The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun)

by K J Taylor

  But Laela kept her gaze on them, and she didn’t take it away. She kept on watching them, ignoring the food they’d brought despite her hunger. They moved slowly, their faces blank, as if they had nothing to feel or think about. But the more she looked at them, the more she began to realise the truth.

  This is what they were fightin’ for. Arenadd and his rebels. It wasn’t about power. It was about this. It was about stoppin’ this.

  She took in every detail of them, seeing their long fingers, their narrow shoulders, the hints of black hair on their heads.

  My people. They’re my people. Our people.

  She felt like she was waking up. All of a sudden she was angry—angry toward the likeable Emperor, toward his family—toward his entire country that put these people in bondage and treated them like animals.

  But they had to be friends, she realised. Arenadd had to make them his friends, so that they would let these slaves go home. Even if it meant his marrying this Princess he didn’t know and taking her to live in a place that would be as foreign to her as Amoran was to Laela.

  Eventually, hunger won through, and Laela ate. The food was strange and spicy, but she barely tasted it. She ate as if in a dream, letting the conversation wash over her.

  By the time the meal ended, and the visitors were ready to be shown to their quarters, Laela found she had a new respect for Arenadd—even admiration. He’d left his Kingdom in someone else’s hands for a year, just so he could come all this way to gather these last few Northerners who still had to be brought home. Cymria’s slaves had been freed, and now these were all that were left.

  An’ it’s up to me t’help him, she thought. I’m his right-hand . . . woman now. It’s my duty.

  She’d never thought of it that way before.

  • • •

  Her quarters turned out to be a set of rooms in another building attached to the great hall. They were close to Arenadd’s and Skandar’s, but though Laela had wanted to talk to Arenadd before bed, he had the Princess with him and was obviously more interested in having some time with his bride-to-be instead.

  Laela managed to catch him for a moment anyway. “I saw the slaves.”

  “Of course you did,” Arenadd said tersely. “They weren’t exactly easy to miss.”

  “I can’t believe the Emperor actually had them poor buggers serve us like that,” said Laela. “What was he thinkin’?”

  Arenadd glanced at the Princess, who was waiting for him. “Possibly he just didn’t think of it, but he seems much too intelligent to make that sort of blunder. I think the intention was to remind us of just what we’re asking him for here. And maybe to warn us.”

  Laela cringed. “What, they wouldn’t make us into . . .”

  “We can’t assume anything just now,” said Arenadd. “Listen; I’ve got things to do, and you should get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll be in talks with the Emperor, so you probably won’t see much of me.”

  “What’ll I do, then?”

  “You’ll be shown around the city, most likely—they’ll want to entertain you, try and impress you. And to keep you busy as well.”

  “Yeh don’t think they’re gonna try anythin’ on, do yeh?” said Laela.

  “It seems unlikely, but that’s no reason not to be careful,” said Arenadd. “Keep Oeka with you. Never let her out of your sight. If something happens, she’s the best defence you’ve got. Don’t accept any food or drink you’re not certain about.”

  “Right. But what should I do for you?” said Laela. “To help yeh?”

  He smiled very slightly. “I’m pleased you asked. I want you to be my eyes and ears, Laela. Remember everything you see and hear. Note anything you think could be important. I’m counting on you.”

  “Gotcha.” Laela grinned and retreated into her chambers after Oeka, where she dumped the small travel bag she had brought with her and stopped to look around.

  Her quarters were large and airy, and simply but richly decorated. There was another of those low tables with cushions around it, and a brass bowl full of strange fruit. The bed was a strange, flat straw mattress covered in fine fabric and had nothing in the way of bedding aside from a single thin sheet and an odd-looking long, thin pillow. Oeka had been provided with a nest in an adjoining room, and a beautifully carved water trough.

  Fine netting had been draped over the nest, and over Laela’s bed as well. Laela had no idea what it could possibly be for, but she was too tired to care. She pulled off her boots and ceremonial outfit and lifted it aside to get at the bed.

