“The Renegade is said to be fierce in battle.”
Standing in the meager light of the window, Aleira smiled. “There’s a reason none dare attack his fortress. And why Yusuf Evrayad tried to ally with him.”
“You are devoted to them,” said Lin. “It is understandable. But isn’t it possible that their magic has—changed? Valanir sent me to you because he believed you could help. That begins with the truth.”
“The truth.” Aleira shook her head. She looked sad. “Do you know the tale of the Jitana?”
“I know nothing of them.”
“Long ago when the Empire of Mizrayam still reigned in the south, two princes went to war for the throne. The younger, Prince Cambias, had a dream that revealed the goddess of the moon had chosen him, but only if he departed their lands forever. She guided him and his followers north and across the sea. They came to Kahishi when it was a wasteland of Ellenican homesteads and cattle herds.” Aleira’s tone dripped scorn. She stood tall in the slant of light. “The Dance—that is one of the mysteries the goddess gave to Cambias. Its purpose is worship. It is done only at certain times of the year. Certain nights.”
Lin was watching the other woman narrowly. “You have done this. Haven’t you?”
Aleira’s chin raised. “They invited me once. Only once. Whatever effect the Dance has, Lady Amaristoth, it is only on the dancer. It has no other … power … as people understand it.” Her lashes veiled her eyes. “That one time … is always with me.”
“I know what it is to be changed by magic,” said Lin, gently from where she sat. Everything about this meeting, so far, had surprised her. “I want to believe you. But a prophecy indicates there is a shadow emerging from the north, from the Jitana.”
“Show me this prophecy.” Aleira stood before Lin with her hands on her hips. “Oh, I know it is forbidden. The lore of Magicians—none of the common folk may study it. A man might be jailed, or worse, if an almanac is found in his possession. None but the king and his Seven may know what is in the stars. But here on the Way of Booksellers … one might chance to find anything.” She stood near Lin now, speaking near a whisper. “You understand me. I’ve made magic a field of study all my life. I know how to read these prophecies.”
“You think I’ve been lied to.” It was a disquieting thought. More than that. Lin thought of the night in the Tower and realized that in all that happened, that night had been serving for her as an anchor.
Could Zahir be lying?
“I will bring you the prophecy.” Spoken heavily. Why was it that trust could only come hard … so hard?
“Thank you,” said Aleira Suzehn. She crossed her hands at her hip, a formal gesture. “I swear to act in good faith.”
Lin rose slowly, a new weight in her heart. “My thanks to you.”
“Don’t go yet.” Aleira’s voice had grown husky, as if she struggled with some emotion. “You should see something.” Lin waited, expecting the woman to go retrieve something from the shop, or perhaps from the pile of manuscripts heaped on her desk in the corner. But instead, Aleira turned her back to Lin, then unfastened her red cloak. It made a sanguine puddle around her.
Silence. Lin waited. Aleira was working at the front of her dress, out of Lin’s view. The beggar outside had ceased his cries. A deeper quiet had settled on the street. It was the heat of the day, when many took their rest. The gulls could be heard more starkly now, and once, the aggrieved screech of a hawk.
Aleira shrugged her arm out of her dress. Drew aside the curtain of her hair. “Look.”
Lin stepped nearer, but not too near. She felt caught in the strangeness of the moment—this unexpected intimacy with a woman she didn’t know. Something caught the light on Aleira’s skin above the shoulder blade. A gleam of gold. Lin squinted, saw its shape. A bird, its beak like a hook.
“The ibis.” Aleira reached back into her dress, was soon closing it again.
“A mark of the Fire Dancers?”
Aleira tossed back her hair so once more it concealed her shoulders. “The Dance leaves you marked.” She turned to face Lin again. “This—the ibis—is the mark one sees.”
* * *
NEAR the end of the day, she wanted to show him something. By then he had lost count of their games, of his inevitable losses. Had come to feel that he was barely a presence here—could have been machinery that fulfilled this need of hers, and it would have been sufficient. She seemed to have no curiosity about him at all, not since that morning when she had asked about his wife.
