‘It was …’ But she couldn’t find the words. ‘I’m still in,’ she managed eventually.
‘I see you managed to keep him in one piece.’ Harlyn nodded at Odi.
‘Nice to see you again, too, Harlyn,’ Odi said darkly.
It was during this charged exchange that Roh noticed the flowers decorating the grimy workshop window. In all her seventeen years in the Lower Sector, she’d never seen flowers down here before.
‘What’s that about?’ she asked.
‘Oh, those,’ Orson said. ‘They’re for Neith.’
‘Neith? The water runner?’
There was an awkward pause and Orson glanced worriedly at Harlyn, who merely shrugged her shoulders.
‘They’re calling her the “Saviour of the Lower Sector”,’ Harlyn inserted bluntly.
‘They?’
‘The lowborns.’
Roh’s stomach twisted. ‘All of them?’
‘Nearly all,’ Harlyn said with another shrug. ‘Cyrens from all over the Lower Sector have been leaving her gifts and such.’
Roh bit the inside of her cheek. She knew Harlyn well enough to recognise a jab when she heard one. The last unnecessary detail had been a barb designed to hurt Roh, and it had found its mark. Flushing and repositioning the book under her arm, Roh refused to take the bait. Harlyn, who had wanted to compete as much as she had, was jealous. Perhaps it wasn’t as easy to be happy for the one who’d made it through as they’d thought. While Roh understood that pain, she couldn’t help the sadness that coursed through her. She longed to debrief with her friends, to unpack the events of the trial and the banquet, to tell them about the queen, to see the whole thing through their eyes. But she would not be offered that comfort, not tonight. She glanced towards the back of the workshop, her eyes finding her secret project still hidden by the sheet of cloth, as she’d left it. The memory of the music from the Upper Sector filled her with a sudden inspiration to work on her model.
Harlyn followed her gaze, and Roh forced herself to dull the passion in her eyes. She knew that the inspiring music and architecture she’d seen in the last few days would only fuel her friend’s envy.
Something clattered to the ground and all three cyrens whirled around. Odi was mid-crouch, picking up a bone scraper he’d dropped. Roh had forgotten he was there. Frustration rushed through her. He was always there, even in her most private moments with her friends. She opened her mouth to snap at him, but as she did, the scab on her cheek itched, a stark reminder. She swallowed her harsh words and checked her temper. Were it not for the human, she might not be here.
As Odi stood and carefully placed the tool back on the bench, Harlyn fixed him with an icy glare. ‘Watch what you’re doing,’ she hissed.
Gods, she’s out for blood today.
But Odi didn’t break Harlyn’s stare, didn’t flinch at the unveiled fury in her voice.
‘Let’s go, Odi,’ Roh interjected, nearly swaying on her feet. Exhaustion had barrelled into her and the refuge she’d hoped for here was nowhere to be found.
Finally breaking Harlyn’s stare, Odi followed her.
At the door, Orson’s hand found hers and squeezed. ‘Give her time,’ Roh’s gentler friend said, glancing worriedly back at Harlyn, who had already returned to her work. ‘She’s still accepting the fact that it’s you out there. You understand, don’t you?’
Roh steeled herself against the guilt that tried to lance through her at that moment. She’d done what she had to do and Harlyn had done the same. The only difference was, she had won and Harlyn had lost.
‘I understand.’ Roh gave Orson a grim smile before she and the human left her friends and the bones behind.
Chapter Eleven
Any flutter of excitement Roh had felt about the impending tour of Saddoriel and what elusive parts of the territory she might see had been quelled by the events of the previous night’s feast. Now, thick dread settled in her stomach at the thought of seeing her fellow competitors. As she and Odi reached the meeting point, her insides squirmed. Although the tunnels and turns had seemed familiar upon approach, she couldn’t quite place when or why she’d been here before. But it didn’t matter where they were; Roh wasn’t ready to see the others. Her cheeks burned as the contenders arrived in pairs and stood waiting for a council elder to appear. There was no doubt that those who had not heard last night’s conversation firsthand had heard it by now, distorted and exaggerated, as was the nature of hushed whispers. Estin Ruhne, Miriald Montalle and Arcelia Bellfast stood together a few feet away, and Roh averted her gaze immediately, again feeling the familiar burn of shame spread across her cheeks. The architect’s words still echoed in her mind, and with that element of her anonymity stripped away, she felt naked, exposed. She had thought of Arcelia as something of an ally, but after the poisonous murmurings of Estin Ruhne, Roh wasn’t so sure.
