Xiane sighed and plucked a honeysuckle blossom from the nearest vine. “He’s diverting it again, isn’t he?” He bit the end from the blossom and sucked the single drop of sweet nectar from the flower. Musahi had taught him that as a boy.
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty. And this time, something will have to be done. It’s much worse than before.”
“He’s gambling again, I’ll wager. See to it, Musahi. Now—what else?”
The older man nodded as he skimmed through the various reports before him, mumbling to himself. Xiane leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the sweet scent of honeysuckle wash over him. The air was warm and heavy, and Musahi’s barely audible drone as he muttered to himself nearly put Xiane to sleep.
But he woke instantly when Musahi said, “How strange. How very strange,” his tone much sharper than usual.
“What is it?”
Musahi read a little further, then set that report down on the table, tapping it with one finger. “Lord Jhanun has suddenly left the capital—”
Xiane shrugged. That was nothing unusual. Jhanun traveled a great deal, most often to the Iron Temple where a nephew was a high-ranking priest. The stiff-necked prig was well-known for his militant piety.
“—and the composer of this little report says that Lord Jhanun is on his way to Rhampul, according to a groom with a loose tongue.”
That was a surprise. “Rhampul? There’s nothing there; it’s a small military posting—”
“Led by an officer with ties to Jhanun. And the oddest thing of all is that a number of those who hold with his views—”
All the ones with their topknots done up too tightly, in Xiane’s opinion, but he said nothing.
“Have also left the capital.” Musahi glared down at the papers in his hands as if they deliberately kept secrets from him.
Xiane blew a long breath out through his lips. It was no coincidence that the most adamantly conservative Jehangli lords were all absent at once. Something was up; there was no doubt of that.
He needed to find out what. But the other side of the coin was that, with those same lords away and unable to raise objections, he could advance his own secret plans.
It would have to be done quickly; days of preparation would only mean that word could get to those lords quickly enough for them to turn back to the capital. It wasn’t fair to Shei-Luin, but she would have to be content with what could be arranged in only a day or two.
And the throne of Lady Riya-Akono, he thought, would make up for much.
*Shima! Shima!*
Shima, on his way home from delivering a message to the Vale for Zhantse, reined up his horse. The little mare, grateful for the unexpected rest, dropped her head to look for stray bits of grass. Shima closed his eyes and concentrated. Miune-what is it?
*I have found another like thee! Is this not wonderful?* the mindvoice bubbled.
Are you certain?
*Oh, yes. I’m following her. She has hair much like thine, but the others! Never have I seen such people. They travel in a merchant train with many guards. *
Traveling entertainers from the north countries, no doubt, Shima thought to himself. But “many guards?” That was not usual. Some guards, yes; enough to make a merchant pack train less attractive to bandits. But what merchant would pay for “many guards?” Miune, be careful! If the guards see you—
*I am always careful. Thee would like their horses, I—Oh! The noon rest is ending and they are making ready to move on. I must go!*
The contact ended as abruptly as it began. Shima shook his head, worried. I hope Miune knows what he’s doing. If he gets too excited and sticks his head up at just the wrong time …
Still, the thought that there was someone else like him was a comfort. Urging the mare on again, he hoped Miune brought him more news, and soon.
Forty
The temples at the four Points of Warding might be larger, and the temple at sacred Mount Rivasha might be holier, but none was grander than the temple of the Phoenix in the imperial capital. It was here the emperors—and now the first empress in more than a hundred years—were crowned.
For the first time since she’d entered Xiane’s harem, Shei-Luin passed through the city’s streets unveiled and in an open litter. Crowds thronged the way, calling to each other in excitement, bowing at the sight of Xiane in the litter ahead of her, bowing to her.
