The Unceasing Emperor wore a cloak lined with fur. As they followed the paths, which had been cleared of snow, his bodyguards shadowed them. When they reached a pavilion beside a pond, the Unceasing Emperor motioned to one of the chairs.
“Please,” he said. Tané sat, and so did he. “I thought that you could join me while I break my fast.”
“This humble one is honored, Majesty.”
“Do you know what kind of bird that is?”
Tané looked in the direction he was indicating. Close by, a swan was tending to its nest.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “A swan.”
“Ah, not just any swan. In Lacustrine, these ones are called silent swans. It was said that the Nameless One burned their voices from their throats, and they will only sing again when a ruler is born who will see the end of that fiend once and for all. They say the night I came into this world, they sang for the first time in centuries.” He smiled. “And people wonder why we sovereigns form such a high opinion of ourselves. They try to make us think that even birds care what we do.”
Tané smiled a little in return.
“I find your story intriguing. I understand that you were once a promising sea guardian, but a misunderstanding in Ginura led to your exile to Feather Island.”
“Yes, Majesty,” Tané said.
“I have a great love for stories. Will you humor me and tell me all that has happened to you?”
Her palms were sweating.
“A great deal has happened to me,” she finally said. “It may take some of Your Majesty’s morning.”
“Ah, I have nothing to do but watch my councillors wring their hands over Lord Arteloth’s proposal.”
Servants came to pour them tea and offer platters of food: dates soaked in red mountain-honey, sun pears, plum-leaved apples, steamed nuts, mounds of black rice. Each dish was covered with a square of silk embroidered with stars. She had sworn never to speak of her past, but his easy smile put her at ease. While he ate, she told him about how she had broken seclusion and witnessed the arrival of Sulyard, and how Susa had paid for her reckless attempt to conceal it, and everything that had occurred since.
Everything but the jewel stitched into her side.
“So you defied your banishment to free your dragon, with little hope of success,” the Unceasing Emperor murmured. “For that, I commend you. And it seems you also found the lost island.” He dabbed his mouth. “Tell me, now—did you happen to come across a mulberry tree on Komoridu?”
Tané looked up and met his bright gaze.
“There was a dead tree,” she said. “Dead and twisted, covered in writing. I did not have time to read it.”
“They say the spirit of Neporo is in the tree. Anyone who eats of its fruit absorbs her immortality.”
“The tree bore no fruit, Majesty.”
A flicker of some nameless emotion crossed his face.
“No matter,” he said, and held out his cup for more tea. A servant refilled it. “Now I know your past, I am curious about your future. What do you intend to do next?”
Tané interlocked her fingers in her lap.
“First,” she said, “I wish to play a part in destroying the Nameless One. After that, I wish to return to Seiiki.” She hesitated. “If Your Imperial Majesty could help me do that, I would be grateful.”
“How might I help you?”
“By writing to the all-honored Warlord on my behalf. If you tell him that I retrieved Nayimathun, a subject of the shining Imperial Dragon, he may hear my case and allow me to return.”
The Unceasing Emperor sipped his tea.
“It is true that you reclaimed a dragon from the Fleet of the Tiger Eye, risking your own life. No easy feat,” he conceded. “To reward your courage, I will do as you request—but know that I cannot permit you to return to Seiiki before I have an answer. It would be remiss of me to allow a fugitive to return there without permission.”
“I understand.”
“Very well.”
He stood and walked to the balustrade. Tané joined him.
“It seems Lord Arteloth desires you to take word to Inys if I agree to his proposal,” the Unceasing Emperor said. “Are you so eager to be my ambassador?”
“It would expedite matters, Majesty. If you would permit a citizen of Seiiki to be your messenger on this occasion.”
The jewel felt heavy at her side. If he refused, she would not be able to make the detour to the South.
