Page 44 of The Mercy Makers
“Hello, daughter of Aharté,” Singix Es Sun says in mirané.
“Your Glory.”
“Ceres, Ceres!” says Erxan. “I’ve worked too hard this past season to allow you mirané, sweet Iriset.”
Her eyes snap up atsweet. But the ambassador presses his hand into her shoulder and lets go, pleased and expectant. Iriset looks to Singix’s perfect face and is startled to realize they’re the same height. Singix seemed taller in her wafting layers of costume. Her current pale green dress still hangs shapelessly, hiding her body, but it suggests the elegance of a poplar. Latched at her collar is a vivid red cape that complements the red glass beads, red embroidery, and jade coating the breast of her gown. Tucked into her hair is a long comb attached to a small square of stretched silk that rises over her head like a square halo, painted with a sky of sunrise clouds.
Singix smiles, and Iriset begins in Ceres, “We are glad to have a partner for our Vertex Seal.”
“I am glad, as well. Do you…?” She speaks words Iriset hasn’t learned, and Iriset glances to her tutor.
His wince is elaborate, but filled with humor. “If you speak of art, Princess, and the faith of Silence, Iriset’s vocabulary will be better.”
To Iriset’s delight, Singix laughs prettily. “Are we art, Iriset?” she asks, glance flicking between their elaborate costumes, and with a twinkle of irony.
“We are,” Iriset agrees. “But the best art, for we are… we are both art and art-maker.”
“I would like to be maker of myself,” Singix says, or that is how Iriset understands it, and impulsively she reaches for Singix’s hand, thinking how important it is to know one’s own design.
Between the sun and the memory of the sun
Shahd vibrates as she enters Iriset’s room, eyes down, cloth mask drawn carefully across her face. Her hands give her away.
Iriset thinks,Bittor, and says, “Tell me.”
The girl’s fingers curl into fists. “Someone came to my family’s house. They did not put a message in the drop for me, but came to my family’shouse.”
Satisfaction draws through Iriset. “I am sure your family will be well, as long as I am.”
Shahd says, “It was not necessary.”
Iriset touches Shahd’s taut knuckles. “You have my signal, use it if you need to. But the undermarket isn’t like the Vertex Seal. Coming to your house could be an invitation. A welcome. Not a threat.”
Shahd parts her lips but says nothing. She gives the distinct impression of holding back an eye roll.
“Notonlya threat,” Iriset concedes.
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Shahd breathes in and out, staring, then moves behind Iriset and pushes her gently onto her stool and digs fingers into Iriset’s hair to start untangling it.
“Now tell me what the message is,” Iriset says, leaning her head back into Shahd’s hands, pretending to be more relaxed than she is.
“Today. Resin delivery. Third descent.”
“Today,” Iriset repeats, frowning, eyes closed. “Resin delivery?”
Shahd says nothing.
Iriset nods. It’s for her to figure out. She gestures for Shahd to continue their morning routine.
As it’s Singix Es Sun’s first full day, the ambassador shows her around the palace. Iriset joins them, splitting her attention between their conversation and mentally drawing her force-map of the complex. She couldn’t have thought of a better ruse for moving freely about the areas she has less reason to visit. Thanks to the Vertex Seal’s personal favor, she thinks, almost giggling. It’s just nerves: Iriset is simply racked with expectation like a million tiny rainbow bees in her veins, because if all goes well she’ll see Bittor later today.
Ambassador Erxan walks slowly, sweating in his layered dress as he speaks careful mirané to Singix. The princess listens with a sweet smile, and sometimes asks Iriset a question. Iriset does her best to answer, and Erxan might comment in Ceres, reminding them that Iriset needs to better her vocabulary. (Shepicked up the grammar easily, probably because she could see its design.) They create a game of naming everything in both Ceres and mirané as they move from the women’s petals to the gardens to the libraries, then repeating and looking for rhythm between the languages.
The competition spurs Iriset on, and she becomes caught up in the game, laughing sometimes at the twists she puts her tongue through. Singix always returns her smiles. Those smiles hit like a blessing, and Iriset can’t tell if everyone feels this way about Singix, or if Iriset is supremely susceptible because she can see the perfect design in every shifting muscle of Singix’s face and neck. Either way, right now the smiles are all for her.
