Heir of Beasts

Ch. 4.4- Complex Power Dynamics

"What's the next stop on our parade route, husband?" I ask. The word tastes bitter in my mouth, even coated in the salve of exceptionally strong sarcasm. If he notices my acerbic tone, he doesn't acknowledge it, still smiling the blithe smile of a man who knows he owns everything he sees. The people, the noraya, the vasayaste, the palace, and me.

"That depends on how badly you want to be rid of me," he says, taking my hand so we walk like lovers over the bruised blooms. They seem so much more honest the second day, lying limp and half-desiccated beneath the sun. I read the future of my marriage in their drooping petals and broken stems the way some mystics read fortunes in tea leaves.

"I always want to be rid of you, Sholu."

"Then I'll turn you over to the tender mercies of the ladies of the court. You'll need assistance in your new role, especially starting out; thanks to Somitu, you weren't raised to be the disza, so there's some catching up to do," he explains. "They're mostly harmless, though they do tend to follow behind you and nip at your heels as you walk. Like small dogs, but don't you dare tell them I said that."

"Say that, for argument's sake, I want to avoid being fed to the dogs slightly more than I want to be rid of you?"

He snorts, trying not to laugh. "Then you're welcome to come with me to the inaugural council meeting. Each vasayaste family has sent a representative and I expect it to be a riot. Posturing, confusion, good intentions but markedly poorer follow through. Perhaps some brief flashes of brilliance."

"Merely light glinting off of fool's gold," I quip. "Tell me, husband, why do all of your vasayastisi choke themselves with jeweled necklaces and drown their hands in stacks of rings? It's like they're afraid they'll have to leave the city in a hurry, so they wear all of their worldly wealth on their persons."

"You really do think they're all the same, don't you?"

"They are all the same, in all the ways that matter," I reply curtly. "Same illegitimate sources of wealth, same ostentatious peacocking, same mouths sucking you off under the table to gain your favor. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Never under the table, darling," he says offhandedly. "Though once Ashami Kohai did use her hands to spectacular effect in a coat closet, and during a party the youngest Farhanisi son revealed himself to be remarkably resistant to gagging."

"The youngest Farhanisi- son?" I ask, hating myself for giving him the reaction he craves but unable to keep the shock and censure from my voice. "Do you jest, or is there truly no perversion you won't stoop to?"

"I wasn't the one doing the stooping," he says, chuckling softly. "And among the vasayaste, we don't consider it a perversion to be free."

"Free?" I ask, laughing incredulously. "So the only time the vasayaste aren't concerned with commerce is when they're setting themselves free of common decency?"

"What is common is not decent, at least among the dimaraste," he snorts derisively. "But I find there's no real dignity in denying human nature. We are animals and we are men; shouldn't both of our souls be welcome? Why is wanting indecent, or is it the having that frightens you? Because I have had, and I will have, Queen of Shikkah. And how can you judge me, when the only arm's you've ever been wrapped in belong to the ghost of a dead dynasty?

"Easily," I mutter. "I merely look at you, and my brain returns contempt."

"You don't look at me," he laughs, throwing me off-balance. "You don't look at us." He pauses, sighing, running a calloused hand through the waves of his ashen hair. "You say the vasayaste are the same in all the ways that matter? Well, when your eyes are less clouded by prejudice, watch them. They're nowhere near a unified group. Shared goals knit them together, but it's a loose weave. Your description- peacocks dripping in jewels- fits the Harkol and Ashkorai families to a tee, but the Jamsi take pride in their lack of finery. They're old merchant stock and have no tolerance for frippery. The Unaanti are still half Brekkan; their matriarch speaks with an accent, having been born in Sobirna. The Nanaki and Aliki are scholars who can trace their roots back to old Suumaral. My people, O'otani, really are just people. Some are fools, some are decadent, but all in all, most are surprisingly decent." He pauses, then adds "they're at least as decent as your people."