The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,154
herself not so long ago to remove her own treacherous brother from power.
“And you, Roshana?” Ziaire asked as Femensetri placed another sheaf of parchment on the table. “Are you truly willing to risk the future of your Great House on this gamble?”
Rosha lifted her head, gaze hard. “Don’t you think I have the stomach for this? Nehrun almost ruined us, the selfish, absurd narcissist. The honor of my House is on trial for the world to see, so believe it when I tell you I’ve the motivation to do what needs be done.”
“Spoken like your father.” Nazarafine approved.
“Spoken like me,” Rosha countered. “Though you’ll see I am my father’s daughter.”
Mari looked about the room at her fellow conspirators. Was this how it had started for her father, she wondered? The quiet thrill? The utter belief in a cause, no matter whether others understood, approved, or even knew why she risked herself in its service? Mari hoped, deep in the quiet places of her soul, her father had once been a good and righteous man. If not, if his life had been for nothing except ambition without benefit, or broader purpose, then why had he lived at all?
Rosha took the silver ink brush in her hand. She signed her name against the contracts binding Kembe and his company to her service. Femensetri gestured to a long scroll of blue-tinted vellum, bound to alabaster rods capped with two small golden and sapphire phoenix heads—the Jahirojin.
To her credit Rosha did not hesitate. She drew the knife from the sash at her waist and, in one smooth motion, sliced the blade across the inside of her left forearm. Rosha pumped her fist until blood welled freely from the wound, then picked up an ebony brush, bristled with her own hair. With a fixed expression, she dipped the brush into her blood, then signed her name to the Jahirojin. Allowing her blood to drip onto the paper, she pressed her signet ring to the scarlet pool. Some of the first Jahirojin had been linked with the ancient halyé—blood curses—of the Awakened royals, many of whom had been scholars. Though Rosha was no scholar, the power in her blood would be enough to give the Jahirojin the strength of her intent.
“So by my blood, under the eyes of the hallowed Ancestors, do I call down just vengeance upon the malcontent of Rahn-Erebus fa Qarnassus fa Basyrandin fa Corajidin. By my will I condemn him to ignominy. May his aspirations be as ashes in his mouth. May all he taste be the bitterness of failure. May his blood flow free and his body be rendered unto ash so all the world may witness the fire of my vengeance. Let all those of Näsarat’s blood be bound to my will in this, till it be done!”
“So it was written, so it was sworn in the blood royal, so let it be,” Femensetri intoned. She touched her scythe-bladed crook to the paper, and the image of the signet briefly flared with an inner radiance. When the light faded, the paper was marked with the embossed image of the Näsarat phoenix.
This was the old way.
Qamran rose from where he stood. He cleared his throat. Looked out the window. Returned his gaze to those others in the room, his expression lost.
“There is something more you should know.”
Chaos erupted as Qamran confessed to what he knew of Yasha’s murder. To her shame, Mari felt little save a slight surprise at the news of the woman’s death. More an unpleasant twinge in her chest rather than true grief. Her companions saw the tears in her eyes and looked at her with compassion, unaware the tears were not for herself. They were for her father.
Truth be told her tears would fall for all of them when Corajidin found out the woman he loved had been murdered. Vahineh had, with one rash move, potentially forged Corajidin into an intractable weapon they all could have done without facing.
Mari remained behind as the conspirators left the room, snapping questions at Qamran. Rosha sat where she was, binding the wound on her arm, eyes calm and cool as she looked at Mari. There was a time she would have found it odd, incomprehensible, to be alone in the same room as a Näsarat of the blood. Their Great Houses had feuded for the better part of an empire, though in all honesty Mari was never certain what had caused the rift between them. Certainly the Erebus had been