Rushes returned to Nessaket’s room, ears tired from listening. As she had pretended to tidy the Great Room the concubines had paid her no mind, sharing their opinions on the emperor’s looks, the quality of the food, and the stifling heat of Cerana. Two women had whispered that the emperor made love with one of them, the pale girl named Jenni, and speculated on their own chances. Surely the empire mother would wish to know about that, but even more she would want to identify the woman from the Ways. Rushes had not heard that voice. It filled her with dread to think that concubine could make another move, even harm one of the princes, before anyone could put a name to her.
And that was not the only thing. Rushes had thought the stone would be a comfort, but instead it frightened her. Sometimes she thought it twisted in her pocket, trying to find its way out. Many times during the day she caught it with one hand, as one catches a falling sash or pendant. She imagined the stone was angry she had disobeyed the emperor. She should have thrown it in the Ways as he asked, and now perhaps it would start giving bad luck instead of good.
Rushes put the stone from her mind and prepared for the morning. She checked that Daveed had a tall stack of clean blankets, the brush and comb were side-by-side to the left of the mirror, and the empire mother’s sandals were just where a person would not trip on them but that, when getting out of bed, they were easy to slip onto the feet. That done, she walked to the great room to make sure the shelves had been lowered to the kitchen, so that Hagga and the others could place the breakfast inside them.
When Rushes was passing a mosaic of Pomegra, done in jade and amber, the lantern light flickered up and down the long corridor as if buffeted by a strong wind she could not feel. The guards outside Nessaket’s room murmured to one another, hands on their weapons, eyes sharp. Rushes didn’t like to be near the guards when they were tense-it was then that they reminded her of Gorgen-so instead of trying to move past them she turned in a slow circle, looking up and down the corridor lined with bright paintings and sparkling tiles. She thought she saw someone fair and slim stepping back into a shadowed niche, so she called out, “Hello?” No answer came; one of the guards, a grey-haired, burly man, leaned that way and said, “Hey, there!”
Still there was no answer. Rushes took one step, then another, towards the niche, cautious of the guards, cautious of whoever was hiding there. But the niche lay empty. She looked from the pointed arch to the carpeted floor. Nobody was there.
A scream rang out from the other end of the hall, causing the guards to curse under their breath and draw their weapons at last, but they would not leave Nessaket’s door. Their job was to guard little Daveed, not protect the other women. There were others, stationed outside the heavy gilded entrance, for that. Just as they took defensive stances the concubine named Banafrit came running down the long red carpet. “It’s Irisa!” she cried, “Her colour…”
In moments the corridor filled with a dozen or more women, all of them perfumed, bangled, their lips every shade from pink to blood-red, all moving towards where Irisa lay near a gurgling fountain, and Rushes was pulled along with them, stumbling, her shoulders knocked by their elbows. Irisa was shown to her in parts, through the bend of an arm or the narrow space between two concubines-an arm, a hint of a cheek, the end of her flowing hair. And all of her was white, faded, the colour of a pretty dress left out in the sun too long.
Sickness. Rushes backed away, the stone turning in her pocket. The pattern had begun with just one person and spread, until they all became the tools of its Master. She would not fall victim to another plague. She put in her hand to keep it the stone from falling and it was so hot that it burned her fingers; it had turned against her, just as she feared. She backed away, into the soft silks of one of the concubines.
“Watch where you’re going!” the woman snapped, pushing her away by the shoulder, speaking with the tones of the north, like Marke Kavic or his priest.
“I…” Rushes turned and looked at her, at her pale skin and hair, at the turquoise silk draped from her shoulder. Three other women stood by her, each one just as beautiful, and indignant on her behalf. But Rushes’ eyes were drawn back to the woman who had pushed her, for she was the woman from the Ways, and Rushes knew her name. She was the one who everyone whispered about, who had made love with Emperor Sarmin. Jenni.
Turn away. Turn away. The Many would have told her how to protect herself, to pretend. But instead she stood and stared, and understanding dawned in Jenni’s eyes. She had not heard Rushes behind her in the Ways- that was impossible. She would have given some sign. And yet she knew.
Rushes ran, dodging between the fine ladies and past the paintings and fountains to Nessaket’s room. But there the guards stopped her.
“If there’s disease, we can’t let you in,” said the older one, holding his hachirah across the entryway, the wide steel of his blade catching the light of a thousand gems and gleaming tiles. Brighter than all of them blazed the outline of a person, but it was not Jenni who stood behind her. White and indistinct, the reflection showed no eyes or mouth. It was not part of any painting or tapestry, and not a man but a thing-formed from imagination more than flesh, with arms, legs and a head shaped to trick the eye. As she watched it opened its arms and moved towards her.
She dodged behind the guard.
“Hey, now!” he said, pulling her up by the shoulder of her livery. He had not seen. The ghost had been visible only in the reflection.
“Tell Nessaket,” she said, letting him push her away, “tell Nessaket it was Jenni.” She felt something cold against her legs, something like the feel of snow or cold water, and she readied her feet, obeying that ancient edict, the primary rule of survival. Run. “Tell her!” she repeated, and then she ran.
“Wait,” the old guard called after her, understanding something of her urgency at last, but she only ran faster.