The River King

by Kim Alexander

  He looked at the building and at his wrist. “It appears rough, but if you don’t start a fight or steal anything, you’ll be fine. We’ve shut down a bit early so you’ll have some privacy. You are expected. She’ll be waiting.” And this address. This was his destination.

  The door looked far too small for such a vast place. An elderly man puffing away on the stub end of something that gave off a sweet, thin smoke peered up at him from him his seat, an overturned crate which had once held oranges.

  “I believe I am expected?”

  The old man blinked blearily at him, and Rhuun caught the smell of old liquor under the sweet smoke. He was reminded of his father.

  “‘S open. Best not keep her ladyship waiting.” And he gave a phlegmy laugh.

  Her ladyship? Does he mean Lelet? He pushed the door open, and it swung shut behind him. The interior was massive, quiet and dark. The vast doors at the far end that opened to the docks were closed. As Althee had promised, the place appeared empty. The windows were sooted out to the second story, and the higher panes that let in the early evening light were dirty. He allowed his eyes to get used to the dimness, making out rows and aisles and mountains of goods—furniture, boxes, crates, tuns, stretching as far as he could see. In the dark space directly in front of him, something moved. Something glinted. The shadows arranged themselves.

  It was a spider the size of a large dog.

  Rhuun didn’t scream, mainly because he couldn’t draw a breath, but gave a whispery yelp and drew himself back against the door. The spider moved its bulk from side to side, uncertainly tapping its delicate feet against the floor. He held as still as stone, hoping it wouldn’t notice him. It had a smooth, glassy black body, like an ebony teardrop, with an oddly beautiful scarlet swirling mark on the back, and it watched him with all eight of its faintly glowing green eyes. When it lifted its head, he got a look at its jaw parts. They glistened.

  He thought his heart would explode or simply stop when, to his horror, it took a step in his direction and then another. It raised itself up onto its four hind feet to get a better look. Now it was almost as tall as he was, and with its outstretched arms, twice as broad. Its eyes were definitely trained on him. He could see the fine bristling hairs on its jointed legs.

  One forearm moved in his direction, a note was tied to the appendage with a white ribbon. It appeared to be waving the note at him.

  I have gone mad. Might as well look before it devours me.

  Rhuun gingerly turned the paper so he could read it without touching the creature. It said, “Follow me.”

  Now that the note had been seen, the spider took a step back and lowered itself back onto its six rear feet. It was waiting.

  “I believe I am...to follow you?” Could it understand him? Did it have ears? Whatever the case, the creature clasped its front arms—its hands—together, dipped its head in a sort of bow, turned, and tapped off into the darkness. He hastened to follow it, not wanting to get lost in the maze of merchandise.

  He followed it for what seemed a long time, wondering if he ought to talk to it, when it made a left at a mountain of man-sized vases painted with scenes of humans at their leisure. In the center of the giant warehouse was a small free-standing office. It was lit up, and the door was open. Here was his destination, certainly.

  The creature looked over its shoulder as if to say, You can find your way from here, can’t you? and vanished behind a pile of chairs. He could hear the tap-tap-tap of its feet as it hurried off to its next errand.

  Rhuun went into the office and found Lelet sitting cross legged on a large pile of carpets, their silk threads shining in the soft lantern light in red and gold and green. When she saw him, she shrugged out of her coat, which left her wearing only a delighted smile. He thought of a shop window, of an exquisite ivory statue set in a blaze of colored jewels. He collapsed beside her, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek as if they’d only been parted for a few days.

  She pulled away and took in his shaken demeanor. “You all right?”

  “Shani. Well. Look, I promise you the most sex-having ever—or love-having? Making? But Light and Wind, I have a few questions.”

  Lelet reached behind the stack of rugs and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a glass. “Figured we could share.” She handed it to him to open, and he helped himself to a generous swallow from the neck.

  “What...was that?” His hand, he was pleased to note, barely shook as he pointed back towards the door.

  “I think you must mean Sylvia.”

  “If Sylvia is a giant spider, then yes.”

  “I gather Althee didn’t warn you. Sorry about that. The Sechelles use them to guard their property.”

  “Them?”

  “Oh, yeah. The bigger ones hang out back by the dock. Sylvia’s the smallest, but she’s also the cleverest. She’s the nest mother. I told her to only let in a tall, gorgeous man with red eyes. She was expecting you.” She helped him out of his coat. “I have to get used to human clothes on you.” She snickered. “Off you.”

  “Bigger,” he said half to himself. “Bigger ones. Of course. But why was the front door open?”

  “It’s traditional at all the Sechelle warehouses. This isn’t even the largest one. The spiders are sort of a legend, and the family found it was cheaper to just leave the door open and let the local boys dare each other to go inside and take a look than try and replace glass and broken locks. I’ve known Al my whole life, and I don’t believe they’ve ever had a loss from theft at one of their buildings.” While she was talking, she unbuttoned, unpinned, and undid all the dozens of things humans did to keep their clothes from falling off. He yanked off his boots, and she went to work on his trousers.

