The Grass King’s Concubine

by Kari Sperring

  Marcellan went out into the courtyard and tried the gate. It was as solid as ever.

  She said, “No good. Locked. And we can’t break it.”

  A key turned in the lock. She jumped, dived for Marcellan’s room, fur already streaking up her spine. She should have known someone was there. This stupid, stupid body had failed her yet again. Marcellan stepped back stood there, arms folded. Liyan, Julana prayed. Let it be Liyan.

  It was Sujien.

  The corridors were chaos: servants and courtiers flew here and there, half dressed or still clutching the tools of their trade. Yelena abandoned any hope of stealth and scurried through them as fast as she could, nipping at ankles, shooting between legs, snapping and snarling. The panicked inhabitants milled or gave way before her determination. None of them, it seemed, had any idea of what to do save run for the gardens. As she came closer to the core of the palace, fewer and fewer of them were going her way.

  It would do them little good if the Grass King chose to unleash his fury. Last time—and chill shook Yelena at the recollection—the great orchards that had ringed the previous palace had disappeared, swallowed by the greedy mouths of the earth. The safest places—and those were not very safe—were those closest to heart rock or else close to the Grass King himself, but only as long as his wrath did not fall on his companions. That could not be guaranteed.

  Marcellan was close to the Grass King, if Qiaqia was to be believed. Yelena quickened her pace almost to a gallop. The nearer she came, the fewer inhabitants she saw and the more the walls shrieked at her. Statues and urns rocked on their plinths; from within rooms came small crashes as lighter items were shaken loose. Underfoot, the ground rocked and groaned. She came to the Outer Court of Audience and took off diagonally across it. The ground was slick; she slithered and skidded, cannoning into the edge of a fountain. It was silent, weighted down by a thick mantle of ice. She shook herself, jumped for the nearest patch of clearish ground. Another skid, this time into the edge of an arcade. She scrambled up onto it, dizzy. It shook beneath her, plaster flaking from the walls in a bright fine shower. She had to use her claws to gain decent purchase on the tiles. Ahead of her, the doors of the Great Hall of Judgment stood open and unguarded. Thin cracks feathered their way through the doorframe and out into the surrounding wall. Ice hung from the lintel, nested in the cracks. The light that spilled out through the doors was a reddish-orange, touched here and there with a chill, thin blue. She could smell heat and fear. Her feet halted her perhaps two yards from the door, clinging to the chill tiles. Not her place, in the heart of such anger. She was made for little things, for the patter of mouse feet and the quick sharp taste of fresh rabbit blood, for drowsing in warm cushioned corners and nosing into dark curious corners. She trembled, belly pressed low to the shivering floor.

  Julana was in there. Marcellan was in there. She forced herself to stand, forced her limbs to obey her will and not her instincts. The earth groaned underneath her; from within the chamber, sparks flashed and spun. Her fur lifted. Julana. Marcellan. Inch by inch her feet carried her over the threshold and into the vast room beyond.

  It was like stepping into a storm. Dust rolled in great clouds across it, sharp and bright with fragments of rock and tile. The tall pillars creaked and moaned. Here and there, small knots of courtiers huddled together in the darkest corners. Closer to the center of the room lay odd bundles of robes, tangled and torn and spilling chips and sticks of bone. The tiles were buckled and stained, red and black marks oozing under their glaze to smear and abrade their patterns. And in the heart of it all, the Grass King paced, to and fro, back and forth, massive and heavy, dark as loam, all shaping stripped away to leave him as he was at his core: all the power and weight of earth. Yelena whimpered, pressing back against the door lest his eye fall on her and annihilate her in an instant. She could not see Julana, nor smell her over the reek of grit and heat. Liyan knelt at the foot of the dais, red-limned; Shirai stood beside him, stolid as ever. There was no sign of Tsai or Qiaqia. And in front of the Grass King, in direct line of his pacing stood Sujien, head high, sword drawn, face triumphant. Marcellan was at his feet, head bowed. Across the floor, scoured to and fro by the wind, leaves of paper washed and rustled.

  Paper marked in black and red. The twins had tried to warn Marcellan, but he had not listened. Yelena rocked, keening low in her throat. Too late now. The Grass King knew. The Grass King was angry.