Dusk was stealing into the corners of the room and casting its veil over the gardens when she put an end to that, led him to an adjoining room. Ned was by then so tired that his legs were like jelly when he stood. He had hardly slept the night before, and had been roused early, and from there it had been—this, all day. They had not even taken the noon meal. Just one cup after another of khave, the effects making themselves felt in his gut. He felt a failure, on top of that … with no new information for Lin. When he tried to ask questions of Rihab about herself, the palace, she looked annoyed. The game was the thing, for her. That moment when she had seemed to reveal herself had gone, so that he wondered now if it had happened.
Ned grimaced. “What did you want me to see?” They stood at the threshold of a room like any other in this palace—delicately furnished, scented with fresh-cut roses. All he cared about was the deep velvet couch, where he could imagine curling up right now, without even bothering to take his boots off.
“This,” said Rihab. There was something tall in the corner, the height of a man, concealed in yellow silk. When she whisked the cover away, he saw a dress hanging on a garment tree.
He was so tired. “A dress.” Why she would want him to see this, he had no idea. And wasn’t sure he cared anymore.
Rihab seemed unaware of his exhaustion. “You’ve shown interest in our customs,” she said. “In two weeks is the Feast of Nitzan. That is, I believe, how we say it in your tongue.”
“Nitzan?”
“The celebration of spring.” She spun around with sudden gaiety, her loose hair an accompanying shadow. “See? This is the queen’s attire. So it has been—well, forever, really. The queen wears this dress, see, and this mask. And takes her place at the side of the king. So it has always been in Ramadus, and Yusuf Evrayad brought the traditions here.”
Ned saw what his fatigue had overlooked: the dress was so vast and magnificent as to be somehow monstrous; several of Rihab’s slender shape could have fit inside that belled skirt. It was made of heavy brocade worked in thread-of-gold and pearls. The underskirt was red and covered with rubies; this pattern was echoed on the bodice, too: a belt of rubies led the way to more, up the center of the bodice and across the chest. And draped over all this, a cape, its outside gold brocade and pearls, the underside jeweled crimson.
“It is quite something,” said Ned, finally.
Rihab snatched up a mask of gold, pearl-studded. “And this for the face,” she said. “At the Feast of Nitzan, the king plays the role of the god, the queen is the land. Really it is the goddess she is playing, the ancient goddess Vizia, but you can be killed for saying that.” Uncharacteristically, she giggled. “Now it is a solemn festival to Alfin, of course. The ceremonies are not … what they were.”
“What were they?”
Her eyes were limpid with amusement, and something else. “There was a time,” she said, “when it would have been Eldakar’s task to make love to me before all the city. To take me when I’m in this dress. Standing, perhaps, with my back to him. Or … perhaps any way I prefer. Who knows?” Her smile was one he had not yet seen, of satisfied power. “And of course, my pleasure—that would be immensely important. As the goddess’s pleasure must be.”
Ned found his response nearly unbearable. And also felt anger. For surely she knew … she knew what she was doing to him. If nothing else, Rihab Bet-Sorr was extremely clever.
He affected indifference. “Interesting,” he said with raised
eyebrows. “I take it that’s not what’s done these days.”
Her smile changed, to one of appreciation. You are learning the game, said her eyes—or was it just his desire to read it there? “Nowadays it is all quite sedate,” she agreed. “The queen and king are alone together in a tent after the ceremony. I’m told they do nothing more exciting than sit for a meal. But the ceremony, and the symbolism of their confinement together—that is a rite of fertility. The first such rite Majdara shall see in some years.”
“Well,” he said, “I am, of course, delighted to learn your customs. Your grace is too kind.” He kept sarcasm from his tone as best he could.
Now her smile changed again; became guileless as a child’s. “Ned, it’s the one day the queen is allowed out of the palace,” she said. “All the rest of the year, I may wander the gardens, most of the rooms, but I can never leave. But soon that will change. Maybe, for some moments, I will feel as if—almost as if—I am free.”
