Page 84 of The Mercy Makers
“Your Glory,” Shahd murmurs, leaning in. “I have never seen someone take to the marriage bond so strongly that it changed the way they walk.”
“Huh?” Iriset says, so confused.
“Your walk is different,” Shahd continues in her quiet way.
Iriset slows down. “My walk.”
“Yes. Your Glory.” Shahd stops and glances briefly at Iriset’s eyes. “We live and we die.”
Iriset stares, stunned, at Shahd. It doesn’t even occur to her to fake her way through this. Instead she tugs Shahd to the shade of a massive force-fan along the path across the Blue Between Sea and Sky Courtyard. She waves the Seal guards back. “How the fuck did you know?” she whispers so fast it’s more of a hiss. “My walk? You’re joking.”
“Your design tools were gone. The night Iriset—you—died. I thought… and then I watched and listened, and… because I was listening, your voice was…” Shahd swallows. Again. Maybe she’s going to vomit. But she says, “When Sidoné told me I was to be yours, I thought it was the reason.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Iriset makes her face hard, hoping no one passes by. “What are you going to do about it?”
Shahd drops to her knees and covers her eyes. “Your Glory,” she wails very softly.
“Ah, get up. Get up.” Iriset drags her by the forearms.
“I won’t do anything,” Shahd says. “Just what I am doing. What I have done. And you’ll keep protecting my family.”
Shaking her head, Iriset starts them walking again. “Iriset mé Isidor is dead. She can’t help you.”
Shahd nods and shifts them so that she’s once again holding Iriset’s elbow, as if escorting her.
“Then what do you want?” Iriset presses quietly.
“Being the favored attendant of the wife of the Vertex Seal is more than I thought to achieve in the palace,” she says. “And…”
“And?”
Shahd hesitates on her next step. “What you have done is…”
Iriset waits for fear, condemnation, disgust; she’s not quite sure.
“Humbling,” Shahd whispers, eyes lowered.
“Hmm.” Iriset truly has no idea what to do other than accept this revelation for the moment. Shahd can’t just have a heart attack, too. “All right. But tell me if something changes for you.”
Shahd nods. “What happened back there? Are you all right?”
“I can’t help save my father like this,” she says bitterly.
“Can I…?” Shahd looks at the path ahead of them, eyes lowered properly. Her face is shaded from the biting sun by the ruffled cloth mask on her forehead.
If Iriset could think of anything useful, she’d send Shahd out again. But there’s no time for her to rebuild her array. Or even to adjust it. What could Shahd even tell Bittor? Besides, it isn’t worth the risk. And there’s one more avenue Iriset can pursue right now.
Just before they enter the Seven Petals Are Not Enough Amphitheater, Iriset covers Shahd’s hand with her own. After a moment, Iriset says, “Thank you.”
Because it’s the Days of Mercy, no lecture is ongoing in the amphitheater. Instead, Amaranth has taken it over. Massivepaper umbrellas have been erected and force-fans spin lazily in the air, their opalescent blades moving the warm morning breezes in eddies and spirals. Strips of linen ripple across the open roof, held in place with design and creating shade in undulating waves. Upon the lecturing stage, a line of young men and women perform acrobatics and sensual dancing while Amaranth watches from one of the low steps, surrounded by her handmaidens and extra attendants with food and cold drinks. A scattering of miran sprawl around, too, calling compliments to the dancers and conversing with Her Glory.
Iriset pauses before joining the opulence; she doesn’t feel prepared to sink into the abundance here, the luxury. She’s too tense, her shock too great, and her inner design tight—brittle, even.
But Istof Nefru, the non-mirané handmaiden who speaks seven languages (excluding Ceres, fortunately) and moves like a graceful river heron, notices her. “Your Glory!” she calls, lifting a long arm to wave.