“It would be unconventional. You are not my subject, and you are in disgrace,” the Unceasing Emperor mused, “but it seems we are destined for a change in the way of things. Besides, I like to defy convention now and then. No ruler made progress by playing a safe hand. And it keeps my officials on their toes.” Sunlight gleamed in the darkness of his hair. “They never expect us to actually rule, you know. If we do, they call us mad.
“They raise us to be soft as silk, distract us with luxury and wealth beyond measure, so we never rock the boat that carries us. They expect us to be so bored by our power that we let them do the ruling in our stead. Behind every throne is a masked servant who seeks only to make a puppet of the one who sits on it. My esteemed grandmother taught me this.”
Tané waited, unsure of what to say.
The Unceasing Emperor clasped his hands behind his back. A great breath made his shoulders rise.
“You have proven your ability to see difficult tasks to their end, and we have no time to lose,” he said. “If you are willing to be my messenger to the West, as Lord Arteloth wishes, I see no reason to deny it. Since this is a year for breaking tradition.”
“It would be my honor, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” He glanced at her. “You must be weary after your journey. Please, go back to your chambers and rest. You will know when I have come to a decision to carry to Sabran.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”
She left him to his breakfast and made her way back into the spiderweb of corridors. With little to do but wait, she took to her bed.
It was deep night when a knock woke her. She opened the door and ushered Loth and Thim inside.
“Well?”
“The all-honored Unceasing Emperor has made his decision,” Thim said in Seiikinese. “He agrees to the proposal.”
Tané shut the door.
“Good,” she said. Loth sank into a chair. “Why does he look so dismayed?”
“Because he has been asked to remain in the palace. I have also been asked to remain, to help direct the navy to where we left the Rose Eternal.”
A small chill went through Tané. For the first time in her life, she would be leaving the East. That thought would have daunted her once, but at least she would not be alone. With Nayimathun beside her, she could do anything.
“Tané,” Loth said, “will you go south before you go to Inys?”
She needed to save Lady Nurtha from the poison. Both jewels must be used against the Nameless One.
“I will,” she said. “Tell me where to find the house of dragonslayers.”
He told her, as best he could.
“You must be careful,” Loth said. “The women there will likely slaughter your dragon if they see her.”
“They will not touch her,” Tané said.
“Ead told me that their present Prioress is not to be trusted. If they catch you, you must speak only to Chassar uq-Ispad. He cares for Ead. I am quite sure he will help you if he knows you mean to heal her.” Loth lifted a chain from around his neck. “Take this.”
Tané took the proffered object. A silver ring. A red jewel was mounted on it, enwheeled by diamonds.
“It belongs to Queen Sabran. If you give it to her, she will know you come from me.” Loth held out a sealed letter. “I ask that you also give her this. So she knows I am well.”
Tané nodded, tucked the ring into her case, and rolled the letter small enough to fit beside it.
“The honored Chief Grand Secre
tary will meet you in the morning to give you a letter for Queen Sabran from His Imperial Majesty. You will leave this city under cover of darkness,” Thim said. “If you can see this through, Lady Tané, we will all be in your debt.”
Tané looked out of the window. Another journey.
“I will see it done, honorable Thim,” she said. “You can be sure of it.”
64
East
In the morning, the honored Chief Grand Secretary handed Tané the letter she would take to Inys. There would be no embassy sent across the sea, no pomp or ceremony. One dragon and one woman would carry the news.
Her weapons were returned to her. In addition, she received a Seiikinese pistol and a finer sword, as well as a pair of Lacustrine bladed wheels.
She had enough food to last her for two weeks on dragonback. Nayimathun would hunt fish and birds.
When darkness fell over the City of the Thousand Flowers, Tané met Nayimathun in the courtyard. A saddle of black leather, edged with wood and gold lacquer, had been secured on her back, though saddle was far too unassuming a word for it—it was more of an open palanquin, enabling the rider to sleep during a long flight. Such was the secrecy of their assignment that no Lacustrine courtiers or officials were here to witness them leave. Only Thim and Loth had been permitted.
