He stared back at her blankly.
"Did I miss a funeral or something?" she asked.
"Let's hope this doesn't become one," he replied.
She knocked a loose strand of hair out of her face. "Confidence building. Let's see some confidence building."
"I'd prefer you nervous and paranoid. It will give you a higher chance of survival," he said.
She clapped her hands together, looking around the room for clues. "Soooo...what now? What do I need to know?"
"Accept nothing from anyone. Do not eat or drink anything except that which you take with you. Expect that everyone is trying to kill you, or trick you, and above all, control your hubris. It will only get you killed in the Eternal City," he said.
"Don't sugarcoat it," she said.
He let a sigh out and plucked the white rose from his pocket. He pinned it to her shirt, right above her breast. He smelled like coffee and a rain-slicked street, washed clean. It was intoxicating, but she pushed it away. Now wasn't the time to get all moon-eyed.
"Good," he said, nodding with his eyes to show that he'd been testing her. "It will be even worse on the other side. This rose is both my sigil and a measure of protection. It won't protect you from stupidity, but it will keep you safe from the things you can't see."
She waited for him to continue. The explanation seemed extraordinarily short, considering the danger she knew she was under. She'd spent the last month researching the maetrie and their Eternal City at Arcanium, but even in the world's most extensive magical library, details were rather slim.
"Anything else?"
He adjusted his tie, a measure of sadness on his brow. "Know that I will not return to the Eternal City no matter what is at stake. This is the only message that matters. You can tell anyone who will listen. This is all I can do for you. Any other information might lead you astray. There will be things you will learn that might—no, will—be disturbing. You must decide for yourself how you will react. I will say no more."
He exhaled, smoke from his lips filling the room rapidly. The brick room faded as the obsidian cube came into view. Pi remembered the floating cube from the contest. She had an idea on what they might do next, but pushed it away. She didn't have time for distractions.
The brick room never quite faded completely. On the other side of the wall, Slyvan waited, looking like a cologne advertisement's version of a gangster.
Radoslav nodded. Pi stepped through the wall. The outlines of bricks looked like pencil drawings in midair. When she looked back, the Glass Cabaret was gone. She hadn't thought to ask how she'd make it back.
"Getting, how do you say, cold feet?" asked Slyvan.
"The only thing cold here is your heart," she said, then remembered Radoslav's warning about hubris.
But Slyvan didn't react as she expected. He hooked his finger at her. "Follow me."
Pi was glad she'd worn a light sweater and jeans. The air had a crispness to it that made her rub her arms.
The Eternal City lived in perpetual gloom. It wasn't day or night, rather that quasi-dusk that happened in the far north, where the sun never quite set or rose.
The books she'd read conflicted about the actual size of the maetrie's realm, as if the experience had been different for each traveler. Some said it went on infinitely—she didn't believe that—while others suggested that it was as large, or larger than the continental US. But most of these were speculations. The scholars also argued about what was past the edge of the city. Some thought it was nothing more than apocalyptic wasteland, or old sections of the city, forgotten and left like concrete graveyards.
Mage lights glowed from cast-iron lampposts, giving everything a distant quality, as if it wasn't actually there. Puddles from a recent rain glistened, though she saw no evidence of clouds. Or stars for that matter.
Looking up had her momentarily distracted. The buildings on the street they traversed looked like residences, five- to eight-story buildings, squat and solid. But above them, she saw skyscrapers, which reached beyond her sight.
"No dawdling," he said.
As they walked, she had the impression of movement from the buildings. Slight shifting up close, but more pronounced from the skyscrapers in the distance. Thinking she was going mad, Pi stopped and held her hand up for a reference point. It took a little while, but eventually the skyscraper shifted past her finger, indicating it was moving. Or maybe she was. She began to see the problem the previous visitors had had with describing the city.
In a short time, Slyvan had moved half a block up the street. Something in a dark alleyway spoke, and it sounded like knives being sharpened. Pi had the sudden impression she needed to get back to Slyvan immediately, but before she could take a step, a small compact object shot out of the alley, headed right at her. She had no time to do anything but throw her hands over her face. The white rose on her chest spiked with faez, sending out a wave of energy that deflected the missile.
