by Giles Carwyn
“Sound advice, but somehow there always seems to be a drink about when I’m wanting a vegetable.”
Lawdon chuckled. She found it impossible to be as angry with Mikal as he deserved. He had a way about him. His mother was Lady Heidvell, the widow of a lesser prince of the Summer Cities. Unfortunately for the Heidvell shiphome, Mikal’s reputation as a feckless philanderer did nothing to improve their modest standing. Yet somehow, his sincere blue eyes made you want to overlook that. His handsome face and curly black hair made you wonder if his reputation had been concocted by a few petty, jealous women who only wanted to defame his character.
If she had met Mikal in a port of the Summer Seas, she would certainly have let him tumble her, but he was on her boat, and a captain didn’t lay down for anyone, passenger or crew.
“Come, my heart’s fire, my sparkling hammer of love,” Mikal said, taking her arm. She paused in the middle of the street, letting him hold her hand for a moment. “I cannot stand for your beautiful feet to endure this indignity any longer. Come with me back to the deep blue sea. We’ll even sail west if we must. We can seek our fortune on the Lesser Ocean amid tattooed pirates and fat Kherish merchants with their dog-headed scows.”
“Shouldn’t you be kneeling for this sort of thing?”
He glanced down, and his brow furrowed. “On land?”
Lawdon took her hand back. “Ah, if you cannot handle me on land, my fickle prince, you’ll never handle me at sea.” They left the bridge and headed down a residential street. “I should have left you on that island. A bit more starvation would have been good for you. I’m still not sure how I spotted your pathetic signal fire.”
“Divine intervention, my cherished one,” he insisted, running to catch up. He put a hand to his chest and waved to the sky. “I prayed to Fessa of the Deep, and our benevolent goddess sent a sprite of the sea to my rescue. It is her divine will that brought us together.”
“Was it divine will that got you marooned in the first place?”
“Certainly, that and an error of my misguided heart. The Lady Amalitz has a cold, unforgiving disposition. Unfortunately, I did not see it until—”
“The Lady Amalitz found you humping her maid.”
“She was not—”
“In her own bed.”
Mikal spread his hands. “I was seduced.”
“At knifepoint, no doubt.”
They continued down the hill. Hastily dressed people were filling the streets, talking quietly among themselves. From their pained expressions, Lawdon guessed that somebody must have died.
“You know,” Mikal said, oblivious to everything around him, “I cannot quite put the tip of my tongue upon the reason why you captivate me so. There’s something haunting about the icy mystery at the depth of your unwelcoming hearth. Something haunting about the chilly caress of your continence.” He shivered. “Something haunting about—”
Lawdon rolled her eyes. “There is certainly something haunting about a poet who relies on his looks more than his words. The chilly caress of my continence? By Fessa, what’s your next poetic pinnacle? ‘The warm caress of my incontinence’?”
“My lady, you wound me!” Mikal stopped walking, then hurried to catch up with her. “My words are all I have. I birth them with as much love as a mother births a child.”
“You certainly bring them screaming into the world.”
They turned another corner and Lawdon saw the familiar row of blue-white mansions along the bay. They walked closer, and Lawdon smiled. That was Baelandra’s house. She was sure of it. She looked for that tree she had climbed so long ago to reach Baelandra’s window. She shook her head. That wouldn’t do. If that tree was still there after two decades, it certainly wouldn’t look the way she remembered it.
Mikal was correct in one respect. The land was not her home anymore, and she longed for the open sea, for the natural rolling of her ship on the waves. Lawdon had grown up in Ohndarien, but she had a difficult time thinking of it as her childhood home and not just another port. She remembered Ohndarien’s bay as a vast ocean of adventure for a waterbug. Now it seemed like a dirty puddle that real ships reluctantly passed through to unload their cargo.
