“It is more than that, my Prince,” Niyes said stiffly.
“Yes, yes.” The Prince smiled and released Niyes’ hand. “You’re always so serious. We’re here for leisure—although we must discuss one bit of business first. Come, let me show you around.”
Kite-iyan was a women’s palace; its walls were of rose marble threaded with occasional veins of gold. Troughs lined the hallways at intervals, abloom with flowering plants. Pictographs of Dreaming Moon and her children abounded in the decor, drawn from the more pleasant tales of the heavenly family’s life. They also passed wide chambers devoted to women’s interests—libraries and sculpture halls, practice rooms for stick-fighting and dance. A few of these were occupied, Niyes noticed, as not all of the Prince’s wives had deigned to interrupt their routines for his visit.
“Things are very different here from my youth,” the Prince mused, nodding to women or children as they walked. “In my father’s day, this place was a flower-strewn prison. He took any woman to wife who caught his eye, regardless of her feelings on the matter. They were brought here, permitted no visitors or holidays, wholly cut off from the world beyond the gates. It was just as bad for us children, though we were at least permitted to visit the city from time to time. Beyond our lessons there was nothing to do but compete for status and our father’s favor, and that we did with a will. Poisonous, all of it.
“Since I began my own marriages I have striven to do better. My children are permitted to know their maternal relatives. Their mothers may continue to manage their own separate households and businesses, and they can come and go as they please. And you see that I take no great care to keep men away. I saw a few of the younger wives considering that sloe-eyed archer of yours. I hope he’s strong enough to endure them all.” He shrugged and grinned as Niyes looked at him in astonishment. “It takes a great deal to keep two hundred and fifty-six women happy, man; your soldiers are doing me a great favor, believe me! Any children who result only add to my glory, after all.”
Niyes nodded slowly, more unnerved than amused by this reminder that the Prince missed nothing. “The highcastes have been discussing your marital reforms, my Prince. Many find the changes… disturbing. But then we shunha have always revered our women in the old ways.”
“Believe it or not, Niyes, I agree with the ideals of the shunha.” They began to climb a staircase that wound in a gentle upward spiral; sunbeams from narrow windows slanted across it like wheel-spokes. “Gujaareh has been influenced far more than it should be by ill-mannered savages who bore holes through their skulls to cure headaches. It’s disgraceful. I cannot marry fewer wives, but I can remember that they are human beings, not broodmares. I treat my children like the treasures they are. You were watching my son Wana. Were you surprised that he loves me?”
Niyes blinked in surprise. “Yes, my lord.”
“You expected antagonism. The young lion, sizing up the leader of the pride. But we are not animals, Niyes. We are not meant to scrabble over scraps of power, pulling one another down like crabs in a barrel. My father followed that model. So did I, to succeed him. I killed most of my siblings and their mothers. I killed my father, for that matter—sent him to the Throne of Dreams with my own hands. He deserved no less honor.”
Niyes flinched. Only habit, and the fact that the Prince did not slow, kept his feet moving up the steps. That the Prince had assassinated his way to the Aureole was no surprise; half the city suspected it. But for the Prince to admit his crime was another matter altogether.
He speaks to me of treason. Why?
“I mean to change all that, Niyes.”
They passed a landing, heading toward the upper floors of what appeared to be one of Kite-iyan’s towers. The walkways here were empty, Niyes noticed, the steps edged in a faint sheen of dust.
“I mean for my children never to have to murder their own flesh and blood. I mean for my wives to love me—if they wish—and not fear me. I mean for Gujaareh to have strong, wise leadership for as long as it stands. No more madness. No need to rely on the Hetawa for our peace and happiness.”
Niyes frowned, distracted from his growing unease. “Admirable goals, my Prince—but while you are certainly a wise ruler, you cannot guarantee that all your heirs will be. As long as power is the prize, they will compete, and the ruthless will win.”
“Yes. I know. It weakens us, all this infighting. Like you and Charris, shunha and zhinha, Gujaareh and Kisua. When we weaken ourselves so much, it becomes easy for others to dominate.”
They stopped at another landing, this one fairly high in the tower. Afternoon sunlight cast an overlapping pattern of red-gold rectangles across the floor. At the end of the landing stood a heavy wooden door, braced and decorated with metalwork in the northern style. A large, ornate lock was set into the band across its middle.
A door? In Kite-iyan?
“My Prince…” Niyes swallowed and found his throat suddenly dry. “If I may ask, where are we? What are we to discuss, all the way up here?”
The Prince walked to the door and reached into his shirt, pulling out a long, heavy key on a slender gold chain. “One of my wives is here.”
“One of your—” He stared at the Prince in confusion. The Prince gazed at the door, holding the key but making no move to open it.
“I grant my wives a great deal of freedom, but I expect loyalty in return. This one spied on me for the Hetawa.” He glanced at Niyes, his eyes distant and hard. “Betrayal is the one thing I cannot forgive.”
Coldness slithered along Niyes’ spine. I will die today, he thought.
The Prince gave a slight, sad smile as if he’d heard those words, then turned to unlock the door. His voice, when he spoke again, was light, conversational, as it had been throughout their tour. Still, there was an edge to it now that Niyes did not miss.
“You must realize, Niyes: I understand why she did it. She was raised in the Hetawa’s House of Children; they were family to her. She followed her conscience, and I don’t blame her for that. Indeed, I admire her integrity… but betrayal is still betrayal, and it cannot go unpunished.”
The Prince pushed open the door and stepped within, turning back to gaze at Niyes. After a moment, slower, Niyes followed.
Beyond the door was a narrow chamber lined along one side by windows—an extension of the hall that must have at some point been walled off to form a storage room. The windows here had been bricked shut, however, save a small one at the far end. Shadows shrouded the room, except where a single bloody rectangle of light spread across the floor. The air smelled of dust and wood resin, and things less wholesome. Stale sweat, unwashed flesh, an un-emptied toilet box. Niyes squinted into the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. All he could make out at first was a woman’s bare foot, lying motionless at the edge of the light. Her leg, and the rest of her, disappeared into the shadows beyond.
From somewhere in the direction of her body, Niyes heard harsh, uneven breathing.
The Prince closed the door behind them. The clack of its heavy foreign latch was very loud in the small space.
“The plain fact of the matter,” the Prince continued, “is that the Hetawa is no threat. They can do nothing to me without harming themselves. But Kisua is another matter, Niyes. You’ve forced my hand by involving lovely, clever Sunandi. I must push my plans forward by several months because of this, even once I kill her. And that, too, is a true shame; I liked her very much.”