Chapter 99. The Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 99. The Queen’s Gambit

Catriona Emanai Aethil

She watched the camp below as the flock of gloves braided her hair and fixed any trinket that was out of place. Compared to the ramshackle of gers erected by the nomadic servants of Archomilea, the battlefield camp of her subjects was a walled city, no — a living being, united by its purpose. While the tribes of Barsashahr were forced to thin their numbers, sending the less prominent tribes back to the green steppe, lest all of them shame their overlords by starving their animals, the Emanai camp swelled as her warriors feasted on the timely shipments from Uureg. Nomads were fast and numerous but she was patient and inevitable.

Catriona spent centuries leading her lands to prosperity and any upstart trying to sow discord into her plans would pay dearly for it. Within and without. On her orders, the third Bragge was kept locked in time, forcing the Archomilea to sue for peace in the presence of his wounded body. For the brazen attack on her children, they paid with the tributary port-cities of Hilak on the south-eastern edge of the Babr mountains. One of the few farmland regions under nomadic control and their sole access to the South sea, its trade routes, and the eastern gateway to the world ocean.

The future years would be harsh for the steppe. By the time the Archomilea would regrow their shorn tails and dare to test her arms again, the western naval campaign would be over and the entirety of South Sea would be split between her and the dragon sleepyhead, just as the River of Fate ordained. The lands of Emanai would keep prospering and the new foothold would allow her subjects to execute pincer strikes into the Barsashahr steppe from both sides of the Babr mountains. Any future raid on Bayan Gol or Hilak would be answered not only with an immediate response of the relief arms but also with swift and daring raids from the opposite region. Catriona didn’t come into power by relying on Fate-Sight alone — the nomads could be swift, they might try to hide their plans from her, but Emanai would remain inevitable.

Her tentacle brushed the soft velvet of a nearby glove. Catriona was willing to indulge Albin’s antics, but even the best choices had consequences. The new Kiymetl offerings were... welcome, yet the House had a bigger part to play in the prosperity of Emanai, beyond sending the scales of power into turmoil and rousing her Pillars to the changing times. A guiding hand would be needed to calm their ambitions — Kiymetl would prosper from the bolstered eastern trade but none of the Hilak cities would be theirs to govern.

Flow rippled on her side and her ears picked up the now-familiar melody.

Cait cast a quick glance at her son. “You have chosen.”

“I have,” Albin nodded as he kept plucking the strings. “I will claim the artefact as my right of spoils.”

She coiled her tentacles in thought, yielding the artefact back wouldn’t get her more cities but it would give her time. “You know something.”

“It would be better to say that I know nothing.”

“Truly? And what is this ‘nothing’ that you have discovered?”

Albin put his instrument aside without silencing its music, “I spoke with Erf about the nature of this artefact. According to him, its core is a shard of some intricate but mundane design from a long-forgotten past. What Archomilea uncovered could be one of a kind just as likely as it could be one of thousands. If it is the former — we should keep it and deny its use to rakshas completely. If it is the latter — we need to learn its tricks post haste, before every chieftain of the steppe carries one into battle.”

The gloves scattered like frightened birds when Cait turned toward her son. “This is not the time to further ‘impress’ the rest of our family with you asking a wermurk for advice on Flow, let alone following it in earnest. Do not focus on Archomilea insomuch that you turn blind to everything else.”

“How certain are you that heurisks See the entirety of Flow? We can see the waves but can we see its tides? A subtle swelling of the water, not against the shoreline but in the middle of the sea? Try divining the nature of light and its connection to the warmth that dragons claim to see. Or, better yet, listen to this.” At his gesture, the instrument lit up in runes and one of the strings, now clad in blue, changed its tune. The hum turned into an ear-piercing screech, only to vanish without a trace shortly after. “Try to divine if the string is still singing.”

Cait blinked.

