The cloud dropped in the blink of an eye and Evetherey was plainly visible. Someone in the room screamed. In response, shots were fired from the hallway, but the Barrier Grit still blocked the way.
“My friends!” Ard tried to regain order in the room. “Meet Evetherey, formerly known as Motherwatch, formerly known as the dragon who ate King Pethredote.”
“Dragon?” someone stammered.
“No longer,” Evetherey said. “I am one of the Drothans. I am the pure and original form of the creatures you now call dragons.”
“It’s a trick!” shouted one of the ladies. “Like those golden Homelanders who visited King Termain!”
“I assure you this is no trick,” Ard said. “And if you would calm down long enough for me to explain—”
“Would you like me to convince them of the truth?” Evetherey’s voice sounded in his head.
“Yes, please,” Ard replied.
“How much would you like them to know?”
Ard took a deep breath. “Everything.”
Quarrah Khai sat in a veritable hailstorm of words as the noble lords and ladies unpacked the mess of information and emotions that Evetherey had just put into their minds. In the aftermath, Ard was fielding questions and managing countless interruptions.
At last, some of the most influential people in the Greater Chain knew the truth! Everything from Ard’s time as a time-traveling Paladin Visitant, to Evetherey’s evolution. To be honest, Quarrah couldn’t decide how she felt about the knowledge becoming public after she’d kept it secret for so many years. In a way, it felt like a betrayal, instilling in her a sudden sense of vulnerability.
The queen and council didn’t question this new information. Evetherey’s unique method of transmitting it had left little room for doubt. But there was still plenty of doubt being thrown at Ardor Benn as the conversation turned to the most pressing matter.
“What do we do about it?” Lady Werner asked for the third time. “If the dragons are gone and Moonsickness is coming, what are you suggesting we do to avoid it?”
Evetherey stepped forward. “In this form, my ability to absorb the Moon’s rays is limited. If I am lifted up to a sufficient height, I should be able to cover a square mile.”
“Don’t you have wings?” asked Lady Heel. “Why can’t you fly up to the Moon and absorb it all?”
“That is certainly not how it works,” Evetherey answered. “The Moon’s rays have a deeply calming effect on my species. I will need a spot to perch and roost while my mind slips into a catatonic state.”
“Surely, the palace turrets are high enough,” said Lord Owers. He leaned across the table to address the queen. “We need to shield the palace and grounds.”
“No,” Ard cut in.
“Excuse me?” cried Lord Owers. But the queen held up her hand to allow Ard to continue.
“We need to choose a location with the highest population density,” Ard explained. “That way we have the best chance of saving the largest number of people.”
“That would be Beripent’s Southern Quarter, then,” Raek chimed in.
“I should think we would not choose slums and taverns over Beripent’s royal palace,” protested Lord Owers.
“Your statement is incorrect anyhow,” said Lady Werner. “Talumon has the highest population density. We may have fewer overall citizens there, but they are stacked upon one another like fleas on a dog’s back. Take Grisn’s Mercantile District—”
“What does it matter how many we save?” asked Lady Heel. “Shouldn’t we be thinking about the quality of people? My relatives populate a good portion of the Reaching Ward in northern Trasken.”
“She makes a valid point,” said Lord Kinter. “Not about Trasken, but regarding the quality of people who should be shielded. After all, we must think of the ramifications of this coming Moon Passing. The precious few who survive will be facing a whole new world. It will be a land filled with Bloodeyes hungering for violence, and an interconnected web of Glassminds intent upon the extinction of the human race. My relatives are a hardy stock—survivors. It’s not merely land we control, but an entire infrastructure of workers and equipment to adequately farm and ranch it. If we were to extend this shield over the rural farmlands of central Dronodan, we could assure adequate food for the long-term survival of those who make it through.”
“Protect your farmlands?” cried Lady Werner. “The students at the Music Conservatory in Octowyn are among the brightest minds. We should extend the shield over that great city and assure that the arts live on.”
