by Jon Skovron
“Use Nea as bait, you mean?”
“You’ll be there to protect her again, won’t you? And this time, make sure he doesn’t get away.”
“Right…” Red would need to figure out how to protect himself from that whistle before he confronted Brackson again. He hoped Ifmish didn’t let him down.
Merivale tapped one dimpled cheek thoughtfully. “You know, I believe the ambassador has yet to meet Her Imperial Majesty.”
“That’s true,” said Red. “And she lives in seclusion way over on the northwest coast somewhere, doesn’t she?”
“She does indeed. Palace life was too much for the poor dear.”
“So I hear.”
“But she certainly couldn’t turn away the ambassador from Aukbontar. And I can’t imagine Nea being less than thrilled to meet the mother of the empire.” She gave Red a shrewd look. “That is, if you were to suggest this little outing to her.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” admitted Red.
Merivale smiled winsomely. “Luckily for you, courtly intrigue is one of my specialities.”
“Oh, I’m sure the advice comes at a price, my lady.”
“Naturally.” She leaned over the table, giving him ample view of her cleavage. “But I promise it won’t be unpleasant.”
Red forced himself to look at her eyes. “Well, uh, if I’m going to confront Brackson again, I’m going to need a few days to prepare.”
“It will take at least that long to organize an official visit to the empress,” said Merivale. “But I strongly recommend you put forth the suggestion as soon as possible.”
“Why, do you think the biomancers will make some kind of move soon?”
She smiled. “Actually, I was thinking that this is the ideal season to visit the west coast of Stonepeak. The sunsets at this time of year are quite romantic, you know.”
“Merivale, this alliance of ours… You know it doesn’t actually change anything between us.”
Her smile turned almost predatory. “I admire your fortitude, my lord. But change of some kind is inevitable.”
Red was mostly able to squelch the vague feelings of dread that statement produced. He was beginning to wonder if Lady Hempist might be an even more formidable opponent than Brackson or the biomancers.
That evening, Red and Leston were invited to Nea’s apartments to experience some traditional Aukbontaren cuisine. He knocked on the ambassador’s door and a moment later, Catim opened it. The big man looked down at Red, his eyes hidden in the dim hallway by a furrowed brow.
“You’re late,” he said.
Red grinned impudently. “Didn’t you know, old pot? Makes a wag seem pat to be a little late.”
“You almost missed the ambassador’s performance.”
“Performance?” asked Red. “She never said anything about a performance.”
“A traditional Aukbontaren meal is always begun with music,” said Catim, as if it was common knowledge. Which, Red supposed, in Aukbontar, it probably was. “An ambassador must represent the culture of Aukbontar as well as the government, because the two are linked.”
Red patted the large man on the shoulder as he walked past. “Well, thankfully for me, I made it in time.”
Prince Leston sat on a small sofa with a glass of clear liquid in his hand. Drissa and Etcher sat in chairs on either side of him. All three faced Nea, who sat on a stool with an instrument on her lap that reminded Red of an oversize fiddle.
“There you are, Lord Pastinas. Late as usual.” The prince turned back to Nea. “I told you he would be along. I think he’s only ever on time when he’s planning to do something disreputable.”
“That should set your mind at ease, then, Ambassador,” said Red as he dropped down on the sofa next to Leston. “My apologies, though. I didn’t know we were to be graced with music.”
“I would have been sad if you’d missed it, Red. But I suppose you could have prevailed upon me to play for you another time.” Nea held up her instrument. “As I was explaining to His Highness, this is a traditional Aukbontaren instrument called a guitar. It has evolved a great deal over the centuries. Originally, it was made from a dried gourd, but as you can see, the modern guitar has a hollow wooden body, which gives it a much richer resonance.”
“It’s a lovely instrument,” said Leston as he leaned forward.
“I’m glad you think so, Your Highness. Let’s hope you like the sound as well.”
“I’m sure I will, Ambassador,” said Leston immediately.
Nea smiled and set the instrument back on her lap. Red was fairly certain she knew the prince was sotted with her, but he still hadn’t figured out how she felt about it. She walked a fine line of never discouraging it, but also never actively encouraging it. It made sense. If she alienated the prince, she ran the risk of losing her one true ally in the palace. And yet if she encouraged his affection, that opened a whole new set of political complications. The prince had unintentionally put her in a very awkward situation. Red was impressed with how well she’d been handling it so far.
“Many generations ago,” she said as she strummed lightly on her instrument, “the Aukbontaren people were nomadic. We do not have the wide-open seas that you do. Instead we have miles and miles of grassland. Our people moved constantly with their herds. They were great lovers of music, but they needed an instrument that would travel easily. The guitar evolved so that it was small enough to be played anywhere, even on horseback, and yet still loud enough to reach from the back of the caravan to the front.”
Red wondered what it would be like to see all that open land in front of you. Miles and miles of it. He found the idea both thrilling and a little frightening. A wag would feel awfully small in such a place.
