The River King

by Kim Alexander

  His mind raced ahead. He didn’t know much about Calaa, but Zaii was an asset and Aelle posing as the queen would be useful. And on the other side, his jump mouse Scilla was a force in her own right. He’d just sent her the little map he’d made of Auri’s house and told her to see it found its way into Beast’s hand. He didn’t know what Malloy’s role was to be, other than Napper in Chief. “I can work with that. The Door will remain open until they’re through.”

  “And the Zaal?”

  “We’ll see what I’m worth. Tell me about these creatures. How many are there? Other than our king and queen, that is?”

  “I have no idea. But they must leave Eriis, all of them. And if something goes wrong on our side, if we falter...they must not be allowed to come back.”

  “But you will be on the other side.”

  “Then it is a fine thing that Queen Hellne herself will be there to calm her people and reclaim the glass crown and the High Seat.”

  “Does Aelle know that what she’s agreed to do for you might be a lifetime appointment?”

  “Your sister has always wanted to be queen. She is fortunate you will be there to help her in that potential time of crisis.”

  He folded his arms and leaned back. “You all aren’t just letting those creatures wander off into the Mistran hillside. What are you doing with them?”

  “Not what. Where.”

  Ilaan frowned. She thinks I know this.

  “Have your lessons with Jaa taught you nothing? It’s not like you to miss the obvious.”

  Where? His lessons. Where. Where. “You’re opening another Door, aren’t you?” He laughed. “And luring them through. Oh, I like it. But how? They haven’t taught those skills on Mistra for a generation.” During Aelle’s brief career as a teacher of humans at the Guardhouse, she’d complained bitterly about the knowledge that was locked away, misfiled, damaged, or simply lost. “I mean, your new Door won’t open back onto Eriis, will it?”

  He wished the whole thing was over, not so much because the threat to both worlds would be defeated but so he could find out exactly who did what and how it happened.

  “It had better not.” Hellne set her glass down and got to her feet, and he did the same. She was still the queen. “I leave for Mistra at once. Be waiting for word. Get to the city. And Ilaan, may Light and Wind protect us all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mistra

  With Althee as guide and companion, Mistra began to unfold itself to Rhuun. Some of it he didn’t much care for. The poor in Fool’s Hill made him wish intensely he had the gift of transformation. They’d all have fine clothes and plenty to eat. He got used to the endless invitations and was relieved to understand he wasn’t expected to attend everything. He could pick and choose.

  She took him to the opera, and he fully intended to hate it as much as he disliked the theater on Eriis. He had vivid and unpleasant memories of the too-small seats, the sniffs of displeasure of those forced to sit behind him, and the performances themselves. They were partially reliant on the subtle ability most Eriisai had to pick up and return the actors emotions. Whole stories could be told with only a few lines of dialogue. There was often an element of pain, usually flame, to represent passion. He found it all a depressing reminder of how little he had in common with his fellow demons.

  But the opera, that was different.

  The crowd of humans waited in the grand hall before taking their seats. They didn’t need to wait—the auditorium was open—but they enjoyed looking at each other. He’d been raised in a palace, but this was both brighter and more colorful than anything back home. The paintings were marvels. Anything at all could be a subject. Against the far wall was a painting of sheep! And humans clearly loved gold. They used it on the ceiling, in the picture frames and painted it on the furniture. That was good news for him, since it was all Eriis had to offer.

  Rhuun was distracted from musing about mining when he noticed people were looking not only at each other but also at him. The humans did not hide their hearts very well, if at all, and the looks were admiring. He had come a very long way from wanting to vanish or hide and even managed to return a complimentary glance here and there. He assumed they approved of his favorite black silk coat, his now-professionally trimmed hair, or the shine of his boots, until he overheard one young lady remark to her friend, “I’d climb that one like a tree.”

  When he realized she was talking about him, and how and why, he was a little stunned. The blood rushed to his face, and he hid a smile behind his hand. Althee, on the other side of him, hadn’t heard the girl. She looked up at him, waving the paper program in front of her face.