They walked up to Baelandra’s gate, and Lawdon wondered if her friend would be awake this early. Her mission grew more urgent with every day that passed. High summer had nearly begun, and Lawdon desperately needed to warn Baelandra about the danger behind Lord Vinghelt’s plans. The upstart prince was only one duel away from starting a bloody war that would eventually consume every nation bordering the Summer Seas. Ohndarien must be convinced to bar her gates to the Summer Fleet.
As they reached the front gate, Lawdon’s smile faded. The garden was mobbed with people, mostly soldiers and a few civilians still dressed in their nightclothes. Many of them were crying. The bells across the city continued to toll, and Lawdon got a sinking feeling.
One of the soldiers spotted Lawdon and hurried over to greet her. “Sad days, my friends,” the heavyset man said. He wore a blue tunic with a gold slash across the front.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to spot Baelandra amid the crowd.
“Murder. We are still looking for a man who did it. He is about this tall.” The soldier held out his hand. “The fellow is burly as an ox. Silver Islander, with tattoos all over. Have you seen him?”
She looked at Mikal. He shrugged. Lawdon shook her head. “Who was killed?”
“He and his band tried to steal the Sleeping Warden. They killed three guardsmen, an Ohohhim bodyguard, and the old Sister of Autumn.”
Lawdon’s thoughts froze. The current Sister of Autumn was barely Lawdon’s age. Not old at all.
“What?”
“Killed her. Cut her head right off, but the city will stay locked down until we catch the fiend. I promise you that.”
“Killed who?” Lawdon murmured, but her breath had been taken from her body. She knew who he meant. Before he even responded, she knew.
“The old Sister. Baelandra. The bells ring for her. They’re gathering in the Hall of Windows already.”
“No…” she murmured.
“Lawdon?” Mikal put a hand on her shoulder.
“Oh Fessa, no.” Lawdon began running toward the Wheel, leaving a bewildered Mikal behind her.
CHAPTER 25
It had been suggested that Arefaine stay in her room until His Eternal Wisdom called for her.
It was not a command, of course. A command was an artless, barbaric method of control, something only a mortal would do. The Emperor was the voice of Oh on earth. He made polite suggestions. And who would not heed the words of a god?
Of course, those who did not follow this softly spoken advice soon came to regret it.
Outside the ship, a single mourning bell tolled atop the Wheel. Arefaine did her best to ignore the sound and everything it implied.
Her attendants had left her just before dawn. She was prepared, her face powdered, her dark hair oiled and curled, and she had been made to wait. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her back straight as if she were going to rise and open the door at any moment. She had been sitting like that for two hours. It was the first time she had ever been made to wait for an audience with the Emperor.
Finally, the tap came at the door.
Arefaine stood, crossed to her black dressing table, and lifted the heavy, silk-wrapped bundle. She went to the door, and it opened at the sound of her footsteps.
The procession had just reached her. The timing was perfect as always. Arefaine started to take her place in front of the Opal Advisor, ready to offer her sleeve to him and lead the procession to the Emperor.
But the Opal Advisor did not look at her, did not reach to take her sleeve. Behind him, the Chief Carrier of the Opal Fire let go of the Advisor’s sleeve, implying that Arefaine should take the second place in line.
Arefaine hesitated only an instant, then smoothly stepped into the gap and pinched the sleeve in front of her.
/> So, I have been removed one step further from Oh, dropped below an ordinary mortal. It did not matter. She knew this had been a possibility. She had begun this dance, and she would see it through.
The procession snaked through the passageway of the great ship to the Emperor’s stateroom, a tiny replica of the towering chamber in the Opal Palace. A cunning bit of engineering, the lacquered black walls sloped inward toward the ceiling, giving the illusion of greater height. The Emperor sat on a tall-backed, obsidian throne on a black dais, an exact replica of his throne in the Opal Palace.
The procession moved forward, and the Opal Advisor stopped, clapped his hands quietly, just once, in front of his stomach. Everyone released their sleeves and fanned out to the left, creating a perfect diagonal line to the edge of the room. They descended to their knees, starting at the back and moving forward like a softly falling wave. The Opal Advisor was the last to kneel, putting his head to the floor.
