Ashes of the Sun

by Django Wexler

  The important cities of the Republic had been part of Maya’s education, and she’d heard of the Pit, the scar left by the Chosen weapon that had vaporized one of the great cities of the ghouls. But it was one thing to read about and another to see in person. The forces unleashed in the war beggared the imagination. The Chosen had weapons that could crack mountains in half and are still burning four hundred years later. And they lost. It was a humbling thought.

  She shook her head, went back inside, and started filling the bath.

  Maya started awake to the tinkling of a delicate brass bell and for a moment struggled to remember where she was, marooned in an ocean of crimson silk and dark brown furs. The remnants of a dream flitted across her mind, a skittering sense of something vile lurking beneath the surface of the world, and her heart hammered.

  More insistent ringing brought her back to herself, and she scrambled out from beneath the suffocating bearskin and struggled to the edge of the monstrous bed, the too-soft mattress sinking beneath her hands and feet like quicksand. Eventually she slipped over the side, her tumble cushioned by the thick carpet, and popped to her feet, breathing hard. She was wearing only her underthings, and gradually she remembered—sliding out of the sinfully hot bath after much too long, overheated and dizzy, and flopping onto the bed for a moment’s rest. By the light coming in through the windows, she’d slept for several hours.

  The bell rang again. Maya put her hand on the Thing, felt the frantic pounding of her heart, and took a long breath to calm herself.

  “Just a moment!” she called, looking around frantically. Her traveling clothes were scattered across the bathroom floor, soiled and sweat stained. But one of the wardrobes stood open, and there was a selection of dressing gowns inside. She grabbed one that looked roughly her size and slid into it, silk whispering across her skin. It was embroidered, she noted absently, with rearing warbirds, the stitching astonishingly intricate.

  Thus decent—and, more important, with the Thing concealed—she hurried to the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t Tanax who was ringing the bell, but one of the dux’s uniformed footmen, who bowed politely.

  “Agathios Maya,” the man said. “The dux is hoping you will honor him with your presence in half an hour, in the minor court. Is there anything you require?”

  “Require?” Maya blinked.

  “To assist you. A perfumer, perhaps, or a face painter?”

  “Oh.” Maya shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Very good.”

  Her stomach gave a warning grumble. “Will there be food?”

  “Of course.”

  The very slightest smile might have crossed the footman’s face, and Maya felt her cheeks warm. She drew herself up in what she hoped was a haughty fashion.

  “Thank you. That will be all.”

  “Very good,” the man said again. He closed the door.

  Chosen defend me, is this how the nobility lives? She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have people around all the time, watching you. I suppose I had Marn. But I could punch him if he did something I didn’t like.

  There was no question of wearing her traveling clothes, of course, not even with her spare sort-of-clean shirt. Her formal uniform was tucked into the bottom of her pack, somewhat wrinkled after several days on the road. She hadn’t thought to ask whether it would be suitable. I suppose the dux isn’t likely to throw us out. Maya shucked off the gown, tossed it in a corner, and dressed rapidly.

  Her hair presented another problem. Even after a long soak, it wasn’t exactly clean, and the nights in the woods hadn’t done it any favors. She attacked it with a hairbrush, heedless of the tangles that yanked at her scalp, and when it was tolerably smooth she tied it into a tail with a leather cord.

  There. She examined herself in the mirror. Still no beauty, but it’ll do. At least the formal Order uniform looked a bit dashing, with its black and silver. The boots were the same ones she’d worn in the forest, that couldn’t be helped, but she’d at least taken the worst of the dust off them. And her haken hung from her belt, crystal gleaming.

  There was a rap at the door. Maya gave the mirror one last look, then hurried to answer it. Once again, she’d expected Tanax, but this time she found Beq, and the sight made her pull up short.

  The arcanist wore her own formal uniform, similar to Maya’s but with deep blue piping denoting her place in the Order. It was well tailored, flattering her curves, but what really took Maya’s breath away was her hair. Beq normally wore it in a thick braid, easily pulled aside for practical work. Now it hung loose in brilliant emerald waves, falling past her shoulders like a curtain and leaving Maya distinctly short of breath.

