The River King

by Kim Alexander

  He watched the rocks and let his eyes unfocus, set down the broom and followed the unfolding map of mental pathways and alleys. He leapt from roof to roof, climbing down a trellis, opening a window, and putting one foot then the other carefully through, until he was standing on a thick rug. It looked soft and inviting, but he couldn’t feel it, and his bare feet left no indentation. The room blazed with everyday color. Out the window, the sky was blue. His little silk walled room in the tents drifted away. He was in Mistra, in Auri’s house.

  As usual, the pressure built in his head. When it turned into pain, it would be time to leave. He’d never experienced anything like a headache before this project—like the rest of his people, he rarely felt anything like pain at all. Like the rest of his people with the exception of Beast, of course.

  And while a headache was still enough of a novelty to be interesting, he was starting to dread it. Having a pain in his head made him think of Beast having pain all over, all the time, often thanks to he himself, and he pushed that notion away.

  He got his bearings. The room—some sort of library? —was empty. As usual, the first thing he did was look for his father. The second was to look for a little girl, any little girl. He strongly suspected Thayree was here, but as yet, he hadn’t seen her. At least he’d been that honest. Next, he looked for himself in the large mirror over the fireplace. Nothing. He tried to lift a pen off the hulking, dark wooden desk. His hand passed through it. When a door opened and a servant went through on her way to a corridor on the far side of the open, airy space, she never glanced his way. He was there but not there. For now, it would have to do.

  He’d been mapping the house, and this was actually a lucky break since he wasn’t sure if he could walk through a closed door. He quickly followed the girl through the door she opened, and took careful note of the layout: how many windows on either side, the length of the hallway, and the unusual door at the end of the hall. While the others appeared to be slabs of wood, usually fitted with brass doorknobs and keyholes kept polished by the staff, this one was a sort of dull gray metal inlaid with palm-sized bricks of glass, through which came a soft, greenish light. The doorknob shone in the same tarnished silver and was in the elaborately worked shape of a flower, with the leaves and stem extending up and down, flowing around the glass blocks. It was extraordinarily pretty. He wondered if he could try his hand at transforming something like it back home and waited impatiently for the girl to find the right key on her large ring.

  The wait was worth it. The room was made entirely of glass and was full of plants. Real plants, not transformed plants. Even though he couldn’t touch or interact with them, he could smell their intense, green fragrance—he’d never smelled anything on this side before and was gratified at the development. He was getting better at this.

  At the same time, a bolt of pain shot through his right eye, and he clapped a hand over it with a gasp. As the sensation receded, he took a long, shuddering breath and looked down at his hand, blinking through tears; no blood. He still had some time. The room, bigger than his own little house during his exile in the Quarter, had to be two stories tall, and trees with fronds like feathers brushed the glass roof. Like the long black feathers of his wings, that’s what they look like. He was pleased to recognize some cousins to his own orchid and marveled at what, if he took good care of it, he might expect. The flowers were of every color and an infinite variety of shapes.

  Ilaan was so entranced by the masses of blooms he failed to notice that the servant, having selected a small pot of yellow flowers, closed the door behind her, locking him in. It must have been the bright colors, the closeness of the space, the damp air that worked to make the pressure in his head worse. He hated to leave this peaceful retreat, but he supposed now he could find it again. Imagine actually occupying such a space, touching the flowers, even drinking from the tiny fountain set into one wall. He placed his palm flat, but the trickle of water ran through, not over, his hand.

  He blinked against the pain flaring again in his head, and when he felt moisture on his face, he knew it was his own blood and that it was time to go. He retreated back into the maze of alleys and broad avenues in his mind, until the pain let up enough for him to open his eyes.

  Ilaan was back in his room in the tents. The back of his hand was damp and tacky from wiping away the nosebleed, but the flow itself had stopped. He drank some water and sat with his head twisted all the way to the right. It seemed to ease the pounding behind his eyes, and finally, he felt like himself again. He reached down and flipped a corner of his rug back, scooped up a little sand, and transformed it into water for his own orchid, which had sprouted a strange, leafless stick, like a slender green finger. He hoped it wasn’t sick. Could plants get sick? Next he reached for his notebook and added to his map of Auri’s house in Mistra. Beast would need to know the layout, soon enough.

  He thought Niico would approve.

  Chapter Three

  Eriis

  It was time to go.

  They’d said goodbye to Ilaan, one rather devoid of warmth on Ilaan’s part.

  “So, we start now? Pretending I don’t love you?” A stupid plan, Lelet thought. No, one more in an ever-growing list of stupid plans. She hated this one particularly.

  “We have until you leave this room,” he replied. “You can love me up until lunchtime. That’s when the first session starts.”

  She stared up at him for a moment. “I never know if you’re trying to be funny.”

  “Are you laughing? Perhaps on the inside? No? Well, that was definitely not a joke.”

  That did make her laugh, a little. She took his hand and led him back to bed, and even if his attempts at humor fell flat, the sight of him, his arms around her, his kiss—that made her positively vibrate with delight.

  “Shani?” He rubbed her arm. “I think you fell asleep just now.”

