He’s convinced it’s bringing him closer to an answer.
But I am what I am, only the gods could make it otherwise. Knowing the why or how isn’t going to change anything. I wish Nisai could accept that. Then he’d be free to follow scholarly inquisitiveness, not some turns-old sense of obligation.
I’m contemplating how to broach the subject of the Aphorai expedition when a page runs in, skidding to a halt on the library’s polished black floor.
“Highness.” The boy winces as his voice warbles and breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Highness, Commander Iddo has returned.”
Now that gets the Prince’s attention.
Back in our chambers, Nisai sits at his desk, unrolls a map, and weighs down the corners with an incense burner and a vase of lilac flowers—a gift from Ami. As with all imperial maps, the capital—the holy city of Ekasya—is marked at the very center of Aramtesh, perched on a single mountain in miles upon miles of alluvial plains, the river splitting to flow either side of the peak.
Iddo strides into the room unannounced, ducking so his forehead doesn’t hit the lintel.
Nisai does his best to feign nonchalance, not lifting his eyes from the map. “Mind the carpet. It’s an antique.”
“What’s the point of a carpet you’re not allowed to walk on?” The Commander of the Imperial Rangers stops one footfall short of the rug, looking like he could have leapt from a mural depicting a mythical battle. There’s exactly five turns—to the day—between Nisai and his half brother, but the elder Kaidon son towers over his sibling and is almost twice as broad.
Neither of them have grown beards—unusual for princes—though Iddo’s jaw bristles with several days’ growth, his usually pale complexion deeply tanned from the road.
Nisai rises from his chair with an obvious sniff. “Could you not have come via the bathhouse?” His eyes dart to the corner of the room. A page melts from the drapes along the wall to light another stick of incense.
The Commander pushes back his traveling cloak, the fine white linen designed for protection against the sun. The stains from the road are the particular green-yellow of sulfur. He must have been far north in Los Province if he needed to cross the Wastes to return to the capital. The Rangers travel fast.
“Your message said, ‘as soon as you return.’ Who am I to deny the First Prince?” Then he ignores the earlier request and crosses the carpet to envelop Nisai in a lion’s hug. “How have you been, Little Brother? Are you well?” He turns to me. “Been keeping him out of trouble, Shield?”
Nisai steps back and smooths down his robes. “I’d like to think I could keep myself out of trouble in my family’s own palace.”
Iddo gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, but the palace is the most dangerous den of all. All those daughters of little lordlings buzzing around the honey pot of a prince.” He squeezes Nisai’s cheek.
Nisai swats his older brother away, this game almost as old as he.
The Commander throws his cloak over the back of a dining chair and flops onto a divan, crossing his legs at the ankle, boots still on. “A little birdy told me you’re looking to take a trip.”
Nisai glances at me. “Ash doesn’t approve.”
“With good reason.” Iddo stretches, one shoulder giving an audible pop as he clasps his hands behind his head. “The Empire is simmering with unrest. I thought it was just the usual rumors, but it’s bubbling over in places, especially in the outer provinces. Daddy dearest’s turns of military neglect means they all smell opportunity. Los has especially never been good at playing equal partners. Fine for me—I like being kept on my toes. But you? You’re going to have your work cut out for you when the old man finally goes to the sky.”
“All the more reason to start now.” Nisai points to the map.
“With Aphorai? Really? Sure you don’t want to dip a toe in the water first? The Trelian Riviera is particularly pleasant at this time of turn. Warm days, cool nights. Good wine. Even better food—produce goes from plant to platter in a single day. And the lowing of the aurochs herds at dusk is surprisingly relaxing.”
I could cheer Iddo. Nisai might not listen to me on this, but there’s a chance he’ll heed his older brother.
“You two can gang up on me all you want, but Aphorai is my province. And there’s a Flower Moon on the way. It’s time for unification, not for letting cracks widen to chasms.”
Great.
