Wind and wildfire mages.., p.39
Wind & Wildfire (Mages of the Wheel), page 39
“Will I be?” Dilay asked coolly. Even if the Sultana did participate in decisions like that, Dilay doubted the Sultan, or any of the Council, would admit to it. The Sultan’s mouth twitched down, and he held a hand up to indicate silence to his Council.
“Speaking of Master Bugra, he has informed me you were very driven to become an instructor. Yet you have changed your plans when offered the possibility of being elevated from daughter of a laundress to a princess?”
Wind swept through her, anger. She struggled to control it with her magic, her gaze drifting from the Sultan’s turban, to his wife. The Queen Sultana smiled serenely, her head moving in the tiniest of nods. An unexpected ally. Discreetly, the Sultana traced a circle on her palm. The oldest symbol for the Wheel. Balance in all things, great to small and back again, power balanced with weakness, love with pain, and life with death. Yes.
“I am the daughter of a laundress, yes. A woman who serves the nobility in the chores they cannot conceive of doing themselves. It is a simple thing, and yet, I would guess, no one in this room knows how to do it. Or realizes that scores of common women make their livelihoods at such menial jobs. The ugly, unpleasant jobs that hold a city up and power a society. The water singers who wash the clothes account for a quarter of the Second House mages in your city, Efendim.”
His mouth pinched in anger.
“I am also the daughter of a judge”—Dilay forced her chin higher, her shoulders back, and let her hands fall to her sides—“who has seen time upon time what happens when the poor are left to molder where they are, with no chances to improve their lots. Who has watched innocents suffer under laws meant to keep everyone, wealthy and poor alike, exactly where they are.”
The hall filled with voices, angry whispers, huffs of condescending amusement. The men to her left and right shifted in irritation, as if they would like to get up and leave the room. Dilay took a moment to calm her racing heart and scattering thoughts.
“I would rather be the daughter of people who see suffering and work to improve it, than I would a princess hidden away in a palace, celebrating while my people threatened to burn my city down.”
That made him angry. The Sultan slapped his hands to his knees as though he might stand.
“Tamar is not in balance, Sultan Efendim. You and your Council can choose to let that remain, until the laundresses and the dockworkers and the street sweeps and servants decide they have had enough and rise up to plunge this city into chaos. Or, you can take steps to balance it.”
“And you believe you are that balance?”
“I have spent my entire life teaching people balance, Efendim. And I have spent that same time walking the line between common and noble. I can blend in among both groups. Can anyone here say the same?”
“Think how they would praise you, Sultan,” the Queen Sultana said mildly. “The first Sultan in generations to do such a thing.” Her eyebrow raised and she gave Dilay a pointed look as she turned her face toward the Sultan. Dilay swept away the heat in her cheeks with her magic. Clearly her subterfuge needed work. “How much more deeply they will bow to the Vali Ahad because he will have such ties to his people.”
Dilay chanced a fleeting look at Omar. He sat calmly, his face turned down, perhaps to hide his emotions from his father. Dilay tried to picture them both, sitting where the Sultan and Queen Sultana sat. It was difficult to do so. How could the other woman bear it?
“Grand Vizier,” said the Sultan. Eymen stood and bowed. “What says the Council?”
“I do not know Instructor Akar, Efendim, but I know her father. He has always been considered a fair man, who bows to the law in all things. He is respected.” Eymen looked to the other men. “Does anyone wish to speak?”
“I know Instructor Akar.” A portly man stood, scratched at his cheek as though embarrassed. “She taught my son at the University and he learned more there than he learned in all his Turns of primary school.”
“That does not qualify a lowborn noble to be elevated to rule,” the Sultan said in boredom.
“No, of course not, Efendim. But it does demonstrate an understanding of people, and of balance.”
The Sultan waved the man back to his seat. More stood. A few spoke for her, but many complained about the precedent it set. Standing while they spoke about her was humiliating, and made her grow more and more agitated, ready to spin around and storm out. She had not realized it would be more trial than discussion.
