Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

54. Of Trust

Dazed from my vision, I blinked through tears until I could see the Knowable World.

I was inside the forgotten pyramid, in a narrow passage. The entrance was a rectangle of blue light behind my back. Nothing indicated the presence of the magic barrier I'd just passed through, but I didn't have time to meditate on it.

Two paces ahead of me, Taffiz stumbled backward. He was holding a struggling scorpia assassin aloft. Her legs kicked in the air as his arm tightened his chokehold on her. Her partner moaned, regaining consciousness on the floor. One chop of my ax to her throat—and she stopped her nattering.

Taffiz dumped the limp body by the tunnel's wall, away from the exit, and motioned for me to approach. "You cried 'mother!' when you emerged through the barrier. Did you see Serket?"

I made a sign of Gala's blessing over the corpses instead of replying, because his disregard for death sent a chill down my spine. It didn't help that so far I was alone with him in the dark. His eyes shone violet like he was some mystical creature. But he wasn't. He was a man. Only a man...

"Did my mother call me Ishmara?" The walls absorbed most of my voice, dampening it, except for 'Ishmara'. The Bhuta's name--my name?--echoed.

"Yes," he said. This also echoed.

I chewed my lips, questions shoving each other out of the way in my mind. My mother was recorded in the Temple of Gala's records as Serket, a peddler. My father's name was also there, with a note that he had died a few months beforehand of fever. Both were Palmyran, though not related to anyone in the city—or at least anyone willing to take me in. For twenty-nine years of my life, I believed my parents to be dirt-poor nobodies. So why would a peddler name her daughter with a name that challenged the Divines?

I had asked Anastasia about my name before. I couldn't believe I didn't think to ask Taffiz! Then again, how could I be sure that his answers weren't bogus? It was almost like he was a Bhuta, in Their male form, dangerous, wrong... and tantalizing.

While I pondered, the first of my squad materialized out of nowhere just a few paces away. She was on all fours. Her eyes stopped on me, round, wild, but regaining sense with every blink.

"Later," Taffiz mouthed and squeezed my fingers. "I'll tell you all I know about Serket later. I promise."

I pushed my curiosity to the back of my mind, because I didn't have time for it.

One by one, my squad appeared in the tunnel, or at least five women out of six. The last woman, the sixth of six, re-appeared on the ledge instead, looking confused. She pushed against the invisible obstacle, like a moth against glass. Her mouth moved, lips forming, 'Your Grandissima?' but I couldn't hear her. In turn, her eyes drifted past me. She couldn't see us. She wasn't coming.

Now, I had seven women to Peleth's five.

The tunnel sloped down. It basked in low ambient light, just enough to make out things a step ahead. Further than that, the darkness turned impenetrable.

For a while, the beam of our lamp found nothing but roughly hewn walls, so when it revealed the first figure, I suppressed an explanation. A mural, it was only a mural, if brightly painted. From there on, the figures of the Divines, the Bhutas, the Queen and her faithful servants marched alongside us on the walls, burdened with jewels and flowers, in their cloaks of gold and white.

Taffiz took the point, his eyes glowing nearly as bright as the lamp. His footfalls were lighter than that of Ondrey's cats. Out of the lack of alternatives in the narrow space, my eyes drifted from the walls to his slender backside. It was preferable to the pictures of the long-dead men.