The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,69
breakers on the shore, made her smile. They reminded her of more innocent days. A gentle breeze flowed through the sun-bleached fretwork screens of the small training area in which she stood. Pennons snapped at the ends of tall poles. Gulls cried, seeming to hover motionless in the air over the endless advance and retreat of the small waves that lapped at the shore. The breeze smelled of scorched sand, brine, and dried seaweed. She felt perspiration trickle down her spine. Tiny prickles of moisture had sprung up across her shoulders and arms.
She knew she was taking a risk being here. Regardless of the outcome, she needed to face what she had done. In the privacy of her room, she had wept in her grief, had railed against and bruised herself in frustration. Guilt had welled up in her, leaving her breathless at times. How had she fallen so far, to betray a man who had done her nothing but good? It was something for which she did not think she could ever forgive herself. Nor would others.
The door to the training area opened and a dozen or so Feyassin emerged. They talked among themselves: the light banter, the easy laughter, the good-natured teasing of those who held each other’s lives in their hands. Mari attempted to smile at her friends, her only friends, though she felt the expression as little more than the halfhearted stretching of her lips. Uncomfortable under their gaze, she looked down to the cases that contained of her armor and amenesqa.
It had been one of the proudest days of her life when the Asrahn had given her the cases with his own hands. Her hearts lurched with the knowledge she would never wear what was within them again.
“What are you doing here, Mari?” Qamran’s hand tightened around his wooden training sword. Once her peer as a Knight-Major of the Feyassin, Qamran now wore the white-gold lotus insignia marking him as the new Knight-Colonel of the Feyassin. He looked down at the armor and weapon cases at Mari’s feet, then lifted his gaze to meet her own. “We’d hoped to see you again almost as much as we hoped you were dead.”
Mari felt her smile freeze. The Feyassin had spread out in a loose cordon between her and the door. She caught the fury in Mehran’s expression as he came to stand behind Qamran. The young warrior-poet she had assaulted at Iron Street Park leaned forward to whisper in Qamran’s ear. Whatever Mehran said made Qamran smile. “It would’ve been safer for you had somebody else returned our property to us.”
“It was something I had to do.”
“You’ve brought shame upon the Feyassin!” Mehran almost choked on his rage. “Since I was a child, I wanted nothing other than to defend the Asrahn and hopefully have jeshemûr, the glorious death at the hands of a gifted enemy. Now? We’re to be the Teshri Guard! Why? Because Asrahn-Vashne trusted a haughty—” Mehran stopped himself as years of training in sende took over. One did not insult those of the royal caste, no matter what they had said or done. The adolescent was too young to intellectualize the difference between Pah-Erebus fe Mariamejeh and Knight-Major Mariam of the Feyassin. One was a princess of the blood royal. The other, a career soldier who had betrayed her oath. It did not matter that the physical person was one and the same.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” Mari whispered.
“Sorry?” Qamran murmured as he threw his practice sword at the sand at Mari’s feet. Thick grains danced across her toes. “There’s only one way a Feyassin makes amends, and it’s not with words.”
“Am I still a Feyassin, Knight-Colonel Qamran?” Mari felt her hearts beat rapidly. Her mouth was dry. Her breath deep, slow, even. This was what she had come looking for. Redemption, however she could find it.
“I don’t know. Did you come here as a Feyassin or the Pah-Mariamejeh?”
Mari slid her toes under the practice blade. With a flick of her foot, she kicked the sword upward into her hand. She stretched her wrists and ankles in the few moments it took the others to pair up. They took positions around her, save Qamran, who leaned his back against the door.
“I came as a Feyassin, though I’ll not leave as one.”
“Of that there’s no doubt.”
The first pair of warriors leaped forward, battle shouts echoing from the walls.
Mari remembered finding a quiet place deep within herself. Though the pain would not go away—though