“An innocent question, borne not from the blatant disregard of our abilities but from the rejection of the established norms, redefining the order between senses and what is being sensed. A childish question, akin to asking why a horse is placed in front of a cart and not the other way around. And yet the world itself is eager to humour him. Some might be quick to see it as an affront to all that is heurisk, a smear on our power. I see it as a tacit revelation that each sense — wermurk, wermage, and even divine — serves a specific role and it is up to us to reach out further.” Albin twirled one of his divination cards between his fingers. “I agree with you, mother — our family needn’t know about this. It is not that I wish to avoid my aunts’ derision, but because I am unwilling to share my discovery with those who won’t appreciate it. What I will share with them are the tales of my success.”

She felt her tentacles relax. “And so you push for more, even if that would mean a daimon child for Kishava.”

Albin shrugged, withdrawing a sword from within his wrist. “If I must. I am ‘your’ son but I am your ‘son’ and while I dare not to trample on your plans without reason, I have my own ambitions to satisfy. This campaign has shown beyond any doubt that Erf is more than a passing curiosity. At war, he had shown himself sufficient for sheyda, cancer, and distracted raksha alike. At home, already drew your attention with his influence over the Kiymetl. His measure is wasted on crafting colourful baubles for the amusement of Dominas.”

Cait received the sword, intricately runed by a steady hand and a sharp eye. Mansiya’s work. It screamed at her through Flow, telling of its past deeds. Bragge’s blood, Mansiya’s fingers carving runes and getting sliced apart themselves, Albin’s grip on the handle... and Isra Enoch Haleh’s hammer. In the middle of that song — a whisper. A hand, casting alchemical flakes into the molten steel. A voice, guiding the hammer of the smith. A pinch, sliding across the blade.

She brought her finger to the unmarred part of the edge and pressed lightly. It didn’t cleave her finger off but it easily bit into her skin, drawing blood. Very easily.

A murk blade that could cut a goddess. A divine-slaying edge with but a murmur in Flow. Bragge’s greatest mistake was his complacency.

“A curious blade.” She murmured, watching the azure glow disappear from the droplet. “A dangerous blade, but a fragile one. I can feel it fading away by merely existing. And yet it can achieve so much. As long as it has a proper sheath to contain it and a proper hand to wield it. Both to keep it safe until it is ready to strike and to guard naive fingers that rush in without care. And so you crafted a sheath for it. You spun the tale of a daimon, warning my Houses not to act ill-advised and now you are weaving the protective runework around the blade itself, hiding him from Sight. At his behest, at that, for he is shrewd enough to recognise the threats he cannot stand against and wise enough to ask for aid without the stubbornness of youth. No wonder Sophia is jealous. How will you adorn his scabbard, then?”

Albin shrugged. “I will know once the Houses of War make their offers.”

“Albin.”

“Oh, I know exactly what they will offer, mother. The Houses of War were specifically chosen for this task — Kamshad will walk out of this ordeal shaken but unscathed and eager to dust their dirty corners, while the three Matriarchs are pious enough not to dismiss or boldly undermine a ‘daimon’ outright but shrewd enough to stymie his influence across your domains regardless. I do not know for certain what he will choose nor do I intend to steer him one way or another, let alone ‘save’ him from their gratitude. I didn’t call him a ‘child of Mreea’ because I wished to mould him into one, I did so because I expect him to act as one. And so he will.”

Cait pondered for a moment, weighing her choices, and then dove deep into Flow. Watching. Observing. Her fingers and tentacles twisted in an elaborate dance, assisting her spell, while her voice hummed a melody of guidance and focus. The ritual would exhaust her but this went beyond new silks and baubles to fill coffers with silver or a spark of mathematics and geometry to push eager wermages toward their next breakthrough. Screaming whips, alive one time and dead another, rustling scales that put lamuras to shame, a living sword with teeth sharper than the maw of a cancer. Flesh beyond flesh. Albin’s previous prudence was appropriate — rather than trampling the ambitions of a fragile wermurk bud, the threat of battle made it bloom with deadly flowers and sprout sharp thorns.

