The tunic passed from hand to hand, each in turn sniffing and listening to the old garment. The only sound was the hiss and pop of the grey flame. Finally, the tunic was passed back to the Zaalmage.
"You think you are a new thing," the Mage said. "You think you fly above our heads."
Ilaan swallowed, he could hear a ‘click.’ "You think you'll bring old and new together. You think the past is a waste and the future is your tool and your toy."
"No," Ilaan stammered, "no, I...."
The Zaalmage threw the tunic into the grey, leaping flame.
The Queen was there, in the flame. She looked no bigger than his hand but the image was vivid and sharp. She was talking to someone in the darkness behind him. She was saying, "Sweet boy, and he'll be of use one day..." she was gone, replaced by an equally sharp image of his father speaking to his mother, "All that cleverness, and what does he do all day? He's not Zaalmage yet, he'll do as I tell him..." the Queen again, "No, Diia, not the whole family. They make me tired. The girl's a little fool, poor thing, and the boy? Well, I know he thinks he's being clever..." His father again, talking to someone in the dark that he couldn't see, "Then we have a deal—one for one." He saw himself in the library with Rhuun, watched as the fireball he launched smacked him square in the chest, and the look of pain on his friend's face, there for anyone to see who bothered to look. And then Niico, and they were children, and Niico sneered and spat fire at him, and he didn't care. And then, dimly, his own hand putting something small and bright on a bookshelf.
The flame flickered out. The images faded as rank smoke rose. The garment lay unmarked on the stone table.
"What did we see, Brothers? Who is this boy? He thinks many things, but he has so many masters." The Zaalmage turned to Ilaan. "Are you ready to have a new master? Will you set the others aside?"
"Yes," said Ilaan in a dry whisper, seeing again his friend's anguish, the Queen's disregard. He felt as ill as if he had a belly full of ice. "I am ready."
"We believe you are. Welcome and join us, Mage."
The Zaalmage handed around cups of cool water, which Ilaan gratefully accepted.
"What else did you bring us?" Ilaan didn't follow. Had he forgotten to bring something else? "In the bag. There is something else. I can smell it."
"No, Zaalmage, I was told to pick one object, and I did. There's nothing else, see?" He tipped the bag over, giving it a shake. A slender curl of yellowed paper fell out and fluttered to the stone table. "What... How did that...?" For a moment Ilaan had no idea. Then, Oh. That shouldn't be here. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to grab the scrap of paper back and shimmer away.
The Zaalmage had already snatched it up. Frowning, he examined it closely.
"Interesting. A word or two in the human tongue, I see. Given its age and the relative flimsiness of the paper, I would judge it to be torn from pre-Weapon popular entertainment from the other side." His frown deepened and he held the paper close to his face, and sniffed deeply. "There is something very strange about it, though. Where did it come from? How did it get here?"
"No idea, really, other than it’s from a book from the Queen's library," Ilaan lied. "I'm not sure how it got in the bag, it’s not even my book...."
The Zaalmage looked about to speak. Instead, he held the scrap to his face. He sniffed it again. Then his tongue darted out and touched the paper.
"Brothers," he said. "Brothers, attend."
The shifting, rustling robes moved as one around the table.
Ilaan reminded himself that the little novel was safely locked away upstairs. He could hear his heart in his ears. What was this about?
"Brothers, before I speak, smell. Before I speak, touch. Taste. Carefully and quickly."
The hooded figures passed the curl of paper reverently from hand to hand, each taking a deep sniff and a tiny taste, until finally it reached the Zaalmage, who turned to Ilaan.
"This belongs to a human."
"Oh, well, yes—it did." A wash of relief passed over him. They'd just gotten a stray whiff of old Dos Capeheart. He wondered if the ceremony was over. "It belonged to a human who gave it to someone here on Eriis. It's been in the library here for a very long time. That old human—probably dead by now—that's what you are...er...sensing."
"No," said the Zaalmage. "This was in a human's hand today."
