"By ‘the top’ he means himself," said Ilaan.
Niico and Rhoosa shared a look, and she said, "Oh, did you hear? I’m an aunt. Kaaya had a girl." They all lifted their glasses. "No bigger than a button. Kaaya’s going to call her Thayree. The naming party is soon, you all should come." She smiled at Aelle. "Perhaps you can convince our friend over there to come as well."
Before Aelle answered, Rhuun held up his own glass. "Of course I’ll come to her party. I’m sure my mother will send a gift along with me."
It always amazed Rhuun how Aelle could smile and frown at the same time.
The game continued, and Niico flared nearly Daala’s entire hand. She pushed back from the table. "You’re all just better liars than me," she told them, and sat on the couch next to Rhuun. "Look at this mess," she said. Niico’s last flare had left her with nothing but half a suite of fractured rock, not even a clan card. There was no way she could win.
"Me again!" Niico declared. "Rho, I insist you shimmer us somewhere interesting. Not that old pile of rocks again. Surprise me." She gladly agreed, and with hands together, they all vanished.
Rhuun and Daala looked at each other for a moment. She looked as if she was waiting for him to say something. Or do something. He cleared his throat and stood, reaching for the nearly empty bottle. "Going to get some water and clear my head," he said. "Be right back."
At first it seemed like he’d escaped successfully. He sat on the stone tiled floor of Aelle’s courtyard, and leaned back against the wall. There was enough sarave left in the bottle for another swallow, and he closed his eyes. Even the wind had dropped, it was perfectly quiet.
Suddenly: hands on his chest, and a swath of fabric across his legs. Lips on his mouth. And it wasn’t Aelle. But he didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t push her away. He imagined for a second that it was Rhoosa, kissing him. Then it was Gwenyth. Then he hesitated. He could hardly believe one woman wanted to kiss him, and now here was a second one. It might never happen again. But finally he pulled away and murmured, "Daala. What are you doing?"
"You know," she answered.
"They’ll be back any second." She reached for him again, and he gently pushed her off his lap. "Go back inside."
"She doesn’t have to know," Daala said.
Many months later, he would have time to consider which was the worse mistake: hesitating for that long moment, or laughing at her.
"Why are you laughing?" she hissed. "What’s so funny?"
"Well, of course she’d know, I’d tell her. But I won’t if you go back inside. We’ll forget about this."
She got up and smoothed her tan tunic. Her face was crimson. "She’s only with you because of your mother. You think she loves you? She feels sorry for you." She turned and raced back into the house.
He rapped the back of his head against the wall, wishing he was far more drunk. Or somewhere else, somewhere far away. Or both. "That’s not true," he said, although she had already gone. Is it?
Chapter 21
The girl traced a finger down the leather binding of an ancient looking tome.
"Are all of these yours, my Lord? Have you read them all?"
He scowled at her. "Come away from there. It doesn’t become a woman to be overly interested in books."
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 62
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
The Guardhouse
Even before the war, the Order of the Veil and the Door had no love for demons. And now that the narrative was up to the Order, the books were written accordingly.
Brother Blue helped to write them.
It took many years for the dreams to stop and his mind to truly be quiet, but it only took months to make himself invaluable to his new master, the head cleric. The more depraved he made his demonic history, the better his meals, the softer his bed. And the cleric had a tincture to put in his wine that sometimes let him sleep without dreams. He was proud of himself; a writer after all. And when the head cleric became too feeble to lead the novices and brothers, Blue found himself appointed to the task. Write and teach, and keep The Door shut. His life was perfect. His long life—for he had already celebrated his century year, and certainly not too many people could claim that! He privately suspected ‘she’ (even in his mind, he couldn't speak her name) had cast a long-life charm on him, wanting to keep him her slave for as long as possible. And for the most part, he kept control of his wits and bowels, so he counted himself lucky. This was a life that as a poor farmer's son he could never have. If he hadn’t been lucky enough to be a Fifth, he supposed his life would have turned out very differently.
