Too soon, Skylene pulled back. She ran her fingers up her forehead and over the tufts that jutted from her hairline. "No, I'm here to tell you he's awake again, and sensible. I left Tunnel with him. He seems to like talking with him."
"That won't help his recovery any," Mor said wryly. "Did you question him?"
"He tells a strange story. He claims he was betrayed. Claims he came as an envoy from his sister the queen. Says the leaguemen chained him. Says they poisoned the Lothan Aklun somehow and tried to make a new deal with the Auldek. Says the league was going to give him to the Auldek, but then something happened and the Numrek betrayed them all. It does seem to match what I witnessed. And you heard what the spotters said of the waters. They're empty of Aklun ships. Whatever happened-"
"Whatever happened is still a confusion. None of it makes sense yet. The Numrek-What are those vile ones doing back here?"
Skylene did not dispute the point or try to answer the question. "Dariel says that he did not support the quota. Says he was going to find a way to break it, to trade in other things-not slaves."
Mor leaned her head back against Skylene's chest. "You call him by his first name now? Don't tell me you believe him. How many years have they sold us into slavery? How many thousands gone? Generations, and he expects us to believe that the first one of them we catch wished only to deliver us. They lie better than you, Skylene. Don't be fooled by it."
"Tunnel likes him," Skylene said, after a moment of silence. "He already thinks he's Rhuin Fa."
"Based on what facts?"
"Based on the fact that he's been waiting his entire life for it. Just like everybody, Mor. Just like all of us."
"Not me."
Skylene squeezed her shoulder and then stepped away. "So you say. I'm not so sure. Sometimes I think you pray for the Rhuin Fa more than any of us." Before Mor could respond, Skylene clicked her tongue. "Next time you see him, keep your claws to yourself. And you must remember that you are not an elder. You're just their chosen agent. You cannot harm this man without their permission. To do so would doom you as much as him. We're to talk to him. Talk and tell Yoen what we learn. Let him and the others decide what comes from it."
"I'm not a child," Mor said.
"No, you're a brilliant and brave leader, who sometimes forgets her senses."
Mor closed her eyes. I wasn't always like that. I wasn't always.
That day in the soul catcher-whose name and purpose she did not understand until later-she certainly had not been a brave leader. She had been a child who stood against the wall as directed by the large-eared woman. Mor stared wide-eyed around a room she could not comprehend. Lothan Aklun men and women moved about, all dressed in loose-fitting gowns that trailed on the white stone floor. They were uniformly thin. No laborers' bodies, theirs. They were busy with tasks that, for a few moments, Mor thought had nothing to do with Ravi and her. They bustled about, talking and pressing their hands against panels in the stone. At least, she assumed the substance was stone. It was as hard as stone, and it made up the walls; other objects around the room seemed to have been carved from same material. Toward the center of the oblong room were two raised rectangles like beds, but so flat and cold no one would sleep on them. Some distance above, hanging from the ceiling, were still larger rectangular shapes.
The Lothan Aklun ignored them so completely that for a short space of time she tingled with the notion that they had forgotten all about her. She still held Ravi's hand. Mightn't they both slip away? The door was open. She could feel Ravi thinking the same thing, his excitement making his fingers twitch. It was just there, daylight shining through.
Ravi moved. He clamped his fingers around her hand, painfully tight, and yanked her into motion. Just as she had thought; they ran for the door. They were nearly there in just a few steps. The Lothan Aklun did not notice. The woman who had escorted them had her back to them. Mor did not think about what they would do on the other side of the threshold, other than dash down those steps. Running. Running.
A man's form cut the brilliance of the day. He strode in, his feet heavy on the stone. Both children abruptly stopped. Ravi fell and let go of his sister's hand. Mor had never seen so tall a man, long legged and long armed and with a torso muscled in bulging ridged compartments. Though he wore only a short black skirt and though his hair was long in the manner of Candovian brides, he seemed a warrior about to kill. His fists clenched and released, hungry for the weapons that belonged in them. The strength of him was obscene-that was how she would remember it-and yet she could not look away. A body built for war, designed for no other purpose, suited to no other purpose. An Auldek, she would later learn.
