“She was afraid of him, all right, but a little thing like that doesn't understand sacrifice. She ran away, and he went by accident. She'll be back.”
He hoped she was right.
When he got back to the Hall hours later, a tired-looking black-clad woman was waiting for him, sitting on the step below the Seat. He thought she looked familiar. She held an old wooden box on her lap—it looked like real wood—and she put a finger to her lips; Maaya was stretched on the floor in the far corner, sleeping. She had one arm flung over her face and he was reminded of their short time at the Inn, in the soft bed.
The woman rose when he approached her. She stood silently and he realized she was waiting to be acknowledged. “You are waiting to see me, Madam?”
“I am, Your Grace. I am Anuu, the Keeper, I was attached to your mother's retinue, rest her now. I have been waiting for this day. Quietly, behind closed doors.”
“I don't think . . .” then he paused. This was the woman's life's work, he shouldn't make it gritty with distractions, no matter what he thought was happening to his mother out on the sand. “Please, continue.”
I'm afraid there won't be much of a ceremony,” she said. “There hasn't been a real one since well before the Weapon, since your grandfather took the Seat—rest him now—and I think you'll agree it best to do this quickly.” She didn't have to add, 'In case Yuenne reappears.' “By our laws, which are older than the city and handed down to us by Aa; the Seat is yours, and so is Eriis.”
“Thank you, Anuu.” He struggled to recall what he was supposed to say and came up empty. “You honor me.” The twitch under her left eye told him he was going in the wrong direction, so he simply asked, “What must I do?” His mother had never discussed succession, never talked about anyone following her to the Seat, as if she believed she'd live forever, or perhaps someone better suited would one day come along.
“Well,” the woman said, “it's been the tradition that the heir to the Seat must tell the story of their predecessor, transform a cup of water for everyone at court, and show them their fire and their True Face. But . . .”
“But there is no court, I don't know my mother's story, I can't do either of those things, and believe me, no one wants to see my True Face.”
The woman smiled; he thought, a genuine smile. “You might be surprised about that. But you are correct, of course. The Counselor disbanded your mother's court and installed his friends and pets. As you've seen, they have already begun to exchange white robes for black or remember obligations elsewhere. It will be up to you to decide who sits at your own court. Until then then there is only the High Seat, and this.” She set the box on the Seat and opened it. Inside was a swath of black fabric that looked as soft as a child's cheek. “It's called velvet,” she told him. “It came from the humans.” She folded it back. “But this, this is from the rock and bone of Eriis. And now, this is for you.”
He'd never seen the crown before. His mother said it reminded her of her father, and the time before the Weapon. She wore it the day she took the Seat from his grandfather, and then gave it back to Anuu.
“Wait,” he said. “Just for a moment.” He went to kneel beside Maaya, and gently shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes, and as usual, it took her a long moment to remember where she was. That had been true under the blue sky of Mistra as much as it was now. “Want to see something?”
As he expected, that got her moving. She was always ready for a new thing. She rubbed her face and got to her feet, straightened her tunic. Anuu nodded. “It's proper to have a witness,” she said. “You may come closer, my dear.” Anuu lifted the crown from its velvet bed. It was thick as a woman's wrist (a proper demon woman), glassy and water-clear in places, elsewhere of stone, twisted and rough. Through it ran threads of glittering light. “You are witnessing the passing of the High Seat back into the hands of the family who has held it since Aa gave the spark of life to Eriis. Rhuun, who was once a prince, you are now—”
“I remain Prince,” he said, “as my mother is still out there, on the sand.” This left a pathway back for her to the High Seat and made him more of a steward. If he had taken the title of King, it would be much more complicated and unpleasant when she returned. If he were a prince, he could still walk away.
The woman frowned, her eyelid twitched. “Are you certain?”
“I will hold the Seat in my family's name for as long as it takes, but she is still the queen.” She nodded and raised the crown. Her upraised arms came to the level of his chin, and they smiled at each other.
“Perhaps it's just as well there's not a room full of people after all,” he said.
After a moment, they exchanged places; she climbed onto the step of the Seat itself, and he knelt on the ground two steps below. She placed the glass and stone crown on his head. “Here rests the rock and bone of Eriis. Prince Rhuun, the High Seat and the city are yours. Be thoughtful with them.” She folded back the velvet and closed the box and left them alone.
“I wish Ilaan could be here,” Maaya said. “You look very handsome.” And then she began to cry again.
“Listen to me,” he told her. “Everything that's happened began and ended at Yuenne's feet. Not you. Not me. Not even my mother, Light and Wind protect her. If I am to be the one on the Seat, I can't do it without you. Can you be with me?”
“I can't just forget—”
“I am not asking you to forget. I'm asking for your help. I've never been in charge of anything, barely even my own life. You heard Anuu—the city is mine. What do I do with it?”
“Well,” she said, and took a breath. He watched as she made up her mind. “We could start by finding a new place to sleep. Aren't you exhausted?”
