Wind and wildfire mages.., p.34
Wind & Wildfire (Mages of the Wheel), page 34
“My son makes a valuable point, Grand Vizier,” the Sultan finally said. Omar almost collapsed forward to his hands, relief making them unsteady. “But I will not shame your daughter. There are a multitude of fine young men who would be proud to call her wife. In fact”—the Sultan stood—“Semih.”
Omar’s relief turned to dismay as Semih Kadir stood, smiling serenely. Omar grit his teeth.
“Your son would be a fine match for Mistress Demir. Would that please you, Grand Vizier?”
Omar tried frantically to come up with something to stop the Grand Vizier from accepting. If Behram married Zehra, it would put his father in line for Grand Vizier. If he also controlled the Merchant Guild…It was too late to redact his request for annulment. What had he done? His gaze whipped to Mazhar, who sat pale and silent on the bench nearest their father. They met gazes, and Mazhar discreetly spread his hands at Omar’s silent plea.
“Yes, Efendim.” Eymen bowed again. Omar gripped his knees to prevent himself clutching at his own hair or beard. Fool. Trying to manipulate the Council without thinking of all the possible outcomes. Of course his father would choose Semih, who also valued the division in classes, adherence to tradition.
“Then consider it done. My wife and I will reassess potential First House matches for the Vali Ahad once the dispute within the Merchant Guild has been dealt with. Those with eligible daughters may present them to the Grand Vizier.”
As Eymen turned to look at Omar, he raised an eyebrow, because he knew what setting Semih Kadir in line to replace him meant. Omar dropped his gaze to the floor. He was going to have to get a great deal better at this, if he was going to survive his reign as Sultan.
And Behram. What would he do now? He had avoided seeking him out, even after returning to the palace. He needed far more time before he could face Behram as a rational, thinking person.
The other side of that coin of betrayal was his own. He knew how Behram felt about Dilay, and had not honored it by controlling himself. He had betrayed Behram, and now, forced Behram into the same situation he had just relieved himself of. Marriage to a stranger when he cared for someone else.
Omar braced himself with grit teeth and pushed to his feet. He bowed.
“Thank you, Sultan Efendim.”
HE WANTED TO STAND. Sitting made his entire body ache, distracted him with the fiery pain of his wounds as the shock and numbing salve wore off. But he could not, or risk distracting everyone from the proceedings. So he sat, tense and miserable on the narrow bench as he tried to concentrate on what was being said by witnesses of the tribunal.
Things were balanced, so far. Character witnesses for both men attested to their interest in bringing the guild forward into the modern age, for the glory of the Sultan, of course. Each grievance was met with counter witnesses.
It was during this impasse that Dilay stepped into the witness box. Even at a distance Omar could see how upset she was. Despite what Behram had done to her, Omar knew she would never intentionally hurt anyone. But standing as witness against Behram’s father…Omar glanced to the benches where Altimur Pasha and Kadir Pasha sat. Behram was beside his father, arms folded over his chest, gaze fixed unwavering on Dilay. A surge of his lingering anger zipped through Omar. Behram blinked, his head turning, his gaze locking with Omar’s. They stared at each other. After a moment, one corner of Behram’s mouth curved up, and he looked away.
Dilay spoke, her voice level and pitched confidently, though Omar could feel the bit of magic she used to keep it that way. Her gaze was fixed on her father, he thought.
“As outlined by Judge Hanim’s law of morality, I believe Kadir Pasha is unfit to serve as a guild leader.” She paused, her gaze flinching to Behram and away again, fixing on her father. The honeyed color of her skin turned ashen, and she swallowed. “He has bullied and blackmailed his way to his position.”
Behram shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as his father shifted to look at him. Dilay and Behram’s mutual discomfort seemed to seep into Omar’s body. Those gathered murmured to each other as Dilay outlined instance after instance of people bribed to give Semih Kadir advantages within the city, blackmailed or sabotaged those who could not be bribed, or simply threatened them into compliance. Each example stirred those who supported Semih into louder murmurs and restless shifting, and made Omar’s apprehension about Semih Kadir having access to the position of Grand Vizier even more pronounced.
