“Tell your friends there is no cause for concern in Hosmyr. This man of yours acted on his own, a foolish half-breed.”
“My friends?”
“Don’t play games with me, consort. We are far beyond secrets.”
“We all have our secrets, matron.”
She grimaced. He was soured at last. Still, she could not bemoan or mourn their unhappy situation. He was still her weapon, her tool, to do what she needed.
“We’ll try a new method of working with the seer,” she said. “Taul will meet with him regularly. Let the two of them find solutions. My new minister is full of energy. Let’s keep him burning it. I can’t have Toshtolin causing more trouble. Let their newfound wealth and purpose occupy them. Find weeds for the seer to study if need be.” She grew pensive, that old nagging feeling revisited. “I have a feeling our green-eyed friend has not been altogether honest.”
She reached out and patted his arm.
“No, no. No need to slay him,” she said. “Not just yet. He has been weaving a web for centuries, longer maybe, and I’m curious to see what the pattern is. Now we have a means of assessing the seer’s predictions. Taul will know whether he is selecting well. No fickle goddess excuses. We have a magister of our own now; not a seer of hairs and flesh, but of sap.”
It was strange, but she’d not really felt a Hosmyr before, not like this. She’d even been dreaming of the fields, the trees, even the river where she’d swam as a young woman.
Had it been so long? Had she become a woman of marble and silk?
“I would visit Zeldra,” she said.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“You’ll come with me.”
No grunt. Just the stretch and pull of his tunic as he breathed in. “As you say, matron.”
“Good,” she said. “Ah! Here they are, my dutiful ministers.”
They trailed in, staring at the new minister. Julissa entered ahead of them, resplendent, very matronly, head high, eyes narrowed. She wore Gishna’s gowns well; the jewels adorned her perfectly, and for a moment, Gishna saw herself living a second life through her daughter. What’d she’d give to live it for real… She was so much better than her daughter. Her gnarled hand drew in thin threads of life from the girl. Maunyn sat to her left this time, allowing Julissa to occupy the seat of greater honor. The girl took to it like an eagle to the sky. Jealousy curled up and made a home in Gishna’s heart. She didn’t like it, but there it was. This was the ultimate outcome of her poor choices. Julissa would make better ones.
“Thank you for joining us, Julissa,” she said. “Ministers, you will offer my daughter the same dignity you accord me.”
They all bowed their heads and took their seats.
Julissa began the meeting and Gishna settled back in her seat, happy to let younger lungs speak for her.
To the left and right, behind the white marble columns, lurked other ministers and agents. Those she’d keep for herself a little while longer. Not until she was smoke and ash would she give them up. And the seer—ah, the seer! He was still fully hers as well.
She eyed the new minister of lands, equally jealous of his power. Oh, to know what he knew in those plants, so much more than she did.
The thin, fine threads of life she drew from her daughter and the others at the table were only a taste. Behind them lurked depth, an infinite reserve, vast knowledge. If she was younger, she might give herself over to its pursuit.
As her ancestors had done.
But this was a new age. A poor, sad age. And she was only a mouth and two ears. She wafted the air and drank in a trickle of life.
57
Taul wore a new silk tunic emblazoned with the crest of his house with pear blossoms embroidered throughout in glossy black thread. It was more wealth than he’d ever worn. Ryldia had pinned a silver medallion with a cluster of green emeralds in the shape of leaves to his left shoulder. He’d recruited Balniss as his personal scribe, and the high matron agreed. Did she know what Balniss was, whom he worked with? Did she hope to make a political alliance with his associates?
A newly inducted minister, Taul sat on the high matron’s council, but also counseled her in private. To the council he would report on the state of the orchards, vineyards, and groves. To the high matron, the rate of success in the orchard’s womb. He was like a general recruiting, preparing, and deploying soldiers even though the enemy had already sieged his city and was pounding on the gates. His task was to search and scrounge among the houses of Hosmyr, and others, for those with the signs. If any house refused, the high matron would call in their taxes or lean on them. It was an ugly business, but not as ugly as the numerous pyres he’d have to light. The high matron had told him there’d be help of a most unusual kind.
“Keep your mind open, minister,” she’d said.
The man before him made his skin prickle. He had features unlike any Taul had ever seen. Pale straw hair streaked with honey. Eyes like a cat’s, pale green like young leaves. Deep-set, but bright. The man’s gaze never averted, never lowered, devouring. He offered them a seat and then tea, which steamed from an oddly shaped pot.
Taul declined both. He wanted only one thing from this strange man. The door locked behind them and he smoothed out his chin beard.
“I am Taul Lor’Toshtolin, minister to the high matron regarding tending in the east valley.”
“Like pears? Apples?” asked the green-eyed seer with a smirk.
Taul nodded. What other tending could there be?
“Let me see,” the man said, eyes flickering. “Nevtar? Hosmyr.” He smiled, suppressing a chuckle.
“The high matron warned me about your games,” Taul said. “We’re not here for games.”
Taul did his best to sound authoritative, but the man just smiled. He seemed beyond it all, outside it all. He was not Mornae and didn’t seem troubled by either of them. Taul didn’t think even Maunyn would trouble him, either.
“This is my brother, Balniss,” Taul said. “He is a senior diviner and will serve as liaison between us. He is of a more scholarly mind.”
“My name is Kandah,” the man said and offered Balniss a nod. It seemed more like a duel’s salute than a greeting.
Balniss stepped into the room and looked about.
“So, you are the secret behind all of this,” he said. He waved at the piles of scrolls, parchment, folios, rolled up canvases. The mess was unconscionable to a diviner.
