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"You do not fool me, nomad. Not for a moment.” Sibias spoke with deep sarcasm. “You said something to upset her. You think you will get away with it, but you won't. Mehmet doesn't intend to let you influence her son unduly. One whiff of duplicity from you and you will be banished forever."
Amshazar gave a quiet laugh. “I am sure Mehmet would appreciate your supplying me with that information.” He paused to watch the annoyance in Sibias's expression multiply. “If I were—in fact—intending to influence her son, knowing her intentions would put me in a much stronger position."
"Damn you.” Sibias was livid.
Beyond him, Amshazar saw Santor's image forming from the atmosphere. He had an amused expression on his face and nodded over at Sibias, rubbing his hands in glee. Santor was always around, observing, when drama was afoot. It caused Amshazar to chuckle.
Following Amshazar's gaze, Sibias swung around and looked behind him. Santor mocked an obscenity at Sibias, a physical gesture more commonly found in the Souk than in the hands of a magus guide, and Amshazar felt sure the gods would have reprimanded him severely if they had cause to witness it.
Sibias sensed the presence, but could not see it, his training in the art of sorcery being of an entirely different breed—an ugly, more malevolent and greedy breed.
"Good day to you, Sibias,” Amshazar said loudly, drawing his attention back. Bypassing his adversary, he walked to the door of their shared dining chamber with the sound of the other man's annoyed mutterings behind him. Amshazar lifted a hand and waved when he got to the doorway, Santor waving regally beside him.
"Wait,” Sibias called out, reluctantly, seemingly disgruntled by the change in the atmosphere Santor had caused. “I have not finished speaking, you cannot just walk away. We must insist the Empress continues her instruction."
"I agree.” Amshazar suppressed a smile, for that is exactly what he intended, although he planned to have Elishiba pursue a different type of knowledge altogether, and, after yesterday, he knew that the Empress responded better to practical examples than to dry words. Beside him, Santor nodded his agreement, smiling, before fading away into the atmosphere again.
Sibias narrowed his eyes, seeking out the fleeting spirit presence without success.
"Alas,” Amshazar continued, “it looks as if today is not the day for lessons about Karseedia.” No, because he had other lessons in mind.
* * * *
The object was small, a pretty thing made from fine copper strands formed into the shape of a star. Elishiba had owned it for so long she didn't remember exactly where it had originated, other than it was a gift from travellers who had broken their journey at the palace, before passing along the trade route. She'd taken to the copper star when she was just a young girl, and her father had allowed her to keep it. It sat by her bedside amongst her other favoured trinkets, until today, when she had awoken looking at it. She'd picked it up and turned it in her fingers—it wasn't a heavy thing, barely weighed anything at all.
It had been late, very late the night before, when her mood and thoughts had finally turned away from the subject of desire, to the other emotions and ideas Amshazar had set running within her. She was fixed on the suggestion he had made about sorcery being within the reach of even simple men. Could it be so? An impulse to find out had urged her into action. First, she'd sent a note to Sibias refusing his instruction—the notion of spending her last day in Suzin closeted with the old goat, as Yoshi called him, repelled her. Then she dressed in plain robes for the day ahead.
Taking the star into the receiving room of her chambers, she set it down on the stone table. Beyond it, the sheer curtain at the balcony lifted and wavered in the breeze. The curtain moved easily. How hard would it be move an object such as the star, without touching it? Amshazar's words still whispered in her mind.
Simple sorcery is within your reach.
The idea excited her. That she could not deny. Why had he even said such a thing to her? She could see no obvious motive in his words and actions, but there had to be one. He'd indicated he meant her no harm, but could she believe that? He definitely wasn't in league with Sibias that much she felt sure of.
The power is there for you to channel.
How? She'd always assumed sorcery was a learned thing, and yet he had spoken and acted as if it was something that came from within. Yoshi had often remarked upon the slumbering nature of Elishiba's soul, but Elishiba adopted a more pragmati
c approach. Until now. The idea that sorcery might be within her reach at her time of greatest need lit her up from within.
Pulling a cushion closer, she sat cross-legged in front of the stone table, her elbows on her knees, her fingers meshed. She concentrated on the object. Resting on three of its points, it was a tiny little thing, fragile. Not heavy. Surely she could perform a simple trick like this?
Time passed.
Nothing happened.
She concentrated on the star until her head hurt, and her eyes were stinging from staring at it. She wasn't doing it right, there had to be something else that she was missing. Flexing her shoulders, she held out her hands and tried to visualize light coming from her palms, as Amshazar had manifested the day before. She moved her hands, willing it to be so.
Still nothing.
Slumping, she rested her temples in her hands, cursing under her breath while still staring at the object. It was stupid of her to have hoped for such a thing. How could she know anything of sorcery? She had never felt anything like it before. Her heart was in turmoil, because at some point in the night she had latched onto this vague notion of it being within her own grasp, as a means to help her people. She was clutching at futile, unrealistic hopes. That was all it was.
"How can I help my people if I cannot do such a simple thing?” Frustration boiled up inside her and she glared at the object.
As the rush of emotion was unleashed, the curtain at the window suddenly lifted, wavering wildly into the room.
She felt no breeze.
Her glance fell back to the object on the table. The star was tipping slowly. Rocking upon the three points it currently rested upon, it was lifting and teetering toward a fourth point.