* * *
“I NEED your help,” Lin had said, and Ned Alterra had looked as near to long-suffering as she’d ever seen him. But he had not said, “Of course you do.” He’d said, “I’m at your service.” Too late, she recalled he’d been up all night and early that morning. But there was no time to waste.
She would, when this was over, find some way to adequately reward him, and Rianna, too. Money would have been meaningless; they had plenty of it. They didn’t care about extravagance, lands, titles. But some gift would be necessary. After all this.
Her instructions were simple enough—he would keep Zahir Alcavar occupied at dinner, watch his movements. Keep an eye on all the Magicians, in case one of them decided to leave the dining table for the Tower. Lin would be absent from dinner, claiming a headache. It seemed the best plan: dinner was the only time everyone gathered in one place. But if anything went wrong, she needed Ned to keep watch for her. To try and stall the Magician, if need be.
The idea that Zahir was someone to scheme against was like a layer of frosted rime on her bones. She could not believe it. But knew she could not afford to believe only what she wished.
It was too soon to think through the possible implications. Whether it meant he was lying to Eldakar, too, or if the king was involved in the deception as to where the attacks were coming from. Though what would be the purpose? She could see no end to such a plot that would benefit the First Magician, let alone Eldakar. But that only meant, possibly, she did not yet have all the necessary information.
With Aleira’s help, she would soon know more.
All was quiet in the courtyard, but for the fountain; the flowers began to show pale blades as night fell.
The stairs, winding round and round, seemed endless now that she was in a hurry. She had forgotten, too, how dizzying they were. But Lin thought, as she arrived gasping at the summit, that the presence of the First Magician must have made a difference the first time. It was his place; magic like his had gone into its fashioning.
And perhaps, in his absence, there was some—resistance. She was not supposed to be here.
As Lin emerged in the open, her eyes were immediately drawn to the starry heavens of that ceiling. So massive and quiet was this place, yet with an undercurrent of music. Jeweled constellations shone in light that came from everywhere and nowhere. It caught her breath. It felt a sacrilege to set foot here without a guide. Without permission.
She thought of Alfin and Kiara and murmured, in her heart, a small prayer to any that might listen.
The diamond stars sparked coldly on.
Lin stepped farther into the Tower, tried to compel herself to think of a strategy. She needed to find the staircase to the Observatory—where was that? She recalled it was a long walk, and this part in particular she dreaded: when she’d be trudging, fully exposed, across the vast floor. Like a deer in a treeless glade. But there was no alternative. She recalled Zahir Alcavar, his finger on the parchment that was the prophecy clipped to the desk. She could only hope it was still there.
She saw in the distance, branching out from this space, a row of arched doorways. There were more on the high levels, along the walkways. Doors and doors and doors, such as in the place she had dreamed after Darien died. Faint illumination came from each, but not enough to see what was inside. Despite everything, curiosity got the better of her. She crossed to one of the doorways and leaned along the lintel to look inside. She saw an octagonal room walled entirely in silver mirrors—anyone who stood within would see themselves repeated, eight times and forever. At the center a wide, flat marble bowl on a pedestal, dancing with bright silver that slithered around endlessly. Was that mercury?
She moved on. Stole a glance in another doorway, feeling as she did so like a bit of a fool, or a child, to be so inquisitive. That room was full to the brim with potted trees. She squinted, saw what she had first thought was not an illusion—the leaves of the trees were gold. Red gems the size of a fist hung from the branches of one; bunches of amethysts like grapes from another. Lin wondered at the extravagance, considered that there were hundreds of rooms in this Tower. What could the purpose of such things be?
There was order to their magic, Zahir had told her. Every room here, then, had a purpose.
A sound, like a song, but with a mechanical lilt. She looked again. Clinging to the branch of a tree was a copper bird, beak split in song. And then another. They were clearly not real, but were more alive than a mechanical bird ought to be; it was unnerving. Lin hurried away, resolving not to look into any more of the rooms.
After a time, the stairs to the Observatory came into sight, a floating spiral. It took considerably more time to reach them. When at last she reached the first stair, something changed. All at once she was not alone.