  It looked unfamiliar, but it was comfortable, and she curled up under the sheet and was asleep in moments.

  23

  In the Streets of Instabahn

  Morning, when it came, brought a painfully hot blaze of sunshine in through the high, narrow window. Laela woke up feeling sick and dried-out. She rolled over and groaned.

  It felt like a hangover, but she was sure she hadn’t been drunk the night before . . .

  She lay on her back in the unfamiliar bed, feeling sorry for herself for a good while before she noticed something odd.

  Dawn had come and gone, judging by the amount of sunlight, but Oeka hadn’t woken her up to demand food.

  Laela got up in a hurry, suddenly afraid. If Oeka wasn’t commanding her to bring meat at once, then something was badly wrong. Maybe she’s sick, she thought as she fumbled for her clothes. Or worse . . .

  Her ceremonial costume wasn’t where she’d left it. She groped around, sick and confused, and nearly screamed when she realised there had been someone standing silently by the table the entire time.

  “Who are you?” she yelled, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands.

  The stranger bowed low. “Please, don’t be alarmed, my lady. I am your servant. Here, take these clothes.”

  They were unfamiliar—a strange, bead-encrusted blue thing that looked vaguely like a tunic that had had most of it cut away, and a skirt made of the same material. “I ain’t wearin’ these,” said Laela. “Where’s my dress?”

  “They’re Amorani clothes, my lady,” said the strange person who’d offered them. “I was asked to give them to you. Every Amorani woman wears something like it.”

  “Well.” Irritated and confused, but desperate for anything to cover herself up, Laela put on the skirt. The other piece took some fumbling, but she worked it out even though it only covered her breasts, a tiny patch of her back, and not much else. “I can’t go out in public wearin’ this; I’ll look like a whore!”

  The stranger’s expression didn’t change. “I assure you that nobody in the city will look twice, my lady. Here, I have breakfast waiting for you.”

  Sure enough, there was food on the table. Scowling, Laela sat down and picked up something that looked like a cake. “Who’re you then?”

  The stranger wore nothing but a plain white kilt, a piece of cloth around the chest, and a heavy collar.

  Thanks to that and the shaved head, it took Laela a good while to realise that the slave was a woman.

  “My name is Inva,” the woman said. “I have been assigned to be your guide and personal servant during your stay here, my lady.”

  It was deeply bizarre to hear a clearly Northern woman speak with a broad Amorani accent. “So you’ll be showin’ me around the city, then?” said Laela.

  Inva inclined her head. “If it pleases you, my lady.”

  “I ain’t sure I like the idea of bein’ waited on by another Northerner wearin’ a collar like that,” Laela muttered. “Where’s Oeka?”

  “Your partner has been fed and is being attended to by her own servant, my lady,” said Inva.

  Laela blinked. “She got a . . . good gods.”

  “My lady?”

  “Nothin’.” Laela went back to her breakfast. E
ating made her feel better.

  A few moments later, Oeka swaggered in. She had another slave following her, and for a moment Laela didn’t recognise her. She was wearing an elaborate headpiece decorated with brightly coloured feathers and beads, and had a gold sheath on her beak, studded with jewels.

  Laela stood up. “Oeka! What the . . . ?”

  The small griffin sat on her haunches and raised one forepaw, flexing the talons. They’d been painted gold. “At last, you and I receive the treatment we deserve!” she said, without a trace of irony. If griffins could grin, she would have been doing so.

  “Well,” Laela said weakly. “Ain’t that special.”

  “Indeed,” said Oeka. “Finish your food quickly; I am eager to explore the city.”

  Laela almost lost it at that point; Oeka looked so much like a feathered Queen holding court with her personal assistant beside her that it was all she could do to keep a straight face.

  “The Emperor has asked that we see to your every wish, my lady,” Inva said smoothly. “I will arrange your hair for you when you have finished eating.”

