Alana turned her attention to the buildings that lined the canal. Grand villas and spotless stores, all constructed of the same white stone as the rest of the city. In places, taverns tumbled onto the streets, chairs and tables set out in the sunshine, even though it was cooler now that it was almost Wintertide, their patrons enjoyed drinks of pink as they watched the water-borne traffic go by.
The buildings gave way to a great square, a statue of someone she didn’t know in the center (but she made a mental note to find out who that was when she returned), and clusters of market stalls selling all kinds of things from spices to fabrics. Surrounding the square were generally officious looking buildings, except for something that stuck out like a blind man in a library—an imposing, windowless construct. She recognized it from the accounts she had read—the Cage; the main prison of the city.
The boat came to rest alongside stone steps, where they disembarked and walked out onto the piazzo. The Palazzo Confluens, home of the Assembly, stood before them. The facade featured stone columns that stretched high into the air to support a triangular roof adorned with friezes and gold decoration. Its size was daunting. She’d worked at the palace of Kingshold every day for a few years, both as a servant and now in service to Mareth, but that was a building that had started life as a castle and it had grown to be a home to Kings and Queens over the years; you could even tell where there had been new construction. This, though, was an edifice that had been built from the outset with one purpose; to demand subservience to the Assembly of Ioth.
Alana walked up the stone steps (sixty-eight, she counted) that led to the great golden doors and the guards stationed outside. After an inspection of the invitation and surrendering the weapons of the Ravens to a pompous old steward, they were led inside and through the vast chamber beyond. Their footsteps clicked on the marble floor, echoing around the emptiness of the space. It was cool and quiet; library-like, though the books were replaced by statues that stood in two lines facing each other, and vivid tapestries of a size she had never seen before hung on the walls behind them. She glanced around at her companions to see them taking in the sights. Alana caught her own reflection in a mirrored shield hanging on a wall, a delay between seeing the image of a girl playing dress up, her mouth hanging open, and recognizing it for herself. She clamped her teeth together—did she notice a resulting echo? —and reminded herself that she had a job to do. Mareth believed in her.
Alana ran through the major points she needed to address, the repetition calming her and taking her mind off the deliberately imposing surroundings. Eventually they were brought to a waiting room, a set of polished oak doors remaining tantalizingly closed. Their escort bade them to sit, and they did so in silence while he disappeared into the next room. A few minutes passed until an officious-looking man emerged.
“Ambassador Narring. How good of you to join us,” he said, bowing slightly at the waist. “The Speaker is looking forward to meeting you.”
Alana stood and shook the man’s hand, taking him by surprise. She looked to the Admiral, Dolph and Jill, who joined her on their feet.
“I’m… afraid that we don’t typically talk with martial leaders,” the gatekeeper said to Crews. “Sets the wrong precedent. I’m sure you understand.” The officious-looking man presented what he must have thought was a smile but it had more in common with the type of sneer that only comes with years of practice in telling others that that they were not good enough. “Your staff may wait here too.”
Crews looked thoroughly shocked to be dismissed out of hand. Alana nodded sympathetically and he sat back down into the rose-embroidered cushioned chair with a scowl, his arms folded across his chest, his knees clamped shut. Jill, too, resumed her seat but not before handing to Alana the wooden box and its contents that had been chosen by Chancellor Grey herself. Dolph looked happy to be taking the weight off his feet once more. He gave her a wink.
“Shall we?” prompted Alana, attempting to project an air of confidence now that her companions and her support had been taken away from her. She didn’t look back as she was escorted through to the next room.
Beyond was an office, double-height ceiling with gold moldings, thick carpet from wall to wall, and a desk positioned in the center that was twice the size of the bed that she and her sister had shared when they were children. How she wished she was here. Maybe Mareth sent the wrong sister. Petra could charm anyone.
