The audience turns to one another in collective whispers. I glance at Sukar, who shakes his head, and then at Essnai, who mouths, her voice low, “Did you know about this?”
“No,” I say under my breath. I’m as shocked as everyone else, and don’t understand why my mother waited this long to share such important news. It should’ve been first on the agenda.
“I’ve heard of no such report,” the Vizier says, his brows creasing into a deep frown.
“While praying to the orishas on our recent vigil,” Arti says, addressing the audience, “I saw something very disturbing. When I commune with the orishas, my ka wanders our great city, and our lords reveal things to me in strange ways.”
I glance up at the Almighty One’s booth again. Second Son Tyrek leans over to get his father’s attention, but the Almighty One waves him off. He’s busy laughing at something Crown Prince Darnek just whispered in his other ear.
“There’s a vile person stalking the city and stealing children in the night,” Arti says, her voice quiet. “A person I can only glimpse but not see clearly, because something protects them against my sight.”
The Vizier’s elara ruffles as he whirls around to face the Master of Arms, his twin sister, who sits to his right. “Is there any truth to this news?”
General Solar and the Vizier share the same sharp features and dark eyes. She leads the military forces of the Kingdom: the gendars, the guards, and the shotani.
“I received a report this morning.” General Solar’s voice is as cold as her brother’s. “I am confident that the head of the City Guard will discover and arrest the culprit with speed.”
“I wish I shared your confidence,” Arti says, “but this is no ordinary child snatcher, to hide from our magic.”
Barasa, the Zu seer, adds, “It must be the work of anti-magic.”
The audience gasps, and my eyes land on the crest on the Vizier’s elara. Anti-magic comes from craven bones. No one possesses it outside of the Omaris and the royal family. It isn’t something you can buy. No one has seen a craven in centuries. Not since they slaughtered a legion of the Kingdom’s army in one night.
It isn’t hard to figure out what Arti and the seers are insinuating. Everyone knows the story of the Vizier’s—and Rudjek’s—ancestor who fought the cravens in the Aloo Valley. He’d slain a craven and later made trinkets of its bone to protect against the influence of magic. The bone could be the only thing to hide its wearer from the seers.
The Almighty One leans forward, his shaved head glistening with a dusting of gold. “Are you accusing the Omaris?”
I notice how he doesn’t include his family—the Sukkaras.
“That is a bold accusation,” Arti says, neither confirming nor denying it. “I’m only saying that the fiend must be wearing craven bone. That much I know from my vision.” She casts a sidelong glance in the Vizier’s general direction. “No one would question the Omaris’ good name . . . but have we forgotten the incident in the market so soon?”
As Arti lets her words settle, everyone in the coliseum holds their breath. She means after the Rite of Passage. Re’Mec mandated the Rite to remind us of the orishas’ sacrifice to save mortal kind. A hundred and twenty of them fell in their struggle to stop the Demon King and his insatiable thirst for souls. There’s script on the Temple walls with instructions for the Rite, but there’s no telling when Re’Mec will demand another one. Until the last Rite of Passage, there hadn’t been one in twenty years.
For the Rite, the seers designed deadly obstacles for volunteers to undergo to test their mental and physical fortitude. Last time, they faced a hostile desert with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Looking to make their mark, the Vizier’s older sons, Uran and Jemi, volunteered together. In the end, the Rite broke their minds just as it had done to so many before them.
The last Rite was five years ago—the only one in my lifetime. Fewer than a third of those who attempted it came back. Very few returned whole.
I wasn’t in the market the day Jemi killed a merchant. Witnesses say he became enraged over a perceived slight. He was haggling with an Estherian over the price of a gossamer veil he wanted to buy for his mother. The argument went too far, and he cut the merchant’s throat. After that, the Vizier sent him and his squadron on an assignment far from the Kingdom. He’s been there ever since. The Vizier made his other son, Uran, an ambassador to the North. Rudjek says that he spends most of his time locked away in his rooms, refusing to see anyone, even his wife. He flies into sudden rages, and his attendants must restrain him.
A chill crawls down my back at how blank Rudjek’s face has gone. I ache to go to him, but I know that would only make matters worse. We’ve come this far without our parents guessing how close we are.
“Where are your sons, Vizier?” Arti says, her voice bright. “I’m sure they’d want to clear their names.”
My mother has wielded the news of the kidnappings at the assembly to strike at the Vizier, and doesn’t care who else she’ll hurt. She never does. Even so, the question of the missing children hits a nerve. From the whispers in the coliseum, I’m not alone in wondering who would do something so vile. My gaze finds Rudjek again, and my stomach sinks when he refuses to look at me.
Six
According to my father, everyone has a little magic in them—only our family has more than most. He says that to the patrons who come to his shop to make them feel special. He knows it’s not true, but people need something to believe. The crowd filing out of the coliseum certainly has no magic, and it would seem, no heart or conscience either.
They talk about the missing children like they’re the latest scandal, and it annoys me to no end. To attend the assembly you must have property and standing. No one here will worry about their children, for none are without attendants day or night. I push through the throng of people, losing a few beads from my sheath along the way. There are so many of us that the gray-washed West Market feels alive for once. Alive and teeming with petty gossip.
“She’d better watch herself, lest she ends up like the former Ka-Priest,” a man leans toward his friend to say. He’s loud enough that some people mumble their soft agreements. Others rally to my mother’s defense.
I only glare at him. It isn’t the first time someone has flung that particular threat at my mother. It still stings. I don’t like that Arti and the Vizier are always bickering. Sometimes it turns nasty. That said, she’s done good for the Kingdom. When the Vizier joked about raising tithes again, he left out why the Temple asks for money. My mother and the seers run all public services in the Kingdom. Free education for those who can’t afford private scribes, meals, shelter for orphans. Programs that my mother created when she became Ka-Priestess.
The former Ka-Priest, Ren Eké, was before my time, but people still sing his praises. He was beloved for his wise and quiet nature, and he and the Vizier got along well. People say there was better collaboration between the Guild and Temple back then. As an Eké of Tribe Litho, he bore the honored position of head of his extended family. Yet, one foggy morning, a fisherman found the Ka-Priest impaled on a hook in the bay. Naked, his body mutilated.