Doran amended that thought as he remembered abruptly that Conard had been exiled. What a shame—he had envisioned Conard as the surrogate father for his child. He knew the man could keep a secret. Besides, it had hardly been Conard’s fault that they had misjudged the strength of the storm that ill-fated day.
He realized that Odessa and Lord Bardrosse had been waiting for him to dismiss them. Clearing his throat, he said, “Thank you for joining me. I will expect to see you in Lostport one span from today.”
“Yes, of course, Milord,” she said with excitement. She reached under the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze before rising. “Thank you for tea.”
Doran inclined his head.
“Very well met, Your Grace,” Lord Bardrosse said. Smiling, he took Odessa’s arm and escorted her from the manor.
When Duffrey and the cook had carried Doran to his room, he started packing, lying down on his bed so he could reach most of his possessions. He had very little; Duffrey had expressly stated that he could not take any of the books with him, so he retained nothing of value. Just a few clothes and a lucky stone Laina had once given him.
He was to be married in less than two spans. The truth had not quite sunk in. Though he disliked the idea of spending the rest of his life with a near-stranger, he felt better now that he was doing his part for Lostport.
He may be useless as a man, but he was no longer useless as the heir to the throne.
Chapter 20
F ive days after she had ridden ahead of her followers, Katrien could see a hazy smudge on the horizon that marked the start of the rainforest. It was another day before they were close enough to make out individual trees, looming like a verdant wall above the plains. The line was virtually unbroken, aside from a bush here or a palm there that had decided to sprout a few paces away from the safety of the jungle.
When Katrien had last seen this rainforest recede behind her, she had felt a burden lift from her shoulders as she escaped the oppressive closeness and humidity of the trees. This time, though, her heart lightened at the familiar lushness. She had missed this exotic kingdom—the flowers and the brightly-colored birds and the glimmer of the sea—and most of all, she had missed her dear Faolan and her precious children.
“How much farther?” Amadi asked. Though she had not complained once, Katrien could tell that the grueling ride had begun to wear at her.
“We will stay in proper beds tonight,” Tenori said. “And after that, we leave the horses behind and take to the water.”
“It’s two days from here,” Katrien said. “I remember this part.”
The trackless plains gave way to a road that followed the riverbank downstream for a short way. This road ended at a small settlement built right along the river, which Katrien had seen in passing the first time she had floated downriver to Lostport. Just as before, its docks were crowded with small barges.
“This village only exists to serve travelers heading to Lostport,” Tenori said. “It is a community of fisherfolk who do very well for themselves by ferrying passengers down the last stretch of river into Lostport. They have a corner on the market.”
The huts lining the river were small but very well-kept, and a startling level of care had been put into the gardens and footpaths. Katrien and her party left their horses at a stable just outside the low fence running around the village, pausing while Amadi gave her horse a hug and kiss farewell, before following Tenori down the patterned walkway into the village center. Every detail looked as though it had been carefully thought out, not one twig out of place. Clearly the villagers had a good deal of money and plenty of time to amuse themselves.
The inn was just as small and tidy as the rest of the village; Katrien’s army of followers would have to camp in the forest when they arrived. As it was, Katrien and her five companions laid claim to all but one of the inn’s beds.
Though this was nothing compared to Faolan’s manor, it felt like unspeakable luxury after more than a span living on horseback. If she had been younger she might have regretted the end of the exhilarating freedom they had found traveling the great Darden plains, but she had no room for regrets now. She sank gratefully into the bath that had been drawn for her, every joint spasming and then relaxing as the heat unknitted her aching muscles.
At dinner, the innkeeper and his family joined Katrien’s party, eager to hear the news they brought from the Twin Cities.
“Do you ever stop people from traveling south?” Kurjan asked, passing the platter of jungle fruits to Amadi.
“To whom do you owe allegiance?” the innkeeper asked shrewdly. “I don’t wish to offend anyone.”
“Can you swear yourself to silence?” Katrien countered.
The innkeeper nodded, his eyes narrowed.
“I am Queen Katrien, wife to King Faolan, here to resume my place by his side. I made a grave mistake many years ago, and I have regretted every day that I was not there to see my children grow up.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and his wife gasped. Belatedly they both scrambled to their feet and bowed, their children copying them with some confusion.
Katrien waved a hand at them. “No formalities, please. I’ve just spent nearly fifty days riding through the Darden plains, as grimy as any of the horse-masters.”
The family sat, still sharing startled looks.
“Allow me to be the first to welcome you back to Lostport,” the innkeeper said at last. “We will speak freely. This entire village is fiercely loyal to Lostport, though we usually pretend otherwise. We act as an independent settlement, impartially dedicated to the good of any traveler, but that is because we have never been asked to do otherwise. Long ago, we promised the king of Lostport that we would defend the kingdom if we were ever called upon to do so. We may appear peaceful, but we are well-trained in fighting. Our boatmen can sink any ship that tries to pass.”
“Have you had word of the trouble in Lostport?” Katrien asked.