When she was done, she took a breath, and for the first time that day looked at Omar. It did not last long enough, just a flick to and away of her gaze. He had worried that his confession might have pushed her away. Now he understood it might seem childish to her, with so many other concerns weighing on her mind.
“Do you have witnesses for these accusations, Instructor Akar?” one of the judges asked dispassionately. Dilay did not look at the benches where the Pashas sat. Her hands curled into her entari then relaxed.
“I am witness to these events, as they were told to me by Behram Kadir.”
“Master Kadir, do you corroborate these accusations?”
“Is it the habit of this court to take the word of criminals against generous, contributing members of society?” Semih asked, blandly, a look on his face like everything was beneath him.
Omar heard Dilay’s sharp inhale, but anything else was buried beneath the uproar that ensued. People, a few faces Omar recognized from the protests, stood, shouting, and others rose to meet them, throwing verbal accusations across the aisle at each other. Behram and his father wore matching smiles of contentedness, as if they were happier in the chaos than in the order of a moment before.
Dilay’s father stood, and cast his voice toward the high ceiling so it thundered in an order to be seated and silent. When everyone had complied, Semih stood and bowed toward the judges and Omar.
“This would be a simple matter to clear up, yes?” He looked at Omar. Omar managed to repress the shock of repulsion that went through him. Dilay gripped the rail of the witness box she stood in, her skin losing some of its warmth.
“My magic is not a trivial matter, Kadir Pasha. Are you suggesting that I use it to identify whether you are lying?”
Surprise registered momentarily in Semih’s eyes, then fire, then nothing.
“It is not my word we are questioning, is it? Is the court not aware that Instructor Akar was arrested for illegal instruction? That she fomented riots in the city?” Semih said, calmly, as though it were surprising and amusing that he had to inform anyone. Beside him, Behram shifted, his face uncharacteristically unreadable.
“And you are unaware that she was pardoned, and that the Sultan has agreed to legalize her school, and others, throughout the city?” Omar said. “Your arguments about her character are unfounded, Kadir Pasha.”
Behram appeared momentarily stunned, his mouth pressing in a thin line. His father glanced down at him for confirmation but Behram did not respond, and Semih recovered with a tense smile.
“Efendim, that may be the case, but she chose to practice illegally. To defy the Sultan. I have done nothing but support the Sultan, as you know. Clearly you can see why it is concerning that a dissenter be allowed to bring charges of errant morality against me?”
“I will submit to it.” Dilay’s voice shook and cracked. “I will submit to a confession.”
Semih had not planned on that, a look of surprise spasmed across his face.
“No!” her father barked. Omar’s stomach cramped, and he grit his teeth, leveling a glare on Behram he wished held the power of immolation in it. Semih held a hand up toward Dilay in invitation to Omar. Omar tried to think past the panic. Dilay looked at him, sorrowful. Apologetic. Because she worried more for him than she did herself. He balled his hands into fists then relaxed them. He stood, stiffly, and waited while the flash of dizziness and stiffness faded.
The distance between him and the witness box was a matter of twenty strides, but each one was excruciating, for the physical pain, the pull on his wounds, the blood he could feel seeping through his bandages, and for his fear. “I am in a poor state to do this, Behram. You are putting her at risk you do not understand.” Omar cast his voice in a whisper. “Are you so loyal to your father that you are willing to risk her sanity?”
Behram’s eyes narrowed as Omar reached the witness box. Dilay opened the wooden gate and stepped down to stand in front of Omar. She smiled at him, tremulous. He did not want this, to know the secrets inside her.
The absolute silence of the hall made Omar sick. He could feel every gaze on him. He did not need to read their minds to know what was in them at that moment. Monster.
He lifted his hands and tried to imagine he was going to touch her face as he had only a few times before. In caring.
“You are bleeding, Vali Ahad,” one of the judges said, in alarm.
“Yes,” Omar said, without turning. Dilay’s gaze met his, searching.