He didn't like to think about the Princess. It gave him a pain in his chest that left him weak and short of breath.
Today, though, he felt as well as an old man could. No dreams and a strong stream in the morning. Sometimes that added up to a very good day.
Today he was lecturing his class on a topic he had practically invented: demonic mythology. "The Sealing of the Door? We don’t really know what happened. In a way, yes, they attacked us," he told his wide eyed novices, "in that we are surrounded and attacked by evil every day. And they are evil—if they even still exist. Still, we must not take any chances, we must keep The Door shut. And if—The Light Preserve Us—if one of them breaks through our defenses and arrives here, We Cast Them Back. Now. What do we say is beyond the Veil?"
Scilla’s hand was up, as usual. Brother Blue had already taken note of this clever new girl. A va'Everly, well, they hadn't seen one of those in many a year. Hopefully this one would remain undamaged. But she seemed eager enough, she could turn out well. He nodded at her.
"Beyond the Veil is cold and dark. Beyond the Door is heat and noise."
"That’s correct, that’s what we say. But what does it mean? How can the unseen world be both cold and hot?" he asked.
Scilla chewed her pencil. "Is it a metaphor? For discomfort? Noisy is also unpleasant. Dark isn’t so bad, though."
"If there was never anything but dark you might feel otherwise. Of course, here there is no correct answer. And none incorrect, either. While we know what it used to be like, it’s been many years since anyone passed through the Veil and Door and returned." Many years and gone, thought Brother Blue. If they only knew, these children. Well, done is done for another year, and we remain protected.
"From this side, you mean, Brother?" Scilla said, obviously feeling as if she’d scored a point.
Blue was used to children like Scilla. A clever little girl with impertinent questions. A child who wouldn’t be missed, only fondly recalled. She was just the most recent in a long line of clever children who’d spend their lives throwing their minds, and will, at The Door. That's all it was, now—children and old men.
"Of course that’s what I meant." He looked around the classroom. "That’s the point, isn’t it? Keeping The Door shut and the Veil down? Many generations of the Families have sacrificed much for it to remain closed."
A girl near the window stuck up her hand. "Isn’t it true they sometimes come over? I heard it from my granny. She said they sneak through and steal babies."
Out of the corner of his eye, Blue noticed Scilla rolling her eyes, and hid a laugh.
"It is true that generations ago there were those few human people who could travel back and forth. But the Sealing of the Door was the end of that. As far as stealing babies, I think your Gran might have been trying to get you to behave, possibly, Maire? Now, on the subject of demons. What do we know? Very little for sure. From the records we have from before The Door was sealed, we know they were capable of unending wickedness. They were an undersized, stunted race, unable to tell each other apart. They spat flame and tore each other to pieces for sport. One can understand the temptation to escape their polluted world, whether for revenge or perversity, who is to say? We th
ankfully do not know their minds." I thought I knew her mind, mused Blue, but I could not have been more wrong. He could still clearly recall her face, and wondered how he could have been taken in by her lies. He had not spoken her name aloud for nearly a hundred years.
Brother Blue sighed and looked out the window, seemingly lost in thought. The children faded away as once again he was young, strong, and walking down a tree-lined boulevard with the most beautiful woman in any world by his side. The low murmur of the smiling, elegant demon folk around him increased in volume and he blinked and realized the children were staring and whispering nervously. He knew he had a tendency to wander off. At his great age it was expected, and no one knew the history of the Order better, so it was forgiven. He swung back around and continued at a somewhat higher volume.
"But what if one of them was tempted to come here? One of the Red Eyes? Perhaps they are curious. Certainly they are dangerous. From what we know about their side now, what with the dark and the heat and the noise, I’d want to leave it myself. It is my great hope and our mission that none of you will ever meet one in person." He rummaged briefly through the books on his desk, until he found the right one and held the painting on the page up for the class to see. The students leaned forward, studying the horrific vision, the flames, and the burning eyes. "Those who travel from the other side, we do not have conversations with them."
