by Bree Barton
As for what—or who—awaited him in the Kaer itself? Quin had no idea. The farmer hadn’t known, nor had any of the beleaguered Glasddirans he’d met. With Zaga dead and Angelyne gone, was the castle empty? Were people like Dom still under the enthrallment? Would Quin be warmly welcomed, or swiftly killed?
A piano note echoed down the empty corridor.
His fingers tightened around the flask. He waited for a second note to warm the air, but there was only silence. Had he imagined it? Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could hear the melody that had haunted him for three long years. It was the first song Tobin had taught him—and the last song Toby ever played.
Quin had nearly convinced himself it was only in his head when a second note rang out. It lifted into a third, then sank into a fourth.
A chill shot down his spine.
Under the plums.
He descended the stairs with one hand gripping the banister.
The brothel was not abandoned after all.
A band of people stood in the shadowy front parlor.
They formed a tight half circle, as if they were guarding something. At least half a dozen of them. They were mostly young, his age or a bit older, both women and men. None was smiling.
Quin’s gaze settled on the tallest. He recognized the broad muscular shoulders and close-cropped hair, the smooth brown skin and hint of dimples.
“Domeniq?”
His heartbeat kicked up a few notches. Dom had survived Zaga and Angelyne. He was alive.
Elated, Quin stepped forward—and three others stepped forward, too, fists wadded tightly at their sides.
“It’s Dom you’re excited to see?” said another voice, and Quin realized they weren’t guarding something, but someone.
The half circle parted to reveal a boy sitting at the piano. The dim light snagged on his sharp silver eyes. He boasted a shock of black hair, his copper skin lighter than Dom’s but not as fair as Quin’s, with a smattering of dark freckles. His right hand was splayed over the keys. Still the most beautiful hand Quin had seen, the fingers strong and elegant, though there were now only three.
His music teacher smiled. A smile that fell somewhere between wry and wicked.
“Would you look at that,” Tobin said. “The river king has returned.”
Chapter 5
Split Open
THE BOAT GLIDED INTO the cove as the sun set, a resplendent round peach melting into the sea. Perhaps the last sunset Mia would ever witness from an undulating ocean. She certainly hoped so.
As Nell steered the dhou toward shore, Pilar leapt into the water, drenching her trousers up to the waist. She tugged on Maysha’s bow as Nell executed a complicated maneuver with the coconut ropes, rolling the sail and securing it to the gaff with banana leaves.
Once again Mia felt useless. No one had asked for her help. She was left to sit primly on the boat, feasting her eyes on the shoreline.
To be fair, it was a splendid shoreline.
The sand was a ruddy orange, tinged pink by the descending sun. The water was rosy, too, blushing in soft ripples. The coast had a windswept look, sand sloping into mounds and dunes and, farther out, impressive rust-colored bluffs. Mia could make out small towers and turrets on the beach, surely shaped by little hands. Castles.
A sudden memory of Kaer Killian surfaced: how, after loosing the Bridalaghdú with Quin’s blade and soaring beside him down the mountain, she had squinted up at the castle they’d left behind. From that distance, it had looked small, laughably so. A minuscule dollhouse perched atop the northern peaks.
Till the northern peaks crumble.
Promise me, O promise me.
The words were too painful. Mia banished them from her mind. It no longer mattered if she and Quin had or hadn’t finished the sacred wedding vows. You couldn’t be married to a corpse.
She refocused on the shoreline. A row of trees with skinny brown trunks shot high into the sky, then burst into halos of bright yellow leaves. Banked in the sand beneath them were curious gray stones the size of a human skull.
“Lemon coconuts,” Nell said. “They fall from the fish trees.”
“Fish trees?”
“They don’t grow fish, if that’s what you’re wondering. They’re named after their long yellow fronds, which look like spiny fish bones. The lemon coconuts drop from the fronds.”
“Do they taste good?” Pilar said.
Nell made a throaty sound of pure yearning. “Like magic.”
“That could be good or bad.”
