Someone was pounding on the door. “Wonderful,” River muttered, moving to answer it. Several raised voices emanated from the corridor. River gave a curt response, then slammed the door shut. There was a moment of startled silence, and then came another knock, more timid this time.
“They’ll go away,” River said. “Most of the palace staff thinks I’m half-mad.” He surveyed the wreckage of the room. “Still, I’m not sure that will pass as an explanation for this.”
Tem’s head nodded forward. Against his ashen skin, the bruise was even darker.
“What’s that?” River wasn’t looking at Tem—he was looking at me. He touched my shoulder, thumb brushing my neck. I flushed, and remembered that my chuba was stained with old blood.
“Oh—nothing,” I said. “Ended up on the wrong end of the arrow.”
“Nothing.” River gave his head a rueful shake. “The three of you need rest.”
“No,” I said, even as weariness surged again. I still had a hundred questions for him. And we had to figure out what to do next. I opened my mouth, but Lusha intervened.
“We can rest after we’ve spoken to the emperor,” she said.
“The emperor is away from court,” River said. “He won’t return until tomorrow. In any case, I’ve already warned the General of the Second Army that the witches are preparing an attack. He’s agreed to deploy soldiers throughout the Three Cities, though he won’t take additional action without the emperor’s approval.”
He didn’t understand. “We have to give the emperor the star now. River, we don’t know when—”
I was prevented from continuing by Lusha, who, shifting position, lowered her knee onto my hand. I yelped.
“Sorry,” Lusha murmured, shaking her head at her awkwardness. Lusha was never awkward. She turned her face toward mine, and I saw the warning written clearly in her eyes.
“The star is safe here,” River said. “And the emperor has no need for a resurrection spell.”
“But—” I began. There came another, more determined knock at the door, and River moved to answer it with an exasperated sigh.
Lusha was looking at me, her expression ferocious. “Kamzin.”
I understood.
River didn’t know what the star was for. I searched through my visions of him, and saw my guess confirmed. He knew that it was a source of power, and he knew now that it could raise the dead. But he didn’t know that the emperor had used a fallen star to bind the witches’ powers.
I sat back, stunned. Little was known about the binding spell—not even Chirri knew how the emperor had cast it. River, clearly, couldn’t learn the truth about the star. As much as he hated Esha, I didn’t think for a moment that he would allow the emperor to recast the spell.
Lusha was still watching me, a wariness in her expression. I had, for a brief moment, forgotten that River wasn’t one of us. Lusha hadn’t. Did she think I would hesitate now, out of loyalty to River, or reveal the star’s true power?
I thought of how River had saved me in the Ashes. I also thought of how he had lied to me, used me to get what he wanted, and abandoned me on Raksha.
I swallowed. I met Lusha’s gaze and nodded once.
“The servants are preparing your rooms,” River said, returning.
I didn’t meet his eyes. Lusha said, into the silence, “Tem will need a healer.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Moments later, we were being escorted down the corridor by palace servants. After strolling for what felt like an hour, they stopped outside a set of enormous doors more simply carved than River’s, but still imposing. One of the servants, a young woman, motioned for Tem to enter.
“I’ll stay with him,” I said, taking his arm. The girl raised an eyebrow at me, and I flushed. “I don’t mean—”
“Kamzin.” Tem gave me a weary smile. “I’ll be fine. And you need to rest too.”
I stepped back and watched him disappear through the doors. Lusha’s room was next to Tem’s, while mine was on the other side of the corridor. When the door swung open, I drew in my breath.
The room was high-ceilinged, the walls hung with woven tapestries in bright patterns. All the windows were shuttered save one, which overlooked a courtyard crowded with vines and a fountain, its water catching the dawn light like jewels. The bed towered over the room, draped with so many blankets and hangings it was difficult to see how I would even climb in. In the end, I merely pulled off my boots and soiled chuba and fell on top of it.
