Wind and wildfire mages.., p.7
Wind & Wildfire (Mages of the Wheel), page 7
“What would helping you entail, exactly?”
His eyes narrowed, as if pained, and he moved his head from one side to the other, quickly, as if trying to expunge something that nagged him. “We can discuss it in more detail later, but it would require meeting with me on regular occasions that fit both our schedules.”
Meeting with the Vali Ahad on regular occasions? Her father’s face flashed in her mind, as did the scene at the tribunal. But the book was warm and heavy in her hand, full of new knowledge.
“May I”—she hugged the book against her—“may I think about it?”
“Of course.” He released his hands from behind his back and turned to say something to his steward. The movement made him sway, and he clutched a hand over his face, digging against his temples. His steward’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. The Vali Ahad grunted, and a drop of blood trickled from his nose.
“Efendim.” Dilay took a step closer. “Forgive me, you do not appear well. Can I…shall I have someone summon a carriage to take you back to the palace? My father has headaches and rest is the very best medicine.” Though this seemed like something far worse than a headache, if it was causing him to bleed. She flipped open the flap on her bag, realizing too late it revealed her illicit borrows, but dug between them for her single, rumpled handkerchief. She held it out to him, fumbling the flap closed as the steward eyed the books within it with a raised eyebrow.
“If I return to the palace like this, I will never leave it again,” the Vali Ahad mumbled as he lowered his hand. He noticed her outstretched hand, glanced at her eyes, then took the bit of cloth reluctantly to wipe the blood from his face.
“Is there somewhere the Vali Ahad might rest, in private?” the steward emphasized private, as though she might suggest he rest in the middle of the atrium.
“I could find an empty classroom?” she offered. The steward glanced behind him, toward the main aisle of the library and beyond. “If we could not parade him in such a state in front of every noble’s son—”
“I am not in a state.” The Vali Ahad tried to prove his point by straightening his posture, but his skin went a shade greyer. This was more than a headache, to be causing such weakness. Perhaps she had the wrong idea of the cost of his magic.
“There is Master Fahri’s office, at the back of the library. He allows me to study there sometimes when he is in a benevolent mood. I can show you.” Dilay turned and strode through the aisle, glancing back once to see if they followed. The Vali Ahad followed at the front of his small entourage, doing a very good job of pretending he had not almost gone to his knees a moment before. Her fingers tingled, and a little catch lodged in her throat. What was she doing? She should just ignore whatever was wrong with him and go about her business. Any help she gave him was tantamount to condoning his disturbing magic.
She opened the door to Master Fahri’s office, and the assault of must and the unidentifiable smells that had always permeated the space made her scrunch her nose. No lamp was lit, but the light from the library was enough for her to see her way around. The square table in the center of the room served as a workspace, and Dilay quickly tidied it, making neat stacks of books and papers to create room. She kicked the sitting cushion into place just as the Vali Ahad entered.
His guards stayed just outside, but Dilay did not see the steward.
“Your steward?” She shuffled out of the way; the small room was not meant for more than one person. He sat on the cushion.
“He went to inform Master Fahri that I have commandeered his office.”
“Oh, but I am certain it is fine. You are the Vali Ahad after all,” she said. One of the guards ducked his head in, murmured a few words, and a mage orb bubbled to life and floated to the ceiling, casting the dusty, disheveled space in pale light.
“Am I?” the Vali Ahad said, as dry as packing salt, as he propped his elbows on the table and pressed his palms to his eyes.
“I did not mean offense,” Dilay said softly. She fidgeted with the flap of her bag and yearned for escape.
“I know.” He folded his arms on the table in front of him. Dilay traced the edge of the fabric flap, then knelt across the table from him with her back to the door. She set Judge Hanim’s book in front of her, arranging it exactly parallel with the edge of the table.
“You said if you returned to the palace you would never leave it.” Could it be that he was at the University seeking help against his father’s wishes? That intrigued her.
Cinnamon eyes met hers, and a little jolt went down the back of her throat. It was perfectly normal to find him handsome. There was not a woman she knew who would disagree with her. Though she was not entirely sure it was because of those warm brown eyes and broad jaw, or because of the promise of wealth and power that so many lauded his looks. Besides, there were plenty of handsome men in the world who were also terrible people.
“I have a specific set of duties. Being here is not one of them,” he said. There was no mistaking the sharp tone. Bitter. “If the Sultan believes that time at the University will hamper my usefulness to him, he will not allow me to return here.”
Dilay sat back on her heels, watching him. Was he speaking about the tribunals? She had not considered that he was not a willing participant in them. But she could only assume this violent, bleeding headache had something to do with his magic. She had seen students give themselves bloody noses when they were trying to transition from controlling a spell with words to mental spell craft. An affliction of Sival—Aval and Deval did not have enough power to overload their own bodies in such a way. But the tribunal would have been a few candlemarks ago. Any aftereffects of his magic should have cleared by now. Though she knew almost nothing about a Veritor’s particular power. If she helped him, would he tell her more about it?
“Is this headache”—she paused when his bearing hardened—“is this the problem you want my help with?” If she enmeshed herself with something involving the palace, her father would never forgive her.