“Why are you bleeding?” Behram hissed from his seat. Omar turned his head to look at him.
“That was the price to free the people you put in prison,” he said, then looked at Dilay again. “Forgive me,” he murmured. A tear tracked down her cheek, her lips pressing together as she nodded once.
As Omar reached to her, Behram bolted from his seat and ducked into the space between Omar’s hands. Omar had already committed to the action, and his hands settled on Behram’s head.
“Behram,” Semih barked in denial. Behram gripped handfuls of the front of Omar’s entari, twisting so the fabric tightened against his back and his wounds, and curled his lip.
“Do it, and be damned for what you see,” Behram snarled quietly. Omar hesitated, and Behram gave a little jerk of his hands in Omar’s clothes. Omar released his magic.
A burst of light and pain razored through him, shredding him open at the same time it drilled into Behram’s mind.
Minds manifested in many ways. Behram’s burned. It was chaos. An inferno of rage and apathy that quickly consumed Omar’s own reality. Distantly, he heard Behram grunt in discomfort. Then he was lost. Blow after blow, physical and emotional. Emptiness that was never filled with pleasure or pain. Burning desire to be better, more, to see that people who betrayed were punished. That they hurt like he did, that they were empty like he was. Hate raged, fiery creatures consuming every good thought he stumbled upon.
He was burned away, his grip on himself and his magic lost in the tumult inside Behram. He could not sort memories, fragments of things he observed twisted together with the punishment of observing them.
Permeating it all, loneliness crushed him. Every small joy was strangled by it, made a lie by a life of abandonment. Nothing. He was nothing. It did not matter what he achieved, what he became. No one saw him. No one cared.
But her. Dilay. A girl of wind and joy, everything he was not, everything he wanted to be, to know. But her pristine image was fractured, crumbling apart, rays of black fire shining through her. Betrayer.
It was that image that gave Omar a thread of himself back, enough to clutch and pull his mind from Behram’s.
The moment he was back in his own his eyes popped open, his gaze meeting Behram’s. Blood seeped from one of Behram’s nostrils, and fire flickered in his eyes. The last dying flames that clung to embers. Omar dropped his hands to Behram’s shoulders, barely able to breathe, even back in his own skin. All he could think of was to pull Behram into an embrace, but the look on his face warned against a display like that. Behram had a feral look in his eyes that told Omar he had been stripped too raw to be safe. The room came to him in pieces, first smells, then sounds. Behram wiped his bleeding nose against his crimson sleeve, elbowing Omar’s arms away at the same time.
“What did you see, Vali Ahad?” he asked. Omar stared at him, still lost in the tumult. Wheel and stars, it would take him a lifetime to pick apart everything he had felt inside Behram. But their mirrored feelings for Dilay…
Guilt rose up like bile, gnawing, tearing him apart. He had contributed to this. To Behram’s loneliness. What kind of friend was he? And more to come, as he had just that morning sentenced Behram to more pain. The guilt bowed under Omar’s anger for a moment. But what he had done to Dilay was not love.
“Are you both all right?” Dilay asked, gently. He could not look at her. Not with Behram there, not with his friend’s emotions still tangled in his own. He managed to nod and stepped back.
“Your back.” She pointed. He dismissed it with a shake of his head. Magic was stressful on the body, and one that was not whole was taxed more than one that was. He would not be surprised to look in a mirror and see his back covered in blood.
“I cannot verify anything,” he announced. Some minds he could pick apart, follow threads and memories with ease. But Behram’s was a tangled lifetime of fear and anger. If someone spent their entire life being made into an animal, reacting to pain after pain, there were no tidy pathways to find truth. Truth became warped.
Dilay closed her eyes in defeat. Omar looked at Behram. “I am sorry.”
Behram seemed to falter, then returned to the bench beside his father.
“Vali Ahad, are you able to continue? Shall we recess?” Dilay’s father asked, one hand raised as if to hold Omar up.
“Continue,” Omar said, then took careful steps to return to his seat at the back of the hall. Ruslan moved to his side, his teeth clenched, face tamed to stone.
