None of the treasure was anything but false. Tethiel could pay only in the coin of illusion.
She glowered at him while the procession arrayed itself around the wedding palace. His basilisk reared, its four forelegs clawing at the air. “May ill-fortune flee,” he said to the crowds. “Be gone, bad luck. Tomorrow night, the Lady of Gems will wed, and the world will tremble with happiness.”
With his signal, all the Feasters bearing torches banged them together and screamed. Sparks whipped about. Hair started smoldering. The crocodiles thrashed against their harnesses. The birds of paradise flew free. Now was when Hiresha was to unfurl her dragon’s wings. This should’ve been a peerless moment.
It was ruined. Hiresha flung away the last of her rat poison.
She lifted her hand, one bent into a hook shape. The dragon heaved upright with an echoing ping. Its wings slid forward from its back. They spread outward. They shadowed city blocks from the moonlight. Then they opened again, redoubling their size.
People pushed forward for a better look. Others scrambled backward. The wings started to beat. Women fell over, likely more from shock than the force of wind. Children held their ears against the boom and crack.
Hiresha should not have to display herself and her masterworks. If only the kings could’ve been trusted to respect her enough to leave her alone, then all this exposition wouldn’t be necessary. Stitching in the canvas wings frayed and unraveled. Every broken thread tore at her.
The agony only worsened when the treasure carts rolled into the wedding palace. The glass walls clouded, dazzling those outside with ominous patterns. No one could see inside when the crocodiles turned into normal mules and the riches vanished.
“Tethiel, is this how we’ll pay for the wedding? With cobwebs and lies?”
“True nobility is always in debt,” he said. “We’re well on our way to royalty.”
“I pay my debts. We can auction off the extra silver-tier invitations. That’ll defray some—”
“Those keys are gone,” he said. “I told you, I was giving to sorry souls.”
“How am I to explain to the vendors? You’ve shown them all the wealth we don’t have.”
“Flatter them by doubling all our orders. The only salve for the debtor is extravagance.”
Hiresha flung one empty cart end over end. “This is your bride price? Is this how you value me?”
The wagon’s breaking timbers made the mules whimper and hee-haw.
“My heart, you’re worth the world.” Tethiel met her gaze. “Far more than a few baubles in carts.”
“You promised funds.”
“I failed you, but I did not lie. These carts left Stillness Resounding with treasure. They were full with more than magic.”
“So you say.”
“One of my children betrayed me,” he said. “The carts were waylaid by Bright Palms.”
“They stole from us?” The muscles in Hiresha’s legs and abdomen tightened into a twitching torment that bent her over. She would have to ask. He had better not give her the expected answer. “What did the Bright Palms do with the treasure?”
“Burned it, mostly. They gave all the gold to the nearest temples.”
“And trying to take it back would turn everyone against us.” That was, she decided, if there had been any gold and riches in the first place. Tethiel could be lying to her face, shaping a reality to please her.
Maybe killing him in one facet wouldn’t be enough. No betrayal would be too great. She could marry another and rid the worlds of him forever. She could do it. Hiresha had that power; she was nearly certain. She would implode him if he lied.
She would find out the truth.
Hiresha careened out of the palace doors and leaped. She left her dragon behind. Flying atop it would be too slow. Her paragon jewels hurtled forward, and she screamed through the sky.
The doorway to the sanctum stank from rotting Feasters. Hiresha glanced at the sorry men and women who had been hammered against a wall; it bore many notches from nails. The Bright Palms had executed Feasters here for years and left them to swell and drip their putrescence beside the threshold. No wonder so many people were ill inside on reed pallets.
A leper, one not beholden to Tethiel, guided Hiresha through the sanctum. The diseased man brought her to Bright Palm Alyla, which was half a surprise. Alyla had been sent an invitation, and she would need to be close to attend the wedding. The unexpected part was that a Bright Palm would consent to come at all.