Only for Albin to deftly lead the raksha cub straight into that blooming bramble.

“The cities of Hilak will be auctioned amongst my Houses. All of them, including Kiymetl. Once chosen, each House will present their scions, diligent and worthy to handle such a task. The House that shows the most success in the upcoming years will receive my grace and likely the governance of the entire Hilak region.”

“A competition?” Albin hummed in thought.

“Just so. In time, Archomilea will seek to reconquer what is lost and I want the roots of Emanai to run deep and strong by then. None of my Houses can accomplish such a task single-handedly but together — they will.”

He nodded. “Meanwhile, the opportunity will calm the House relations and shift some of their attention from my ‘daimon’ and onto the shores of Hilak. Including Kiymetl. I’ve expected nothing less from you, mother. I assume Shebet will not participate?”

“As always, Shebet will ensure that the other Houses are not needlessly bickering with each other. I want an organised process, tempered by morals, not a frenzied rush of greed. And I want someone capable of enforcing those morals upon my Houses. A Censor of Hilak. You.”

“Mother,” Albin pouted.

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” Cait opened her eyes and glared at her son. “And do not forget that all of this was caused by you recklessly barging into Bragge’s ger with little more than a murk blade by your side! What if it couldn’t cut through his defences? Archomilea needs to be fought with reason, not matched in their reckless stupidity!”

“I Saw his defeat, mother. Once the blade was in my possession, I could follow its path.”

“It was merely the most likely path amongst many. You rushed in to draw Bragge’s focus from your Erf.” She sighed and continued without the previous thunder. “Well, congratulations. Your gambit paid off, earning us Hilak. There is no reason why you ought not to oversee it. Your days of leisure and slovenly freedom are over, Albin.”

Albin grimaced, coiling his tentacles into a childish mask around his face.

Cait wordlessly slapped them apart with her power. “This goes beyond a mere Kishava child — your play will be the talk amongst the families. The Archomilea didn’t come quietly to retrieve their cub and neither did I — eyes and ears are upon us. Upon you. If you want to continue using your tricks, build a new facade. For the hidden edge of a kattar only bites deep when the enemy is distracted by the shine of your axe.”

“This outcome was inevitable, mother. Bragge didn’t come to deliver a siege to Bayan Gol. He came to test his new weapon on the two young heurisks. To see how much he could hide from our Sight and how much he could gain by humiliating the children of Catriona Emanai Aethil herself. Anything but a sound and swift defeat would’ve only emboldened their future attacks.”

“It was. I am not questioning the path you took but your steps along the way. Do your part and I will not object to the runework you promised.”

“What of Sophia?”

Cait blinked at him. “What about her? She has her duties as the Censor of Emanai. I hope you are not trying to shame me by asking her to carry your burdens?”

The music shuddered into silence. “Then who-”

“Oh, so you do know what he will choose.”

“I don’t need Sight to make a reasonable guess.”

“Then you know whom I will choose in response.”

Albin palmed his face. “You mean... her?”

“Do you have concerns about Eirene Shebet Ishani’s character, my dear son? Can you name a better Shebet candidate? Or, perhaps, you hope that my Pillars will be blind to the Speaker of Shebet or the Censor of Emanai overseeing your ‘daimon’? Will ‘Azhar Hatay Mesud’ step in and all but scream at the Houses of War that Erf is greatly favoured by their goddess? Eirene’s assignment will not provoke my Pillars and I trust her to perform her duties well. Cease your wretched theatrics — you chose this when you refused to bring him into the negation chambers.”

“Worth a try.” Her son stopped pretending to be an arrow-struck dove and floated up from the ground. “Not that I can outreason a heurisk right after her trance. Still-”

Cait shook her head. “How many wives does he have?”

Flow swirled once again as Albin’s eyes turned southward.

