The River King

by Kim Alexander

  Scilla rubbed her eyes, made even more bleary and sore by the smoke. “Tell Lelly she’d better come home soon.”

  Zaii agreed to deliver her message, wished them all luck, and winked out of sight.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Eriis

  Some things were private.

  On Eriis, things whispered in a dark room, things said to a lover, these things were private. As the son of the queen, Rhuun learned a very early age what to repeat and what to keep to himself. He could usually tell by the look on his mother’s face that a slight smile combined with a relaxation of the skin around her eyes meant it was safe, he could speak, he could even ask about what he didn’t understand. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes meant he kept his mouth shut or find it slapped.

  Prayer was something he wasn’t allowed to ask about. In private, Hellne always rolled her eyes at what she considered superstitious nonsense and considered it a sign of weakness. At court or in her position on the High Seat, she maintained a respectful silence. Rhuun certainly never got an education in the particularity of prayer from her. He learned how it was done the same way he learned almost everything as a boy—he asked Ilaan.

  He’d only asked out of curiosity after interrupting Diia one afternoon. He’d come across her in a quiet courtyard bending low over a glowing rock and asked her if she’d dropped something. Her shamed expression and quick retreat made him wonder what she was up to. He knew without knowing not to ask his mother. The next day, he asked Ilaan about it in the privacy of their library.

  “It sounds like she was praying,” Ilaan said. “I wonder what she was asking for?” And then Ilaan had explain how it worked: the position one assumed, the words, the ritual of the lighted stone. “My mother puts a lot of store by it,” he said, “but I don’t think Father approves. Whenever they have guests, he makes her move her stones to another room. Did I ever tell you I stole one?” He laughed. “I was just barely fledged.”

  “What happened?” This was why Rhuun turned to Ilaan. He could transform the simplest question into a dramatic tale of adventure.

  “Well, first I hid it under my bed. I was sure Mother would notice it was gone and set me on fire, but she never did. I waited until everyone was asleep, took it out and lit it.”

  “And then?”

  “Nothing.” He grinned. “It took me years of hard to work to get Niico, and one old rock does not get the credit. Still, I suppose keeping one’s options open couldn’t hurt. Hey, what are you going to pray for? To be as pretty as me?”

  “Wings,” he’d replied. “Might as well.”

  But Rhuun hadn’t prayed for wings or anything else and soon forgot the conversation. Even during La Naa, when he had nothing but time to remember every conversation he’d ever had, he didn’t try to pray. It had never seemed appropriate to ask for something for himself. But he would today.

  He closed the curtain to the little room Jaa had given him and, lighting a fist sized chunk of stone, set it on a low table. Feeling awkward and self-conscious, he folded his legs into a replica of what he’d seen Diia doing and what Ilaan had described to him. He imagined it would be easier for a small, lithe-limbed demon to crouch on the balls of their feet. His legs would start to ache quickly. He held his hands out, palms up. The idea, Ilaan had told him, was to create a sort of conduit from your feet to the sky, connecting you to Eriis. And you had to keep your head up and watch the lighted stone because that was where the answers might appear. He didn’t expect an answer today because he wasn’t going to ask a question, but he kept his eyes trained on the stone, blinking hard as the image doubled, trebled, and blurred.

  Rhuun knelt there, watched the light, and thought about the man he’d been before her— drink and shame, and wanting only to disappear. Even after she’d left him, knowing she was out there, a bright and vivid light in the world, it brought him some measure of comfort.

  She’d stepped in front of a knife with his death on the blade. He wondered what it felt like, to be so brave.

  He wouldn’t be talking to Light or Wind today or even Ocean. He didn’t know how to start because the one he called to had no name and could not be addressed. The one he sought could not be described, had no heart to soften with sweet words, no eyes to weep, no lips to smile or kiss. The one he had to reach was an absence, only seen as a cool hand, come to lead you off the path of life into whatever came next. A darker shadow in a dark place.

