Aron
To Benjudah, leader of the Ashkar people, from Conor Aurelian, Prince of Castellane.
This letter is to inform you that the royal family of Castellane is aware of the damage done to the walls of the Sault by the recent fire. Know that we will be posting Vigilants at the gap in the wall to protect you from any incursions, until the rebuilding of the wall is complete. I also wish to apologize to you for not acting upon this sooner, but I was informed by my advisers only that there had been a fire in the Maze, and not of the damage to the Sault.
I understand that there were no casualties, for which I am greatly relieved. Let me reassure you that the Ashkar are among the most valuable citizens of our city, and should trouble arise in the future, feel free to apply to me personally as one Prince to another.
C.A.
sets the letter down and frowns. From every description he’s heard of Conor Aurelian, this is not the sort of message—generous, thoughtful—that he would have expected the Prince of Castellane to send to anyone, much less an Ashkar.
is aware that both Lin and Mayesh spend a good deal of time on the Hill. Is it possible that knowing some Ashkar individually has broken down prejudices the Prince might otherwise be carrying? It is certainly part of the point of having an Ashkar Counselor to the throne, to be sure, but...
“Exilarch, can I speak with you?”
looks up. He’s been sitting on a stone bench near the Kathot; he can see, in the distance, Mez Gorin and some of the other men laboring on the broken wall. Beyond them, the red coats of the Vigilants, forming a temporary wall between the Sault and the Maze. Strange as the whole business is, is grateful for their presence. The walls that surround the Sault might have been built to protect the city from the Ashkar, but they also protect the Ashkar from the chaos and danger of the city.
He recalls himself to the present moment. Standing before him is someone he knows well by sight but has never spoken to directly: Mariam Duhary. He cannot help but stare a little. She is no longer even recognizable as the frail, sallow young woman he’d first met, when he’d thought: This one has the hand of Death on her. Though she is still thin, the color is bright in her face, her eyes are clear, and her hair tumbles thickly around her shoulders as if every strand is alive with health and vigor.
He nods at her. “Of course you can speak with me.”
“Good.” She takes a determined step forward. A gold magal glitters at her throat. “I wish to speak with you of Lin Caster. I think you know what I am going to say.”
swears silently. Lin. The last thing he wants to talk about. The reason he barely slept the past night, or the one before. His greatest challenge and greatest revelation, which seems set to become his greatest regret. “I understand, Mariam,” he says as gently as he can, “why you want to talk to me, and I even agree with you that Lin’s exile is unfair, but it is the decision of your Maharam. I cannot interfere.”
Mariam shakes her head. The magal at her throat glitters, and realizes belatedly what it means: It had been Lin’s. But Lin is no longer Ashkar, and cannot wear it, so Mariam will wear it for her. He remembers the dazed time after Asher’s exile, how he had wanted to cling onto the things Asher had owned—his books, his papers, a green shirt that had matched his eyes.
“I know that isn’t true,” Mariam says. “I saw the way you looked at Lin when she healed me. I know that you saw the Goddess in that moment.”
He stares at her. It is not what he expected her to say—perhaps because seeing the Goddess seems to him such a private and personal thing. Perhaps because it is true.
“I saw her, too.” Mariam raises her chin. “It may be that because we are a people who have been so long waiting, you have forgotten that your purpose is not to be a politician. Not to keep the Maharam happy and our people complacent. Your purpose is to help mend the world by protecting the Goddess when she returns. And if you fail here, you will render purposeless not only your own life, but also the life of every Exilarch who comes after you.” Mariam folds her arms over her chest. “So what are you going to do?”