Captain Mafuone led them to a road that wound past the town and into the barren hills beyond. There were no lumen crystals to light the way—apparently the Marakai saw well enough without them—but the stars shone bright overhead.
“What’s the Blue Crown?” Nazafareen asked Herodotus, who walked at her side.
“A legend of the Khepresh Marakai,” he said. “It supposedly came from the sea, brought in the teeth of one of the wave horses called the Nahresi. No one has ever worn it, but they say one day, the Marakai will unite under a single ruler who will wear the Blue Crown.”
“How will they know who it is?”
He glanced at her. “Well, anyone has the right to try it on. But if you’re not the chosen one, the Nahresi come galloping out of the sea and trample you with razor-sharp hooves. So such requests are rare.” He cleared his throat. “According to a scroll I found in the library, Sojourns Among the Stygians, the last time it happened was the result of an ill-advised bet some fifty years before—”
The road topped a rise and Herodotus trailed off. Nazafareen’s breath caught in her throat. An enormous structure dominated the center of the island, unlike any she had seen before. It had three sides rising to a point at the top and the whole thing was plated in gold that shone brilliantly beneath the moons.
“Ah, we’ve reached the Mer!” Herodotus exclaimed. “A construction peculiar to the Marakai. Apparently, the triangular shape is better suited to high winds. It’s where they keep the Hin—the tenth of the cargo they deal in. And those are the Medjay.”
Stern-faced men and women ringed the Mer, the half-human, half-daēvas hired by the Marakai to guard their wealth. They wore vests and pants of a mottled grey and carried short spears. Captain Mafuone stated their business and six Medjay escorted the visitors into the inner chamber of the Mer.
Lumen crystals glittered on a mountain of treasure. Gorgeously carved chests from the lands of the Danai overflowed with swords and carpets, ivory and carnelian and amber, opium and spell dust, silks, spices, ceramics and tapestries. Nazafareen felt her jaw hanging open and closed it with an effort. It was like some great dragon’s lair, only instead of a dragon, a man with a pinched face and long braids stood in the center of the chamber, a stylus in his hand as he checked off items from a list. Captain Mafuone gave him a smart salute.
“Vizier,” she said. “Forgive the interruption, but we bring grave tidings.”
He looked up with a slight frown that deepened as he surveyed the group.
“Captain Mafuone,” he replied. “Who do you bring to the Mer? This is highly irregular.”
The captain made quick introductions, which the vizier acknowledged with a cool nod.
“That is all very well, but I fail to see—”
“Sakhet-ra-katme is dead,” she interrupted. “We have just come from her houseboat, or what was left of it.” She held out the piece of charred wood. “It was burned.”
“Let me see.” The vizier inspected the wood closely. “And where is her body?”
“The currents took it.”
“This is all you have?” He shook his head. “Perhaps you’ve made a mistake. How could Sakhet’s boat be burned?”
“There is no mistake,” Kallisto said quietly. “She was killed by a Vatra.”
“A Vatra?” His eyebrows rose. “Is she mad?”
“No,” Mafuone said coldly. “I fear she is entirely correct. The Diyat must be convened right away.”
The vizier returned to his list, making a small notation. “They’re already meeting on the Isle of the Khepresh about the Oracle’s pronouncement and can’t be disturbed.”
“What pronouncement?” Mafuone asked.
“You don’t know?” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently, their sun god has decreed Delphi must go to war with Samarqand because it is a den of magical iniquity. There will be no more free trade with the witches. The witches must be subjugated and the god will provide a means to do so.” The vizier laughed dismissively. “The Five will deal with her, have no fear.”
Mafuone didn’t smile. “She already has the means. The Oracle has somehow discovered talismans to bind a daēva. Darius saw them firsthand.”
The vizier’s thin lips pursed. “That is worrisome.”
“Indeed. But the Oracle may still pose the lesser threat,” Mafuone continued. “We believe Sakhet was murdered for what she knew.”
“And what is that?” he asked with a touch of impatience.
“We believe her death is connected with the talismans who stopped the Vatras a thousand years ago. Their powers were passed on, vizier. Did Sakhet ever speak of it to you?”
