The Book of the Night

by Pearl North

  Myr padded to his bedside and sat down. “Do you need anything?”

  “Water, please.”

  Myr helped him to sit up and drink. When he had his fill he sank back down on the bed. Po rolled to one side to face him. He could barely make out his face. His eyes glittered like starlight reflected on a still sea.

  “People are dropping dead in droves,” said Myr. “Anyone I’ve ever heard say anything critical of Thela is dead … except you.”

  “Do you see now?”

  Myr’s eyes glittered in the faint light. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Just be careful.”

  * * *

  Po stopped taking Ease. He discovered his room was no longer guarded. Perhaps Thela felt that with the pen there was no need. Or perhaps, following the purge, there simply weren’t enough guards.

  He was walking around the outer perimeter of the parade ground when he saw something glittering in the sky. It wasn’t the sun, but something reflecting the sun. As he watched, it grew larger, taking on a crescent shape he knew well.

  The bull dancers who had been practicing in the grass paused and looked up, shielding their eyes from the glare.

  The wing came closer. In fact, it seemed to be coming right at them.

  What on earth did Clauda mean by even flying over Ilysies, let alone buzzing the palace?

  His spirits rose with the thought that she was coming for him, and sank again with the realization that if that were so he’d have to explain to her what had happened to Hilloa, Baris, and Jan.

  And then his brain caught up with the rest of him, and his stomach clenched.

  Sure enough, seconds later, just as the wing was truly visible in detail, Queen Thela stepped out of the gate and onto the receiving platform, accompanied by Jolaz and several other minor dignitaries. She spotted Po and sent Uphine over to collect him. He joined the others on the platform.

  The wing crested the palace wall, raising a wind that ruffled Po’s hair and fluttered in Thela’s robes. It sank gently to the ground in the center of the yard—the bull dancers had long since scattered—and the hatchway opened.

  Clauda came out. Po remembered that day he’d been fighting with Baris in the stables when Clauda came in from flying the wing. His heart felt hot and tight, as it always did when he remembered his vanished friends, which was why he tried not to think of them.

  Po wanted to run to her, but he stayed where he was. Clauda crossed the yard and knelt at Thela’s feet. “Your Majesty, the wing and its pilot are yours to command.”

  The sight made Po ill but her words made him break out in a cold sweat.

  But then Selene emerged from the wing as well. All the moisture drained from Po’s mouth and his heart pounded. Selene? What—why?

  She, too, crossed the yard. She knelt before Thela, then prostrated herself, kissing her feet.

  She looked up at her mother and tears glittered in her eyes. “I’ve been wrong about everything. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” Thela grasped her daughter by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. They embraced.

  When the greetings were over and Steward Sopopholis was leading Clauda and Selene to their quarters, Po trailed behind. He knew Thela had changed them, but he couldn’t convince his body that they were not his rescuers. He lingered in the doorway after the steward left.

  “Po!” Clauda ran to embrace him. He held his hands out to his sides and let her arms encircle him. He rested his cheek on top of her head and closed his eyes, and for a moment he indulged the fantasy that he was safe at last.

  “Oh, Po,” said Selene, coming up beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s so good to see you again. We didn’t know what had happened to you. We searched and searched, but…”

  “Thela brought me here.”

  Selene squeezed his shoulder and Clauda released him and stepped back. “Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Selene.

  He shook his head. “She has the pen. She’s using it on you to make you say these things. She used it to kill Hilloa, Baris, and Jan. She’s killed a lot of people with it.” He lifted his hands. “She made me break my hands.”

  They stared at him in dismay. They looked at each other and back at him again. “Oh, Po,” said Clauda. “What in the world did you do to deserve such a punishment?”

  Panic dumped adrenaline into his bloodstream. This was like going mad. This wasn’t Clauda, even though it looked like her. This wasn’t Selene. They were gone just as surely as Hilloa and Baris and Jan. Only in a way, this was worse. Thela made them betray their true identities.

  “Well, whatever it was, I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson now,” said Selene. “Are you still Thela’s consort?”

  Was he? He was uncertain. She hadn’t been taking her pleasure of him since the night she’d discovered his betrayal. “Yes,” he said anyway, because what was the point of saying anything else?

  “Oh well, you’re lucky, then,” said Selene.

  “Do you remember what you said to me just before Mab took the pen?” he asked her when he found his voice again.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry. I’m afraid we all misled you, Po. In fact, my expectations of you, and those of the rest of us at the Libyrinth, were entirely unfair. It was unreasonable for us to expect you to simply shed your role as a male overnight. And even if you could have, what would have been the result? A male running around acting like a woman? Who wants that? Certainly not you, and you were wise enough to realize that, even if only instinctively. Thank goodness you clung to tradition, Po. Good for you. You’re a fine male and you have a vital role to play. You don’t need to be anything else.”

  Po couldn’t seem to breathe. His throat and chest were paralyzed. His mind raced, trying to think of something to say. There was nothing.

  Clauda stood beside Selene, nodding in agreement.

  “I have to go now,” he said, and went in search of Myr.

