“It watered our hearts,” Araan was saying, “how well and kindly we were received upon our return, but we were of course shocked by the…changes in the city and in town.” Thaali nodded.
“Araan has all sorts of lines to walk,” said Aelle, who never abandoned politics for long. “The world's moved on without him, and he's receiving people who were his enemy yesterday, as far as he remembers. He must keep that face composed, although I'm sure he thinks this dusty courtyard is a step down—way down—from the last time he saw it.”
“But everyone worked so hard, all these years, to return us to the comforts we see today. And look,” Thaali smiled, “even the air itself is almost back the way it was. That is what we celebrate, the work of so many who made this visit possible.”
Aelle smiled and applauded with everyone else as the king and queen made their slow exit, their duties fulfilled. “Is she mad?” she wondered aloud.
Olly looked surprised. “I would have said bored, not mad. Why do you say so?”
“There's no 'so many' to thank, not for the change in the air. There's only Rhuun and his pet Mage. Names that were not mentioned, except to insult Rhuun by recalling his father, and practically naming Hellne a sdhaach. They intend to act as if he isn't here. How interesting.” She and Olly glanced in Rhuun's direction, to see if he would speak on his own behalf, but he appeared not to have heard Thaali at all. He was looking at the entrance to the courtyard with a carefully blank face. “Although I imagine he has bigger horses to fry.”
Rhuun was staring at Lelet, who had just arrived.
Rhuun did his best to compose his face, although he found it difficult to take a breath. He took a step away from Calaa, who was stubbornly attached to his arm. Lelet wore a silver dress, made of fish scales. What else could they be? Fish, from his river. And her hair, long now, long enough to pin up, but it looked like she'd arranged it hastily and fastened it with just one jeweled pin, as if it might fall down around his hands if he touched her. As she turned to greet her human companions, he saw that while the front was cut modestly across her collarbones, the back plunged to leave nearly her entire back bare. She wore a thin gold chain around her neck with a charm that dangled and bumped against the center of her back. He got close enough to see it was a tiny gold heron in flight, close enough to catch the flowers in the fragrance she wore. She is a snare, he realized. She has set herself for me. She turned as if she knew she'd find him standing right behind her. He followed her to a quiet corner near a low dish of glowing stones. The light made the fish scales shiver and jump.
“Moth,” she said with a bland smile, “what a lovely coat. Nice haircut, too.”
“Please don't call me—” he paused and then returned her placid expression. “Thank you. You're looking well. How long has it been, over there?” Six months and five days, that’s how long it’s been over here.
“A year and a month or so. Scilla says the calendars are starting to line up. She thinks it's because of our opening The Door. You should ask her about it, you know she loves to talk theories.” She accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. “May and Stelle send their regards.”
His expression softened. “Please give them my best.” He watched her smile around the room and sip her wine and toy with a loose curl that had slipped from the jeweled pin. “Lelet, to say your being here is a surprise is a gross understatement. Perhaps you'll tell me why?”
Her expression didn't falter. “Cultural attaché, as I said. Scilla didn't make a grab for the King's hand, did she?” She looked him in the eye. “I know you don't want me here, you've made that clear.” And she gave a strange laugh. “Abundantly clear. But I am here to help. I want this to succeed.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. He decided to get on with it. “Scilla tells me there's something she's not supposed to talk about?”
Her face fell. “Rushta.”
Despite himself, he laughed.
She leaned forward and said in a low, rapid voice, “I must speak with you privately. Later?”
He laughed again. “Certainly not. As the…what are you calling yourself? The Cultural Attaché? Anything you say to me must be in session.”
She started to gnaw at fingernail, then caught herself and snatched her hand away. “Moth, I need your help. Believe me, I would not have come here…please. It's not for me.”
“Is something wrong with Scilla?”
“No…I can't explain right now, but she mustn't be party to this. She's not supposed to say anything about it at all. Damn that girl!” She took a longer drink of wine. “Well, now I don't know what to do. I've ruined things as usual.”
He gave her a sharp look. “I don't believe you've ever said anything like that before in your life. What's this about?” He realized he was worried about her. What happened to his warrior? Despite her glittering gown and lovely face, she had a look of defeat he did not recognize. “Fine. This party will be ending soon, now that my uncle and Thaali have made their appearance. I'll have my man Zaii escort you when everyone has said their goodnights.” She looked so relieved, he thought she might cry. “This had best be a real emergency. I don't have time—”
“For me. I know. Trust me, it's real. Otherwise, I'd never have come. I will see you later, then, and thank you. Enjoy your party.” She turned and went to talk with Scilla and the brothers, her face bright and her smile sweet.
Calaa reappeared. She handed him a glass of sarave. “Everything alright?”
He looked at the content of the cup, then tossed it down. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Eriis
Still shaking from the shame—she had no choice but to beg, but he didn't have stand there and let her do it — Lelet shrugged out of the silver sequined dress, where it lay on the tiled floor in a heap of glitter. She rummaged through her trunk and found a modest silk robe, white with a pattern of pink and red cabbage roses. She shook out her hair and pulled it into a quick braid and wiped off her makeup. But she left the heron charm in place, just turning it so it rested between her breasts, not against her back. She felt foolish and guilty wearing the little thing to the party, but she knew he’d see it, and he’d remember when he was her heron prince, and perhaps it would warm his indifference. When she’d bought it, she’d told Auri she just liked birds.
