The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(38)

“Then where are Ehiru’s pathbrothers?” Mni-inh gestured sharply at the curtain and the Hetawa beyond. “Why these strangers, unsworn, untrained? We have always taken care of our own—”

“Because the Prince demands it!” Both Nijiri and Mni-inh flinched back from the Superior’s flare of temper. Ehiru barely noticed; too much of him had gone numb. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Superior pause and visibly struggle for calm. “Some things are beyond even the Hetawa’s discipline,” the Superior said at last, and this time Ehiru heard an odd tightness in his voice. As if the words half-choked him coming out. “Ehiru will be held in Yanya-iyan. We must consider what is best for all Gujaareh, not just for the Hetawa.” He gestured and Dinyeru came forward.

“Forgive me, Gatherer.” Dinyeru raised the yoke, holding it so Ehiru could thrust his hands into the sleeves. The Sentinel’s expression was sorrowful—but determined. Not even a Gatherer could best a Sentinel in combat.

Silence fell. Ehiru closed his eyes.

“I am still Her servant,” he whispered, and thrust his arms forward into the yoke. Cold metal embraced them. He fisted his hands and grimaced as the straps along the sleeves were tightened, pulling his forearms together into an uncomfortably awkward position. A metal brace was snapped into place across his wrists, locking them together.

Then new hands took his upper arms—the hands of strangers, gripping him without love—and he was pulled along with them out of the Hetawa.





12





At the mouth of the river, which he named for the blood of Hananja, Inunru built a city.

(Wisdom)





“What do you mean, Lin hasn’t arrived yet?” Sunandi demanded.

“Seya, Jeh Kalawe, I mean she hasn’t come.” Etissero eyed Sunandi in mild surprise. “I haven’t seen that straw-haired rascal since your delegation passed through a season ago, when you first came to the city. I would have remembered the girl: she nicked my purse the last time she was here.”

“And gave it back.”

Etissero shrugged good-naturedly. “My people part fools from their funds all the time. Our children play such games to learn the trade. They don’t usually put the mark on me, though, and even more rarely do they manage to score.” He smiled. “I could make a fine tradewife of that girl, if you sold her to me.”

“Alas, my father decided long ago that Lin and I should learn to part fools from their secrets instead.”

“A shame for both of you. There’s no money in spying.”

Sunandi shook her head in amusement, recognizing Etissero’s effort to put her at ease. Dawn had broken nearly an hour ago, and she’d spent the two hours before that in harrowing flight through the corridors of Yanya-iyan and the streets of Gujaareh. But here in the Unbelievers’ District, as the guest of a wealthy Bromarte, she could rest safely hidden in the sprawling community beyond Gujaareh’s walls. The district had grown over the centuries to house foreign merchants and other opportunists who were eager to profit from Gujaareh’s wealth, but unwilling or unable for reasons of their own faith to submit to Hananja’s Law. Outside, the streets were thick with people eager to get their business done before the full heat of the day struck. Sunandi observed them for a few moments, momentarily surprised by how odd their bustling hurry seemed after the two months she’d spent in the city. Gujaareen rarely hurried.

Well, Kisuati-reared spy-girls were supposed to hurry, and it troubled Sunandi that Lin had not yet arrived at Etissero’s. She’d had a good hour’s start on Sunandi, and that was more than enough time for her to have talked her way past a gate or hired a ferryman.

Then again—

“I had trouble getting out of the city,” Sunandi said, pulling the curtain shut. “None of my friends were on duty. That ordinarily wouldn’t have been a problem—I had enough funds to pay the toll and a bribe, and they knew from my accent that I was a foreigner. But they were more wary than usual. They questioned me closely.”

“Questioned you about what?”

“Who I was, where I was going, why I was leaving at the crack of dawn. I gave them my usual story for unusual circumstances—a timbalin-house mistress going to meet with a distributor to arrange an extra shipment.” She brushed a hand against the gown she still wore, which was made of fine pleated linen rather than the more practical hekeh. The pleats emphasized the points of her breasts, which was something that had usually worked in her favor before. Men rarely remembered her face. “I looked the part, but they barely believed me. They checked my eyes to make sure I was a timbalin addict. They wanted to know which house could afford a mistress with such high coloring.”

Etissero muttered something in his own language, then returned to Gujaareen so that she could understand him. “They’re only that keen when they’re on the watch for something. What did you say?”

“That I worked for the most expensive house in the highcaste district. That I was once an account-keeper in Kisua before I fell low, which explained the accent. And thankfully, my eyes were still bloodshot from being woken in the middle of the night by a dekado Gatherer and his little killer-in-training, so they let me through.” She sighed and ran a hand over the brief, tight curls of her hair. “I think the gods must have granted me more than my share of luck in the last few hours.”