Chapter Text
In the anteroom to the Great Hall, four daughters of Charn stood in a circle, murmuring small talk and delicious rumor as they waited. Ooma, with her riot of wheaten curls, caught the eye first, as did Temsin, with her squared stature and ready-to-strike pose. Of course, that was only true because Sahar had her back to the staircase. As Ooma lifted her hand in greeting, Sahar turned a graceful pirouette, and the room dimmed around her.
Long of leg and bright of eye, her fame as a dancer spread far across the empire, and rumor had it that a quite scandalous print-sheet of her in one of her dancing costumes had been stolen more times than copies were made. Today, even though all the sisters wore the same outfit, on Sahar it was somehow… more. Brighter, more daring, somehow more put together and daringly wicked. The same sash that made the rest of the sisters look stiff and doll-like cascaded like a river of blue silk across her form, somehow adding to her allure, even though she was as cocooned in fabric as the rest of them.
“How kind of you to join us sister,” she laughed, her voice ringing like bells. “Perhaps now we can learn what all this fuss is about.”
“Lovely as the dawn as always, Sahar,” Jadis said. Another one of her portrait-prints had read “LOVELY AS THE DAWN,” with Sahar dressed in a scandalously short gown that was gathered up to resemble the morning sun. Bringing it up was as close as the sisters got to making fun of her - her generosity was as bountiful as her good looks, and so her sisters found themselves unable to do anything but love her as well as everyone else did.
For the most part.
“Like the rising of the sun, Sahar cannot help her face, my sister, but I cannot say the same for you,” Carima said, assessing Jadis’s toilette with cool appraisal. “That collar is a tragedy.”
“What now?” Jadis grumbled.
“That,” Carima said, with a decisive flick of her finger, “Is an evening collar - much too heavy for a morning summons. I should wring my dresser’s neck if she were to attire me thus.”
“We had other matters to discuss,” Jadis mumbled as she blushed.
“What a pity you took after Father’s side,” Temsin chimed in, looking up at Jadis’s great height. It was rumored that giant’s blood flowed through the Sarkan’s veins, but Jadis was the only sister who seemed to inherit it. “Perhaps you would look less like the temple pulpit when it is decked out for the solstice.”
Jadis just sighed, and finished her descent.
As Jadis paused at the bottom of the stairs, jamming her feet into her green slippers, she marveled once more at the ease with which the others wore the raiment of power. She was forever stumbling, forever squeezing herself into clothes too small or the tiniest of furniture, made as if the Sarkan descended from sprites and not giants.
“Who are we waiting on?” Carima asked.
“Goli and Naimah,” Temsin replied. “Or have you forgotten your lesser sisters in your great age?” Carima was the eldest sister, destined to marry the Sarkan’s successor and serve as First Wife and Blood Sarkana. Carina’s own mother had been the current Sarkan’s First Wife, and if rumor were true, had she not died before her second babe were born, the Sarkan’s seven daughters would be full-blooded sisters, not half. As (it was said) life was fated to be unkind to the this Sarkan, the Sarkana had died young, and the Sarkan took on a coterie of courtesans and concubines. But if he had ever felt love for another, it was for his First Wife, and so (it was said) his heart had died with her. Carima, while never quite looking down on her sisters, held it close in her heart that her own mother had been the Sarkan’s true equal, and the rest of his companions petty comforters. And so it progressed that if any of the girls were like to forget who would one day be mistress of the Sarkan’s Palace, Carima was more than happy to remind them.
For the rest of the girls, they would serve in the Sarkan’s service, or marry outside the City, to secure one of the Empire’s few strategic alliances. For her part, Jadis preferred the notion of service - the empire was so large and so powerful, marriage meant she would have to move halfway around the world only to marry some chalk miner’s son. Poor Sahar would likely have to go that route, for all her wild ways. Perhaps that was why the Inner Court was so willing to overlook her antics.
A little door opened in a side wall and the Sarkan’s majordomo entered the room at the same time Goli’s slippered foot touched down on the thick silk carpets of the hall.