Iddo sighs. “Eh, fair point. And who are we to deny our illustrious mothers? What do you say, house cat?” A familiar jibe, directed at me but delivered with a smile more charming than cocky.
Perhaps in another life, I would have served the Commander. Another life in which he didn’t think me a pampered servant. My loyalties lie with Nisai, and always will, but there’s something appealing about traversing the land as the eyes and ears of the Emperor. Guarding against invasion, quelling insurrection. Camping beneath the stars. A life free of courtiers and tedious politics.
I give myself an inward shake. Without Nisai, I might not have had a life.
“It’s my duty to go wherever the First Prince wishes,” I say, a little too stiffly.
If Iddo noticed the impact of his words, he doesn’t let on. “The question, then, is when do you want to leave, Little Brother?”
“As soon as possible. The Flower Moon rises on the final day of Hatalia. There’ll be festivities prior, which I should attend.”
“Good. My Rangers get restless if all they’ve got to do is eat and drink and oil their kit. They’ll carp about it, but I didn’t spend all that time sharpening them up so they can go soft hanging around here.”
I search his face, trying to determine if there was a barb in those words.
“The morrow, then?” The Commander rises to his feet.
Nisai nods. “Thank you, Brother.”
Iddo shrugs. “Just doing my job.”
“Will you dine with us tonight?” The Prince looks so hopeful, like he’s still the boy who would spend hours waiting atop the walls for the return of a particular Ranger patrol, bringing tales of intrigue and adventure.
“I’ll find something at the barracks. My men will take more kindly to the news if it’s delivered over meat and beer.”
Nisai looks affronted. “They’ll be equally well hosted in Aphorai.”
“Any Ranger with recent experience of the outer provinces will find that a stretch.”
“I expect my uncle will surprise them.”
“As you say. Until dawn, then?”
“Until dawn.”
Iddo claps Nisai on the shoulder, then snaps his heels together and thumps his fist over his heart. “Your Highness.” With a nod in my direction, he strides from the room.
“Well then,” Nisai says, returning to his map. “Are you pleased? We’ll have more than a full escort; we’ll have the best escort.”
“I’d be pleased if this whole trip were set aside. But I’m relieved. Somewhat.” I shake my head and turn away. There’s not much I can do now, other than damage control.
I fill a cup of water from the alabaster drinking basin and retrieve a silver flask from the array of jars and bottles in Nisai’s personal store. “Iddo will be taking care of most things, but there’s one matter you’ll have to attend to before we leave.”
“Oh?”
I give him a meaningful look as I measure three drops of near-black liquid into the cup. They sink through the water like strikes of dark lightning.
“Oh. That. Of course. I’m sure Esarik will be able to get his hands on some, and then we can restock in Aphorai.”
“Esarik? You promised nobody else—”
“He thinks I get migraines.”
“Oh.” I give the cup a swirl and knock back its contents in one gulp, gagging at the bitterness. All these turns, and I’ve never managed to get used to it.
Nisai eyes me warily. “Haven’t you already taken today’s dose?”
“Yes.” It comes out curter than I intend.
We both know how addictive Linod’s Elixir can be.
His wariness softens to concern. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
“I’ll be fine.” As Shield, my duty is to protect the Prince. He has enough concerns on his plate, he doesn’t need mine heaped upon them.
This is my burden to bear.
Mine alone.
I knew this day would come, I simply didn’t imagine it would arrive this soon.
Dawn finds the sky above the imperial complex cloaked in cloud. Below, the docks and slums are obscured by chill river mist. I wish I could forget what it is to dwell in that fog, down where the higher reaches of Ekasya Mountain may as well be the realm of the gods.
Here, in the palace’s outer courtyard, barked orders and the brays of pack animals echo around the black granite walls.
Even among all the activity, Esarik is lost in his own world. He toes one of the massive hexagonal flagstones with his boot. “Six sides,” he muses. “Honoring six deities. The more I consider it, the more I’m convinced this construction predates the Shadow Wars.”