  “Oh lord, I’m sorry. I can’t keep my eyes open. Can we just...”

  He made a soft, purring sort of noise and pulled the quilt over them

  Later, he said, “We have another few minutes, surely.”

  And so she lingered. But by now it was fully light and people would be about, and she had to go.

  Lelet carefully clothed herself and styled her hair to indicate neither had been disturbed overnight and kept her jaw clenched and her eyes on her sandals as one of the house guards escorted her back to her suite. She left the young man with a curt nod in the hallway, shut the door, and leaned her forehead against it, closing her eyes. Their nap had only lasted maybe an hour, and the first session would begin shortly, whether she was rested and ready for it or not.

  “What happened? Are you two back together?”

  She turned, startled. “Scil, what are you doing in here?” From the looks of it, her sister Scilla had camped out in her room overnight. “It’s none of your business. Have you been here all night? Go back to your room, you have to get ready—”

  Scilla laughed. “Nice try. Tell me everything. Wait, that’s nasty. No, just jump to the end.”

  Lelet scrubbed her face with her hands and yawned. “I’m too tired to get into it right now, but Moth has agreed to come back and look into what’s happened to Rane.”

  “Oh, excellent. I knew he would. Now you can get rid of Auri.”

  She sat on the bed next to her sister. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but I am with Auri. I am not getting back together with Moth. That’s not going to happen. I know you don’t like Auri, but I am asking you to set your feelings aside until we get home.”

  Scilla’s eyes widened and her mouth set in an angry line. “I don’t believe you.”

  Lelet took Scilla’s hands between her own. “This is too important for us to fight about here and now. I will let you yell at me and call Auri whatever names you’d like once we are back on Mistra. But these people—Scil, you know this—they will look at how we behave with each other and judge us, and we have to present a united front. I am begging you,
let it alone for now. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

  Once Scilla had agreed to live with Lelet’s “stupid decisions, and I still think you’re lying” for the time being, Lelet locked the door and tossed her robe over a chair. She turned to the dryroom and stood with her hands on hips for a moment, examining the faint purple rings under her eyes in the mirror. She wondered if anyone would be able to tell that between yesterday and now, her heart had begun to beat again. She thought of the time they’d wasted and wanted to cry, but instead, she took a breath, pulled the washcloth off the large bowl of lukewarm water, and plunged her whole head in. She stood with her eyes shut as the water ran off her hair and down her sides, pooling on the black, gold-flecked stone floor. It wasn’t exactly refreshing, but it was far better than nothing.

  Once she’d found the Eriisai version of soap and gotten herself acceptably clean, she changed into her second-day-on-Eriis dress, a subdued russet-shaded linen sheath. It was lightweight while still maintaining structure, perfect for the woman who wanted to not drown in her own sweat while still looking business ready. It also echoed the color codes most demons still lived by, being somewhere between the royal family’s scarlet and the working-class uniform of drab rusty tan. One last look in the mirror and a final twist on her damp braid, and she was ready. The house guard—a different one, a young woman this time—led her to the meeting room. She again tried to ignore the stares.

  I will not betray Moth today, she told herself. I will show them all a face that says I am only worried about my brother and eager to return to my home and to Auri.

  Finally, there they all were at the table. She ran her fingers along the grain. To her eye, it looked like real wood, although she was hardly an expert. The human delegation from Mistra—the two Brothers Maron and Clare chosen because of all the people at the Guardhouse they had the most familiarity with Eriis; Scilla of course, because they wouldn’t be here without her; Olly, who was supposed to keep an eye on Scilla; and Lelet—lined up on one side, with a shallow floral centerpiece carefully placed between them and the demon delegation. Lelet wasn’t sure how they picked the people on the other side of the table any more than she was confident she understood how marriage between Eriisai was related to their having children or how certain families were chosen to move from one house to another. Like so many things, it simply seemed to be understood.

  Moth, as the newly appointed ambassador was present, and his mage Coll and first assistant Zaii—that made sense. And Calaa was Moth’s secretary, or so she’d been told. Lelet reminded herself to keep one eye on Calaa. But there was an elderly man—from his faded and worn robe, he seemed to be one of the outside the Arch folk—along with a younger woman in rather nicer clothing, but Lelet didn’t recognize her and they weren’t introduced. Maybe they were observers?

  Lelet fidgeted in her seat—this, she felt confident, was a newly transformed chair of shiny black ashboard with a flat cushion to sit on, but whoever had made it miscalculated the sizes of the human visitors. This chair was for someone as tall and broad as Moth, as were all the humans’ assigned seats. She supposed the chair maker thought all the humans were shaped rather like their prince. She crossed and uncrossed her legs and wished the record keeper would hurry up so they could get started. It was cool enough for the humans not to be in any physical danger, but she found this room, at the front of the palace and partially open to the elements, to be uncomfortably warm. But tradition dictated that Light and Wind observe, blah blah blah. She sighed and reached for her cup of water.