“Does anyone else care to speak?” Eymen asked when there had been a short gap of silence after the last man sat. Omar stood. Eymen bowed abruptly, and the Sultan turned a narrowed-eyed look on him.
Omar stepped to Dilay’s side and bowed to his father. “I will speak,” he said.
Eymen glanced apprehensively from the Sultan to Omar and back again. The Queen radiated a mixture of amusement and exasperation, and the Sultan’s face flushed red.
“And as I am the Vali Ahad, that will be the final word. It will be Dilay Akar, or it will be no one.”
While they had whispered dissent when she spoke, they erupted with it after Omar’s declaration. He slid her a look, a tiny smile, and she felt the burden of judgment sift away.
“That is not yours to decide,” the Sultan said.
“I know what kind of Sultan I wish to be, Efendim. And it requires someone to serve as bridge between me and my people. As Tarkin Sabri saw the need for a signal to his people that the Sultanate was united with them after the Sundering War, so do I, now. She is that signal.” Omar spoke calmly, almost as though he was disinterested.
The Sultan’s teeth clenched and he looked at his wife, who gave a single nod. The Sultan shifted, shifting one way then the other, tugging at his beard, then directing a lour at Eymen. “Grand Vizier.”
Eymen bowed again.
“You may submit a date to me for my son’s second betrothal.” He pinned a narrowed gaze on Omar. “This will be the last, yes?”
“Yes, Efendim”—Omar bowed, and looked at Dilay as he straightened—“the last.”
Dilay smiled at him. Mazhar grunted finally from his seat on the bench.
Eymen announced the session complete, and Omar took Dilay’s hand to lead her to the side as the Sultan and Queen Sultana rose and moved for the hall. The Sultana stopped in front of Dilay and gave her an imperious look.
“We will practice your skill at addressing the Council.”
“Yes, Sultana.” Dilay ducked her head. Omar squeezed her hand. The Sultana walked away, and Mazhar stood, joining Dilay and Omar as they fell in behind the Sultan. Omar adjusted Dilay’s arm so it was twined through his. More proper than holding hands, though she hoped they still would, sometimes.
“They hate you already. This will make sessions much more interesting,” Mazhar said. “Well done.”
“Mazhar,” Omar warned.
“He isn’t wrong,” Dilay said. They turned in the opposite direction from the Sultan and his wife, down the hall and, Dilay thought, in the direction of the Sultan’s wing. It would take her a lifetime to memorize all the halls. “I lectured when I should have been more subtle.”
“Subtle takes practice,” Omar said. “Perhaps I can take on the role of instructor, for once.” He didn’t look at her, but his lips curved up.
“I will see you both at dinner, I trust?” Mazhar stopped at the junction with the hall that led back to the palace entrance.
“Where are you going?” Omar asked.
“Well, you have a fancy new betrothed to teach you all the back alleys and debauchery the city has to offer you. I, on the other hand, have to learn myself.” He took Dilay’s free hand and kissed it. “I will see you again, big sister.” He winked, then offered a quick wave and trotted down the hall.
Dilay looked up at Omar. “He gets away with a lot more than you did, doesn’t he?”
“You have no idea. I think half the city will mourn when Anne turns her attention to betrothing him.” Omar peered behind them, then relaxed his arm, slipping his hand down to lace his fingers between hers. Dilay ducked her head against his shoulder. “There is no one he loves?”
“Not that I know of. Mazhar doesn’t talk about love.” He stopped to open his doors. Ruslan was inside, setting up an array of food, as well as a tray of coffee, and tea.
“How do you do that?” Dilay asked. “Always have things ready?”
“Magic, Mistress,” Ruslan replied with a subdued smile just before he bowed to them. Dilay fidgeted. It would take time to grow accustomed to being bowed to. Only her students did it, as youth to an elder. Having people her own age do it outside the Earth District was…confusing.
“Thank you,” Omar said to Ruslan, who looked surprised. The smile returned and he ducked his head before leaving.
“These things suit you.” Omar waited until the doors shut behind Ruslan to touch the embroidery on Dilay’s borrowed entari.
