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“The airship?”
“I destroyed the airship of course.”
“You destroyed the airship?”
“Must you repeat everything I say?”
Of course, the mage Houses hated airships. They hated the busy technology of combustion, the scalding power of steam, the schemes and contraptions imported across the ocean by those cursedly clever trolls and their treacherous human allies in faraway Expedition. While foreign engineers were lecturing on design principles in the halls of the academy, a House had sent its agent into the Rail Yard where the huge airship from Expedition was being stabled.
Gracious Melquart! The man had walked arrogantly into the academy library and used their scholarly materials to figure out how and where and when to do it!
“You did it alone?” For I wondered where the eru had been, and what manner of creature the coachman might actually be. Perhaps he was human, as he appeared to my eye, but perhaps he was not. Unlike the man I had been forced to marry, I wasn’t arrogant enough to believe I comprehended everything.
“You doubt I could?” he retorted dangerously.
“Since I know nothing about you or Four Moons House, I’m scarcely likely to have any opinion on that subject, am I?”
“Spoken resentfully! You should be cognizant of the honor shown to you by Four Moons House, established by the Diarisso lineage, who with their sorcery brought so many families and households safely across the desert.” For a breath, a sniff, a blink, a humbled tone of awed respect for these ancestors shone in his voice like the glimmer of sunlight on water. Then the tone was gone. “Certainly I did not expect to find myself bound in such a way, to a person—” He broke off.
“I was never told of any sort of contract.”
“It falls to the mansa to speak to you of the contract. For now, it would be better if we were silent.”
“I don’t even know your name!”
“My name?”
“Must you repeat everything I say?” But my embarrassed and pathetic counterthrust sailed right past him, missing its mark.
“It was spoken in the contract to seal the binding. Weren’t you listening?”
Anger is better than tears. “Did it ever occur to you that I might have been too stunned to listen? That I had no expectation, no warning. Did you even think—” I gulped down tears. I could not go on. I had humiliated myself in front of him, and that was the very last thing I ever wanted.
He exhaled sharply, as at a powerful emotion. The illumination dimmed until the interior was mostly shadow. He settled back on the cushions and closed his eyes. We rolled along. Now and again the coachman’s whip snapped, a sound like the crack of kindling fire, although combustion of all things is anathema to the cold magic so assiduously nurtured and cultured and studied for so many generations by the mage Houses that wove their power out of the vast breathing spirit of ice that is the soul of the hidden Ancestors.
At length he stirred, then spoke barely above a whisper, as though he feared the servants outside might hear and thus gain power over him by the rule of naming. “Andevai Diarisso Haranwy.”
Still embarrassed, I could not resist prodding him. “You name yourself in the Roman style, I collect. Yet you are obviously not of Roman descent.”
His eyes opened. “How can you be sure no one in Four Moons House is of Roman descent? Even the highest patrician’s child and the poorest slave woman’s whelp may come to the attention of the magisters if such a child has been gifted by the gods with a soul touched by cold magic. Also, we can pick and choose when it comes to marriage, as must be obvious to you today. Anyway, why should it be surprising we use the Roman style of naming? Is ‘Catherine’ not a derivation from a Roman form with an ancient Greek origin?”
“Do you mean to insult me?”
“How am I insulting you? You misunderstand me. I am only explaining why it is unexceptional for people not of direct Roman descent to use a common style of naming where once the Romans ruled. Perhaps you Phoenicians have a different view on the subject.”
“Naturally we do, being contrary according to the nature we were born with, which is one of the lies the Romans told. For one thing, we are Kena’ani, not Phoenicians. We can borrow from the Greeks of ancient days as easily as the Romans could, so it’s perfectly normal for children of Kena’ani lineage to take given names derived from the Greeks. We are not restricted to the names of generals and queens from our illustrious history, although people seem to think we ought to be!”
“Are you attempting to convince me otherwise? Anyway, I never heard that ‘people’ thought anything particular of Phoenicians except—” Abruptly his lips closed hard over unspoken words.
“Except what?”
He did not reply.
“I am not afraid to hear whatever you are afraid to say.”
That riled him. “Very well. You must know what people say far better than I do. During the siege of Carthage, the queen of your people sacrificed her own firstborn child and that of every household to the god of the city. Who therefore brought down lightning and storm winds to destroy the besieging Roman army.”
“And thus Rome’s attempt to gain power over the seas was broken by a heartless people who care for nothing except the profits they can make as merchants and who therefore are willing to sacrifice even their own sweet infants to angry Moloch,” I finished in a trembling voice. Keep silence! my aunt had said. But I could not bear to be passively submissive, to bow my head and let people speak such lies. My ancestors had not battled Rome to a standstill two thousand years ago by bowing their heads and baring their throats. “Are you done maligning my people? It is easy to toss comments and descriptions into the air when they do not fall back upon you but rather paint others—others whose clothes you will never have to wear—in an unflattering light so you can feel better about yourself.”