“I wouldn’t go shouting that from the rooftops if I were you.” Official history says whatever was here before was razed by the heroes who stood with the first Emperor to banish the Lost God. Stars keep their souls.
Esarik cringes. “Did I truly speak that aloud?”
“As I’m yet to master the art of mind reading, I’d say … yes.”
“I didn’t mean any offense, I’m sorry if—”
I pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Sometimes I wonder why you didn’t stick to history. You certainly seem to like it more than medicine.”
“If only.” He gives me a wry smile and rubs his thumb against the fingertips of the same hand. “Father pays my stipend. Father chooses what I study. Whether I like it or not.”
With the last of the supplies loaded onto the donkeys, Iddo points Nisai to the imperial litter, piled high with cushions. Four burly servants—handpicked by Iddo—wait to take up the pole at each corner. “I have two legs of my own, thank you. I can walk.” The First Prince’s usually diplomatic tone is indignant. “Ash?”
I hold up my hands. “I’m not the one in charge here.”
“Choose your battles, Little Brother. The future Emperor doesn’t make his first public appearance strolling along beside an ass.”
“I won’t be walking with you, then?”
The Commander arches a brow. “How very regal of you.”
Nisai sighs and steps onto the litter.
Behind us, the temple soars, the gloss-black pyramid a wonder of divine geometry. There may no longer be a Scent Keeper in Ekasya, but that doesn’t mean the temple has ceased operations. And today it is as if all the priestesses’ festivals have come at once.
Columns of colored vapor rise in succession from the temple’s apex, concluding with the rich purple of the imperial family. The last burns the longest, a reminder to Ekasya’s residents that they live in the greatest of the Empire’s cities. Or perhaps it’s trying to mask the growing rift between the throne and the conduit to the gods.
Whatever the intent, the smoke has stolen any chance of keeping the delegation’s departure circumspect.
I curse under my breath.
“Spectacle,” Nisai observes from his litter, “is half the reason we’re out here.”
The Commander gives the order to move out and the palace gates swing open with stately grace, burnished bronze wrapped around entire trunks of Hagmiri Mountain cedar. As if I’d been standing in their way, the enormity of the situation finally hits me.
We’ve not left the imperial complex for half our lives.
And now we’re about to cross half the Empire.
We descend into the outer city, where the commerce district never sleeps. When he was restless, Nisai used to watch from atop the palace complex walls, fascinated at the bustle continuing into the night. Now even thicker crowds choke the streets. Iddo’s men march in formation, spearheading the procession and clearing the way. The Commander walks easily, erect but with relaxed shoulders, as do his Rangers.
Except for one about my age.
It’s not that she doesn’t look the part—her battle braids give her an inch of height over me and she’s almost as broad, while her deep brown skin is layered over a wiriness that attests to the endurance of a Ranger. She’s as alert as any other in the squad, scanning ahead and behind at regular, almost regimented intervals. But unlike Iddo and the others, she hasn’t mastered the art of appearing nonchalant about it.
Iddo traces my gaze to where the young Ranger pulls her cloak tighter around her. “Ah. Kip, she’s new. Typical Losian: a few clouds and you’d think it was the dead of winter.”
I don’t blame her for being on edge. This is unknown territory for me, too, with the velvet curtains of the imperial litter pulled aside, the hides scaled with silver discs rolled away. It leaves Nisai exposed on all sides, and it feels like I need to be looking everywhere at once—down the avenue, up to the gardens overhanging the balconies of the grand manses, around every lane corner.
Nisai does nothing to tamp down the crowd, waving regally, tossing coins with his father’s likeness stamped on one side, the temple on the other. He’s using his personal currency supply. Kaddash recently had the imperial mint replace the stepped pyramid with the Kaidon phoenix.
“Relax,” Iddo says beside me. “Here, he’s loved. They’re just fascinated to see the Hidden Prince. Save your energy.”
He may be right, but I’m relieved when the river comes into view, wide and deep and the color of milky kormak. The ornate imperial barge with its purple tent is moored at the docks, surrounded by the plainer vessels for the staff and supplies.