  He came to a halt in front of the dais. The earth groaned beneath his feet, tiles cracking. His voice—the voice of earth—rolled out across the room, shaking all in its way. “Words.” His gaze came down on Liyan, and the latter shivered. “I am not made of words, Mo-Liyan. I am not to be defined by words.” The earthquake stretched itself within his voice, and the palace shook. In their corners, the trapped courtiers shrieked and wept. But Liyan only raised his head.

  “Knowledge, Sire,” he said.

  “Knowledge?” The Grass King recommenced his pacing. “For whom? For what? What lack do you have here that you seek human knowledge?”

  A gust of cold air wafted over the room, though Sujien’s face remained the same. The Grass King was facing away from her. Slowly, terrified, Yelena began to creep forward toward Marcellan. Where was Julana? She should be here. Surely she had not deserted Marcellan? She could not be dead. Yelena knew to the bone that she would know if her sister died.

  Liyan said, “Without knowledge, there is only stagnation.”

  “We don’t need change,” Sujien said. Turning again, the Grass King waved him into silence. Yelena froze in the lee of a pillar, waited for the Grass King to look away once again.

  The Grass King’s voice turned low and silky. “And where was this stagnation?”

  “In Sujien.” Fire in Liyan’s tone, now—fire and resentment. “Sire, you approved the clock. You approved that we learn what the human creatures seek to do in their world. But Sujien,” and he looked across at his colleague, “is always afraid of difference.”

  “We don’t need human things.” Wind whipped from Sujien; at his feet, Marcellan swayed. “We’re better than them.”

  “Anger is next door to fear, Jien-kai.” Liyan smiled as he spoke. Sujien raised a hand, and the air cracked.

  “Enough.” The Grass King turned again back to face his Cadre. “I will not have quarrels. I will not have disruption.”

  “Sire,” said Sujien, and bowed. Liyan said nothing.

  The Grass King continued, “You will tell me, Mo-Liyan, what exactly you have done. You will tell me why Tsai is fading. You will tell me,” and he pointed to the broken pages on the floor, “why your banner have made books and released them into WorldAbove.”

  “I’ve done nothing to Tsai.”

  “You lie!” Sujien raised his hand again. “You lured her into helping you with that…that machine, and now she’s losing herself. You’ve seen it, you’ve seen how much less she is!”

  “I’ve seen how you try to trap her.” Liyan gestured at the ice that crept through the windows. “Chilling her, pinning her down. And I’ve seen how you try to break my clock.”

  “Peace.” The earthquake hung heavy in the Grass King’s voice. “Liyan will speak. Sujien will be silent.” He halted in front of Liyan. “Well?”

  Yelena recommenced her slow advance up the hall. Why did Marcellan not speak or move? She could not smell blood, but there were many many other ways to harm one of his kind. They were pitifully fragile in comparison with the creatures of WorldBelow. From the base of the dais, Liyan said, “I discovered that there are new things in WorldAbove. I wanted to learn them. I wanted to understand them. So I asked.” Yelena’s heartbeat stumbled. In a second he would mention Marcellan, and the Grass King’s attention would shift. She was too far away to stop him, to do anything.

  A flash of brown fur sprang from Marcellan’s sleeve, straight toward Liyan. He cursed, ducking his head as claws raked at him. Julana. Yelena broke into a run. Her twin landed foursquare on the dais and turne
d, spitting and baring her teeth at Liyan. He swiped at her with a hand, and she nipped him. He pulled away with another curse, and Julana arched her back, fluffing out to twice her natural size. Yelena skidded past Sujien and snapped at the space above Liyan’s boot. Her teeth grazed his skin, and she shuddered at the taste of him. He grabbed for her, and she danced backward.

  Another hand descended, seizing her around the middle and sweeping her upward. She heard Julana cry out in alarm and surprise. Twisting and snapping, she found herself dangling from one of Shirai’s big hands. Julana hung from the other. The ground rumbled beneath him. Yelena wriggled again, found herself held firm, and went limp.

  The Grass King spoke and his voice was once again that of earthquake, slow and deadly. “I will know,” he said, “why these little creatures of mine interrupt.” Yelena had no breath to answer. She drooped in Shirai’s grasp, knew that her twin did the same. The Grass King continued, “This should be no business of theirs. This is not their place.”

