by Joseph Lallo
By the skylights, it had been so long since he had found an Imperfect, and for one to spring up just when he needed one so desperately could be a trap.
Tandor let the silence linger for a little longer before he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a golden eagle, which he deposited carelessly on the table amongst the second-hand jumble of cookware. Then he picked it back up. The merchant watched every move. Oh, he was keen to have the money all right.
“I’d be willing to pay, but I’m not sure if this boy is worth my money.”
The man gave an indignant sniff. “I have not deceived you, have I?”
“No, you haven’t, but there is a first for everything.” He grabbed some strands of icefire, which came so readily, and found and held the man’s gaze until the merchant looked away.
“Don’t stare at me like that. It gives me a headache. If you’re going to stare me into revealing lies, you can stare all you want, because I don’t have no lies. I won’t lie about the money either. I’m broke.”
Yes, Tandor was sure of it now: the man had felt icefire and had Thilleian blood. He took the coin out of his pocket again and put it on the market stall. “Tell me who this boy is and where to find him.”
“You must promise you’ll do him no harm.”
Where did these people get the idea that he was out to kill everyone? “Would I harm one of my own kind?”
“Then come to the compound. But be careful, Brother, I can sense the Light in you. The Knights will sense it, too.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“May the Light guide you.”
Tandor found it hard not to walk too fast from the markets, since it would only draw attention, but there was energy in his step that he hadn’t possessed before. He pushed his way through the crowd waiting outside the door of the meltery. The shouting and bawdy music was audible even around the corner where Tandor stopped.
A cloaked and hooded figure came to his side, oozing out of the shadows between the limpets. Tandor tugged off his glove and parted the sides of his cloak. His hand of flesh and bone met Ruko’s, blue and ice-cold.
Ruko, go and find me that boy.
There was no reaction, but he knew Ruko had understood. Moreover, Ruko was glad to have something to do. Without meeting Tandor’s eyes, he pulled his hood further over his face and strode down the street.
Total obedience, that was how a servitor worked. It seemed Ruko’s errant behaviour had been brought under control for now.
Chapter 9
JEVAITHI PICKED at her dinner, shoving bits of meat around the plate with a golden fork. They were perfectly cooked to her personal taste, but today even those morsels tasted bland. A feeling of pressure, an underlying thrum, coursed through her, a singing excitement she didn’t understand. She couldn’t say when it had started, only that she had first noticed it yesterday. All too easily, when she flexed her fingers on her left hand, did sparks leap off them. Those sparks her mother said no one must ever see.
Eyes unfocused, she stared out the window, where the glare of the light on the horizon silhouetted the buildings of the city. Directly before her, but lower down, was the Eagle Knight’s eyrie. If she squinted, she thought she could see the great birds moving within. In the past few years, there had been days she had watched the Knights fly out and wished she could be one of them, but these days the sight of them just filled her with bitterness because she knew she never would.
She pushed her plate away.
“Not hungry, Your Highness?”
She glanced up at the dry sound of the male voice. Supreme Rider Cornatan stood a few paces from her, in the middle of her tower room. He was grey-haired, stiff and reedy, his short-haired Knight’s cloak held together with golden clasps in a never-ending display of status. Why did he always have to be here? Chaperoning her, watching over her as if she were his possession.
He was the regent, not her father.
“I have enough of children’s meat.” She put her fork down with a clunk to illustrate her point, then counted the heartbeats before he would say something about her childishness.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four—
“You are still a child as I am sure I do not need to remind you.”
Five. That was a poor score. He must be distracted. He deserved to work a bit harder for his presence here.
“It’s almost my birthday.”
“That’s true, but until that day, you are a child and you will not eat any organ meat. We must consider your health. You know that, Your Highness, and you need not bring it up. Your birthday will come soon enough.”
A chill crept over her back at his sideways glance and the change in the tone of his voice: from harsh to something she couldn’t fathom. One thing she knew: after her birthday, nothing would be the same.
For one thing, she didn’t think Rider Cornatan was going to give up his power as regent so easily, the power he had since she was ten and her mother died. Rider Cornatan devoured power and twisted it. He sat at the table of the Knights’ Council, his chair before the empty throne, and rebuked anyone who challenged him. He thought he ruled the world. Jevaithi wasn’t even allowed to attend the meetings. Too young, he said.
Just look at the smug expression on his face. He thought she was dumb; he never made a secret of that. He thought she would let him continue as before.
“Rider Cornatan, I would like to discuss my attendance of the Newlight celebrations.”
“Your attendance of the—No, Your Highness. I don’t think it’s appropriate for a girl of your age.” Through clenched jaws. Good.
Now she put on her most innocent voice. “It is not appropriate that I want to show myself to the good people of the city who celebrate in my name?”
“Your Highness, there are far too many inappropriate things going on at the Newlight celebrations.”
“All I ask is to take part in the traditions of my own people.”
“Traditions?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
Jevaithi straightened her back; he knew perfectly well what she meant.
