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Power & Majesty

Page 13

by Tansy Rayner Roberts


  ‘Around here? Breathing in and out is too much to hope for.’ Poet waved a careless gesture at the two courtesi in the shadows and they melted back out of sight. ‘A word of advice for you, Your Kingliness.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  It was no good trying to bully Poet. He had a history of enjoying pain. Better to hear his advice and judge later whether it was anything more than word games.

  ‘Dhynar’s the one to watch out for.’

  Ashiol laughed at that. ‘Too late for that warning. I left him and his pets in a bleeding heap a few minutes ago. I wouldn’t call him a threat—just a boy with big ideas.’

  Poet wasn’t laughing. ‘Careful, old man. Your prejudice is showing. Remember me as a boy? Remember Garnet? I even heard a rumour that you were a boy once, a right little sweetheart by all accounts. Dhynar is the worst of us right now. He’s been sucking up power left, right and centre, and he’s ambitious enough to stick a blade in your back if you let him. He doesn’t know any better. That’s what makes him dangerous.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ashiol said.

  What had Dhynar done to Poet to make him so keen to mark him out? Don’t get involved. You don’t care about these people. You’re going to find your escape route and leave them all to their petty duels and grand heroics.

  ‘Don’t thank me, kitten,’ said Poet. ‘Just don’t leave us. We need a strong King right now.’

  ‘If not a good one?’

  Poet’s smile widened and he drew up his feet. ‘Can’t have everything.’

  Ashiol shook his head and headed back to the broken stone steps. The sooner I hear the truth from Heliora, the sooner I can get out of this crazy place.

  Behind him, Poet started singing again, the cheerful tune following Ashiol as he left the forgotten garden.

  She was the prettiest shepherdess

  And oh, her kiss was sweet.

  I bruised her mouth and tore her dress

  And ravished her there in the sleet.

  La la la la la la la la…

  The Forum was the same as it had been for three hundred years: a space of majestic public buildings and stately temples, surrounded by a shambles of ramshackle stalls and tents belonging to merchants, food vendors and public hecklers. Ashiol cut across the Forum, heading up to the Basilica.

  The Alexandrine Basilica had once been the largest church in the known world, a tremendous work constructed by the fourth Duc d’Aufleur, mad old Ilexandros. His successor, Duc Giulio Gauget, declared the Basilica to be an unholy abomination and stripped its rich furnishings to ornament his own decadent Palazzo. Aufleur was not the kind of city to let such valuable public space go to waste. Hollowed out and falling down, the Basilica had been converted into a marketplace. A merchant’s lot here was worth a small fortune—people had died in the riots fought over square inches of this valuable property. Heliora had never told anyone how she acquired her coveted space in the very centre of the Basilica, but Ashiol had no doubt that ‘being friendly’ to council officials had a lot to do with it.

  There was the usual gang of lovelorn females outside Heliora’s tent, waiting their turn to have their fortune told by the exotic and romantic figure within. Madama Fortuna’s Pavilion of Mystery was a gorgeous piece of work. It had started out as a basic carnivale tent, but had been primped and prettied up with so much purple satin, gold voile and beaded gauze that you would swear it had been imported directly from one of the glamorous Zafiran cities that featured heavily in the djinn-and-princessa cabaret shows that were popular this year.

  The demmes in the queue entertained themselves by swapping snatches of gossip they had heard about the woman inside the pavilion, who called herself Madama Fortuna. Most of them believed that she was a genuine Ultana, thrown out of her harem when her husband discovered her mystical powers. She had then nearly been burned as a witch in Zafir, but was spirited to the western lands by helpful spirits, or, in an alternative version of the story, handsome grain pirates.

  Ashiol couldn’t help smirking as he listened to the chatter. The snot-nosed kid pickpocket who had stumbled into the world of the Creature Court fifteen years ago had been a born-and-bred Aufleur brat, a street baby with the ability to reinvent herself at any opportunity. Hel had never even been as far east as Diamagne. Last time he saw her, her tent had been Gipsetta’s Grotto, bright with scarlet cotton, sprigs of heather, painted flowers and iron luck-charms. The rumours then had been of a carnivale queen kidnapped from her tribe and sold into slavery. That was the year that gipsy musettes were the theatrical fashion. Before that, she had been an Islandser princessa with waist-length red hair and seventeen dead warrior brothers who told her secrets from the spirit world.

