Page 94 of The Mercy Makers
“I must have patience, then.”
“Bittor méra Tesmose,” Dove says, shifting as though to cut between Iriset and Hehet. “His name. He was from the Little Cat’s court, but there’s been no rumors regarding his whereabouts since the execution. That I’ve heard, at least.”
“Oh.” She tries to look and sound only vaguely disappointed.
“Shall I keep you informed?” Dove offers eagerly.
Iriset smiles her best Singix smile. “Thank you.”
“We’ve just come from the Moon-Eater’s Mistress,” Hehet says, and something about his confiding tone makes it sound as though he wants her to think he’s not a threat. “Her Glory is interviewing some miran in the Bright Star Obelisk Garden on your behalf this morning.”
“My behalf?” Baffled, Iriset doesn’t bother hiding it.
Dove grins. “Every good secretary in the palace of the Vertex Seal is an even better gossip.”
With a growing sense of dread, Iriset makes a distressed little hum and hurries away from them, toward whatever mischief—or worse—Amaranth is plotting.
The Bright Star Obelisk Garden was once a water garden, but after the death of Safiyah the Bloody’s brother Dalir, the waters were drained and the obelisk erected in his honor. The water channels were replaced by blood-red tiles and rows of pristine glass-vein succulents both small and large. In the sunlight they twinkle and glare, shining in every shade of green and yellowthat glass can manage. Crescents and circles of stretched linen have been lifted high with wire stalks and placed strategically to imitate yet more succulents while shading the low benches. Rainbow bees buzz around looking for sweet ecstatic pops, and regular blue-and-yellow butterflies bob in the air. Hidden force-fans circulate a breeze so that even at the height of summer it’s not terribly unpleasant.
Several of the benches and gazebos are occupied by loitering miran, and Iriset spots Amaranth’s handmaidens perched on low pillows, each engaged in one of their hobbies: Istof is practicing calligraphy and Ziyan repairing a long-necked lute, while Anis embroiders on radiant orange silk. Beyond them, in the shade of a succulent-shaped umbrella, Amaranth sits on a stone bench speaking with a young mirané man Iriset doesn’t know.
Iriset sweeps in, her thin slippers crunching softly on the path. Everyone covers their eyes as she passes. When she reaches Amaranth, the miran with Her Glory stands and bows deeply, both hands over his eyes.
“Singix,” Amaranth says merrily. “This is Huya méra Luméri, and I believe he’ll make a very good secretary for you. He knows everything there is to know about the schedules of mirané princes and various palace itineraries, and is aware of all the necessary levels of propriety. Also, he came up through the army and has some combat-design training.”
Iriset stares at Amaranth for a moment, then looks to Huya. He straightens, eyes lowered. He’s a thin young miran with a beard shaved in repeating waves along his jaw, and a sheer green scarf wrapped through his thick braids. The long end flutters against his temple, ready to be pulled across his eyes as a cloth mask. The only cause to argue his appointment is because Iriset wants to, not for any good reason. She can handle a lightlytrained combat-designer. So she nods only a little stiffly. “Very well. Thank you for helping me, Huya. This is Shahd, and she can situate you.”
“Your Glory,” Huya says.
“Why don’t you do that right now, Shahd?” Amaranth suggests. “I’ll attend to Singix.”
Once they leave, Amaranth gives Iriset a slow raptor smile. “I saw my brother.”
Iriset ignores her and sits daintily beside Amaranth on the bench. “Who killed Iriset mé Isidor?” she asks, picking at her layered gown, hoping she can stop wearing these heavy chest pieces sooner rather than later. The pressure isn’t bad unless it’s too hot to breathe easily.
Amaranth groans. “Ah, Singix, what a question.”
“Your Glory,” Iriset says through clenched teeth. “It’s been nearly a quad since she died. We all owe her better than this.”
“We don’t know,” Sidoné says from behind Iriset, and Iriset startles hard.
The body-twin touches Amaranth’s shoulder to brush thick curls away and glances right at Iriset. Her black eyes are tired and serious.
Iriset frowns. “That’s it?”
“If we knew,” Amaranth says with false drama, “the culprit would be bound and arrested, and you would certainly have heard.”
It’s hard not to roll her eyes. Iriset barely keeps her expression soft when she stares at Sidoné. “Suspects?”
Sidoné shakes her head. The thick red paint across her eyes and the bridge of her nose gleams in the sun. “The truth is, the evidence was never much, and there is no good trail. We have conjecture and suspects, yes, but nothing to single anyone out.”
“We need more information,” Amaranth drawls.
“You mean another attempt on my life.”
“I do.” Amaranth lifts her eyebrows as if challenging Iriset to complain about it. When she doesn’t, the Moon-Eater’s Mistress continues, “But I’ve gotten you a secretary with excellent skills, and Lyric has already requested a larger rotation of Seal guard for you.”
“More security won’t encourage another attack,” Iriset mutters, thinking.
