by Sharon Shinn
When she laughed, she could see it surprised him; he had expected to make her angry. “And I thought I had been so well-behaved here in Malinqua.”
“So far,” he said. “But something about you always suggests the possibility you will throw a tantrum.”
“That’s what so many people think about me,” she said cheerfully. “But I learned self-restraint in the cradle. I know exactly what words are dangerous to say and what emotions I’d better not show if I want to survive at court.” She leaned a little closer, over the gulf that lay between their two horses as they jogged along. “So if I behave badly, I do it on purpose. Not because I can’t help myself—but because I don’t care about the consequences.”
He continued to watch her a few more moments in silence, and Corene took the opportunity to glance around. Until this point, they had covered familiar ground, taking the straight road that led to the iron gates. Their party was so large that most of the rest of the traffic had pressed to either side of the street to allow them to pass. The majority of the onlookers watched with curiosity and even excitement, waving to the royal party and calling out some of their names. Corene saw Jiramondi and Greggorio wave in response; Garameno seemed too intent on her to pay attention to the crowds.
Just now, they were trotting past the gate, leaving the relative safety of the walled city, and the royal guards drew a little closer on all sides. Liramelli called something out to the lead rider and the whole party turned north, toward the gleaming white tower with its scoop of moon resting at the top.
“I think you do care about the consequences,” Garameno said at last. “If you make a fuss, it’s because you want to be noticed. You don’t care if people are angry at you. You only care if people are ignoring you.”
That was a blow straight to the gut, but Corene didn’t allow her reaction to show. Instead she favored him with a slight, quizzical smile. “So I’m not a rebel, you think, merely a spoiled child?”
“More interesting than that,” he said. “Someone capable of abandon.”
“I think I liked it better when you were being gallant.”
He laughed. “I intended it as a compliment.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t take you for granted, Princess Corene. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
It wasn’t; he was trying to warn her, though she wasn’t sure of the precise message. Maybe he just wanted her to know that he was paying attention. That he knew she didn’t mind stirring up trouble—and he didn’t mind being ruthless in quashing it. So what happens when the girl capable of abandon meets the man who tries to control every situation? she wondered. Who wins, who loses? Is the man overwhelmed, or does the girl disappear?
And that led her to the next silent question. What was Sarona capable of—and did Garameno try to control her?
But when she replied, her voice and her words were demure. “I’m glad you don’t take me for granted,” she said. “I like it when people realize I’m in the room.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’m sure you do.”
By this time their cavalcade had turned onto a wide boulevard leading toward the tower. Up till now, all of Corene’s excursions had been through the southern portions of the city, so she looked around with interest. The basic architecture was similar, most of the buildings being only two or three stories high, and most constructed of wood or stone in red, white, or marbled colors. But here everything looked crisper somehow, as if the stone hadn’t had time to wear down with decades of use.
It seemed a reasonable time to change the subject to something much more conventional. “This part of town seems cleaner and fresher,” she observed. “Is it newer?”
“Yes, by about a hundred years,” Garameno said. “When the city was first laid out, the castle was built at the northernmost edge in the center of the labyrinth. Everything farther north was open land. At that time,” he added, “there were dozens of nomadic clans that roamed in the flatlands and hills.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the tower. “Occasionally they’d form some uneasy alliance and elect a temporary leader and attack the smaller towns and homesteads. Because there were miles of open land north of the palace, the royal watch could see the raiding parties for hours before they arrived and they could always assemble troops to greet them. The clans never mounted a successful attack against the palace.”
“Sounds exciting,” Corene commented. “So when was it safe to start building the city up this way?”
“Oh, the clans died out decades ago. They say there are still remnants up in the mountains between Berringey and Malinqua—wild men and women who live by no law but their own—but they haven’t been a real presence for at least a hundred years. As the land grew more settled, the city stretched northward. The inexorable march of civilization.”
“And what about the white tower? Was it built before or after the city came this far?”
“Before,” said Garameno. “I understand it was even more spectacular then, especially at night—this lone beacon of light surrounded by miles of emptiness, almost like a star fallen to the middle of the ocean. There are paintings of it, back at the palace, if you’d like to see them. Stunning, actually.”
“Yes, that sounds most impressive.”
“There’s a whole gallery of paintings of the landmarks of Malinqua. There’s a plain west of the city where the grass is always purple. No one knows why. When it’s transplanted, the colors gradually shift to green. They suspect some mineral in the soil, but even our eminent scientists haven’t been able to isolate it. Anyway, there must be several dozen paintings of that, as well.”
“I’d like to visit that spot someday.”
“I hope you shall.”
For the rest of their ride, he divided his time between describing other local beauties and pointing out key sights along their route—several of the scientific institutes that Filomara was so proud of, the homes of two well-known artists, a music school, a couple of open-air markets that were not nearly as big as the more famous venue to the south. Corene was heartily sick of Palminera’s attractions by the time they finally arrived at the white tower.
