“Muth-yat. She said it was test of fitness.”
A test she took pains to ensure I’d fail, thought Dar.
Ten
Nir-yat returned to her muthuri’s hanmuthi late in the afternoon, accompanied by two sons who were to fetch her things. To her dismay, Zor-yat was waiting for her. “Why are these sons with you?”
“They’re to carry my chest and sleeping mat,” replied Nir-yat.
“To where?”
“Muth Mauk’s hanmuthi.”
“I thought as much,” said Zor-yat. “Dargu takes you from your work, then suddenly Jvar-yat is preparing talmauki. I suppose you told Dargu about it.”
“Hai, Muthuri.”
“Then you disobeyed me! I told you not to help Dargu.”
Nir-yat pulled her hair aside to reveal Dar’s teeth marks on her neck. “She’s Muth Mauk, not Dargu, and my life is hers now.”
Zor-yat’s face darkened. She glared about her hanmuthi and made a gesture that caused everyone to retreat. When the room was empty, Zor-yat scowled at Nir-yat. “Your foolishness has placed us all in peril.”
“I followed my chest.” “Because your head’s empty. You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”
“I agreed to help my sister.”
“Ask your sister about Velasa-pah. Then you’ll regret your rashness.” Zor-yat sighed with frustration. “Yet that bite can’t be undone. Gather your things and leave. You’re dead to me.”
“Muthuri.”
Zor-yat turned her back to her daughter. “Go!”
Dar was unsettled by how distraught Nir-yat looked upon her return. “What happened?” she asked.
“Muthuri said I’m dead to her.”
The news stunned Dar. “I’m sorry.”
“She called me foolish, and told me to ask you about Velasa-pah.”
Dar’s stomach lurched at the mention of the wizard’s name. It made her wonder if Zor-yat knew about her vision, though Dar couldn’t imagine how that could be possible. “Did she say why?”
“Thwa. But she said I’d regret my rashness.”
“I don’t know why Muthuri would say that,” said Dar. “You already know of my encounter with Velasa-pah. I told you all about it when I first arrived.”
“Have you had visions of him since?”
Nir-yat’s question came uncomfortably close to the mark. “I’ve had another vision of Velasa-pah,” said Dar, “but I’ve no idea what that vision meant. None of my visions have been comforting; yet not all have come to pass. Some were only warnings.”
“Are you sure?” asked Nir-yat.
Dar realized that she was not. She recalled the horrific vision that had prompted her to rescue Zna-yat. The figure burning at the stake could have been anyone. Her most recent vision renewed the terror of the earlier one. I could be that burning figure! Keeping those thoughts to herself, Dar replied, “It would be cruel of Muth la to send visions of things one can’t change.” Then Dar recalled her vision of Twea’s death and the ambush at the Vale of Pines. Both came to pass despite my efforts.
Nir-yat smelled a whiff of fear. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Sister. I was seeking reassurance.” She sighed. “Muthuri has upset me. She thinks that by helping you I’ve placed everyone in peril.”
“Are you sorry I bit your neck?”
“I don’t understand Muthuri’s thinking. You’re Muth Mauk. What threatens you threatens us all.”
Dar wondered if she should tell Nir-yat about her vision of the burning hall. She didn’t want to upset her further, but she felt guilty about keeping secrets from someone who had given her everything. Dar was still wrestling with the matter when Jvar-yat entered the hanmuthi, providing a welcome interruption.
Using her newly acquired knowledge, Dar addressed the latath in the appropriate manner. “Muth la’s blessing, Jvar-yat.”
“Shashav, Muth Mauk.” Jvar-yat bowed, then set a polished stone tray on the floor. “I’ve prepared talmauki as you requested.”
“You have pleased me,” replied Dar, using the correct formality.
After Jvar-yat left, Dar examined the tray. It held a little brush, a piece of cloth, and two small vessels. The latter were carved from the same dark stone as the tray. They gave the impression of being very old. Dar lifted the top of one. Inside was a paste that matched the blue-green of fir trees. “That’s for your nipples,” said Nir-yat.
Dar touched the paste. It felt like greasy clay. “When do I wear this?”
“Always,” replied Nir-yat. Then she added, “Unless you’re nursing.”
Dar thought the last comment was irrelevant. She applied the paste, then wiped her fingers on the small cloth that accompanied the tray. Afterward, she opened the second vessel. It contained a thick liquid the same color as the paste. “That’s for your claws,” said Nir-yat. She gazed at Dar’s fingernails, then took the brush from the tray. “Let me paint them.”
Dar held out a hand and Nir painted a nail. Instead of coloring its entire surface, she painted only its center so it resembled an orcish claw. “What do you think?”
Dar smiled. “It looks more natural.”
“I think so, too.”
When Dar’s fingernails were painted, Nir-yat painted her toenails in the same manner. Afterward, Thorma-yat was summoned to make Dar’s royal wardrobe. The seamstress stated that kefs of the proper shade would require several days to make because the cloth was woven from specially dyed wool. Producing enough material to make a talmauki cloak would take even longer. Thorma-yat apologized for the delay. “It’s been five winters since queen has lived here. I’ll speak to dyer right away.”
“You can make Muth Mauk’s other garments,” injected Nir-yat. “She need not wait for those.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Thorma-yat, appearing flustered. She bowed to Dar. “I’ll get my samples.”
After Thorma-yat hurried off, Nir-yat spoke. “Sister, let me guide your choices. I’ll praise many fabrics, but when I say, ‘Does this one please you?,’ that is cloth you should select.”
“Why not just choose for me?”
“That would give wrong impression. Great mothers often receive counsel, but they decide.”
Dar appreciated Nir-yat’s subtlety, especially once Thorma-yat returned. When the seamstress had made Dar’s first outfit of orcish clothing, she had brought a few dozen swatches. On this occasion, she was overburdened with all kinds of material. Dar had never seen such a variety of cloth. There was a wide range of colors and patterns, and the material also varied in many other ways. Besides the familiar wool, there was cloth that Dar had never encountered before. The samples ran from sheer to weighty, and the weaves differed greatly.
Thorma-yat presented the plethora of choices without expressing any opinions, but Nir-yat helped Dar
without being obvious. She eschewed bright colors and strong patterns, steering Dar toward a rich but understated look. She preferred textured weaves, soft greens and blues, and warm earth tones. Toward the end of the fabric showing, Dar perceived that Nir-yat’s recommendations fit together to create a harmonious look. Having grown up wearing a single homespun shift until it became a rag, the idea of coordinating outfits was novel to her. If it hadn’t been for Nir-yat, Dar would have selected only a few fabrics. Instead, she chose dozens. When the selection was over, Thorma-yat surveyed the pile of cloth. “What garments shall I make from these?”
Dar thought quickly and answered. “I wish to look at them awhile. We’ll speak tomorrow.” As the seamstress gathered up the rejected fabrics, Dar said, “You have pleased me, Thorma-yat.”
After Thorma-yat bowed and departed, Dar turned to her sister. “Why don’t you like red?”
Nir-yat made a face. “Only sons wear that color. You’re Muth Mauk now, not some pashi farmer.”
“Queen Girta has red robes.”
“And she’s washavoki. It proves my point.”
Dar recalled the gaudy fashions she had seen in King Kregant’s court. Their bright, contrasting colors and gold embroidery differed markedly from the fabrics destined for her wardrobe. My clothes will look plain in comparison.