by Peter Newman
He gave a bow of respect to them both. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
In the red light, their faces seemed like statues, their eyes hidden in bloody shadows. Neither of them bowed nor saluted, though their heads tilted in the barest form of acknowledgement. It stabbed at his pride, making his fists clench within his long slevees, but he couldn’t blame them for being angry. After all, House Sapphire had all but slammed its doors on everyone else.
He went and took a seat, pondering the best approach as the servant poured him a glass of wine.
This has to go well. If I can win them over, I gain two more voices that will support my challenge when it comes.
‘I’m afraid I bring bad news.’ And he told them of his encounter with Quiverhive.
Anuja looked grave as he spoke, Quasim puzzled, as if still waiting for the punchline to a joke, and Lakshin shook his head in disbelief. ‘A demon on the Godroad? Unharmed?’ He shook his head a second time. ‘Impossible. Perhaps you mistook its closeness for contact, as you say, you were high above it.’
‘I know what I saw.’
‘Did your hunters see it also?’
‘No.’
‘Your entourage then?’
Vasin’s heart sank. ‘No … I travelled here alone.’
‘Then you will forgive me if I trust centuries of experience before the report of one Sapphire Deathless.’
There was a brief and awkward silence. All four of them filled it by sipping from their drinks.
Quasim leaned forward. ‘Lady Anuja tells us you are most nimble in the sky, Lord Vasin.’
He gave a nod to Anuja in recognition of the compliment. ‘Then I hope I prove worthy of her words when we next fly together.’
Quasim grinned. ‘She says you’re almost as good as me!’
Anuja rolled her eyes but said nothing. Her silence seemed out of place, given that she acted as the High Lord of her house. It troubled him.
‘Perhaps,’ Quasim added, ‘you would be interested in pitting your wings against mine?’
‘Perhaps,’ echoed Vasin. ‘But I am more interested in how my wings might serve my friends. I’ve heard a little of how things are here, but not from you.’
‘Things are hard,’ said Quasim, still grinning. ‘And glorious. The Wild throws ever more at us, and we prove more than a match for it.’
‘I hear the most recent hunt had six tributes.’
‘Aye! And they drew out a mighty horde for us to fight.’
‘What was it like?’
‘It’s hard to describe,’ said Lakshin. ‘You really had to be there.’
Another insult. He kept a tight grip on his pride, reminding himself that he needed the Opal onside. ‘I’m here now and I don’t intend to be idle. If there’s anything you can tell me, it would be appreciated.’
Lakshin scowled and Vasin wasn’t sure if it was at the memory or the imposition. ‘These aren’t like normal hunts. They start the same way of course, but the moment we take wing, things change.’
‘Forgive me,’ he glanced at Anuja. ‘But there’s nothing normal about sending six tributes.’
‘It’s true,’ agreed Lakshin, also glancing at Anuja. ‘May I?’ She waved consent and he continued. ‘In the hunt before, Fourboards made its sacrifices and sent out two tributes, as is the tradition.’ Lakshin looked out of the window towards the distant, glittering lights below. ‘Neither of them made it more than twenty paces into the Wild before they were taken. Can you believe it? It was so sudden our hunters never even found the torches.’ He shook his head, still disbelieving. ‘The following night was a long one for the people of Fourboards. Murkers came right up to the fences. In the end, they were driven off but by then they’d managed to break one of the supporting stilts and an entire house fell into the swamp.’
‘They attacked the settlement itself? You’re sure?’
Lakshin seemed annoyed at the interruption. ‘What of it?’
‘I thought Murkers only attacked living things.’
‘They were, the house was full of living things.’
‘Yes, but to bring down a structure like that …’
‘Please. They’re beasts, the house was between them and food so they attacked it. It’s no different to when the Toothsack ate part of Raften.’
Vasin frowned. He wasn’t convinced, and nor it seemed, was Anuja. Lakshin seemed to consider the matter closed and carried on.
‘In response to the attack, the elders of Fourboards called another hunt and upped the number of tributes to six.’