A wide eyed boy behind Scilla whispered, "Demons."
"And what do we do if we are unfortunate enough to encounter a visitor?"
The class answered in unison.
"We cast them back."
Scilla answered along with the rest of the class, but her little notebook was now a heretical document. She wrote: "Ask about dark."
On the other side of The Door, a pen was lifted in response. An answer was prepared. Finally, someone on the human side was ready to talk.
Chapter 22
Eriis City
20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar
100 years later, Mistran calendar
Royal Quarters
Aelle sat at the edge of the bed and gingerly flexed her wrists.
"I think you actually broke this one!" She excitedly showed him the odd angle, the swelling. "That’s excellent, shani. You’ll be leaving me behind soon."
Rhuun laughed. "Like you’d allow that." He stretched, hearing the little bones in his back creak, and glanced down at the livid bruises and burns on his stomach and legs. They were healing—not as quickly as her wrist, but he could see them already fading. They would join all the others as pale silvery marks, one more thing he had that made him different. He eyed Aelle's flawless dark golden skin and the swirl of tattoos marking a second, inked-on pair of wings that stretched from shoulder to shoulder and nearly to the cleft of her pretty, dimpled bottom. When she turned to face him, his eye was drawn to her ama and her elegant gold and jet piercings. She was perfect. Already, not a mark on her. And her hand looked nearly normal.
"Aelle..." She plucked her pale grey dress off the back of a chair and rearranged it on her slim form, turning it this way and that. Aelle had matured into a small boned woman with delicately drawn features. Her dark, arched brows over pale, rose-red eyes drew stares wherever she went. He towered over her. He towered over everyone. She was well bred enough not to mention it.
"Hmm?"
"Do you feel like this is enough? For you?" She glanced around his rather spare room, the same one he’d had his whole life. The only decorations were three framed relics, antiques from the other side taken during the war. One was a fragment of what once might have been a plate. It was blue and white and held an image of a girl and an animal of some kind. The second was a palm sized scrap of silk. The third was a ribbon of silver mesh which had been part of some long dead human's armor. The silk was by far the brightest thing in the room, and probably the whole palace.
She sat again and poked a bruise on his thigh. He winced and tried not to wince.
"I assume you're not asking me to redecorate. You know very well what I want. The line remains unbroken, what's more important than that? And if I get to help you—well... One day you may have your mother’s seat at Court. For now you are at her right hand, no? And I am at your right hand. Everyone in their place." She nodded, it was settled.
"Aelle, we've been through this. I will never have her seat."
She smiled a private sort of smile. "We'll see."
"Anyway," he continued, "all the politics. All that posturing. The only one who likes all that is Ilaan. It drives me wild with boredom. I only attend so Mother won't—"
"Won't what? Throw you out of the royal quarters? Give you the silent treatment? Make you have dinner with her three times a week instead of two?"
"Bite your tongue." She had already bitten his.
"Well," she said, trying to be reasonable, "we'll just have to make sure you are sufficiently entertained. Maybe I'll learn to divide. It's difficult but I'm certain I could do it."
He thought of joining with two of her and didn't know whether to laugh or cry—he seriously doubted he'd survive the experience.
"Or maybe you'd prefer this?" She flickered, and he blinked. Standing in front of him was a double image of himself. He looked away.
"Ugh, really Aelle. It’s bad enough one of us has to look at that. I don't know how you stand it."
She changed back into her own form.
"One becomes acclimated," she said.
"Being entertained is different from being happy," he said. "Would that life make you happy?"
"Why are you asking these things? You know it’s what I want. What we want. We will be together at Court. And one day we will share the spark—no, don't get that face. They'll look like you or they'll look like me and it'll be fine. What more is there?" She was starting to get that little line between her eyes. He hated it when she mentioned the spark; she knew full well he would never consent to passing his deformities on to another generation. But he wasn't the only one who was lately tempted to provoke.
