Page 70 of The Mercy Makers
The door opens, and Seal guards enter in formation with Sidoné, all with their blades free.
“He collapsed,” Iriset whispers, standing on slightly shaking legs.
One Seal guard rushes out, the other kneels at Erxan’s side. Sidoné comes directly to Iriset, demanding, “What did you eat?”
Shaking her head slowly, Iriset says, “Erxan ate the peach preserves and soda bread. I did not.”
For a moment, Sidoné only works her mouth as if attempting to shape all kinds of words. She grasps Iriset’s elbow. Frowns. Her gaze slides to the Seal guard and she shakes her head. “Go tell Amaranth what happened. She’s in the Hall of Shades. Be discreet. Take a Seal guard with you.”
“But my father is—”
“No, not anymore.”
“But—”
Sidoné is on her feet and in Iriset’s face. Coldly, she says, “No.”
Iriset grasps at her robe, ready to beg. Sidoné leans in very closely, just as more guards enter, with a handful of attendants. There’s noise and abrupt movement to hide Sidoné’s next words: “After this, it is a risk not worth taking. Do you have any idea how thin a thread it is we’re dancing along right now?”
“Yes, I do,” Iriset whispers back, hands curling into fists against Sidoné’s chest. “Thin as silk.”
They both breathe too hard, staring rudely, their faces close enough Iriset can’t quite focus. She lowers her gaze to Sidoné’s angry mouth.
“That expression doesn’t belong on Singix’s face,” Sidoné says, voice shaking. “Especially not before she enters the temple for the marriage rituals. Get rid of it and go to Amaranth.”
“This is even more reason for me not to go through with the marriage.”
Sidoné’s frown is very grim. “I agree. But what matters is Amaranth. Go ahead and convince her.”
The Moon-Eater’s Mistress holds relaxed court in an alcove cut into the curved wall of the Hall of Shades, across from the magnificent Summer Sea Fountain that churns and spills water in arcs of green and blue like waves of flow and rising force. Amaranth lounges in a wide, low chair of carved wood, in the center of the rose-and-orange-tiled alcove. Long teal cushions line the edges where some of her handmaidens rest, sipping iced wine and leaning sadly against one another.
Amaranth reads beautiful religious poetry from a volume by Sarah of Heaven, one hand holding her place, the other stroking the opal scales of a lattice snake splayed in heavy coils across her thighs. Her Glory pauses when Iriset and a Seal guard approach. Her handmaidens—all three, Anis, Ziyan, and Istof—rise to their knees to greet Princess Singix. Six miran lounge about, men and women, all older than Her Glory, and one is missing an eye. Iriset would have remembered meeting her, for sure. Three of the others she’s spoken with before.
“We are glad to see you have emerged,” Amaranth says. “It is good you could join us, as these are people who share our misery about Iriset mé Isidor.”
Iriset nods and looks back at the miran gathered. There’s Hehet méra Davith, who unsettled Iriset in the mirané hall. She’d asked Sidoné about him eventually, and the body-twin made her promise to keep her distance, because he leads the biggest mirané faction opposing Beremé’s appointment as the chief prince, and therefore is Amaranth’s political enemy. Iriset can’t avoid him if he’s right next to Her Glory. And beside him is the gossip he pointed out, Dove méra Curro, and the daughter of… Iriset can’t remember her name, but she was a contender for Lyric’s marriage. Did Singix meet any of them? Iriset can’t recall. This seems like a contentious group.
When nobody says anything further and Iriset only stares, Amaranth says, “Leave us, everyone.”
One of the miran protests: “But this yard offers such a unique view of the eclipse!”
Amaranth does nothing, remains quiet and still until the miran would have had to say something to excuse their behavior. They choose to leave.
When they’re alone, Iriset kneels near Amaranth and tries todecide where to begin. She shoves away thoughts of her father, and swallows demands. The Summer Sea Fountain fills the silence with trickling and a soothing pulse of flow.
Iriset stares at the lattice snake in Amaranth’s lap. “Ambassador Erxan is dead,” she says quietly in Singix’s accent, eyes on her hands folded against her knees.
Amaranth sits up straight in a slow, continuous movement. “What happened?” she asks with equally quiet calm. “Poison?”
“I don’t know,” Iriset lies. “It might have been a heart attack. I’m fine.”
“I was hoping for more time to focus only on the first murder before another death muddled things,” Amaranth says with a strange kind of distance.
Iriset, feeling distant herself—no, untethered—looks up to find Her Glory staring past her, up at the hot blue sky. White and black circles dot Amaranth’s chin in a narrow line, and her lips are black. Green shadows her eyes, with blue streaks across her temples. All the colors of Design. A silk mask is pinned into the braids crowning her head. Iriset wants one. She misses the comfort of it fluttering at her cheek, ready to be drawn across the eyes.
“Sidoné is with him. His body. And the people investigating. She’ll come here when she knows more. Who are your suspects?”
“You need to be focused on other things right now,” Amaranth says dismissively.