Slyvan appeared by her side, eyes bloodshot with anger. He sunk to his knees and, in one fluid motion, scooped a hunk of asphalt from the street. The newly formed rock hissed with heat. Slyvan pulled a short knife from his inside sleeve, ran it across his tongue, then spit blood into the asphalt mixture as if he were mixing cookie dough, kneading and stretching, forming it into something small and humanoid.
Whatever was in the alleyway seemed to sense the danger, because it made a racket trying to get out.
Slyvan whispered to the material in his hands, then gently set it down. The vaguely humanoid construct, not half a foot tall, sprinted into the darkness, too fast for its tiny legs.
Inhuman screams reached them moments later. When silence returned to the street, Slyvan gave her a bloody smile and wiped his lip. With a long black fingernail, he flicked the white rose on her chest.
"You're lucky Raddie was looking out for you. But make no mistake, that ain't stoppin' something with a serious hankering for mischief," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "No more dawdling, we've got a ways to go."
This time, Pi kept to Slyvan's heels, being careful not to get too far away. When she checked the rose, parts of it had black spots, as if the magic in it was finite. Not only did she regret showing weakness in front of Slyvan, she hated marring the beauty of Radoslav's sigil.
After an hour of heading in a forward direction, never once turning to the left or right, the air grew cold enough that puddles had ice crystals eating at the edges. Pi kept her complaints to herself until a light freezing rain fell, then an unending soliloquy of curses followed as if they could somehow create warmth, while Slyvan produced a midnight cloak that shed the water like an elegant duck. In minutes, her clothes were drenched and her teeth were chattering.
Slyvan gave her a sideways glance, followed by a malicious grin. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort.
When she couldn't take it, she asked him to stop so she could do something about it. She pulled a piece of origami paper from her pocket. Nimble fingers folded it into a tiny umbrella. Then she tried to summon faez so she could enlarge the paper to protect herself from the rain, but it felt like her normal conduit was squeezed shut. Sparks shot from the sides of the paper umbrella, wisping into ozone.
"What a disappointing discovery," said Slyvan. "You're not as hot shit as you thought you were. Can't protect yourself, and can't even keep the rain off your head. What's a little mageling going to do?"
Pi crumpled the paper umbrella and shoved it into her pocket, growling to herself as she kept walking in the direction Slyvan had been headed. She glanced at the skyscrapers, noting they were on her right now.
Slyvan appeared by her side, bowing gallantly, his cloak folded over his arm.
"If you're not feeling up to the weather, you can borrow my cloak. It'll keep you warm and out of the rain," he said.
She stopped, blinked hard at him, and wrinkled her forehead. "You didn't actually think that was going to work, did you?"
"You'd be surprised," he said.
"I'd
freeze to death before I took something from you," she said.
"That can be arranged—it's still a long way to the Ruby Court," he said. "Your lips are rather blue. A pleasing shade, I might add, but it's maybe another two hours, three tops."
Pi jabbed her finger at the skyscrapers. "Bullshit. You've been leading me in circles. I haven't noticed us turning, but that doesn't mean you're not doing it somehow. This city doesn't seem to obey normal rules."
Her response put a knife into his glee, turning it to vague disquiet. He looked as if he'd eaten something that had upset his stomach.
The pale, sharply dressed maetrie with dark hair closed his eyes. The street blurred around Pi, giving her vertigo. When the movement stopped, they stood at the top of a set of stairs heading into darkness. Statues of griffons crouched on pedestals to either side.
"After you," he said, extending his hand.
Pi started down, but not without wondering if he was going to put a dagger into her back. The air was warmer, which soothed her shivering. If she died warm, that would be something at least.
The wide stairs went down multiple levels. As she went, faint pings and gongs echoed upward, vibrating into her chest. It sounded like music was being played on sewer pipes, yet it wasn't unpleasing. Pi found herself hurrying downward to learn the origins of the strange symphony.