‘And did these tributes get through?’
‘Oh they got through,’ said Quasim. ‘It was incredible. Imagine it, Lord Vasin. All that blood in one place crying out through six wounds. They called every demon in the swamp.’
‘Incredible?’ snorted Lakshin. ‘It was the height of idiocy. There we were, three Deathless, all backed by hunters, and it was all we could do to not be overwhelmed.’
Vasin was surprised when Anuja didn’t respond to this criticism of her people. Perhaps she agrees with him. ‘I don’t think idiocy is the same as desperation. By the sounds of it Fourboards needed the second hunt to succeed.’
‘You don’t throw out a thousand years of tradition because of one anomaly!’
‘What other choice did they have?’
‘To endure. The traditions are there to protect us all. By breaking them, Fourboards put us all at risk. Surely you of all people should understand that?’
Vasin took a deep breath as he imagined hooking his fingers into the Opal’s lower jaw and ripping it out. He kept his hands by his sides however, and his voice light, ‘That’s why I’m here, to honour our friends in House Ruby.’
Lakshin’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I look forward to seeing it, Lord Vasin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady, it’s been a long day.’
Quasim stood up as well. ‘A glorious day! Fourboards is safe once more, and the Wild will take time to recover from the beating we gave it.’
As will Lady Anuja, thought Vasin. As will we all. It troubled him that despite all they had seen, Lakshin and Quasim were still behaving as if everything was normal. As if tradition and skill alone would be enough to see order restored.
‘A toast before you leave,’ announced Anuja, raising her cup. She did not stand, and so the other two Deathless were forced to sit and collect their drinks. ‘To days shared. Be they long, glorious, hard or joyful. Let us endure them together, as friends, always.’
‘To days shared,’ they said. Then toasted, stood, bowed, and left.
‘I should retire too,’ said Vasin. ‘Leave you to your business.’
She held up a hand. ‘In a moment. First tell me you can hunt with them.’
‘Of course. The question is whether they’ll hunt with me.’
‘They will hunt wherever and with whomever I chose, until such time as their High Lords call them home.’
He thought about her words. She states that they will follow her orders, yet makes a point of asking me as an equal, as if I were here as a High Lord rather than subordinate. And this after inviting me to join their gathering, calling me Ruby-friend in front of her allies. She knows I move on Yadavendra and is giving her support.
On impulse, he knelt before her and took her hands in his. ‘Thank you. I won’t forget this, and nor will House Sapphire.’
She inched closer, wincing with the effort, sliding her hand down his wrist to clasp it. For a time they held eye contact, and Vasin was glad of it.
‘The Wild is changing, my friend, and we must change with it. The Sapphire must heal and be better than they were before.’
‘We will, I promise.’
She squeezed his wrist. ‘And I will hold you to it.’
A new day was dawning and word had reached them that High Lord Sapphire was coming with it. As soon as Chandni left her chambers, she stood straighter, any worries banished from sight. Her majordomo’s robes were perfectly fitted, their edges crisp, the studs of sapphire br
ight at her collar. Gloves covered her scar and any awkwardness with her right hand, and her feather was trapped within a braided cage of her hair. Unmanaged, it would pool around her feet. As it was, the bottom of the braid swung against the back of her calves.
She made her usual tour of the castle, pleased to note that everyone was where they should be. The other staff acknowledged her, and she exchanged a quick word with each as she passed. Usually these were banal comments on the weather or the way the castle was sitting in the sky that morning. In a couple of cases she would stay longer, enquiring about the health of a family member or whether a requested tool had arrived. She worked her way through the castle, past the legs of the sapphire giant that stood astride the main entrance. Mid-thigh they vanished into the ceiling, his lower body, upper body and head each on a different floor. The guards standing between his feet saluted as she went down into the kitchens.
A rich symphony of scents greeted her as she descended the stairs, accompanied by the familiar clatter of pots and plates. Once, long ago, she had run down here, assassins hot on her heels. The memory remained fresh in her mind, reborn every time she came this way. She forced herself to slow down. It had become a point of pride to use every step, and savour the fact that it was at a pace of her own choosing.