Arefaine set her heavy bundle by her knee and genuflected, keeping her forehead pressed against the cool wood. After a moment, she could hear the Opal Advisor’s robes rustle as he straightened. No doubt that had been prearranged. Arefaine did not take that as her cue to rise. Only the Emperor could give that permission.
Silence fell over the audience chamber. There was only the slight creaking from the shifting ship and the faint sound of the distant bell.
The wait was intended to be a punishment, a torture. For most Ohohhim, the shame of making the Incarnation of Oh on earth wait this long simply to show his displeasure would have been unbearable.
Arefaine kept her breathing slow and steady, sending her turbulent emotions into the swirling well of magic at the center of her being.
If the Emperor had listened during their increasingly infrequent talks back in Ohohhom, he would not be so surprised. He would not wonder at how important this was to Arefaine. Still, it hurt to wait, to suddenly be the subject of the Emperor’s calculated wrath. If he could not understand why she must stay this course, no one would. But she would make him see. He must see.
For a fleeting moment, as the silence dragged on, Arefaine began to fear that the waiting itself would be the entire lesson. There would be no opportunity to explain. The Emperor had brought her here simply to be ignored, then have her led away again, locked in her stateroom. She didn’t fear the token captivity. There wasn’t a room in all of Ohndarien that could hold her, but the real punishment was the humiliation before one of the few people she had once called friend.
But the Emperor cleared his throat, and Arefaine felt a prickle of release across her scalp and clenched her teeth immediately. She shouldn’t care so much what the Emperor thought. If he couldn’t see reason, she had to proceed without him.
She waited for his soft, even voice, but it was the Opal Advisor who spoke in his stead, another humiliation, a sign of the Emperor’s inexpressible rage.
“Would the Awakened Child be so kind as to help a humble man grow in the wisdom of Oh?” the Opal Advisor said.
The tone of voice was deferential, a supplication, but Arefaine was not fooled. He would order her death just as politely. For the first time, she found herself hating the Opal Advisor. His black, curly hair had never grayed, though his face was creased with the wrinkles of an old man. She could picture those wrinkles twitching as though wanting to smile at her shame.
When Arefaine spoke, she remained calm and respectful, like all good Ohohhim.
“I would be delighted to share what little wisdom I possess,” she said, still keeping her forehead pressed against the floor. She could not look upon the Emperor’s face until he gave her leave to do so.
“You are too gracious,” the Opal Advisor said, sounding like he meant it. “I wish to understand something my simple mind cannot seem to comprehend. Why did you choose to leave your chambers last night and infringe upon the hospitality of our respected hosts?”
And more importantly, ignore the express orders of His Eternal Wisdom, Arefaine thought. That was what they were really talking about, but it was something that could never be mentioned. After all, when the Emperor spoke, reality must follow.
Arefaine had been prepared for this moment ever since she nudged the minds of the two Carriers of Opal Fire and convinced them to accompany her to the Zelani school. She had played this inevitable conversation over in her mind a hundred times, refining what she would say. But that did not keep her from pausing to consider her words carefully one last time. She chose them precisely.
She could not explain her reasons. The Emperor held the power of Oh on earth and had never been wrong in five thousand years. One did not attempt to convince him of the error of his ways.
She had to take a different route.
“I was following the sleeve of Oh as best as I was able.”
She waited for the words to sink in. The Opal Advisor took some time in formulating his reply.
“Your wisdom still eludes me. I humbly beg that you explain further.”
Arefaine allowed herself a small, inward smile, though it didn’t show on her hidden face or her body language. This was not the response the Advisor had been expecting.
“Oh granted me the knowledge and power to repay a great act of kindness that was once granted to the Opal Empire. I was given the ability to awaken the Sleeping Warden, and I felt honor-bound to use the power I had been given.”
