“There’s no easy way to articulate this,” I begin.
“So just say what you need to say, Ash. I’m still me.”
“I’m going to stay here with Del, Mish and the others. Until we know what the fallout of all this will be.” I look up to the soot-clogged sky. “I think it’s best they – we – stay in the one place in Aramtesh where we know we’ll do no harm. I wondered if you’d authorize supplies to be left behind when the rest of the forces depart? It’s never going to be a pretty home, but I’d like them to be comfortable. Nobody can rehabilitate under duress.”
“That seems wise.” Always so calm and measured. After everything he’s been through.
I shake my head with a self-deprecating smile. “Possibly the first wise thing I’ve done in a long time. Maybe ever.”
“You’ve always had a quiet wisdom, Ash. It’s one of the reasons I love you.” He looks at me, eyes shining as much with affection as melancholy.
I swallow the lump in my throat, but don’t try to hide the emotion in my own expression.
“And Rakel?” Nisai asks.
“She’s going to make a fresh start. Somewhere of her own choosing. I hope I’ll be able to join her one day, but even if I can’t, she deserves a good life.”
His smile is genuinely pleased. “If anyone has earned it, she has. Though she shouldn’t get too comfortable. I may have need of her yet.”
“Ha! I’m glad I won’t be around for that conversation,” I say, recapping the last vial of prayer essence. “I wish I could return to Lostras with you. There’s nothing more I’d like to see than the coronation.”
“You can rest easy on that front. I meant what I told you back in Aphorai. There won’t be a coronation. The rulers of antiquity tried to build a system that would not be vulnerable to corruption. Perhaps they succeeded in some ways. We had the art and literature and scholarship of the Great Bloom. We avoided war for centuries…”
He trails off, gazing out over what has become of the battleground. The residual sulphur tinging the mist gold in the otherwise steely light. “And then we almost lost it all again. On my father’s watch, and with the helping hand of my brother, no less.”
“You’re not your father. Do you not realize that yet? You would be such a different Emperor than he was.”
Nisai sighs. “Incrementally improving on my father’s reign isn’t enough for me.”
My thoughts are stricken. He can’t truly abdicate. He’s the best of all of them; his brother did what he could with what he knew, but it was always misguided. Nisai would be different. Better than his father, than any of his siblings. “But after everything we’ve fought for…”
“I believe our very existence hinges on our unity. But an Emperor and a Council of the most privileged families in each province? I think our future lies elsewhere.”
“What will you do?”
“The Council and I will report to a larger interim committee, of those we trust to have the people’s best interest at heart. And then, as soon as we can ensure it will be a fairly and transparently staged exercise, we’ll let the people decide. Cast ballots on who they would like to represent them. An even amount from each province, each with an equal vote in laws.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“You know I thrive on a challenge.”
I smile, relieved that his faith in his abilities is returning.
“But yes, I’ll do whatever I can to make it possible for you to take care of your brethren. And then, I hope one day you’ll be able to be with the one meant for you.” For a moment his eyes are sad.
But it’s the briefest of moments.
Because Kip is clearing her throat with as much politeness as she can muster. She’s become so good at being unobtrusive that even I hadn’t consciously registered her presence. I turn to see what she’s alerting us to. Ah. Barden.
Without permission or preamble, he thuds down next to Nisai and wraps his arm around his waist. It’s the most casual breach of so many palace protocols I’d lose count of them if I tried to make a list. When these two get back to Lostras, Barden’s going to drive Nisai’s valet to distraction.
Barden grins at Nisai. It’s an open, honest smile. And I know in that moment, in all the Aphorain Guard’s provincial disregard for court niceties, in the way he looks at Nisai like he’s the light in the dark, that I need not worry. Between him – the partner I couldn’t be for fear of compromising my duty – and Kip, the Shield whose loyal service won’t be complicated by her feelings, Nisai has what he needs. Not safety: I’ve seen too much of the world to think Nisai will ever be safe as he sets about changing the Empire into a place for its people, a process that will make him so many enemies among the entitled. But I can rest knowing he’ll be supported.
