“You know what,” she exclaimed hotly, “send the blazing orchestra home. Conques Fabley can reassemble them whenever he chooses to show up.”
Wysar Stone swallowed the bad news, nodding reluctantly as he escaped through the tent flap.
“Well, that was a bit out of character for Azania, wouldn’t you say?” Kercha remarked.
“What do you know about it?” snapped Quarrah.
“I know enough to say that you’re going to get swarmed by curious musicians the moment you step out of this tent.”
“Then I’ll wait them out,” said Quarrah. “I can dress down and slip out after the excitement has died.”
Kercha Gant stood. “I hope you’re not expecting me to wait with you…”
Quarrah flicked her wrist in Kercha’s direction. “Get out of here. You can take my carriage. That might draw some of them away.”
“You’re a gem,” Kercha droned, helping herself to a shot of liquor on the side table before ducking outside.
Finally alone, Quarrah let out a long sigh and plopped herself down on the soft chair, feeling one of the wig pins prick her scalp as she leaned her head back. What did dressing up provide a woman, besides making her easier to notice? Ha. The very thing Quarrah Khai always tried to avoid.
She found a comfortable position and closed her eyes. If Ard really wasn’t back, she might have to drop by the palace to bother Raek about it tonight. Or maybe she’d check the Be’Igoth. Raek was there most afternoons, helping San keep his Grit supply stocked.
Sparks. Knowing Ard, he was probably getting himself into trouble. Strange that he hadn’t taken Raek. Didn’t Ard know better than to wander off by himself where no one could watch his back?
For the first time, Quarrah wondered if Ard might not come back at all. What if the Moonwatch Festival ruse was exactly that—a trick to keep her and Raek busy while he slipped away on his own? She knew Ard had a penchant for starting his life over. The number of times he had faked his own death was proof of that. What if he had decided that their fight against the Glassminds and Moonsickness was beyond hope? Maybe he had a plan of his own that didn’t involve even his closest companions.
The rustle of the tent flap caused Quarrah to sit up swiftly. A gray-haired woman wearing servant clothes startled at the sudden movement, the canvas falling closed behind her.
“My apologies,” the woman said, bowing her head and wringing a damp rag in both hands. “I was asked to tidy up in here. The carriage wasn’t outside, so I’d assumed you’d gone. I’ll come back at a more convenient time.”
“Thank you,” Quarrah said dismissively. But the servant didn’t go.
“You’re the singer everyone is talking about…” She ventured an admiring step closer. “Asinine Fyse?”
“Azania,” Quarrah corrected, grateful that she hadn’t been in the process of taking off her wig during the intrusion.
“Such an honor,” the servant exclaimed. “I used to clean the dressing rooms at the Conservatory of Music in Octowyn. I left in ’28, but everyone there spoke so highly of you.”
“That’s good to hear.” Something about this woman made Quarrah’s skin crawl. Her steady approach seemed more predatory than adulatory, and the twinkle in her eye wasn’t altogether friendly.
“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” the woman continued, the wringing of the rag growing more intense. “Because Azania Fyse was not at the Conservatory of Music until ’29.”
All at once, Quarrah realized what was happening. She tried to sidestep, springing for the exit, but the woman’s rag was suddenly replaced with a thin gold knife. She caught a fistful of Quarrah’s dress and pulled her off balance. With the gracefulness of a trained fighter, the servant spun Quarrah around, restraining both arms and dropping her to a knee on the tent floor. The cold blade touched her throat, its razor edge held with a determined steadiness.
“Cinza,” Quarrah hissed through clenched teeth. She should have seen it coming.
“You may be a fine thief, Quarrah Khai,” the woman whispered, “but nobody steals from me.”
Really? She was worried about a theft? Maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Quarrah. “I haven’t seen you since—”
“You have stolen my soprano!”
“Kercha Gant?”