She was no longer a girl; she was a virgin, blooded three moons ago. He knew that. He had stood, straight-faced, as she came out of the bath chamber screaming, with blood on her hands. He had stood by the door as his own elderly mother explained to her what it was all about.
“You weren’t seriously thinking . . .” His voice was indignant. “Your Highness . . . the men in the Outer City . . .”
“The men of the city who are celebrating are deemed unsuitable to take my blessed innocence as they do with every other newly-blooded girl at the festival?”
“If you want to put it that way . . . Your Highness.” His cheeks had gone red. “But I’d rather that you didn’t—”
“Then, Supreme Rider Cornatan, tell me what the Knights have in mind for me, because surely the matter of my fertility—or not—must have come before the regent, and it is a matter that must be attended to as soon as possible. There must be an heir to the throne.”
He nodded. “Yes, there must be.” Dry-voiced and stiff-faced.
“If a young Learner Knight or an Apprentice isn’t suitable for me, not even if he comes from the best family, then tell me, do I get a choice in this matter? Maybe we should discuss it?”
“Maybe.” He sounded like he wanted anything but.
“Or maybe I should take it to the Knights’ Council.”
A shudder went over him. Oh, this was delicious. They had discussed it, she was sure. She was also sure that none of the Eagle Knights wanted to repeat the mess that surrounded her mother’s succession. A virgin until twenty-nine, the Eagle Knights had squabbled over who from their midst would have the right to father her children, until they found that an unknown stranger had already done the job. But by that time Maraithe had been visibly pregnant, and in the face of the cheering citizens, all the Knights could do was smile with their teeth clenched.
“I don’t think the Knight’s Council should bother itself with such things,” he said.
He turned to her, his expression now more soft. “But maybe we could organise an excursion for you to the festival.”
Oh glory, he was giving in already. The threat of the Knight’s Council must give him panic attacks. She must remember that.
“However, I insist that you would need to need to be suitably attired.”
“Is anything wrong with the way I look?” She held up her arms, letting air breeze through her dress.
“No, not at all. It’s just that your dress . . .”
“Is a little revealing?”
He said nothing.
“Then I will order proper garments.” She hated these flimsy garments the courtiers made her wear anyway. Layers of gauze so thin the wind breezed through them even when she walked around the room. They were designed to keep her indoors.
“You could do that.” Rider Cornatan stopped pacing and stared out the window, hands clasped behind his back. A couple of gulls sat on the outside windowsill.
“I want a dress such as the maidens of the city wear. One that’s warm enough for outside. I want to go into a real meltery and meet real men.”
He stiffened. “Out of the question.”
“Why? I will speak the words you tell me to speak. I will dance only with men you have chosen. Hire the meltery if you wish. Tell the owner to put guards at his door and let in only Knights. They don’t have too much trouble drooling over my puppies when I’m merely walking past.”
“Your Highness, where did you learn to speak so? If you were my daughter—”
“Which I am not. I am your Queen, and this is how my men speak about me. I listen to their voices, Rider Cornatan.”
He let another silence lapse. She knew he would offer a compromise of some sort. A trip in the royal sled—she didn’t care as long as she could leave this room. She didn’t really fancy getting a close-up view of Knights drooling over her anyway. The junior Knights maybe, but the Senior Knights scared her.
“We could organise for you to witness a race and a walk over the festival grounds. Every year one of the Apprentice Knights is chosen to be the Queen’s Champion. You could choose the winner yourself.”
Yes, she could, but it was just another boring official function, not something she wanted to do. “Could I see the Legless Lions?”
His lips twitched into a smile. Was he glad she no longer mentioned men?
Hoping for a kiss and awkward fumbling in the dark with a young man of her age was futile anyway. The man who took her would be older, experienced, and in her bed for only one reason: to get his blood on the throne. She was probably facing that very man right now.
She had known it all her life.
There is no point fighting, Jevaithi, her mother used to say. The Knights do as the Knights want to do. She could still see her mother over there in the bed, pale and sickly. Devoid of a will to live.
“We can certainly arrange for you to see the Legless Lions, and the bears. Perhaps you would like to see the ritual killing?”
She shuddered at the thought of guts and blood on some beefy butcher’s hands, but nodded. The longer she was out there, the more time she had to do real things and pretend she was a real girl. And real girls wouldn’t mind to see an animal killed. For them, it meant work and food.
“Yes, I would like that.”
Rider Cornatan bowed. “I will organise that for tomorrow, with your permission.”
“You have my permission.”
He bowed again and left.
Drained and still hungry, Jevaithi sank down on the bed. Her plate remained on the table, the sauce congealed into a jelly-like blob. A servant scurried to take it.
“You haven’t eaten, Your Highness.”
“No. Next time, I want you to bring me real food.”
The man’s eyes widened. “But Ruder Cornatan says—”
“Never mind what he says. Bring me adult food. If he tries to mistreat you, come to me.”
The man nodded and retreated.
She gazed out the window, where the people of the city moved about like little black specks.