“Good morning, Goli,” Temsin smirked. Goli and Temsin were twins, but the only thing they shared was their keen ability to lose their temper. Goli’s deep brown eyes crinkled as she formed a retort - she was nearly ready to speak when the Majordomo cut in.
“Good morning, sarkanis.” He said with a rolling voice that filled the chamber. Perhaps the upstairs-gentleman had his voice ensorcelled too, Jadis thought.
“The Sarkan wishes to speak with his six oldest daughters on this the day of majority for the sixth.”
“No Naimah?” Jadis interrupted. Naimah was the youngest after Jadis, and had two more years before reaching her own majority.
The majordomo continued, “As you know, six is a number of great importance to the House of Charn. The Six Snakes of Wisdom, the six branches of the Green River, the six Walls of the Great City, the Six Noble Houses collapsed into One, et cetera, et cetera.” Jadis rolled her eyes at this. Just like her father to find a way to leave someone out. “The Sarkan feels the eldest six should go out among the people today, as the seers have foretold a great change will begin from such an event.”
“We can take Naimah,” Jadis protested. Naimah was the sweetest-tempered of all the sisters, and the only one whose company didn’t sour after a few hours.
“Naimah is not of her majority,” the majordomo replied. “And the prophecy speaks of adults.”
“Can we see it?” Ooma said impatiently. “The prophecy?” Ooma was the cleverest of all the sisters, and the one least likely to believe in prophecy. She would find some turn of phrase that would let the girls do as they pleased, or else the sun might set for the first time in a thousand years.
“Its text is quite clear,” the majordomo replied, his tone becoming curt. “‘Six flowers of the House of Charn, in fullest bloom.’ That’s six, not seven. Come Sarkanis, the Sarkan wishes to speak to you before your travels”
“There’s got to be a way to bring her,” Jadis murmured, having not listened to a word.
“She’ll be so sad,” Ooma agreed. “It’s been so long since we were allowed to leave.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine for a day,” Goli said, her tone bright. “If the prophecy says it has to be six of us, it has to be six.” Goli was a consummate rule-follower, and had been spending hours with the seers of late.
“I suppose it can’t hurt to try with the Sarkan directly,” Sahar said.
“Besides, this isn’t how prophecies work,” Ooma said. “You can’t force them.”
“Oh hush,” Goli replied. “You don’t even believe in prophecy, so what do you care? Father said he wanted six, and he’s going to get six. The way I see, we can either go to the throne room ourselves, or someone will fetch a sedan to move us. We might as well save the time.”
Carima sighed. “Oh, she’s right. If the Sarkan wants the six of us, he’ll get the six of us. Might as well make good use of ourselves, and see if we can’t bring back something nice for Naimah.”
“Come girls,” the majordomo beckoned, and the girls followed. Jadis trailed behind, looking balefully up at the grand staircase. At the top of the stairs, apretty little fountain caught her eye. Jadis knew it well - three heads of the legendary Fathers of Charn gazing into pools of water. Supposedly, they were dreaming up a future the house would then live out. They were symbolic, of course - the first pool held a of a jackal, the second, a hawk, and the third … a lion.
Wait.
“Jadis, are you coming?” Goli yelled, her chirrupy voice echoing across the hall.
She looked to her sisters. “Just a moment!”
She took a step forward. The tight place in her heart eased as she approached the staircase. “Leave your sisters as soon as you are able,” the nurse's voice rang in her ear.
“Jadis!” Tamsin bellowed. “Come on!”
“A moment!”
“Jadis!” That was Sahar.
If it had been any other sister, perhaps she could have resisted, but Sahar’s disappointment weighed heavy on her brow and she turned to face her sisters.
“Come, Jadis.” Sahar beckoned, her radiant face glowing like the freshest dawn, and so Jadis went.
At the far edge of the room, Jadis tuned back once more. Looking back, the fountain was clearer now, the scorpion’s tail visible, wrapped around it’s body like a mane.
“Must be absolutely hallucinating from hunger,” Jadis murmured, and walked through the great doors.