“I couldn’t help but notice that sanitation disaster you left hanging outside,” Hiresha said. “How did you stumble upon those Feasters?”
A vein in Alyla’s arm shone through her sackcloth shirt. Without explanation or preamble, she stripped off her clothes. Another Bright Palm walked forward with a dress. Alyla lifted the skirt over her head and spoke.
“They were in a caravan.”
“A train of carts and mules?” Hiresha asked.
“Yes.” The dress slipped down over Alyla’s gaunt frame. She had always been lean, yet for the first time since Hiresha had met her as a youth, Alyla’s torso was free of pregnancy marks. Alyla had been mortified of other people seeing them. The flame-pattern stripes that had scarred her belly and thighs had receded. The magic pulsing through her must have regenerative properties, Hiresha concluded, in addition to its quick healing and emotion stunting.
Hiresha folded her fingers together, her jewel piercings aligned. “And the carts were full of valuables?”
“They were of no true value to man.”
“Full of gold and precious feathers? The ones I need to pay the men and women who’ve worked hard to build my wedding? The same wedding you appear to be planning to attend?”
Alyla’s dress was a curiosity. She had woven it from local yucca fibers, yet the style of cut was the height of fashion in Morimound, with draping sleeves and shawl. Embroidery covered every inch with scenes from her homeland: people panned blue-painted rivers for diamonds, brick kilns shone red, and the city’s ziggurats astounded. Bright Palms didn’t feel nostalgia. Therefore, the depictions had to be calculated, to show a history shared with Hiresha, one that now would have no meaning to Alyla.
The implications fascinated Hiresha. The Bright Palms were planning something, likely to pit Hiresha against Tethiel. And he hadn’t been lying. His caravan had started its journey full of treasure.
“The Innocent do not require extravagance for their weddings,” Alyla said, “only promises of good faith.”
Intolerable! How it hurt to be condescended to in monotone from a former friend. “Tell me, Bright Palm, what is the difference between the intrinsic richness of gold and the accumulated richness of your dress? Someone must’ve labored months over it.”
“I did,” Alyla said.
“And if someone were to destroy it?” Hiresha seized the front of the dress, lifting it and Alyla up to the point of tearing the fabric. “Clearly, you don’t need this pretentious simplicity to walk into a wedding.”
“That is true.” Alyla hadn’t so much as blinked. If Hiresha shredded her dress and ruined her weeks of work, she would feel nothing.
Hiresha set the glowing woman back down. It was not much her fault. She had been afflicted by her light. Like the Feasting magic, it was but another contagion. More people became Bright Palms in Hiresha’s sunset facet to battle Tethiel and his plagues. Desperation spread the need. In that darker world, she was grateful for Bright Palms. With a better society, fewer people would end up like Alyla, shining and dead.
“Alyla, I would appreciate it if you’d tell me how you found the Feaster caravan. Did it travel plainly? Was there an informant?”
“A Feaster told us.”
“The Bleeding Maiden?” Hiresha expected the Bright Palms would know that particular nuisance by reputation.
“No. We think she was Mother Pepperfire.”
“That is a vivid name.”
“The Feaster wielded giant hands as red as chili
peppers. She gripped people and burned away their skin.”
“By your use of past tense, I assume I won’t be able to question Mother Pepperfire.”
“No,” Alyla said. “We have to take down Feasters after they’ve hung for three days. They can stay as examples for longer in colder areas.”
“She couldn’t have very well answered my questions even if she’d been nailed through the heart for as few as two days.”
Mother Pepperfire had given information to the sanctum. The Bright Palms had shown their gratitude by killing her. She had to have guessed that would be her fate, and she had come anyway. A greater Feaster must’ve forced her; Hiresha could assume that much. If this overlord had been the Bleeding Maiden, she must’ve been delighted that the Bright Palms had murdered the informant. She had likely counted on it. Her betrayal had succeeded without a living witness.