In most other places in the castle, her arrival would prompt a flurry of salutes or bows, but here in the kitchens, everyone was engaged in their tasks: kneading dough, chopping herbs, cleaning the never ending supply of dirty plates. Here, and here alone, Chandni tolerated it. For though she was in charge of the castle, the kitchens were Roh’s domain.
A thick slab of sapphire protruded from a corner of the room, the air around it shimmering with heat. Energy from the suns fed the crystals beneath the castle, the warmth and light carried up through the walls like blood through veins. Here, the sapphire had been shaped flat with shallow depressions for placing pans and plates, and during the day something was always cooking on them.
She made her way over to the old cook, who was busy stirring a pot of thick sauce. ‘Good morning, Roh.’
‘Big day today, Honoured Mother.’
‘I trust you have something special prepared for the High Lord’s dinner.’
‘That I do, that I do. And I’ve got his favourite soup ready for lunch. You know our High Lord, always early.’
It was true. Not in the way that Chandni was early. She liked to arrive with time in hand, to ensure she was present at the appointed hour. For her it was about respecting others and being precise. Yadavendra, on the other hand, would be shockingly, monstrously early. It was one of the reasons Chandni had already dressed in her best clothes, as on a previous visit she’d still been changing when he’d arrived. The frantic rushing, the panic, it had made for some of the worst hours of her life.
Never again, she’d sworn to herself. I’d rather go out into the Wild.
The throwaway thought brought back true memories of the Wild, and she shuddered. And then, straight after, came memories of Varg. He’d been thrown into her life so suddenly, and then left it the same way. He’d made the Wild bearable, and he’d been devoted to her in a way that nobody else was. The staff here were all loyal, but they were loyal to her as a tool of House Sapphire and Lord Rochant. Varg was loyal to her personally.
Even though he serves Lady Pari, he wants to be with me.
She thought of his gruffness, his strength, his appalling language, and had to suppress a chuckle. Then she thought of other things, the ease at which he blushed in her presence, his hands massaging her feet, of them wandering elsewhere, his promise that he would pay off his debts to the Tanzanite and come to her. That had been sixteen years ago.
It was fantasy of course, but it was her fantasy, the only one she had, and she clung to it.
‘I imagine you have a lot on your mind, Honoured Mother, what with the High Lord on his way,’ said Roh.
The blood grew hot in her face. ‘Oh … yes. I’ll leave you to it.’
Roh hummed an acknowledgement and went back to her business, while Chandni made her way out quickly.
Any thoughts of Varg were long gone as she reached Satyendra’s chambers. All was quiet in the corridor outside save for the swish of fabric as the guards saluted her. She acknowledged them and paused at his doorway to sing for permission to enter. As his mother, she didn’t have to, but she did it anyway, to make a point.
There was a pause, not quite long enough to be rude, but awfully close, before Satyendra replied: ‘Come in.’
The atmosphere in the room was strange, tense. Satyendra held a tablet of glass in his hand that held details of Lord Rochant’s life. He was doing a good impression of studying it, carefully ignoring the other boy in the room.
Pik was three years younger than Satyendra, a cousin on her side of the family. Though they shared a similar body shape, the boy had none of Satyendra’s sharpness, and without Mohit’s blood, the blood of Lord Rochant, there was little to distinguish him. Only her patronage allowed him to keep his privileged spot in the castle. Pik’s face fell when he saw her, and he went back to cleaning the room.
She inspected his work and frowned. In a castle full of high-achievers, what might pass for adequate elsewhere appeared sloppy. ‘You’ve missed a spot.’
‘Sorry, Honoured Mother. I haven’t got to the left side of the room yet.’ He picked up his sponge and hurried past her.
‘I’m not talking about the left side of the room.’ She pointed to the place he’d just left. ‘There? Do you see?’
‘Oh, sorry’ he replied, hurrying back. ‘Sorry.’
