But Nahri said, “We will not convince him. He will not believe we are ready until the full time has passed.”
Then Imalkit said, “We shall have to wait, or find another way to convince him.”
Together they built a hut, and Ektabr sat there with Hastu, discussing matters of the spirit. The sisters went out into the hills. They found a plant there whose leaves were not good food, a plant whose leaves were good medicine. They picked the leaves and brought them back. Hastu sat in the hut with Ektabr; Ektabr burned the leaves in the fire, so that their smoke filled the hut. The medicine made Hastu calm. The siblings asked him if the time had come for them to join the circles, and he said yes. All the people heard him say it.4
1 The siblings from the invocation! And a fitting way for them to appear. In all the myths and epic stories, the heroes are born in some unusual fashion, like they don’t have fathers or they’re delivered by a goddess. Four eggs in a clutch is normal, but I presume four hatchlings from one egg is not?—AC
That is, to the best of my knowledge, impossible. We consider it noteworthy and a good omen when two hatchlings come from one egg. That may be an echo of this story, or rather, this story may be reflecting a very old belief among my people.—K
2 Perhaps this is a religious term, indicating a type of priest? He seems to serve a function of that sort, and we know from other texts that it was traditional among the Anevrai, as now, for males to serve in religious roles.—K
Could be. The most untranslatable things are usually the ones that refer to specific things from ancient times, things we don’t have an equivalent for today. But if it were a priestly role or something like that, I’d expect the word here to be a noun, not an adjective.—AC
True.—K
3 As it is today.—K
But “no priesthoods” undercuts the idea that šiknas is the term for a specific kind of priest. It could indicate these eldest brothers, but in that case I’m surprised we don’t see the word being used again here.—AC
He might be a kind of shaman, though the word is certainly not cognate with that term in any related language I am aware of today.—K
4 Am I reading this wrong, or did they just drug Hastu with hashish?—AC
Hashish is the resin. The leaves themselves are called cannabis.—CF
I am not going to ask how you know that.—AC
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST
7 Seminis
I suppose it was the epic that set this off. We’ve finally gotten to the four siblings the invocation promised, hatched from a single shell, and naturally that would turn Cora’s thoughts to the houseguest who also came out of a shell.
She approached it in her typical way, which is to come out of seeming nowhere with a question. (I’m sure there’s a logical process by which she arrives at it, but for those of us not privy to her thoughts, it seems to spontaneously generate.) Kudshayn and I were in the middle of discussing a word on the next tablet that I’m sure we ought to render as “fledging”—as in, the developmental stage where a baby bird becomes ready for flight—when Cora said, out of the blue, “How many sisters do you have?”
I thought at first she was addressing me, so I said, “Just one. Her name is Charlotte—we call her Lotte—and she’s younger than me. I was thinking about inviting her to visit for a day or two, if you think your uncle wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure he would,” Cora said without hesitation. It was the same way most people would reflexively say “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” so it took me a moment to realize she meant that her uncle would absolutely veto a visit. Then, before I could respond to that, she added, “But I was asking Kudshayn.”
He had stood up to stretch his wings over by the windows, where he wouldn’t hit anything, and furled them as he turned to face her. “I also have just one, Teslit. But we are the same age, because we came from the same clutch.” He rattled his wings a little in amusement. “Not the same shell, though.”
Cora frowned. “Only one sister? I thought there were usually lots of females in a Draconean clutch, and then maybe one male. Why don’t you have more?”
Kudshayn’s wings stopped rattling and tucked in tight against his back. “One sister, yes. What do you think of this sign—do you think Audrey is correct about its meaning?”
It was a transparent bid to change the subject, and it failed. “How should I know?” Cora said. “You know I can’t really read any of that. Is there some reason you have only one sister? Did something happen to the others?”
“Cora—” I said, meaning to intervene.
“I would like to get back to work,” Kudshayn said, a little more loudly. His wings had to be aching with how tightly they were furled. “Perhaps later we can talk more.”
Her whole body had gone rigid. “You don’t mean that. You mean you don’t want to talk about this, and you’re hoping that if you say that I’ll let it go and forget.”
“Cora—”
“I won’t forget, though. Why don’t you want to answer my question?”
“Cora!”
My shout shocked me into silence as much as her. Cora stared at me for a moment, fuming and hurt. Then she stomped out of the library, slamming the door behind her.
I stayed in my chair and dropped my head onto my arms, groaning. “I am so sorry, Kudshayn. I—I should have spoken to her, or something.” He knows by now how blunt Cora can be, but I never thought she would wind up going straight for the most tender spot Kudshayn has.
“Do not apologize,” he said. When I looked up, I saw his wings relax incrementally. “It is not your responsibility to protect me from such questions. If I wanted to prevent Cora from asking, I should have taken steps to ensure that myself.” Now his wings drooped. “I did not handle that at all well.”
He could hardly be expected to. I know it’s strange for him, reading about the ancient past—a past that was clearly ancient even to the Anevrai, and simultaneously familiar and thoroughly alien. The whole way through the Hatching Tablet, I’ve been cautious about what I say to him and how, because I knew without even thinking about it that the subject would be sensitive. But of course Cora doesn’t know that, and this was the result.