  He found him in his room. “Have you had any luck finding out where she keeps the pen?” he asked.

  Myr looked up. “She keeps it on her person,” he said. “She won’t be parted from it.”

  “Even when you’re alone together?”

  “That’s a laugh. She’s not visiting me.”

  “Still?”

  Myr shrugged.

  “Well you have to sneak into her chamber at night while she’s sleeping and take it. Only when you do, don’t drop it in the ocean. Bring it to me instead.”

  “I can’t take it,” said Myr.

  “Don’t you believe me? You know she used it to kill all those people, and—”

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Myr. “I mean it does. I’d do something about it if I could, but I can’t take the pen from her. She’ll know it’s gone almost immediately. She’ll just take it back and kill me. It won’t do any good.”

  Po left to find Jolaz standing in the hallway outside.

  She tilted her head to the corridor leading to the left, toward her quarters. “Come on,” she said.

  Po followed her, astonishment giving every step a surreal quality, as if he were in a dream.

  Her chamber was much like any Ilysian private quarters. Jolaz shut the door behind them and sank onto one of the couches surrounding the low table in the center of the room, gesturing for Po to join her. “My people have swept the spy holes, we can talk safely, for now.”

  Talk? About what?

  “First of all I want to say that I’m sorry that happened to you.” She nodded at his hands. She stared at him, searching his face. “Everybody is.”

  What could he say? He waited, instead.

  “Does she—she has something that she used to make you do that to yourself, doesn’t she? Something she’s using to do all kinds of things.”

  Could he trust Jolaz? Did it really matter? She was in a better position than most to do something about the pen and she had plenty of motivation for preventing Thela from remaining all-powerful. What difference did it make if
she betrayed him, used him? If she could stop Thela, it would be worth it.

  He told her about the pen. “I suspected something of the sort,” she said. “But it was today, when Selene showed up and made obeisance to her mother, that I knew for sure. Then, all kinds of other things started to fall into place.”

  She stood and paced the room. “This isn’t good. I’ve always been loyal to Thela. On the whole she’s been a good queen. One of our best, in my opinion. But this device, this pen.” She broke off and sat down across from him. “What I’m about to say is strictly between us. If it gets out I’ll know you talked and I have people who will make what happened to your hands seem like a back rub.”

  “Okay. I don’t have any reason to tell on you. You’ve checked up on me, I’m sure you know that.”

  She gave a short, sharp nod. “Just making sure you know.”

  He waited.

  “This pen encourages the very worst tendencies in Thela. If she has a fault, it’s in being overly ambitious, overly ruthless. Her rule is her life. There’s no balance with her. Frankly, it’s been astounding the way she’s taken to you. It’s the most she’s ever indulged in a personal life.

  “If she were a bit more balanced, more grounded, she’d be an even greater queen than she already is, because she’d understand her subjects better.

  “But that’s never been her focus. Her focus has always been power, seemingly for its own sake.

  “I’m not like that. For me, power must always be evaluated as a means to an end. And those who climb too high fall hard and fast. I believe in realistic expectations, worthy adversaries, and stability. Perfect things don’t last. I want Ilysies to endure forever, not rule the world.”

  “Why are you telling me all this? I’m just a male.”

  Jolaz laughed. “Yes. You’re just a male the way the Libyrinth is just a library. You’re an adept. You’ve met the last Ancient. You performed kinesiology on the last Ancient. And you used kinesiology to control Thela herself.”

  Po started. “How do you know I—”

  Jolaz grinned. It was odd; she usually looked so serious—like Selene. “I didn’t, until now. But I guessed. The two of you returned suddenly and unannounced after a sojourn in the Corvariate Citadel. Thela now has a device of the Ancients. It’s unlikely she got it here. It probably came from the citadel, yet she’s only using it now, weeks after her return. Something—or someone—was preventing her from wielding it.” Jolaz sank back on the couch with a sigh. “Too bad I didn’t recruit you or you didn’t approach me before she figured out what you were doing. I could have mounted a real challenge to her rule, not like that half-assed maneuver by Plata.”

  “Yes, but would you have?”

  Jolaz considered the question, one finger tapping on her thigh. “Probably not. Anyway, it’s too late now. Any whiff of disloyalty and I’ll disappear, or worse. There’s a rat in the kitchens that bears a striking resemblance to Plata.

  “I can only imagine how she reacted when Ykobos blew your cover. Well, I don’t have to imagine. But what astounds me is that she didn’t kill you outright. The only explanation I can think of is that she, too, is aware of how powerful you are—and potentially useful.”

  “Do you think you can get the pen away from her?” he asked.

  “Someone must. A thing like that is inherently corrupting. For someone like Thela—well, there’s no hope for her unless … maybe there’s no hope for her, period.”

  If Jolaz believed that, she’d be unable to act against Thela’s immediate plans. She’d been bound in loyalty to Thela, like the rest of the Ilysians who were still alive. She must believe that what she was doing was for Thela’s ultimate benefit. “I wrote that Thela will be redeemed, but I forgot to write when,” he said.