“They are not as unbearable as I thought they would be,” Dilay admitted.
“And everything else?”
“Give me time. I am not accustomed to navigating these things. But as long as we are together, I am not frightened of them.” She took a shelled almond from the tray of food. Did they not even have to shell their own nuts?
She looked out the glass doors and calmed at the sight of the little fig tree. Its unexpected new function was to serve as grounding and reminder to her, of where she came from. There were battles to fight now. New ones she did not know how to navigate. Council meetings, politics more insidious than any she had dealt with. Plans for a city, a nation, on a scale she could only previously have dreamed of. Dilay looked at the little almond in her fingers and smiled wryly. Perhaps it was not so bad to not have to worry about the small things, when one had so many big things to deal with.
“I think you will both flourish nicely here.” Omar stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Dilay touched her fingers to his, worries beginning to creep in around the joy of what felt like a battle won.
“Have you spoken to Behram?”
He squeezed her shoulders. “No.”
“This will hurt him, you and I.”
“I know. And despite everything, that is not what I want.”
“I failed him,” Dilay said.
“I think he failed you,” Omar said, gently, “but if you want to forgive him and try again I will do whatever you ask. I think you mattered to him more than anything else, and I cannot help the guilt I feel for this…for us. Maybe together, we can help him.”
“I don’t know yet,” Dilay said, “if I want to.”
Omar nodded, rubbing his thumb up the slope of her neck. “My mother asked me if we intended to continue our lessons, to control my power.” He replaced his touch with his lips, and Dilay turned into him. Her skin prickled.
“You know why. She wants to know the same thing I do. Do you intend to continue carelessly using your power?”
“No, love,” Omar said. “But trust me when I tell you the only way to win my father over to that idea is profound subtlety, and time. I cannot change that. Trust me, and we will work toward it together.”
“And what if our children have your power?”
“I will be the last to use my powers this way—that, I can unequivocally promise you.” He looked at her hair, then her clothes, a slow smile lighting his face. “About those advanced lessons?”
“I suppose I can spare a moment.” Dilay feigned a put-upon sigh.
“This will take at least two moments.” Omar tugged her toward the bedroom and she followed, laughing.
Epilogue
DILAY AND OMAR EMERGED FROM the Sultan’s wing and into the foyer of the palace entrance. Her parents waited for them there, her father holding a squirming bundle and speaking in laughing tones to Dilay’s mother. Beste stood with them, also smiling, the smile broadening when she saw Omar and Dilay.
Beste extracted the baby from Judge Akar’s arms, making him frown in disappointment, and handed her to Dilay.
“I expect more time with her this afternoon. You have hardly let me hold her at all,” Dilay’s father protested.
Dilay smiled coyly at him. “Whose fault is that? I have to bribe you to come to the palace at all.” Dilay’s mother leaned in to kiss her cheek, then the baby’s. Her father huffed, turning his head away but bowing to Omar before he did.
“She has such an easy temperament,” Dilay’s mother said, and Beste nodded agreement. “Unlike her mother.”
Dilay clicked her tongue, then turned a smile on the baby as she held her up. “Are you ready, my little light?” she asked. The baby stared up at her with wide, dark eyes. “Yes you are, my brave girl.” Omar had the same giddy adoration cut with exhaustion on his face that he had worn since their daughter’s birth. “Are we ready?” Dilay asked him.
The palace doors were thrown wide, allowing in the bright morning sun and the chill of late winter. The sound of the gathered masses outside was something like buzzing bees, uncomfortable for its imagined threat. It was nearly the end of the first season since the princess’ birth, the traditional time to present a baby to the public. Dilay was not certain she was ready to share her most precious accomplishment with the world.
“I will never be ready,” Omar said, looking toward the doors, where two guards watched them standing there, steeling themselves. He put an arm around her shoulders. “But I am here with my strength.” He kissed Dilay’s temple. “And my heart.” He tapped his daughter on the nose and she smiled at him. “All is well.”
“Each new thing is frightening,” Dilay’s mother said with a smile, “but they will almost always weather it better than you do.”