The stairs led into a massive grotto, at least a few hundred yards in diameter, a glittering cave of geometric stones. The inner surface looked like a giant geode had been sliced open, then a waterfall of pipes, great and small, had flowed through the middle.
Standing on a narrow platform halfway up the long run of pipes on the multiverse's biggest organ was a heavyset woman in padded leather armor with a two-handed striker in her hands. The platform went the width of the pipes. She ran nimbly from side to side, pounding the pipes. Each swing was the blow of a lumberjack splitting wood, the result of which created a haunting melody that hung in the air and had the whiff of sorcery.
They waited patiently at the edge of the steps while the woman, who Pi assumed was the Ruby Queen, played her song. The notes echoed through her, dissonant like the voice of the earth speaking in words so long they would take days to hear. The music brought forth visions of monuments waking and striding across the city like stone giants. The song made her melancholy, and it almost hurt to listen, not emotionally, but physically, as the pounding vibration shook her bones.
When the song was over, Pi was spent. She checked the rose to find no new spots, but wondered if it could protect from that kind of sonic assault. She started to understand why the Ruby Queen was wearing padded leather armor: otherwise playing music with the gargantuan instrument would drive her mad.
Pi wondered how the Ruby Queen would make her way over since there was no platform that connected the middle area to the steps, but like a mountain goat, she leapt onto the pipes, ran down the largest middle one, and leapt to the stairs when she reached the end.
Her physicality surprised Pi, especially given she was built like a shot-putter. She had short spiky blonde hair, and not a speck of color on her except for the rosiness of her cheeks.
"Pythia Silverthorne. I am Lady Amethyte," she said in a husky voice. "I owe you a debt of gratitude."
Pi didn't know whether to bow or speak, so she did what came naturally. "For what?"
"For putting my dear Slyvan in his place. He's been pouting since he visited Radoslav last, which has left me a measure of quiet, a rare gift in these lands," said Lady Amethyte.
Pi struggled to comprehend this energetic woman, compared to the others she'd met, finally chastising herself for assuming that the three maetrie she'd met somehow represented the whole of their race.
Not knowing what to say, her gaze fell upon the strange organ.
Lady Amethyte's broad lips stretched wide. "Do you like the Ecacathodian, the lungs of the city?"
"The melody was moving," replied Pi.
"What a prescient thing to say," said Lady Amethyte. "Don't you think, Slyvan?"
"Yes, Your Ladyship," he said, docilely.
"You may take your leave," said Lady Amethyte while she twirled the striker on her shoulder. "I want to speak to my new friend alone."
After Slyvan left, Lady Amethyte noticed Pi's blue lips.
"Why, we cannot have that," said Lady Amethyte, who promptly blew out a puff of smoke that, like a serpent, wrapped itself around Pi, tugging the cold water from her clothes. When it was finished, she no longer felt chilled.
"Thank you, Your Ladyship," said Pi.
"Just Amethyte is fine," she said.
Pi found herself liking the Ruby Queen. She wasn't at all what Pi had expected.
"Thank you, Amethyte."
"Radoslav must trust you keenly to have sent you in his place. What do you do for him?" she asked.
"Errands, things he can't trust his other employees with," said Pi, trying to keep it vague.
"Employees?" asked Lady Amethyte as they left the grotto, heading into a tunnel. "Why, that's rather impersonal. If you worked for me, I wouldn't keep you as an employee. You'd have a higher place of honor."
"One employer is enough for me at this time," said Pi.
Lady Amethyte looked down slyly, a husky laugh coming from her belly. "Deftly said. A refusal, while leaving open the possibilities of the future."
Lady Amethyte pushed through swinging double doors, releasing a wall of music, startling Pi in its intensity. They stood on a balcony inside a high-end juke joint. The dance floor was filled with constant motion as what could only be described as elvish swing music set to an up-tempo beat played.
The Lady herself had transformed her leather armor into a black suit with white pinstripes. A lit stub of a cigar stuck from the side of her mouth.
"May I offer you a drink?" asked Lady Amethyte.
"No thank you," replied Pi.
"It's safe, you know. I receive human visitors on a regular basis. It'd be bad for business if I trapped them here on a technicality, so I import food and drinks from your realm," she said, puffing on the cigar.