She thought that he had entered just to stop them, but it was clear from the look of casual interest on his face that he was surprised to see the children flailing at his feet. Several more like him in size and bearing followed him, companions chatting as they stepped across the threshold. While she was still stunned and stumbling back, the Lothan Aklun rushed forward, snatched up Ravi, and dragged him, with more strength in them than she had imagined, toward one of the stone slabs. Mor's gaze snapped back and forth from Ravi to the Auldek. Thus, she saw the Lothan Aklun strap Ravi down to a slab. She saw him wrestling to be free. She saw that once he was strapped down, the rectangular box dangling from the ceiling lowered to cover him. She heard him scream her name, just before the stone cover touched the floor and the cry was cut off. The moment passed, and Lothan Aklun hands pulled Mor out of the Auldek's way. Mor was shoved against the wall once more, and there she screamed. Ravi was inside that box. Pale stone. Sharp edges.
The shirtless Auldek exchanged words with the Lothan Aklun. He seemed to want to see under the box that covered Ravi, but they would not let him. Instead, one of them pointed to Mor. He spoke in a guttural tongue she could not understand. Her breath escaped her completely when the Auldek turned and stared at her. He walked closer. His hand came out and touched her chin. She flinched, but his grip pinned her to the spot. He turned her face upward and studied her, even as she stared at him. His visage was a mask for a long moment, creviced and sharp, with eyes as unreadable as a snake's. And then he smiled and said something that stirred laughter in his comrades.
He released her, spun away, and climbed onto the second slab of stone. He slapped the sides with the palms of his hands, as if urging the Lothan Aklun to hurry. The other Auldek moved to the far side of the room and stood in a spot one of the Lothan Aklun gestured them to. The Lothan Aklun busied themselves again. Soon the rectangular cover above the Auldek also lowered, closing around him and cutting off the last few remarks he shouted out.
Mor stood transfixed, her hands clenched together now, working nervously at each other. She remembered the moment, but she could not recall what she had felt. It was a blank space about which the frantic motion of her hands and the things witnessed by her eyes told her little. Ravi was encased in stone. She knew why now, but what had she thought then? It troubled her greatly that she did not remember, and that whatever Ravi went through he faced alone, while she stood, wringing her hands.
And the moment passed. There was no loud noise, no blast of light, no roar or blood or confusion. There might have been a sound that she felt through her feet, something like music, but she was not even sure of this. She watched the cover above the Auldek rise. The Lothan Aklun hurried to him. When they stepped back a moment later, he rolled off the platform. He planted his feet and growled. He pumped his fist in the air, a grin splitting his face. He was the same, save his skin now glowed as if a light burned in his chest and illumed him from the inside out. The other Auldek howled back at him, all of them animated as they swarmed around him, smacking him with their palms. The Lothan Aklun carried on whatever it was they were working at, their backs turned to the Auldek as if they were no longer there.
The other lid-the one that covered Ravi-remained closed. She never saw Ravi's face or knew what was left of him after his soul was pulled from his body and thrust into th
at Auldek's. For that was what had happened. She would not understand this completely until sometime later, when Yoen explained it all to her in his gentle, honest way. That was why she knew the truth now. That was why her mind had come to accept what her spirit had told her. Ravi was not yet gone; he was a prisoner in another being's flesh.
There was one other thing she did know for sure. She had never forgotten the name of the Auldek who received her brother's soul. She heard it on Lothan Aklun lips and recognized it to be a name, something different from the rest of the foreign words.