It appeared to be roughly as big as its red counterpart, its base the size of a bedroom suite back at the royal palace. The soldiers deployed around it while the royal party gathered at the entrance, a wide rectangular opening twice as high as a man.
“I suppose you plan to climb to the top?” Garameno asked Corene.
“I suppose I do.”
“Then I will await you here. Of course.”
She nodded and swung down from the saddle, already a little sore from the unaccustomed exercise. Most of the others in their party had dismounted as well, though Jiramondi and Melissande stayed on horseback.
“I do not have the slightest desire to traipse up endless stairs and begin gasping for breath and look altogether ridiculous,” Melissande explained. “All of you go. Go. We will amuse ourselves in some manner. Perhaps we will debate what we should wear to the empress’s festival.”
“Yes, because I am always interested in discussing fashion,” Garameno said sardonically.
Jiramondi was amused. “But there are so many questions to answer!” he exclaimed. “A partial mask or one that covers your entire face? Clothing in your usual style so that everyone knows who you are, or an entirely different sort of ensemble, so no one will guess your identity? These are important matters.”
“I am so glad you agree,” Melissande said.
Corene laughed and waited until all the others who wanted to make the climb had dismounted from their horses. Foley was among them. He didn’t say so, but Corene was sure it was because at the last tower, the excitement had occurred at the very top, while he had waited below. He did not want to be absent if anything dramatic occurred again.
All in all, six of them stepped from the outer sunshine to the inner shadows and look
ed around as their eyes adjusted to the change in light. This tower was essentially a mirror image of the southern one, with a similar wood-and-metal stairway winding up and up and up the tall spire. The lighting was the same as well—a translucent tube that traced a thin line of illumination all the way to the distant top.
But despite the similarities in construction, the place had an entirely different feel, Corene thought. The fire at the crown of the red tower had generated enough heat to raise the temperature inside the whole column, and the light it had thrown down through its glass petals was flickering and warm, especially as it played off the rough cinnamon walls. But the smooth white stones of the northern tower seemed to absorb light, not play it back, and the fixed glow that filtered down from the white crystal was as chilly as starlight. The whole place felt cold as winter. Corene suddenly wished she’d brought a heavier jacket.
“It’s different here,” Alette said.
Corene nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“I like the flame tower better,” Liramelli agreed. “Although sometimes if I’m in a certain mood—if I want to think something through very carefully—I find that this is a good place to come. It’s very still. You can focus your mind.”
“Not my mind,” Corene said. “The place just makes me cold.”
“You’ll warm up fast enough once you start climbing,” Steff said. He jerked his chin at Greggorio. “Want to race to the top again?”
Greggorio looked more animated than he had at any time since Sarona’s death. “It’s the only reason I came along. I’m taking the outer edge this time, remember?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t forget that.”
They positioned themselves at the bottom of the stairwell, each of them with one foot on the first step, jostling each other good-naturedly. “Someone give us the signal to start,” Steff called.
“Are you ready?” Corene said. “Then—go!”
They took off with whoops and curses, their boots pounding on the wood and metal. Foley tipped his head to critically watch their progress, but none of the women could be bothered to care.
“They’re crazy,” Corene remarked.
Liramelli sighed. “I wish I had that much energy.”
“Well, if you did, you’d use it for something more productive,” Corene answered. She waved toward the stairs. “You two go first. Foley and I will come after you.”
“Are you sure? I climb pretty slowly,” Liramelli said.
Corene laughed. “So do I.”
Alette didn’t argue, just put her fingertips against the curved wall and began the laborious ascent. Like the stairwell at the red towers, this one had no outer railing, and Liramelli clearly wasn’t comfortable without a handhold, so she followed Alette, her own hand brushing the wall. Corene waited until Liramelli had cleared a few steps before beginning her own climb. Foley fell in step beside her.
She glanced over at him. “You’re not afraid of falling off the edge?”
He shook his head. “I tend to have a pretty good sense of balance.” He glanced up, where they could glimpse the nimble forms of Greggorio and Steff bounding up the stairs. The sounds of their laughter and their heavy footfalls still drifted down to the rest of them, but more faintly now. “That may change when we’re about halfway there.”
“Yes, that’s about when I started getting dizzy in the other tower,” Corene agreed.
“You don’t have to make the climb,” Foley told her. “Just to prove you’re not afraid to do it.”
She laughed a little breathlessly. Great, only a few steps up and she was already panting. “I don’t do everything just to prove a point.”
He smiled faintly. “My mistake.”
“I’m curious,” she said. “I want to see what makes this tower different.”
“And what’s your impression so far?”
“I think Josetta would like it.”
“It does have an elay feel to it,” he agreed.
“But I find it a little spooky. I don’t like the light. I think it would give me a headache to be here very long.”
