The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,74
495th Year of the Shrīanese Federation
It had been another restless night, Corajidin’s mind littered with half-heard chatter and the blurred visages of the long line of his Ancestors, ephemeral, pale, and swirling like milk in water.
No matter what he had done, no matter where he and Wolfram had searched, there had been no solution to his waning mastery of his Awakening. Without access to Sedefke’s works, he needed the answers that were locked somewhere in the memories of the Näsarats. It was they who, guided by Sedefke, had been the first to Awaken. They were also the only Great House whose lineage had not been broken in the millennia since their first Awakening.
Corajidin struggled with the sheets as he rose from bed. His skin was warm from neck to groin, where Yasha had been curled in the curve of his torso. With a smile he looped a strand of her hair about his finger. It was soft as silk and black as night, tinted with blue in the predawn light trickling through the balcony doors. He traced the gentle curves of her face. Lingered over her large eyelids with their long, sooty lashes. High cheekbones. A tapering jaw. Then down the length of her neck, to the deeper shadows of her collarbones, leading to light again at the curved muscle of her shoulder. Her breasts rose and fell on her long, slender torso. The ivory of the silk sheet was rumpled around her hips, though one shapely leg dangled free off the edge of the bed. Strands of pearls were wound about her ankles. Golden rings encircled her fingers and toes. He touched the small mole on her hip, the one she hated so much yet he adored: as small a flaw as the way she snored, or frowned when she read, or snorted when she laughed too loudly after she drank more than was good for her.
It was moments such as this, when she was still, at peace, uncontrived, and artless, he truly appreciated her. He did not fool himself. Many had shared just such a sight of her. Possibly hundreds in her years as a nemhoureh for the House of Pearl. Likewise he suspected she currently had lovers other than him, though they did not speak of it. They both had their appetites. So long as she loved only him, he cared little about with whom she indulged her passions, pleasures, and perversions.
The most powerful man in Shrīan leaned down and kissed his wife tenderly, lips lingering on her temple. Corajidin breathed deeply of her fragrance: spikenard, coconut oil, and frankincense. Tempted as he was to slide back beside her, duty called. The world would not bow at his feet without encouragement.
He folded a robe around his body as he padded across the plush, colorful rugs of the chambers he shared with Yasha. A deep pain in his abdomen gave him pause for a moment. It felt as if a rock had shifted in his guts. His legs spasmed, threatened to send him to the floor. He wiped away the sweat beading his brow. It came hand in hand with a shiver that caused his teeth to chatter despite the warmth. Such things were becoming more commonplace since he had started to lose control of his Awakening. Wolfram had yet to provide a stronger draft to settle his symptoms. The challenge was to ease the pain without numbing the mind. Corajidin leaned on the back of a couch for several minutes until the episode passed.
Two of Belamandris’s crimson-and-black-armored Anlūki fell into step behind Corajidin and followed as he strode to the small Ancestors’ Shrine he had ordered be installed in a small garden of the villa. Beyond the quiet haven of his own chambers, the apartments he had commandeered were busy. Bound-caste servants were at work preparing the villa’s numerous rooms for the day ahead. Finishing touches were being applied to polished floors, antique furniture, and flower arrangements. Lanterns were filled with gently scented oils. Shutters were being opened to allow the fresh morning breeze to circulate through the maze of chambers and corridors.
Aides rushed from place to place as they carried all manner of information between field officers, administration staff, and the small intelligence community Thufan commanded on his behalf. Though the old man was the Kherife-General of Erebus Prefecture—and now of Dar-See At Prefecture and the Rōmarq as well—he continued to serve ably as Corajidin’s spymaster. With Wolfram to assist Thufan, there was little the two