  Ashiol circled around the tent and unpegged a silky back panel, letting himself inside.

  As with all decent carnivale tents, there was a compartment at the back, veiled from the customer, where the merchant could hide all of their possessions that didn’t fit in with the image they wished to present. Heliora’s storage space was crammed with costumes of all kinds, an assortment of wigs, and bundles of the coloured candles and incense sticks she used to set the mood for her clients. There was also a narrow pallet made up as a bed and a few sturdy trunks stacked beside it. Saints and devils, was she living here? Ashiol didn’t blame her for keeping her distance from the Creature Court, but it seemed a little excessive to set up house in the back of a fortune-telling tent.

  Incense was burning in the main pavilion. Sandalwood and cinnamon scratched at his throat, making him want to cough and splutter. He hated scented smoke.

  ‘You have been lost,’ said a throaty female voice, so calm and familiar that the hairs stood up on Ashiol’s arms. ‘But you are finding your way now, and you are on the right path to the future you should have had.’

  He touched the shimmering curtain of dyed blue gauze. On the other side, which glowed with the light of far too many candles, two women sat at a small round table. A large domed crystal lay on the table between them.

  ‘But is there love in that future?’ asked the client. She was a painfully thin demoiselle in an expensive festival gown. Even through the veil of coloured gauze, Ashiol could read desperation in her eyes.

  ‘When you least expect it,’ said the fortune-teller. ‘A stranger will show you the way.’

  Ashiol pushed the curtain aside. ‘I hope he’s going to be tall, dark and handsome.’

  The client turned, her prim face wavering between embarrassment and outrage at the interruption.

  Heliora tilted her head to gaze at Ashiol for a long moment. ‘I’m sorry, demoiselle,’ she said finally. ‘I will have to end this session.’

  ‘I paid for the full hour,’ protested the client.

  Heliora produced a shining gold coin and moved the demoiselle to the tent flap with practised poise. ‘Sadly, even one such as I, in touch with all the Spirits of Fortune, cannot always know where the day will take me.’

  She secured a ‘Closed for Religious Observances’ sign to the outside of her silken door. A chorus of disappointed moans rose up from the waiting women as Heliora ducked back inside the tent, breathless.

  Despite the ridiculous outfit of purple satin, beaded breast-cups and jangling bells, not to mention the shiny black wig and gilded cosmetick lines on her eyes and mouth, this was still his Hel. For the first time since he had returned to this saints-forsaken city, Ashiol truly felt like smiling.

  ‘How dare you be back for two days and not come and see me until now!’ she said in a rush, her bright eyes roaming over him as if she had to check that every inch was intact.

  ‘Word travels fast.’

  ‘It does when you attend public parades.’ There was an edge to Hel’s voice.

  How bad had it been for her, these last five years? Ashiol wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  ‘You never did have much patience,’ he said, trying to lighten the tone of their banter. The longer I stay here, the more people I’ll have to fight, Hel. Don’t mak
e me fight you.

  Heliora pulled off the shiny black wig, revealing a shaven scalp. She strolled to the back of her tent, playing the hostess. ‘Something to drink? Tea’s too expensive this season what with the river raids, and I can’t heat water very well in here, but I’ve a cool lemon posset that’s very refreshing.’

  Ashiol reached out and touched her arm as she passed him. ‘Brat.’

  She turned and hugged him quickly. She smelled of smoke and rose oils. ‘You’re here because you need something, not because you missed me,’ she said, the words muffled against his chest.

  ‘I missed you,’ said Ashiol. He rubbed the stubble of her hair under his thumb, remembering the texture. ‘But this isn’t a holiday. I don’t have time to run around catching up with old friends for the sake of it.’

  ‘I know that.’ Heliora pulled away and sat at her table, motioning for him to do the same. She calmly wiped emotion from her face. ‘Business, then. You don’t want to be the Power and Majesty.’

  Ashiol sat opposite her and pinched out the stem of incense that was sending out curls of pungent smoke. ‘Not if I can help it. What have you seen lately?’