“So, now you’ve noticed it,” she followed his gaze toward Samat. “Your senses are sharp — I am certain that no other would have uncovered him as quickly as you did in the middle of my capital, or at all. And yet, even you failed to notice the subtle machinations of the lark he had left behind. While you were observing Erf extinguishing Sparks, she quietly crafted new ones. This is why I want Eirene to observe their Manor and why you need to start thinking more like a Censor and less like a Speaker.”

“That’s... Rurkha’s blood, I think? The fifth Trymr Rurkha, then — sheyda seed should be strong enough to quicken a wermage Spark within a wer womb.”

“I care not what sheyda did he milk — that is his right as a victor. The timing of the pregnancy is wrong. Too quick, too soon. Too perfect. It is as if the one called Yeva found a wer in Heat on her most auspicious day just as soon as the seed was in her hands.”

Albin twirled his tentacle between his fingers. “But she did not.”

“But she did not. It was no lucky accident, nor a divined attempt — the one called Yeva knew exactly what she was doing.” Cait rubbed her temples. “What a headache — not only is he crafting deadly weapons and trying to advise young and impressionable heurisks, he is teaching murks how to breed wermages. I, Catriona Emanai Aethil, have to change my plans around him and you, my shameless son, show little remorse in forcing me to do so.”

“Why would I be ashamed of such an achievement? It could’ve been worse — Erf could have been a headache for another family.”

“They would’ve removed him as soon as he started making waves.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. He grows surprisingly prickly once he feels threatened. But the fertile land between the mountains bears your name for a reason. Archomilea still believe we fear chaos when it is the time we are at our strongest.”

”They aren’t idiots, Albin.” Catriona summoned her gloves back and turned away from the window. “While their subjects are often quite barbaric and lack proper forethought, the adult rakshas know that our strength does not come without effort. Remember this when they come for Hilak. Fifty years. Make sure he remains your headache, dear son, and Eirene has nothing to report.”

“As you command.”

Her flying farshat unrolled in front of her feet, while the gloves fluttered back into their chest box. She would join Sophia and Archomilea representatives after making sure the Gift was made exactly as she wanted it to be.

Shireen Kosenya Irada

“What a mess.” A voice sighed nearby.

Shireen glanced at the fourth daughter. Just like her, the Lady of the House was part of Roxanna Inayat’s close entourage in Samat and, since the Matriarch accepted Aikerim Adal’s invitation, they had found themselves in the inner courtyards of the Kiymetl Manor.

“To think that the vaunted Kiymetl steel was being worked on in such a haphazard manner...”

Shireen glanced around and found herself agreeing — despite being a healer, she saw plenty of factories, smith-works, and other manufactures, both Kosenya and otherwise, to understand how woefully lacklustre the organisation of this estate was. Some servants were running like headless chickens while others relaxed without restraint. And many of those who did work were quite bad at it — one of the servants almost overturned his load as he tried to push his wheelbarrow past their entourage.

“It is a young Manor without a history of working with iron,” The Matriarch mused from her litter, curiously observing the activities around them. “And the estate is even younger. The lack of skilled labour is expected. No, their ability to produce the ‘Haleh’ steel despite such shortcomings is quite commendable. The Enoch truly adores Anaise Hilal to support her so.”

“Please accept my apologies for such an unsightly display.” Their Enoch escort offered a polite bow. “Many of the slaves here came from across the sea — cheap but of a lower quality.”

“Are you telling me that you used a single drop to get her pregnant?”

The murk healer finished clanking with slivers of glass. “Hmm, good enough. Come, take a look.”

Shireen glanced at the tubular contraption the murk was pointing at with suspicion. “What is it?”

“It is a type of looking glass, I see that your Matriarch recognised the form as well. This one is designed for size rather than distance.”

Roxanna got up from the bed. “Let me see.”

Yeva stepped aside, maintaining a respectful distance. “Of course, you know where to look.”

The Matriarch bent down and, with a practised ease, brought her eye to the trinket. “Tadpoles?”