The Jaktaren and their humans appeared from a passage Roh didn’t recognise. The highborns who had been injured in the first trial had been tended to with great care; there was certainly no limp to Finn’s gait as he strode around the hall, his chest puffed out arrogantly, laughing with Yrsa and Zokez.
A collective intake of breath sounded and Roh’s stomach dropped, expecting another verbal confrontation. Her paranoia was erratic in her mind, but as she looked up, she realised that the wave of shock rolling over the group had nothing to do with her. Although Roh had never met the arms-bearing cyren standing before her, she knew exactly who she was. By name and by the thick rings of scars that wrapped around the length of both bare arms.
‘Today’s venture is courtesy of Her Majesty’s generosity,’ Toril Ainsley’s silvery voice cut through the chatter. She wore a sleeveless leather vest and fitted leather pants, very unlike the traditional free-flowing garments of the Saddorien territory. Toril, once a trader from the Mid Sector, was the only former tournament competitor Ames had told Roh anything about. According to him, Queen Delja had been so impressed with her efforts and resilience that she’d allowed the trader to break custom and join the Jaktaren late in life. And sure enough, the cyren standing before them had the zigzag pattern of the guild shaved into the side of her head. It highlighted a thick, white burn that cut through the scales at her right temple. Roh couldn’t help but stare at it and the scars that marred the cyren’s otherwise flawless skin. They made the scar on Roh’s own face look like a beauty mark. She wrung her hands. They were only one trial in, and she’d scarcely scraped through that. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had felt out of her depth since entering the tournament, but it was the first time she’d seen the permanent consequences of the trials presented so starkly before her. She swallowed. Would she emerge from the Queen’s Tournament whole, if at all?
Toril gave the group a cursory glance before continuing. ‘Our queen wished me to impress upon you that should one of you take up the crown, the deepest understanding of Saddoriel and Talon’s Reach must be fostered. Follow me.’ The trail of Toril’s cloak was already disappearing around a sharp corner.
Roh started after the others. Odi was keeping so close to Roh that he might as well have been holding her hand. But she said nothing as his shoulder brushed hers; this was safer. Soon after, they came to a halt before an archway of bones, the smaller twin to the one at the entrance of Saddoriel. Beyond it, the torches illuminated intricate mosaics in the stone walls.
‘Welcome to the Passage of Kings,’ Toril said.
‘The what?’ Odi murmured in Roh’s ear.
‘The Passage of Kings,’ Roh hissed, frowning. That’s why these tunnels feel so familiar. She didn’t bother to hide the blatant disappointment on her face. Every cyren in Saddoriel had been to the Passage of Kings. It was a mandatory part of their history lessons as nestlings. She cursed silently. She’d stupidly been hoping for unprecedented access to the more secret parts of the lair, perhaps even the Vault, where it was rumoured the Tome of Kyeos was kept, but instead … Instead, she had almost died in order to receive a to
ur she’d already had in her ninth year. She wasn’t the only disgruntled cyren, judging by the snippets of conversation that broke out around her.
‘She can’t be serious.’
‘Everyone’s seen the passage.’
‘What could she hope for us to learn here?’
‘Are you finished?’ Toril’s voice sounded again, sharper than a blade, and the chatter fell silent at once.
Then again, Roh mused. Perhaps it’s all been worth it just to see Toril Ainsley in the flesh.
They passed through the small archway of bones and Roh blinked at what she found inside. Her childhood memories did no justice to the passage before her now. As a nestling, she had been far too young to appreciate the artistry and the history that stretched across the high walls. Her mind had been filled with thoughts of mimicking Orson’s straight-backed stance and evading Ames’ scoldings. It was a different story now as Arcelia pressed a torch into her hand, its flickering flame revealing the deep lines of the ornate relief tiles.