He scratched his forehead with the stylus. “I haven’t seen Sakhet in hundreds of years, captain. No one has.” His tone softened a little. “I mean no disrespect, but I need proof of these claims before bringing them to the Five. I’m not about to start a panic based on a single piece of charred wood. This could have drifted from anywhere.”
The captain sighed. “We will inform the Nyx.”
“I would be most grateful,” he said. “And truly, I hope you are wrong.” He gave a weak smile. “Perhaps Sakhet simply sailed away!”
Mafuone gave him a last disgusted look and they started for the door. As they neared the exit, another Marakai captain entered the treasure room, a man at her side. Nazafareen’s heart gave a sudden lurch. He had dark red hair tied back with a leather thong. He looked to be about thirty and wore a blue cloak with silver trim. Nazafareen felt Darius tense. The man noticed them all staring but simply gazed back with mild interest. She’d left her sword back on the ship, but there were many other ways to kill.
And then the vizier’s thin lips parted in a welcoming smile.
“Nicodemus!” he said. “It has been a long time.”
The man tilted his head gracefully. “Too long. But I’ve been occupied in service to the emperor. He sends his regards.”
The man stepped forward, cloak sweeping back to reveal some kind of ceremonial knife in his belt. She saw it only for an instant and then he strode past her, exchanging small talk with the vizier.
Kallisto shook her head and they continued on, though Mafuone paused to clasp hands with the other captain, whom she seemed to know well. They made their way down the hill to New Hope in discouraged silence. The taverns were doing a brisk business, with Marakai and Stygians mingling freely over cups of foul-looking ale. Nazafareen was thinking of the red-haired man, and how close she’d come to attacking him and probably getting arrested by the Medjay, when a girl came hurtling around the corner of a squat stone building. She let out a yelp of surprise. They tangled together and Nazafareen sat down hard in a moist patch of earth that smelled like it was visited often by the patrons of the tavern next door.
The girl shot her a filthy look. She muttered something—not an apology, Nazafareen felt certain—then ran on toward the docks.
“What a little wretch,” she muttered, eyeing her cloak with disgust. “Faugh!”
Darius laughed and pulled her to her feet. “I think you’d better swim to the ship,” he advised. “And better yet, do it naked.”
When they reached the Chione—and Nazafareen had hurled the offending garments overboard—they all retired to their cabins. Captain Mafuone said they’d repair the ship on her home island of the Sheut, where she hoped they’d receive a warmer reception.
“What a bloody horrible day,” Nazafareen said to Darius as they lay under the covers, Hecate spilling like molten silver through the porthole. “How could that vizier be so blind?”
“Fear makes people blind sometimes,” he replied. “And cruel. Humans and daēvas both.”
Something in his voice made her sit up. “You’re talking about her.”
“Her?”
“Thena.”
Darius’s gaze shuttered. “How do you know that name?”
“You say it in your sleep sometimes.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he was angry.
“I wish to forget it. But I can’t.” His voice caught. “She reminded me of the ama I had as a child. The one who taught us we were Druj.”
Now she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. It had been stupid and impulsive and yes, cruel. What would the old Nazafareen—a superior version of herself, no doubt—have done to make Darius feel better? There was a new ease between them since he’d finally come clean, but it wasn’t the same as knowing a person intimately for years. It was so frustrating! If only she could remember. Then an idea came to her.
“I could give you the water blessing,” she suggested. “Like that time at the brothel. Marduk’s Spear, wasn’t it?”
Darius’s gloom seemed to lift at this. He laughed long and hard.
“Holy Father, I think I’ve been blessed by water enough on this trip.” He pulled her close and her heart beat a little faster. “But here’s a counter proposal. Why don’t we skip the blessing and go straight to what happened afterwards?”
Nazafareen smiled against his lips. “Certainly. But I’m afraid I’ve forgotten that part. You’ll have to remind me.”
His hands roved beneath the covers, eliciting a sigh of delight. “I may embellish on the original,” he warned. “It would be tedious to simply repeat myself.”
“Oh, you can repeat yourself all you like,” she said lazily. “A man with a silver tongue like yours can ramble on for hours without ever becoming a bore.”
And so they passed the evening in fond reminiscences and when Darius slept at last, it was with a peaceful smile.