“You are looking at individual male seeds, noble Matriarch. Provided a fertile land, each one of them has the potential to become a child.”

“Ugh, now I feel like a swamp.”

“My sincere apologies, but some things are just the way they are. Do note that it is a way for nature to ensure a more viable offspring and they do not last long. A female body is ruthless to them, making them swim through a veritable slaughter so that the weakest swimmers would never reach the coveted pot.”

Shireen stepped closer. “May I?”

Roxanna pulled away with a grimace on her face. “Go on, ruin your appetite.”

She carefully repeated her Matriarch’s movements and when she did so Shireen found herself speechless. Not by the unfortunate shape but by the sheer number. “Is that how many there are in a single droplet?”

“Not even close. This is but a tiny fraction of that droplet. To answer my original question, a single drop of male seed is enough to conceive a few million children. We are talking numbers approaching the population of Emanai in its entirety.”

“What?” Shireen croaked, pushing the contraption aside. “What did you say!?”

“Nature selects in a very blunt manner — akin to sending ten full arms on a forced march through the Forest without additional supplies so that one could choose the best candidate among the twenty survivors to reach the other edge. The method is quick and wildly inefficient — I am certain that both of you realise that survivors rarely mean best of the best but, when all that matters is making a good enough choice out of millions of candidates and millions more are no further than a few hand-strokes away, you can see why it is a decent solution.” Yeva took a seat across from them. “But imagine if you could do the selection yourself as if you were vetting potential recruits into an arm? Take that droplet, remove the sickly and the broken and you have a million viable ‘swimmers’ at the very least. Make the selection more strenuous — take the best one out of every thousand and you still have a thousand left over. For every droplet. And we all should know that men produce more than a single drop — some might be squeezed for a dozen, others might almost drown a thirsty cougar.

“That is also an impossibly ideal scenario and there will be numerous losses and inefficiencies along the way but, as I’ve said before, when you can get hundreds of millions more with but a few hand-strokes, even a single ‘perfect’ child per drop is plenty enough.”

Shireen felt her fingers clench. This was bad. Very bad.

Yeva leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. “And if I were to require more of that sheyda seed, I am certain that my husband will provide. After all, he was the one who killed that chieftain. In personal combat, despite being a ‘mere murk’. Barbarians, you know? Swift. Strong. Stupid. The fifth Trymr Rurkha looked at the daimon Alchemist of Kiymetl and saw nothing but the missing Spark.”

Should she-

“Shireen, stand down.”

“But Matriarch-”

Steel flashed in the Matriarch’s eyes. “You are here as my healer. Do not intrude.”

As Shireen swallowed her tongue, Roxanna Inayat calmly returned to the nearby bed and focused on Yeva. “Trymr Rurkha the Fifth... I do know that cur. Was Erf able to claim anything more than his seed?”

Yeva sighed and sat up straighter, hiding the shake with the grip of her hands. “He did acquire the lost honour. Since you are staying in Samat, Kosenya braids will be returned to you directly.”

“Good. My kin will remember his deeds,” Roxanna cast a meaningful glance at Shireen and turned back to Yeva. “Do not fear... child. Even if it was a mere sweet, I have eaten the food you offered as my host. I will not disgrace our House’s honour by breaking the oaths of hospitality. Nor would I defy my Goddess and attack a fellow Pillar.”

“Apologies. Even though I know of your character, I am still a murk at heart. All my life I was taught to fear the wermage gaze.”

“Your eyes of silver... I wasn’t paying much attention back then but I do remember Erf having similar eyes. Are you related?”

“As a husband and wife can be. But we are somewhat similar.”

“You are somewhat similar...” Roxanna groaned and shook her head. “What a mess! Tell me then, child daimon, why did you summon us here?”

Shireen blinked alongside Yeva.

“A child daimon?”

“Will you deny it? Will you deny that the knowledge you shared with us wasn’t of the time-enlightened kind, brought to now from the unknown when?”