Devoth. His name was Devoth. One day she would get to him, find him unprotected. Then she would kill him and let her brother free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Standing in her private chambers as her servants made her up for the Blood Moon banquet, Corinn mulled over the strange letter she had received from her sister. It pleased her to learn that Mena had been found alive and well. Corinn did not, however, care for the flippant tone of mystery in the note Mena had dispatched to Acacia via messenger bird. It said, simply, I am found, sister. All well. I'm winged! Will fly to you. Look up. What in the Known World did that mean? Perhaps Mena had suffered an injury after all, one to the head. Even if she remained of sound mind, Corinn did not like the triumphant tone of it. All well. Never, in Corinn's experience of rule, was all well. Mena might have dealt with all the foulthings, but there would be something else to occupy them soon enough. She would have to drill this into her sister when she returned.
"Please, mistress," a thin-limbed servant said, "would you lift your arms?"
The queen did so, and the servant wrapped her vest around her and fastened it in place. Technically, the gown was a version of the garment that tradition dictated her to wear at the Blood Moon banquet, which commemorated the fifth king's-Standish's-suppression of the first mine revolt in Crall. A cruel act, though one the histories praised. As with her other clothes, Corinn had had the tailors cut the dress to the contours of her body. This changed the look of the garment considerably. Corinn would hardly be able to eat or drink anything at the banquet, so snug was the fit, but that did not matter. The maroon dress displayed her breasts and the slimness of her torso and the flare of her hips all to startling effect, an unnerving combination of ancient authority and sensuous beauty.
Her sister's were not the only words written by one of her siblings that roiled around in Corinn's head. She had also spent part of the morning with several volumes open on the great wooden tables in the library. She had gone there, as she had several times before, to read in solitude about the ancients: Edifus, like a wolf fighting for dominance among a pack a snarling competitors; his son, Tinhadin, who built upon his father's shaky legacy with a mastery of god talk so complete that he came to fear he might utter it in his sleep and wake to find the world altered; Queen Rabella, four generations after Tinhadin, who rose to power and held it until her death, no king to rule her. She outlived six male consorts, but never agreed to wed. A smart woman, Corinn thought, and a documented argument against the conniving climbers who wished to bed her on their way to the throne.
She read these old texts to try to discern who her ancestors had really been, how they had succeeded, and what they could teach her. Ironic, but increasingly she reached back to those long dead for guidance while shielding her thoughts from those around her. She also read, searching for insights on the Santoth. Though she came across passages about them often, she never felt she understood them any better. They remained shadowy figures, like beings standing at the edge of her peripheral vision.
This morning, though, it had been a newer volume, one on her brother Aliver, that drew her in. Strange to read words that were supposed to be his. The transcripts of his speeches had about them a hint of the same formality that flavored the old texts. Though the book purported to be a transcription of his words, the shaping of scholarly hands was all over them. Rarely did she catch in them any hint of the brother she had known. But, of course, she had not known this adult Aliver, this warrior prince leading an army and stirring the masses to revolt.
And the content? Oh, such dreams. Such morals! He would remake the world as if it were moist clay that he could mold in his hands. Throw out the quota. Sweep away the league. Unclench the Akaran fist and let all nations rise. Free and equal. Partners in the workings of the world. How could he ever think that such idealism could survive a minute in the brawl that was life? It was folly of the highest order. The fact that so many had followed him just served as further proof of that. Fools' folly.
The Snow King, the text called him. Corinn could not help but scoff. She remembered the night Aliver had proclaimed himself that. Did the scholars in their studies and the peasants in their hovels telling tales of the Snow King not realize that Aliver had been but a boy talking about a snowball fight when he spoke those words? Though at times his idealism struck chords within her, she could not forget the reality of things long enough to fall under his spell. There was a difference, she believed, between the words in books and the manner in which the living must move through the world. She had no intention of forgetting this.
When Rhrenna approached her, clicking her tongue in praise of Corinn's appearance, the queen turned her thoughts back to the letter still in her hand. "What do you make of this?"
Rhrenna took the document and scanned it, though she had read it already. "She sounds pleased with herself. It makes me wonder-"
"Mistress, lean forward please."
Corinn did as instructed. Funny that a hairdressing servant at times commanded her in ways that generals and senators and soldiers never could.