“No, you idiot!” cried Cinza. “I’m talking about this.” She reached up and yanked off Quarrah’s red wig, the pins and clips ripping free with chunks of her own sandy hair. Quarrah held in a howl, trying to wrench free. Somehow Cinza managed to regain her grip and the knife pressed even tighter.
“Azania Fyse is not yours to flaunt and display as you see fit,” Cinza continued. “She is the property of Elbrig Taut and Cinza Ortemion, professional disguise management. And I demand that she be discontinued and returned immediately.”
“You accuse me of theft,” said Quarrah. “We bought Azania five years ago.”
“Incorrect,” Cinza cried. “You bought the exclusive rights to impersonate Azania Fyse for the period of two years. Didn’t you read our agreement?”
“I did…” Quarrah muttered. “I think.”
“Oh, that’s good,” said Cinza. “At least you’ve started thinking. If you care to dig up the signed papers and read the fine lettering, you’ll see that there was an option to buy the rights to the persona at the end of the lease period. I don’t recall you paying that.”
“Azania was dead!” Quarrah cried. “And I didn’t think I’d ever use her name again. Sparks, you think I want to be here? This was Ard’s idea.”
“Elbrig and I are well aware of his fingerprints all over your face,” she said. “Which is the only reason I have not put this blade into your windpipe.” Cinza’s breath over Quarrah’s shoulder smelled faintly of citrus. “Where is he?”
“If I answer, what’s to stop you from killing me?”
“Ardor betrayed us!” Cinza’s spittle flecked across Quarrah’s cheek.
“That was a decision he made alone,” she answered. “Raek and I tried to stop him.”
“After everything we’ve done for him!”
“You’re angry,” said Quarrah. “I get it. If you put down the knife, maybe we can talk about it.”
“Where is he?” shouted Cinza, not any closer to relinquishing her position.
“I don’t know,” said Quarrah.
“If you lie—”
“I’m telling the truth,” she insisted. “He left in the middle of the night. Ten days ago. He was supposed to be back for the rehearsal tonight, but… he’s not here.”
“Why have you brought back Azania?”
“For the festival,” Quarrah said. “We’re trying to draw as many people into the Char as possible.”
“Why?”
“To protect them from Moonsickness,” Quarrah answered. “The dragons are dead.”
Cinza finally let go. Quarrah dropped forward, catching herself with both hands on the rug.
“When you see Ardy,” Cinza said, “tell him we’re going to kill him.”
Quarrah stood up, rubbing her neck. “You’ll have to get in line. The Trothians have it out for him, too.”
“We will also kill you,” continued Cinza, “if you insist on going through with Azania Fyse at the concert.”
That certainly added some unnecessary pressure. “What if we pay you the final amount?”
“I’m afraid bribery is out of the question.” She picked up her fallen rag and moved toward the tent flap. “This is a matter of principle now.”
“Cinza,” Quarrah said as the old woman reached the exit. “Three days until the Passing… Ard’s not going to stop.”
Cinza Ortemion smiled, her false teeth crooked and discolored. “He never does.”
Ardor Benn pressed through the crowded Char, mindful of the orange hues of sunset that clung to the broken storm clouds to the west. There was a crisp coolness in the autumn air—slightly offset by the warmth of so
many gathered bodies.
Ard was pleased with the turnout for the festival, especially considering the day’s poor weather. People seemed to be camped in every available open space, regardless of mud or puddles. Ard wished he could say that everyone had come unsuspectingly, merely hoping to be entertained by the concert and festivities. But the truth was abuzz through the congregation, almost louder than the music itself.
People had come in fear.
Ard didn’t waste time wondering who had leaked the information about the coming Moonsickness. Each one of the council members was an equal suspect. Despite his warnings to keep the truth under wraps, someone had likely spilled it to convince a hesitant relative to come to the Char. From there, the gossip would spiral out of control until it swept every island.
Citizens and nobles had arrived as early as five days ago, pitching tents and trying to make themselves at home in the last safe place on earth. By dawn this morning, all roads leading into the Char had been utterly clogged, a perimeter of Regulators working tirelessly to dispel rumors and keep the peace.