She would try to charge into a meltery once she was out there. When they were surrounded by the people, Rider Cornatan wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on her. The people loved her, not him.
Mother, maybe you gave up the fight, but I will be free.
Chapter 10
ISANDOR TOSSED a couple of coins onto the bar and wriggled sideways between sweating bodies to pick up the tray of drinks the barman had put there. A maid burst out the kitchen door, yelling at two younger girls who were collecting tottering piles of dirty glasses. In the din of the meltery room, Isandor couldn’t hear what she said, but the gist of it was written on her face. Hurry up, work faster. The girls were rosy-cheeked, their hands red from alternately washing up in ice chips and tending the roaring fire, or stirring the giant vats of meltwater and mixing in spirits and berry distillate to make bloodwine.
Isandor lifted the tray with drinks carefully over the heads of a couple of fishermen and backed into marginally less-crowded territory. Here, patrons sat at tables, every chair occupied. Some talked, some were gambling, and here and there, a few couples were engaged in other activities. A layer of smoke hovered over the patrons. It wafted from the fire every time the door was opened, which happened a lot.
A heaving crowd on the dance floor made so much noise that it was hard hearing the musicians.
Carro and his cousin Daman sat alone at a table. Carro leaned his head in his hands and stared into the crowd, while Daman fiddled with the hem of his tunic.
“Hey, smile,” Isandor said as he set the tray down. He regained his seat and distributed the drinks.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Carro muttered into his glass. His pale blue eyes had a haunted look to them.
Isandor laughed. “Yeah, we’ll have this race in the bag, and then you’ll just have the swimming and running races to win.”
Carro clamped his large hands over his glass as if to retain the warmth of the wine. “The running and swimming are unfair competitions. I’m the only Knight Apprentice who can compete as Outer City citizen. It’d be embarrassing if I didn’t win those races.”
“Carro, have you noticed I’m from the Outer City, too and I didn’t even enter.”
“It’s different for you.” He let the reference to Isandor’s peg leg hang in the air. “Besides, the flying race tomorrow is important. Knights live for flying.”
“And so we won our selection heat. Smile, Carro. We won. We’re in the final.”
“I almost fell off,” Carro said. “Look, why don’t you find another partner. You’re so much better than me, you deserve someone who can actually control their bird.”
“Carro, please . . .”
Why did he go into sulky moods like this? Isandor had thought it would get better when Carro was away from that horrible father of his, but if anything, being in the Knighhood had made it worse.
Carro shook his head and drank deeply from his bloodwine, staring ahead. Daman still fiddled with his tunic. His eyes were following one particular girl swept in the tide of dancers. Tall, with curved hips and tresses of honey-coloured hair, and completely out of his league.
“Hey, good evening boys!” A girl dropped into the empty chair. Her cheeks were red from dancing and bloodwine and her perfume mingled with a faint scent of sweat. Around her pale-skinned neck, she wore a simple strip of leather with on it, a gull’s tail feather.
“Uhm, good evening, Korinne,” Isandor said. “Still here? I thought you said your father wanted you to come home.”
Stupid. That’s sounds too hopeful. Bloodwine had addled his thoughts. He had to clamp his jaws to stop himself laughing, because laughing at the daughter of Rider Cornatan’s closest advisor would never do.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Carro was just telling a joke,” Isandor said.
“What?” Carro woke up from his moody thoughts.
Isandor gestured, You deal with her. All day, Carro had been staring at this girl like a hungry pup whenever she came near.
Carro began, “Oh yeah, I can tell you a good joke. Did you hear about the two Chevakians who went fishing . . .”
Isandor stifled a groan.
The girl continued to look at him, batting long eyelashes over her clear grey eyes. She fiddled with her feather. Yes, he knew she was available. He’d hardly had a chance to forget it.
“I guess you already heard the joke,” Carro said, his voice flat.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on winning your race. It was amazing. I saw you come back so far ahead of everyone else. You flew really well.” Then she glanced at Carro. “Both of you, of course.”
Carro rose from his seat. He’d already finished half his glass and stood unsteady. “Can I invite you to dance, Korinne?”
“Knights can always ask me to dance.” She giggled, and as Carro led her away, she gave Isandor an intense stare and added, “Whether I agree depends on who’s asking.” She winked.
By the skylights, that stupid girl just didn’t give up. She had been following him around all night.
Isandor drank deeply from his cup, letting the bloodwine sting its way into his stomach.
“For someone who’s had their first taste of booze only yesterday, you sure know how to put it away,” Carro’s cousin remarked.
Isandor had almost forgotten about him. “So,” he said to Daman. “Do you know what happened when the two Chevakians went fishing?”
“I think we shouldn’t joke about Chevakia. One day they will invade us. You know my father says”
Isandor let his mind drift off. He didn’t mind discussing politics, but not today and not with Carro’s cousin.
Carro and Korinne came past on the dance floor. He was talking to her, his hand on her shoulder—too close to her neck—and his head bent towards her. He was too tall, and his steps too large. She held her body stiff, so she didn’t touch him, and stared past him at Isandor.