Only the soldiers with their wooden batons kept the crowd from spilling into the road as they pushed and shoved and jostled each other for a better view. Parents held their children up to see the spectacle; Shei-Luin heard one mother shrilly bidding her child to remember this auspicious day. Many people waved burning sticks of incense and chanted, “A thousand, thousand years to our emperor! A thousand, thousand years to our empress! Children of the Phoenix, rule us forever!” A heady mix of sandalwood, pine, rose, and myrrh wafted over her as her eight bearers marched steadily through the streets.
Step by solemn step they came to the temple and her destiny. She had a moment’s anxiety at the steepness of the stairs, imagining herself sliding ignominiously out the back of the litter. But the bearers knew their business; the four sturdy men in front dipped their shoulders as the four behind lifted their end of the carrying poles, and the heavy litter stayed level as they mounted the stairs. Shei-Luin heaved a small sigh of relief. Today must be perfect.
Xiane’s litter disappeared into the huge entrance of the temple as her own reached the top stair. Before her stretched the wide expanse of the forecourt, its white marble shining in the sun. Lesser priests lined the way, watching in awe as she passed.
The entrance loomed before her like a huge, open mouth. She raised her chin in defiance, ready to embrace the destiny that was hers.
There it was again; the itching between her shoulder blades as if someone watched her. Maurynna looked quickly over her shoulder, hoping this time to catch whoever it was.
But as always no one was there. There was just the empty, grassy sward leading to the banks yet another nameless little river. The feeling intensified. Damn it all, she thought, clenching her fists in frustration, if I only knew how to look, I know I’d see him or her or it.
“Again?” Linden asked just as it faded away.
“Yes; gone now, though, as always,” she answered. Could someone be trailing them? But the land was wide and flat, with nowhere for a rider to hide.
A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She whipped around.
“Easy, love,” Linden said. He looked worried. “Are you, ah—”
“Feeling well? Yes,” she said in exasperation. “It’s just that I keep getting this feeling as if there’s someone just outside the range of my vision. Someone who wants to talk to me. I even feel it in my dreams sometimes.”
Linden swore. “May the gods preserve us from dreams like that,” he said with a fervor that surprised her. He pulled the horses’ brushes from the packs. “I’ll take care of the four-foots,” he said, “if you’ll pack our blankets.”
He went off in haste, calling Shan and Boreal to him. She stared after him in surprise, blankets clutched to her breast. Otter, whistling a leisurely way through the camp, stopped.
“Leave it open like that, Rynna, and something’s sure to jump in,” he teased, one finger nudging her dropped jaw shut. “Something amiss?”
She told him of the exchange with Linden, finishing with, “And why should dreams like that bother him so much?” as she rolled her blankets.
Otter tugged at his beard. “Oh, yes; that would do it.” He paused; then, leaning close so that no other sharp Dragonlord hearing might catch it, the bard asked, “Has he ever told you about Satha?”
Maurynna searched her memory. As she went back over every time she’d teased another tale of his life with her heroes, Bram and Rani, from him, she realized that while Linden was eager to tell her everything he could remember about them, he rarely spoke of the undead harper who had played such a role in the Kelnethi war. A quick mention of his name,
nothing more, even that much avoided if possible. She shook her head. “No, nothing.”
And she, remembering the advice Otter had once given her, never asked for more. Should she, Maurynna wondered as she rolled up Linden’s blankets next, have insisted on knowing all?
Otter dropped onto one knee by her and continued, “That’s how it started with Rani, you see—Satha reaching into her dreams. That was how she first knew about him, how he called her to release him from his tomb.
“It frightened her and drew her at the same time. Satha was a harper, dead long before Rani was born, famed through the Five Kingdoms for both his voice and his beauty. Princes and princesses, kings and queens, even Dragonlords traveled to the Kelnethi court to hear him. His legend had not dimmed with the years after his—Ah, now, I can’t say death, for Satha didn’t die. His would-be killer failed. But neither was he alive.”
