by Ashley Capes
Now he gave one of the damnable peaceful smiles that all cultists tended to wear – the fool was worse than Pevin had been. “We are here to serve Mishalar and her First Servants.”
Flir shrugged; there was never any use trying to talk to them. “Well, thank you again for what you’ve done.”
She slipped through the tables, up the stairs and to Pevin’s room, where she found the man sitting up, brow furrowed as he prodded the bandages wrapped around his torso.
“Do you think we took a few ribs out?” she asked.
He chuckled, then winced. “No, just testing. I don’t remember... what happened?”
“Pirates happened.”
He closed his eyes as he nodded. “Ah. The dead of night – the fire. I assume someone found us. We’re in Whiteport then?”
“Yes. After a brush with the governor we’ve been taken in by cultists. Kanis is collecting supplies, think you can travel?”
“Find me a cart and I’ll manage, dilar.”
“Right.”
Pevin straightened. “Wait. Did you mention the governor? Mildavir?”
“Yes. Distant relative to the old king, as I recall.”
“He has not forgotten you or Kanis.”
“True.”
“The past haunts, does it not?”
She nodded. “So it does, though the ghost is closer now.”
“Do you sometimes wish things had been different?” he asked.
“I never took you for a sympathiser for the monarchy, Pevin.”
He stood slowly, replacing his tunic as he shook his head. “King Chaak and his ilk were hardly ideal. Even before you and Kanis got involved with the first Conclave there were dark rumours about his plans for Renovar. No, I’m just making an observation, dilar.”
“Which is?”
“That your life would be easier right now if the coup hadn’t taken place.”
“That we’ll never know, though you’re probably right,” she said. “But I’d probably still be a fool too; my mistakes simply would have been different.”
“Very philosophical, dilar.”
“Thank you. Now let’s finish up with all the history and get our sights back on the future; namely Enar. They’re not going to move the city closer just for us.”
21. Fiore
There was nothing to do.
Fi paced the room. Five steps from the door to the silver-lined mirror on the opposite wall. Giovan lay on the big bed, propped against the wall, his eyes closed. The fabric itself was like everything in the Second Tier, richly-coloured and expensive-looking. The blankets even had tassels – useless but pretty things.
The Ecsoli man sat on a chair near the window, looking down into the street. He was watching for fake Ecsoli, yet nothing had happened in who knew how long? Even the voice from the green light had abandoned her.
“This is pretty boring, Giovan.” She sat on the bed with a sigh.
“If we catch one of the imposters I’ll let you kick him. How does that sound?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Yes, I am.” He had not opened his eyes yet.
The Ecsoli rose, speaking as he did. As before, Fi did not understand but Giovan did. He answered as he approached the window, and they continued to speak in hushed voices. Fi crept closer.
Down in the street, a figure in a blue cloak stood watching the inn.
He didn’t move. Even his mask seemed too still – at least, until two real Ecsoli burst from the inn to charge across the street. The man in blue spun, fleeing down an alley.
“Ana’s Hide,” Giovan snapped. He started for the door, nearly dragging the Ecsoli on the chair with him. “Stay here,” he shouted over his shoulder, then it was only his footsteps clambering down the staircase.
Fi frowned after him. Did he think she was useless? She could help if he let her. Wasn’t that what Lord Abrensi wanted?
Fiore?
She froze. There was the voice again!
“Yes?”
There’s a friend of Lord Abrensi down in the common room. We need your help.
Fi frowned. Just what sort of friend? “How?”
He is called Enso; he will be wearing black. He has a message for Lord Abrensi.
“And you want me to deliver it? Not Giovan?”
He is quite busy, don’t you think? Enso will explain more but you must hurry, he has another meeting after seeing you.
Fiore frowned; it wasn’t right to keep people waiting. Wasn’t that what Father Canto used to say? But why did the voice need her? Was it because she was a Singer? Green flickered in her mind; easing her doubts. Yes, that was why. She was a Singer; Giovan might not understand.
She started down the stairs, pausing at the bottom. The inn was busy. Most people looked just like everyone else, only a few seemed to be real Ecsoli, sitting with a pair of Shield. Almost hidden in a corner was a man in black. He was thin, and he was wrinkling his nose at the drink before him. He sat alone.
It had to be Enso.
Fi slipped through the tables and chairs, sitting before the man. “Hello.”
“Ah, Fiore. Thank you for seeing me.” His smile was... unpleasant somehow, she couldn’t put a finger on exactly why.
“You have a message for me?”
He reached into a pocket in his robe and bought forth a thin scroll, which he handed over. “Learn this, please – but do not sing it for anyone but Abrensi.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Only for people who are not Singers. Abrensi told me to make sure you understood that. You’re safe; the song doesn’t work on Storm Singers.”
“What does it do?” she asked as she unrolled it. The words were unfamiliar – old words like the Song of Sleep – but she knew, with just a little practise, she’d get it right.
He shrugged. “Lord Abrensi didn’t say, he just told me it was important.” The man stood. “It took me two whole months to find this, Fiore, make sure you don’t lose it.”
“You can trust me,” she said.
“Good girl.” He smiled again as he left.