“I understand the wisdom of your actions once the Sleeping Warden was abducted. It is the timing of your actions that led to that moment that are unclear to me.”
“I understand your confusion,” Arefaine said, seeing the direction of the conversation now. Still, she must be careful. The best-laid traps were unseen. “You could not know that I was also given the gift of impatience. I felt a sense of urgency about this issue so profound, it must have been sent directly from Oh. I knew that I needed to speak with Shara-lani last night. I could not see my destination, but that did not stop me from following the sleeve in front of me.”
The man was caught. The voice of Oh spoke through the Emperor, not through his subjects. But the Ohohhim had touted Arefaine as someone nearly divine. To deny that she might hear the voice of Oh would make them liars. Arefaine could sense that the Opal Advisor desperately wanted to take counsel from the Emperor, but he could not. His drooping mustache quivered as he opened his mouth, licked his lips.
She waited until she thought he finally found something to say, then took the upper hand.
“The wisdom of Oh in this matter became apparent to me when we came upon the Silver Islanders. If He had not instilled that sense of urgency, I would not have been there to prevent the inevitable disaster. I was led to that place at that time, and I knew in my heart what must be done. My only regret is the tragic loss of Lady Baelandra and the others.”
Arefaine paused. Her heart was heavy about that. The image of the handsome young Astor sobbing next to his mother’s headless body still lingered in her mind. She needed to discover how such a thing had happened. She understood why Brophy attacked his aunt. What Arefaine didn’t understand was why Baelandra had been corrupted. Was it a mistake? Was Issefyn a bigger fool than she imagined? Releasing the emmeria so close to the Heartstone was perhaps the most profoundly stupid thing a person could possibly do. A fully corrupted creature could have released the emmeria in moments.
Her father had insisted that Issefyn be allowed to keep the single containment stone that she took with her. It had been her father’s suggestion that she recruit Issefyn and the albino in the first place. His plans for them showed both cunning and wisdom. Spirits had access to knowledge that the living did not, and she would simply have to trust him until his grand vision was completely revealed.
After a respectful silence following the mention of the recently deceased, Arefaine continued. “I apologize for my sorrow at the Sister’s passing. Such unenlightened emotion only proves that I cannot yet see the whole of the divine queue and the place that each of us must stand within it.”
/> Silence descended again, and Arefaine wondered if the Opal Advisor would soon be facing his own painful silence at the Emperor’s feet for failing to meet her explanations with insightful refutations to put her in her place.
“I wish to speak alone with the Daughter of my Heart,” the Emperor finally said in his soft voice.
The Opal Advisor’s robes rustled as he knelt and rose quickly. His slippered feet padded away quietly, followed by the Chief Carrier of the Opal Fire, and on and on until the entire throne room had been quietly and efficiently emptied.
“Rise, child, and look upon the face of Wisdom,” the Emperor said a long moment after the door had been closed.
Arefaine rose, keeping her face impassive as she looked at him. This was her true judge, not the Opal Advisor. This was the man she must convince, whose mind she must change.
“You speak with a tongue of honey,” the Emperor said, unmoving except for his black eyes, which looked deep into her own. “But sweet words do not always lead to wisdom. Remember the lesson of the sunberries. Sometimes the easiest path is the most dangerous.”
The memory came swift upon his words. As a child, Arefaine had eaten so many unripe sunberries that she nearly died. She had been so ill that she missed the funeral of her first guardian, Father Lewlem. Visiting his grave for the first time was one of the earliest memories of her awakened life outside the nightmare. It lingered in her mind like an unhealed wound. Though Father Lewlem was still with her in spirit, she missed what she remembered of him as a man.
Arefaine did not contradict the Emperor. She did not want to push him to any rash decisions. He was using the same extremely formal tone of voice that he had adopted shortly after she realized he had grown afraid of her. Since then, he had stopped talking to her and started talking at her. She had always lived in a prison of solitude, but that was the day the last door was shut and barred. She always held hope that this man would open that door again and welcome her back into his heart.