Then she paced, reminded of the room she'd spent so much time in, the room which had been a prison. She found she was reminded more of that room and less of the chambers they'd shared when he was acting as king and acting like he loved her. She couldn't think of those days without pain, and she forced her mind elsewhere. At least he was willing to spare the time to see her tonight. How she would convince him to help her, she didn't know. But she had to.
When the knock came, she did her best to smile pleasantly at Zaii, who seemed devoted to Moth. He led her down the black stone corridor, lit brightly with many bowls of glowing stones, even though the hour was very late. The wind had dropped, and there wasn't a speck of dust or a grain of sand to be seen.
“I must say, it's remarkable the difference. The dust, I mean,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied placidly. “Sorry about that little gusting earlier. Generally, we’ve gotten a good hand on the weather. His Grace made certain the air would be scrubbed clean for his guests. He doesn't mind the sacrifice, he says, and one is inclined to believe him.”
She knew what Zaii meant by sacrifice, she’d caught a glimpse of Moth’s scarred wrist inside his handsome new coat. They walked the rest of the way in silence. They passed a few black clad guards, but only a few, and they nodded at the pair as they passed. There was no point in trying to hide her or make this visit secret. Everyone knew the human girl—in her own face—was back, and if not to see the prince, why come to Eriis? The only question was the outcome—shed or bed. Well, those who favored ‘bed’ would be disappointed—if any such person existed. She belonged to Auri, she had sworn to him she wouldn’t disappoint him. After how
she’d been sent on her way so long ago (a year, two months, four days and a handful of hours) only a fool or a lover of humiliation would willingly return to that bed.
Zaii presented her at the prince's new door, which had neither lock nor bolt, but only a handle, and took his leave.
She wanted to be proper and polite, had intended to be, but seeing how he lived now she forgot to wait for his invitation.
“Moth, this is beautiful.” She walked past him and out into the large courtyard to a fountain and plunged her hands into the cool water. It was small, less than three feet across, and only a few inches deep, decorated with flat lighted stones in a spiral pattern on the bottom. But it had real moving water in it. “This must cost a fortune.” She winced at her own graceless remark, could practically see Auri’s disappointed glance. “Sorry.”
He sat himself at a battered wooden desk, a smaller cousin to the one she'd seen in his office. He pulled his black silk robe closer around his shoulders and watched her play with the water. “One day I'm hoping there will be plants out here. Orchids, even.”
So, we’re opening with small talk. Well, that’s a start, she thought.
The courtyard opened into his room—although it was more likely rooms, as it appeared he'd pulled the walls down between several smaller quarters—without doors, only long white sheer curtains, which he'd tied back with black cords. She remembered how he swore he'd never close a door on himself, and between the back and front entrances it appeared he'd achieved it. She wondered if he'd picked out the pretty black tassels himself, or if a lady had a hand in the decor. She recalled Aelle and Olly with their heads together, but certainly there must be some appropriately aged and decently bred demon girl who was used to his looks by now? Perhaps the girl who had been standing with him at the party; she'd shot a look of white hot murder in Lelet's direction when Moth hadn't been looking. Maybe this was why. She pursed her lips—it wasn't her problem. Shaking droplets off her fingers, she left the fountain to get a better look at the place.
“This looks familiar,” she said.
It was a sort of warped mirror version of a proper sitting room back home, right to a marble mantled fireplace (which held chunks of softly glowing crystals) a tapestry rug in warm reds and golds on the floor, a couch made of something like deep brown leather, and two overstuffed armchairs, complete with antimacassars embroidered with vines and leaves. The illusion was broken by the not-quite-right texture of the fabrics, the low, sullen clouds and the sand past the threshold. It also had the smell of Eriis—of ash, not of gardens. She took a moment to wonder who had done the work; it was very fine. Just outside the wide doorway, she noticed a stack of glass panels and a pile of iron sticks. An unassembled greenhouse? Perhaps a future home of those hoped-for orchids. In the back of the big living space, she could see a large silk screen, framed with dark wood, the panels painted with watercolor fish in more shades of red and gold, and presumably his bed behind it. There was more color in this room than probably all of the rest of the city combined.
“Oh, Moth, these are charming!” Over the pale stone fireplace hung a huge mirror. She noted it was angled to reflect back the courtyard, not whomever was seated in front of it. Lined up on the mantle were what she finally recognized as a dozen sculptures of horses. “Where did you get these?”
He shrugged. “I described them to some artist friends of mine, and they made them. We have that now. Artists, I mean.” She picked one up, a mottled grey and gold flecked stone. It was warm and smooth under her hand. Another bristled with a stiff black iron mane and tail. She set it carefully back and turned to stand behind him. He'd talk, it would appear, but wouldn't look at her. That was fine. Better, maybe.
“Thank you for seeing me. I know you didn't want to.” He made a sudden move across the desk, but it was too late. She saw the picture in the plain black frame before he could slam it face down.