Thirst made her throat dry. The water sounded delicious, and she didn't want to be rude.
"Show me the bottle," said Pi.
"I'll do you one better. I'll let you open it yourself," said Lady Amethyte.
A server appeared from the private bar behind them with a tray, one single bottle of water perched in the center. The brand was Apenta. It was real glass. The thick kind that no one made anymore. The language looked like something Eastern European.
Pi popped the foil top and held the bottle to her lips. The water was a glorious rush of wetness. She downed the water in one go, and the server was back at her side with a second before Pi removed her lips from the first.
Sheepishly, she took the second, and turned her attention to Lady Amethyte, who was sipping from a martini glass and studying her.
"Why do you need Radoslav?" asked Pi, then she drank from the second bottle.
"Did he not tell you?" asked Lady Amethyte.
"I'd prefer to hear it from you myself," said Pi.
Lady Amethyte set the cigar on the edge of the balcony. "Such confidence for someone so young."
"I had to grow up early," said Pi.
"No wonder Radoslav likes you. He was the same way," said Lady Amethyte, a trace of sadness lingering at the corner of her lip. "Do you know why he left?"
"It didn't come up," said Pi.
"There was a war between the four courts, and after we won, he disappeared," she said.
"Four? I thought there were only three," said Pi.
"The war was the end of the Onyx Court. Prince Radoslav slaughtered the last of them, and now they call him the Black Butcher, behind his back, of course," said Lady Amethyte.
A chill went through Pi as she set the bottle down. His enforced solitude became clearer. He was a mass murderer, or a war criminal, however you looked at it.
"Are you sure you still want to work for him?" asked Lad
y Amethyte.
"Yes," she said, leaving out that she was bound to him for two more years and had no choice.
Lady Amethyte winked. "I know you're loyal. I didn't think you'd say yes otherwise."
"My apologies, Lady Amethyte, but what do you want? I need to get back soon," she said.
"On one side of the War of the Four Courts was Ruby and Jade. On the other was Diamond and Onyx. After we destroyed Onyx, Diamond capitulated and signed a peace agreement. After all, it was they who started it. This peace has existed since, and I'd like to keep it that way, but Jade has been sneaking behind my back and talking with Diamond. I fear they're going to start a new war, except it'll be two against one," said Lady Amethyte.
"You want Radoslav in case it comes to fighting?" asked Pi.
Lady Amethyte straightened her jacket. "No. I want to renew my alliance with Jade and maintain the peace."
"Why is he so important? Can't you speak with the Jade Queen? Surely you don't need him," said Pi, bewildered.
Lady Amethyte set her martini glass down so hard some of the liquid splashed out. Her eyes were ringed with thought. "My darling Kikala won't speak to me, she won't even receive my messages. Even now, I fear it's too late."
"I'm sorry, Lady Amethyte. I can speak to him, but I don't think he'll listen," said Pi, moved by her anguish.
Lady Amethyte grabbed Pi's arm, a plea on her lips. "You must. He's the only one that can right this. If he doesn't then the city will fall into a terrible war. One that's never been seen before. Millions will die if he does not act."
"I'll do what I can, but you have to tell me. Why is he the only one? What's so special about Radoslav?"
"He's our son," said Lady Amethyte.
"Our?" asked Pi.
"Kikala and I," said Lady Amethyte, still holding Pi's arm.
"You're a man?" asked Pi.
Lady Amethyte quirked a smile. "Sometimes. I was for Kikala, when she asked."
Pi was stunned. The books she'd read had said nothing about the maetrie being able to change their sex, but then again, no one lived in the Eternal City, they only visited.
This was a family matter then, and Radoslav was the prodigal son. It explained why Lady Amethyte wanted him, but not why Radoslav refused. Wouldn't he want to repair the relationship between his mothers? Didn't he realize how important family was? Maybe those battles had taken too much out of him, or maybe he didn't know what was at stake. He'd said that he wouldn't come back no matter what, but it was possible he'd thought it a trivial affair.
Web of Lies (The Hundred Halls Book 2) Page 7