  She supposed she herself was only an observer as well. Her work as a ‘cultural liaison’ was a polite fiction; she and Scilla had to tell the Brothers something. And here at the table it was vital there be no misinterpretation of word or deed, and she simply wasn’t qualified. She didn’t think anyone was. It was really up to Moth and Scilla to forge an agreement. Her role was to support her sister, be quiet, and not distract Moth.

  That was unlikely. He was already stealing glances at her across the table, despite their agreement, their stupid plan. She wondered if her slow walk back to her suite that morning had done its job and carried the right story forward: no reconciliation between the prince and the human woman after all. Maybe there would be more happy faces than sad ones as a result. Calaa certainly looked to have a spring in her step. Zaii had given her a curious look and a polite nod as they entered the hall but had said not a word. Lelet wondered if Moth let him in on their little plan. Coll had looked right through her. Fortunately, Moth had warned her about Coll being part of his retinue now. She was glad Coll hadn’t wanted to stop and chat about the day she’d visited his home, the Raasth, and burned it to the ground as payment for La Naa, for the long, desperate, blood-stinking days they’d held Moth captive.

  “I trust him,” Moth had said that morning as they dressed. “He’s a bit odd, but he’s clever. Please don’t set him on fire.”

  He’d gone on to explain that was a joke.

  She was roused out of her daydream when Brother Maron spoke.

  “I wonder if there’s a place for you to be,” he said, “something you’re better suited for.”

  It took a long moment for Lelet to realize he was talking to her.

  “I...” Lelet started.

  Zaii caught her eye, raised an eyebrow. Gave his head just the barest shake. Perhaps he felt Moth would be more distracted by her leaving than staying.

  Lelet smiled at Maron. “You think I ought to go shopping, perhaps? Maybe I should go to the market and negotiate myself some lunch. The sha’aa are my favorites. Have you tried them?” He sniffed. “They’re the round ones. If I remember correctly, it was Tuure’s shop, the third on the left past the Arch who do the nicest ones.” She gave him an innocent look, her best one. “Which do you prefer?”

  Zaii hid a smile behind his hand, not that anyone who hadn’t spent a good deal of time among the demons would have even recognized it as a smile.

  “Tuure is my cousin,” said the demon woman at the table. “I’ll pass along your compliments.”

  Lelet thanked her new friend and looked back to see if Maron had any other good ideas for her. He didn’t.

  At that moment, the record keeper arrived, and everyone stood except for Moth. The man—not as old as the gentleman from the Quarter but old enough—stood at the table and recited something in Eriisai. It was one of the longest speeches she’d heard in that language and she found it rather beautiful. It also seemed to get slightly cooler. Was the record keeper also a mage? He repeated his comments in the tongue of Mistra: a greeting, a promise of good faith, a hope for the future, and to her surprise, an entreaty to Errev, the god of commerce, to watch over their buckets. Buckets? What did that have to do with anything? She’d have to remember to ask Moth about it. Then she wondered when she’d get to speak to him privately again.

  “I am no longer here,” the man concluded. “All of Eriis watches, with my eyes. You may begin.” And he sat at his place at the table, opening his notebook to a new page.

  Moth cleared his throat. She knew with aching certainty he was nervous, excited, and wished someone else would speak first, but of course, no one did.

  Chapter Four

  Eriis

  They’re all looking at you. Everyone is looking at you.

  The tired old voice in his head was unwelcome but not incorrect. Rhuun allowed himself one last fleeting glance at Lelet— she looked tired but radiant—before standing up. He took a breath and spoke.

  “This is not the meeting at which we will decide how many bottles of wine we want or bags of sugar or bolts of silk.” He paused and noted the curious faces at his end of the table. “Wine is like sarave,” he told the representatives of the Quarter. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  They nodded.

  He continued. “Those meetings will take place next, based on what we decide today. This is the meeting that will open the door—The Door, if you like—to all the rest. Here, today, we start over.”<
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  Rhuun scanned the table. The humans certainly looked amenable; after all, they had nothing to fear and much to gain. His own people, while ready to be convinced, had misgivings. The delegation from Mistra didn’t know and hopefully would never need to know, but there were voices which still spoke of the war and The Weapon and wondered why the humans were invited to Eriis at all. One of the owners of those voices was at the table today.

  He caught the eye of the handsomely dressed woman and continued. “There is no going forward until we look back, all of us. To you, our visitors from Mistra, the war is only mentioned as a sort of children’s story, if at all, as I personally came to learn. I think it’s fair to say the humans at this table have neither the inclination nor the reason to attack us again. But the humans must also stop and consider that to us here on Eriis, the Weapon happened barely more than twenty years ago, and there was neither reason nor inclination given then either. It is a personal, living memory that happened to us, not our ancestors. Our city and our lives are still recovering. Yes, with your help, we can hasten that recovery. But we need tangible proof it won’t happen again. We need to learn how to trust each other. Your word here today will be a start. So will the reopening of our embassy on Mistra. It is my intention not only to be named the ambassador but to act as one. If we can come to terms, I plan on returning through The Door with your party, to live among you.”

  Rhuun looked at Scilla, making sure this time to catch her eye. “And when I travel to Mistra this time, it won’t be as a ghost or a slave.”