‘Calm down, Nose,’ said Satyendra. ‘Nobody cares about one speck of dirt. That’s not why you’re here, is it Mother?’
‘No, and call Pik by his proper name in future.’ She walked over to the wardrobe, and pulled out Satyendra’s cloak. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I suppose so.’
She held the wardrobe door open as Satyendra climbed inside and waited for him to manoeuvre himself behind the clothes there before shutting it. She heard him sigh through the frosted glass.
‘Don’t come out until you hear the knock.’
‘I’ve done this before, you know.’
‘Stay quiet and we’ll be back as soon as we can.’
He didn’t reply and she put her hand on the door as if to communicate the things she couldn’t say. Then she turned and held out Satyendra’s cloak to Pik.
Without meeting her eyes, the boy took it and put it on.
They left together, moving quickly through corridors. Aside from the guards, the place was quiet. Chandni allowed herself a slight nod. As it should be.
From a distance, with the hood up, Pik passed easily for Satyendra. Chandni spoke as they walked, giving the impression that the two were discussing important matters, Honoured Mother to Honoured Vessel, and that they were not to be interrupted. That would be enough to keep most away, and she’d taken steps to make sure that the few others with the authority to approach, like Roh and Ban, were occupied elsewhere.
Despite the meticulous planning, Chandni knew that it would only take one piece of bad luck for her deception to be uncovered, especially on a day when the High Lord was visiting. She may as well worry about the castle falling from the sky for all the good it would do.
Not even I can plan for Yadavendra.
However, no High Lords ambushed her, no one moved out of place, and she and Pik arrived safely at the Chrysalis Chamber.
Sunslight poured in through the glass wall, a physical force sparking sweat and slowing thought. She wondered what such intense conditions must do to the Gardener-smiths’ minds.
Entering, they were confronted by an imperfect form of blue crystal assembled opposite them on a stand. This was the replacement set for Lord Rochant’s armour. The previous set had vanished around the same time the Deathless had been kidnapped, its whereabouts a mystery. There was armour sufficient to identify the body and limbs, but there were gaps the sapphire had not y
et been coaxed to fill, and while it was approximately the right size, it did not yet seem to live in the way a finished suit did.
When Lord Rochant was reborn, he would don this armour. Each piece was grown alongside its vessel so that it would fit perfectly. The trouble was that contact with the crystal seemed to cause Satyendra physical pain. His skin would pale and bubble, losing its colour, and his face would—
No. None of them could stand that. She hoped that when Lord Rochant’s soul took residence it would purge all traces of the Wild from the body, and all evidence that her son had been corrupted. Until then, however, the armour still needed to be grown and so Chandni had come up with another solution: Pik.
Only one Gardener-smith was here and she didn’t look happy about it. As Pik began slipping off his clothes, she came over to Chandni, rubbing her hands together like a nervous Flykin.
‘How much longer?’
‘This may well be the last time. The High Lord is coming. If he is happy with Satyendra then the rebirth will happen immediately. Wrath’s Tear is in ascendance and we don’t want to miss the opportunity.’
‘And if he isn’t happy?’
‘Then it will wait until he is.’
‘But—’
Chandni’s scowl cut her off. ‘Our arrangement hasn’t changed. I’ve always provided appropriate substitutes for the fittings and you have been well compensated for your understanding, not to mention my discretion over your own failings. I have not betrayed your secrets, I am sure you can do me the same courtesy.’
The Gardener-smith glanced at Pik. ‘The size is right, for now anyway. This lad will outgrow yours in another year.’
‘In a year this will be well behind us.’ Please let it be behind us.
‘But what about the bond?’
It was seen by the Gardener-smiths as a sacred triangle: the Deathless soul, the perfect vessel, and the crystal skin. Each was connected to the other and together they were strong. ‘This boy shares my blood, that will have to be enough.’
The Gardener-smith grumbled but picked up a bracer from the stand and placed it carefully on Pik’s forearm. Then, with a false nail on her little finger, she pricked his hand, touching a daub of blood to the crystal to wake it.