  “It’s my fault.” Marcellan spoke from the floor. Yelena squirmed, desperate to free herself, certain she could not. Marcellan must not speak, must not attract the attention of the Grass King. It was her doing, hers and Julana’s. They had betrayed him in their desire to protect him.

  Marcellan rose, shaking dust from his clothes, and Sujien made no move to prevent him. He looked directly at the Grass King and did not tremble; his voice was level and calm. He said, “They visited me. They were curious. I encouraged them. Please don’t be angry with them. They meant no harm.”

  “Curiosity is their nature,” Shirai said.

  “Indeed.” But the quake still stalked the Grass King’s voice. “But this is not curiosity.” His gaze swept the twins and they shivered. Then he said, “Mo-Shirai, you will keep them restrained and silent. Mo-Liyan, continue your account.”

  “Sire.” Liyan said, thinly. “I sought information from the captive, and he gave it to me.”

  “So,” the Grass King said, “but you did not have to act on it.”

  There was a silence. Liyan stared at the floor. Finally, he said, “You granted permission for the clock.”

  “After you began building it.”

  “Sire,” Shirai said, “Liyan is made to act this way.”

  “Made to interfere and harm,” Sujien said. He shifted from foot to foot. “He’s done something to Tsai. He’s been dealing with WorldAbove.”

  “I thought,” the Grass King said, slowly, “that I had bade you be quiet, Mo-Jien.”

  “I encouraged him,” Marcellan said. “He just wanted to see how things are made. But I encouraged him to use them.” The Grass King again turned toward him. “I don’t know what has happened with the clock, but as to this,” and he gestured at the papers littering the floor around their feet, “I wrote things and suggested he print them. I gave him the idea to send them out into my lands. I did this. All of it.”

  The twins shrieked, thin and high, trying to drown him out. Marcellan glanced across at them and smiled. It must not be. He must not betray himself like this; he must not smile and be so…so generous. So foolish.

  The Grass King raised a hand, and his face was dark. He began to gesture toward Marcellan.

  “No!” Yelena did not even know she had begun to change until Shirai dropped her. She tumbled, fur and bone and muscle rippling and stretching and changing, landed hard on her side. She sprang to her feet, swaying and dizzy. She shook her head, gasping. Julana was at her side, limbs still lengthening. Yelena said again, “No.”

  “No?” The Grass King said.

  She should tremble, she should be terrified. But she was not. She could feel her sister close beside her, warm and firm. Yelena stepped between the Grass King and Marcellan and stood, head high. Julana followed her. She repeated, “No.”

  “Man is ours,” Julana said. “We claim him.”

  “Man reshaped us,” said Yelena. “Named us. Made us his. Made him ours.”

  “We won’t let him be hurt. We’ll bite.” Julana bared her blunt man-teeth.

  “We’ll fight.”

  Marcellan said, “Don’t…” but the twins ignored him.

  “Punish us first,” Julana said.

  Someone, somewhere, choked. The ground shook underfoot, and the twins swayed but kept their place. The Grass King said, very slowly, “And how can you protect him from me? This is my domain.”

  “Ours,” Julana said again.

  “I can punish you,” the Grass King said, “and still punish him as well. You have no power.”

  “Then punish us,” Yelena said. “But man is ours.”

  “He’s brought harm to us.”

  “Say rather,” said Liyan, eyes not on the Grass King but on Sujien, “say rather that they are the man’s. Taste them, Sire. Smell them. His blood runs in their veins now, and theirs in his. It’s in their every line.”

  “So this man has not only led you to flout me, he’s infected my little ones,” the Grass King said.

  “I did it.” Julana’s head snapped up. “Not his fault.”

  There was another silence. Then Liyan said, “Sire, I asked him. I prompted him. He didn’t compel me.”

  “I didn’t think he had,” the Grass King said. But something eased in his tone. He looked again at the twins. “I’ve indulged you two for too long. This is too much.”

  “Sire,” said Shirai, “they’ve offered the captive their protection.”

  “Protection in my domain is at my will.”

  There was no disputing that. Yet Qiaqia had said…She had said to come to the Hall of Judgment, nothing more. Yelena shuffled her feet. At her side, Julana sniffed, then said, “Please.”