  Heliora raised one knee and rested her chin on it. ‘I didn’t see Garnet fall until the sky swallowed him. There were no warnings he was going to be lost. I don’t think it was supposed to happen.’

  ‘Then how do you explain me happening to be in the city within a day of his death?’ Ashiol challenged.

  She grinned like a kid at him. ‘Are you asking me if you’re destined to take his place? That’s not the Ash I know.’

  ‘Me neither. To be honest, I want you to guarantee me that I’m not destined for the top spot.’

  ‘Can’t do that.’

  ‘I know. But I’ll take what I can get.’

  Heliora made a face at him. She wasn’t much younger than Ashiol, but, when her eyes were open and sparkling, she looked like the urchin he remembered. ‘I didn’t see you coming back,’ she said after a moment. ‘I haven’t seen much of anything lately, except mice.’

  That was of interest. Ashiol leaned forward. ‘Mice. Not rats?’

  ‘If it was Poet, I’d say so,’ said Heliora, irritated. ‘Little brown mice. There are no mice in the Creature Court, so that means someone new. I’ve seen the sentinels bladed again.’

  ‘I saw to that.’

  ‘About frigging time.’ She looked hard at him. ‘We needed you years ago.’

  ‘I was here years ago. Remember how that turned out?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Heliora was unconvinced. ‘Roses,’ she said. ‘I’ve been dreaming of roses.’

  ‘On a dress?’

  ‘Mmm, I heard about the show you put on at the Floralia parade,’ she said dryly. ‘Ripping the Duchessa’s new frock to threads and petals—all very symbolic. No, not a dress. Just roses. But I don’t think they have anything to do with you. Maybe more to do with me.’

  ‘Nothing about another Creature King?’

  ‘You don’t get out of it that easily, old man.’

  ‘I’m serious, Hel.’

  ‘So am I! You want there to be another Creature King so you can duck out on your responsibility, just like you did when you left us to Garnet’s mercy.’

  ‘I’ve felt it,’ he said angrily. ‘Felt the traces of another King, somewhere in this city. We can’t afford to ignore that. Especially since…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think it’s a woman,’ said Ashiol. ‘I think there’s a female Creature King in the city.’ Heliora didn’t respond to that. He pressed on. ‘I know it’s impossible and stupid and crazy; I know there’s never been one before. But if it’s true, then it’s different. It’s something new. Maybe…maybe she can be a different kind of Power and Majesty. Maybe she won’t become another Garnet.’

  ‘Maybe you won’t,’ Heliora shot back. ‘You’re a good man, Ashiol, why won’t you believe that?’

  ‘Garnet was a good man. He was the best of men—better than me. And then he became Power and Majesty.’

  ‘You haven’t grieved for him yet,’ Heliora said softly.

  The incense stem was still puffing out smoke. Ashiol wrapped his fist around it, letting its spark sting his palm. ‘I grieved for Garnet the first time he killed a courteso to show them all who was boss. I grieved every time I saw him torture a friend.’ He drew a finger across his cheekbone, up past his ear. ‘And the first time he scarred me, I stopped grieving. Don’t tell me it’s in my future to take his place as the ringmaster to a twisted menagerie of monsters and clowns. Don’t do that to me, Hel.’

  ‘I haven’t dreamed your future.’

  ‘You could. You’re the Seer.’

  Her eyes were troubled. ‘You want me to Look?’

  As the seer of the Creature Court, Heliora received glimpses and visions of the futures on a daily basis, but searching for a specific future was far more difficult and dangerous.

  ‘I need to know which reign holds the most hope—mine or hers.’

  ‘And you’re prepared to deal with the consequences?’

  Ashiol’s mouth twisted a little. ‘It’s not exactly a hardship for me, Hel. I’ll bring you back if you get lost. I’ve done it before.’

  ‘A Creature King could order me to do this, not ask.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that.’ He paused. ‘But you will, won’t you? For the Court, for Aufleur.’ No orders here, just emotional blackmail, served raw and cold.