  “I miss my leggings,” he said. “I miss one layer instead of seven. I miss you. Is it safe for you to be here, shani?”

  She paused, her hand on his belt buckle. “He thinks I’m having dinner with May. He’d never just drop in there. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to talk at all.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mistra

  Afterwards, Lelet found she wanted to talk after all. She stretched, a delicious full length stretch on the carpets, and trailed her hand along the soft pile, until she touched something damp. It was some of the red wine, fortunately no more than half a glass. She’d whacked it with her elbow although she couldn’t remember exactly when. It wasn’t the only mess they’d created, though.

  “Someone,” she remarked, “is going to have to get their new carpets cleaned.” She rolled onto her back, and he reached for her breasts, as she expected. They were like magnets.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “They’re my carpets. At least, they will be. It only seems fair. I’ll buy the lot from Althee, clean them in the river, and put them in the palace. Someplace where I have to talk to unpleasant people. I’ll smile, and they’ll never know why.”

  She nodded approvingly. “When did you turn into a master strategist?”

  “Oh, I’ve always been. You’ve only just noticed. That’s how clever I am.”

  Lelet sat up. “Yes, that cart that smelled like trash was a key part of your very crafty plan.”

  He folded his arms behind his head and smiled up at her. “Is this what we’re talking about?”

  His expression made her think he didn’t really mind. It was a relief to reminisce about something that didn’t include misery and death. Well, now that she thought about it, the story of their travels through the forest actually had three deaths in it. They wouldn’t, she decided, talk about that part. There were plenty of other things.

  “The way you ordered me around.” She laughed at the memory. “Like you thought that Duke of yours was a real person.”

  “First,” he told her, unfolding one arm and pointing his finger at the ceiling, “I thought he actually was.” He added another finger. “And second, I had no choice. You wouldn’t even obey the simplest instruction.”

  “Well, forgive
me for not cooperating in my own kidnapping.”

  “You were the rudest little thing I ever met. But it didn’t matter because I was already in love with you.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet.” She leaned over and kissed him. “When did you first know?”

  “That you were impossibly rude? Well, it was—”

  She gave a massive eye roll. “Yes, that’s exactly the question I was asking.”

  “Rude and sarcastic, totally my type. Fine, I’ll tell you. It was at that party. You had an... interesting shade of pink in your hair.”

  Lelet groaned. “I really was the only one who liked that color.”

  “And you were with that blond boy.”

  She poked his ribs. “You know perfectly well his name is Billah.”

  Moth continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “You might have had a shade too much to drink, although Light and Wind knows I’m not here to judge.” She recalled that brief time on Eriis when he was king, that he’d cut back significantly, but they’d been apart nearly the whole time they’d been back on Mistra. She wondered if he was back to indulging. She certainly was—in private, of course. “I saw you smile, and I loved you from that moment. I didn’t like you very much, though.”

  “Funny.” She pinched the tender inside of his elbow.

  “Ow, in fact that’s still a work in progress, you’re thoroughly aggravating.” He rolled onto her and smothered her laughter with his kisses.

  “Shh.” She giggled. “We’ll startle Sylvia.”

  He leaned onto his elbows and clapped his hand over his mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” she added. “I grew up playing in this warehouse. Sylvia’s an old friend. I’ll stand in front of you.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  “You were about to tell me when you knew.” She looked up at him, thanking Light and Wind for putting him in her path. She knew full well that beauty didn’t always come with such kindness. She pictured herself at that stupid party. Garish, drunk, irritating. She wondered what she’d been before she met him.

  “It was that night. The first time I ever saw you. You were talking to Althee, and it was like the only light in the room was on you. I saw you, and I wanted to...”

  “What?”

  “You’ll think I’m foolish.”

  “I think you’re lovely. Tell me.”

  “Your hair,” he said. “It was short, and you had it pinned up. I wanted to do this...” he gently pulled her braid from where it coiled underneath her neck, untied the ribbon, and ran his hands through it until it unplaited and curled around his hands. He stroked her hair as if she were a pet cat. It felt like heaven. She’d been thinking about whacking her hair off as soon as she could, as soon as she was free of Auri, who said, “No one wants to see a girl that looks like a boy, Letty.” But it obviously gave Moth so much pleasure she changed her mind on the spot and decided to keep it.

  “Do you know when I knew I was in love with you?” she asked. She was genuinely curious if he had any idea.

  “I assumed it had something to do with this.” He cupped his yala, making his piercings, the rows of golden balls, shiver and twitch.

  She smiled at the invisible, dark ceiling. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, although it is on the list. It started one of those first nights. We ate...oh, bread and apples or something, and you were trying to tell me about the war, something I should have known about, something my own family was involved with. And you were so sad and so lonely. But I could see your good heart, despite how we met.”