“This is part of it, yes.”
“I am not a physician, Vali Ahad.”
“I am aware.” He touched the cloth she had given him to his nose again, and it came away with a fresh mark of blood. “I have seen a dozen physicians. I have studied under countless tutors. And still, still I am…” He dropped the blood-spotted cloth between them as though it were evidence.
I am pathetic. A fire mage that cannot burn.
Dilay realized why she cared at all that the Vali Ahad was bleeding in front of her, despite what she had seen him do. Despite what she thought of his father’s policies. Despite her own father’s vehement opinions. Despite that he was a man grown and not a sad, lonely little boy. He was just like Behram. His magic and his self completely separate, dictated by someone else.
She rubbed the spot between her brows. Wheel, why couldn’t she just take in stray animals, like Seda did?
“I will try, Efendim, but you must promise not to throw me in prison if I fail.” Or rip her mind open. Dilay gripped the table edge instead of recoil from him.
His shoulders slumped and he lowered his forehead to his arms. “No one can know about this,” he said into his arms. Of course not. Tensions were too high in the city, in all of Tamar, in fact, for anyone to know and likely exploit the fact that the Vali Ahad did not have his considerable power under control.
“When do you wish to meet? And how will we do so without starting rumors?”
“At night.” He stirred, shifting his head so his eyes appeared above his forearms. His gaze fixed on the book then rose. She was sitting across from the Vali Ahad. And he wanted her help. She could never have imagined such a turn.
Dilay glanced down to hide her consternation. Surely he understood that private meetings between them would cause both of them issue? Not only was that when she taught the children, meeting the Vali Ahad at night was a sure way to ruin her reputation and give those who opposed her appointment as instructor exactly what they wanted.
Always there had been rumors. It did not matter that she had worked tirelessly to graduate a Turn early. Master Bugra had chosen to retire from the University, and the subsequent shuffling of instructors after his departure had opened a vacancy. So Dilay had worked through sleepless nights and endless days to finish early and apply. Master Bugra had spoken for her. As had two of the younger, more liberally minded instructors. Enough to get her the job. On probation, of course.
The slightest slipup and she would be gone. And they watched her for it. They claimed it had not been work that got her the position, but that she was pretty.
Beauty, her mother had told her, was both weapon and liability. But for Dilay, her even average beauty had been nothing but a problem. Used both to elevate and demean her. She was only chosen because she is beautiful. And, Why waste your time with all this work when you can have anything you want by simply seducing the right man? How can our male students be expected to concentrate if she is teaching them?
Perhaps none of that would occur to a man who was used to the entire world bending to his schedule, who was accustomed to people doing exactly what he wanted without him having to consider the consequences to their lives.
“I cannot,” she said.
He blinked. “Classes are over then. Your work is finished. Why?”
“Work does not stop at the end of the day for most of us, Vali Ahad.” She tried to keep her tone subdued, and maybe managed a bit of respect, but she thought some of the edge of resentment remained. “Your steward, for example, and your guards do not stop when you are at ease.”
“Brother,” the Sehzade said from the doorway. Dilay twisted to look up at him. He glanced at her, then apparently dismissed her completely, as he stepped around the table to stand at his brother’s side.
“Ah good. My nursemaid has arrived,” the Vali Ahad sighed. The Sehzade raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing back here?”
“I think that is obvious.” The Vali Ahad straightened, and held a hand up to indicate Dilay. “Recruiting Instructor Akar to my cause.”
Her temper bristled at the wording, and it must have shown on her face, because when the Sehzade looked at her, his mouth stretched in a taunting smirk.
“I am not so certain about that.”
“You seem to be in good hands, Efendim.” Dilay rose. “I have classes to attend.”
“I would like to meet today, Instructor Akar,” the Vali Ahad replied. She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.
“I do not think that is a good idea.”
“Today.”
Dilay put her hands on her hips. “No.”
The two men stared at her in silence.
“Did you”—the Sehzade made a sound like a tiny laugh—“did you just tell the Vali Ahad no?”
“First, I have no idea where to even start. I need time to assess and prepare. And second, you can hardly walk and will be useless in any kind of class,” Dilay said, borrowing her mother’s stern tone, the one she used when there was absolutely no arguing. The one that could make complete strangers stop and recoil in preparation for her rebuke. “Come to my class tomorrow, Efendim, if you are able. Under the pretense of observation. I can assess you then.”
“Very well, Instructor Akar,” the Vali Ahad said, doing a poor job of suppressing a smile. He thought she was funny. Novel. Not so different than any of her other students. Well, he would learn, just as they did, that she was no less willing to make his learning life a misery. “Everything you have seen, and everything we have discussed, is not to leave this room,” he said. “You understand.”
“Of course.” She bowed and snatched up the book at the very last moment before she turned and left.
Eight
DILAY MUNCHED ON A FEW slices of carrot, and a cold wedge of kibbeh, with more buckwheat than meat in it. They had been trying to stretch the lamb they had, since it would be some time before they could afford anything more than a chicken. It was cyclical, when her father was paid for his tribunal duties, and crime was lowest in winter and spring. Spring was in its full glory now, unfortunately. Her mother set a bowl of greens down in front of her, and Dilay looked up in surprise.
