Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

79. On the Brink

When the Divines unleash their wrath, they don't leave mortals much time for dread. A huge wave rises from the abyss to swallow them. Or the ground trembles until it crumbles a city into dust. Or mud, stone and fire rush down a mountain's slope to consume fields and villagers. All this is done in one swing of a divine hand.

The Tigress' approach was typically mortal: unhurried, methodical, terrifying.

Day by day her Scribes burned a swath through the jungle, far wider than the Tigress needed strictly for marching. It was calculated to send a message to Idezza. It was written in black smoke and ash, rising high into the cloudless sky, and it said, Your end is nigh. Cower!

Some tried to hide their fear in the face of doom. Others grew short-tempered, despondent or unhinged.

Vanozza became charged from the evil energy in the air. Her red ponytail swung through the air like the scythe.

"Idezzians must lead!" she exclaimed during the war councils. "It's our homes that are under threat. It's our sons, our husbands and brothers who will be slaughtered or enslaved if we don't hold!"

The young Baroness didn't spend the rainy season idly. Commanding her toy squad taught her how to shout without shrieking. Her call to action was so stirring, that I strained to stay in bed and keep my mouth shut. All I could do was moan, a permissible sound in my ahem... condition.

Miccola lifted an amused brow, before re-assuming her usual scowl. "Then bloody lead, Baroness."

Miccola's snap remark opened the floodgates. The Commanders and city officials all spoke at once, forgetting their manners. I was only on my deathbed, after all.

The elder Ornatti out-yelled everyone. She really put her lungs behind one important word: "Silence!"

She got what she wanted immediately. While the pause lasted, she measured every woman crowding my tent with her deep-sunk eyes. The indigo circles underneath them now threatened to engulf her nose and mouth. It would have been a tie between her and I, if we compared whose cheekbones looked more gaunt.

"Vanozza will assume command since Ismar is wounded. But she will follow the plans already drafted and agreed upon. She will heed the counsel of the Deadhead Company's lieutenants," Ornatti the Elder said. "Now, that's enough time wasted. We have but a few days before the Tigress stands before our gates."

"Thank you," I mewled, genuinely grateful that she moved things along. If I had to stay prone for a few more hours, I'd heave my guts out. Which would go nicely with my masquerade illness... but no. Mythra's fangs, no!

Vanozza rounded on her mother. Miccola scowled. My other lieutenants piped up with suggestions. So did Idezza's crones. The tent became like a hedge where sparrows feud over the best sticks and berries.

I stopped listening. It was only a matter of time for this sound plan to be accepted. My role in this was the most difficult of all—to wait them out.

Fortunately, I was provided with a distraction. Nirav, overlooked as a man in a women's conversation, found his way to my side and kneeled there. His ice-cold fingers curled around mine. There was only one emotion written on his expressive features. Abject terror.

Out of habit, I cupped his cheek. It was just as cold as the fingers, while mine were burning. My effort to comfort him went unnoticed, but for another forgotten party in these negotiations. Soffika, the heiress to the beleaguered Idezza, pushed her way through the legs of the tall women and tugged at Nirav's hair.

He put his free arm around his sister, fighting to rearrange his face before she would glance into it. But she didn't. Instead, her rounded eyes scrutinized me with a frightening intensity. Then she tugged the strand of Nirav's hair wrapped around her finger again. He didn't even flinch.

Sometimes, a blade cuts a limb off cleanly, deciding the outcome of a protracted fight in one swift move. Similarly, a moment of long-awaited clarity dawned on me.

There it was right before me. The entire time it was right under my nose. This, this was Nirav's only loyalty. His sister was the only reason he held on to his title against prejudice. Her birthright. I could have seen it on the first day, if I cared to look.

Lukka might have been mad, but she had been lucid when she named Nirav the regent. He was the only person in the world who would champion her deformed daughter's birthright to the bitter end. The brother and sister grew up trusting no one else, shunned together.

She was a dwarf. He was a man, a surviving twin of a perished sister. That was the reason.

I kept massaging my fingers over his in a gentle, calming rhythm. It was so simple! Nirav loved what he loved. I loved what I loved.

"Duke! Soffika! We need you," Vanozza called. She was on her way out.

Nirav startled and swept Soffika up in his arms to carry her after the Idezzian delegation had already filed out of the tent. The dwarf-girl would have never kept up on her stunted legs.

My lieutenants all bumped their fists together for me before making their exit, the Deadhead Company's greeting. Miccola was the last one out of the doors, save for Xenophonta.

I could see the purple scars bulge on her neck, where she had once caught a horsehair whip. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then bumped her fists again. "Rest, Ismar."

Once the flap closed after her, Xenophonta stirred in her corner. "I'm worried about Miccola. She's trying, but can she look convincing enough? She might snap instead of yielding as planned."

"Miccola has the appearance of a farmer's wife and talks like a sailor. In truth, she was born in the den of foxes and reared by snakes," I argued.

I could finally jump out of my deathbed, so I did. I pushed the bandages aside to scratch underneath them to my heart's content. "Argh, did you have to use so much salve! I swear, it would burn the skin off a healthy woman!"

Xenophonta sniffed the air pointedly. "Your Grandissima, you're a healthy woman. And you know that death, wounds and medicine have a special smell. These women are no fools. Hence, the paste serves to—"

I cut her off with an embrace. "Yes, yes, my clever one! I know. But this stink is horrid. And the itch is murder."

"So are the Tigress' spies."

I whispered into her ear so quietly, that no spy would ever make out a single word.

"It's fine if they know I'm not dying. They'll think I'm saving face. It'll make them even cockier... and the cockier they are, the better it is for us."

"Oh, Mother..." She sighed, pulling a heavy shawl tighter around her, playing with its golden fringe. "You're right. You speak like Taffiz."

This was high praise, coming from her.

"You did your job, Your Luminance," I said. The title sounded odd, but Xenophonta had earned it. "Leave the rest to me."

I stretched on my bed again and grimaced. My family had left. The battle plans were set in motion. Now this unmade bed, this tent stinking of medicine and a few scrolls would be my world, until Miccola sneaked in with the reports. Pretending was such hard work!

Almost through the exit out of the tent, Xenophonta stuck her head back inside. "Your Grandissima..." her voice broke. She cleared her throat. "Your... your value to your family is greater if you're alive."

I bumped my fists together to salute her. "I'm working on it. But if Mythra's blessing falls on the Tigress, I shall die well."

"Mother!"

"You, on the other hand, are under strict orders to stay with the medics and survive by all means necessary with the daughter you carry in your womb."

The last thing I heard before the drum of the retreating steps announced her departure, was an exasperated sigh. It put a grin on my face despite the gravity of our situation.

Xenophonta, my wise High Scribe, hated the orders without any loopholes.