‘I thought no men were allowed in the palace,’ Inevera said, ‘to protect dama’ting chastity.’

The Brides of Everam barked a laugh as though this were a great joke. Even Melan chuckled.

‘You are half right,’ Kenevah said. ‘The eunuchs are without stones, and thus not men in the Eyes of Everam.’

‘So they are … push’ting?’ Inevera asked.

Kenevah cackled. ‘Stoneless they may be, but their spears work well enough to do a true man’s work.’

Inevera gave a pained smile as they climbed the wide marble steps, polished a pristine glistening white. She held her arms in close, attempting to be as small and unobtrusive as possible as the great doors were opened by more handsome, muscular slaves in golden shackles. They bowed, and Qeva ran a finger under one’s chin.

‘It has been a trying day, Khavel. Come to my chambers in an hour with heated stones and scented oil to stroke the tension away.’ The slave bowed deeply, saying nothing.

‘They are not allowed to speak?’ Inevera asked.

‘Not able,’ Kenevah said. ‘Their tongues were cut out with their stones and they know no letters. They can never tell of the wonders they see in the Dama’ting Palace.’

Indeed, the palace was filled with luxury and opulence beyond anything Inevera had ever imagined. Everything from the columns and high dome to the floors, walls, and stairs was cut from flawless white marble, polished to a bright shine. Thick woven carpets, amazingly soft beneath her bare feet, ran along the halls, filling them with bright colour. Tapestries hung on the walls – masterworks of artistry bringing the tales of the Evejah to life. Beautiful glazed pottery stood on marble pedestals, along with items of crystal, gold, and polished silver; from delicate sculpture and filigree to heavy chalices and bowls. In the bazaar, such items would have been under close guard – any one of them could sell for enough to keep a family in staples for a decade – but who in all Krasia would dare steal from the dama’ting?

Other Brides passed them in the halls, some alone, others in chattering groups. All wore the same flowing white silk, hooded and veiled – even inside with no men to see. They stopped and bowed deeply as Kenevah passed, and though they tried to hide it, each gave Inevera a curious and not altogether welcoming appraisal.

More than one of the passing Brides was great with child. It was shocking to see dama’ting in such a condition, especially if the only men allowed near them were gelded, but Inevera kept her surprise beneath a haggler’s mask. Kenevah’s patience might be tested by such a question, and if she was to live here, the answer would become apparent soon enough.

There were seven wings to the palace, one for every pillar in Heaven, with the central wing pointing toward Anoch Sun, the final resting place of Kaji. This was the Damaji’ting’s personal wing, and Inevera was escorted into the First Bride’s opulent receiving chamber. Qeva and Melan were instructed to wait outside.

‘Sit,’ the Damaji’ting said, gesturing to the velvet couches set before a polished wood desk. Inevera sat timidly, feeling tiny and insignificant in the massive office. Kenevah sat behind the desk, steepling her fingers and staring at Inevera, who wilted under the harsh gaze.

‘Qeva tells me you know of your namesake,’ Kenevah said grimly, and Inevera could not tell if she was being mocked. ‘Tell me what you know of her.’

‘Inevera was the daughter of Damaj, Kaji’s closest friend and counsellor,’ Inevera said. ‘It is said in the Evejah that she was so beautiful, Kaji fell in love with her at first sight, claiming it was Everam’s will that she be first among his wives.’

Kenevah snorted. ‘The Damajah was more than that, girl. Much more. As she lay in the pillows with Kaji she whispered wisdom into his ear, bringing him to untold heights of power. It is said she spoke with Everam’s voice, which is why the name is synonymous with Everam’s will.

‘Inevera was also the first dama’ting,’ Kenevah went on. ‘She brought us healing, and poison, and hora magic. She wove Kaji’s Cloak of Unsight, and etched the wards of his mighty spear and crown.’

Kenevah looked up at Inevera. ‘And she will come again, when Sharak Ka is nigh, to find the next Deliverer.’

Inevera gasped, but Kenevah gave her only a tolerant look. ‘I have seen a hundred girls with your name gasp so, girl, but not one has produced a Deliverer. How many are there in the Damaj clan alone? Twenty?’

Inevera nodded, and Kenevah grunted. From inside her desk she produced a heavy book with a worn leather spine. Once it had been illuminated in gold leaf, but only bare flecks remained.

‘The Evejah’ting,’ Kenevah said. ‘You will read it.’

Inevera bowed. ‘Of course, Damaji’ting, though I have read the sacred text many times before.’

Kenevah shook her head. ‘You read the Evejah, Kaji’s version, and that altered to suit the dama’s purposes over the years. But the Evejah is only half the story. The Evejah’ting, its companion book, was penned by the Damajah herself and contains her personal wisdom and account of Kaji’s rise. You will memorize every page.’

Inevera took the book. Its pages were impossibly thin and soft, but the Evejah’ting was as thick as the Evejah that Manvah had taught her to read. She brought the book close to her chest, as if to protect it from thieves.

The Damaji’ting presented her with a thick black velvet pouch. There was a clatter inside as Inevera took it.

‘Your hora pouch,’ Kenevah said.

Inevera blanched. ‘There are demon bones inside?’

Kenevah shook her head. ‘It will be months at least before you are sufficiently disciplined to even touch true hora, and likely years more before you are allowed entry to the Chamber of Shadows to carve your dice.’

Inevera undid the drawstrings and emptied the contents of the pouch into her hand. There were seven clay dice, each with a different number of sides. All were lacquered black like demon bone, with symbols engraved in red on every side.

‘The dice can reveal to you all the mysteries of the world if you can learn to read them truly,’ Kenevah said. ‘These are a reminder of what you aspire to, and a model to study. Much of the Evejah’ting is devoted to their understanding.’

Inevera slipped the dice back into the bag and drew it closed, putting it safely in her pocket.

‘They will resent you,’ Kenevah said.

‘Who will, Damaji’ting?’ Inevera asked.

‘Everyone,’ Kenevah said. ‘Betrothed and Bride alike. There is not a woman here who will welcome you.’

‘Why?’ Inevera asked.

‘Because your mother was not dama’ting. You were not born to the white,’ Kenevah said. ‘It has been two generations since the dice have called a girl. You will have to work twice as hard as the others, if you wish to earn your veil. Your sisters have been training since birth.’

Inevera digested the news. Outside the palace, everyone knew the dama’ting were chaste. Everyone, it seemed, except the dama’ting themselves.

‘They will resent you,’ Kenevah went on, ‘but they will also fear you. If you are wise, you can use this.’

‘Fear?’ Inevera asked. ‘Why in Everam’s name would they fear me?’