I sighed. “It will blow over. Let’s get back to work.”
But Kudshayn made no move toward the table. “Someone should go talk to Cora. I would do it myself, but . . .” He drooped another wing-sigh. “I do not know her very well yet. She is more your friend than mine.”
Is Cora my friend? I don’t really know. She’s such a peculiar girl—no, a peculiar young woman; if I am going to complain about people calling me “girl,” it isn’t fair to do that to someone else. And as for what we are to each other . . . well, I doubt she and I will ever braid each other’s hair the way Lotte and I do, and she would loathe many of the things I enjoy. But I’d be sad to lose her help. Not just because she’s useful, but because I’ve come to enjoy working with her. Which I suppose does make her a friend.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say,” I told him, but I stood up anyway.
Kudshayn stood silent for a long moment, thinking. Then he said, “Answer her question. I think she will be happier knowing, but I would prefer not to speak of it right now.”
His family. I couldn’t help staring at him in astonishment, sure I must have somehow misheard him. But Kudshayn nodded, gesturing me out the door, so I went in search of Cora.
I found her in the upstairs corridor, where there is a window seat she has claimed as her own. She was curled up on it with one hand tucked tight under the opposite arm and the other employed in twining a lock of hair around her finger over and over again. She resolutely did not look at me as I walked up.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, standing a careful distance away. With Lotte I would have perched at the other end of the seat, but Cora doesn’t like people being too close to her, especially when she’s upset. “And Kudshayn is sorry, too. He . . . Family is a very sensitive topic for him.”
&n
bsp; She continued to stare out the window, twining her hair again and again. “Then why didn’t he say that?”
“In a way, he did. Draconean body language isn’t like ours—well, some parts of it are. But his wings tucking in like that was his way of showing that he was uncomfortable with your question.”
Cora scowled. “How was I supposed to know that?”
It was a fair question. “You weren’t. If I’d realized . . . I can teach you how they behave, if you like. Kudshayn speaks very good Scirling and knows a lot of our habits, but he’ll still do things that are different. For example, he can’t raise his eyebrows when he’s surprised or curious, because he doesn’t have any. I can tell you what to look for.”
She relaxed a degree or two, but not all the way.
I think it might have been easier to carve the explanation into clay and give that to her than to say it out loud. What happened to Kudshayn’s clutch isn’t my story—but in a way, I think that’s why I’m even more reluctant to tell it than he is. How many years did he and I know each other before he said anything about it to me? And that was when I’d already gotten the general outline from Grandmama. But I’ve heard so many people say thoughtless things in reply, and I was terribly worried Cora would do the same, and even though Kudshayn wasn’t there to hear it, I was still flinching on his behalf—pre-emptively, since I hadn’t yet said anything and neither had Cora.
Which meant I was being stupid. Kudshayn told me to tell her.
I leaned against the wall, tipping my head to the plaster and closing my eyes. “Do you know how evolution works for Draconeans?”
The earl doesn’t have very many books on them—rather startling, for a man who collects so many of their antiquities—but Cora ordered a whole stack when we made plans for Kudshayn to come here, and has been reading her way steadily through them. She said, “Developmental lability means that the environment in which an egg incubates can, if significantly different from the environment of the parental egg, cause mutations.”
“Yes. It’s why Kudshayn can come spend time here and not feel horribly uncomfortable. Most Draconeans are adapted to life at a very high altitude, which means they do badly in environments we’d consider much less harsh. But Kudshayn hatched at a lower elevation, in a warmer climate. It means his scales are different from other Draconeans’—he doesn’t molt the way they do, for example—and, well, a lot of other differences that probably aren’t interesting to you, unless you plan to take up a career as a dragon naturalist. But the part that matters is, his mother decided to take a big risk and lay her eggs quite far from where she’d hatched, at the edge of what anybody thought might be viable.”
That got Cora’s attention. She turned to face me and said, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes. He has only one sister because the others didn’t make it. The clutch was a large one—six eggs—and two of them never hatched at all. Two others had very bad mutations, and didn’t survive. People sometimes think that developmental lability means the hatchling always evolves in a way that suits the new environment, but that isn’t true, and it gets riskier the bigger the differences are. Kudshayn is mostly healthy, but he has difficulty breathing sometimes. And his one surviving sister is very delicate; in fact, if it weren’t for doctors, she probably wouldn’t still be alive.”
Cora hunched in on herself again. In a small voice, she said, “I thought they might be dead. That’s why I asked. I thought, if they were, then he and I would have something in common.”
My breath stopped. All this time I’ve known that Cora is Lord Gleinleigh’s ward—but have I made any attempt to find out why? No, I have not. And I could pretend it’s because I feared that would be a sensitive subject and wanted to let her bring it up in good time . . . but that’s a lie. The truth is that I’ve been entirely wrapped up in the question of these tablets, and haven’t done a flaming thing to learn about Cora’s life.
She wasn’t the one being thoughtless. I was.