Fi rushed back upstairs and closed the door behind her. She hopped up onto the bed, twisting her feet into the blanket and began sounding out the old words.
By the time Giovan returned – alone – she knew the song well enough. Like the Song of Sleep, it wasn’t long or difficult but it was somehow… deeper and the words were longer. It was difficult to sing quickly. It seemed to demand a slower pace even than the Song of Sleep.
“We’re heading back to the palace,” he said, anger in his voice.
She sat up. “What happened?”
“We lost the fake, so we split up but the real Ecsoli never came back. I explained exactly where we had to meet up and they understood when. I was sure.”
“You think they ran away?”
“Looks likely.” He collected his short bow. “Come on, Beanpole. Let’s go back.”
She jumped down. “What about the others?”
“They have their orders.”
This time Giovan moved quickly through the darkening Tier and back into the palace. She had to half-run to keep up and so black was his mood that he did not even smile when he sent her off with the nearest servant. Eventually, she reached Lord Abrensi’s chambers. Silver lamps burned either side of the oaken doors – marked with the same lightning bolt as his robe.
Fi hadn’t even needed to knock – since the servant did that before bowing and disappearing back into the maze of chilly halls.
The door eventually opened, Lord Abrensi poking his head out. His hair was a mess, as before and when he saw her he blinked. “Fiore, you have returned early.”
“Have I?”
“Possibly.” He opened the door wider. “Come in, how did Giovan’s search go?”
“Not very well,” she said, explaining further as she crossed the heavy carpet. It was a bright blue and so deep that her feet actually sunk into it a little. What flower or rock could make such colour?
“Hmmm,” Lord Abrensi said as he moved to a long table and began arranging papers. “And what of your own role, did you need to Sing?”
She shook her head. “No. Giovan left me in the room just as the chase started – but I did meet your messenger. He said he found an important song.”
The Storm Singer stopped. “My messenger?”
“Yes. Enso. He said I had to keep the song hidden, because it might be dangerous but that it wouldn’t hurt Singers.”
“I see. Can you describe this messenger?”
She did so, handing over the scroll. “Here is the song.”
Lord Abrensi frowned when he unrolled it. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow as he returned the scroll. It was empty! Fiore peered closer and there wasn’t even a trace of the sharp writing anymore. “But it was there before.”
Lord Abrensi sighed. “Could you write it?”
“No. But I memorised it.” She opened her mouth, singing the first word but Lord Abrensi raised a hand. She stopped.
“Best to learn a little more about this Enso, I think – and not before tomorrow.” He returned to his desk, hands flashing as he set things in order much more quickly than before. “For now, it’s best you found quarters of your own, your own indeed. I will arrange for the kitchen to make you something nice too.”
Green flickered, near-blinding.
Fi started to sing – her mouth moving of its own accord. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t explain her shock, couldn’t even frown. Lord Abrensi spun. “Halt.” The command echoed around the room, rattling the window.
But her song flowed on.
She raised her hands, meaning to cover her mouth, but her arms stiffened and locked, halfway to her face. What was happening? Was the voice forcing her to sing? But why? Lord Abrensi reached for her but the final line was free and silence followed.
His eyes were wide and his mouth agape as he twisted his torso. It was as if he could not move his feet. And now Fi could move – she stumbled back from the shock on the Storm Singer’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “It wasn’t me.”
Lord Abrensi spoke – but his voice was silent, only his lips moved. A sad smile now replaced his shock and he shook his head. Was he saying that she was not to blame? Or that she was useless? What? What? What?
“What can I do?”
Again, Lord Abrensi could not answer. He shrugged and by the time his shoulders settled he had grown completely still. He did not even appear to be breathing – and worse, a grey colour was creeping up his throat. When it reached his cheeks and then muted his bright blue eyes, she choked out a gasp.
Every part of the man was solid and hard as stone – right down to the folds in his robe, like a perfect statue.
What had she done?
It is the Song of Stone, Fiore. And you sang beautifully.
“But I didn’t want this. He could have changed my life! Why did you do that? Why did you use me?”
Don’t worry. It is for the best.
“How?” she cried. “For you?”
Of course for me, but do not worry. You will benefit too. The voice paused. Now go and report this news but know that you will not be able to mention me or the Song of Stone. For others, it is as if I do not exist.
“Who are you?” Fi demanded.
I am Vipera.
22. Notch
The King City Paradisum spread beneath the palace walls in a mighty swarm of stone and marble; a harrowing display of power and wealth. Even its thoroughfares were set with patterns, to distinguish street from street. The sheer manpower to have paved such a mammoth place was unfathomable. Beside it, Anaskar stood as a poor shadow – yet a sudden urge to return struck Notch as he stared across the viper’s nest, as Alosus called Paradisum.
But return wasn’t an option. Sofia needed him.
Alosus pointed left of the harbour to a quarter of the city that bore water for streets. It glittered in the sunlight, small boats sliding along between vine-cloaked buildings, roof gardens a riot of flowering shrubs. “Remember, if you head within there is only one way out: the mouth.”
“Will I need to know this, Alosus?” he asked. “We don’t have plans to go there, do we?”
