard spread below, empty save for sand that had been swept into decorative patterns, and the Sun pavilion. No sign of the previous night’s revelry lingered to spoil the image of perfect peace. It was a view so familiar that for a moment his mind wandered away from duty, remembering the other life of his childhood. He had visited Yanya-iyan only a handful of times, yet every visit was clear as water in his memory. In those days Gatherers had been nothing more than shadowy figures from his mother’s tales, and the then-Prince had been more of a god to him than Hananja.