“Of course,” the innkeeper said darkly. “We have sent many emissaries to King Faolan, asking whether he would like us to sink the boatloads of Whitish soldiers, but he has bade us to keep the peace for now. He hopes to see Port Emerald to completion.”
“Events are quickly spiraling out of control,” Katrien said. “If I asked you to stop any further Whitish who arrive, would you obey my command as queen of Lostport?”
“Certainly.” The innkeeper put a fist on his heart. “I swear it by my life.”
They spent the rest of the meal sharing word from the Twin Cities and from Lostport—news of the increasing aggression against Varrilans throughout the Kinship Thrones; tales of King Faolan’s lessening control over the Whitish builders; and rumors of the wealth that lay within Lostport.
“I hardly wish to share this news,” the innkeeper’s wife said at one point, “but you ought to know. King Faolan has recently taken ill. I believe he suffered a fall. His—your—daughter Laina has been ruling in his stead.”
Katrien drew in a breath. “Is he badly injured? Will he recover?” She clutched her skirts beneath the table. “I should have returned sooner.”
“I don’t believe his condition is life-threatening,” the woman said gently. “But we have only heard rumors.”
“Thank you,” Katrien said. First her son, now her husband. Was anyone in her family safe?
It was past midnight by the time Katrien’s party stumbled off to bed. Lying awake, Katrien wondered why the innkeeper and his family had not questioned her claim that she was the queen of Lostport. Perhaps it was because she was hardly worthy of admiration. No one would pretend to be the queen who had abandoned her family and later fled Whitland in disgrace.
When Katrien went to wake Amadi in the morning, she found Kurjan and Amadi tangled together in the bedsheets, both naked and snoring lightly.
“Amadi!” Katrien snapped.
Both woke suddenly. Amadi flushed scarlet and clutched the sheets over her breasts, while Kurjan lowered his head and retreated to t
he corner of the bed.
“Where is your sense of propriety?” Katrien scolded. “You will never make a proper match now, Amadi! You might have ruined your future with one careless night.”
“I wouldn’t have made a good match anyway,” Amadi said sullenly. “I’m no one. Besides, I don’t want someone high-born. I want Kurjan.”
“I can see as much,” Katrien said sharply. “Get yourselves dressed at once, and speak of this to no one.”
“Sorry, Milady,” Kurjan mumbled. He no longer sounded like the smooth, scholarly young gentleman he had always pretended to be. Katrien felt almost sorry for him.
Amadi and Kurjan were both subdued at breakfast that morning, and hardly spoke as they helped Katrien, Tenori, and the two warriors load one of the smaller barges. The innkeeper had intended to give them a lavish monstrosity of a barge, but Katrien wanted to leave the roomier ones behind so her followers could join her.
“Will you pass on word to our people when they arrive?” Katrien asked.
“Of course. It is an honor to serve you, Milady.”
The innkeeper and his family followed Katrien’s party to the dock to see them off; the children sat at the edge, hugging the rails, their feet trailing in the brown water, while the innkeeper untied the barge from its mooring and tossed the rope to Tenori.
The boat-master who was guiding the last stretch of their journey gave a shout of farewell before turning to the river.
“I used to live in Lostport myself,” he told Katrien, dropping to his knees on a cushion beside the tiller. “Matter o’ fact, I was there when you first arrived. Hardly more than a child, you were. Don’t blame you in the slightest for turning tail an’ running home.”
Katrien’s neck grew hot. “Child or no, it was inexcusable. I had been raised for the task. It was selfish and naïve of me to abandon my responsibility.”
“Don’t worry yourself overmuch,” the man said, tugging his cushion straight. “It’ll be a right celebration when you return, mark my word.”
Katrien shrugged and rose to her feet. She and her party had been asked to sit on benches ringing the barge while it took off, though the gentle sway of the river was hardly enough to knock her off-kilter. At the center of the barge was a tiny cabin that could not have fit more than two people lying back-to-back; the rest of them would be sleeping on rolls stretched out on the open deck. It was lucky the sky did not look like rain.
Earlier in the day, Amadi had asked if they would moor their barge alongside the river for the night and set up camp.
“Fancy hacking that jungle to bits?” the barge-master had laughed. “And wait till we get farther downstream. We’d be cutting through cliffs three times my height. No, little miss, we’re staying safe on the river.”
After ten endless days of thundering across the plains, it felt peaceful and almost meditative to sit on the barge and watch the rainforest glide by. Amadi quickly grew restless and took to pacing the small deck, while Kurjan annoyed them all by trying to gauge the depth of the river with a long stick he had stowed on board, splashing the entire party each time it got caught in the reeds below.
After spans of fear and doubt, Katrien was finally at peace with herself. It seemed that every year of her life had led up to this moment, this reunion, and Tenori had been right to say she had not wasted the time. Without suffering, she would never have dared this fool’s mission, and without loneliness she would never have taken Amadi under her care. She had thrown aside the stifling niceties of Whitland and emerged a stronger, more confident person than she had ever imagined herself to be. Faolan would hardly recognize her now.
