She did not understand Dr. Silk’s motive in giving her her uniform to wear, but it only made her feel more herself and ready to stand up to the empire, ready to face whatever came her way.
When she stood, attired as a Green Rider ought to be, Lorine’s expression was a mix of respect and consternation, but Arhys’ reaction proved humbling—she laughed.
“You look very funny,” Arhys said. “Funnier than when you were dressed like a boy.”
“Hush, Arhys,” Lorine said. “Miss Goodgrave—I mean, Rider G’ladheon, is of a different time. Things were different back then, and so was the style of dress.”
Arhys laughed again. “That is no dress!” She herself wore a lovely dress with layers of skirts that were frilled with ribbons. No doubt it was a gift from Dr. Silk.
Karigan smiled, amused by Arhys’ reaction. Since Silk knew all about Karigan’s identity, there was no longer any reason to hide it, so she and Lorine had tried to explain her origins to the girl, who had been naturally curious about the uniform. Arhys, however, was predictably unimpressed. When told Karigan had been a king’s messenger, she declared, “There has never been a king. Only the emperor.” Ironic, coming from the sole heir of that king’s bloodline. But what Arhys believed to be true, might help keep her alive for the time being.
After what Karigan assumed to be the passage of an hour’s time, a pair of guards appeared at the door to escort her away. They did not manacle her but regarded her and her uniform with disgust in their eyes.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
They did not answer, but pushed her along whether or not she kept up her pace. She thought maybe they were taking her to Dr. Silk’s office again, but they struck off down a grand corridor of marble and gold, frescos and statues. Oddly, a channel of water originating from a fountain flowed beside them, along the corridor, over a pebbled bottom. Trout darted from shadow to shadow. With all the fountains, and the palace located on an island in a lake, not to mention all the canals in Gossham, it became apparent to her that someone was obsessed with water.
Having grown up on the coast, Karigan was fond of water herself, but she could never have imagined using it to such a degree for transportation, commerce, and decoration. She supposed it was one detail of many that she would never understand about the empire, though she did find the fountains and this indoor stream pleasant, under otherwise unpleasant circumstances.
The corridor only became richer, grander, and busier as they went on, the ceilings higher, the art more vibrant. They came to a great golden door with images of dragons, horses, and lemon trees shining in relief, much like the doors at the palace’s main entrance. Dr. Silk waited there with his aide, Mr. Howser. He surveyed her through his dark specs, and she wondered what his nacreous eyes took in. Did her aura show the same shade of green as her uniform?
“Well, well, well,” he said. Excitement made his voice and movements sharp. “A living breathing artifact of an earlier time.”
Karigan scowled. She had not liked such inferences from the professor, and she liked them less from Silk.
“What is going on?” she demanded. “I take it there is a throne room on the other side of this door?”
“Correct. I am going to officially present you to the emperor and his inner circle. Sadly, since he has seen you already, the element of surprise is lacking, but the uniform should make an impact.”
Ah, Karigan thought. That’s why he wanted me to have it.
“My dear Miss G’ladheon,” he said, “between acquiring you and the Eletian, and giving you to the emperor, my status in the empire will rise immeasurably. No doubt I shall be granted great Preference, perhaps even exceed my father’s.”
“Have you given the Eletian to the emperor already?”
“Oh, no, no. He is not presentable yet, and it does not hurt to wait a day or two. It will only prolong and reinforce the emperor’s pleasure at receiving my gifts.”
Karigan was relieved Lhean had not been “given” yet, whatever the giving might entail. It could not be good in any case. As for herself, she detested being regarded as a commodity to be given and received.
“Now let me have a look at you to make sure all is correct.” Silk circled around her, gazing up and down, brushing nonexistent lint off her sleeve. Karigan crossed her arms, feeling even more like a commodity, livestock that has been brushed before being presented at auction. She was relieved he didn’t check her teeth.
When he finished his inspection, he stood before her. “Do not speak unless directly addressed. Remember, the welfare of Mr. Harlowe is riding on your good behavior.”
Karigan bristled. “Your welfare depends on my seeing him well and healthy.”
Silk looked amused. “If I were you, Miss G’ladheon, I would focus more on your performance than on absurd threats. Look around you, and perhaps you will recall your situation.”
The corridor was populated by a large number of guards who wore no-nonsense expressions on their faces and were armed with guns. They looked well-trained and disciplined.
Silk grabbed her wrist with his unnatural hand, concealed in its black leather glove, and squeezed bones and tissue that had healed not so long ago in the refuge of the professor’s house. The even, mechanical pressure of his grip strained her wrist, threatening to re-break it. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, tears slipping down her cheeks. She gasped in pain.
“Remember,” Silk said, towering over her, “who is master here.”
The next thing she knew, he had released the pressure and was helping her rise. He offered her a handkerchief, which she refused, holding her throbbing wrist to her body.
“Now we do not wish to go before the emperor with any signs of distress, do we?” Silk reached to dab her tears himself, but she jerked away.
“Miss G’ladheon,” he said sternly, “have you not yet learned your lesson?”