"But that's impossible," said Ilaan. "This is Rhuun's. I mean, this book belongs to Prince Rhuun."
All at once the mages froze in their places, their sighing and shifting ceased. The Zaalmage took a deep, shuddering breath which seemed to release them.
The Zaalmage turned back to Ilaan, looking for a moment a bit disoriented. But he quickly regained his composure and said, "We will talk again soon, my young brother Mage."
"The Conclave... the Naa Kansima," began Ilaan, who was feeling as if he'd missed something important.
"Ah, yes, the Conclave, of course. You'll hear from us. Oh, yes you will. Sooner rather than later. Now if you'll excuse us..." The Zaalmage turned his back on Ilaan and nearly galloped into one of the darkened corridors, followed by his robed, hooded, hissing, and sighing brothers.
Ilaan was suddenly alone in the big round room.
Well, that was a lot to take in, he thought. He wanted to think more carefully about what the flames had shown him, but that could wait. Based on how young everyone looked, most of that stuff was from a long time ago anyway. He pushed it aside. The little display with the paper, well, he didn't quite know what to make of that. But at least it was over and it appeared that no harm had been done. He had a party to toss in only a few hours and he had to get ready.
"Now, the food changers should already be there, and the servers ready to pour. Do I have enough glasses...?" Since no one was around to take offense, he shimmered himself out of their dark Raasth and back into the brightness of his own comfortable quarters.
***
In a low ceilinged stone room, in total darkness, the Zaalmage raised his hands to calm his restless, twitching brothers. In fact, he could barely contain himself. As he spoke, light, grey and dim, streamed from his palms.
"What is the law?" There was a collective moaning gasp.
"The law makes him ours. The law gives him over to our hand. The Queen's own law brings him to us. Our long wait is over! We shall take him this very night!" He leaned towards them, "Are we bold enough to tread the steps? Are we brave enough to face the sky and take what is ours?"
A triumphant hiss.
"Brothers, we may proceed!"
They had only a few hours, noted the Zaalmage, and there was much to do.
Preparations to make.
Knives to sharpen.
Chapter 29
"Don't you know why you’re here, girl?"
Gwenyth dashed away her tears. She had been told that the Duke was very impatient with emotional women.
"My Father said... I am to..."
"That's enough, wench. Get you gone or I'll send you to sleep in the stables!" The Duke pointed towards the back stairs and the girl fled to the comfort of the kitchens. Damned if she wasn't a beauty! He reminded himself of how that had gone for him in the past.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 40
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra City
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran Calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Barton Grove High Street
"Oh, these are nice. And they go with my black dress... but I really shouldn’t." Lelet spent another moment admiring her hand in the black lace glove, set with tiny red stones and with a row of black pearl buttons at the wrist, before stripping it off and setting it back on the table with its mate. "Father sent down a missive from the mountain. It involved my budget."
"How awful for you," smiled Althee, who had no budget for gloves or anything else she fancied. "Gloveless, and at a time like this." She tried on a red velvet cloche hat with a spray of blue and
green feathers. The feathers curved around under her chin. "What do you think?"
Lelet tucked her chin into her hand. "Even for you, that’s a bit much. Maybe without the feathers? In a different color? And if it wasn’t a hat?"
Althee laughed and put the offending hat back on its form. "I know. Redheads"—and here they spoke together—"should not wear red." She nodded at Lelet’s own hair. "What’s off the table with that shade? Does it have a name, incidentally?"
Lelet smoothed her hair and looked offended. "The bottle claimed it was Living Pink. Are you saying it’s less than fabulous?"
"I’m saying I hope you saved the receipt." She looked around the shop. "Anything else you can’t live without? Because I’m desperate for lunch." She scooped the black lace gloves off the rack and handed them to the hovering clerk. "Ah, why not? I’ll take the red velvet also. On my account, thank you."
"Oh, Al, no. I couldn’t possibly."