  “Whoo! Did it suddenly get warm in here?”

  It had. He endeavored to control his reaction, and the heat faded away.

  Not everyone was so accommodating.

  A man walked past them then wearing an elegant coat of rich purple. Why have I never worn that shade? It looks perfect on him. He found that looking at the man was restful on his eyes but didn’t like to stare, so he decided to make an introduction. The man, a Messur Rada, turned out to be an ambassador himself and also had been to the bar several times.

  “You’ve heard it called The Southern Provinces, no doubt?”

  Rhuun agreed that he had.

  “It’s more properly called Elodiea, but none of these city snobs can be bothered to learn how to say it the right way, so Southern Provinces it is. They treat us like a pantry. They get their wine from the North though. That’s one thing we don’t have down south. You’ll meet him eventually, the Northern fella. They take, Mistra. That’s what they do. They’ll take from you too.”

  “Messur Rada.” Althee had just come up behind him. “If you wish to reopen the terms of your arrangement, you know my father’s door is always open. I’m assuming you’ve already informed the Primes that you are unhappy in your present circumstances. I’m sure there are other families that would be delighted to become your patron. After all, we will be busy with our new Erriisai friends.”

  Rada gave a bow that Rhuun thought might have been a little overly dramatic. “Let’s not be hasty. Pardons to you both. Didn’t know you had such fine friends, Mister Demon. Regards to your father, then, Miss Sechelle.” He excused himself.

  Althee rolled her eyes. “He drinks.”

  Rhuun shrugged. “I drink.”

  She was spared from a response by the chimes of the bell calling the theatergoers to their seats, and the crowd filed into the hall. He and Althee were practically in the center, right in front of the stage.

  “These seats are excellent,” he told her.

  “Oh, I suppose. We have a box, of course.” She nodded at the higher level, where the boxes were set like rows of lanterns rising towards the ceiling. “Normally we’d sit there, but my parents are entertaining an absolute herd of friends this evening.”

  He recalled the last time he’d sat in such a box. At the aereonasium, where he’d murdered his enemy Hollan with the help of Coll’s magic in front of the eyes of the entire arena. It had been called an accident, and Hollan’s name was never spoken again. When someone vanished from Eriis, it was like they’d never existed.

  “You all right?” Althee asked. “Got a bit of a look, there.”

  “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking I don’t care to sit in boxes. I like being down here with normal people.” He grimaced and started to apologize, but she laughed and waved him off.

  When he told her the seats were excellent, he’d been referring to the actual chairs. He was relieved to find them more than big enough to accommodate him, while also being comfortably plush with slightly worn ruby red velvet—humans loved velvet almost as much as gilt. Best of all, the room was pitched so that the people behind him could see over his head. He craned his neck to see up into the boxes, where the clothing was both more expensive and more boring, and a flash of white caught his eye. He half rose in his chair, but it was only an old woman wearing a black dress. Not her at all. He sig
hed and sat back down.

  The gas lamps dimmed. The musicians hidden under the stage began to play. The stage itself lit up to reveal a deep blue night sky glittering with stars and the suggestion of sand dunes, much prettier and more inviting than the ones back home. The actors—singers—started to appear in the most exquisite costumes he’d ever seen. He only thought he knew the limits of what could be done with color.

  It was loud. The emotions were broadcast at the top of the actor’s voices. There was singing, the loudest singing he’d ever heard. It was at once incomprehensible and simple to follow. At one point, the lead actress, having stabbed her unfaithful lover, cradled his body. She was painted with his blood and sang a song to her dagger which was also covered in blood. Her singing was so beautiful—and loud—that he had to laugh.

  Althee poked him with the stem of her lorgnette. “Why are you laughing?” she hissed.

  “Because,” he answered, “she’s so talented, I am rewarding her skill with delight...” He glanced around and noted quite a few tearstained cheeks. “and inappropriateness. Sorry.”

  A chorus of hissed shushes came from the seats around him, and he sank down in his chair.

  But he still loved the opera.