  “I poisoned your wine and kidnapped you. It was not my finest hour.”

  Lelet waved her hand, she blamed him not one bit. “And then I gave you some pear and you licked my hand.”

  Even after all the time past, he still blushed. “It just tasted so good. So that was it? When I licked you?”

  “Ha, no, silly. That just got my attention. It was the horse. Do you remember making friends with the horse?”

  He took her hand and held it up, twining their fingers together. He’d been so desperate to befriend the animal, and she finally figured out that if she stood between the horse and the demon, both of them calmed down. She held his hand, as she was doing now, and together they stroked the beast’s long, silky neck.

  “The horse was warm, like you’re warm now,” she said. “And the look on your face—I think that was the first time I’d seen you happy. And I was the reason. And I knew I wanted to make you smile like that for the rest of my life.”

  “I love you,” he said quietly. “Until the moons fall.”

  “Until they fall,” she agreed.

  She arrived back at Auri’s house at a respectable hour—she didn’t want Auri to start in on her being out “wandering the streets like a vagrant” except when he said ‘vagrant’, she thought he probably meant something worse. He was in their bedroom, in front of the fire with a book and a brandy, the curtains drawn and the light soft and golden in the handsome room.

  He smiled when she came in. “Have a nice dinner?”

  “Very nice,” she replied and sat on the edge of the bed to unlace her boots. “May made a chicken. Her cooking is coming along.”

  “What’s it feel like?” he asked.

  She looked up from her boots. “What, chicken? Or cooking?” She laughed. “I don’t actually know what cooking feels—”

  “What’s it feel like to lie all the time?” He sipped his brandy, smiling and smiling. “I really want to know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mistra

  By the time Rhuun got back to his apartment building, it was full dark. He was starving, thinking about ordering something with meat in it, and still tingling with happiness. Whatever happened to him, to Auri, to all of them, none of it mattered because nothing could come between them. He could still smell the floral scent of her hair on his coat and looked forward to the day when he could have more than fleeting scraps of her presence.

  He greeted the doorman with a smile and stopped to say hello to the young lady who took messages at the front desk. She was fairly new and so had the less coveted evening shift. Normally she’d have his correspondence and late newspapers along with a copy of the following day’s menu neatly stacked, but this night she looked frazzled and distraught. With his ever-increasing powers of observation of humans, he could tell something was disturbing her.

  “Good evening, Glordys. Everything all right?”

  “It’s Gladys, sir, begging your pardon. And I’m very, very, very sorry,” she said. She sniffed dramatically and gave him a haunted look.

  “Sorry about what? Is something the matter?”

  “Um. Someone went up,” she said. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared pale.

  “Up? Up where? Are you well? Can I fetch you assistance?” It was important to be generous with employees. “A tea?” They all liked tea, surely that was a correct response.

  “She was so...mean. The way she looked at me, I thought I was going to catch on fire. I couldn’t stop her.” She blotted her eyes with a wrinkled hankie, then looked back up at him. This time she had a catch in her voice. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  “Her?” It occurred to him the girl was worried on his behalf. “Her who?” He began to have suspicions, none of them good. “Describe her, please, Glodis.”

  “Er, Gladys, it is. Um. Short. Well, small. Well, petite. Pretty. Well, handsome. She looked like you, except shrunk down.” The girl leaned forward, and he bent down to hear her whisper. “One of them. Begging your pardon, sir.”

  “Are you saying you let a woman from Eriis up to my suite?” The rules as Althee described them were very clear: no one went up unless he specifically said so. And while he was out? Absolutely not. Had Aelle returned? But why come to see him and not Olly? “Did she at least give you her name before she dismantled the massive security apparatus that consists of you?”

  The girl looked positively faint, and he was sorry he’d been rude. “She said she’s yo
ur mum.”

  The pleasant tingling evaporated.

  It was a long walk up the wide, curving stairway. Normally he enjoyed observing the passing humans, and played a game with himself; who knew what he really was? Who themselves might have secret identities? Not this evening. He climbed up, and up, to his suite of rooms on the top floor.

  His mother. Here, somehow.

  As soon as he opened the door to his apartment, he was almost bowled over by his assistant.

  “There’ll be something extra in your envelope,” he whispered to the wide-eyed young man, who gulped, nodded, and raced for the safety of the stairs.

  Rhuun took a breath, smoothed the front of his handsome human-made jacket, and pointed himself towards the sitting room. “Mother! What a delightful and completely unanticipated surprise.”

  Hellne was having a cocktail, lounging on his couch with her sandals off and her feet on the coffee table. She had been looking out the window towards the lights of the city on the far shore of the inky ribbon of the Gorda and the endless parade of lit-up boats still chugging back and forth. She turned back to regard him with the same cool calculation he’d been faced with since he was a child. As far as he knew she’d never been through The Door before, and this was her first glimpse of this strange and liquid world. But her face revealed no surprise, no excitement, nothing.