Althee shrugged. "That dress you’re wearing tonight needs gloves. You look like a disembodied pair of arms without them. I can’t do anything about the hair but I like to help where I can." She took the parcels from the clerk and they stepped out of the dim coolness of the shop into the bright day. It was just before noon, and the boulevard was crowded with the idle children of the Fifty Families—mostly Thirds and Fourths—spending their family’s money, and being seen.
"Did you hear? Suelee snagged herself a Second. She’s moving to Upper Garden," said Lelet, who hadn’t sorted out if she was envious or contemptuous.
Althee shrugged. "Good for her, I guess."
Lelet nodded sagely. "I know, the inherent unfairness in the system prevents the... ah...."
"Prevents the natural progression of the superior intellect," Althee reminded her.
"Intellect! Of course. I knew it was superior something. That was the part where I dozed off," Lelet admitted. She was not over fond of lectures, and she’d been dragged to this particular one by Althee. "Something about hindering flowering? Or was that the orchid one?"
"All right," replied Althee. "I won’t make you come to any more talks." They strolled on in silence for a few minutes. Lelet lit a cigarette and Althee opened her mouth to comment before changing her mind.
"That man was right, though," said Lelet. "The one about the system."
Althee looked up, surprised. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was, but before that. The bit I heard was right. I mean, obviously you should be in charge of your family’s business. Like, why did you have to go back to the house last night?"
"To do the books. Cecille is hopeless with figures."
"But she’s the First. And you’re a Fourth. She’d rather be out shopping, but she can’t. Maybe it is wrong," Lelet laughed. "Didn’t mean to get radical. Should we have lunch here?" They’d stopped in front of a busy café. Lelet tossed the butt of her smoke in the street. "This is the place with the cute waiters."
Once they’d been seated and had coffee in front of them, Althee said, "See, that’s a nice thing about being a Fourth. If you want to enjoy a waiter, no one will look at you cross-eyed. If May started hanging around with the staff, your father would... ah...."
"He’d be less than pleased," Lelet said quickly. She knew Althee had been about to say ‘kill himself’ and wanted to save her friend the embarrassment. No one said that phrase in front of the va’Everly children. "Not that anyone seems excited about Billah...."
"So is tonight to be the night? Did we just fix you up with Dumping Gloves?"
Lelet sighed, "I don’t know. I’d just have to find someone else, and that’s so boring."
Althee grinned. "I could set you up with my spider guy. He still asks after you." The Seshelle family made their fortune in import-export, and had a spider wrangler on full time retainer to mind the goods. The rate of theft in their warehouses was so low as to be legendary.
"The fact that you have a spider guy just makes me love you more. How is Ranette, by the way?"
Ranette was Althee’s pride and joy, her pet Alsatian Rugosa, an arachnid as big as her palm, with silky, auburn spider-fur. She’d adopted the creature after it had been deemed too small to put on guard duty. She let it walk around on her desk while she was working. It kept interruptions to a minimum. "He is fat and fine, and taking after his namesake by stealing my hatpins."
"You know it’s slightly disgusting that you named it after my brother. Who is also slightly disgusting.”She couldn’t fathom her friend’s affection for her repulsive older brother.
"I think he’s delicious." Althee sipped her coffee and scanned her menu. "Don’t tell him I said that, I’d never hear the end of it." She glanced up at the waiter—young and handsome— and smiled. "Salad with the dressing on the side, and the fish, thank you."
"The breaded cutlet, pasta side, and should we get half a bottle of the white?"
Once the waiter had left, Lelet continued. "Don’t worry. I don’t tell Rane anything, ever. He’s the biggest freak in the family. Oh, wait, no. I guess Scilla is the biggest."
"Have you heard from her? Did you tell her to look for Olly?"
Althee’s affection for the entire va’Everly brood warmed Lelet, even if she didn’t understand it. She set down her cup. "Olly, your cousin Olly." She slapped her forehead, "I totally forgot. I don’t talk to her much. You’re lucky, your family is so normal. Even if they can’t do math." She stirred sugar into her coffee and looked out the big front windows. "Know what I wish?"
"That you had big tits," Althee replied promptly.