  “Please,” he finally said. “Please, don’t take her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Mistra

  May didn’t sleep well. No one did, except possibly Scilla, who still had the constitution of a child despite having the wits of someone far older. They came down, all of them, when the smell of coffee began to waft up through the house.

  After that awful night, May had insisted everyone come back to her home, so she along with Althee and Stelle, Scilla, and Coll gathered in the kitchen. Despite the fact that all of them had bathed and gotten into borrowed clean clothes, the smell of smoke lingered. The mood, though subdued, was generally upbeat.

  “I’m making a proper Hill breakfast,” Stelle informed them, “so out of my kitchen, all of you. I need space to work.”

  May stayed long enough to figure out a “proper Hill breakfast” was essentially breakfast, but more of it and then joined her friends in the dining room with coffee. The golden horse sculpture made a fine centerpiece. Stelle, who never left home without a big purse, had grabbed it on the way out of the house, which was proper, since it now belonged to either Lelet or Moth, or potentially both of them. Coll and Althee were dividing up the newspaper, the front page of which featured a photograph of Auri’s house in flames, with characters in the foreground dramatically outlined in black. They each took a section and settled in to read.

  “‘The explosion, the cause of which is still under the Prime Council’s investigation, completely destroyed the duReed home. Mr. duReed himself apparently perished in the blaze, making it impossible to stand for the crimes with which he was recently implicated.’” Althee looked up, eyes wide. “Then Rane...”

  “Better not already be drunk in an alley. He does like to celebrate.” May rubbed her forehead. “Scil, promise me you’re not traumatized.” The story of Coll and poor Billah had been a strange afterthought to the fire. She turned to her newest guest, the quiet and aloof Eriisai. “I do wish she hadn’t seen all of that.”

  The mage sipped his tea and toyed with the embroidered frog closure at the throat of his borrowed robe. Since he was used to the shape, he’d opted for one of Rane’s old morning robes rather than a suit or jacket. He’d laughed at his reflection in the oversized robe for some reason, like he’d never worn a white garment before. “She was an invaluable assistant. On Eriis there is...was an injunction against allowing girls to join the society of mages. I’m relieved there is no such tradition here.”

  May was about to remind Coll that Scilla was just a student and certainly not a member of any society, when she noticed how the girl’s face lit up at his words. “We never doubted our Scilla was the most clever of us,” she said, editing out the part about using her clever ways to enslave Moth, thus starting this whole...whatever this was.

  “‘The whereabouts of his accomplice,” Althee continued reading, “one Mister Jan White, along with his daughter, a child of uncertain age, are currently unknown.’ Hmm, ah, here we are. ‘The recently appointed ambassador from the kingdom of Eriis, who was present at the party, is reportedly safely back on his home world. His office sends word that he’ll remain there temporarily and assures the citizens of Mistra and the Prime Council this tragedy has not changed the opinion of the High Seat of Eriis on the safety of Mistra in general and looks forward to continued collaboration between our two worlds.’” She looked up. “And that’s it, really. Some stuff about the guests. Notice who’s missing?”

  “Lelly,” said Scilla. “They left her out completely.”

  Stelle set a platter of to
ast and hashed fries on the table. “Funny how when men do things, it’s news. When women do it, it’s gossip.” She put her hand on May’s shoulder. “Just as well keeping her far out of this. I hope she’s well and comes back to us soon.”

  A knock at the door had Scilla out of her seat in a flash.

  May called after her sister. “Scil, don’t just open the door and let—”

  Scilla came back into the dining room, followed by Rane. Behind him was a tall man with blond hair going to silver, carrying a large case. There were several more pieces of luggage piled behind him the in the doorway.

  “Did you actually fire every single maid and man? Had to carry my own bags up.” He looked at the group. “New faces, I see. Well, it looks like I’m in time for breakfast.”

  May stood up. “Father.”