  She made good on that promise, and in spades. Laela had expected her to brush it, which she did—after she’d spent what felt like half the morning combing it. After that, she combed it some more, adding some oil that smelt like ancient spices and made Laela’s hair lie flat for the first time in its entire existence. After the oil came what looked like an entire basket of gold and coloured glass beads.

  Then came the make-up. And then Laela had to sit there while her nails were filed and stained red with some kind of crushed stone. Inva did the same thing to her toenails, after she’d washed both feet with scented water. Then she was finally allowed to put on a pair of fine leather sandals. And a gold anklet, and a heavy gold necklace. And a ring with a huge blue stone.

  Laela, who normally hated pampering, was so overwhelmed by all this that she sat there meekly and let Inva do her work with the speed and grace of someone who’d done it hundreds of times before.

  Eventually, though, she said, “All right, now can we go?”

  Inva smiled. “You look magnificent, my lady.” She paused. “And yes, we may go now.”

  Laela caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the way out, and nearly swore with the shock. “That ain’t me,” she mumbled. “Tell me that ain’t me.”

  Oeka was already leaving. “Come! We have a city to impress!”

  A few moments later, she and Laela had left the building with their escorts, and the city of Instabahn was before them.

  Laela stepped out into the street, all embarrassment over her new outfit forgotten.

  Amoran was a dry country, beaten down by the same blazing sun that had been so exhausting while they were out at sea. By now, Laela was used to the heat, and she took in the paved, sand-covered walkways, the strange trees that looked like erect griffin-tails, and the people—ye gods, the people. The place was packed, with Amorani citizens everywhere. There were shops and stalls lining the streets, a little like in Malvern, but most of the trading seemed to be taking place in the open air. Cloth canopies provided some shade. People crowded among them, arguing over prices, carrying boxes of cloth or fruit, driving goats, leading small donkey-carts, or just trying to get through the press of bodies to somewhere else.

  It looked like a nightmare, but to Laela’s amazement, she and her companions had no trouble at all. People stood aside when they saw Oeka, bowing low and muttering respectfully. Inva and her fellow slave went ahead, each one carrying a pole decorated with feathers and tassels.

  Laela kept close to Oeka’s side, remembering Arenadd’s advice. She didn’t have to pretend to look important for very long.

  Inva had been right—her new outfit didn’t make her stand out. Or at least not in the way she’d expected. The people around her were as scantily dressed as she was; the men in light kilts, the women more or less the same, aside from some extra cloth to hide their breasts. Laela’s own clothes stood out by virtue of being far gaudier, and once the surprise had worn off, she lifted her chin and strutted along beside Oeka, enjoying the sights as a lady on a day out should. She even started to enjoy all the stares being directed at her.

  The buildings were different here, she noticed. Their roofs were flat—but of course, they didn’t have to shed snow. Laela wondered if it ever even rained here. All of them were made in the same way as the hall; they looked like stone, but they were smooth, without a single join anywhere. Laela finally caved in and asked Inva outright why they looked like that.

  Her guide looked surprised. “They are made from clay,” she said. “Bricks, with a coating of clay.”

  “Oh.” Laela felt slightly stupid.

  The other people in the street were quick to stand aside, but that didn’t mean they stayed away. Plenty of them followed Laela, trying to get her attention and holding up various bits and pieces they obviously wanted her to buy. At first she ignored them, but one man finally caught her eye—he came up unexpectedly on her left, thrusting a piece of jewellery at her. Oeka hissed and made a move to chase him away, but Laela looked at the offering and paused. It was an elaborately crafted necklace—all twisted gold tendrils like a metal vine with many-coloured jewelled fruits.

  The man holding it saw her interest and grinned hopefully. “You like?” he asked, in fractured Cymrian.

  Laela’s other guide raised his pole and snapped something in Amorani.