  “Um. Hi,” Beq said, fiddling nervously with the dials on her spectacles. “We’re supposed to go downstairs soon, I think.”

  “I’m ready,” Maya said. “You look… nice.”

  Beq shook her head. “I don’t… I mean…”

  “I don’t know about you,” Varo said, coming down the corridor, “but I could eat a loadbird.” He was in his uniform, too, though he seemed more comfortable than either of them. His bare skull had the gleam of a fresh shave. “Not that I recommend eating a loadbird, to be honest. We had to do that once, and my friend got one of the little bones caught in his throat—”

  Maya gave an exaggerated sigh, and Beq giggled, which seemed to break the tension. Varo looked around. “Where’s Tanax?”

  “I’m ready.” Tanax opened the door to his room and came out. To Maya’s annoyance, he looked perfectly elegant in his uniform, his hawk-like profile the very picture of the Republic aristocrat. He glanced around for a moment, then said quietly, “I hope I don’t have to tell you to be polite and cautious this evening. We are here to help the dux and represent the Twilight Order.”

  “Of course,” Varo said, bowing. “I will be the very soul of courtesy.”

  Tanax scowled at him, then met Maya’s eye and scowled harder. Before he could say anything further, a footman appeared to lead the way, and they fell in behind him in silence.

  It was a good thing the dux had sent a guide, because the layout of the palace remained incomprehensible to Maya. They followed several long corridors, descended one flight of stairs and ascended another, and finally wound up at a set of broad glass doors that had been thrown open to admit the early afternoon air. Outside was a tiled square, bigger than most village greens, with an elaborately decorated white gazebo in the center and broad circles of grass around the edges. At least a hundred people were milling around, not counting the liveried servants who moved through the crowd like ghosts, distributing drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Under the decorative roof of the gazebo, a dozen musicians in somber suits played softly, ignored by everyone.

  Maya, who had been expecting something along the lines of a dinner table and a dozen guests, swallowed hard. At her side, Beq went very still and made a whimpering sound deep in her throat.

  Tanax brushed past them, stepping through the doors and out onto the tile. Maya forced herself to follow, and Beq stumbled after, Varo gliding at her side. Maya could hear a ripple of whispers spread through the crowd, and heads turned to follow them.

  Raskos was there, still swathed in resplendent silks but now dripping with jewelry as well—gold and silver, but also the weird, twisted shapes of Elder relics, crystals and bits of unmetal cleverly melded with human artistry. When he bowed, something gave a gentle chime. Maya couldn’t help but wince at his smile, which was as horrific as ever.

  “My guests of honor,” he said. “I hope you’re not disappointed by your reception. It was a bit of short notice, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s lovely, sir,” Tanax said smoothly. “You honor us.”

  “No more than you deserve, surely.” The dux beckoned. “Come, I’ll make the introductions.”

  Maya found herself whisked away behind Raskos, vaguely aware that Varo and Beq were being hustled off in another direction by obsequious servants. There followed a confusing
whirlwind of meetings, with the dux introducing a rotating cast of nobles, bankers, and other notables at breakneck speed, a blur of tasteful suits and intricate gowns. She wondered if the rapid-fire names meant anything to Tanax; judging by the rigid smile on his face, she guessed not. Raskos didn’t seem particularly interested in letting them meet anyone, and Maya got the distinct impression she was being shown off, like a new pony or a dazzling jewel.

  “—and this is Lady Vance, of the Moorcat Combine,” Raskos said, gesturing at a stiff-looking older woman in a green coat and trousers. She gave the two agathia a cursory glance, then fixed her gaze on Raskos, not looking pleased. “Lady Vance, this is Agathios Tanax and Agathios Maya, of the Twilight Order.”

  “Honored,” Vance said, with a bow so slight it was barely a nod.

  “And—” Raskos paused as the music swelled. “Ah. I see it’s time for the first dance. Would the pair of you do us the honor?”