Lelet snorted a laugh. "What else I wish? It’ll sound stupid." Althee leaned forward expectantly. "I wish I could have an adventure. A proper one, like in a book. With... pirates."
"You want to be kidnapped by pirates? That’s not... no, you’re right. That is stupid."
"Shut up. A nice one. Clean," Lelet warmed to her subject, "and tall."
"No point in a short pirate," Althee agreed. "He could hardly reach the mizzenmast."
"And smart, with good manners." They paused as the waiter brought their lunch.
"So you want to be carried off by a well-read, polite, neatly dressed pirate with clean fingernails and who knows which fork to use? Sorry, I think he’d be more interested in seamen." Althee laughed at her own joke.
Lelet folded her arms. "Well, ha ha. I’m sorry I told you."
Althee took a sip of her wine and shook her head. "Don’t be. You want to have an adventure? What were we just talking about? You’re a Fourth. You’re free. Run off with whomever you like—who’s going to stop you?"
"Come with me," said Lelet, suddenly inspired. "We’ll go adventuring."
"Not likely," Althee laughed. "Cecille would drive the business into a ditch, and Luce needs me to help her with eligibles. You know she has no more sense than a spoon. But you should come with us when we go south next summer. There are beautiful boys as far as the eye can see, and they think scrawny northern ladies with pink hair are to die for."
"Hmmm, maybe." But in her mind, she was on a galleon with the wind in her face and a tall stranger at her side.
Chapter 30
Eriis City
20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar
100 years later, Mistran calendar
Yuenne’s family residence
It was turning into the sort of event where everyone showed up early and stayed until the dust rose around the windows.
Ilaan was delighted with the way his father's house looked—every old weapon shone with new polish and was hung with white banners. It was a nicer house than the one he'd grown up in—bigger and in a much more desirable location, close by the royal quarters. The view from his tower was without equal. Plus, the property next door, half vanished by the Weapon, made for a very impressive courtyard. When he had moved the whole family and their retainers to this great house a year earlier, Yuenne had decided on changing the family colors from grey and black to white only—a daring move considering the dust. Ilaan h
ad thought it pretentious at first, but had to admit it did look quite eye catching, all that white. And Yuenne had finally (after much begging) removed his beloved mountain of traveling gear into a back room.
Ilaan had long ribbons of tiny white flowers made, descending from the baskets of glowing stones above the party goer’s heads and strung along the rails and. Tables of little bites of fruit, meat, bread, and cheese (cheese was a fairly new addition to Eriis' menu. It was very exciting that his family had managed to serve so much—and in two different colors). And in the center of the great room, an actual water fountain! A stream of real water seemingly coming from nowhere! (He'd hidden the pouring vase behind a screen). And crystal cups for everyone to take home, once you were done holding up your cup and filling it in mid-air. It was quite a trick, if he did say so himself. Rhuun had laughed and asked where he was hiding the river of sarave.
"You drink too much," Ilaan told him.
"I liked it better when we weren't telling each other everything," Rhuun replied cheerfully. He had clearly already started on what he referred to as 'liquid invisibility.'
Yes, it all looked quite fine.
And looking most particularly fine was his shani, his Niico, who was wearing a white silk tunic heavy with dun embroidery, and dark brown leggings, as his family favored the darker shades. Niico was becoming a bit of a celebrity; his matches and bouts were always fully attended, and he had invented some interesting midair turns and twists. This caused some grumbling among older fans of the sport who were wedded to the traditional air assault, but it made Niico a bit of a hero to the younger set. Now, everyone stopped to congratulate Niico on his string of victories, many taking a moment to surreptitiously touch or tap his shoulder for luck—an old belief that seemed to be gaining some new popularity. Luck draws luck, and Ilaan had noticed a few tugs and pats on his own arm as well. And why not?
Ilaan made his way slowly through the crowd, all drinking, smiling sweetly, plotting, and planning. He listened where he could and made notes on whom to pull aside later. These will be my tools, and I can find a good use for them.
The Sand Prince Page 16