  “No, stop,” said Laela, taking the necklace. She turned it over in her fingers. “It’s beautiful! Did you make it yerself?”

  The man nodded rapidly. “Make all myself,” he said. When Laela tried to give the necklace back, he pressed it into her hand, saying, “Keep. Free.”

  Laela smiled and put it on. “Ta.” She paused. “Listen . . .” She glanced at Inva, appealing to her for help, and then groped in the little bag she’d brought with her. After a moment she found the black jewel she’d found in her room back at Malvern, and which she had brought with her as a treasured possession. The jeweller’s eyes widened when he saw it. “I was wonderin’ if you could make somethin’ for this,” said Laela.

  Inva translated. The jeweller replied, holding out his hand for the jewel.

  Laela made sure there was no escape route for him and handed it over. “I thought a ring, or somethin’.”

  The jeweller examined it expertly, muttering to himself. Finally, he looked up and smiled ingratiatingly as he spoke in Amorani.

  “‘A gem unlike any I have ever seen,’” Inva translated. “‘I can make a fine setting for it. For a price.’”

  There had been some Amorani money in her chamber, apparently meant for her. Laela had no idea how much it was worth, but she nodded anyway. “Give it the setting it deserves,” she said.

  The jeweller grinned even more widely and led them to his own stall, where he showed off his tools with an expansive gesture and explained that it would take two days for the job to be finished.

  Laela nodded in response and promised to be back.

  “No, no,” the jeweller said, inclining his head toward her. “I bring.”

  “All right, then,” said Laela.

  She left, feeling excited, wondering what it would look like when it was done. The only thing she’d asked for in particular was that he use silver. It would suit the stone better.

  After that, she wandered around the marketplace some more and bought a couple of trinkets before Inva suggested going back to her quarters before noon brought the worst of the heat.

  Laela, sweating badly by now, agreed.

  Back in her own room, Inva caught her unawares by saying, “Shall I bathe my lady before the food is served?”

  Laela went red. “What? Er . . . well—” She thought wistfully of cold water and pulled herself together. “A bath’d be nice, but I reckon I can do it on
my own.”

  Inva bowed. “As my lady commands.”

  “My lady” went on to command that she be left alone to enjoy the stone tub full of scented water, and dressed herself while Inva and her colleague got the food ready.

  While Laela was enjoying a light lunch of fruit, nuts, and flatbread, she found herself watching Inva with more and more curiosity.

  “So what’s yer story?” she asked eventually.

  Inva glanced up. “My lady?”

  “The name’s Laela. I was just wonderin’ about yeh.”

  Inva looked politely bewildered. “What were you wondering, my lady?”

  “Well, yer a slave,” said Laela. “How come yeh speak Cymrian so well? Yer better spoken than I am, for gods’ sakes.”

  Inva smiled very slightly. “I am a slave meant for the nobility, my lady. I can read and write, and know many of the finer arts.”

  “Oh.” Laela paused. “To be honest, I ain’t never seen a slave until I came here, but back in my part of the world, slaves were just used for buildin’ houses an’ suchlike.”

  For a moment, a hint of emotion showed through Inva’s reserve. “You’re from the land called Tara, my lady?”

  “Yeah. The North, most of us call it.”

  “Tell me, I . . .” Inva broke off quickly and bowed her head. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean—”

  Laela bit off a mouthful of bread. “Listen, Inva, I was brought up in a peasant village, an’ I don’t stand on ceremony,” she said, with her mouth full. “Just say it. I ain’t gonna bite yeh when I got bread.”

  Inva smiled. “What is it like, my lady?” she asked. “The North?”

  Laela thought about it. “Cold,” she said eventually. “I dunno how you people can live here. It’s like a bloody oven!”

  “I know that it snows there,” Inva said, cautiously.

  “Yeah. The coldest place in the world, is the North. It ain’t so bright there, either.”

  “I can’t imagine it,” said Inva.