Farouk from his greater height, shrugged his wide shoulders.
“It’s been a long night.” Belam stretched, leaned forward to kiss Yasha, a touch of the lips that lingered too long for good taste. “There’s going to be a hunt today, and I’ve always wanted to test myself against a wyvern. I need some sleep first, though. My eyes feel like half the sand from the beach is in them.”
“Forget the hunt,” Corajidin said. “We have a journey of our own to make into the wetlands today. Make yourself available.” Belam nodded, expression dour as he left.
“You need to think of your own advancement, Mari.” Her father came across and rested his hands on Mari’s shoulders. She was surprised to feel him tremble ever so faintly. “Wolfram came to me almost two years ago and told me I would be the ruler of Amnon and the Rōmarq. It would bring me joy to know there were great days ahead for you. Leaving the Feyassin to form an alliance in marriage to an ally, perhaps?”
“There’s nobody on my horizon, Father.” Her thoughts strayed briefly to her nameless lover from last night. A dalliance only, no matter what girlish infatuation she felt in the echoes of passion. Mari studied her father. She had never thought he looked old until today. He was still young for an Avān, though in the uncertain light of the lanterns there seemed to be more gray in his hair. Deeper lines etched around the very dark shadows around his eyes. His brow was creased, ravines filled with too many thoughts, too many cares, and the darkness of his schemes. His face and brow were dewed with sweat. “Please reconsider. Is now the time for your ambitions? You’re ill! You should take better care of yourself.”
“My illness and my destiny seem to be entwined, Mariam.” Her father took her dry hands with his clammy ones. “The Erebus Dynasties ruled half a world during the Awakened Empire.”
“Until you became drunk on your own power,” Wolfram reminded him. “Your Ancestors were Mahj—Awakened Emperors—until they were led to ceremonial deaths—”
“By the Näsarat, who reclaimed the Jade Throne at our expense!” Corajidin slammed his fist into his palm. “Even now, six hundred years after the supposed fall of the Awakened Empire, a Näsarat Mahj still sits the Jade Throne in Mediin. We will not stumble this time. Your oracles promised me!”
“Oracles never promise anything, though I’ve seen some of what you say,” Wolfram agreed hesitantly. “The further away the future is, the harder it is to know. I’ve warned you against relying too much on the currents of the future. You wouldn’t be the first to drown in them.”
“Nor will I be the first to navigate them.” Corajidin took Yasha by the hand, raised her to her feet, whispered something to her. His hand grazed her breast. Slid to her hip. Settled on the swell of her buttocks. He looked to the others in the pavilion. “Though now there are other affairs I need to wrestle with.”
Mari held up her hands in mock surrender. As she left the pavilion, Wolfram was only a stiff-legged step behind her, Brede following him with her head down. The others wandered away down the long avenues between tents. Only Farouk remained outside the tent, glaring at Armal’s back as the giant and his father headed off to their beds.
“Wolfram?” Mari said, turning to face him. The taller man lurched to a halt. Brede stopped and stared at Mari withwide blue eyes, her beauty apparent for a moment. Mari talked softly so she would not be overheard. “You said you saw some of what my father spoke of.”
“It’s like seeing the shape of the breakers in the mist. One isn’t sure where the foam ends and the mist begins. Soon enough, it all looks like churn.”
“What did you tell him?” Mari did not want to get within arm’s reach of the man.
Wolfram’s laugh was smooth as silk on skin. “Oracles don’t think in mortal frames of reference. Sometimes their visions can be
“It’s been a long night.” Belam stretched, leaned forward to kiss Yasha, a touch of the lips that lingered too long for good taste. “There’s going to be a hunt today, and I’ve always wanted to test myself against a wyvern. I need some sleep first, though. My eyes feel like half the sand from the beach is in them.”
“Forget the hunt,” Corajidin said. “We have a journey of our own to make into the wetlands today. Make yourself available.” Belam nodded, expression dour as he left.
“You need to think of your own advancement, Mari.” Her father came across and rested his hands on Mari’s shoulders. She was surprised to feel him tremble ever so faintly. “Wolfram came to me almost two years ago and told me I would be the ruler of Amnon and the Rōmarq. It would bring me joy to know there were great days ahead for you. Leaving the Feyassin to form an alliance in marriage to an ally, perhaps?”
“There’s nobody on my horizon, Father.” Her thoughts strayed briefly to her nameless lover from last night. A dalliance only, no matter what girlish infatuation she felt in the echoes of passion. Mari studied her father. She had never thought he looked old until today. He was still young for an Avān, though in the uncertain light of the lanterns there seemed to be more gray in his hair. Deeper lines etched around the very dark shadows around his eyes. His brow was creased, ravines filled with too many thoughts, too many cares, and the darkness of his schemes. His face and brow were dewed with sweat. “Please reconsider. Is now the time for your ambitions? You’re ill! You should take better care of yourself.”
“My illness and my destiny seem to be entwined, Mariam.” Her father took her dry hands with his clammy ones. “The Erebus Dynasties ruled half a world during the Awakened Empire.”
“Until you became drunk on your own power,” Wolfram reminded him. “Your Ancestors were Mahj—Awakened Emperors—until they were led to ceremonial deaths—”
“By the Näsarat, who reclaimed the Jade Throne at our expense!” Corajidin slammed his fist into his palm. “Even now, six hundred years after the supposed fall of the Awakened Empire, a Näsarat Mahj still sits the Jade Throne in Mediin. We will not stumble this time. Your oracles promised me!”
“Oracles never promise anything, though I’ve seen some of what you say,” Wolfram agreed hesitantly. “The further away the future is, the harder it is to know. I’ve warned you against relying too much on the currents of the future. You wouldn’t be the first to drown in them.”
“Nor will I be the first to navigate them.” Corajidin took Yasha by the hand, raised her to her feet, whispered something to her. His hand grazed her breast. Slid to her hip. Settled on the swell of her buttocks. He looked to the others in the pavilion. “Though now there are other affairs I need to wrestle with.”
Mari held up her hands in mock surrender. As she left the pavilion, Wolfram was only a stiff-legged step behind her, Brede following him with her head down. The others wandered away down the long avenues between tents. Only Farouk remained outside the tent, glaring at Armal’s back as the giant and his father headed off to their beds.
“Wolfram?” Mari said, turning to face him. The taller man lurched to a halt. Brede stopped and stared at Mari withwide blue eyes, her beauty apparent for a moment. Mari talked softly so she would not be overheard. “You said you saw some of what my father spoke of.”
“It’s like seeing the shape of the breakers in the mist. One isn’t sure where the foam ends and the mist begins. Soon enough, it all looks like churn.”
“What did you tell him?” Mari did not want to get within arm’s reach of the man.
Wolfram’s laugh was smooth as silk on skin. “Oracles don’t think in mortal frames of reference. Sometimes their visions can be
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