Cared for.
Loved.
Everything I’d ever want for him.
The realization is bittersweet. I’m truly not needed any more. It’s a thought that brings liberation, and, immediately upon its heels, a first wave of nostalgia.
I tie off the final band in my prayer braid and roll to my feet. “Perhaps if it bears out that magic is truly behind us, and once things are stable in the new capital, you’ll permit me to visit.”
Nisai gives me his lopsided smile, the one that used to signal mischief and fun when we were young. It’s a smile I’ll miss dearly. For we both know his mission will take turns, not moons. But one day I’d like to think his promise of a new Aramtesh will come true.
“I’d like that,” he says simply.
I step back, regarding the man I’ve dedicated the majority of my life to. Our eyes meet, and we hold each other’s gaze until, finally, I will myself to thump my fist to my chest – a former Imperial Family Shield to the soon-to-be former First Prince of Aramtesh.
Nisai nods gravely.
We both know it’s my final salute.
CHAPTER 45
RAKEL
Lapis Lautus.
City of thieves. Safe harbour to smugglers. Domain of the merchant princes. Built literally out to sea, the sparkling pink stone skyline rises beyond the Trelian Cape – not on Empire land, not liable for imperial taxes. Everyone says that in Lautus, you can buy anything, you can buy anyone. An honest kind of lawlessness.
From my first visit, I knew that if I had my way, I’d be back.
And here I am.
Only this time, things are very different.
Ever since Ekasya Mountain blew up, the whole world seems muted of colour. The ash cloud hangs there, turning the sky milky grey. It’s never-ending, like it covers the whole world. Maybe it does just that.
I toss a purse of zigs to the gate guards. “Keep the change, neighbours.”
It’s half again as much as the toll but I want them to remember me as good for the silver if I ever need a favour. Because if I’m going to make a life here under the volcano’s ash cloud, it’s going to be built on zigs and goodwill.
Making my way through the different sectors, Lautus and I begin to get to know each other. I skirt the fish markets with their marine reek – not that I can smell it. A pang of sadness hits me at that – if I’d regained any of my sense of smell since the Wastes, surely I’d notice it here. But there’s nothing.
I wander the stalls of jewellery and curios in the antique district. Stroll up and down the fresh produce jetty where farmers and smugglers alike pull up their canoes and skiffs to display fruits and vegetables. Fresh or not-so-fresh, after so many able-bodied left the fields for the civil war, they’re fast becoming a precious commodity that everyone wants in on. For a time, I linger among the spice sellers, but don’t get a whiff of anything, and leave with a sigh.
I’ve a destination in mind.
Ah. There it is. Same place as last time – the dumpling stall. The ones that Ash insisted I try. Filled with cheese and dipped in a sweetly fragrant red sauce like nothing I’d ever tasted before. I order a dozen, my stomach rumbling in appreciation of the choice, and head back to the marina.
&nbs
p; Perching on the edge of the wharf, dangling my legs over the water, I watch the gulls circling in hopeful loops above me. This is the place Ash and I sat when we first came to Lautus. The place where we were first brave enough to admit that something more than the need to clear our names and save a prince might have grown between us, like a flower manages to bloom in the gap between flagstones.
That day, the sea was an impossible blue, like liquid crystal. Today it’s reflecting the drab grey above.
I bite into one of the dumplings. It’s tasty, salty and savoury, but not the revelation it was last time. Maybe it’s because I can’t smell them. Maybe it’s because food tastes better in good company.
I wonder if Ash and I will ever sit here together again, sharing food and stories, the distant smells of the market and the bustle of the city in the background. If we could, would he finally let himself wonder at the infinite possibility of what’s on the other side of that sea? At what the future might bring?