  Afterwards, they found a coffee shop Althee liked and sat together at a small, round table of white marble. The fancily curling metal-backed chairs were painted white along with the ubiquitous gold, the ceiling foiled with the same shade, and the place was made bright and cheerful with small versions of the chandeliers that hung in the opera house, reflecting in the mirrored walls. After seeing the look on his face when he sipped his bitter drink, Althee taught him how to doctor it with cream and lots of sugar, and suddenly he understood coffee.

  “So,” she said. Her tone was casual, and he tensed. “I noticed you looking around quite a bit.”

  “I’m still getting used to the absolute variety of you people.” He frowned. “That sounded a bit rude. I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. I just don’t believe you. You were looking to see if she was in the crowd. You do it all the time, you did it when we came in here.”

  He had. “Perhaps I don’t want to run into her. Perhaps I’m terrible at confrontation.”

  Althee nodded. “I grant that’s probably accurate. But maybe, perhaps you two are running some sort of con. I talk to her, you know. Not as often as I’d like, because Auri hardly lets her out alone, and you know he doesn’t like me. She does the same thing you do—look around and then sort of droop.” She leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “I want in.”

  Rhuun leaned away. “I don’t know...”

  “Oh, come on. Haven’t I proven you can trust me by now? Let me help you—both of you. Please.”

  He took a breath. Lelet would either be furious or hugely grateful. And being without her was unbearable. “I kept you out of it to protect you.”

  She smiled. “I am very, very much not in need of protection.”

  “Fine. Is this place safe to talk?”

  Now she grinned, delighted. “My great-uncle owns it, so it had better be.”

  “Very well. Let me think how to begin.” With his uncle taking the High Seat? With Ilaan and his discoveries? Or with Rhuun’s mother coming between Lelet and him? It took a while, and there were a lot of things he had to back up and explain—who was Yuenne? What was La Naa? Where were the tents? What was the Veil?

  “And they really use your blood to open Doors? That explains your, uh...” She nodded at his wrists. “I was hoping it was some sort of rite of passage. Something more celebratory.”

  “Sorry to disappoint. If Lelet hadn’t gotten me out of the palace, I’d be dead. And now I have to save her from Auri.”

  Althee frowned and sipped her coffee. “Well, why don’t you just kill him?”

  “It’s tempting, but I’d prefer not to kill anyone. And if he feels he’s in danger, Yuenne will probably disappear.”

  “Then kill him too.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Have you always been so bloodthirsty?”

  She returned his look. “You’re part of a royal dynasty, am I wrong? What happens to your enemies on Eriis?”

  Rhuun sighed. “I had a similar conversation with an associate not long ago. I take your point. But I’m not going around killing people.” She began to speak. “Or having them killed either. Not if I can help it. Plus, if I killed his father Ilaan would literally set me on fire. He’s made it clear, that’s his job.”

  “I want to meet this Ilaan fellow. He sounds like someone I could work with. But getting back to it, if you can’t kill the two of them, you’d better have a plan in place.” She waited. “What is it?”

  “The idea is to let Auri get comfortable and to draw Yuenne out of hiding. That’s what Lelet is doing, trying to figure out where Auri has him hidden. That’s when Ilaan will make his move and remove Yu back to Eriis. Once his mentor is gone, I’ll take care of Auri.”

  Althee fiddled with her rock candy coffee stirrer. “This is not the greatest plan I’ve ever heard. I thought you said Ilaan wasn’t sure he could make such a move. And what makes you think Auri will give up his chance to get a number and take down the va’Everlys so easily?”

  “I confess it’s mostly Ilaan’s plan, but I have no doubt he’ll do what he says. I fear he was only too happy to let Lelet and me remain apart. He’s still angry with me. But that’s another, much longer story.”

  “Let me at least arrange a meeting. You should be bursting with vitality and happiness when you take on Mistran society. We don’t care for moping. I’ll set something up at one of our properties, and you and Lelly can have a quiet evening. She’ll have to figure out how to get out from under Auri’s nose, but she’s resourceful. I’ll send a note around when I’ve made the arrangements. Obviously, try not to be followed.”