He wasn't. But he knew that once the shock of the day wore off, he would be. Maaya had already stuck her head out into the corridor and called in two black-clad men who were waiting outside.
“The prince requires an evening meal,” she told them. Then she frowned. “Where did you come from?”
One of the men said, “We served as household guard for his mother, rest her now, and when we heard that the Counselor had fled, we came in from the Quarter, hoping to take back our positions.”
“You'll find many of us who prefer a darker uniform, Your Grace.”
He nodded at the men. “I look forward to seeing all of you. Could you let the others know? We'll meet in the morning in the atrium. Until then, we'll have dinner in my mother's private dining room—-”
“Pardon, sir, but that was turned into offices. Her things all put away.” The man shifted. “You've been gone a while.”
Rhuun sighed. There were hallways of empty rooms Yuenne could have used, but he was making a point by dismantling the things that might remind anyone of their queen. The thought of wandering around the palace in search of an appropriate place to sleep was overwhelming. Maaya was right, he was tired. He looked around—the High Seat Hall had rows of benches along opposite walls, and then of course the flight of three steps to the Seat itself. He supposed it would do. “Fine. We'll dine here for now. Oh, and have the rooms at the far end of the Moon Floor—facing away from the city, the rooms in the corner that face the mountains—have them opened and arranged for me. We'll be staying there. Have it ready by morning.”
The guards glanced at each other. “Not in the family suites, Your Grace?”
“Moon Floor. Corner. Can you see to it?”
Once they had gone, Maaya said, “The Moon Floor?”
“It's the top level. Once, you could lie in your bed and watch the moons travel from the plains to the mountains.”
“And what does it have now?”
“Privacy,” Rhuun replied. “And big windows.”
Maaya straightened from arranged stacks of blankets and pillows behind the Seat itself, as the curved back made for a sort of nook. It wasn’t a real room, but it would do in a pinch until this Moon Room of his was ready. She supposed she’d slept in rougher spots. The rest of the room disappear
ed into shadows, and above the low clouds raced by. They ate a light dinner and watched the second moon slide overhead behind the veil of ash and dust. Maaya sipped her sarave and ran her fingers along the rough and smooth surface of the crown. “It doesn't look like any crown I've ever seen. Ours are more like jewelry for your head. It does look like it has gold in it, though.”
““Hmm? Oh. Yes, that's gold.”
She held it up to the glowing stone in the dish at her elbow for a better look. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. There's gold in everything. All the rocks. Everywhere. Why do you think the walls are so sparkly? Or the floor?”
“I guess I thought it was quartz or something.” She pushed her blanket to the side and squinted at the lines and beads of gold, right under her. “There's gold in the rocks?”
“Yes. We used to make jewelry with it, before the Weapon. My mother had some nice things; I used to play with them when I was small. She locked them away, I don't know what happened to them. And now some people use them for their tattoos. And piercings. You've seen those.”
“Right.” Mining, she thought. Trade. I need to talk to Althee. I don't know enough about any of this. She handed it back, and he folded the velvet back over it and closed the box.
“Is it important?” he asked.
“Maybe, but not right now.” She thought of the glittering art decorating Aelle's slender hands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why don't you have any tattoos?”
He smiled. “It's embarrassing.”
“Perfect. Tell me.”
He poured another round of sarave and leaned against the back of the High Seat, and she leaned against him. He pulled her close. “When I reached the age of majority, the piercer came to the palace. He was an old man and good at his trade, he'd worked for my family all his life, as had his father. Piercing is generally considered a man's job, I don't know why. Anyway, he did these,” he brushed his hand against his chest, and she looked back over her shoulder, remembering how shocked she'd been by the now absent golden rings. Shocked, and then delighted. He continued. “I suppose I was so excited or he was so fast I didn't even feel it. It was an important thing for me, you understand. It made me more like everyone else. I was ready in my head, but I was terrified of the pain. And of course, I couldn't tell anyone, not even Ilaan. He was still too young to get anything done, but showed up to 'supervise', he said. So, I was anxious and I didn't have any breakfast. And the piercer did the first part, and well, that wasn't so bad. But when he prepared the first bead for my yala, he held up the tool…it was a sort of a hook…I passed out before he even started working on me. I woke up, he was gone and it was done. Ilaan naturally thought it was hilarious.
“'I told him you'd placed yourself in a deep meditative state to insure proper placement, and against reported shaking hands,' he said. 'He won't say a word.'
“He couldn't have said anything, not if he wanted to retain our commission. Nothing insulting, anyway. The story that made its way back to me was that I was the finest subject he ever worked on, and that even if I didn't have the fire of ten men, I had the volume. You see, he meant—”
“I got it,” Lelet said.
“I was mortified.”
“Obviously. And secretly thrilled?”
“Obviously.” He smiled. “Other than that, he kept what happened to himself, or very nearly. He only told one person what really happened, and that person did me a great kindness.”
“Who was that?”