I don’t spend too much time dwelling on it. The unlikeliness of it is too raw. Better to keep busy.
With my supper finished, I gather up my satchel and make my way towards the next sector. It’s posh here; I remember from last time that they burn a particular incense in the street. Rich and smooth. I make a note to ask the ingredients when I reach my destination. At least then I can try to reimagine what the scent was like.
There it is. Last time I was here, I relied on Ash to do the reading. This time, the sign with the beaker held by metal tongs above the apothecary’s door is clear to me.
Proprietor: Kreb Atrolos.
The man with the pointed beard and the gems winking all the way up one ear was dead-set against hiring any assistants. And I doubt he’d warm to the idea of competition opening up nearby.
But he adores playing Death in Paradise – the Aphorain scent skill game of potentially deathly drinks.
And he never said anything about not wanting a business partner.
Moons later – not that we can even see the moons – the ash cloud still hasn’t cleared.
The autumn winds didn’t whisk it away, or if they did, they blew more of it in to take its place. The winter rains didn’t wash it clean, instead staining Lautus’s spires and towers with grey sludge, as if the pink stone was weeping tears of smoke.
Guess that’s the price you pay for trying to kill the gods. I imagine Luz would be satisfied with a job done properly. A fanciful part of me wonders if she’s up there somewhere, eyebrow raised in amusement as she watches us try to pick up the pieces and go about our lives.
It should be the beginning of spring. But the cherry trees lining the main avenues are yet to blossom. Word in the streets is that the farmers on the mainland are worried there won’t be enough sun and warmth to bring the seeds up from the soil. Then there’ll be food shortages. Even in a city that draws much of its bounty from the sea, things could get ugly.
The only plant that manages to keep normal cycles without fail is what the Lautians call melbon jasmine. It’s a different sort of flower to the jasmine I’m used to: hundreds of blooms in tight sprays, the outer petals pink rather than white. It tumbles over fences and climbs walls in back alleys like it hasn’t a care in the world.
It’s the first thing I single out when my sense of smell returns.
One moment I’m noticing a surprise whiff of honey sweetness, the next I’m suddenly aware that it’s perfuming the whole city.
Just like that. I can smell again.
I snap off a jasmine sprig on my way from the market back to the apothecary. I want to know what Atrolos makes of this.
The dented old bells above the door jangle as I enter.
“Found the first jasmine to open,” I announce. “And get this… I can smell it!”
No reply from the back room.
“Atrolos?”
My hand goes to my knife. We’ve been protected from any trouble up until now. We pay our dues to the merchant princes, and we’re well known to the highborn for providing the best stock, and to the lowborn for having the most generous hearts – Atrolos drives a hard bargain, but he’s always been open to me doing work for the needy on the side. We make a tidy profit for us and then some. We can afford to be charitable, with enough to spare now that Rot cases have been mysteriously decreasing by the day, the ulcers of one patient after the other scabbing over and healing to pink, new scars. Even without dahkai.
I creep past the jumbled shelves. The skull on the desk watches me with hollow eye sockets. I want to ask him what he’s seen. Is there an intruder?
There’s definitely something different. I sniff the air, but I can’t pick up any scents other than the jasmine. Until I notice it. Something familiar. But it’s deep in my memory, struggling to be called back up.
It’s … woody. Rich. And yet just a little bit sharp. Clean. Like forests. Tall trunks and a carpet of spiked leaves beneath, aromatic as they dry in the late afternoon sun angling beneath the boughs. The hinterland of Hagmir. An essence I used to carry with me to clear my head. And a good alternative to standard armour oil…
Cedar?
There’s more, too. The memory getting stronger as I step closer to the doorway leading to the back room of the apothecary.
Sandalwood. Warmer. Richer. Softer.
And just a touch of something green … galbanum.
I edge towards the door.
It’s him.
It’s really him.
