In front of him the margravine and Reive were still staring at each other. A sly curve had broadened Reive’s smile, and the dwarf noted suddenly that Âziz looked distinctly frightened. There was something odd about the whole scene, something weirdly familiar. He craned his neck, trying to see back to the dais where Nike still sat by herself, dreaming. Those two empty chairs: Shiyung would have been seated there, and once upon a time Nasrani as well….
It struck him then. Shiyung. The expression on Reive’s face was like that of the youngest Orsina—the same mocking smile, the same intense light in her eyes. And those eyes—she had green eyes, emerald-green eyes slanted as a cat’s, and she didn’t wear tinted lenses to disguise them.
Like Shiyung Orsina; like Nasrani.
“She’s one of them.” The words came out before he could stop them.
“Huh?”
Ceryl’s voice sounded sharp, but that was just the amphaze. She had no idea where she was. Several men and women in dark suits and narrow ties were supporting her; her head throbbed, but other than that she felt no pain. When she tried to move her hand it didn’t respond; it seemed she couldn’t move at all. She remembered something about a dwarf.
“… one of them! ” the voice whispered, more loudly this time. One of the Reception Committee kicked him, but the dwarf ignored her and hissed until Ceryl looked over at him, blinking.
“Damn it, look at her, Waxwing! Where the hell did you find her, she’s one of their bastards!”
Several ’filers had turned to check out this new confusion. Âziz shook her head, half hearing the whispered accusations behind her but too stunned by the thought of what this might mean: a true Orsina, the child of siblings as she and Shiyung and Nike and Nasrani had been: a true heir. In front of her the gynander gazed at her with Shiyung’s eyes in her pointed face, dirty hair uncoiled about her shoulders, small breasts and tattooed thighs and that tiny penis half-glimpsed inside her gossamer trousers. A morphodite, heir to the Holy City of the Americas. Âziz started to laugh.
“Well,” she said quickly, straightening herself and adjusting her conical crown so that the light flared from its twin crosses. “I wouldn’t have expected an assassin to scare easily.”
Clicks and whispers as the ’filers all turned to Âziz.
“Assassin, Margravine?” one called out from the back of the room.
Âziz nodded, her smile gone. Get this over with quickly, get them out of here and into the holding area by the Gate. “Early this morning,” she began, glancing back at Nike asleep on her throne; “ early this morning —”
Nike jumped, glanced around and nodded anxiously. Âziz gave her a curt look, then continued.
“Early this morning we discovered the body of our sister, Shiyung Orsina, in her private chambers in the Alkahest. She had been murdered, her neck snapped. The murderer and her accomplices have been detained—”
Gasps and a few angry shouts from the ’filers. Âziz swept her arm out toward Reive and Ceryl and Rudyard Planck, but looked over her shoulder and whispered to the head of the ’filer crew, “No names, no names.” Then, sternly and facing the optics, “These three are hereby sentenced for the murder of Shiyung Orsina, also for collusion, also treachery and theft—”
“We did not —” Rudyard Planck said hotly, before someone kicked him.
“Theft,” Âziz repeated. On her throne Nike adjusted her rubber cape and nodded. Âziz coughed, then said, “But even criminals and assassins may beg for forgiveness. We have heard their pleas; we will show them mercy, and allow them to save their eternal souls through the ministrations of the Compassionate Redeemer.”
Ceryl’s mouth twisted as she tried to gasp. Rudyard Planck shouted, “No!” The ’filer crews murmured excitedly. Only Reive continued to stare at Âziz with that same cold smile, although she grew pale and her hands trembled.
“There,” Âziz announced. She turned to the head of the ’filer crew and waved at him dismissively. “That’s it, that’s all, tell them to stop. Now.”
Muttering and staring balefully at the three prisoners, the ’filer crew started to leave. One spat at Reive as he passed her. Another stopped in front of Shiyung’s empty throne and held out her optic, before the crew head came after her, barking at her to leave. Âziz stared after them with a satisfied expression. Nike smiled and waved goodbye.
“Damn it, Âziz, you know we had nothing to do with this—” Rudyard Planck exploded, heedless of the guards tugging at his bonds. “That morph, you know who that morph is—”
Âziz turned to him, smiling; her eyes glittered as she said, “I do indeed: the murderer of our sister.”
“Couldn’t—done it,” said Ceryl. Her voice was thick, almost unintelligible. Âziz and Rudyard Planck both looked at her, surprised; her captors jerked her chain but still she went on. “Too small—look—her. Didn’t—hear she said— rasa, Aviator—where’s rasa?”
Âziz’s face grew tight but she said nothing. On the dais Nike sniffed and stood, grabbing the arms of her throne as she was unbalanced by the weight of her heavy rubber cape. “Where is Margalis?” she asked. An empty morpha tube rolled out from her feet and she giggled, then looked at her sister. “Âziz? We should tell him, because— you know.”
“It makes no difference what you do now.”
Reive’s voice came out clear and high as a child’s. One of her captors raised his hand to strike her, but Âziz shouted, “Enough!” and gestured for him to leave.
“Go, I want you all to go now! They are guests no longer, they are now prisoners of the city. I have summoned a guard from the Aviators—”
The Reception Committee looked aggrieved. “ Go ,” repeated the margravine fiercely, pointing at the door.
“She doesn’t seem too afraid of this murderer,” a guard muttered. On his way out he kicked Rudyard Planck. Âziz remained with her arm outstretched commandingly. From down the corridor echoed the clatter of boots on marble. The Reception Committee dropped their hold on the steel chains that bound their prisoners, adjusted their ties, and shuffled toward the door.
As she watched them leave, Reive cried out, “We know who we are! We know—”
Rudyard Planck looked at her, frightened. “You know—” he said, and stopped.
The gynander only tipped her chin and stared at Âziz through slitted eyes. “We know now. We have the Sight, we have seen what is to come. We may have scryed it, but it was your dream, Âziz.”
The margravine stepped forward until she stood in front of Reive. She bent to take the gynander’s face in her hands.
“You are a fool, whoever you are.” What little color was left in Reive’s face bled away and her gaze faltered; she looked like a child being punished. “There will be no storms, hermaphrodite, because we control the weather. We control everything in Araboth.”
She let go of the gynander and turned to stride across the room. She stopped in front of a tall column and gazed back at her sister. Nike looked confused, then raised a triumphant finger and pulled up the hood of her cape.
In the doorway several tall figures appeared, gleaming in their crimson leather uniforms. “Enter,” Âziz called out to them. She glanced at her prisoners, then back at the Aviators. “I was just telling them that there is nothing to fear from the weather—what’s a little rain?”
The margravine pressed a switch hidden behind the column and flicked her own hood over her head. A sound like flames licking at the walls; then a brackish scent filled the room. A moment later fine mist began to fall from tiny jets in the ceiling.