  Once he had a plate in front of him, May, Stelle, Scilla and Coll sat and watched him eat. Out of the corner of her eye, May kept an eye on Althee and Rane. As soon as he’d appeared, Althee had sprinted to him, and they remained standing in the entrance hall with their arms around each other. From her angle she couldn’t tell if they were talking or kissing, but it was certainly about time the two turned their lifelong affection into something more permanent. And it gave her an idea.

  “Damn fine plate of eggs,” her father announced.

  “Thank you, sir,” Stelle said. “It’s duck fat that’s the secret. Makes the eggs sing.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Call me Philip, please. Duck fat. Use it in everything, I tell all my cooks.” May wondered if he thought Stelle was, perhaps, a very forward servant. He drank the last of his coffee and held it out to Stelle for a refill. “Well, this has been an enlightening few days.”

  “Father,” May said, “when did you get to the city? Did you hear about...”

  “The fire and all that? Couldn’t miss it. I heard some nonsense about an engagement party, for which I was not consulted, and thought I’d better come in and set things to right. Her marry some Hill boy? As if. No offense, Miss.”

  Stelle nodded gracefully.

  So he knows who she is.

  “But I see a natural catastrophe beat me to it. Couldn’t get within a mile of Upper Garden, and Park was closed all the way to the Gorda, spent the night at the club.” He tossed down his napkin. “Now, where is Lelet?”

  “Um, not here?” May stammered.

  “She is safe in the care of the wisest woman on Eriis,” said Coll, who chose that moment to start talking. “Her bravery in defense of the prince will never be forgotten.”

  “And you are?”

  “This is Coll,” said Scilla. “He’s the one got Rane turned loose. He’s a great mage.”

  “A mage. I see.” Philip sipped his coffee as Rane and Althee took their seats. They pulled their chairs as close together as possible, as if, once having decided to touch, they couldn’t bear to be parted. “Let me see if I’ve got this properly. My First, Pol, is an actor. Lelet appears to be not only the hero of the day but in another realm completely. Scilla is a...”

  “I’m a mage,” she said, her chin up. May noticed Coll’s small smile.

  “Very well,” Philip said, “Scilla is a mage. Rane?”

  “Well, at least I’m not mad,” he said.

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” He turned to May and Stelle. “And you? I understand you had quite a moment at this so-called party. You two are...”

  May took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff. “Queer, Father, is what they’re calling it. Yes.”

  He nodded slowly. Nothing exploded. No one screamed. Nothing was thrown. “As I suspected. Oh, don’t look shocked. I do wish you’d spoken to me before your announcement though.”

  It was hard for May to gather her thoughts to speak in light of the lack of outrage.

  “Sorry. We were...” The whole “create a diversion’ thing didn’t seem like the best tale to tell over breakfast.

  Stelle stepped in. “We were taken by the spirit of the moment. Lelet had just, um, spoken her truth, that she wasn’t going to marry Auri after all.”

  May added, “We rather got caught up in it.”

  “Certainly, she wasn’t going to marry that boy. One of my fellows at the club told me it was a ruse to make this prince character jealous, to make him do the right thing by her.”

  May nodded slowly and then more enthusiastically. “That is exactly what happened. And you know Lelly. Ha-ha. Things got a bit out of hand.”

  A house burned to the ground and at least one death—yes, that sounded about right for Lelet.

  Philip frowned. “He is an actual prince, isn’t he? Not some cadet branch hanger-on?”

  “Sole heir to the throne,” said Althee. “Although there is some family, er, drama.”

  May cleared her throat, not wanting to get sidetracked by the royal house of that awful pile of sand. “Getting back to me. Us. Um, I know this must be...not what you intended for your Second. I’d like to offer the job to Rane, if he’ll accept it. If you’ll accept it, Father, I should say.”

  Her father turned to Rane and Althee, who looked at each other, wide-eyed.