Yeva twitched and Shireen wished to pull herself into a hole by her ears — if Roxanna Inayat didn’t stop her, she might’ve done something unthinkable. So that was why the Kosenya Matriarch was so receptive to the girl — her sharp nose and straight ears pierced through the ruse a long time ago.

“Precisely. So, tell me — why am I here?”

The daimon sighed. “There is a rot within the Kamshad ranks. Agents of the current Great Lord of the Steppe had wormed their way inside. The Censor knew about it but prohibited Erf from interfering, lest the third Bragge learns that the ruse is no more.”

“Unpleasant, but if the Censor made her will known I see no reason to disagree.”

“Those agents do not only seek to hand the defeat of Emanai arms to the horde of Bragge Archomilea — they set their sights on my Erf. They already attacked him under the cover of Kamshad and now, since there is a decisive battle brewing, they might strike at him again. If they do, they will fail just as spectacularly as that chieftain did and I fear that is exactly what Sophia Chasya is expecting to happen. The agents will smash against the impenetrable wall that is my Erf, the enemy General will lose his assets without knowing why, and the Censor can plot other strategies without worrying about that trap.” Yeva sighed. “And the Kamshad end up feeling like fools. Who do you think they will blame for it? A barbarian General outwitting the civilised House? A Divinely-anointed Censor? Or an ‘incomplete daimon’ without a Spark?”

Roxanna nodded. “You want me to mediate.”

“Precisely,” Yeva bowed slightly, “I need someone with a calm mind, high morals, and an unquestionable character. I need someone whom Roshanak Kamshad Gulnaz would listen to. I need you, honourable Kosenya Matriarch.”

“And what is your position toward my cousin and the rest of Emanai? I will not hold Roshanak back just so you have the time to gather strength for a strike.”

“After everything that I’ve revealed to you today and everything else that you’ve known about us so far, what should be the position of a daimonic sadaq with a Pillar Matriarch-to-be in it? The very same sadaq that was personally witnessed by the Goddess at that. Mutual respect? A begrudging one, at the very least? What it definitely won’t be is a subservient kowtowing just to be ‘honoured’ by one of her children. Nor would we expect their obeisance either.”

Roxanna pondered for a few moments.

“Shireen?”

“Yes, my Matriarch?”

“Is anyone from the direct line approaching her Heat?”

“Yaran should have hers this year.”

“Mitra’s little Yara?” Matriarch bit her thumb in thought but eventually nodded. “Yes, that would be acceptable... Yeva?”

“You want me to impregnate your granddaughter for your assistance?”

“Impregnate — yes. With sheyda seed?” Roxanna scoffed. “No. I will not besmirch the daughter of my eldest with a barely adequate seed, no matter how skilful you are at purifying it. After all, you said it yourself that all you can do is pick the best from what is given to you. No, I want something better. I want a strong seed with a respectable heritage and impressive pedigree. Let us say a seed of Amalric Karim or Aidar Daniar.”

“Anaise’s brothers?” Yeva frowned. “You will have to ask Aikerim Adal if she is willing.”

“Of course I will ask their mother first! Who do you think I am? A cradle robber!? I am asking if you are capable of purifying their seed just as well as you did with this one. No. Better than that — there is no need for any leftovers.”

“If Aikerim Adal is willing and the chosen son asks for my assistance, yes, I will use my skills as if I were treating the Domina herself. If nothing else, they are Anaise’s brothers. But,” Yeva leaned forward, trying to stare down the most powerful wermage in Samat, “I sincerely hope that this favour would be returned in kind.”

Roxanna barked a laugh. “You’ve got guts, despite trembling like a leaf, I respect that. But you are still too quick to judge, child daimon. You asked me to mediate? I am. I will not hide who is the father of the baby, nor will Aikerim Adal. If the child ends up being as gifted as you claim, every other Matriarch might put aside their grievances just for the chance to grab the other brother. In the meantime, Aikerim’s son will claim a respectable position within Yaran’s sadaq, potentially ending up as the father of a future Kosenya Matriarch. That would calm quite a few whispers in my as well as the other two Houses of War, allowing me to mediate without any ears getting tilted. Before you say anything else — no other Matriarch would likely match my offer. Zamindar Azrin, perhaps, but Enoch is already on your side.”