“Well, I don’t expect we’ll linger.”
They didn’t talk much more during the rest of the climb, which seemed to take forever. Corene couldn’t shake the idea that she was running out of air, as if she was nearing the peak of some windswept stony mountain where the atmosphere was almost too thin to breathe, and with every step she took, the oxygen seemed to grow scarcer. Beside her, Foley wasn’t struggling at all, and both Liramelli and Alette seemed to be climbing at the same sturdy, determined pace, so Corene assumed she was simply imagining the pressure building in her lungs. That didn’t make the experience any more pleasant.
At least it grew easier to see the closer they drew to the top. The white light spilled over the edges of its metal cradle so that, as they climbed upward, they seemed to be moving straight into a phosphorescent fog so dense Corene could almost feel it settling against her skin. Her hand seemed pearled with white—as she assumed her face did—as Foley’s did when she glanced over at him.
“You look like a ghost,” she told him, managing to inhale just enough air to speak.
“So do you,” he answered. “And your hair is glowing. Like a fire that you see through a frost-covered window.”
She would have laughed except she couldn’t spare the breath.
Finally, finally, they reached the upper limit of the stairwell, and Greggorio and Steff were on hand to pull them through the trapdoor. An impudent wind swirled around them at this height, making the air even colder, but Corene didn’t mind because it delivered air to her famished lungs. She wrapped her hands around the thin railing that crowned the tower and just stood there a moment, trying to restore her balance and slow her heartbeat.
“Who won the race?” Liramelli asked.
“I did!” Steff replied. “I think whoever’s on the inside always wins.”
“You should race somewhere else,” Liramelli said. “Along a flat surface. Where neither runner has an advantage.”
“The point is the challenge of going up the tower,” Steff told her. “A regular race wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”
Corene let their words wash over her, but didn’t take part in the conversation. Once she’d caught her breath, she turned to study the glowing heart of the tower. It was bigger than she’d expected, fully as tall as she was, a great white globe of quartz that appeared to have been cut in half and securely nested in a metal base. Its rounded surface was smooth as glass, but in its milky depths she could see faults and fractures that added complex internal layers. The eerie white emanation didn’t fluctuate like gaslight or fire, though Garameno had once told Corene that the light was produced when the crystal had absorbed enough heat. She leaned over far enough to touch the slick stone with her fingertip and found the globe cool to the touch. She could not entirely repress a shiver.
Turning away from the quartz, she gazed at the vista below. Just as it had from the crown of the red tower, the city looked calm and somewhat surreal, like a painted or imaginary place. She strained her eyes to see the harbor, wondering if she could spot the blockade, but all she could make out was a haze of infinite blue and specks of color that might be naval ships and might be reflections off the water.
More intriguing was the view toward the north and west. Although, as Garameno had said, the city had expanded enough to engulf the tower, it petered out only a few miles past it, devolving into small, isolated neighborhoods that appeared to be half town and half farmland. Beyond those outposts of civilization, the land opened up to what might be rocky prairie—vast sweeps of empty space that sprawled toward a faraway serrated horizon line. Those were the mountains separating Berringey and Malinqua, Corene guessed, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her and she couldn’t really see that far. But Garameno had clearly been right; any enemy hordes racing across these p
lains would have been visible for miles. No wonder the clans had never mounted a successful invasion.
No, to do any real damage, an adversary would have to attack by sea.
She was still staring at the distant horizon when Alette came to stand quietly beside her. The other girl also appeared to be studying the jagged gray line that seemed to mark the end of the world. “So that way lies Berringey?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“It doesn’t seem so very far away.”
“Maybe that’s what happens when you can see your neighbors,” Corene remarked. “You want what you think they have.”
Liramelli moved carefully around the circular walkway to join them. “I’m too cold to stay up here,” she said. “I’m going back down.”
“I’m right after you,” Corene said. “Magnificient view, but I’ve seen enough.”
The descent was quicker than the climb and accomplished without incident. Emerging on ground level into the open air, Corene was surprised to find that the temperature felt at least ten degrees warmer.
“I don’t think I’ll need to climb that tower again,” she observed to Liramelli. “It’s such an odd place.”
“Garameno and Jiramondi love it,” Liramelli replied.
“Really? Garameno’s been to the top recently?”
Liramelli nodded. “He usually goes up once or twice a year. They have a relay team to carry him up the stairs—so, of course, after all that effort, he stays for a couple of hours.”
Corene glanced at the cousins, currently having a private colloquy from horseback while Melissande politely waited out of earshot, looking bored. Soldiers were fetching the horses that had been tethered a few yards away while the six of them were in the tower. Greggorio and Steff were engaged in what seemed to be a good-natured argument, while Alette had wandered in the direction of a small shop that appeared to sell baked goods. Corene couldn’t blame her; she was suddenly hungry as well.