Ash rushes to me, wrapping me in his arms. My feet leave the floor and he’s spinning me around and we’re both laughing between kisses and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment. Finally, he sets me down. I take his hand and, almost shyly, lead him upstairs.
And, finally, he convinces me he’s found his own freedom.
Later, much later, I lay with my head in the crook of his shoulder, my hand resting on the hard planes of his chest.
“It’s completely gone, then? The shadow?”
“As far as I can tell, the only darkness that remains in me is human. No more or less than the next person.”
“And the others? The children?”
“After a while, even when we sparred and I used every way possible to provoke them to rage, they no longer displayed any shadow signs. Those who still had homes have returned. The others went to Lostras, where Nisai has set up care for them. I finally dared to believe magic is where it belongs. Behind us. I think it’s the volcano cloud. Nothing can get through it – prayers, curses.”
So Luz was right: Our salvation will be in Asmudtagian destruction.
I hope, in the end, she found her peace.
A full turn since Ekasya Mountain erupted.
It should be warm, but it’s icy. Off-shore gales whip the waters surrounding the city into a frenzy. The door to the apothecary swings open with a particularly strong gust that sends the candles on one side of the room guttering, and blows the rest clean out.
A figure steps in from the street. Clad in the nondescript studded leathers of a trader guard, the hood drawn up against a chill that has no place here in summer.
They push the door shut behind them with no small effort.
Ash takes up one of the still-lit candles in a pretense of relighting the others. It doesn’t escape me that the move puts him between the stranger and me.
My eyes flick to the jar of powder Atrolos keeps behind the counter in case of any trouble either of us can’t talk our way out of. “Can I help you, traveller?”
The figure slips around Ash and approaches with what can only be described as a saunter. Slowly, I slide my hand along the shelf towards the jar.
That’s when the first waft of the stranger’s perfume reaches me.
Violets.
I peer closer. Tall. Lithe.
It couldn’t be…
The stranger pushes back their hood.
My jaw drops.
“Oh, do get yourself together, petal. I’m not a shade.”
“You survived,�
�� Ash states the obvious. Guess he’s stunned, too.
“It would appear so, wouldn’t it?”
“When we didn’t see you after the Mountain … your letter … we thought … How did you get here?”
Luz shrugs. “Barge. Litter. Camel. And, believe it or not, this fine pair of legs isn’t painted on.” She gives me a slow wink at the last. “But you’ll have to excuse me for not regaling you with that epic. I have something rather more pressing to discuss.” She produces a box.
My eyes go wide as she hands me the container, gleaming darkly in the candlelight. Smokey glass, but if my vision no longer deceives me, it’s a slightly warmer shade than the blue-black version I’ve seen before. Almost as if there are purple undertones in its depths.
I open the lid.
Inside, a tiny flower nestles in a tinier copper pot. I’ve never seen its like before. Seven petals extended from a centre of heart-blood crimson. Each petal begins in a purple so deep it’s almost black, then gradually pales until the edges curl delicately into lilac ruffles.
It doesn’t seem to give off any perfume.
“It’s very pretty,” I offer.
“Burn it,” Luz instructs.
I eye her warily. After all we’ve been through, after turning the world upside down, what is she up to?
“Burn it,” she repeats. “But first, get both of yourselves a mask.” She produces the same custom cut layered cloth she’d used when we passed through the sultis valley on the way to the Sanctuary and ties it over her face.
She’s serious about this.
I do as she says, rummaging behind the counter for a clean personal-sized brazier and set it on a stand. I examine the flower more closely. “How much?” I ask. “A petal?”
“The whole thing.”
“If you say so…”
“Masks first.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.
It’s standard equipment in the apothecary, and Ash and I comply.
Once my mask is securely in place, I take up a pair of stem cutters and snip the flower off clean, placing it in the brazier. Then I take a dried reed stick and light it from one of the vanilla candles that Atrolos still favours, before setting the flame to the purple bloom.
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