In a flash, Roh was nine years old again …
‘What did I say about touching the reliefs?’ Ames’ deep voice was terrifying as it echoed off the walls.
‘Sorry, Master Ames,’ Orson said quietly, glancing back at Roh and Harlyn, who had ducked to take cover behind her legs. They crouched lower, stifling a fit of giggles, knowing they rarely got into trouble if Orson was with them.
Roh shook the memory from her head and stepped into the passage.
‘Take your time here.’ Toril’s words echoed. ‘The Passage of Kings is one of the most sacred parts of Saddoriel, preserving the memory of our kind for millennia. The ruler of our kind must be intimately familiar with our history, our magic and our nature. Which is why we begin here.’
The competitors fanned out, taking their humans with them as they covered various tunnels, wandering into different periods of cyren history. Roh crossed her arms over her chest against the cool air pricking her skin and roamed with Odi until they found the starting point. She could feel Toril Ainsley’s gaze on her. The former competitor had probably heard about last night and the nature of the circlet that lined Roh’s head. Roh ignored the attention and tugged Odi in front of the first mosaic scene. It was the first cyrens of Lamaka’s Basin and Lochloria, a not-so-distant territory, tunnelling beneath the East Sea, with the water warlocks at their backs enchanting the sea so that it remained in place and didn’t flood the region that would later become Saddoriel. Their magic was depicted with deep spirals and swirls that resembled the great waves and currents above.
Roh had never been good at studying and retaining facts. Her mind was usually so crowded with an array of tangled thoughts that remembering moments in cyren history was often like trying to scoop the last remaining drops from an empty bucket. But with the scenes portrayed before her in such stunning detail, the stories she’d learned as a nestling came back to her …
‘Those are the birthstones of Saddoriel,’ she told Odi quietly, pointing to the rectangular tile. ‘The gems you’ve seen in the queen’s coral crown.’
‘They’re not in a crown there,’ Odi said, frowning at the artwork, where the three stones were depicted on an altar.
‘Well, they didn’t just come from nowhere, did they?’ Roh mocked. ‘They originally belonged to the water-warlock founding families. They enchanted them at the creation of the lair, in order to maintain balance between cyren and water-warlock magic.’ The words were not Roh’s own, but Ames’, coming back to her a decade later.
‘How?’ Odi asked, keeping up with her as she moved along to the next exquisitely detailed tile.
‘Each stone possesses its own power.’ Without thinking, Roh ran her fingers over the outlines of the stones in the next mosaic: a close-up depiction that showed the banded rings of the first gem. ‘The Gauntlet Ruby gives its bearer clarity and can detect poisons and broken vows.’ Her fingers moved to the second stone, its brilliant honey colour undocumented here. ‘Mercy’s Topaz guides its bearer to sincerity and shows them the way when they’re lost.’
‘And the third?’ Odi asked, pressing his half-gloved fingers to the tile.
‘The Willow’s Sapphire supposedly provides its bearer with endurance, and faith when all faith is lost. Do you see a theme?’
Odi frowned at her. ‘Magic?’
Roh rolled her eyes. ‘Truth, Odi. The powers are themed by elements of truth. It was a choice made by the water warlocks in order to help them combat the cunning nature of cyrens.’
‘I see.’
Roh doubted he did. The intricacies and secrets of cyren history were rarely understood by anyone, let alone a scrawny human.
‘Who’s this, then?’ Odi pointed to a carving of a cloaked figure, holding a crown between his hands.
‘That’s Taaldin the Great. The first cyren king. He oversaw the expansion of Saddoriel into Talon’s Reach and linked it to the other territories.’
‘Roh!’ came an enthusiastic voice. Roh had to suppress a sigh of frustration as Neith and her withered old human sidled up next to them. Her chest twinged as she recalled the flowers in the workshop and Harlyn’s hurtful words: Neith – Saviour of the Lower Sector. Gods, Roh didn’t know why it had stung so much. She had never cared about what the other cyrens thought of her, so long as she had Harlyn and Orson … Did she still have them? Would she, at the end of all this?