Dilay gave her mother, then her father, a one-armed hug before Beste escorted them away to stand outside with the Sultan and Queen Sultana on the steps.
Dilay glanced up at Omar, and he winked. They waited another moment for a trio of guards to precede them, then followed out onto the broad landing of the stairs.
The cold air braced Dilay, filling her lungs and thoughts with clarity. The brightness of the sun made her blink and the baby fidget and fuss. She went still and wide-eyed when a cheer went up through the courtyard and down the palace road, from throngs of people who had traveled up from the city to mass at the Morning Gate. Only nobles were in the courtyard, everyone else was barred by a wall of guards at the gate. The Sultan and Queen Sultana stood to the left of the doors, and Dilay’s parents to the right. They smiled encouragement. Seda was with them, and Mazhar. Seda clapped her hands together once and smiled bright like flame. Of course she had seen the baby multiple times, but today was special. Time for Omar’s child to take her place as princess.
Omar touched a hand to the small of Dilay’s back as they descended the stairs, where the Viziers of the Council waited to bestow their well wishes. Once they had done so, the princess would be announced to all those gathered. Eymen Demir waited at the bottom of the stairs and was the first to greet them with a bow. He smiled with real joy, and set a tiny pouch tied with a yellow ribbon in a large basket near his feet.
“Sand from the valley, for balance,” he said. He bowed again before he moved aside to allow the next. Each Vizier followed suit, approaching one at a time and offering a simple gift, one for harmony or balance. Stones or small toys representing the Houses, clothes in the colors of the First House, as everyone assumed the princess must be. It became a bit of a blur, each man offering a gift, bowing, smiling, saying congratulations. Until the end of the line. Behram was there. His father had died, unexpectedly, only a small turn after the birth of the princess. It was customary for a family to isolate for that first season, so Dilay had only been able to send a letter of condolence to Behram. Seeing him now, taking his father’s place as Vizier, made her immeasurably sad. Omar pressed his hand to her back again when she faltered. It had quickly become his silent signal that he was with her. If she needed him.
Behram approached and bowed, then set a small book in the basket. A glimpse at the cover showed it to be a collection of fables. An unorthodox gift.
“If she is like her mother,” Behram said as he moved in to touch one cheek then the other to Dilay’s, “she will appreciate it.”
“I am certain she will love it, Behram, thank you,” Dilay said. He did not meet her gaze, but turned to Omar and offered his hand.
“I was very sorry to hear about your father, my friend.” Omar grasped Behram’s forearm.
“That is the Wheel, is it not? What goes around comes around.”
Dilay was distracted from his barbed words when a little boy peeked out from behind Behram. She had seen Behram and Zehra’s son only a few times, at court functions. Cemil, named in honor of Behram’s father. He was three Turns now, nearing four, she thought. A beautiful boy with dark curly hair and eyes like golden jasper. She regarded him more carefully. He smiled shyly and pointed.
“Beebee,” he whispered. Dilay smiled and crouched.
“Would you like to meet her?”
He nodded and came closer, glancing repeatedly at Behram as he did. Dilay’s heart shuddered and shattered.
She knew that look. That desperate, uncertain look. She had spent her childhood with a boy who wore the same. Cemil offered a tentative reach and squealed in glee when the baby grabbed his finger. “She likes you.” Dilay smiled, and touched Cemil’s cheek. “You will be great friends.” He beamed, giving his hand a little shake, and was rewarded with a smile and a coo.
Behram put a hand on Cemil’s small shoulder and he immediately let go, his smile dimming as he retreated to his father’s side. Dilay stood, clutching her daughter more tightly. “He is welcome here, Behram. If he would like to play.”
“Perhaps.” He smiled. “If we have time.” He turned to Omar again. “I will do my best to live up to my father’s place on the Council, Efendim. Know that I am with you as I always was, that I have, and always will, serve Tamar.”
Omar smiled, and nodded, and Behram bowed to them again. His gaze touched Dilay’s only briefly before it rested on the baby, and one corner of his mouth ticked up, then the expression was erased as he turned away. Air was ice in her lungs.