“Good evening, Tané,” Nayimathun said.
“Nayimathun.” Tané patted her neck. “Are you sure you feel strong enough for this journey?”
“I am certain. Besides,” the dragon said, and nudged Tané with her snout, “you seem to have a habit of stumbling into trouble without me.”
A smile warmed her lips. It felt good to smile.
Thim stayed where he was, but Loth approached her. Tané busied herself with securing the pouches that hung from the saddle.
“Tané,” he said, “please tell Queen Sabran that I am safe and well.” He paused. “And if you do wake Ead . . . tell her that I’ve missed her, and I will see her soon.”
Tané turned to him. There was tension in his face. He was trying, just as she was, not to look afraid.
“I will tell her,” she said. “Perhaps when I return, I can bring her with me.”
“I doubt Ead would ever consent to ride a dragon, even in the service of peace,” Loth said with a chuckle, “but I have been surprised many times this year.” His smile was tired, but true. “Goodbye, and good luck. And”—he hesitated—“goodbye to you, too, Nayimathun.”
“Farewell, man of Inys,” Nayimathun said.
The last light of dusk withdrew from the city. Tané climbed into the saddle and made sure her cloak was wrapped all the way around her body. Nayimathun took off. Tané watched the City of the Thousand Flowers fall away until the palace was a flicker in the sleeping white labyrinth. Cloaked in the darkness of the new moon, they left another capital behind.
They flew over the pearly lakes and the pine trees dressed in white, following the River Shim. The cold kept Tané awake, but made her eyes water.
Nayimathun stayed above the clouds during the day, and avoided settled areas at night. Sometimes they would spot a pillar of smoke in the distance, and they would know that fire-breathers had attacked that settlement. The further west they traveled, the more of these dark columns they saw.
On the second day, they reached the Sleepless Sea, where Nayimathun landed on a small island to rest. There would be nowhere to land when they flew over the Abyss, not unless they veered into the North. Dragons could go for a long time without sleep, but Tané knew the journey would be hard for Nayimathun. She had been underfed by the pirates.
They slept in a tidal cave. When Nayimathun woke, she immersed herself in the shallows while Tané filled her gourds with water from a stream.
“If you grow hungry, tell me. I will pass you something to eat,” she said to Nayimathun. “And if you need to swim in the Abyss, you must not fear for me. My clothes will dry in the sun.”
Nayimathun rolled over lazily. Suddenly she lashed her tail, spraying water, and Tané was drenched to the bone.
For the first time in an eternity, she laughed. She laughed until her stomach hurt. Nayimathun snapped playfully as Tané used the jewel to fling water back at her, and the sun made rainbows in the spray.
She could not remember the last time she had laughed. It must have been with Susa.
By sunset, they were flying again. Tané held on to the saddle and breathed in the clean wind. In spite of all that lay before them, she had never felt more at peace than she did now.
The black of the Abyss spread like a stain into the Sundance Sea. As soon as Nayimathun left the green waters behind, Tané felt a chill. A vault of darkness now lay below them—the vault in which Neporo of Komoridu had once imprisoned the Nameless One.
Days passed. Nayimathun spent most of the journey above the clouds. Tané chewed on cuts of ginger root and tried to stay awake. Mountain sickness was common in riders.
Her heart thumped heavily. Sometimes Nayimathun would descend to swim, and Tané would relieve herself and stretch her limbs in the water, but she only relaxed when she was back in the saddle. This ocean did not welcome her.
“What do you know of Inys,” the dragon asked.
“Queen Sabran is the descendant of the warrior Berethnet, who defeated the Nameless One long ago,” Tané said. “Each queen has a daughter, and each daughter looks the same as her mother. They live in the city of Ascalon.” She pushed back a wet strand of hair. “They also believe the people of the East are blasphemers, and see our way of life as the opposite of theirs—as sin to their virtue.”