  Maya felt like she was suddenly in the center of an expanding circle of inquisitive eyes. She stopped herself from touching the Thing and swallowed hard.

  Tanax leaned close to Maya’s ear. “I don’t suppose you dance?”

  “I can dance,” Maya said. She turned to glare at him. “Can you?”

  “Of course.” He looked skeptical. “A proper centarch must be fit to socialize at the highest levels.”

  Jaedia had not given Maya any lessons in decorum that would have helped her socialize at the highest levels. But she had learned to dance, at village fairs and festivals all across the Republic. How different can it be? She turned to face him, chin jutting out, and stiffened as his hand found her hip.

  Tanax sighed. “Are you sure—”

  “It’s fine.” Maya clamped her hand on his shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  The music picked up, and they were off.

  Annoyingly, it turned out Tanax was quite a good dancer. His style was a little rigid for Maya’s taste, but he had a feel for the rhythm of the music, which was a formal piece Maya didn’t recognize. After a few almost-graceful turns, she let herself relax a little. Other couples joined in, progressing in a stately ring around the gazebo and the musicians.

  “I must admit I’m surprised,” he said, quietly enough that only she could hear.

  “That I can dance?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think you Pragmatics approved of cultured pursuits.”

  “You don’t know anything about what I approve of,” Maya said as they took another turn. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

  “Problem?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t—”

  “Save it,” Maya hissed. “Varo said it’s always like this when two centarchs from opposite factions are on the same team. Is that it?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  “I’m not pretending anything.”

  The music thrilled faster, and Tanax drew her closer for a quicker step. He kept his voice low.

  “My problem,” he said, “is that this was supposed to be the end of my apprenticeship. My chance to get my cognomen. And instead I wind up babysitting an agathios who’s never been away from her master before.”

  “That’s not fair. I—”

  “And don’t think I don’t know why. Everyone knows Baselanthus and the Pragmatics would do anything to inconvenience my master, and he and Jaedia are still close, for all she professes to be neutral. If our mission fails, Nicomidi will be embarrassed.” He bent closer. “I will not let that happen, whatever you do. Some of us are more interested in defending humanity than scoring political victories.”

  “If it fails?” Maya was momentarily speechless. Her mind raced as they went through the steps by rote.

  Jaedia warned me that he might try to sabotage this mission. Either Tanax was a very good actor—and she knew he wasn’t that—or he hadn’t been let in on any such plan. He’s worried about me? It explained, a bit, why he’d been so cold from the very start. He might have tried talking to me about it, though.

  The music ended with a flourish, and the couples separated, bowing to one another. Maya followed suit, belatedly, and her gaze met her fellow agathios’s. Tanax’s eyes were narrowed, in suspicion or curiosity.

  “Wonderful!” Raskos glided up, throwing an effusive arm around each of their shoulders. “Now. Who’s up for a drink?”

  Much later, she was sitting on the grass, trying to guess if the lamps overhead were really spinning. Probably not, Maya decided. It was more likely she was spinning instead.

  She wasn’t clear on how much later it was. Night came early to Deepfire, surrounded as it was by mountains, and the dux’s servants had lit the lamps hanging from beams crisscrossing the courtyard not long after the festivities had begun. There had indeed been food, in bewildering variety and quantity, tiny portions of candied meats and honeyed fruit and little bits of who knew what that added up to Maya feeling like she’d swallowed a couple of bricks. Other servants had brought flutes of light, bubbly wine, followed by small cups of dark, thick stuff that smelled like molasses and tasted like fire. Maya had started waving them off a little too late, which was probably a contributor to the spinning.

  Everyone seemed to want to talk to her. It was a distinctly odd sensation for Maya, out in the open with her haken on her hip. Jaedia had generally preferred that they remain unnoticed. In Litnin, the villagers had been terrified of them, but here people were fascinated instead of fearful.

  In Litnin we were there to investigate them, a deeper, cynical part of her mind answered. Here we’re supposed to be helping the dux, and these are his friends.