Roh cast a sideways glance at Neith and the feeble human practically clinging to the hem of her shirt. How in the realm did they make it through the hunt? The human’s practically on his damn deathbed. But when Neith smiled at her, the hardness within Roh softened and the sigh that escaped her was one of relief. It was nice to see a friendly face, it was nice to be met with something other than hostility and cunning. As a fellow Lower Sector competitor, Neith understood where Roh came from and there was much comfort to be found in that. So, Roh smiled back.
‘How did you find yesterday?’ Roh asked quietly as they moved onto the next historical scene.
‘Terrifying.’
Roh nodded. ‘Me too.’ She glanced at Neith’s human. ‘Must be hard with an old one like that.’
‘His name is Aillard,’ Neith said, with a note of fondness.
Aillard turned at the sound of his name and gave Neith a somewhat toothless grin.
Neith laughed softly. ‘We’re a good team, aren’t we, Aillard?’
Interesting, Roh mused. Neith hadn’t struck Roh as a human-lover, and yet she conversed with the old man as though … as though they were friends.
Roh didn’t realise she was frowning until Odi frowned back at her. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she muttered.
Neith chatted away at her side as they continued through the Passage of Kings. ‘Can you believe the sleeping quarters up here?’ she was saying. ‘I swear you could fit the water-runner common room in mine five times over!’
Roh’s skin prickled as she became conscious of Neith’s voice echoing. She could hear no other voices and she realised why. No one else was talking, not like Neith. This was a sacred site.
‘And the food. Have you ever —’
‘Neith,’ Roh interjected in a whisper, peering after the other competitors who had trudged ahead.
‘Hmm?’
‘Perhaps we should explore the passage? Quietly?’ Before Neith could answer, Roh peeled away from the water runner and her human and led Odi deeper into the passage, silently hoping that Neith wouldn’t be offended.
They passed the mosaics of dozens and dozens of previous rulers, the coral crown resting atop their heads, flanked by their Councils of Seven Elders. The vastness of their history, millennia rich with detail Roh had never encountered, left her breathless. Who was she in the face of all this? For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine her name, her story being carved here. She pictured a time, millennia in the future, where young cyrens were told the great tale of Rohesia the … What would they call her?
She paused at a new set of tiles, recognis
ing the overly long talons of Asros the Conqueror. He was the second-most recent ruler before Queen Delja. Asros had been known for his brutality, and the scenes sprawling across the tunnel walls depicted as much. His long talons slashed through humans and cyrens alike as his greed gave birth to a campaign that would see cyrens attempt to conquer the shores of the human realms as well as their seas. The very one Roh and Odi had briefly mentioned during one of their first encounters.
‘The Age of Chaos,’ Roh said quietly, taking in the sight of the cyren army inflicting their death chorus upon not one, but three human warships. It was the bones of these crews that adorned much of the southern end of the Great Hall.
‘Who’s this?’ Odi was pointing to a female cyren wearing a trailing cape standing beside King Asros.
Roh didn’t have to dig deep for the memory of that figure. ‘It’s Freya, one of Asros’ consorts. She saw how many cyren lives were being forfeited during his rule and she tried to stop his warmongering for over a century. She was well known amongst our kind – the people called her Ramehra.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Chosen Majesty, or “chosen by the people”. It’s an ancient phrase in Old Saddorien. As far as I know, that term has never been bestowed on another ruler in our history, only Freya. It’s a term of the utmost respect, and to be called it is the highest honour.’
‘No one calls your queen a … Ramra?’
‘Ramehra,’ Roh corrected. ‘And no. Not yet. Come on.’ She tugged Odi’s sleeve, aware that Neith and Aillard were closing in on them once again. Roh wasn’t ready to leave their rich history for incessant chatter just yet.
‘The Age of Chaos led to many cyren deaths,’ she whispered to Odi. ‘It’s one of the reasons we do not rule the seas above as we once did.’
‘How did it end?’
A Lair of Bones Page 16