XXVIII. J'Accuse
Lunch is overcooked mutton, heavily spiced with cinnamon, cumin and cardamom. You don't trust it. Maybe this is just your Cheraki tastebuds, but for this to be so heavily flavoured might mean they're covering up that the meat is going off. After all, it has been days since anyone's seen the sun, and food goes… strange when chaos touches it.
No, no - they wouldn't dare to feed off-meat to their guests. It's just an unfamiliar flavour. You think. You hope.
Still, you keep away from the meat and dairy. It's fine. You can survive off chickpeas and beans and an actually surprisingly good salty broth that tastes like it was made from yesterday's dinner.
The bubbling river of conversation often touches on the dying-down storm and the hopes that it'll be over soon. People here want to go home. They're wondering if the storm will have died down enough by morning that the sun will rise - or at the very least, that it will have cleared by noon and so people can go back to Cahzor-upon-Dam. And of course, there's the rumour-mongering about the murder. Some of that is directed towards you.
Inaam ak-Kas is good at what she does. You have to admit that. She's playing off the fact that you're a foreigner as well as how quite a few women in the room think fondly of Haitham. Not all his break-ups were disasters, it seems. And his noted proclivity for older women means some of the people casting aspersions in your direction are people with their own holdings.
You almost decide you need to see to this right away. Almost. It hurts. It hurts to have people think ill of you. You're not a bad person! And this kind of venomous, toxic whispering from the hateful and jealous was what led to your downfall in Cherak.
A nudge in the ribs from a bony elbow distracts you from your thoughts. Looking up from your meal, you find that Inaan as-Sawahir is staring at you. You didn't even register that she was the dining partner on your left. You really have been in a world of your own this meal.
"Excuse me?" you ask Zia's little sister.
Her deep blue eyes and similar-coloured hair look almost black under the light of the red lanterns. "So did you kill him?"
It genuinely catches you off guard. "What?"
"Haitham. Was it you?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"A pretty important one."
"I didn't."
"People are saying you did."
You roll your eyes. "Inaam ak-Kas is a jealous woman who's angry I slept with her nephew. She must be quite hateful, given how many of the women in this room this applies to," you say bluntly. Maybe she's a little young for you to be quite so blunt, but you're discontented and annoyed by all the rumours.
Inaan's hand goes to her mouth. "Meira," she whispers.
"What? It's true."
"Yes, but you shouldn't say it! Even I know that he… got around."
"Well, that is the reason. She's dripping poison in the ears of people here because she's angry her nephew died - and angry at me. I'm not the one who killed him. I'm the one who's trying to find out who did it."
She crosses her arms, looking at you suspiciously. "The best place for the killer would be investigating the case."
You chuckle, and salute her with your drink. "You're sharp, little girl. But it wasn't me. I liked him." You wink. "He had a fabulous ass."
She blushes, dark cheeks turning red. "Don't call me a little girl! Hmmph. Why are you all like this?"
"'You' all?"
"Dragon-children! I can still manage it, you know! I've still got years!"
Ah. So there it is. That horrible, wrenching, emptiness that lives in the heart of every member of the Cheraki families who
should show their blood, and hasn't. That poisonous hope. You were lucky. You were a prodigy who showed her nature just shy of your thirteenth birthday - a blessing of the dragons on a family that hadn't expected something so early and so strong. But it meant you got to see your friends and peers go through the agony of desperate, gnawing hope. That wish they got to be like you. You got to hear everything their families tried to help strengthen their blood and increase their chances.
"If you want the truth," you say, looking her up and down, "I can say something. But you might not like it."
She grabs your wrist with her hand, squeezing on. "What?" she demands.
"A water-dragon is your ancestor."
Her eyes widen. "You know that? But you're not Cahzori! How could you know?" she demands in a whisper.
Yes, I can see it in your features and so could anyone who had spent time in a healthy community of dragon-children, unlike this dry, wretched city, you don't say. "One of my talents," you instead whisper to her, tapping one temple, "is that I see more than others. You have a hint of lilies and other water plants to your nature."
