in the thick air. The faint drip of water echoed about the cavernous room, lit by ilhen crystals. The night sky made frosted white streaks of angled quartz columns. Lavender and rosemary scented the air, so much so Indris began to doze as soon as the hot water enclosed his aching muscles. A bound-caste servant in a short tunic scrubbed the grime from his skin. Washed and rinsed his hair until the water flowed clear. She massaged oils into his skin and scalp. Indris winced at the pain as her fingers found the deep knots in his muscles, the bruises and scrapes and cuts on his skin.
He was not sure when the servant stopped her ministrations. He vaguely remembered the water in the tub being changed, new for old. Then a warm, swaddling, damp silence. All he knew was the water had cooled when he sensed somebody staring at him. Indris cracked his eyes open to see Ariskander sitting nearby, two massive Lion Guard looming over him.
“You cut it close this time,” Ariskander began. He tore off a fist-size piece of bread, dotted with the brown and yellow of bacon and cheese. “We were lucky we got to you when we did.”
Indris held up his banded wrists. He did not bother to hide the pain he felt. “Care to do something about these?”
“Why are you here?” the other man demanded. “You were supposed to get Far-ad-din and his family out of Amnon before our army got here. For the love of the Ancestors, I delayed the army enough!”
“Er, my bindings?”
“I can’t have them removed. Not yet. Are you going to tell me why—”
“Far-ad-din refused to leave,” Indris snapped. The water crashed in ripples against the ivory-hued walls of the tub. “Do you really think I wanted to be there when the fighting started? We knew the marshaling of the armies was inevitable. You assured me we’d avoid mass conflict and have trial by single combat. I told Far-ad-din we’d have the Hamesaad and he trusted me. Ancestors on a stick, what happened?”
“Don’t blaspheme,” Ariskander warned. “You’re Far-ad-din’s son-in-law! If he would listen to anybody, I thought it would be you. “
“And I’m your nephew. How much attention do you pay me?” Indris smiled.
“Not enough, it would seem,” Ariskander chuckled.
“What now?”
“You’re not free and clear yet. The others will want to know where Far-ad-din went. Corajidin in particular is anxious to get his hands on the last Seethe rahn in Shrīan. I’ve no doubt he wants to end the influence of the Seethe once and for all, leaving the Avān to govern all six Great Houses.”
Indris was wondering how much to tell of the little he knew when one of the Lion Guard politely interrupted. Ariskander and Indris had been summoned by the Asrahn. Ariskander gestured to a small pile of folded clothes. Indris recognized the faded blacks and browns of his own garments. He dressed quickly, giving care to the layers of clothing sende demanded of his caste: one for the individual, one for his Great House, and one for his nation. Within minutes, the Lion Guard was escorting him through the long crystal corridors of Hai-Ardin. Soon enough he was brought into a room crowded to overflowing.
The Exalted Names of Shrīan surrounded him, a field of flowers in their traditional layers of embroidered silk: tunics under high-collared, knee-length jackets; loose trousers; supple leather boots with upturned toes; open-fronted, hooded over-robes dyed in the colors of the six Great Houses and the Hundred Families that governed Shrīan. Voices smashed into him. The din of goblets being struck in toasts, platters clattering on tables, the metallic jangle of sonesette strings. Surrounded by noise, Indris was thrown back to the chaos of the battle. The open mouths. The wide eyes. The barrage of sound. All of it assaulted his senses. Pain blossomed behind his left eye as he was rocked by memories.
“Indris? Are you unwell?” Shar’s voice held the timbre and husk of the wind through reeds. Lamplight shone on the rainbow patina on her straight nose. “You smell pretty, though.”
“Where have you—”
“I was in chains, about to be executed, when the Lion Guard whisked me away.” She looked him up and down, yellow eyes narrowed. “What happened to you? How do you feel?”
“I feel brilliant,” Indris lied as Shar-fer-rayn leaned against him, gently butting his shoulder with her brow. “Though I think I’ve been hit in the head a little too often in the last couple of days. How do I