  Hel gave him a withering look. Her face told him that she knew exactly what he thought of the Court and Aufleur, and that she was damned if they would mean any more to her than they did to him. ‘Oh no, Ashiol Creature King. You don’t get to know what I’m doing it for.’

  Heliora folded the table away to give herself floor space. She extinguished every candle, and lit a lantern instead. She sat in the centre of her florid purple and gold carpet, and motioned Ashiol to sit opposite her. It was a long time since they had done this together.

  ‘No candles?’ he asked.

  ‘You might remember how inconvenient they can be.’

  He recalled the burning sensation of hot wax biting into his back as he rolled across the cold concrete floor of the Arches. ‘Good point.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve summoned the futures.’

  ‘Garnet never asked you to?’

  ‘He asked.’

  Not for the first time, Ashiol was profoundly glad that he was one of Heliora’s favourite people. ‘You don’t have to—’

  ‘Shut up, Ash.’

  She breathed deeply for a while, then reached out and found his hands. Her palms were soft and warm. After that, she was silent and still for a long time. Ashiol’s foot began to cramp, but he didn’t move, afraid to disturb her. Did it usually take this long?

  Hel’s eyes snapped open suddenly, her pupils darting back and forth around the room. This was the hardest part for her to manage—she wasn’t Looking at the future but the futures, so many that she could barely control the thousands, millions of visions that assaulted her.

  ‘Help me narrow it down, Ash.’

  ‘Futures where I am the next Power and Majesty,’ he commanded.

  She nodded, her eyes still darting around. ‘It’s going to be a bad year.’

  ‘I could have told you that.’

  ‘There are some possibilities here. Positive futures. The city is still in one piece in most of them.’

  ‘Good to know. What about the bad futures?’

  ‘You know the worst of it. You wake up screaming over the worst possibilities. Death, torture, abuse of power, and you on the wrong side of all of it. That’s there, in spades. Shovels too.’

  ‘What are my chances of making it work?’ he asked urgently.

  Heliora laughed, a hollow laugh not quite her own. ‘You want numbers? Statistics? I’m not going to count them, pet. Some futures work out and some don’t. There’s no perfect path.’

  ‘You must be able to tell me more t
han that.’

  ‘Just one thing.’ She squeezed his hands tightly in her own. ‘Your chances are better of making it—of being a good Power and Majesty—if she’s with you.’

  Ashiol sucked in air. ‘So she is a Creature King.’

  ‘Oh, that and more. You were right: she’s different. She’ll make a difference, standing at your side.’

  ‘What about if I’m standing at her side? If she is the Power and Majesty?’

  Heliora’s pupils flickered faster and faster. Her body twitched a little, a sign that it was getting too much for her. ‘That’s another thing entirely.’

  ‘Well? What kind of Power and Majesty does she make?’ Ashiol knew he was being too pushy, but they were running out of time.

  Heliora sighed. ‘She doesn’t know how the Court works. It’s hard enough for a sleeper courteso to adapt, or a Lord, anyone who comes late to their animor. There’s a reason most of us join this world young. She loses the battle, loses the city, loses herself…it’s crazy to expect her to go in blind like this. It’s unfair.’

  ‘I don’t want your opinion, I want the future,’ he growled.

  ‘They’ll eat her alive.’

  ‘Apart from that?’

  ‘That’s if she makes it at all. Her body’s not built for this kind of power. Remember the story of Samara? This demme has that fate in her futures too: blown apart from the inside by the animor.’

  ‘What else?’

  Heliora tilted her head, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was Seeing in the many futures. ‘It’s different.’

  ‘The Court, or the city?’

  ‘Both. She makes it different somehow…’

  ‘Different good, or different dead?’

  ‘Both. Oh!’ Heliora pulled her hands away from his, holding her head. ‘Frig, it hurts.’

  ‘Come back, brat. That’s enough.’

  Heliora’s pupils slowed. ‘She can be a better Power and Majesty than you could ever imagine,’ she said in a hoarse voice, the one that meant she was channelling a direct vision. ‘Not just strong, but…there’s a chance that she’ll make the Creature Court what it should have been, what it always should have been. She’s worth the risk, Ash. But whichever way it falls, you won’t have her for long.’ She slumped forward into his arms.

 

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