From the snippets of conversation Ard had picked up, the people didn’t really understand what was going to happen. Some said the Moon would be more powerful tonight and the Islehood would be burning a special torch in the Char. Others claimed a dragon would arrive in the nick of time to shield them. In a way, they were both right. Evetherey was both dragon and Holy Torch, and tonight she was the only hope for humankind.
Ard ducked around the back of the grand outdoor stage, the orchestra swelling in a dissonant chord. Swayla Tham’s instrumental portion of the concert seemed lackluster, but hopefully it would hold people’s attention until the main event.
Ard spotted San Green and a troop of Regulators standing by a Trans-Island Carriage anchored to the muddy ground, its sailcloth balloon straining upward. Instead of the usual large carriage designed to carry multiple passengers, a pilot, and plenty of equipment, this balloon would only be hauling a small basket with room for one.
Ard was almost to the carriage when a cloaked figure appeared from a cluster of trees where night’s shadows had already taken root.
“Sparks, Evetherey!” Ard grabbed his chest, reeling back a step. “We need to hang a bell around your neck.”
“You are startled?” Her glowing eyes narrowed under a hairless brow furrowed in confusion. “Did we not agree to meet here at sunset?”
“Sure, we did, but…” Hadn’t Evetherey ever felt startled? Wasn’t the pressure of tonight prickling her nerves? “Never mind.” Ard glanced around the quickly darkening area. “Where’s Raek?”
“I grow faint,” she said. “The Moon is near. I will be quite incapacitated until sunrise.”
“I know,” Ard replied. “We’ll try to get along without you. How much time do we have?”
“It will rise in twenty minutes,” she answered. “At that time, the sickness will begin outside my reach.”
“Then you’d better get to your perch.” Ard moved toward the anchored basket, Evetherey following close behind. Her figure looked strangely shapeless with her broad wings confined under that cloak. In the twilight, it reminded Ard of the shrouding cloaks worn by the Faceless in the Realm.
“Ardor!” San stepped away from the line of Regulators and waved him over anxiously. “Everything’s ready.” The young man couldn’t pull his eyes from Evetherey.
“Good work.” Ard proudly slapped a hand on the wicker basket secured beneath the balloon. “This is it.”
Evetherey studied the vessel, obviously unconvinced. “I am trusting your people to keep me aloft… in this?”
“San and Raek ran all the calculations,” Ard assured her. “These Reggies know their jobs. And they have plenty of Heat Grit to keep it up.”
One of the Regulators stepped forward, eyes glued to Evetherey’s unique face. “Our orders come directly from Her Majesty, Queen Abeth Agaul. We will protect this vessel with our lives.”
In silent response, Evetherey shrugged out of her long cloak, feathered wings suddenly unfolding as the black cloth fell to the damp earth. The Reggie swallowed visibly, a look of under-qualification displayed as plainly as if she’d written it on her forehead.
San opened a little woven door on the side of the basket. “Whenever you’re ready, Madam Drothan.”
Evetherey stepped into the basket, San latching the door behind her. Ard thought her perch looked just large enough for her to lie down for the night. He nodded to the reptilian woman as San moved away, shouting commands at the Reggies to begin the ascent.
“Thank you, Evetherey.”
The Drothan goddess turned her glowing eyes on Ard. “The real work will begin in the morning.”
He nodded in understanding, suddenly hit with a measure of fatigue equal to his coming responsibility. Keeping the survivors separate from those who would be inflicted by the Moon, fighting off the growing number of Glassminds… In the morning, they might look back on this night and consider it quite relaxing.
Ard watched as the balloon rose straight upward, tethered to the earth by nothing but a thick rope. Evetherey would sail to the optimal height of three hundred feet, hovering there all night as the Regulators used strings and a simple pulley system to administer more Heat Grit into the balloon as needed.