"That's not what I meant by 'more'..." he said.
"I know exactly what you meant. That stupid book again."
"It’s not—"
"It is exceptionally stupid. Little human persons doing human person things. It’s not real. It doesn’t exist." Her skin was starting to steam.
"Of course it does. The other world—don’t you wonder? Wouldn’t you like to see it?"
She placed her palm on the center of his chest. Curls of smoke immediately started to rise.
"This is real. We exist. That other world—what do I care? The war ended and they sealed the Door and left us to die in our own filth. Well, guess what, humans? We didn't. We are here. We are alive. This is what we have and we’d all better learn to live in it. If I ever saw a human I would kill it on the spot, and you should feel the same way. I will never understand your obsession with those creatures. So yes, I do want more and that road runs through you." She frowned and looked confused for a moment. "I didn't mean it that way. I only want us to be together in the best world we can make for ourselves." She took a deep breath and smiled. He could see her centering herself. "We will do so well together at Court. Look how well we do here."
She stood up and gave the fingers of her hand a little shake. "There. Good as new. Next time perhaps we can get a flame going. I love a good singe." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "See you at dinner. Remember to dress for the performance after. Your mother expects us at first moonrise." She chuckled. "Isn't it funny how we say that? When was the last time anyone saw the moons?"
After she had gone, he leaned back on his too-short bed with a glass of sarave and encouraged his skin to knit, letting the pain slide off and go where he directed it. He regarded his chest, which was still a smoking ruin.
I shouldn't feel this at all. Or maybe it should feel like something other than pain. And for the millionth time, What is wrong with me?
As he watched, it began to mend.
He stood to dress, and consulted his reflection to make sure he was acceptably in one piece. The top of his head was cut off; after the third time, he'd gotten tired of re-hanging the mirror. Nothing new there, oval eyes just plopped onto his face, and a long straight nose, a permanent dark mark near his hairline on his left temple from whacking his head on doorframes and windows. But hardly anyone stared or whispered anymore, as Aelle had pointed out, they were more or less acclimated. Now he was met with a sliding away of the gaze a sort of invisibility that suited him very nicely.
He leaned down and examined his face more closely. He ran his hand over his chin—yes, it was time. He didn't know why his face felt like sand every week or so, or why if he did nothing it turned into hair, he only knew it was different from everyone else and so it had to go. There was only one way to change his skin, and long ago he'd discovered that showing his True Face burned the stubble to cinders. This time he watched. Sometimes he didn't. When he was younger, he'd shut his eyes tight and count to ten—that was enough. But now it seemed like too much effort. He bent down and leaned on his elbows, leaving another scorch mark on the old wooden dresser, one of many dozens. He turned, saw the seething monster in the mirror, counted, and turned again. Done.
Done or not, it would never be enough for Aelle, who wanted all eyes on her all the time. And with her face and bearing, it was proper she should be admired. He had learned long ago that what she felt, she was completely confident that everyone felt. It simply did not occur to her that someone might not like to be stared at or talked about.
Aelle treated him as if he were normal, and thus to her he was normal. She knew just when to allow him to not attend yet another party, and she certainly didn't hold back on his behalf during their joining—which he thought perhaps, would have been worse. The only thing that aggravated Aelle was his study of the humans and his interest in the book. And if that was the only thing they had to argue about, well, he was grateful. He was lucky, wasn't he? She was beautiful, accomplished, clever, and her company was certainly more entertaining than dodging fireballs in the play yard. But in his heart he knew she’d never be satisfied until he replaced his mother at Court. And she still believed he'd take his mother's seat, when everyone from the head cook to the sand workers to the Mages in their dark Raasth, knew that would never come to pass.
The Sand Prince Page 11