"My father was a child of the water dragon," she says, staring down at the table. "He left."
You look at her - really look at her - and see the Realm ancestry in her features. Ah, so that's how it is; reading between the lines, her - and Zia's - father was some Realm merchant. Maybe not a dragon child himself, but with good breeding. Maybe their mother seduced him for his bloodline; maybe he fell for her and stayed longer than he planned, but either way, he went home. Maybe it was only a transitory affair whenever he came down to Gem to buy things that left her with two children.
"Well," you say, "the problem there is that this is a land without water. I am from the north, but there were great forests in my homeland. My family knew I had wood-blood, so they encouraged me to hunt, to track, to meditate under the great ancient pines." You spread your palms. "But the Little Nam isn't water. Not really. It's… liquid mud."
She nods, bobbing her head. "I dream of the sea sometimes. I've never seen it, but I know what it looks like."
Yes, you bet she does. You can feel the lack of plantlife in this landscape, and a soul so visibly aligned to water must feel like it's choking. "Do you know how the ak-Kebez family does it? Yasmine ak-Kebez is a water dragon, so..." It's not just academic interest.
"No." She shakes her head, lowering her voice. "No one does."
Damn. "Well, from the looks of things, you still have five or so years," you say. "There's still a chance."
She huffs, in a way that tells you everything about how she's heard those words before. Slumping down, she trails her spoon through her stew. "I don't want a chance," she mutters. "A chance is worthless if it doesn't work out."
Oddly, even though the conversation only touched on that topic, you find it's swayed your thoughts. Inaan was easy enough to distract when she had reason to think of something else. The whispers aren't going to go away until the culprit is found, but once they're there, you'll be able to clear things up. After all, like the little girl said, you
are a dragon-child.
You kill a snake by cutting off its head, not its tail. Inaam ak-Kas can whisper all she likes, but those who aren't committed to her irrational dislike of you - seriously, what have you done to offend her that isn't sleeping with her nephew? - will fall away when Hilmi is found to be the guilty party.
Dealing with Inaam can come later. "Excuse me, Inaan," you tell the younger girl. "I just need to speak to someone."
You find Sadia, who's dining with two other young women she introduced to you at the first evening of the party and who you couldn't for the life of you recall the names of. "My darlings," you say, smiling broadly. "I think we're all glad to hear the storm is dying down."
The one with darker hair who might have been an ad-Dib, but you're not sure, rolls her eyes. "I think this is the last time I'll come to a Kinzira party. Murder, sub-standard wine and this… suspicious mutton. I could forgive one, but all three?"
Oh, Dragons bless, you're not the only one suspicious of the meat. "I just stayed with the chickpeas," you say, lowering your voice. "They're not awful. But might I have a private word with Sadia?"
The two of you step over to the side of the room.
"Well?"
"We should go to your great-aunt," you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you pretend to cough. "I just spent the morning making sure Zia wasn't involved, and I don't think he was. He's got a good alibi."
"You suspected Zia?" Her thin eyebrows rise.
"He said some things before Haitham died that sounded like he wanted him dead," you say. "I just wanted to be sure."
"Ah." Sadia shakes her head. "No, Zia has… reasons to hate both of them, but he's not a killer. Yes, I'm sure he's cheering for Hilmi's death, but he's not the sort to frame Hilmi or stab Haitham." She looks up to meet your eyes. "Well, I'm glad you didn't smear him in front of Aunty. He's got enough problems and he's one of my oldest friends."
"Mmm." You shrug. "Well, there's no worries there. So I think you should arrange to see your great aunt privately after everyone's eaten. I… don't want to poison relations with her even more after that first public declaration."
Sadia sucks in a breath through her teeth. "Good. You've learned. Saving face is very important here."
She shouldn't talk down to you like that. Saving face is also very important in Cherak. You just underestimated this city where people willingly live in these greasy, dark semi-ruins. No one back home would willingly live in this Kinzira estate unless they were on the edge of penury, but the jansi here are one of the great, wealthy noble families.
Well, you'll soon be free.