By the look of it, Evetherey would have no problem getting to altitude before the Moon rose. Good thing, since every inch counted. Any lower and the effective perimeter of her shield would shrink. Any higher and the spot directly beneath her would be compromised.
“This isn’t meant to be a reptile pun,” Raek’s voice chimed from behind Ard, “but I feel like we’re putting all our eggs in one basket.”
Ard spun around to find his enhanced friend standing a few yards away, red eyes watching the balloon rise.
“You’re late,” Ard said.
“Hey. That’s usually my line for you,” replied Raek. “There was a little kerfuffle at the southern entrance. Had to give the Reggies a hand.”
“Everything okay?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Raek said, sobering. “Some lord and lady from Strind showed up with half their property in a caravan of wagons.”
Ard shook his head. They knew the truth, obviously. “Let me guess,” said Ard. “They threw a fit because the Regulators wouldn’t let them bring it all in.”
“It was the opposite problem,” said Raek. “They did let them.”
Ard grunted in frustration. “They had orders! No more than a night’s possessions per family. A tent and some blankets is one thing, but… we don’t have the space!”
It was a limitation they had instigated this morning when it became clear that the turnout was going to explode. They needed people to survive the Moon Passing. Goods and possessions, even livestock, would weather the Moon rays with no effect. And the queen had ordered enough rations for everyone inside the radius to survive for a week. By then, it would be terribly obvious who was Moonsick and who wasn’t.
“I know.” Raek rubbed his chin. “But the goods were already inside by the time I caught wind of it. When I got to the entrance, the Reggies were turning away a working family who looked like they’d brought everything they owned in a pair of handcarts.”
“Sparks,” Ard cursed. “Does everyone know what’s really going on tonight?”
“I don’t think anybody really knows,” said Raek. “But the hearsay almost makes it worse. Things are getting pretty bad on the edge of the Char.”
Ard steepled his fingers against his forehead, sighing. “It’s time, Raek.”
“You want me to go through with it, then?”
Ard nodded sullenly. “There’s no way the Regulators can keep everyone out once the Moon comes up. Sounds wrong to say it, but I guess I was hoping the festival wouldn’t be quite so popular.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” said Raek.
“It’s going to cause a panic.”
“We’re getting close to one out there anyway.”
Ard glanced up at the darkening sky. “Where do you need to be?”
“The eastern entrance is closest,” said Raek. “Once I get it started, I should be able to control it from anywhere along the edge.”
“We should hurry.” Ard checked to make sure that San Green had everything under control with the carriage. Then he struck off, quickly realizing that he was turned around and unsure which way was east.
“Don’t you have a song to conduct?” Raek asked.
Ard waved his hand. “I’ve got time. Quarrah might be stuck in that tent, smothered in makeup, but all I have to do is slap on a wig and mustache. Besides, they’re not going to start without me.”
“I’ll lead,” Raek said.
Ard had to jog every few steps to keep up with his partner’s gait, but he wouldn’t have wanted to go any slower, with mere minutes remaining. They moved down a small overgrown path, passing throngs of pedestrians. Ahead, a crimson glow was creeping into view on the eastern horizon, not warm like the rising sun, but a sickly scarlet that bled into a blackness awakening with stars.
The Char’s eastern entrance was a wide plaza with a single road leading from the neighborhood beyond. The Reggies were doing exactly what they’d been told, closing the Char the moment the sunset faded. They had squared off, holding their position in front of the tall archway entrance, wooden shields raised and helmeted heads bowed. Little did the Reggies know they were guarding the new Redeye line. Most of them were likely to escape the sickness tonight, but beyond that point…
The crowd stretched into every intersecting street—hundreds of citizens still pushing to get in. Ard could sense that the situation was on the verge of hostility. If the citizens decided to charge, the Regulators wouldn’t stand a chance.
That was why Raek needed to do this. As definitive and absolute as it seemed, it was their only real shot at containing the situation.
Ard was close enough now to hear what the Reggies were shouting.
“Return to your homes!”
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 59