  This time the silence was long and heavy, broken only by the brush of wind through the scattered papers. The twins groped for one another’s hands and held on, tightly. “All printing will stop,” the Grass King said. “The clock will be stopped.”

  “The clock is broken.” That was Liyan again, still hot with fear and anger. “Someone damaged it.” He stabbed a finger at Sujien. “It’s not hard to guess who. And why. If you want to know who’s damaged Tsai, then…”

  “I did not break your clock.” Sujien stepped forward, hand going to one of his knives. The twins trembled and crept back toward Marcellan. They sagged backward into his warmth.

  “Be quiet!” Walls shook at the Grass King’s voice. He said, “The captive will be made more secure. And these…” and he pointed at the twins, “these will be exiled. See to it.”

  “But, Sire, Tsai…” Sujien began.

  “Enough.” Under Sujien’s feet, the floor cracked. The Grass King glared at him. “I can make another to replace you, Mo-Jien. One more word, and I will do so.” Sujien dropped to his knees, eyes lowered. Across from him, Liyan started to smile, thought better of it as the Grass King’s eyes fell on him in turn. The Grass King said, “Mo-Shirai, this will be arranged. And I will have no more disobedience.”

  Shirai bowed low as the Grass King left the room, followed by his trembling courtiers. Softly, slowly, the palace fell silent. The twins twined themselves about Marcellan and held on as hard as they could.

  From behind them, Shirai said, “It’s time to go.”

  33

  The Courtyard of the King

  PAIN CUT THROUGH AUDE LIKE A SWORD. She curled up into herself, heart laboring. Did it hurt to drown? Did it hurt this much? It wasn’t possible; she did not think there was enough of her left to feel such agony. It stabbed her again, and she cried out, driving the very last of the air from her lungs. No, oh, no, no… She could see nothing, vision lost in a sickly red-gray wash. She could feel nothing but the anguish that chewed its way through her. Her heart thundered in her ears, counting out the brief moments of relief between the intervals of pain. She could taste blood and yeast. Was this death? If so, no one had told her, no one had ever warned her it would hurt so much. The thunder grew louder, thumping and buzzing, surrounding her…

  She gasped, and air
filled her lungs, sour and yeasty and delicious. Something lay over her, soft and silken, shifting and shimmering with the humming in her ears. The pain shrank back, curled itself into a steady knot of misery. She moaned, and the silken embrace comforted her.

  Someone, somewhere, was yelling, shrill, harsh, unfamiliar words with the rhythms of fear and anger. She could make no sense of it. She inhaled again, let the acrid air wash through her, over her. Inch by inch, her flesh returned to her, heavy and bruised and sore. She lay on the stone floor of the great chamber, still wrapped in the robe Sujien had chosen, listening to her heart slowly settle into a quieter pattern. The thunder subsided into a steady warm bass note counterpointing the alto of the buzz.

  Not her heart at all, that latter sound. Not her, but the song of hundreds upon hundreds of bees. They cloaked her, swathed her in the velvet and lace of their bodies. The rapid beating of their wings wafted the room’s miasma away from her, filtering her air so that she could once more breathe. She had no way to thank them. But when she moved her hand carefully, they lifted off and hovered a few millimeters from her skin to allow her to shift farther. Slowly, she pushed herself up to sit, and the bees flocked around her, singing their approval, their protection. Their motion blurred her vision, left her only glimpses of what lay around her. Tiles and pillars and, at one end of the chamber, a great foul doughy mass oozing its way from a great dark wooden throne, slithering and tugging itself toward her, reaching out to her in long, soft, stinking ropes. She gulped, hugged her knees tight to her chest. The bees clove to her, keeping between her and the yeasty lump.

  More bees roiled about something to her left. They swarmed, a dense black cloud of them, buzzing and swooping, holding something back.

  Holding someone back. Aude swallowed. Behind that wall of bees, Sujien cursed and fumed, his hands striking out at a foe that darted and dodged and evaded him. Cold blasts of wind gusted past her, blowing brief holes in the barrier. But there were always more bees to replace those that were knocked away. And behind Sujien…Footsteps, more blurred forms and a voice calling out, over and over. “Aude! Aude!”