Deep brown carpets, the scent of old spices, and tea. Red paper lanterns hang in front of shuttered windows; the sound of the rain against the glass drifts through the wood. Gouty busts of ancestors frown down from their niches on the wall, their painted faces dyspeptic
"These are… very serious accusations," Sadia's great-aunt Kareena says, already looking like she should be among those stone faces. She glares at you. "And the fact you freely admit you meddled with his baggage and broke into his room is a
gross violation of hospitality."
"I was distraught with grief at the murder of my lover," you admit, hanging your head in faux-shame. "But it is a saying in my homeland; always suspect the lover, the rival or the husband."
It's not a Cheraki saying; you're just echoing Sadia. But Kareena seems to have heard it too, and nods. "That is true. But I thought you would have known better, Sadia."
Sadia shakes her head. "This is important, Aunty," she says. "If we didn't have someone to pin the blame on, ak-Kinzira could be blamed by ad-Dib. And no one wants those," she sniffs, "violent raiders with desert-blood riding up the slopes and laying waste to family land. Even if we could fend them off, they'd cause so much damage - and would probably burn the harvest! And the Demio would blame us - and might not even support us! She has served ak-Kinzira well with her rule."
You're actually admiring Sadia here. For a mortal, she's excellent at playing the game and presenting the facts to support her. Dragons! Imagine what she would be like if Mela had blessed her! Kareena is like clay in her hands, and she nods. "I see. I can't approve of your sense of loyalty to that awful old hag in the city, but… your heart is in the right place." She sits back in her bulging, overstuffed armchair and sips at her tea. "So. Tell me."
The case is clear, as you present it. Their fight; their known rivalry; the humiliation of Hilmi and the fact that Haitham rubbed the fact he was sleeping with you in the other man's face. You establish motivation and no one can disagree with you.
But then there's the details. What you've established of his actions that night was that he was drunk, but not too drunk to stand, and went to his room. The kind of drunk that men - you say with a roll your eyes - do stupid things while in that state. That the body was cold and blood clotted when you found Haitham, so he clearly had been dead for a while; likely before dawn.
And then there's the three points of evidence. The ashes in his fireplace and fragments of burned cloth. The fact you broke into his luggage (oh, she doesn't like that) and found the knife. And the knife with the ad-Dib crest on it outside his window, left out in the storm to be erased by the change storm.
There's almost a twinge of guilt there, because you don't think that knife was the murder weapon. You had suspected it, but on second thoughts you remembered how clean the wounds had been. But you're not going to reject such a useful piece of evidence.
"Another thing," Sadia says. "Hilmi has changed his clothes. He was wearing something new in the morning, and he hasn't worn the same thing since. As Meira said, there were ashes in his fireplace. I think it's clear evidence that he burned his outfit because there was blood on it."
Kareena's face is drawn. You almost pity her. She's so obviously not looking forwards to this. "Stay here," she says, "and please, enjoy the tea. I need to speak to people."
She shuffles out of the room, and leaves you and Sadia together. Sadia sips her tea, pulls a face, and shamelessly retrieves a bottle of spirits from one of the cupboards. "Well," she says, pouring herself a measure. "I think that went well."
"No thank you," you say, in response to her offer of the harder drink. "I'll stick with the tea. I need to be sober. Do you think she believes us?"
"Yes. And that's why she hates the choice ahead of her." Sadia laughs. "She's a woman whose preferred choice is what to have for dinner, and then usually she takes both anyway. This will probably lead to vendetta between the ad-Dib and the ak-Kas, and I have to say, it couldn't happen to a more lovely pair of families. What a shame."
"I think you're enjoying this," you say, sipping your tea.
"Well, a little bit, darling," she says, copying your phrase. "They're going to be talking about this party for years! A murder, and a vendetta that will wrack the valley below! How thrilling!" Her eyes are alight. "Much more wonderful than the usual tiresome affairs and overeating common at these things!"
She catches your look. "What? Come on. Don't tell me that a mysterious death wouldn't have been the event of the social season where you came from?"