“You are too skinny.”
“These take too long. I need to get to—”
“Eat,” her mother said, gently, and pushed the bowl closer. They grew what they could in pots along the front of the house, the only south-facing exposure not shaded out by neighbors and the taller houses of the more wealthy. Much of it was pilfered by passersby, but what they could glean helped a bit. Her mother had dribbled oil and vinegar and a healthy dusting of za’atar on the greens. Dilay dutifully ate them, watching as her mother tied her apron about her waist and tucked her hair beneath a wrap of white cloth. “I have picked up two more houses in the Air District. So I will be home late tonight.”
“I will be in the warehouse after my classes at the University. I will not see you until tomorrow,” Dilay said around a mouthful of bitter greens. Her mother nodded, the corners of her mouth pinched in the manner Dilay had named her “not frown.”
“Be careful, Deedee. I heard someone speaking of your hobby the other day, though they spoke as if it were just a rumor. You do not wish for that rumor to become talk of sedition.”
Dilay nodded. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, about the Vali Ahad. It was frightening, and confusing. Her mother would at least listen. But she was also certain to tell Dilay’s father, eventually, and he would not listen.
Her mother hoisted her basket, with its empty bags for laundry, up to her hip before bending to kiss Dilay’s temple. The door that led from the kitchen to the tiny patio in the back, where their oven was, creaked closed behind her mother.
In her absence the house settled in silence. Dilay pushed the bowl of greens away. She wiped her fingers on her salvar, making certain none of the oil from the greens lingered. Then she reached beneath the cushion that kept her off the cold stone of the kitchen floor and withdrew the book the Vali Ahad had given her.
She set it on the table and opened it carefully. None of the books available in the University dealt so specifically with the laws of the Old Sultanate. Tamar was all that was left of that empire, which once stretched to touch most of the known world. From the Odokan plains in the east, to the easternmost reaches of Menei and its neighbors in the south, beyond the Sun Sea, nearly to the north, where barbarians who still cavorted in furs and hefted spears were rumored to live. And where the Old Sultanate had reached, so had magic. In everything. Every life, every plant, every grain of sand had been touched with it.
Six Houses spun the Wheel, balanced in harmony and opposition. The mages of the Circle helped write the laws of the Old Sultanate, known for its justice and fair dealings. At least until the Sundering War, when the seeds of prejudice sprouted into mighty vines that broke the world and reduced Tamar to a fraction of its former size.
Dilay wanted to know why. Desperately. She wanted to understand how a world had gone from harmony and balance, six Houses, to four. First House, air and intellect. Second House, water and emotion. Fourth House, earth and duty. Fifth, fire, and passion. And once, now lost, the Third and Sixth. Creation and Destruction. Life, and death. Joy, and sorrow. She wanted to know if it could ever be brought back to balance, and restore that which was lost.
She opened the book, and marveled at the fading inscription once again. This had been written by someone just like her father, who lived before the Sundering War, at the height of the Old Sultanate’s glory. She knew of Judge Hanim. He was renowned as the father, alongside Omar Sabri the First, of Tamar law. Dilay had not known any of his writings still existed. So much knowledge had been lost during the Sundering War, books burned and destroyed.
There had once been a branch of the University entirely dedicated to training tribunal judges, but that was now accomplished by apprenticeship. Some of Hanim’s outlines of law had survived into the modern age, were still informing and serving as the structure for the system of laws the current Sultan relied upon.
Unfortunately, there was no time to dive deeply this morning, she was already running late to get to the Grand Market before it was overrun. But she flipped carefully through some of the pages. Laws governing marriage, the sale of goats—an important commodity then, and to some degree still—and trade disputes. That was the section she needed most, and had yet to find time to devote to it.
The Merchant Guild was headed by the Altimur family. In fact, some believed it had been controlled by the Altimur name dating back to before the Sundering War, though those kinds of records had been lost in the violence of the war. In the last decade, Semih Kadir, father of Behram and governor of three quarters of the territory that made up Narfour, had been painstakingly gathering supporters. Now, he was making a bid to take control of the guild. The Merchant Guild was the most powerful guild in the city. Its umbrella encompassed all of the trade guilds, which meant its reach stretched even into the valley, where agriculture ruled more than commerce. Whoever controlled the Merchant Guild was eclipsed only by the Sultan in power.
There were many, particularly in the less-powerful trade guilds, and the poorer parts of the Water and Earth Districts, who were frightened by the prospect of Semih Kadir taking over the Merchant Guild. He was not a man known for fairness, the way Altimur Pasha was. Osman and Behram, who would one day take over in their fathers’ places, were also entirely different people. Osman was mild-tempered, smart, but simple. He saw things in black and white, and had a strong head for business and fairness. Behram, at least as a friend, was loyal, protective, and confident. But he could also be, in contrast to Osman, the truest manifestation of the Fifth House’s darker side that Dilay had ever seen in one person. Arrogant, abrasive, and selfish. She did not know what kind of leader Behram would be, as he had yet to hold a position of any kind. But she had seen Osman, and trusted he could lead a guild into the modern age.