“The tattoo artist. She—tattoo artists are almost all women—asked for an audience not long after. We met here in the palace for lunch. She was quite a bit older than I am now, a beautiful woman—although at that age I thought all women younger than my mother and most older ones too were beautiful.”
“And now?”
“I can't say. It's been quite a while since I've noticed any other woman than yourself.”
They paused to kiss for a few minutes. “What did she say?”
“Ah. After lunch, she told me she liked to meet with those she'd be working with, before the creation began. Of course, later on I found out that wasn't true at all. But she said she wanted to tell me how it would be done. She took her tools out of her kit and showed me how they fit over her hand. It was quite interesting; like gloves, but only the fingertips. And black, shiny. Sharp. They were attached to ribbons which ran up her arms to the paint, or ink, which she strapped in packs on her back. She had black and gold; I think there are other colors now. 'The way it works,' she told me, 'is similar to performances you've seen and experienced on stage. I send out an image, like rolling a ball in your direction. You give it form and texture and roll it back. I add dimension. You add context. And so on.' She tapped a switch and her hands sort of…hummed. 'Give me your hand,' she said, 'and I'll demonstrate. Don't worry, there's no ink right now.' I put my hand out and she stroked the back of it with all five fingers. I'm afraid I screamed and knocked our plates off the table. I'd never felt pain like that in my life. I was so embarrassed, I wanted to dive face first into the Crosswinds.”
“Poor thing. What did she do?”
“She dismantled her kit and picked up the plates. She said 'You have the ball, Your Grace. I will wait for you to roll it in my direction.' And like the piercer, she never said a word to anyone.”
I'm only the latest woman to protect him, she thought. I couldn't protect Thayree…
He must have noticed the change in her demeanor. “Shani, don't. We'll find her. But not tonight.”
“We'll start looking tomorrow? You and I?”
He sighed and nodded. “Whatever you like.”
“I could go by myself, I know you're busy. And people don't know me, I can ask around…”
He took her hand. “People do know you. And I won't have you going into the Quarter alone, much less inside the Arch.” He shuddered at the idea, she supposed, of her questioning his cultured, elegant neighbors, like some unwashed slut from Fool's Hill barging into their dinner parties. “Sleep, and we'll make a plan tomorrow.” She could tell he was both tired, and tired of talking. Neither one of them had mentioned Ilaan. And then there was Siia; certainly she’d have heard about the fate of her husband by now, and that meant Ilaan would know as well. She had no idea how he’d react or what to expect. Surely they knew rescuing Thayree might involve a blow directed at their father—after all, why else had they brought her back? But this went past a blow, and no one had been rescued.
Aelle hates me already, but at least she and I understand each other. Poor Moth, he has no one left. I have to fix this. If we find Thayree, that’s a start.
She lowered the glowing stones and watched him pass into sleep.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow we’ll find her. We have to.
Chapter Fifteen
Mistra
It was ecstasy. It was a nightmare. It was overwhelming and delight and pain (and that was a new thing, pain.)
The only experiences Yuenne could compare it to were the combat flights of his youth, taking on all comers in the air above the schoolyard, or the heights of joining with his Siia; the kiss of flame, passions that literally burned. There was nothing else, no part of his life that came close to the sensations crawling across his new, human skin.
Auri smirked at him from across the room, lounging in a scuffed, sprung leather armchair. The furniture above their heads, in the main house, was chosen for comfort and style, but here in the locked cellar room, everything was expendable. The burns and gouges in Yuenne's own chair spoke to that. He'd just added new scratches to the worn leather with his own fingernails.
“You look just right,” Auri told him. “If you'd stop all that twitching and fidgeting, no one would look twice.” Satisfied, he closed the book of charms and locked it in the lower right drawer of his desk. He'd bring it back out if Yuenne decided it was safe enough to perform on Thayree, not that there was much choice.
Yuenne force
d a deep breath and struggled for calm. “How do I make it stop?” he asked.
Auri looked up from the desk, puzzled. “Stop what?”
Yuenne pushed away the blanket that covered him and held out his arm. There were tiny hairs on the backs of his hands, on his arms—Light and Wind, probably all over him, like a beast. He was afraid to look. The hairs shivered as air moved across them. “The feeling. I can feel everything. So how do I make it stop?”
Auri laughed. “It doesn't stop. It never does. You'll just have to get used to it. Welcome to being human, Jan.” That was the human name they'd chosen for him, close as it was to his real name. Something else to get used to, something less dramatic but no less final. A new name for his new face. A cramp seized Yuenne's left foot, sending his toes in different directions, and he gasped. His eyes watered, and the tears felt greasy and warm on his cheeks.
“Oh, a foot cramp. Those are the worst. Just stand up and put your weight on them, they'll straighten out.” He gave an impatient sigh as Yuenne tried, and failed, to stand up. “Pull it together, man.”
Yuenne fought through the pain and confusion and grabbed a handful of flame to throw Auri's way, the way you'd singe a mouthy child. Nothing happened except that he overbalanced and toppled out of the chair, his legs tangled in the blanket. Auri laughed again.
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