Hiresha shouldn’t be angry at Tethiel, not for the lost treasure. All her gem-grinding outrage should smash into the Bleeding Maiden. The Feaster had used the Bright Palms to sabotage the wedding, and Hiresha needed to leverage that connection against the pouty menace. Hiresha only need prove the Bleeding Maiden had led the Bright Palms to nailing the Feasters to death.
“I’m willing to forgive your theft of my property,” Hiresha told Alyla, “if you’ll assist me in a matter.”
Mother Pepperfire would’ve known she had been sent to die. If she had a mote of vengeance in her soul she would’ve left some sign as to who had doomed her. Mother Pepperfire could’ve carved a name into a medallion. Hiresha could hope the Feaster had even told someone.
The Bleeding Maiden had made a mistake by involving the Bright Palms in her betrayal. Now Hiresha could catch her, discredit her, and destroy her.
Bright Palm Alyla stood in a pose of attention, shoulders straighter and chin higher than the formally timid girl could’ve ever managed before her change. “I may help you. What matter is it?”
“First,” Hiresha said, “can you show me where Mother Pepperfire was buried?”
“Yes, though it was not near this city.”
“We will fly.” Hiresha laid a hand on Alyla’s arm. “Tomorrow night I’m to marry, and I can think of no better way to spend the morning than exhuming a corpse.”
The lady was going to roar like a bull. Jerani couldn’t see it any other way.
Purple and red flowers for her wedding tumbled down into the filthways. Bunches of petals plopped into the buzzing gloom. Jerani shielded his eyes from the sun. The flowers crumpled and sank. A man carrying a jug splattered them with flies with each stride through the muck.
If the lady had wanted those at her wedding she would be worse than sorry. Jerani traded a look with Celaise, and her eyes were showing too much whites. Yes, this was bad. They had to stop the merchant from tipping over the rest of the flower carts.
“Spoil another flower,” Celaise said, “and the Lord of the Feast will do the same to you.”
The merchant’s bare breasts swung and bobbed as she turned toward them. Flower tattoos covered her, making her look too close to the blossomed man. The tattoo at the center of her chest was like a cross between a butterfly and a baboon’s head. Maybe it had stretched.
“Don’t you children get snippy with me,” the flower merchant said. “There have been many lords but only one Madam Urba. No one who breaks contract with me deserves the prestige of the Flowering Serenity.”
Even her baby glared at them. She carried it at her side in a sling.
“You haven’t been paid?” Jerani asked. “Is that it?”
“Three times the contract was violated. The bride promised to deliver this morning.”
And noon had passed. The flowers were drooping inch by inch in the heat. The lady wouldn’t return that day until far too late. Worse, the lord had told Celaise to handle this.
The merchant wiped a tear from her eye and flapped her hand. “Krenda, another cart.”
A helper tipped a second bunch of flowers toward the filthways.
“Don’t.” Jerani grabbed the cart handles. “You’ll be paid.”
“Nothing can repay this insult.” The merchant rested her knuckles against her brow and looked away. “Beauty doesn’t grow from poor soil. The marriage is doomed. No one will attend without the blessing of the Flowering Serenity.”
Jerani blinked away sweat and leaned close to Celaise. “Is that true? They needed the flowers that much?”
“I don’t know,” Celaise said. “You run to the Purest’s. Maybe she’ll pay. I’ll stay and try to handle this spud-head.”
They both failed.
An hour later, Jerani stood in front of a filthways packed with flowers. The men carrying jugs had to wade through it all, stomping the petals and mixing them with mud. It looked like a mess of dead grass.
Celaise shook her head. “She even poured vinegar down on the flowers, that hag.”
“The Purest wouldn’t see me,” Jerani said. “Her people wouldn’t even take her my message.”
Celaise glowered at where the merchant had stood. “The lord father will eat her, I think.”
“Her first, or us?”
Celaise rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I’m getting a sun headache. Take me to the safe house.”