“Yes,” Nayimathun said, “but if she seeks our help, Queen Sabran must have learned the difference between fire and water. Remember to be compassionate when you judge her, Tané. She is a young woman, responsible for the welfare of her people.”
Nights above the Abyss were colder than any Tané had ever felt. A harsh wind cracked her lips and scourged her cheeks. One night, she woke with the clouds in her breath, and she looked down at the sea and saw that there were stars there, mirrored in the water.
When she woke next, the sun was high, and a golden haze made a ribbon across the horizon.
“What place is this?”
Her voice was rough. She reached for a gourd and drank enough water to moisten her tongue.
“The Ersyr. The Golden Land,” Nayimathun said. “Tané, I must swim before we enter the desert.”
Tané gripped the horn of the saddle. Her head grew light as Nayimathun descended.
The sea stung her face. It was warm here, and clear as glass. She glimpsed rubble and flotsam strewed among the sills of coral. Metal glinted at her from the seabed.
“All of that is from the Serene Republic of Carmentum, after which this sea is named,” Nayimathun said when they surfaced. Her scales glittered like gems under the sun. “Much of that country was destroyed by the fire-breather Fýredel. Its people flung many of its treasures into the sea to protect them from his fire. Pirates dive for them and sell them.”
She swam until the shore was close, then took to the sky again. A desert stretched before them, vast and barren, rippling in the heat. Tané felt thirsty just looking at it.
There was no cloud to hide in. They would have to stay higher than ever to avoid wandering eyes.
“This desert is called the Burlah,” Nayimathun said. “We must fly across it to reach Lasia.”
“Nayimathun, you are not made for this climate. The sun will dry your scales.”
“We have no choice. If we do not awaken Lady Nurtha, we may never find another person who can wield the waning jewel.”
The moisture on her scales was drying almost as quickly as it appeared. Dragons could make their own water for a time, but in the end, this beating sun would overwhelm Nayimathun. She would be weaker over the next few days than she had ever been.
They flew. And they flew. Tané shed her cloak and used it to cover the metal scale, to prevent it from growing too hot.
The da
y went on for eternity. Her head ached. The sun burned her face and scorched the skin at the parting of her hair. There was nowhere to hide from it. By sunset, she was shivering so hard that she had to reach for her cloak again, even though her skin was hot.
“Tané, you have the sun quake,” Nayimathun said. “You must keep your cloak on in the day.”
Tané dabbed her brow. “We can’t carry on like this. We’ll both be dead before we reach Lasia.”
“We have no choice,” Nayimathun said again. Then, “The River Minara runs through that land. We can rest there.”
Tané wanted to answer. Before she could, she slipped back into a fitful sleep.
The next day, she wrapped the cloak around her body and head. Sweat drenched her, but it kept the sun off her skin. She removed it only to tend to Nayimathun, and to cool the metal scale with water, making it sizzle and sputter.
The desert did not end. Her gourds ran dry as bone. She sank into the cradle of the saddle and let go of her thoughts.
When she opened her eyes again, she was falling.
Branches lashed at her cloak and hair. She had no time to scream before the water seized her.
Panic thrummed along her limbs. Blind, she kicked. Her head broke the surface. In the blackness of night, she could just make out a fallen tree jutting over the water, almost too high to reach. As the current gulped her toward it, she grabbed one of its branches. The river tore at her legs. She hauled herself onto the tree and keeled over it, shuddering.
For a long time, she clung there, too bruised and shaken to move. Warm rain drummed on her scalp. When she finally came to her senses, she pushed her weight onto her hands and pinched the tree with her knees. It shook as she moved inch-meal along it.
As she fought to stay calm, she remembered Mount Tego. How she had weathered the freezing wind and knee-deep snow and the agony in her limbs. How she had climbed a sheer rock with bare hands, breathing flimsy air, one slip from death. How she had not let herself turn back. After all, dragonriders had to be able to remain nimble-fingered and strong at great heights. They could not fear the fall.
The Priory of the Orange Tree Page 70