It was a page neatly cut from a newspaper. A photograph. She was stumbling out of a cab and laughing. A hand reached in from the left to steady her, but the owner of the hand had been cropped out. He pushed it under some papers. This room, this photo…it didn’t say this is where I entertain demon ladies. It didn’t say I am fond of you. It said, I miss you, please come home.
“Why don't you just tell me what you want?” His hand came up to pull at his hair, but the long tail was gone and he dropped it back onto the desk.
I was wrong about him needing a haircut, she thought, recalling his tangled mane when she’d found him trapped by the Mages in his room. Oh well, it'll grow. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself not to cry or be foolish, this was too important. “Something terrible has happened. It's Rane. There's been a…a death. He is accused.”
Now he did turn. He looks like I feel, she thought. Like the last year has been a thousand years long. He leaned back and away from her in his chair. “I'm sorry, obviously, to hear that. But your brother has a history of…instability? Am I correct?” She nodded. “I fail to see how this has anything to do with me, or why you came here.”
“The victim,” she said. “The dead girl. She's a demon.”
He pushed away from the desk and walked past her, out to the fountain. “This is not possible. You are mistaken.”
She followed him. “I know it sounds…insane. But it's true. She's from Eriis. That's why I came here. Please, I need your help. Rane is not the killer, I know he isn't.”
“You know?”
“I hope. And if I’m wrong…well, we have to know that, too. You must come back with me and get that poor girl's body, if nothing else.”
He leaned on the edge of the fountain, watching his reflection move and warp. “Zaii will see you back to your room, Lelet. I need to think about this. You'll have a decision from me before these sessions are over. Goodnight.”
She stood still and waited, but he seemed content to stare into the water until the moons fell into the sand.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Eriis
Zaii joined Lelet as she wandered back down the corridor. She didn’t want this elegant demon to see her crying, she was tired and angry and felt as if she’d been shoved in the chest by Moth’s fake human room—complete with her picture. Did he cart around mementos of every woman he was ‘fond’ of? Did he recreate their homes and crawl inside? All she wanted was to go back to her borrowed room and try and sort out what it all meant. But Zaii was in a mood to talk and ignored her tears.
“I take it His Grace didn't get the apology he expected.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve. “From me? I should apologize to him? After everything . . .” She swallowed hard and shook her head. Please, she thought, don’t make me talk about this. Don’t make me embarrass myself out here in the open.
He nodded, looking concerned. “Pardons, Madam. I overstep. You understand, it's up to me to care for His Grace. It's been a difficult period. And of course, an apology would be ludicrous, after what you saw in the candle. Still I believe he entertained the hope . . .” His eyes glittered in the soft light. He was waiting for something.
She stopped, “What candle?”
“Madam,” he said slowly, “I know it's not proper of me to ask, but what did you see in the candle that made you leave us?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, and now her face twisted with her tears. He wanted her to confess to something, that much was clear—but what? The games these people played were exhausting. Auri was right, they were different, inside and out. “It was the queen. He sent his mother to tell me to leave. He couldn't even be bothered…” she stopped. “Zaii, I don’t think this is something we should be talking about in the middle of the night in a hallway.” She drew a deep breath. “So, if you—”
“No,” he said. Then he stopped. Instead of the blank smile she was expecting, the man looked like he was wrestling with what to say. Finally, decision reached, he took a breath and continued. “Madam, if anyone sent the queen to speak to you, it wasn't Rhuun.�
�� He smiled apologetically. “I should say His Grace.” She stared at him, saying nothing, and he continued. “He came home from The Edge, and you were gone. You left behind the candle, he assumed you had seen something troubling there. Why would he involve the queen? And how would he have contacted her, anyway? Madam? Are you quite alright?”
It wasn’t Moth…he didn’t send her…
“Excuse me, Zaii…I have to go do something…” She turned and raced the way she'd come.
The guard at Rhuun's door stepped in front of her and would have sent her on her way until Zaii rounded the corner behind her and gave the man some signal. He moved aside and she threw the door open.
Rhuun was sitting out in the courtyard in one of three low slung chairs with a bottle and glass and turned when he heard the door slam. He looked cross, and she wanted to laugh, remembering how many times he’d looked at her like that—when he was pretending to be like his precious Duke, when he thought he was ugly, when she teased him, before she loved him. She crossed the room in a heartbeat and threw herself on top of him, and before he could speak or act, she kissed him hard, gripping his arms. “Moth,” she gasped, “Why did I leave you?”
“Are you mad? What are you doing?” But he didn't push her away.
“Tell me. Why did I walk away? What happened?” She shook him. “Was it something to do with your mother?”
Now he did pull away from her, sitting up and straightening his robe. “My mother? I don't know what you're talking about. It was the candle, you left it for me to find. I don't know what you think you're doing, but it's not helping your brother's case.”
“Oh, Moth.” She reached for his drink. “I think we've both been tricked. It had nothing to do with that candle. When I left, I dumped out my bag, and it fell out. I just left it, and the knife. No more magic, and no more blood. After what your mother told me, I was done with Eriis, and done with you.”
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