“Oh, yes,” Lord Kinter replied. “When the Bloodeyes come thrashing at their doorstep, the last survivors of the human race can be sure to serenade them with Marsten’s Concerto in D.”
Ard circled around and dropped into an empty chair next to Quarrah. “This is why I didn’t want to assemble the council,” he whispered under the ongoing bickering.
“Look on the bright side,” Quarrah replied. “They’re not crying for your swift execution anymore. Not that it really matters. We’ll all be dead in less than a cycle anyway.”
“Not if we keep hanging around the Drothan.” Ard pointed across the room to where Evetherey stood as a silent observer.
“Great,” said Quarrah. “The four of us against the world.”
“Sounds about right. Maybe the queen and the Prime Isle will join us.”
“Oh, please,” she replied. “Trable wouldn’t even show up to this meeting.”
“Maybe he didn’t hear about it.”
She gave him a deadpan look. “Abeth said she was talking to him when she heard about our arrival. Face it. Trable’s ignoring you, Ard.” And after the way he’d lied to the Prime Isle, Quarrah didn’t blame him.
Ard grunted, clearly bothered by the thought. “The thing is, I’ve figured out a solution to their problem.” He jabbed a thumb at the arguing nobles, changing the subject.
“I’m sure you have,” Quarrah said.
“It’s quantity versus quality, right?” Ard said. “They all want Evetherey to shield their own people, so…”
When he didn’t finish the sentence, Quarrah felt a pang of nervousness. “You’re not going to tell me what you have in mind, are you?”
He shot her a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. It seemed… apologetic? “You’re not going to like my plan.”
“Oh? Why not?”
He took a deep breath. “You’ll see.” Then he slammed both hands on the table and stood up. The arguments quieted and the focus in the room shifted back to Ardor Benn. Beside him, Quarrah started to get a familiar woozy feeling that came whenever he roped her into his plans unwillingly. What would it be this time?
“It’s only natural that you want to protect your families and loyal subjects,” Ard began. “And all the points that have been raised are valid. We’re talking about the survival of our species. We need numbers, yes, but we also need good people who are willing to work to stay alive.”
“What are you talking about, boy?” asked Lord Ment. Quarrah thought he seemed so deaf he probably really didn’t know. But Ard pressed on as though his comment had been a prompt.
“The Char.”
“That would be an utter waste!” cried Lady Volen. “The only residents of the Char are squatters and vagrants.”
“We don’t need residents,” said Ard. “Just visitors. The Char is almost exactly the right size. And it has enough open space to cram people as tightly as sand on a Trothian islet. Anyone in the Char would be safe and the perimeter of the historic area would be the new Redeye line.”
“An interesting proposal,” said Lord Blindle. “I believe many would come from Talumon if we explained what was at stake.”
“Now, hold on,” said Ard. “We can’t exactly go shouting from the rooftops that the world is ending.”
“And why not?” Lady Heel fixed one eye on Ard, the other wandering.
“Can you imagine the panic that would cause?” Raek stepped in. “Eveth
erey can’t shield everyone. If we draw too much attention to what we’re doing, it’ll spark chaos.”
“Not to mention it might tip off Garifus and the Glassminds to our plan,” added Ard. “This has to be done on the sly. We protect a group of people, but they don’t even know it until the next morning when the rest of the world wakes up Moonsick.”
“You’re asking us to keep this a secret?” shouted Lady Heel. “Everything we’ve just learned?”
“Yes,” Ard said. “Our survival may depend on it.”
“As much as I see protecting the Char as a healthy compromise,” said Lady Werner, “I must point out one obvious flaw. The Char’s open space has great potential, but in the current season, the vast majority of visitors would be from Espar. Not a fair cross-section of the islands.”
“One exception comes to mind,” said Ard. “During the Grotenisk Festival, the Char sees tens of thousands of people from all over the Greater Chain.”
“That’s not until the spring,” said Lord Kinter. “If the dragons really are extinct, we have less than a cycle.”