Goodness, no. It's just another way that Cahzor is more barbaric than Cherak. Why, back home, everyone would have pretended it hadn't happened and never spoken of it again except in dark whispers. It had been very useful when someone was found floating dead in the hot springs at a party.
Sadia was right in what her great-aunt would decide, and she insists that you accompany her and her men. Apparently it's a local thing that the accuser should be there in person.
You don't mind playing along. There's a certain feeling of power to marching down the corridors at the head of a number of armed men. You make your way to Hilmi's room, crack your knuckles, and hammer on his door.
Thoom-thoom-thoom. A pause. There's no response. You knock again; thoom-thoom-thoom. It echoes against the aged wood.
"He's either not in or not answering," you say, perhaps unnecessarily.
One of the guards produces the key, and opens the door.
Hilmi is there, his travel chest up against the wall. All the little things which he'd taken out and left around have been re-packed, and from the look of things - oh, he's preparing for a swift exit. There's a thick leather coat with a hood on his bed that you don't remember seeing in his chest. It's a tough buff jacket that looks related to what you'd wear in a Cheraki wyld-tainted snowstorm. It might well be lined with iron sheets.
Heh. You give him your prettiest smile, flashing him with your teeth. Oh, you wouldn't want to be out in the storm, but it has weakened enough that a desperate man might be willing to risk it. No one would really want to pursue someone through the storm, and it would be
so easy to vanish. Get some distance away from here, get under cover, and maybe head home. You'd be safe on family lands unless someone wanted to invade to get you, and if you wanted to get out, a young man who brought shame to his family could go look for his fortune in Gem, and return in a decade if he found it.
"Why are you?" he demands. Blusters. Oh, he's not entirely surprised to see you.
"You murdered Haitham ak-Kas," you say, raising your voice. "You murdered him to take back the knife you lost to him in that duel! The knife you have in that travel case! And you burned the clothes you wore, in that fireplace - and hid the knife you used for it!" You wave it at him. "But I found it!"
"Lying foreign harlot," he growls back, something ugly in his dark eyes. Goodness, you're glad you didn't sleep with him. Right now you hate to think of that face looking posessively at you. "Everyone's heard the rumours. It was you. Life-stealing foreign demoness! That you stole my knife doesn't prove a thing."
"You murdered my lover out of jealousy and rage," you say, refusing to let his slander register. You know it wasn't you.
Kareena pushes past her men. "We can resolve this," she says quickly, words almost falling over themselves. "If you just show us the contents of that case, we can see if her accusations are grounded."
His lips draw back in a contemptuous snarl. "Of course not. You owe me hospitality - and I certainly will not let you paw through my bags on the say-so of a foreign witch!"
"Now, now, be reasonab-"
"I said no!"
"So," you say, your stomach twisting in hot, surging anger, "you're too much of a coward to prove your 'innocence'. Not that you can. Murderer."
"Duel!" Hilmi snaps.
"Excuse me?" Oh, but you see where this is going.
"You heard me! Duel! I declare that this foreign woman broke into my bags and planted all and any evidence! And that she is a dishonourable harlot," there's a vicious snarl to his voice, "who planted the evidence here to cover that she murdered Haitham, knowing the blame would be placed on me!
He shows you that feral, vicious, ugly smirk. He sees you; soft, beautiful, and he knows you're a dragon child but he doesn't
see you as one. He sees you as a pretty flower to decorate someone's arm. He wanted you for his arm, but now you're in his way. So he thinks to cut you down.
Hasn't he taken rejection hard?
"So," he says, hands balled into fists, "we'll let the gods decide who the victor is. You kill me, I'm the guilty party. I kill you, we reveal your true nature to the world… and trust me, the gods will smile on me. They hate creatures like you!"
Rena…
[ ] Accepts his challenge. Oh, the gods won't decide this. You will, when you cut his arrogant throat.
[ ] Rejects his challenge. No. You know he's guilty, and he's gambling he's a better fighter than you. Say as much, too.
[ ] Write-in - detail any other action you'd rather Rena takes.
