The Deathless. Peter Newman

Something’s wrong.

      The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.

      ‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.

      The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’

      Rochant only frowned.

       Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

      Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’

      ‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’

      ‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’

      There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.

      When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.

      ‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’

      ‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.

      Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’

      The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.

      Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.

      ‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’

      A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.

      ‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’

      Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.

      He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.

      The Bringers turned from him, processing outward, single file, following the spiral of pillars towards the first doorway.

      For a moment, she was sure one of them was looking at her, and she caught a glimpse of peridot eyes that seemed to glow with their own soft light.

      Pari pressed herself back against the pillar and held her breath.

      The tunnel was smaller than Chandni had expected it to be. Why go to all the trouble of making a secret passage that’s almost impossible to use? she thought to herself. What were the architects thinking?

      She hated being in this undignified position, squeezing herself and Satyendra through the tiny space between floor and ceiling. It made her feel like a stubborn lump of food stuck in the throat.

      But most of all she hated Lady Pari. Bad enough that the Tanzanite had broken into her chambers, she’d started giving orders in a Sapphire castle. Even worse, she knew more about the castle’s secrets than Chandni herself. It hinted at the true depths of the friendship between Pari and Lord Rochant.

      She stopped.

       If it is just a friendship.

      No. Such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, against the rules that governed the Deathless.

      She shook her head, forcing herself to carry on. It was not her place to question her lord. She was just in shock, that was all. Whatever was happening, there would be a true and proper explanation that would be given to her if it was deemed appropriate.

      She still hated Pari though.

      Most of the stress in Chandni’s life had been the kind one could prepare for. From difficult guests from other houses who needed to be handled with care, to complicated negotiations over rights, to pregnancy. All were managed with meticulous planning and Chandni was proud of how smoothly she’d navigated through.

      To the outside eye, it appeared that she never broke sweat or struggled, and that was just how she liked it. Exactly as a true Sapphire should be.

      Yet again, her head knocked against the top of the tunnel, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Satyendra jolted in her arms but did not cry. His tiny fingers splayed in surprise, then settled again, gathering the front of her nightgown in two tight bunches.

      Pride for her son’s stoicism overwhelmed the throbbing on the back of her skull and she paused to kiss his forehead. He’d always been calm in spectacular circumstances, including those surrounding his birth. For Satyendra was born on the same day as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and under the same alignment of the suns. Upon hearing this, the High Lord had come in person to inspect the baby, and was so taken with him, he decreed they should share a name of equal length, an honour normally reserved for the other heads of the Crystal Dynasties.

      Beneath her, the castle was surprisingly quiet.

      Surely Pari should have raised the alarm by now? But even as she thought that, Chandni knew there were many reasons for Pari to fail. Perhaps the assassins had caught her, or perhaps the real guards had arrested her. Perhaps she was still hobbling along in that ancient body. She’s probably fallen asleep!

      The image made Chandni start to giggle until she realized she was being hysterical, at which point she started to cry.

      It was cold and dark in the tunnel. Her knees were raw from crawling, and she had to shuffle one-handed so that she could hold Satyendra in the other. As babies went, hers was small and light, like her, but over time that little weight seemed to increase, until it was like hefting a sweet, huggable boulder.

      A tear fell onto Satyendra’s head and she heard the tiniest intake of breath.

      Then, summoning the inner voice of her mother, Chandni berated herself until the tears stopped falling. This is not how a child of the Sapphire behaves! It simply will not do! Your face should be inscrutable, a puzzle for your enemies to fret over and your allies to admire. It should be held still, a weapon, only moving when it serves your purpose. It should not wobble and blush like a spanked bottom!

      Chandni nodded, shaking, but herself again. Thank you, Mother.

      She forged on, gritting her teeth as the skin of her knees ground against the stone.

      Just as she began to despair that the tunnel was endless, her head connected with the exit, causing her to curse Pari, the assassins, the castle’s architects, and her own stupidity.

      A panel slid away, admitting her into the main entrance hall behind the feet of an ancient statue from a time long-forgotten. The crystal had been grown through several floors of the castle and carved in sections, so that the head emerged in the feast hall and the feet straddled the entrance. There was an old belief that the great sapphire giant held the castle together, and kept it in the sky. Chandni had always liked the statue and thought it sad they did not have a name for it. The man depicted had a kind face and was the only crystal-forged smile to be found in Lord Rochant’s home.

      Mohit had said the hollows where the eyes should have been were creepy, but she disagreed. She felt the dark spaces gave the statue a sense of intelligence that the others lacked.

      Mohit,