The early morning chill made her flesh creep; at least, Maurynna told herself it was the chill. She rubbed at the goosebumps along her arms. She now understood why Otter had always refused to tell her and Raven more than the barest details about Satha when they were children. She wasn’t certain she wanted them now.
“But that wasn’t what she found in that tomb, was it?” she asked anyway. “Someone young and beautiful, I mean.”
“Not by a pig’s ear,” Otter said. “I don’t know how he worked it, save that it was strong magic, but Satha was neither completely alive or completely dead. He was a horror to all.” A faraway look came into his eyes. “A horror to all save Rani. She both saw and heard Satha as he was in her dreams, Linden told me once, as well as what he’d become. The greatest harper who ever lived, his voice lost for all time—except for one woman who heard him sing nearly two centuries after he should have died. Gods, how I envy her,” he said softly, shaking his head.
“Beautiful voice or not,” Maurynna said, shivering, “I don’t want any dead harpers in my dreams, thank you.”
Otter smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry, Rynna.”
They both turned to watch Linden brushing out Shan’s tail. The tall stallion hated having his tail handled and kept pulling it out of Linden’s hand. After one particularly violent twitch, Linden responded with a string of curses and threats that came near to scorching the air as he grabbed the offending tail once more.
Shan looked over one shoulder at his rider, his eye ringed white with astonishment. Maurynna thought she had never seen the stallion look so surprised. He submitted meekly to the relentless brushing of his thick black tail, as unlike Shan as might be.
“No, you don’t have to worry,” Otter repeated. “Linden’s doing it for you.”
Two priests helped her from the litter as a chant rose around her. They led her up the nine steps to the lower altar, then past it to where Xiane waited at the high altar. He turned, offering her his hand to aid her up the high step, and smiled at her as she joined him.
It was a sweet smile, so like Xahnu when he was happy that Shei-Luin smiled back without thinking. Xiane’s fingers closed around hers in a brief squeeze. Then he turned to face the altar once more.
Shei-Luin did the same, and her breath caught in her throat. For resting on the altar before them were the imperial crowns of Jehanglan. Each nestled inside a shimmering hemisphere of pale golden light. She knew, if she stretched out her hand to take one, that that hand would burst into flame the instant it touched the light, and burn with a fire that would consume her very bones.
For this was the fire of the Phoenix that burned here, the fire that protected Jehanglan’s greatest treasures. It was said that the crowns were found in the ashes of the last pyre the Phoenix had built before it consented to become the guardian of the land. They were used only at the crowning of the rulers, then returned to their places.
Xiane had told her the night before, “That’s because everyone says they’re too precious and holy to wear for every occasion. I think it’s really because my revered ancestor found his too damned uncomfortable to wear every day. The wretched thing was heavy!”
Heavy or not, uncomfortable or not, they were the most beautiful things Shei-Luin had ever seen: gold of many different shades, wrought like flames, formed the circlets, while from the brow of each crown rose a phoenix of the purest white gold. The eyes of the phoenixes were emeralds, and there were more emeralds scattered throughout the flames of the emperor’s crown. Moonstones dotted the crown of the empress.
Now the high priest of the temple took his place on the other side of the altar from them. His voice soared up in a chant; from all around the temple, other voices rose to meet his as the chorus of priests called upon the power of the Phoenix.
At first Shei-Luin noticed nothing unusual. Then chant turned to song, and that song rose and fell like a surging ocean, thundered in her ears like a storm, roared around her like the wind that runs before a forest fire.
It will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.
Xiane had not exaggerated, she thought, shaking. There was power here, power of a kind and magnitude she’d never dreamed of. It sang in her bones and burned in her veins, carrying her before it like a river of fire; it was both beautiful and terrible beyond belief. She imagined herself stripped of flesh, a creature of flame and light. Dream or truth? She couldn’t tell.
Then the voices died away once more until only the head priest’s was left. Softer and softer it became. Shei-Luin came back to her body, once more able to feel Xiane’s fingers on hers. Her vision cleared, but her head ached, and the world wavered like a fever dream.