“No. But if we are separated I want you to have a passing knowledge of the city, of places to avoid.”
Notch nodded. “Very well. What of the ruins?” Not too far below, set off to the right and half-concealed by a wall in some disrepair, was what looked like a palace. Soot and shadow clung to the crumbling walls and windows. It was smaller, far lesser than the lion-headed monster that reared up behind them. A coldness seemed to emanate from the silent parapets and the central tower, despite the hot sun.
“Abandoned by the Second Leo Family after a fire. Rumoured to be started by the jealous Silver Wave. Entry is forbidden in honour of the victims. There is nothing within of note – but it is worth avoiding.” He pointed to a more central row, directly beneath the palace, where an enormous square stood lined by what looked like Guild Halls. They were not bright marble, but a darker bluestone and while they lacked the grandeur of the rest of the city they bore a humility that Notch preferred. “If you are seeking shelter, the inns will require exorbitant fees so seek the Steel Guild. Ask for Desaphilus, he owes me a favour.”
A voice echoed up from below. “The Royal Mare will see you now.”
Finally. They’d been waiting half the day already. Notch started down the stairs, Alosus close behind. At the base of the wall, a pair of blue-cloaks – or Os-Bellator as they were named here ‒ waited to escort them toward a narrow wooden path. Notch was able to translate the name to ‘war bones’ though he was probably a little off.
Almost like the planks of a pier, the wooden path was conspicuous, being surrounded by flagstones as it was. It led away from the wall and directly toward the main buildings of the palace, whose arches were cast in shadow from the lion’s mane and other upper storeys.
The moment both Os-Ballator reached the wood they stopped, gesturing for Notch to join them. Alosus did so too, only he wore a deep frown. “Stay still,” one blue-cloak said as he stomped a simple pattern on the planking.
Grinding sounds came from below and the planks began to move. They slid toward the palace as if by magic, carrying everyone closer and closer to the arches. “What magic is this?” Notch asked.
“No magic,” Alosus said. “My enslaved countrymen toil below us to provide such luxuries to the palace.”
Notch looked down. The boards were too close together to see anything – but he started to step free of the planks anyway. There was no way he would let a slave carry him when his own two legs worked. Alosus caught his shoulder, his heavy hand pulling Notch back. “It would not do well to insult the Mare’s hospitality.”
Notch answered in Anaskari. “That’s not the insult here.”
“I know. Believe me, Notch.”
The walkway soon delivered them beneath the first arch, marble carved with gold. If anything, the wooden walkway was more out of place where it cut a perfectly straight line through the marble floors. They passed exotic plants with long, gleaming blue and purple leaves, each settled in huge ceramic pots, and paintings of epic battles on canvases that covered entire walls. The frames bore silver scrollwork ‒ mostly lions or waves.
It was all so unnecessary. So much wealth in one place... the frame of a single painting alone would have been sold for more than he’d earn in all his years as a soldier.
The walkway stopped at a narrow staircase with ornate hand rails.
At the top, a woman waited, watching as they began their ascent. Her dark hair was arranged atop her head, held in place with jewelled netting. She wore a charcoal-coloured robe open at the throat and split at the knee – the tanned skin of her leg revealed when she shifted. The closer he climbed, the more striking she appeared; fine features, dark eyes ringed with kohl and a generous smile.
But it was the smile that gave him pause. Was it welcoming alone? Or did something else lurk within, something predatory?
“Welcome to Paradisum,” she said, her voice soothing. “Alosus of the Gigansi and Captain Medoro from the New Land, please follow me to a place where you can be comfortable while you wait.” To the blue-cloaks she said, “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Their new guide started along another marble hall. She did not offer a name or even speak again as they walked and Alosus seemed inclined to silence also. Notch followed suit until they reached an alcove. Empty weapon racks lined the walls, each set with open skeleton hands, and the woman gestured to them. “You will have to leave all weapons and bones here.”
One at a time, Alosus placed his sickle and belt knife in the rack, the bone hands clasping the grips.
Notch hesitated, not only due to the disturbing bone magic. “It is my father’s sword,” he said, once again doing his best to use the old language properly. And more, he did not wish to give up the bracers either. Could they even be considered weapons?
The woman only smiled at him. “None shall take it, I assure you – simply touch the hands when you place your sword within and they will only open for you, thereafter.”
An impressive promise and it would have to be enough. Notch added his sword and belt knife and dagger to the rack, touching the bones as he did, and followed Alosus into the next room. It was as opulent as the others, but this one bore plush furniture and a large balcony. The guide showed them to chairs, where chilled lemon-water had been placed, and then turned for the door.
“The Royal Mare will see you soon.” Her gaze lingered on Notch, a thoughtful expression on her face. “As I hope to also, New Land Man. You are causing quite the stir here in the palace.”
And then she was gone, her parting gift a faint sense of unease that settled over Notch. “Who was that?”
Alosus switched to Anaskari. “As a precaution, let’s avoid the old tongue while we are alone.”
“Is that enough? Some Ecsoli learnt Anaskari during the occupation.”
“Few, yes. And so we must be careful no matter which language we use.”