“Like good magic, then. The flesh of the lemon coconut is a staple here in Pembuk, we bake it into cakes and pies, but also savory dishes. Mix it with a little salt and cold milk and you’ll have a frosty yellow crème we call fish ice.”
“Fascinating,” Mia said at the same time Pilar said, “Disgusting.”
Nell laughed. “It’s quite tasty, I promise. Again, nothing to do with actual fish.”
Mia stood on the boat, unsure what to do with her hands. She watched Pilar wade slowly out of the water, then knot the rope around a fallen fish tree. The same knot Mia had attempted at least half a dozen times. Mia felt simultaneously proud of her sister, and irritated.
“Kind of quiet for a port.” Pilar surveyed the empty landscape. “Fine with me. I’m sick of talking.”
“Pata Pacha is a cove,” Nell countered, “not a port. Keep in mind I ran away under cover of night, it’s not like I wanted to trumpet my departure to all of Pembuk.”
The boat knocked into the shoreline and Mia lurched forward violently, nearly pitching overboard. Nell grabbed her hand. As she did, her long fingers brushed the frostflower on Mia’s wrist. Beneath the moving ink, a new sensation stirred.
Mia gasped.
“What is it?” Nell said. “Are you all right?”
“Heat. I felt heat.” Immediately she doubted herself. “I think I felt heat.”
“Could be your imagination,” Pilar suggested.
“Or it could be Pembuk.” Nell cast a reproachful glance at Pilar, then turned back to Mia. “The glass kingdom is known for its restorative properties—arid climate, warm sun. There’s something healing about this place, truly. You’ll see. In any case, this bodes well, don’t you think?”
Mia was still touching her wrist. She wanted so much for the feeling to be real. Every false positive hurt more than the last, a mockery of her former life. She remembered her mother talking about the Pembuka elixir, how she’d briefly tasted licorice and caught the scent of wood fire. Triumphs so small they were almost insulting.
Which was worse? Tasting, smelling, feeling nothing? Or constantly chasing the tiniest consolation prize?
Mia stepped onto the sand, then staggered forward, her land legs buckling beneath her. She fell to her knees, cupping handfuls of shimmering orange sand.
“It smells exactly the way I remember,” Nell said, wistful. “Pembuka sand has a distinctive scent. I know this doesn’t make sense, but to me it has always smelled warm.”
Mia took a breath. She sieved sand through her fingers. Tears pricked her eyes.
Warm. She could smell it. Feel it.
She buried her arms up to her elbows, pressed her nose to the soft sand. Laid one cheek against it, then the other. It was undeniable. She could feel heat rising off the surface.
Her heart swelled with hope. This place could fix her. It had to.
“Having a moment there, Rose?”
She stared up at Pilar through a film of tears. A few granules of sand clung to her lips. Mia knew she looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care.
“I feel something,” she said hoarsely. “I feel warm.”
Her sister shrugged, turned—and walked away.
If Pilar had struck her, it would have hurt less.
How had things changed so dramatically? That night in the “space between,” Pil had stood valiantly by her side. When Mia had confessed her fears that the elixir wouldn’t work—that a part of her would always be broken—P
ilar had promised to fight for her until Mia was strong enough to fight again.
They had escaped the snow palace as allies, not enemies. Since then, Mia had done everything in her power to strengthen that alliance. But the harder she worked, the more guarded Pilar became.
And, as fast as it had come, the warmth died. The sand turned cold beneath Mia’s palms.
Fury hissed through her veins. Her first true sensation in months, ripped away from her.
“Who wants a lemon coconut?” Nell said. “I’ll find us one that hasn’t been eaten. The piglums love them, and they usually get there first.”
“I’ll try one.” Pilar hoisted herself onto the felled tree and adopted her favorite defensive posture: knees pulled to her chest, chin tucked between her patellae.
Kneecaps, Mia thought. Just call them kneecaps. Her obsession with anatomy had become obnoxious even to herself.
Before Mia could ask what a piglum was, Nell raised a lemon coconut above her head and brought it down hard on the tree. The fruit cracked neatly into two halves.