  A small circle of younger guests had gathered on one of the greens, catching their breath from the endless dancing. Maya had lost most of their names almost immediately, but the slim young man in the dark robe was an under-accountant at a merchant combine, and another boy with an arm around his shoulders was a prince of some sort. A blue-haired girl, who refused to stop trying to get everyone to sing, was heir to a manufactory fortune, and her amiable, chattering friend was an officer in the Auxiliaries and related to someone important.

  Most of Maya’s attention was on Elodel, and not just because she was sitting next to her. Elodel was a head taller than Maya, broad-shouldered and well-muscled, with short brown hair artfully mussed and wide violet eyes. She worked in one of the appraisal houses, assessing the stream of relics and arcana that the scavengers pulled up from the tunnels under the city. It was fascinating work, or at least Elodel made it sound fascinating, with her musical laugh and sly smile.

  Elodel smiled a lot. When she’d broken up laughing at a joke someone across the circle had told, a few minutes ago, she’d slapped her own thigh in amusement, and her hand had ended up resting on Maya’s knee. Maya felt frozen by that hand, pinned by it, breath held, as though in fear of disturbing a butterfly that had just alighted.

  “Of course, with Yora and Halfmask on the loose, it’s a wonder anything interesting ever makes it to the appraisal house,” Elodel was saying, to nods from around the circle.

  “Why?” Maya said. Her mind was not fully on the conversation. “Who are Yora and Halfmask?”

  “You haven’t heard of our little homegrown rebellion?” the prince drawled. “I suppose the rest of the Republic doesn’t have much reason to pay attention to the news from Deepfire.”

  “They’re thieves, not rebels,” the accountant said. “Yora talks about freedom for the tunnelborn, but it’s all for show. She’s no better than a mountain brigand.”

  “I heard she hands out free bread and blankets down in the tunnels,” the blue-haired girl said.

  “Which will only encourage the rats to multiply.” The prince sighed.

  Maya glanced at Elodel, who took pity on her confusion. “Yora runs a criminal gang out of the tunnels. They steal from the Republic and say it’s on behalf of the tunnelborn, the people who live on the other side of the city border.”

  “Ungrateful is what I call it,” the prince said. “As though providing
them with jobs and protection from plaguespawn isn’t enough.”

  “I heard that was why the dux brought you here,” the accountant said. “To make yourselves useful and put a stop to it.”

  “That would be a first,” the prince said, and barked a laugh.

  Elodel glared at him. “Don’t be an ass, Rench.”

  “Apologies.” He raised an imaginary cup in salute. “I’m sure Agathios Maya will do whatever it takes to clean up the city.”

  Maya smiled uncertainly and nodded. Elodel shifted, still glaring, and took her hand off Maya’s knee, which briefly made Maya hate the prince more than anyone who’d ever lived. Only briefly, though, because Elodel grabbed Maya’s hand instead as a new round of music filtered out of the gazebo.

  “These triples are my favorite,” she said. “Do you want to dance?”

  “I…” Maya put her free hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammer under the Thing. “I’m not sure I could keep my feet under me at the moment.”

  “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’d trust myself not to do something stupid.” Elodel laughed again. “At least it’s not a long ride home. You’re staying here at the Spike, I assume?”

  Maya nodded. Elodel was still holding her hand, their fingers entwined.

  “I bet the dux has given you one of the nice suites,” Elodel said. She leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “I’d love to see it.”

  I can’t. Maya missed a breath, and in that moment the automatic refusal died on her lips. Can I?

  On the road with Jaedia and Marn… no one had ever told Maya she couldn’t share her bed with someone, not in so many words. There just wasn’t a great deal of opportunity. They slept under the stars, or all together in a single room, because the kind of poor travelers they pretended to be couldn’t have afforded separate beds. And Jaedia was far too smart and sharp-eyed for Maya to have thought of sneaking away.

  Here, though…

  I could, couldn’t I? She had her own room, that soft bed with the slick silk sheets, and no one to object or even notice. Elodel’s hand was so warm in hers. I…