“You won’t ruin your gift for the emperor.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I won’t? I always do what is necessary. It would be unfortunate to damage you, of course, but there is always the Eletian to please His Eminence.”
But, he did not attempt to minister to her again. She used her sleeve to wipe the tears, and she glared at Silk.
He leaned down and said in a low voice, “In the history we do not speak of, it is said the Green Riders were stubborn, very difficult to track down and kill. Intractable under torture, causing them unnecessary grief. There is no sense for you to make matters more difficult on yourself, though I see the Green Rider character runs true.”
Karigan clenched her fists, forced herself to remain calm no matter what he said about killing and torturing Green Riders, her friends, no matter her desire to lunge at him and rip his throat out. Patience, she told herself. Silk would pay. She was going to get Cade and herself, and Lhean, too, home, and she would make sure Lord Amberhill never came to power. The future of her land and others would never have to know the iron-handed rule of the emperor and his cronies.
The gold door opened. Cold air pushed into the corridor, and a man in a fur coat and hat stepped out. “Dr. Silk, we are ready for you now.” His face barely poked out from the fluffy fur, and it would have been funny except for the circumstances.
“Remember,” Silk told Karigan, “no reason to make matters worse for yourself.”
He was right, she decided. After all, he was nothing compared to Amberhill, and she must not waste her energy on him. She obediently walked through the doorway and into the throne room just a few paces behind him, Mr. Howser following.
She was startled by how frigid the room was and looked around in amazement at the crystalline frost that coated the floor, the walls and columns. Icicles hung from chandeliers and the frames of paintings. They grew from the ceiling like stalactites. The stream they had followed in the corridor continued into the throne room, but was sealed in black
ice. A fountain’s water had frozen in motion creating an otherworldly sculpture of ice. Why was the room kept so cold?
They walked atop a runner that prevented them from slipping on the floor. At the far end of the room sat several men, each attired in varying styles of fur and hats, some with muffs to cover their ears. The guards who stood vigil in the room were also garbed warmly. The only two men who were not dressed for the cold were Lord Amberhill, sitting relaxed in a well-cut suit, and the Eternal Guardian in his light armor and leather.
Silk paused, and she halted obediently behind him. A scraping noise grated through the room and the floor vibrated as a section of it retracted, breaking away a layer of ice.
“Right on time, Silk,” one of the fur-wearing men called out.
A mechanical dragon the size of a horse reared out of the opening on a platform, the floor trembling with the grinding of gears underneath. The platform was encircled by numerals, just like the professor’s chronosphere but on a much larger scale, and the inlaid ivory all scored with scratches. Was this a giant chronosphere?
“I do like to make a point of being punctual,” Dr. Silk said.
The dragon lifted its head, the sound of mechanisms ticking inside it. Its eyes flashed red, and it unfurled its wings with an ingenious belt and pulley system, the membranes between the wing fingers fashioned of chain mesh that sounded like rain as they moved. The dragon’s tail lashed with articulated metal plates, and it swiveled its head. Karigan jumped when it roared and spouted flame, steam hissing through its nostrils.
“Don’t worry,” Silk said. “It won’t hurt you. It’s just a time piece.”
Just a time piece? Even if its movements were not terribly lifelike, it was cunningly crafted. To pick out the time, the dragon scratched the numbers with a forefoot, roared and spouted flame once more, and withdrew into the floor. It was certainly a dramatic device for keeping track of time.
They proceeded toward the throne till they were abreast of the seated men in their furs, about a dozen of them. Amberhill’s inner circle, his Adherents.
“Bow to the emperor,” Silk said, doing so himself.
When Karigan didn’t immediately obey, Mr. Howser shoved her to the floor, so that she lay sprawled before the throne. She rose on her elbows, but Howser’s foot to her back pushed her back down.
She recoiled when she saw what she thought was her own reflection in the floor, peering back up at her, was actually a man entombed in ice. A rotund little man with specs askew, an expression of shock frozen on his face. When a pair of shiny black shoes came within inches of Karigan’s nose, she glanced up at Amberhill looming over her.
“Do not be concerned,” he said, indicating the man in the ice with a nod of his head. “That’s just Yap.”
THE THREE-FACED REPTILE
“Yap?” she asked.
From nearby, Silk hissed to silence her, but Amberhill seemed undisturbed by her speaking out of turn.
“Yes. He was . . .” Amberhill paused as if trying to remember. “A servant. Friend. My conscience. My enemy.” His voice changed as he spoke, uncertain, then wistful, then angry. “I keep him here because he reminds me . . .” His shoes retreated. “Rise,” he ordered.
Karigan scrambled to her feet and sidled away from the poor man trapped in ice beneath the floor.
“So, Doctor,” Amberhill said, “you have brought me one of your relics of the past.”
“Yes, Your Eminence, a Green Rider.”
“I know what she is.” Amberhill’s voice slithered out as he stared at her with darkened eyes. “I defeated your king, Green Rider. What do you think of that? And I defeated more. This continent is mine. All of it. Did you know that?”
Karigan was well aware of what he had done, but she knew better than to answer.