“There are two types of traditional guitar songs,” Nea continued. “The first were travel songs, which were lively and repetitive songs with an element of call-and-response. These songs were played to keep spirits up as they rode over many hours. The second type of songs were fire songs. These songs were played at night as the caravan rested around a large open fire. These were softer songs that lulled the children to sleep and told folk stories of that caravan. Since it is night, I will play a fire song for you.” She smiled. “You will have to imagine the fire.”
She began to play a slow, delicate, rippling melody on the guitar. There was a solemnity to its beauty that was only enhanced when she began to sing. Her voice was simple and unadorned by the warbling and stylistic flourishes that Red had grown used to hearing at the palace. In fact, it reminded him of some of the songs of his childhood. Gentle, mournful airs Old Yammy would sing while cleaning up the ramshackle apartment that his dad had neglected since his mother’s death. Songs mostly about loves separated by war and death.
Red didn’t know what Nea’s song was about, since she was singing it in her own language, but there was a catch in her voice—an ache that made him wonder if she might be more like him than he realized. Was she separated from a love as well? Forced by duty to come to this strange and unwelcoming land? If that was true, it only made the prince’s affections all the more trying on her. He was just another in a long line of obstacles between her and her love.
There were so many obstacles between him and Hope. Biomancers and old enemies, princes and foreign countries and seditious nobility. He’d thought that as time went on, he’d get closer to seeing Hope. But it had been a year since he’d traded his freedom for her life, and he’d never felt farther away from her. What was she doing out there? Still beheading biomancers and insisting on being the one of honor in a den of thieves? Was she grateful Red had saved her, or resentful that he’d put that on her shoulders? Was she still with Sadie, Filler, and the rest, or was she alone again? She would never admit it, but she was terrible alone. That was the only time Red truly worried about her. She needed someone to make sure she didn’t run herself through when she messed up. The image still haunted him of seeing her in Silverback when she thought she’d lost Teltho Kan. Her sword p
ointed at her chest, her expression one of absolute despair.
If Filler were there, he’d make sure she didn’t do anything so bludgeon. God, he hoped Filler was with her. That wag needed someone to look after anyway, now that he couldn’t look after Red. He could see them both in his mind, so far away. At least they were still together, supporting each other. They better pissing be, anyway. And Sadie and Nettles. The lot of them better be together and making up for Red, who felt so alone, so abandoned even though it had been his choice. He hadn’t felt this weak and miserable since he’d been a poncey little art boy from Silverback newly arrived in Paradise Circle.
Then he realized that the song was over.
“Red,” Nea said quietly, her eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
“Sunny.” He took off his smoked glasses and wiped calmly at his red eyes with his sleeve. “Good song. Reminds me of home.”
One nice thing about polite society, Red decided, was that nobody made a fuss if a wag shed a tear or two. They just glossed over it and kept moving.
After the song, Nea guided them to the dinner table. Everyone ate at the table, which Red approved of. When he was invited to eat at any of the lacy apartments, only the nobility ate at the table. Everyone else ate in the kitchen. But Nea never treated her people like servants. She was in charge, and she held that authority as easily as Red held a throwing blade. But she never threatened any of her people with it or tried to put them in a lower place. Red still had a hard time imagining an entire society without nobility, but after watching Nea these past few weeks, he was beginning to believe it was possible.
Nea sat at the head of the table, and Prince Leston at the foot. Red and Etcher sat on one side, while Drissa and Catim sat on the other. In the middle of the table were five bowls of food with large wooden spoons. There was also a platter with a stack of soft flat circular bread.
“This is a traditional Aukbontaren meal,” said Nea. “It is a meal reserved for special occasions.”
“Is this a special occasion?” asked Red.
She smiled warmly. “Certainly, to have such honored guests.” She pointed to the platter of flat bread. “This particular bread is made partly from corn, which is not grown in your empire.”
“Is corn a type of grain?” asked Leston.
“A vegetable, actually,” she said. “Fortunately, I knew you did not have corn, so I brought some with us. I did have to make one important substitution, though.” She pointed to one of the bowls, which contained a brown gravy with chunks of meat. “You do not have cattle, so I made it with pork instead.” She flashed a smile at Catim, who looked a little uneasy. “I am certain it will be fine.”
“So, how do we…” Leston seemed a little lost as he looked around the table. “I see no forks…”
“This particular meal originates from our nomadic ancestors, who did not use utensils. In honor of that time, we traditionally leave them aside and eat as our ancestors did.” She peeled off the top piece of flat bread and held it up. Then she laid it on one side of her plate. On the other side she spooned small amounts from each bowl. Then she tore a piece of bread off and used it to scoop up some of the food and pop it into her mouth. She smiled at the prince with closed lips as she chewed.
“I see,” said Leston, looking amazed.
Nea gave him a sympathetic look. “If you are uncomfortable with it, we can certainly bring you a fork. I assure you, we would not be offended.”
Leston shook his head. “No, of course not. I want to have the authentic experience.”
Nea inclined her head. “Very good, Your Highness.” Then she turned to Red.
“Oh, I’m just fine eating without forks,” said Red, already spooning dollops of food onto his plate. “Back in Paradise Circle, we did it all the time. Not out of a tradition, mind you, but just because we didn’t have any.”
“You were too poor?” asked Catim.
“Catim!” said Nea.