  “I’m grateful. I should have confided in you sooner.”

  “Obviously. And if you change your mind about...you know.” She ran her thumb across her throat.

  “You will be the first to know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mistra

  Having grown up at court and with the examples of both his mother and Yuenne to guide him, Rhuun felt there was no such things as too much discretion. Therefore, he memorized the note and prepared to burn it in an ashtray. Before he did, he decided to write the address on the inside of his wrist, just in case. He tossed in a mishmash of Mistran and Eriisai, changing the order of the words to deter imaginary interlopers, and used the uneven terrain of his scarred wrist to make it even more illegible. First time that’s ever come in handy.

  He kept one eye on the angle of the sun on the river, and when it was low enough to make the shadows of the buildings black against the sky, he released his secretary for the day. He told the young man he’d heard about a new neighborhood and wanted to take a walk there before it got too dark. The young man, now used to his master’s eccentricities, left with a grateful smile. That put Rhuun in mind of Calaa and made him realize how nice it was to have a secretary who didn’t pout or complain when they weren’t on the guest list to every event on his calendar. Well, at least she kept a glass of sarave at my elbow no matter the time or occasion.

  Rhuun paused. Did she do that to keep his wits perpetually off center? He still suspected she was the source of the talk about their relationship, that the prince was intimate with a girl from outside the Arch. She was a regular hero of the common people, maybe even a future princess. When he got home—if he got home—the two of them would sit down, maybe with Zaii present so there could be no misunderstanding, and discuss her future employment.

  He walked down the tree-lined streets safe behind his eyeshades until it grew dark enough that he could take them off. The closer he got to his destination, the less eye contact was made anyway. The trees fell away, the buildings got bigger and dirtier, and the streets no longer were full of women in pairs strolling, chatting, and walking with their children. Far fewer
fine coaches and glorious, shiny horses too.

  The roads were now cluttered with the sort of cart he and Lelet had traveled through the woods in—made of raw-looking wooden planks and open for all to see the loads of trash they hauled about. The horses were as rough as the men handling them. He now passed mostly men, as big as he was or even larger. They smelled like strong, sour drink or unwashed human and called and shouted to each other in a way that people in finer neighborhoods did not.

  He did pass one lady, propped in a doorway, who smelled like the former and the latter all at once. Despite the streak of mud on her reddened cheek and her torn and filthy hem, he nodded and smiled. She gave him a gap-toothed smile back and asked if he might be interested in joining with her—although, she didn’t call it that—or failing that, “Would his Lor’ship want a ‘knobber?’” Since he arrived on Mistra quite a number of people of both sexes had made similar requests, and he’d politely turned them all down. Then he realized why the woman hadn’t bothered with whispers or innuendo. She was a human sdaasch. Well, just because she lived outside the Arch, as it were, was no reason to be rude. That was also a bit of advice from court. Be courteous, you just might make an ally of the one who will one day hold the knife.

  Rhuun said, “Thank you kindly for asking, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps another time.”

  She gaped at him then hooted with laughter. “Yer most welcome, good sir.” She saluted him with her bottle of dark spirits.

  He walked on, wondering what a ‘knobber’ was. It was again the sort of thing he’d turned to Ilaan for, but those conversations seemed a million years and a million miles away. Perhaps Lelet might have some idea.

  Rhuun came to a halt near an enormous building. It took up two full blocks, was four stories high, and was backed up against the Gorda, although here the river sprawled out into a large natural harbor and had a different name. He looked down a narrow alley and watched thin, white mice—no, they’re birbs. I mean, birds. I know this—with long wings dive and bicker over refuse bobbing in the oily water. The breeze coming in off the river was damp and cool and lush with the scent of rot. The birds followed the flotilla of small boats that sailed back and forth from the dockside warehouses to the much larger boats moored out in the deeper part of the harbor. They didn’t slow down even as it was getting dark. The river was a road, he realized, and this was Mistra’s front yard. The buildings here were probably the most expensive real estate in the city, despite their appearance.