  Rane nodded at Althee, who gave the tiniest nod in return. He lifted their clasped hands and kissed her fingertips. May smiled to herself. On the whole this was a good day for her father, with a net gain of not only a prince but an actual heiress.

  Philip grinned broadly. “Welcome to the family, Miss Sechelle.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mistra

  It was hard here, thought Hellne. Hard, cold, too bright. Too much to look at and no way to know what was important. And everyone just walking around with their faces hanging out. It wasn’t just that no one bothered to go out of doors veiled. She could see veils falling out of favor at home as surely as the air slowly grew less dusty. It was the way the humans let you know what was in their minds, all the time.

  Some of the humans let her know she was a shocking menace. Some let her know about their lust. Sometimes both at once.

  She’d been glad to leave the Guardhouse but even gladder to leave behind Mistra city itself. At least in the company of the human her son had sent her to, she felt…not less alone, necessarily but less observed. After all, Olly had seen her people before so every glance didn’t come with a widening of the eye, a drawing of the breath.

  This place was exhausting. The city was loud and crowded, and the country was blindingly green and constantly damp. Everything smelled like it was going bad or animals, and when she finally got a look at the creatures her son was enamored of, she laughed out loud. Horses. She shook her head. She’d raised him, knew him better than anyone, and she still marveled at what went on in his mind.

  Rhuun was different though. Now. He had a fine office in a handsome building in a nice part of the city, nicer than the High Seat hall itself, if she wanted to be honest. He had servants and employees, and people listened to him. And when he spoke, they nodded gravely or laughed—with him, she observed—or took notes. She took some satisfaction from the idea that she’d made him the ambassador, just as she’d made every other part of his life what it was. The day she’d spent with him at his home near the river had proven her right in sending him here. His success was her own, of course.

  Hellne was proud of what he’d accomplished among the humans to be sure, but that didn’t mean they were easy and comfortable in each other’s company. He was eager for her to be off, just as she was thinking fondly of some time alone. They agreed that he would continue in Mistra, in the city, and make sure the Seat went unchallenged, while she would travel back to the Guardhouse and fight her own battle against the creature currently sitting on it. For the first time, she could picture Rhuun taking the Seat after her and not in an idle “can you possibly imagine” sort of way.

  Not that there was any reason to tell him that, of course, since she had no intention of stepping aside once the Zaal and his daeevas were cleaned out. She’d have her seat back, and things could go bac
k to normal. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more certain she was sending Rhuun here to Mistra had been the right thing to do for everyone.

  Not that the old men and children left running the Guardhouse seemed interested in hearing about her son, the ambassador. She hadn’t been there a week, and already the old men all but ran in the other direction when they saw her coming and the young ones could do nothing but stare. It was like a whole civilization somehow brought up without manners. But because she was a believer in leading by example, she was polite to everyone. After all, she was a sort of ambassador herself, wasn’t she?

  She did have the boy, Olly, to keep her company, and as humans went, she supposed Aelle could have done worse. He knew not to stare or touch and leapt to serve her water or wine or whatever was on offer. She grudgingly admitted, only to herself of course, that food and drink were so vastly superior to that which she’d gotten used to on Eriis. It wasn’t even worth comparing them.

  The stars too. She enjoyed going to the roof of the Guardhouse and looking at the stars.

  “If we do this right,” Olly told her when he’d led her up the stairs that first evening, “Eriis might someday see the stars again.”

  We. He said, “We,” like it wasn’t his own people from this very building that brought my folk to ruin. But she would never follow the path of the Zaal, who nursed his grudges and mourned his old life, even if every human but one who’d been alive in the time of the Weapon was long dead.

  “Well then,” she said to Olly, “we’d better do our best, each of us.”

  That included Malloy.

  Olly had taken her to see him, to see her old love at last, after a lifetime of grief, anger, and regret, and what had she expected? Everyone, Rhuun most recently, had warned her he was old beyond the years of normal men, and yet she’d hoped...