“Flawless,” Nell said. “If I do say so myself.”
She pierced the coarse gray shell with her knife, then slid the blade until the skin peeled off in curling sheets. She carved thick yellow slabs and handed one to Pilar, one to Mia.
Mia bit down, expecting nothing.
She could taste it.
The flesh melted in her mouth, somehow both sweet and piquant, a sweet citrusy tang softening into a mellow, salty savor. Once again Mia found herself blinking back tears. She wanted to shout, sob, throw her arms around Nell, kiss her beautiful mouth.
She startled. Did she want to kiss Nell? Mia had been with a girl only once before, during the long months in White Lagoon when she’d ached so desperately to feel something. Here she was again, aching to feel something. The yearning caught her off guard, yet didn’t entirely surprise her. Yes, Mia had grown up in the river kingdom, where loving a woman was a crime punishable by death. But they were no longer in the river kingdom.
Would Nell want to be kissed?
“Too salty,” Pilar said, interrupting the moment. “Didn’t expect a fruit to taste like salt.” She cracked her knuckles. “Where to now? The magical mystical Shadowess?”
Nell bit into a hunk of lemon coconut, a contented smile spreading over her face.
“Yes, actually.”
“And where might she be lurking?”
“Where all magical mystical sorts lurk,” Nell said. “The House of Shadows.”
Mia had to laugh at her own naivete. Of course the Shadowess would be at the House of Shadows. How had she failed to put two and two together?
What she knew of the House was hearsay. Her father had spoken of it only twice, the first time when she was a child. She still remembered how his words stoked the flames of her curiosity.
“There’s a place called the House of Shadows,” he’d told Mia and Angelyne. “People from all four kingdoms go there to seek the truth.”
“So they’re scientists!” Mia said brightly.
“Scientists are not the only truth seekers, little rose.”
“Do they all find the same truth in the House?” Angie asked. “Or different ones?”
“Other people’s truths are not the same as ours,” their father replied gruffly, effectively ending the conversation. Little Mia did not fail to notice that he hadn’t quite answered the question.
The second time was years later, after Wynna was gone. Though Mia didn’t know it, her father had begun to think quite differently about magic and magicians. Freshly returned from a voyage to Pembuk, he spoke again of the House of Shadows. This time his whole tenor had changed. He told his daughters how he’d met pilgrims, philosophers, spiritual guides, alchemists, and experts in various fields, as well as people with no illustrious titles or professions. They congregated to converse and question, challenge and argue.
“But why argue?” Angie had asked. “What can they hope to gain?”
“Knowledge,” he’d said, and looked knowingly at Mia, whose cheeks flushed with pride. “The greatest gain of all.”
Now a shadow of doubt crept over the memory. Griffin Rose had not turned out to be the most reliable purveyor of information. Nell hadn’t been terribly forthright, either; this was the first time she’d mentioned anyplace other than “Pembuk” and “the first of the glass cities.”
“What’s in the House of Shadows?” Pilar asked aloud, jolting Mia back to her senses. They’d been hiking for hours, trudging through sinking sand, their progress so maddeningly slow she almost wished she were back on the water. Nell had said they would take a caravan to the first of the glass cities. The caravan had yet to materialize.
Pilar kept rubbing her arms, leaving Mia to surmise it was cold, though she couldn’t feel it. Above them, the night sky was stained a deep purple, draped with a canopy of stars.
“People,” Nell answered.
“Thanks, got that one on my own. How many people?”
“It’s constantly changing. There are always a few hundred, at least. Sometimes more like a thousand.”
“Sounds crowded.”
“The Shadowess would say true spaciousness happens in the mind.”
Pilar groaned.
“But who is the Shadowess?” Mia asked. She understood Pilar’s frustration; Nell had given them precious few details, only that the Shadowess could—and would—help them. Perhaps now that Nell had finally told them where, she would fill in the gaps as to whom.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Pilar groaned. “The Shadowess is their mighty leader.”
