The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,71

gestured to the chair. “I see you’ve not lost your spirit. That said, you’re still some way from defending anybody’s honor.”

Her limbs shook with the effort of standing. “How did I get here?”

Femensetri stretched her long legs. Mari noticed the deep cracks and seams in her old boots. “The Feyassin left you at the gates of the villa on the Huq am’a Zharsi yesterday afternoon. Your father had Belamandris bring you here, since your father’s healer was nowhere to be found. The Healer’s Gardens at the Hai-Ardin have no more room and most of the hospitals and surgeons’ rooms in Amnon are full. I healed you and kept you asleep until the worst was over. You’ll be weak and sore for a little while, though that’s something you’ve experienced before, I’d expect.”

“Where is here?”

Ziaire smiled at Mari. “You’re in Samyala, the Mansion of Paradise for the House of Pearl in Amnon. Your brother brought you here.”

“Is he here?” Mari asked.

“He was quite devoted, staying until Femensetri had healed the worst of your wounds.” Nazarafine cupped her tea in both her plump hands. “His Anlūki are now the Asrahn-Elect’s personal guard. He was called away to oversee your father’s safety. He left knowing you would recover nicely.”

“Sadly,” Kembe rumbled, “the same cannot be said of Vashne, or his family. As for Ariskander, who knows?”

“For which I’m as sorry as I am responsible. I don’t deserve your kindness in taking me in.” Mari’s felt her face flush with shame. She looked to Ziaire, who returned her gaze with a gentle smile.

“It was my pleasure to help,” Ziaire said.

“I should have died defending them,” Mari choked out.

“Truer words have rarely been spoken,” Siamak observed.

Mari inhaled sharply. She blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that marshaled at the corners of her eyes. Her hearts felt too large for her chest. Her face was warm. There was a hollowness, not quite pain yet not far off, in the pit of her stomach. She tried to master her breathing, making it calmer than the stammering in her lungs it had become.

“The burden isn’t yours alone, Mari.” Nazarafine reached out to rest her hand on Mari’s knee. The Speaker’s hand was surprisingly hot and dry against Mari’s skin. “We know you tried to intervene for Ariskander, Daniush, and Hamejin. We owe you our thanks for that.”

“If not for your part in luring Vashne to his death.” Femensetri leveled a baleful glare at Mari. The Scholar Marshal’s mindstone flickered with a dark corona. “While you didn’t hold the blade that killed Vashne, you might as well have murdered him yourself. And Ariskander? Your actions have delivered the one man who could replace Vashne right into Corajidin’s hands.”

Mari clutched the arms of her chair in an iron grip to steady her hands. “How did you know?”

“Somebody survived to tell their tale,” Kembe revealed in his velvety voice. “Though you did not harm, nor did you hinder. It is doubtful your father will permit you to be punished by the law as you deserve. He has been most…persuasive on your behalf since Vashne’s death. To hear him tell it, there was little you could do against the fictional rebels who assassinated the Asrahn. I am intrigued to hear your version of events.”

“Leave it be!” Ziaire’s voice held a surprising tone of command. She turned to Mari, her green eyes bright against olive skin. “Mari, did you agree with what your father intended to do?”

“What?” she asked. “No! I don’t think even my father wanted to do what he did.”

“But you knew he was going to murder Vashne?” Siamak snapped. “And abduct Ariskander?”

“Yes…” she whispered. She lifted her chin, prepared to accept their judgment. “I begged him not to, but—”

“Why did he do it?” Siamak asked.

“My father…” Mari began, then paused. How to say he thought he was the agent of destiny? Between Wolfram and his oracles, Yashamin’s ambition and Corajidin’s illness, her father was not entirely himself. “My father acted out of necessity.”

Kembe’s rumble betrayed his skepticism, if his features did not.

“To a degree,” Mari amended. She leveled a defiant gaze at the other guests. “Why are you asking me all this? You know what I’ve done.”

“I’ve watched you for a while now, Mari,” Ziaire said. “And I know what you did wasn’t something that sat easily on you. I also know what happened to you with the Feyassin and, I suspect, the guilt that drove you to seek out such a punishment. Are you saying, after all you’ve done