The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the only life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her injured best friend Traz, and the ever-enigmatic Xavai to a city that glitters with wealth but reeks of corruption. Within its walls, sour magic whispers, alliances shift like silt, and every kindness hides a price. To save the people she loves, Astra must rely on her wits, her courage, and maybe, maybe, a little necromancy.
Previously: The brutal truth of Odwego was revealed...
The curtains had been drawn closed again to shelter the dukes from the eyes of the townspeople. Astra focused on the palatial wagon and refused to turn her head to look at the bloodied chopping block.
The town crier jumped on the short pillar again and called out a name. An old woman skirted forward past the guards, who didn’t bother looking at her. She was led up the rickety steps and through the curtains, and emerged not long after. Nothing in her expression gave away whether her supplications had been successful or not. This continued five more times before the crier finally called out, “Pilgrim Ashatur and husband!”
Astra waved her hand in the air and pressed through the crowd. Her mind got lost in the process as they moved toward the platform. One of the armed soldiers checked them for weapons, which made Xavai glower at everyone, and then they were directed up to the rickety stairs.
Taking a deep breath, Astra forged ahead and through the curtains, Xavai and Riki’o on her heels.
The dukes sat up on a tall platform, not in chairs but settled on ornate cushions. They were clearly twins, not just alike in looks but with their matching bobbed haircuts and heart-shaped faces. Superficially they resembled Doctor Riki’o in skin tone and the almond shape of their eyes, but there all similarities ended. Where the doctor was kindly and elegant, they were harsh and sharp-natured, their posture rigid. They sat wearing nearly identical robes, sumptuous and very precisely folded around them. On their heads were simple but exquisite gold diadems, no wider than a couple of fingers’ width, which narrowed down to elegant knots in the front and with a few tiny chains hanging off of them that ended in delicate pearls. The shapes of the knots were the only things that set them apart.
Their eyes were completely coal black, as if they were themselves two of the Three Devils .
Astra bowed deeply and stayed there, waiting for them to address her. After a tense moment, Xavai did likewise.
The magistrate stepped up to the edge of the platform. “It is always a pleasure to see you, Dr. Riki’o.” His teasing tone grated against Astra’s nerves, reminding her too much of Doyen Superior Dzrezor’s sneering commentary. Since she had not been addressed, she stayed in her position, bent over in a bow.
“Thank you, Sir Khossa. The pilgrims asked me to attend, given the grave nature of their circumstances.” Riki’o jostled the baby on her hip.
“And what are the circumstances, then, Pilgrim Ashatur?” Sir Khossa asked, his voice bland and bored.
Astra straightened up and gave a short version of their story as wayward religious pilgrims beset by bad luck and pirates. The dukes remained impassive. When she got to the actual request, for a thimble of snow dragon horn dust, Riki’o spoke up to confirm the nature of the wound, and how she would use the dust, and promised to return any unused portion to the dukes.
They stood in silence for a moment before Sir Khossa spoke. “What do you have in trade that might be worth such a treasure?”
Xavai pulled out his small purse and let four of the rubies from the necklace tumble out into his hand before stepping forward. “We bought these rare rubies before our pilgrimage, to give as offerings to Mamum at Qordashi.” He repeated the story Astra had concocted for him sincerely enough to be believable, then added a low bow at the end.
The magistrate snorted in derision, and Astra understood why. While the garb of the dukes was elegant but uncomplicated, he was festooned in necklaces and bangle bracelets that were dripping with rare stones far more valuable than the meager rubies Xavai held. Astra knew then their pleas had fallen on deaf ears. She waited for the dukes, who were still implacable and quiet on the dais, to say something.
Instead, Sir Khossa pulled out the vellum Astra had given him that morning. “Did you write this? Or was it scribed for you?”
Astra looked at the square, then at the dukes, then down at the vellum again, then back at the magistrate. There seemed little harm in admitting the truth, and she was confused as to why it mattered. “Yes, my lord. I wrote the request and the prayer.”