  “Okay, okay,” said Jolaz, pacing again. Under her breath, so faintly Po could barely hear it, she said, “I have to at least try, for her sake.” She turned to him. “We have to get the pen away from her, first and foremost. After that, we can rewrite the things she’s written and then … can we write the pen out of existence?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s the first thing I’d try.”

  She nodded. “Where does she keep the pen?”

  “Myr says she keeps it with her at all times,” said Po.

  “Myr? You’ve been talking to Myr?”

  He shouldn’t have said that. Po schooled his features to blank and tried to pretend he hadn’t heard her.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t get either of you in trouble. If he’s working with you, that’s an added asset. No one will suspect that two consorts are cooperating with each other. We can use that.”

  “If you get the pen from her, what will you do with it?”

  “Can its effects be reversed?”

  “Yes.” He told her about the greening of the plain.

  “Okay,” said Jolaz. “Okay—there’s hope, then. We just have to think of a way to get access to the pen.

  “If she’s got it with her at all times then the thing to do might be brutally simple. We just rush her and take it. Two of us hold her down while the third uses the pen to undo her work and destroy the pen. It would be best to do it at a time when she’s alone and unguarded, of course.”

  “Do you realize what you’re asking? That means at least one male has to lay hands on Thela in violence.”

  Jolaz paused. “Mmm. Yes. And not you, of course.” She nodded to his hands. “I’ll have to do it on my own, then. Perhaps … chloroform. Yes. I’ll get some chloroform from Adept Ykobos. You or Myr will lure Thela to someplace where I’m hiding and I’ll get her from behind. Then I can take the pen and rescue her and all of us from its corruption. I like it. It’s simple, and the simple plans are always the best.”

  And who will stop you from becoming the next Thela?

  Po left Jolaz’s quarters and returned to the consort’s wing. Myr was in his yard, exercising again.

  “You don’t have to steal the pen,” he told him.

  “Good, because I can’t. And I can’t betray Thela. I can’t even—”

  “I just need you to signal me the next time Thela visits you. Sing her a song, and I’ll hear you, and—”

  “I’m sorry,” said Myr.

  “What?”

  Footsteps rustled in the grass behind him, but before he could even turn, two soldiers stepped to either side and grabbed him by the upper arms, holding him immobile.

  Thela came around into his view. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you were talking to Jolaz? I suppose not. She seemed surprised, too. But no security measure can stand against this,” she waved the pen. “Thela knows what others wish to conceal from Thela.” She smiled. “And now…”

  Po drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what she wrote. Whatever it was, it would be beyond his endurance. “Please,” he said. “Just kill me.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, of course, my dear. But your death should serve the nation, don’t you think?”

  He shuddered, and if it weren’t for the soldiers holding him up he would have fallen. Terror blotted out thought as he awaited what would come.

  Seconds passed. He breathed in and out. One of the soldiers adjusted her stance. Distantly, Po heard a seagull cry.

  Something settled around the crown of his head. He flinched, but nothing else happened. The circlet resting on his brow didn’t weigh much, but it was a bit scratchy. He knew what it was without seeing it, without touching it. It was his crown. He was the Barley King.

  18

  The Barley King

  Haly awoke on the day of the Barley King’s processional and smiled in anticipation of the festivities. She sat up and nudged Gyneth, who still slept by her side. “Get up, lazy.”

  He opened his eyes. For a moment, as they looked at each other, she had the oddest feeling. As if they had once been partners, not mistress and consort. Gyneth smiled and kissed her and Haly let the odd notion drift away. “Fetch me my best white gown and draw me a bat
h.”

  She looked out the window of her tower room, at the splendor that was the Ilysian Libyrinth. Thanks to Empress Thela and her bounty, they prospered. The fields were green for as far as the eye could see and every day more people came here to study. It was a good thing they had lengthy written instructions from the empress as to just which subjects should be pursued and which shunned, or Haly would not know how to guide so many enthusiastic minds.

  Gyneth returned with her bathwater and her robe, as white as a cloud on a sunny day. She relaxed into the hot water and let him wash her. There was a knock on the door.

  “Shall I send them away, Holy One?” asked Gyneth.

  It seemed odd to Haly that he would ask that, and then, odd that it seemed odd. She shook her head. “No, let them enter.”

  It was Clauda. “I’m ready to fly you to the ceremony, Holy One,” she said.

  “That’s good. We’ll go directly after breakfast. Have you eaten?”

  “Just a roll when I first woke.”

  “Keep me company, then. Once my bath is done, we’ll eat together.”

  Later, sitting together at a little table crowded with dishes of fish, fresh bread, berries, eggs, and yogurt, Haly noticed that Clauda was barely picking at her meal. In fact, she was methodically shredding a roll into smaller and smaller pieces. “What’s bothering you?”

  Clauda appeared to be startled out of her thoughts. “Nothing, Holy One.”

  “Nonsense. There is something. You were in my service a long time before you became the empress’s pilot. You can’t hide from me. Something concerns you.”

  “I don’t wish to trouble you with it.”

  “Not trouble. Satisfy my curiosity.”

  Clauda hesitated, then said, “When I fly the wing, I sometimes have strange thoughts.”