On the way, they had to stop for a royal procession. Lots of men were carrying a platform with a throne. Only, they had gone down the wrong street, and it was getting too narrow. They had to tilt the platform to get through, and the king looked shriveled and unhappy. He was holding one of the lady’s gold keys. The king clutched one side of his chair and fanned his face. Or maybe his nose.
The filthway stink in the city was never far. Jerani only got to walk on the streets because Celaise was leaning on him. One man wallowing below supported his jug on the side of his head. His neck looked like it would break. That death would be quicker than Jerani and Celaise could hope for.
“Should we try to run?” Jerani asked. “They might be too busy getting married to chase.”
“The lord father would always be able to find me.”
“Do you think we’ll live?” Jerani asked. “Through the wedding.”
“The weakest guest there will have an army,” Celaise said. “They’ll all be stronger than us.”
“Not stronger than you.”
“There’re different kinds of strength, I guess. Wouldn’t want any king beside me more than you.”
They sat arm in arm on the safe house rooftop. The garden’s white flowers had all closed for the day into fluffy buds. They bounced in the sea breeze. The canvas shading fluttered up and down overhead. Jerani knew this could be the last time Celaise and he had together.
“Have something for you.” Jerani pushed a parcel toward her. “It’s a present.”
Celaise unfolded it, and blue cloth flowed outward from her hands. “Oh, Jerani. It’s the color of sky.”
“Like the first dress I saw you in.”
“I know.” She hugged him.
Now she would undress in front of him. They would embrace as a man and woman should. Last time, she hadn’t liked it, but this time they would make fire together. Even if Jerani was cold and shaky from the wedding being so close, they had to try. This might be their only chance.
Celaise did take off her poncho but only to try on the new clothes. “It doesn’t fit like my True Dress.”
“You can fix it.” He reached into his robe, past the lord’s vials. Jerani handed Celaise a bone needle and blue thread. “With your better fingers, you can sew. Or I can for you.”
“I never thought of that.” Celaise tapped her thumb against the needlepoint. “Ha! All this time making gowns with magic. This will be wonderful. But I can’t today. I need to go watch over the lady in her dragon. I should’ve already left.”
No, she should stay. They could lie together on these living flowers. The twisting pressure in his waist rose up to meet the cold weight in his chest. “The lady doesn’t want us there.”
“But the l
ord father does, so I have to.”
They had to get away. But there was no way.
“I have a present for you too,” she said.
Celaise didn’t give him herself, only a tiny box. It smelled familiar. He cracked it open and breathed in. The warm redness of grassland soil bathed him, along with the endless ripples of winds chasing each other. The peaceful scent of cows at rest. The life crackling up from the ash tossed as a blessing by the Angry Mother.
Jerani dipped his fingers in the box, and they came out red. The ochre was smooth and gritty both at once, the same as his brother and sister had rubbed in his hair before every battle. “How—how did you get this?”
“My family carried it here for me. For you. Is it right?”
“It’s all I need.” He touched the grassland soil to his braids. Now he could hold his head bull-high at the wedding. He could face death with Celaise without disgrace. He was strong. He was a Great Heart. Whatever came that night, he would be ready.
34
- Public Warning -
Civilians are advised to avoid the wedding located in the crystal palace, on the night of the full moon. The bride will be too radiant. The food will be too shameful to discuss and too delicious to resist. The party will enrapture and endanger, and those who live past midnight to see the marriage ritual will never be able to forget it.
Only the brave will dare attend. Only the wise will survive.
* * *
The glass castle lit with sunset. The spires shone through with shades of violet. The oblong dome flared red and shimmered with golds. Wisps of fog turned magenta. Mist flowed up the crystalline walls. Soon all would be lost from the world’s sight. Soon, the wedding would begin. There was little time.
The air’s crisp dampness stung the skin. The heart lunged after a ringing clang from one of the towers. Gong!
Dark Lord's Wedding Page 23