It wouldn’t work, though. There was no chance I would be able to sleep, not with Esha lurking and my thoughts of River and the star and the binding spell making my head whirl. We’d made it to the Three Cities, but what were we going to do next? I thought about rising again, to go to Lusha’s room and work out a plan. But my face seemed to be glued to the pillow. I had barely a second to note how long it had been since I’d lain in a proper bed before sleep took me.
Twenty-Five
WHEN I AWOKE, it was early twilight, and the room was swathed in pale shadow. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. I lifted my head, blinking, as the memories came trickling back. The bed smelled of lilies. A lock of hair fell across my face, and I grimaced. I didn’t smell anywhere near as pleasant as the bed.
A fragment of a dream lingered. I had been soaring above a moonlit mountain range, held aloft by vast, silver wings. Only geese could fly that high, but in my dream I was not a goose, nor was I myself. Ahead of me rose towering plumes of white cloud, and I dove inside them, reveling in the sensation, like the brush of cool silk. Everything was white and ethereal, apart from glimpses of blue sky where the clouds tore.
I shivered. The dream had been unusually vivid. I couldn’t recall ever having one like it, and that made me uneasy.
I put the dream out my mind. I was starving, but I had no idea how one went about requesting food in the emperor’s palace. Someone—a servant, I assumed—had visited the room since I’d fallen asleep, for my boots and chuba were gone, and clean clothing had been placed across the back of a chair. There was also a decanter of water on a table.
I rose, stretching. My body ached in a way it hadn’t before. More likely, I had simply failed to notice it.
When had I last rested? Truly rested, not snatched a few hours of sleep in a tent battered by wind or snow? I couldn’t remember.
Ragtooth slept at the foot of my bed, perfectly round, his tail a blanket for his face. When had he appeared? I hadn’t seen him since we’d left Sasani Forest. He didn’t stir when I sat up.
Something nagged at me—a feeling of being watched. “Azar-at?”
Yes, Kamzin.
The fire demon emerged from beneath the bed. The sense of calm evaporated.
Do you need something?
“No,” I said quickly. “I just . . . wanted to see if you were there.”
I am always here.
“Right.” The creature was incongruous against the palace luxury, its smoke-fur brushing the silky blankets, its large paws resting on jade-studded tiles. “Has anyone come to check on me?”
River. Tem. Lusha. Servants.
“River was here?”
Yes. The fire demon’s tail wagged. Then he left.
I had the impression that this fact disappointed Azar-at, but, as usual, it was impossible to be certain if I was imagining it. I said, “Stay here. I’m going to have a bath.”
Yes, Kamzin.
The bathing room was, as I had guessed, behind the door across from the bed. It was an expansive space. Towels and soaps waited on a table beside an enormous bath cut into the stone floor. The water flowed from golden taps, and it was hot, filling the room with steam. I tried not to linger, being eager to return to Tem and Lusha, but I couldn’t resist. I scrubbed myself from head to toe and carefully removed the bandage on my shoulder. The wound was crusted with dried blood, but it didn’t appear infected. Someone had left clean bandages by the edge of the bath, and I applied them carefully, wincing.
&
nbsp; Ragtooth padded into the room. He lowered his head over the bath to drink, encountered bubbles, and sneezed.
I eyed the fox. “How did you get into the palace? Climb in through the window?”
Ragtooth occupied himself with washing his nose. Against the finery of the bathing room, it struck me how much mangier he had become since leaving Azmiri. But, I told myself, that was to be expected—the journey had taken a toll on all of us.
“You clearly need this as much as I do.” Before he could flee, I seized the fox around his belly and dunked him in the water.
Several bite marks later, I placed Ragtooth, thoroughly scrubbed and dripping, back on the edge of the bath. Sodden, he appeared barely a quarter of his original size. He fixed me with a baleful look, clearly plotting revenge.
“You’re welcome,” I said. Unable to resist, because he looked so small and mournful, I tickled his belly, drawing my hand back just in time to avoid his teeth.
Once I was clean, I wrapped myself in a towel and wandered back to my room.