It took me far too long to figure out what to say to that. Finally I said, “Kudshayn generally prefers not to talk about it. If he changes his mind, he’ll let you know. But . . . if you ever want to tell me about your parents, you’re welcome to.”
She peered up at me. “Are any of your family dead?”
“Only my grandfather,” I said. “My grandmother’s first husband, I mean—the one I’m related to. But he died even before my father was born, so I don’t think that really counts.”
“It doesn’t,” she said. Which stung, even though I agree with her.
She thought for a moment, then said, “Yes. I’d like to know what to look for in his behaviour. Otherwise I’ll offend him again, and I don’t want to.”
I couldn’t help but cast a glance over my shoulder, toward the stairs and my work. “Now?”
“No,” Cora said. “I want to sit here for a while. And I’ll do the same thing.” She saw my confusion and added, “Let you know. If I want to talk about it. My parents, I mean.”
Never in my life have I felt so self-conscious about having a healthy, loving family. I tugged my dress straight, even though it didn’t need it, and said, “Then—if you’re sure you’re all right—”
Cora shrugged, hand drifting back to her hair. “I’m not. But I will be.”
It was a clear dismissal, but not an unfriendly one. I went downstairs to join Kudshayn and the tablets, and we spent the rest of the day working very pleasantly together . . . but I have written this all down so I will not forget it. I am not as good at being considerate of people as Lotte is, but that’s no excuse not to try.
FIFTEEN YEARS PREVIOUSLY
From: Kudshayn
To: The Sanctuary of Wings
To the elders of the Sanctuary of Wings, I give greetings under the light of the sun, on the footing of the earth.
I lower my wings in shame. I am no fit diplomat to represent our people. Though my mother laid her clutch in a place that might allow her hatchlings to survive well beyond the Sanctuary, that only gives me the physical ability to travel in greater comfort. It does not make me skilled, or knowledgeable, or wise.
Today I faced my first test as an ambassador, and I failed.
I failed, and Teslit suffered for it.
Agarzt believes—or believed—that the time has come for me to begin attending official events, so that I can begin lifting some of the burden from those sisters who have carried it until now. In my pride, I agreed. We arranged with the emperor to have a formal meeting with some representatives from Scirland at his palace in Ongnan, and so I have been here for the last two weeks.
Teslit is here with me. She has no intention of participating in the meetings, but at this time of year the climate in Ongnan is no worse than at home, and the emperor’s physicians can care for her as well here as anywhere else. The journey tired her out, so she has been resting since we arrived. Today she was feeling well enough that she asked if we could go for a walk through the gardens, which the emperor has told us we may do. Since I will be busy with official matters beginning tomorrow—or at least, I was supposed to be; that may change now—I was happy to go along.
The Ongnan Palace is one built by an earlier emperor for the purpose of leisure. It is not heavily defended like the palaces in Phautan or Tho Giulio. But there are many guards here right now because the emperor is in residence, and they were patrolling the gardens, because the walls there are not very high and someone could easily climb in.
Someone did climb in.
I saw her drop out of a tree from a little distance away. A human girl, small and skinny, and at that distance I thought she was perhaps Kengumet, because she was darker-skinned than the Yelangese usually are, and her hair was very curly. I am fairly certain she hadn’t seen me and Teslit, because we were screened by a stand of bamboo; she turned the other direction and began to move through the garden, keeping behind bushes and trees where she could.
This was my first failure. I should have immediately told the g
uards there was an intruder. But because she was so small—I wasn’t sure of her age, but now I know she is eight—I thought there was no need.
Instead I asked Teslit, “Should we follow her?”
Teslit rattled her wings in amusement and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be an ambassador to humans? She looks human.”
My second failure is that I did not suggest Teslit should wait, or go back to our rooms. I don’t know if she would have agreed, but I should have thought to say it. I know how easily my sister can be hurt, but I didn’t stop to think that I might be leading her into danger.
We followed the girl. She was not as stealthy as she thought; the guards would have spotted her very soon. But none of them had come upon her yet when Teslit and I caught up and I said in Yelangese, “Greetings under the light of the sun, on the footing of the earth.”
My third failure is that I did not wait to say that until after she had finished skirting the edge of a fishpond.
The girl yelped and fell in. The ponds in the Ongnan Palace are deep enough, and she was small enough, that I was worried she might be at risk of drowning if she did not know how to swim. I cannot swim either, but I have grown a great deal these last six months, and am tall enough that I could stand on the pond’s bottom and be safe. So I immediately ran forward to help her.
It turned out the girl did not need my help. By the time I reached the edge of the pond, she had paddled over and hoisted herself out without reaching for my hand. I realized, too late, that seeing a Draconean leaning over and reaching for her might be frightening, but she didn’t seem intimidated at all. She only wiped her hair out of her face and said in Scirling, “You’re a Draconean!”
I am so used to people being either afraid of us or peculiarly fascinated, but she seemed to take my existence for granted. She looked past me to Teslit and said, “Two of you! Let’s see—your ruffs are different, and if I remember right, it’s the males that have the more interesting patterns on theirs. So you’re female, which means you’re Teslit?” Then she turned to me. “And you’re male, so that makes you Kudshayn. I think. Unless I got it backward.”
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