“The prayer is in Doonrag.”
“Yes, my lord, it is.”
“An odd language for a pilgrim to know.”
“I am a teacher, my lord. Lacking formal schooling, I have studied when and where I can. Our small village in the mountains is having a hard winter; spring will not bring much relief. My family was asked to send a pilgrimage to Qordashi to pray for relief. Only myself, my husband, and my brother could be spared.” She finished quickly, proud of her story.
He sighed, folding up the vellum square and tucking it away. “We have texts that need translating. You will do this work, for however long it takes, in exchange for your request for a thimble of snow dragon horn dust.”
Astra looked over at the dukes, but they remained impassive, their spooky blacked-out eyes reflecting nothing, not even light. She assumed the offer had been decided before their meeting.
Doctor Riki’o gave Astra a hesitant nod in encouragement. The magistrate looked as though he had bit into sour fruit, but kept his gaze on Astra.
She thought of the many stories she had read of deals gone wrong between traders, and also of Naboch’s exacting standards of procedure. She bowed again.
“It would be my honor to serve the dukes in this capacity, for a limit of one whole text, for however long it takes to translate one copy of it, in exchange for the immediate transfer of a thimble of snow dragon’s horn dust into the care of Doctor Riki’o, so that she may treat my brother without delay from any quarter.”
There was a swift intake of breath from a couple of people, but Astra doubted they were from either duke or the magistrate. She kept her gaze on the floor, still bowed over.
“We have five texts to translate,” Sir Khossa snapped, his voice tight with annoyance.
Astra straightened up. “Translating takes time, Your Grace, which I do not have a limitless supply to trade. Having failed in our pilgrimage, we must get home within the season.” They stood there, frowning at each other.
“Three texts!” He demanded.
Astra narrowed her eyes. “Two texts. No more.”
The magistrate opened his mouth to continue the argument, but a soft voice broke in. “That will be sufficient,” Duke Fari’o said, her eyes still unmoving. “However, in addition, you will give the four rubies you offered us to Doctor Riki’o for her services.”
The magistrate frowned, radiating displeasure, but did not challenge his superior. “Two texts, then. They are not very long, in any case.”
Astra barely kept herself from looking surprised, but managed to nod. “I agree to that deal, your graces. My lord.” She bowed to each in turn.
“Accepted. We will send the dust to the inn by thirteenth bell, and you will report to the castle tomorrow at sixth bell to begin your work.” With a wave of his hand, Sir Khossa dismissed them.
Astra scrambled out after Doctor Riki’o, who left first, the dazed baby still held tight on her hip. Xavai jumped down, ignoring the steps, and they all quickly walked away into the crowd. Xavai put his hand on Astra’s back to steer her, and she gave him a small smile in gratitude, her heart pounding and her legs feeling weak.
Doctor Riki’o separated from Astra and Xavai once they cleared the square to go take her “new” son home, promising to return by thirteenth bell to treat Traz. She accepted the rubies Xavai handed her with some awkwardness.
“Duke Fari’o has not often stepped up to my benefit, not since I returned from Tsaka all those years ago.” She looked at the child in her arms with heartbreak.
“Those who are cruel to strangers reveal their true hearts,” Xavai said gravely, reaching out to put a hand on the child’s head, gently rubbing down the tuft of hair on top. “The duke does not deserve your regard.” He pulled his hand back. Astra’s heart turned over at the earnestness of his words, and thoughts of what story might lay behind them. The doctor merely nodded and stoically walked away, leaving Astra and Xavai to watch her go.
It was cold comfort to know that people like the doctor lived in such a harsh world, in such a cruel place as Odwego. Traz’s life would be saved, but they were stuck in there for as long as it would take her to do the mysterious translations. Astra only hoped that they might get away before the next round of executions took place.
Next: Recovery
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