“Actually, he’s got the length of it,” said Red. “In fact, often as not, we didn’t even have a plate.”
“Where would you put the food, then?” asked Etcher.
“Well, if it was bread and fish and some vegetables, they’d just roast it on a stick, then hand you the stick. Or if it was stew, what they’d do is take a round loaf of bread, hollow it out, and put the stew into the loaf as a bowl. Then you’d use the bit they cut out to scoop up the stew. And when you were done, you’d eat the bowl.”
“Very efficient,” said Catim approvingly.
Prince Leston was tentative at first in eating with his hands, but as the meal continued, he grew more confident. Etcher filled in a lot of the conversation with his observations on the limited amount of wildlife and plants available to him at the palace. He also went on at length about his discovery of oranges and how he must get his hands on more of them.
“For study, of course,” he said quickly, giving Nea a guilty look.
While Catim interjected into Etcher’s rambling monologue occasionally, Drissa still seemed content to remain silent. Red wondered if even her understanding of the language was limited. She frequently had a faraway look in her eyes, as if she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation.
“I hate to ask, Your Highness,” said Nea near the end of the meal, “but has there been any progress on getting me an audience with the emperor?”
Leston winced. “I have been trying, Ambassador, but it’s slow going.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he added, “He’s very busy, of course.”
Nea smiled just as calmly as ever, but Red thought she had to be screaming on the inside. She had been waiting for weeks now with no progress. This presentation on Aukbontar culture tonight was no doubt meant for the emperor. But what could she do if the emperor continued to ignore her?
And that’s when Red saw his opening. For a moment, he was reluctant to take it. He liked Nea. Was it right to put her in danger? No, he corrected himself. She was already in danger. But rather than wait for it to come to them, he would be drawing it out on his terms. And once he figured out the whistle problem, he would have the clear advantage this time.
So he said lightly, “Who gives a piss about that old emperor anyway. The one I’m dying to meet is the empress.”
“That is right!” Nea’s face brightened and she smiled warmly at the prince. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting Her Imperial Majesty yet.”
“Oh… well…,” said Leston. “She doesn’t live at the palace anymore. She’s retired to Sunset Point on the northwest coast of Stonepeak.”
“Is it far from here?” asked Nea.
“A half day’s carriage ride,” said Leston. “Perhaps a little longer. It’s quite rural out there, so the roads aren’t as good.”
“A small excursion like that would be most welcome,” said Nea. “I could use some fresh air and sunshine, couldn’t you?”
“Certainly,” said Leston, not looking certain at all.
“Of course, Her Imperial Majesty may not want visitors.” Red held the prince’s gaze as he said it. This was Leston’s opportunity to stop this from happening. “Perhaps she prefers solitude.”
Leston’s face set firmly. “No, don’t be silly. I know for a fact she would love to meet the ambassador. It’s a splendid idea.” He turned back to Nea. “I would be honored to introduce you to the mother of the empire.”
“Wonderful,” said Nea.
“Can I come along?” asked Etcher. “I’ve gotten to see so little of the native flora and fauna. I hardly have anything to bring back in my report.”
“I suppose you should,” said Nea. She watched Drissa gaze off into a corner of the room for a moment, then said, “Catim, I will need you to stay behind with Drissa.”
“But what about you, Ambassador?” said Catim. “There has already been one attempt on your life. There may be more once you are outside the safety of the palace.”
“I believe Lord Pastinas has proven he can protect me.” Then she gave him a meaningful look.
“And we both know that Drissa is vitally important to what we wish to accomplish here.”
Catim looked like he wanted to object, but then took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, of course you’re right. You can count on me to keep her safe.”
Nea smiled. “Thank you, Catim.”
“Rixidenteron.” Leston’s tone was unusually firm.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Red asked lightly.
“If I allow you to meet my mother, I expect you to be on your very best behavior.”
Red beamed at him. “I swear on my father’s purple prick.”
13
Silverback was just as Bleak Hope remembered it. Loud, chaotic, colorful, and marginally cleaner than Paradise Circle. Performers stood at nearly every corner, sometimes even competing for space. They were musicians, jugglers, acrobats, magicians, or things Hope didn’t even know the name for—all with far more talent than one might normally expect a street performer to possess.
The narrow sidewalks were packed with tradesmen, merchants, laborers, and artists, as well as imperial police from Keystown and wealthy landowners from Hollow Falls. As the buffer neighborhood between the poor downtown and the rich uptown, it blended the two groups into a strange mix that somehow not only worked, but made Hope feel like true communication between them was possible. That’s what the arts were for, after all, she reflected. Connection at a level that transcended class and culture. A way to bridge gaps in humanity.
“It certainly is lively.” Alash walked beside Hope, his eyes wide as he took in the boldly dressed people and garishly decorated storefronts.
“Have you never been here before?” asked Hope.
“Before you and my cousin arrived, I’d never even left Hollow Falls.”
“Never?”
“It’s not all that strange,” said Jilly at her other side. “People keep to their own kind mostly. I never been up here either, and I probably wouldn’t have even gone as far as Hammer Point if I didn’t have to go live with my aunt. In New Laven, your neighborhood is your world.”