Her thoughts muzzy and slow, she looked at the altar again as, with the ending of the priest’s song, the light guarding the empress’s crown flickered and sank into the white quartz of the altar. It sparkled in the crystalline stone like a ring of fire beneath ice.
Beside her, Xiane shook his head like a man waking from a deep sleep. She saw his hands reach out, close upon the smaller crown, and raise it from the altar. He turned to her, the crown held high, and she pivoted to face him with no more will than a puppet; it was as if someone else guided her body, and she was dimly grateful for it. She wasn’t certain she had enough wit left to place one foot before the other.
She stood immobile as Xiane lowered the crown. Just before it touched her, Xiane whispered, “Be ready, Shei—this will be uncomfortable.”
The imperial crown settled on her brow, fitting itself to her head as if it had been made just for her. Xiane dropped his hands like a man exhausted from heavy labor.
Not even the thick fog wrapped around her mind could stifle the quick blaze of exultation that shot through her as she balanced against the sudden weight. She was the Empress of Jehanglan!
Then she felt it. The crown was alive—she would swear to it! It hummed against her head like a hive of bees, the vibrations digging deep into her skull. A soft gasp of pain escaped her, and she swayed.
Xiane, frowning with concern, caught her hand and turned her to face the nobles and priests who filled the temple. She clung to his fingers, anchoring herself against the madness and pain that threatened to take her.
“Behold my First Wife!” Xiane cried. “Behold the Empress of Jehanglan, the Lady of the Phoenix!”
Though her vision played tricks on her—faces from the crowd rushed at her, then retreated; colors swam, and shapes faded at the edges—Shei-Luin saw the congregation bow. Bowed to her, daughter of a despised exile, the afterthought when her sister was sent for. The taste of victory was sweeter than any honey.
But if she must wear this accursed crown any longer, she would faint.
Somehow, Xiane guessed. He all but snatched the crown from her head and set it carefully in its place on the altar once more. At once the sensation of bees drilling into her skull vanished, though she was still sick and faint. She thought the priest looked troubled, but her eyes played such tricks on her that she wasn’t certain. She closed them.
While she concentrated on staying upright, the priest’s voice r
ose in a chant once more. She listened as the others joined in and the air grew heavy with power, pressing against the back of her neck like an unseen hand.
“The crown is sealed again,” Xiane whispered as the song died down to a soft chanting. “We may leave. Precious Flower, can you walk?”
She nodded, her eyes still shut. She would do whatever she had to do. A deep breath, then another, and she looked once more upon the priests and nobles filling the temple. Suddenly she was glad that the ceremony had been arranged so quickly that it had to be kept simple, unlike Xiane’s own coronation, as he had described it. She had reckoned herself cheated; now she thought herself fortunate.
Only Xiane’s hand beneath her elbow kept her from stumbling; he supported her until they were at her litter. The same two priests as before helped her. Though her head still spun, Shei-Luin felt better as soon as she sat.
Xiane returned to his own litter. He must have said something to his bearers, she thought, for almost before he was settled, the bearers hoisted the litter and started for the door.
Then it was her turn. As they passed down the wide aisle and past walls covered with gold and amber and ivory, Shei-Luin kept her gaze fixed on the daylight ahead.
She would never invoke the power of the Phoenix lightly again. Like fire, it could both warm and kill. But now she had a claim to that power. She was empress, and her sons the acknowledged heirs. She was content—for now.
Damn it, there it was yet again! Maurynna turned in the saddle, looking.
Nothing—nothing at all save the green, rolling grasslands and the glitter of a little stream nearby. Muttering to herself, she faced forward once more.
At once, the skin between her shoulder blades prickled once more.
Forty-one
To Shei-Luin’s surprise, only a few days after her crowning, Xiane left to go hunting. It struck her as odd, since he’d lost his favorite hunting companion when Yesuin escaped.
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