As their first day aboard the barge drew to a close, the cloak of evening throwing the river into shadow, they passed into the canyon the barge-master had spoken of. Katrien remembered this stretch of the river vividly—the water flowed more quickly here, constrained by eroding walls of clay, and she had spent the entire journey downriver and back up battling seasickness.
“Who gets the cabin?” Amadi asked as they passed around freshly-baked rolls and cured fish. “You’re not sharing it with Tenori, are you, Katrien?” She made a face.
Katrien frowned at her. “You are sharing it with me. That way you stay out of trouble.”
Amadi and Kurjan shared a rueful look.
As the last light faded and the barge-master positioned a brilliant mirrored lantern at the front of the barge, the sort one might find at the lighthouse in Lostport, Katrien retreated to the corner of the barge and sat on the bench with her feet tucked beneath her. The stars were blossoming overhead, a narrow strip just visible between the tree-lined canyon walls, and everywhere the forest came alive with the chirruping of insects.
She would miss the vast freedom of life in the open. It would be a long process, adjusting once more to the etiquette of royal life. She might spend the rest of her life dreaming of the scent of the sunbaked Darden plains or the sound of the grass whispering like water all around her tent. Though she would happily forsake the uncomfortable camp bed, there was nothing in Lostport equal to the gold-infused immensity of a sunrise in the grasslands.
* * *
After his first two orientation days, during which Conard met everyone involved in infrastructure design at Port Emerald and received a crash course in plumbing and drainage mechanisms, the two men in charge of infrastructure gave Conard a tour of the full site.
“We’ll be pointing out areas where we hope to add various plumbing or drainage features. You can tell us anything you know about the landscape—how deep the outer soil extends, which rocks are more brittle than others and ought to be removed, and where we have to keep the trees in place to prevent erosion.”
“Right,” Conard said. Someone must have realized he came from Lostport; they had no other reason to suspect his intimate knowledge of the landscape.
They started off by climbing the stairs on the western side of the city. These steps were narrow and roughly-carved, a workman’s access to the city that would later be replaced with finer stairs or perhaps a wall. Conard was amazed at how easy the climb was, eight hundred steps up a precariously steep hillside. Unburdened by the white bricks, he could have climbed these stairs all day.
“We receive plenty of rainwater,” one of the infrastructure designers said, pausing to catch his breath. “All we have to do is use gravity to feed the rainwater from a collection point down into each of the buildings in town. I thought we might do best to put a rainwater barrel at the top of the mountain, so it will rest securely on level ground, but Don here thinks it would be better to set up multiple collection points to make use of any drainage collected along the side of the mountain.”
“Can you actually walk to the top?”
“Sure,” Don said. “Want to take a look?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Conard said.
At the top of the staircase, they paused again to survey the city from above. Standing up here, Conard was more acutely aware than ever of how precarious the city was.
“How securely have the foundations been built?” Conard stepped to the edge of the half-finished patio and leaned over its makeshift rail; from here he could watch hundreds upon hundreds of builders scurrying below like so many flies on a drying carcass. He could even recognize the balding architect at the nearly-finished house to which he had hauled mountain after mountain of bricks.
“Couple paces deep,” the second man said. “Deeper than most. But it’s hard getting far when you’re working at such an angle.”
“Hmm.” Conard leaned farther still, peering at a site that was nothing but thin ropes marking the perimeter of a partly-dug rectangle. “These hills aren’t very stable. We should be careful to divert any rainwater around the sides of the city, or the whole thing might slide away.”
“There’s a good foundation of bedrock on this mountain,” Don said. “We’ve been drilling a ways into that, so it won’t come uprooted as easily as that.”
Conard shrugged. Everyone in Lostport
knew that the bedrock was brittle at best. He would be very surprised if these men had drilled their way deep enough to compensate for that. “Well, you’ll still need to be very careful with the plumbing. When it rains, entire hillsides turn into waterfalls. You won’t want to let any overflow spill into the city.”
“Maybe we should put the rain-barrel on the top of the mountain, then,” Don said. “That way we can keep a constant small flow for plumbing, and divert the overflow down the other side of the mountain.”
“What if people start using more water all at once?” Conard said. “Are they going to run out?”
“No. It’s gravity-powered, so as soon as someone below turns on a faucet, water from the storage basin will flow down to replace what is lost.”
“Ah.” Conard decided to reserve his judgment until they reached the top of the mountain. It all sounded very controlled and straightforward, yet he knew how much mayhem the weather could cause here. Even the best-laid roads were easily washed out when the floods came.
Reaching the top of the peak was easier said than done. Where the stairs ended, the terraced city gave way to gnarled underbrush and near-vertical rock faces that had to be skirted around. Conard followed the two engineers on all fours, gripping the coarse shrubs and stunted trees wherever he could to pull himself up.
At last he dragged himself onto the rocky summit. It was no more than six paces wide, a tangle of windswept trees and boulders, though the opposite side was far gentler than the one they had climbed.
“We would clear all that, of course,” Don said, sweeping his arm around to indicate the trees and brush crowding the summit. “We’d use the rocks to anchor the water barrel in place, and dig a channel partway down the opposite face so the water doesn’t change direction halfway down.”
The Fall of Lostport Page 32