“How do we know she is of another time?” asked one of the Adherents. “Besides the distasteful display of her face and the wearing of trousers.”
“It is actually quite fas—” Dr. Silk began, but Amberhill cut him off.
“I knew her before. Back in the early days before I came into my power. A messenger of Zachary’s court lost in Blackveil, or so it was thought.” The intensity of his expression turned to one of befuddlement and he shook his head. “The disappearing lady. How did you come to be here?”
Dr. Silk answered for Karigan, explaining what she had admitted to him the previous day, while Amberhill paced muttering harshly about the interference of old gods. Karigan did not remember the Lord Amberhill of old being so erratic. In fact, she remembered him being intensely single-minded. He looked the same as she remembered, but he had changed. He was . . . a different man.
“Unbelievable,” the Adherent said when Silk finished his account, but none of them appeared shocked or, really, all that impressed. Having an emperor around for almost two centuries must have inured them to such an oddity.
“But very true.” Karigan recognized Silk’s father as he stepped forward. “Congratulations, my son, on your find. Well done.”
Dr. Silk looked stunned to hear such praise from his father.
“Not to mention, as I hear,” said another of the men, “coordinating the quashing of a rebellion in Mill City.” There was applause muffled by gloves and mittens. Dr. Silk nodded in acknowledgment.
Amberhill paid Silk scant attention, which couldn’t have pleased Silk since it was the emperor’s approval he desired above all else. Instead, Amberhill gazed at Karigan and she crossed her arms, chilled by the cold room and his regard. She could almost see some decision spinning in his mind, his lips moving with unheard words.
When the applause faded away, he spoke. “All I see is this useless, weak girl. No, no, a Green Rider. I’ve known her. They are not weak, I assure you. You did not know my Hilda. She makes this one look a scrawny infant.”
He was having a conversation with himself, was the only way Karigan could describe it. Who was Hilda? The Adherents looked on as if they were accustomed to their emperor’s digressions.
“Or Yolandhe. There was no one like Yolandhe, was there, Webster.”
“No, Your Eminence,” the elder Silk replied. There was something false about his answer, made to please the emperor only.
Then Amberhill’s more serpentlike voice hissed out: “The Green Rider is the blood of the betrayer, an old enemy, and avatar of a dead god.”
Avatar of a dead god? It sounded impressive, but she didn’t understand.
“You mean the stallion I saw that night in Teligmar was real?” Amberhill asked himself in surprise. The dark look in his eyes returned, and he nodded to himself.
It dawned on Karigan then that she was not dealing with Lord Xandis Pierce Amberhill alone. This was him, but not entirely. There was an aspect of his personality that was too familiar, one she had known intimately. The only one who would call her, “betrayer.”
Mornhavon. She shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold of the room.
“The Green Rider recognizes me,” he whispered. Then he added, with a moderation of his voice, “But not all of me.”
Mornhavon inhabited Amberhill’s body, but there were nuances, words, traits, that did not fit either of them. Could it be there was a third personality, as well? The three-faced reptile. She recalled the riddle from Captain Mapstone. Karigan had found the scything moon in the prison of forgotten days, located within the den—or palace—of the three-faced reptile. The dragon symbol of the empire must represent the “reptile” part of the riddle.
Learning the meaning of this part of the riddle did little to reassure her. She’d seen Mornhavon inhabit the bodies of others before, including her own. The last had been poor Yates. It explained much about what Amberhill had done to his country, but who was the third aspect of his personality, and how and when had this all come about?
“You are our great and mighty emperor,” Webster Silk sa
id, “and that is what she recognizes.”
Amberhill smiled. Or was it Mornhavon? “Yes, I’ve destroyed the world and the people she knew.” A blank look, the fluttering of his eyes, then a painful whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about, Your Eminence,” Webster Silk said hastily. He placed a hand on the emperor’s arm, probably the only person who dared touch him. He led Amberhill back toward his throne chair. “You have created a great empire. We are strong.”
“Yes, yes, of course I have.” Amberhill sat, looking baffled for a moment. “We are strong, aren’t we?” he asked the elder Silk, with uncertainty in his voice.
“Very strong.”
Mornhavon, Karigan thought, was not fully potent. He must fight for dominance over the other two personalities. Mornhavon by himself would have been pure malevolence. In this state, he was . . . diluted. Was there a way to get through to Amberhill? To help him dominate? Or a way to get through to that other unknown personality? If Mornhavon felt threatened, compromised, he might flee to another body, one of the Silks, possibly. Not at all a comforting thought. Yet, he remained with Amberhill. Why would he?
“I am bored,” Amberhill said, though Karigan did not think it was Amberhill or Mornhavon who spoke this time. She noticed the Adherents shifting nervously. Dr. Silk darted a glance at her. It was apparently not good to let the emperor get bored.
His gaze was leveled right at her. “Very bored.”
At that moment, the Eternal Guardian, who had remained still as a statue until now, leaned toward Amberhill and spoke too low for her to make out words. Amberhill nodded, and the Guardian then spoke to one of the nearby guards. The guard hastened from the throne room.
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