Ard smiled, clapping his hands together. “Which is why I’m proposing a new festival to be held over this coming Moon Passing. You thought the Grotenisk Festival was big, well, wait until you see this one. It’ll make the spring event look like a neighborhood potluck.”
“This is absurd!” shouted Lord Owers. “Do you have any idea how much cost goes in to the spring festival?”
“I wouldn’t worry about the money, pal,” said Raek. “Ashings won’t mean much when a Bloodeye is ripping your arms and legs off. And last I checked, you need dragon scales to make Ashings, so I’d say our whole monetary system is about to fold on itself.”
“It’s not just the cost,” seconded Lady Werner. “The Grotenisk Festival is a time-honored tradition that brings in the masses because of its reputation. We would have only a few weeks to spread the word about this new gathering.”
“Then you’d better get your ships prepped,” said Ard. “If there is any group of people capable of spreading gossip at the speed of a falcon’s dive, it’s you lot.”
“What are we supposed to say?” asked Lady Heel.
“Whatever it takes to entice people to come,” said Ard. “It’s going to be big. Bigger than anything else. Arial Light Grit displays like no one has ever witnessed. Food, games, contests. And of course, the Royal Orchestra will play a free concert for the public. Don’t you remember the last concert under King Pethredote?”
A murmur of approval went around the table, and Quarrah felt a social noose drop around her neck.
“Nothing will top it,” someone said.
“This will,” replied Ard. Quarrah swallowed. The noose tightened.
“How can you make such a claim?” asked Lady Volen.
“Do you remember the soprano soloist for that concert?” Ard asked.
“Azania Fyse,” said Lord Owers, causing Quarrah’s breath to catch. “I believe Lord Kinter can tell you more about her.”
Quarrah’s heart picked up its pace. Did they know she was still alive? Did they know she was in this very room?
“Owers,” hissed Kinter, eyes downcast.
Ard threw a puzzled glance at Quarrah, but she felt just as confused by this sudden turn in the conversation.
“Do tell,” encouraged Ard. Was he trying to blow her cover? Why did Ard seem so relaxed about this? “If you know something about Azania Fyse…”
“Oh, he knows,” continued Owers with a grin.
“That’s enough.” Lord Kinter raised a hand.
“Now you must go on,” Ard insisted. “Our curiosity is piqued.”
The man cleared his throat, a sudden sheen of sweat on his smooth head. “The soprano and I were… romantically involved for a short time.”
“What?” Ard’s eyes snapped to Quarrah.
She stood up, mouth open, unable to find words. That was a blatant lie! She had only just met Lord Kinter at the council meeting a few cycles ago.
“I have endeavored to keep it quiet out of respect for the late King Pethredote,” Kinter continued.
Ard tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“You were probably unaware because you’re not a member of high society,” said Lady Heel, “but everyone knows that King Pethredote and Azania Fyse were illicitly involved.”
“That’s not true!” Quarrah finally found the words and they came out as a shout.
“Of course it is!” continued the lady. “Why, even on the night of her murder, she was seen climbing into the king’s personal carriage as she exited the Char.”
“But the king wasn’t even in there,” snapped Quarrah.
“I should say not!” she replied. “His Majesty had to maintain some level of propriety. After all, as crusader monarch, he was under the jurisdiction of the Islehood and forbidden to produce an heir.”
“There was no producing of anything,” Quarrah said, flustered. She felt sick, as though her name had been dragged through the mud. And with a man like Pethredote! Had he started these rumors? Or had they spread after his death?
“I wasn’t going to say this,” continued Lady Heel, with her voice low. “But that woman once made overtures toward me, as well.”
Lord Owers chuckled. “Sounds like nearly everyone had a stint with the ginger soprano.”
“Stop!” Quarrah shouted. The room fell silent and she looked to Ard, her eyes pleading with him to bail her out of this awkward situation.