To my astonishment, two servants were waiting for me. One held a tray containing a comb and several vials of what looked like oil.
“We’ve been asked to attend you, dyonpa,” the closest servant said. She was perhaps a year or two older than me, with a gap-toothed smile and round cheeks.
Dyonpa. It was a word used only for the nobility. I looked longingly at the scented oils, but I didn’t have time to be pampered by servants—I needed to find Lusha, to work out what we were going to do next. I had already slept too long. “I—thank you, but I—”
“Sit,” the second girl said, somehow turning the command into the gentlest request. I sat on the edge of the bed, which had been made in my absence. They patiently combed the snarls from my hair, applying oil to soften it. They tsked over my bruises and blisters, my broken and missing toenails. Then they helped me into my clothes—a dress of deep blue brocade that fell to the floor and belted at the waist. It was so soft and so warm I felt as if I were wrapped in a blanket. The gap-toothed girl motioned for me to sit again, and began to massage my feet with a different oil.
“No, that’s all right.” I pulled my feet out of her grasp. They were so unsightly I felt guilty even displaying them to these pampered attendants. “Thank you.”
“As you wish, dyonpa.” The girl gave me a quick, sly smile. “We’ve seen worse, you know.”
I almost laughed. “Have you?”
“Explorers,” the girl said, as if it explained everything. They rose, bowing themselves out. With a sigh of relief, I turned to the tray of food they had left. It was piled high with sweet bean cakes, roasted apples, clear green tea, and several spice-studded dishes of noodles with strangely shaped vegetables that I didn’t recognize, but that tasted heavenly after weeks of stale rations. As I ate, I became aware that the room had brightened. I rose, opening the shutter that the servants had closed.
Warm sunlight spilled over me. In the courtyard below, two men in seers’ robes stood by the fountain, heads bowed in conversation. Birds sang among the leafy paths.
It was morning, not twilight. I had slept an entire day.
Panic filled me, and the food somersaulted in my stomach. What had happened, while I slept? Had there been more attacks?
Behind me, the door opened. I whirled.
“Calm down,” Lusha said by way of greeting. “It’s just me.”
I surged forward. “The star— Is Esha—”
“The star is safe,” Lusha said, patting the pocket of her chuba, which, while plain, was woven from expensive silks. “It’s as River said—the villages are quiet, according to the messengers. The witches seem to have retreated.”
I absorbed this dubiously. Esha hadn’t struck me as someone who gave up easily.
“I agree,” Lusha said, noting my expression. “Sit down, Kamzin. Eat. The Empire won’t fall while you finish your laping.”
I sat, irritably, but didn’t touch my breakfast. “So you think your pocket meets the definition of ‘safe’?”
“I can’t trust it with anyone else.” She sat beside me, absently helping herself to an uneaten cake. Her eyes were shadowed, her face pale, and I wondered how much she had rested. “That’s what I came here to tell you. The emperor returns to court today—I have to convince him to meet with me, so I can give him the star. He needs to recast the binding spell.”
I frowned. “Can’t you give it to one of the royal shamans?”
Lusha gave me a look. “You know as well as I do what Three Cities shamans are like. I spoke with several of them yesterday—without revealing anything about our expedition, of course—and they’re hopeless. All they know of fallen stars is rumor and legend. Besides, I can’t say too much—what if River finds out what the star can be used for?”
I rubbed my head, which was beginning to ache from the weight of dealings and double-dealings. “I wish we could—”
“We can’t.” Lusha didn’t speak again until I met her eyes. “If River finds out the star can take his powers again, what do you think he’ll do? Shrug and make a joke about shamanic magic?”
My mouth was suddenly very dry. I pictured River on the summit of Raksha, the expression he had worn after I tried to stop him from lifting the binding spell. “No.”
“The binding spell was cast two centuries ago,” Lusha said. “The only person who certainly knows how is the emperor himself, because he was there.”