Mia felt a pang of sympathy. Pil was surely thinking of Zaga, her negligent, backstabbing, murderous mother . . . and the leader of the Dujia on Refúj.
“The Shadowess is a leader,” Nell agreed, “but she’s appointed to her position. The Manuba Committee selects a number of qualified candidates, votes among themselves, then appoints a Shadowess—or a Shadower—every seven years. The Shadowess can serve two terms, but no more than that. She oversees the work being done at the House, striving to unite all the guests and residents in a common purpose. It’s been this way for thousands of years, or quite possibly forever, considering Pembuk was the cradle of human civilization.”
Pilar swore. “Everyone knows the first humans were born in Fojo. Our volqanoes spat fire and formed the first islands.”
“And here I thought Glas Ddir held that particular honor,” Mia countered. “Seeing as how we invented the old language.”
Nell laughed. “Yes, every culture wants to believe it was the first. The four gods . . . the Four Great Goddesses . . . even Luumia’s Seven Souls. Our creation myths always tell us that the cradle is ours.”
Nelladine stopped, squinting up at the star-kissed sky.
“I’m not entirely sure what I believe, or who started what where. But I know in my soul there has to be something more than this.” She gestured skyward. “Someone put those stars up there, and it was no mistake.”
Mia longed for that kind of faith. She’d always relied on her own intellect and understanding. Knowledge was the greatest gain of all. How could she believe in something she couldn’t quantify or prove? And why would she want to?
“I stopped believing in the Great Goddesses when I was sixteen,” Pilar said. For once there was no vitriol in her voice. “I figured if the Duj existed, they either weren’t paying attention or weren’t the kind of goddesses anyone should believe in.”
Mia saw an opening. She nodded vigorously.
“Makes total sense. What you went through would make anyone lose their faith.”
Pilar shot her a dark look. “I don’t need your sympathy, Rose.”
Mia wanted to bang her own head against a tree until it split open like a lemon coconut. She was trying to offer her sister affirmation. Why in four hells couldn’t Pilar just accept it?
“You’ll find all sorts of people with all kinds of faiths at the House of Shadows,” Nell said. She’d started wa
lking again. “That’s one of the things I always liked. That no matter where you came from or what you believed, you were accepted and welcomed, given a seat at the table.”
“Then why didn’t you stay?” Mia asked.
Nell didn’t answer. She gestured toward a haze of orange light in the distance.
“By my estimation, that lovely little beacon is an inn.”
Chapter 6
Unclenched
PILAR DIDN’T BELIEVE IN the Four Great Goddesses. But she did believe in a hot meal and a nip of rai rouj. All those times she’d goaded Nell to find a harbor, she’d assumed “harbor” meant food and drink, not an endless march through the desert. It was also freezing. Weren’t deserts supposed to be warm?
As they approached the inn, Pilar shot a prayer of thanks up to the sky, just to be safe.
“Kaara akutha!” Nell said as they stepped onto the inn’s stoop. She knocked the sand off her boots, motioning them to do the same. “Welcome to Pembuk. You’re about to get your first real taste of Pembuka hospitality.”
“As long as they feed us,” Pilar said.
Nell laughed. “I assure you, you will never go hungry in Pembuk. We are a people who like to eat.”
She conversed with the innkeeper in Pembuka, who led them to a long table. Plates of food began appearing from the kitchen. Roasted chicken. Squares of salty grilled cheese. Goop of beans and eggplant.
“Jomos,” Nell said, pointing to the goop. “Ah, and you went straight for the piglum!” She nodded toward the greasy meat clutched in Pilar’s fist that she’d mistaken for chicken. “I don’t eat meat anymore, only fish. But I remember the taste of piglum, I used to dream about it after I left Pembuk. Isn’t it delicious?”
Pilar didn’t answer. She was too busy shoveling it all in.
“Glad you’re taking time to savor it,” Mia muttered.
Rose picked at her food. Birdlike. At first she’d bitten into the piglum with relish, and Pilar knew why: she wanted desperately to taste it. But from the way she was chewing on the meat, it was clear she might as well be eating rubber.