Zahir stood at the foot of the stairs, barring the way.
“So I’m in time,” he said. He looked grim.
“How did you get here?”
He shook his head. “You know I am a Magician, what do you think—dear, what do you think that is? But this was a terribly foolish thing, my lady. Anyone who climbs these stairs without invitation … they die instantly.”
Lin took a step back. “Ned—”
“Had an intense eye on me all evening. I suppose now I know why.” His hands shook; he looked down at them as if surprised. Let them fall to his sides. “Why did you do this? I thought we could speak freely.”
“I had a conversation in the city today,” she said. Inserted a confidence in her tone that she did not feel. “I need—I need the prophecy. For this person to see.”
“Of course,” he said at once. “Only keep it secret. The law forbids that anyone else see it. But you—you may have whatever you ask. Don’t you know that?”
She was accustomed to Zahir as a wit, with sparkle in his eye; this man whose hands shook and whose color had fled was unfamiliar. “This place,” she said slowly. “It is strange to me. I can’t be sure of anything.” Or anyone, she added silently. By his stricken look, he must have heard it anyway.
“I see I have yet to prove myself to you,” he said. “Take this.” He handed her a leather-covered cylinder plated with gold at each end. “It is a copy. If you wish to check it against the one upstairs, then by all means. Now that you have been invited to ascend, it holds no further danger.”
“Why go to the trouble?” she said as she took the cylinder. “Of proving yourself.” Her voice lost in the enormity of this space, under stars. “What does it matter? What I think.” Her hands gestured, an attempt to articulate something for which she could not find words. “There is so little time, anyway.”
Zahir gripped her hand. There was fierceness in it, but she didn’t wince. She felt suspended from sensation, or thought. Or rather, observed the sensation, and herself, from a distance. He said, “There is never enough time.”
Lin felt rooted to the spot. The Magician released her hand. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips as if an ache there was starting. “You gave me quite the scare, Seer.” He f
orced a smile. “If nothing else, Valanir would have killed me.”
“I will take up no more of your time, G’vir Alcavar,” she said, with a stiff nod.
“What? No!” He seemed fully at ease now, as if they were back in the garden. “Lin … I understand why you couldn’t trust me. Someone in your position—you can’t blindly trust anyone, particularly not someone you’ve just met. Before we go on, I want you to check the prophecy in the Observatory against the one you hold in your hands.”
“Before … we go on?”
He grinned. “It happens that by coming here, you’ve saved me a trip. I was trying to tell you last night, before Tarik came by, that I have something for you. Now I may show it to you without interference.”
* * *
THEY were crossing the great tiled floor. Their steps were silent, their shadows faint on the great balance scales depicted in a mosaic of blue and gold. He was making for one of the stairways to the next level. “More stairs,” he said apologetically over his shoulder, and she snorted. “I’m dying, not old, Magician.”
Zahir Alcavar’s laugh was harsh, clipped. “Oh, miryan.”
“What?”
He paused on the stair. “Miryan. The name for the flowers in the courtyard below.”
“Because I don’t sleep?”
Zahir did not smile. “People pass them by, until their time comes.”
“And then?”
“The dark brings out their beauty.” He turned away and proceeded up the stairs hurriedly, head bowed, as if suddenly shy.
They were on the second level. From the balustrade, if Lin looked down, the Tower floor was an ocean of mosaic, stretching an impossible distance. And all this enfolded in a sky that had just begun to darken.
As on the first level there were many doorways, most emitting a faint light. These they passed. Lin trailed her hand on the rail, her eyes alternately on the ceiling above, the floor below, and the sky that ran alongside them. At last Zahir halted at a closed door. This was different from what Lin had grown used to seeing in the Zahra, though it took her a moment to understand why. Everything in this palace was new and polished to a high sheen, often gilded; this door was of oak pitted with age, reinforced with iron. And then she saw the symbol carved in it. A labyrinthine knot, such as was etched around Lin’s eye, that might be seen only in moonlight.
Fire Dance Page 18