“Efendim,” he began, but Omar raised a hand and Ruslan grunted in resignation. Omar was, perversely, happy for the pain that throbbed and burned on his back. His aching head. The bloody nose that Ruslan handed him a cloth to deal with. Penance. For what he had taken from his friend. For the invasion. For his own betrayals. That was a caning he deserved.
“As these accusations cannot be verified,” Semih said in leading. The judges huddled to whisper to each other. Dilay returned to the witness box and clasped her hands in front of her entari. And he had failed her again as well. Omar controlled a grimace of regret with a little push of magic.
“I am sorry, Instructor Akar, but without another witness to verify, we cannot accept this as evidence,” one of the four judges said.
Dilay managed to school her face as she bowed in acceptance. Omar propped an elbow on his knee and pressed his forehead into his palm as people shuffled and whispered.
“Kadir Pasha, do you have any final grievances to bring?”
“In the interest of balance, also referenced in Hanim’s law of morality, we would like a chance to rebutt,” Semih Kadir said.
“The charges could not be verified,” the same judge said with an edge of impatience.
“That is not the point,” Semih replied.
“They are allowed a chance,” Dilay’s father said, pressing his fingers against his temples. “You may step down, Instructor Akar.”
Dilay obeyed, returning to her seat. Omar could not see her there, tucked in amongst the crowd.
“Proceed, Kadir Pasha,” the other judge said. Behram stood and stepped into the box, causing another flurry of speculation to go through the onlookers. Omar dreaded what Behram had to say, what more he might do to Dilay.
“I was witness to a very disturbing conversation, in which it was revealed that Osman Altimur had an affair, outside the sanctity of a closed circle marriage, with Zehra Demir. And, that affair has continued despite her recent betrothal to the Vali Ahad.” Behram looked at Omar with a feigned frown of apology. “I am sorry you had to find out this way, Efendim.”
Omar kept his head propped in his hand, but curved it over his mouth to hide his grimace. Semih had clearly not informed Behram of that morning’s decision.
A few scandalized gasps were overshadowed by the sudden increase in volume of whispered conversations and Omar straightened, gripping his knees against the new twinge of pain. This was exactly what he had not wanted to happen to Zehra.
“And, although I regretfully cannot corroborate this with a witness, I have it on very good authority that this is not uncommon for Master Altimur, that he is far too free with his affections. Is that moral? Who knows how many bastards he has fathered?”
Osman bolted to his feet, gold magic breaking open over his skin like fissures.
“You cannot bring items to the tribunal with no evidence, with no prior notice.” Osman’s magic rumbled behind his voice, and the building shifted on its foundation.
“Accusations were brought against my father with no evidence, so, as he said, these in balance.” Behram gave a dismissive shrug. “And if you wish for evidence, you need only demand another confession.”
“Those are not the traditions of a tribunal, Master Kadir,” Dilay’s father said. “Grievances and evidence are the traditions. We have never needed a Veritor to confirm before, and I do not intend to make that the new convention.”
“It is only fair, Judge Akar, that the same methods be used for both sides of this dispute,” Semih Kadir said.
“That is enough.” Omar stood. “The court has more than enough evidence to consider in this matter, and I will not risk another mind for petty tit for tat. I am, with agreement of the judges, closing this tribunal to more evidence.”
Dilay’s father stood and turned to bow to him, and the others did the same. “Yes, Vali Ahad Efendim, we have enough evidence to consider a decision.”
“Gentlemen, thank you for your service to the Sultan,” Omar said. They parted as he stepped off the dais and between them and their seats. The aisle that led to the main portion of the guild building and the exit beyond appeared to stretch for leagues. And his bloodied back would be visible to everyone as he moved.
The two guards who had stationed themselves at the back of the room moved forward as he did, and Ruslan walked close enough that he could offer assistance if Omar faltered. Everyone stood as he walked, bowed as he passed, and whispered behind him. But then he heard shuffling, and glanced behind to find Behram had dropped in at his back. Omar turned his attention forward, and Behram followed, silent.