“My Matriarch is taking a heavy gamble on your words alone,” Shireen stepped in. “There is a line of fourteen hopefuls to be the next father that she would need to push aside. Plenty of tails that she needs to step on. If there is even a hint of uncertainty inside your heart — step aside right now.”

“And I am taking an equally heavy gamble by offering this opportunity to an outsider of the Manor. Rest assured — unless I am forced to, I have no plans to wear the mantle of a healer day after day for years to come. I have an estate to run, workshops to oversee, and scores of apprentices to teach.” Yeva sighed, absentmindedly running her fingers through the leaves of a nearby plant. “But, if Erf is willing to still his heart and spill blood for our safety, I am willing to still mine and stand in front of a Matriarch just so he does not need to keep spilling blood forever. Aikerim Adal has finished her preparations to meet you, honourable Matriarch. Once all are in agreement, I will schedule a meeting with the future mother.”

Roxanna spun her ears around. “Is she?”

“I do not need to rely on my eyes for a reason. She is. Shireen?”

Shireen stopped searching for the hidden messengers and glanced at the young healer... daimon... child. “Yes?”

The silver flashed with steel. “Since my sadaq went north, eight Collectors tried to sneak inside my estate. Five of them had orders to either kidnap me or kill me outright. As you can see, all of them failed.”

The petite murk fingers picked up a small dagger and neatly folded the blade in half. “Your Matriarch saved your life.”

XXX

As far as I knew, the tent of Lita’af Kamshad Hikmat wasn’t that much different from the one my wives and retainers occupied. Retainers. What a word. But I was a big boy now, playing in big girl politics and while my wives could tolerate a lot of my shenanigans they weren’t tagalongs. I had appearances and decorum to maintain. Set by Emanai standards. The very same ones where Anaise would struggle to see what was wrong with all three of her parents maintaining personal Companions beyond the obvious ‘slavery is bad’. No, as far as I could tell, she was more scandalised by me playing music in public than massaging the vetted wermage of sufficiently high status into a sodden quivering mess — the only reason I was allowed to live after such a shameful display was that I had Albin as my partner in ‘crime’. The Kausar twins also set a very solid benchmark — no other wermage of lower status would dare to request a better deal. But that wasn’t important right now.

Because this wasn’t the tent of Lita’af Hikmat.

My well-trained eye could easily spot the subtle differences everywhere I looked. The leather walls were made of solid stone, engraved in glowing runework. The room which should be somewhat cramped even if every single partition was removed from the tent was now large enough to accommodate half of an arm. A maniple’s worth of towering statues, cast and carved from a variety of materials and then painstakingly painted with all colours imaginable and dressed in finest of silks. Windows, large enough for a chicken-legged hut to pay a visit, failed to show even a glimpse of the expected camp activity outside.

I was also alone, despite passing the tent flap surrounded by an entourage. There were no wives by my side, no twins walking behind. There was no Lita’af in front to greet us either. The hall was empty, apart from a solitary figure that rivalled nearby statues in height.

Glowing eyes, wiggling tentacles, a tail to make Shahin question her lamurinity. And the three honking horns that a few million Emanai inhabitants swore by. Yeah. Exhaust? Meet the engine-rich fuel. All I could do was go down on my knee in silence, looking no further than the square of black marble I found myself standing on.

“The one called Erf,” the voice of the goddess had an appropriately divine thrum to it. A hum of power, the source of which I couldn’t easily pinpoint. “A fake daimon. An oddity. An annoyance. Yet, I was told that you were surprisingly decent at the game of chatrang.

“Play a game with me.”