“I”—Ard stood slowly—“did not.” He fixed his gaze on Quarrah. “But I haven’t given up hope yet.”
“Hah!” cried Owers. “Let us know how that goes for you.”
“I will,” said Ard.
“But…” stammered Lady Heel. “She’s dead.”
Ard held up a finger. “Only as dead as we need her to be.”
“Ard…” Quarrah tried to make her voice sound threatening.
“I don’t completely understand what you’re saying,” said Lady Werner. “But if you could get that soprano to come back from the dead and perform again, people would flock from far and wide to see her.”
Ard smiled at Quarrah. “That is the plan.”
Everything is a performance. Some performers are just more honest than others.
CHAPTER
35
Ard knew it was bad form to invite two women to dinner at the same time and place. But Quarrah understood what was going on, and Ard had no romantic interest in Kercha Gant whatsoever, despite the fact that the brunette soprano clinging to his arm looked gorgeous and smelled like honey and bergamot.
He paid the doorman a couple of Ashings and led his companion into the fine establishment. Loren’s was busy tonight, and the buzz of conversation was punctuated by the clink of expensive cutlery on painted china plates.
“Have you eaten here before?” Kercha asked. She had a way of maintaining a bored expression regardless of what was happening around them. The carriage ride from her Northern Quarter apartment had been less than stimulating, even though Ard could tell she was bubbling with excitement beneath that put-upon exterior.
“It came highly recommended,” Ard replied. “A dining experience that is worth the price, if one would like to make an indelible impression.”
“Well, would you?” Kercha asked. “Like to make an impression tonight?”
“Let’s just see if it comes naturally.”
Ard led Kercha past the table where Quarrah sat with her face downcast. She was in fancier clothes than her usual black, but her sandy hair was pulled back in a plain ponytail. Ard didn’t miss the fact that her placement in the room provided her a clear path to the back door.
Casting Kercha Gant a debonaire smile, Ard pulled out a chair at a table just arm’s reach from Quarrah’s.
“Tell me more about yourself, Mister Nordesh,” Kercha said once they were settled. “You hardly said a word in the carriage.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were interested,” he replie
d. “I try not to be the kind of man who says more than is wanted.” From the next table, Ard thought he heard Quarrah spew her drink. “And please, call me Erdon.”
“Your looks have interested me enough,” Kercha said flatly. “What you have to say might help me stay interested.”
“I’m afraid most of what I’d like to say is about you.” Ard reached across the table to take her gloved hand.
“Yes,” she said. “You made that clear in your letter of invitation. I hope you understand how uncharacteristic it is of me to entertain an offer from a total stranger.”
On the contrary. In the week and a half since meeting with the queen and council, Ard had done plenty of research on Kercha Gant. The woman was basically starved for attention—a far cry from her peak of popularity, cut down by the rise of Azania Fyse.
“I hardly feel like we’re strangers,” Ard whispered. “You made me feel something that night. Something I cannot forget.”
She looked down her nose at him. “I’m sorry… Have we met?”
“Coastal Concert Hall, Octowyn, five years ago. The moment I heard you sing, I knew I had to meet you.” Ard could see how susceptible she was to his fawning. “The Royal Concert Hall, the Glower Street Promenade, Boulevac’s Plaza… I watched you sing at all of them. But I lost track of you during the war. Many of the halls closed down. Performances were scarce. I only recently caught wind of you again from a mutual friend—Dale Hizror.”
“Hizror?” She drew back her hand. “Wasn’t he…?”
“An imposter?” said Ard.
“I was going to say engaged,” she replied. “To that redheaded brat… Fyse.”
“I’m glad you mentioned her,” Ard said. “I’m sure a woman of your social standing has heard the news by now.”
“That she’s alive?” droned Kercha. “I should hope she’s scarred enough that the crowds at the festival will be repulsed by her face.”
Scarring, Ard thought. That would be a nice touch. Garner some sympathy from the crowd. He’d add it to the costume list for the big night.
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 56