"Makes you wonder what?" Corinn asked.
Rhrenna pressed her thin lips together. "I don't know if we should credit it, but Sinper Ou sent a message saying he'd heard Mena had captured the last foulthing instead of killing it."
It took Corinn a moment to answer. She waited for the hairdresser to finish the braid work around her forehead. It was painfully elaborate, but Corinn liked a certain amount of discomfort while at official functions. It kept her from relaxing, which was useful. "Why would she do that?" she asked, once her head was her own again.
Rhrenna shrugged. "I don't know. As I said, there's no reason to credit it. The people like to make up tales about your sister. Given the slightest opportunity, they embellish."
Corinn snorted in agreement. "Maeben on earth, she is."
"Yes, well… I came to tell you that King Grae has just arrived."
"Has he?"
"Surprise visit, apparently. He's asked to attend the banquet. Just as an observer, he says. He's content to stand to the side and watch."
"Why has he come?"
"He didn't say. To show off his freckles, perhaps, and the dimple in his chin." Rhrenna grinned. "He's not hard to look at."
Corinn did not recall. She had seen him a few times since she ascended to the throne but had been content to keep him at a distance. She did recall that he favored his brother Igguldan, and something about this had displeased her. "He may attend," she said, "but keep him at a far table. Even a king should provide us fair warning of his arrival."
"As you wish," Rhrenna said, "although I might need to wander over to the far tables myself." Smiling, she nudged aside the servant who had just lifted Corinn's slim crown. She slipped it in place herself. Made of white gold shaped like delicately thorned branches, it had a ruby at the center that was so dark it appeared black. Acacian royals wore crowns on occasion, though they could just as easily demonstrate their rank with necklaces, earrings, or bracelets, even with garments of a style made only for them for centuries now. But Corinn had taken to this piece since the jeweler first presented it to her. There was a rough texture to the gold, and the stone itself seemed to hide secrets within its depths.
"There," Rhrenna said, backing up and studying Corinn as if she had worked the transformation herself. "You're cruel, Corinn. You'll have the men sweaty with lust and the women sick with envy. Most of them, at least. A f
ew might go sick with lust as well."
When Corinn arrived at the crowded outdoor courtyard in which the banquet was already in full swing, she remembered vaguely that she had once thrived on adolescent courtly intrigue. In her early teen years she had cared about nothing so much as the jockeying for status and favor among her peers. Handsome boys, rival girls, older men's lingering gazes and solicitous flattery; who bested whom on the training grounds; who wore the finest garments and how-it had all, for a time, been the very stuff of life. How foreign that girl was to Corinn now. How maddening that her father had let her live in that illusion for as long as he had.
Although what am I truly doing differently? the queen wondered, as she nodded and smiled and accepted the lips pressed to her hand. Again I walk through a maze of illusion, one of my own making. Perhaps some evening just like this one, some raving lunatic from the fringes will strike me down, just as befell my father. Much as befell Aliver. It's a fool's game, but what choice have I? Should I lock Aaden and myself up in the palace or in Calfa Ven? The latter was an appealing idea, but it would not do. Such a course was perhaps more dangerous anyway. No, she thought, better that I see where the snakes lie than that I find myself stepping on them. At least this way I can weed them out.
She moved through the gathered people with a cool detachment, guided by a bevy of maidens who flanked her as persistently as her Numrek guards. Unlike the taciturn guards-who, she noted, had grown more somber in recent weeks, almost as if they were displeased with their work-her maidens were all mirth. The court was a galaxy of many constellations. Corinn was master of them all, but before her floated representatives from around the empire-royal children, rich younger brothers and sisters, tribal princes and princesses-each the sun of some ally's heart, each surrounded by his or her own attendants. And through this patrolled the ambitious and the arrogant: senators and nobles, Agnates and landowners, shipbuilders and leaguemen, mistresses and lovers, guards and escorts. Sycophants all. Liars most. Some loved her, but these she suspected of their own sort of weakness.
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