I shivered at the reminder of Emperor Lozong’s unnatural life span. It was said that he had ruled for over two centuries, kept alive by some strange shamanic spell. Most outside the Three Cities believed it a tale invented by the first Lozong’s descendants to intimidate his enemies. Lusha rose and moved back to the door.
“Where are you going?” I demanded, following.
“I told you.” Lusha’s hand was already on the door. “I’m going to speak to the emperor’s advisors to request a private audience.”
“What should I do?” I said.
“You don’t have to do anything,” she replied. “Stay here, and wait for me to return. Don’t speak to anyone—especially not River.”
And with that, she was gone.
I stared at the door for a moment, angry and uncertain. I was reminded of all the times Lusha had challenged me in the Ashes—she had thought herself in charge then, and she still did here, hundreds of miles away. She had formed her own plan, and then she had rushed off without allowing me a word in edgewise.
And was it the right plan? Was it wise to wait for the emperor, rather than entrusting the star to his shamans, hapless as some of them might be? Muttering to myself, I stood. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care. I was most certainly not going to stay where I was and wait for Lusha.
I slipped on the shoes the servants had left me—they were as flimsy as slippers and instantly made me ill at ease. I couldn’t run in these, or climb, or do anything useful. I reminded myself that I was in the palace, and was unlikely to be called upon to do more than walk down polished corridors, but the disquiet remained. I missed my boots.
I slipped out the door. Tem’s room, to my disappointment, was empty—the corridor was empty too, apart from a bored-looking guard stationed at either end.
I strode down the corridor, trying to look as if I had come this way a hundred times. The guard didn’t even look up. He seemed to be cleaning his nails.
The guards of the Three Cities, on the whole, seemed to be a complacent sort.
I froze. A door had appeared on my right that I didn’t recall passing before. It was tall and forbidding, made of a strange black wood that set it apart from the other doors in the corridor. Something about it was familiar.
I reached out, but the door shattered beneath my fingers as if it were made of fog. I leaped back. Behind the door was another narrow, ordinary corridor leading to a flight of stairs.
Was it some form of shamanic magic? If so, what purpose did it serve? I glanced down the corridor at the guard, to s
ee if he had noticed, but he wasn’t looking at me.
Uneasy, I continued on my way, pausing outside the ornate doors that led to River’s rooms. I wondered if he had sealed them, to prevent anyone seeing the damage from Tem’s magic, then I remembered what he had said about the palace staff being afraid of him. I pushed on the door. Sure enough, it opened.
The room was in slightly less disarray than when I had last seen it. The roots had burrowed back through the palace foundations into the hillside. The broken windows had been shuttered, the burned furniture removed, and several new rugs had appeared, but these were inadequate to cover the enormous crack in the floor or the scorch marks everywhere. One of the dragons had returned—it lay on its back on one of the perches, tail dangling over the side.
I gazed around the room. It had been sparsely furnished before, and while clearly intended for nobility, had an unlived-in feel. I tried to imagine River spending any amount of time in this place, and couldn’t. But then, River had always seemed more at home in the wilderness than anywhere constrained by walls.
Behind the door at the far end of the receiving room was a dark hall lined with tapestries, and several more doors. My curiosity flared. River’s life as a courtier was unfathomable.
I paused, listening guiltily for sounds of approaching footsteps. I would only take a quick look around, I told myself.
Each of the doors opened onto a different, empty room, clean in a neglected sort of way, as if the only activity the room saw was when someone visited to sweep out the dust. Except the one at the end.
That door opened onto a room much larger than the others, which was furnished simply with a bed, a painted cabinet, and a small shrine that was empty of the usual spirit statues. River seemed to have very few possessions. The bed was piled with woven blankets and seemed freshly made. I wondered if the servants changed it every day, even when River wasn’t there, in case he returned unexpectedly.
It was almost disappointingly ordinary. I didn’t know what I had been anticipating—I knew River slept, after all, and it wasn’t as if he’d decorate the place with spiders and human bones. The room had a familiar scent, faint but unmistakable—smoke and wildflowers. I hesitated, considering turning back, but something made me wander past the threshold.
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