Iddo had relayed the plan before we left the palace—we’re to board the imperial barge, shuck the trappings of pomp and pageantry, then slip out the back onto one of the nondescript vessels. Iddo’s shortest Ranger will stand in as Nisai’s double. No insurgent archer or competing Prince’s assassin will be able to tell the difference from the banks of the river.
We make it to the docks without incident. Inside the marquee, Nisai dons the same plain-spun robes he uses for training. His ever-present journal peeks out from one of the deep pockets. The day is warm, and the cloak I’ve been allocated is warmer, but I pull the hood up all the same. My tattoos make me too recognizable, even from afar.
Suitably disguised, we slip through the unpicked seam in the back of the marquee. Nisai seems almost gleeful as he jumps from deck to deck. Me, less so.
With everything in place, the Rangers cast us off and the current tugs us away from the docks. Soon, the west arm of the river joins with its eastern sibling, the water racing us along.
Nisai leans on the rail, watching as Ekasya Mountain, standing sentinel above the plains, retreats into the distance. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, face to the sky.
“Smell that?” he asks.
I sniff. “What?”
“Freedom.”
I hate crowds.
I’d expected a turnout. The trials aren’t as raucous as the barley harvest used to be, or as momentous as New Turn’s Eve, but they’re still a key date in the festival calendar.
Just because I knew there would be throngs at the six-sided plaza, doesn’t mean it’s easy to cope with half of Aphorai pressing up against me—the woman whose robes stink of fennel and root vegetable stew, the boy who must have sneaked his father’s aftershave this morning, marjoram and bitter-lime following him like a stray dog.
Barden takes my hand and shoulders his way through the swarm. He’s not wearing his uniform, but his bulk is enough to encourage a path to clear. My satchel feels so much heavier knowing that it contains dahkai—and with it my future—even though the vial itself weighs next to nothing.
Around the plaza perimeter, street sellers do a roaring trade, slicing off half-moons of melon to order, each fall of the cleaver sending bursts of sweetness arcing through the air.
F
arther on, spice-rubbed mutton roasts over hot coals.
I hope I’ll be able to block out the savory smoke once the testing starts. I wouldn’t have held anything down had I tried to eat this morning. My two doses of mandragora, courtesy of Zakkurus’s people, have had my insides sloshing about like a water bearer’s bucket ever since.
Or maybe the stomach churning has more to do with wondering whether Father has realized what I’ve done. He’d have expected me home by now.
Barden leads us past moneylenders who’ve turned bookkeepers for the day, their scribblers hollering out odds on competitors before we’ve even lined up for the entrance task. They know the families expected to front a candidate. And they know the candidates who are expected to win.
They wouldn’t recognize my name.
When we reach the edge of the plaza closest to the palace, Barden guides me in front of him. My traitorous stomach clenches all the more at the sight of the testing stage, rising five tiered steps above the plaza.
Barden bends down to speak into my ear so that I can hear him over the drums. “I would wish you luck, but you don’t need it.” He grins and gives me a playful nudge.
If he only knew.
At the base of the stage, a line of hopefuls has formed. I clutch my satchel and move to join them, pausing for one last glance back at Barden. “Get right up their nostrils!” he shouts, signing with the rudest of two-fingered gestures.
I do my best to muster a smile.
I’m not the only one in the queue who is dressed in plain garb. Even so, we’re the minority. Like me, the commoners who’ve stepped forward stand still and serious, not laughing and jostling.
Ahead, it looks like the testing will take place over several rounds. At least that’s something I expected. We’ll only be allowed onto the second platform once we pass the entrance test, where the barley is sorted from the chaff.
On the third level, workbenches have been set up in a line. Mortar and pestle, and an assortment of presses and measures are neatly arrayed on each. At one end sits something I’ve long coveted—a full imperial-standard distilling apparatus.
Shadowscent Page 5