A man of middling years sat behind the desk, his skin flawless, gray-shot black hair slicked back. What stood out most was his waistcoat, made of thick cotton and embroidered with gold and bright red roses. A star shaped medal sat on his right breast—his badge of office? Her escort had her sit in a chair opposite the desk—the man not yet looking up from the documents laid out before him—and she sank into its soft cushions. It made her feel even smaller, so she shuffled herself forward to sit rod straight on the firmer edge. Everything is designed for an advantage, she thought. Before anyone even talks to you, you’re supposed to feel worthless. She gritted her teeth and smiled politely and waited.
And waited.
The Speaker’s pen scratched on the parchment. Standing it no longer, Alana gave a little cough.
“One moment,” said the man behind the desk, raising a finger in the air. He finished his scratching with a flourish and then handed the paper to the officious man. The Speaker looked up and forced a smile in Alana’s direction. “Ambassador Narring, I presume?”
“That’s right, your honor,” said Alana, hoping that she had researched the means of addressing the Speaker correctly. He didn’t flinch or correct her, so she assumed she was on solid ground. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I bring you greetings from Lord Protector Bollingsmead, and a gift in the spirit of friendship.” She placed the wooden box down on the desk and slid it gently across.
The Speaker stared at her silently. “You are younger than I expected. Though I have had your type visit me in the past. From Pienza, and those savages of the Green Desert.”
Alana blushed, embarrassed and offended in equal measure. Petra had told her about the ambassadors that had visited Mareth recently. “I can assure you, your honor, that I am only here to speak with you.”
“Shame,” he said, before he reached over and drew the gifted box in front of him. The Speaker flipped the lid and withdrew an egg made of gold, filigree and lattice work adorning it. He set it down on the desk on a small ebony stand that also appeared from inside the box. “How… lovely.”
“You need to press the little button on the top,” helped Alana, unconsciously miming what to do with her own index finger.
The Speaker’s finger hovered above the button, apparently unsure what to do for a moment. Did he think that a poisoned needle would prick his finger? That’s probably exactly what he thought she realized. His finger plunged down and depressed the button. The sides of the egg popped out suddenly on hinges halfway up the side, revealing a spinning golden castle on a bed of bright blue silk. The Speaker flinched as music (that Alana recognized as the melody from Tin Man) tinkled from the device.
“Music,” said the Speaker. “Because he is a bard. Very…clever.”
“It’s supposed to be Kingshold too,” said Alana, pointing at the spinning castle. She had been entranced when Mareth had shown her the gift before she left.
“I see that.” The Speaker looked at her as he slid the gift over to one side of his desk. “Very…nice. Thank you. Now, I don’t believe you came all this way to give me a knick-knack.”
Alana was already beginning to wish that the egg did have a poisoned needle in the mechanism. Hardly the beginning she was hoping for, though she had learnt that most first discussions didn’t go quite the way she hoped. “That’s right, your honor. I have been sent to discuss with you the safety and security of the Sapphire Sea.”
“Ah yes, something very dear to my heart. Do go on. What about it?”
“As you know Edland and Ioth have long been friends—”
&n
bsp; “I wouldn’t go that far, young lady,” he interrupted. “Edland has long been envious of our place as the center of trade. I believe that some of my colleagues on the Assembly still refer to Edland as ‘that uppity little island.’” The Speaker bared his teeth in an approximation of a grin, clearly enjoying himself. Alana shuffled in her seat, feeling physically and emotionally uncomfortable.
“Edland and Ioth have long had common interests,” said Alana, correcting herself. “A number of times that has meant joining forces to stop the ambitions of Pyrfew.” The Speaker nodded, conceding. Alana found herself relieved that he had not found something else to disagree with. “Edland is concerned about the Pyrfew fleet that now patrols the Sapphire Sea and wonders why Ioth has chosen to help them.”
“Well, it’s very simple, Ambassador Narring.” The Speaker spoke slowly, unflinching in his gaze. “Pyrfew is now a paying customer.”
“Are you not concerned about their intentions?”
“Not in the slightest. We have a long-term contract to maintain their fleet and they have committed to protecting Ioth vessels from all manner of pirates. Are you interested in what does concern me?”
Alana had half a mind to say ‘no,’ but even though she could tell she was going to get nowhere today, she also knew that response would close the door to any future conversations. She furrowed her brow in mock concern and answered. “What would that be?”
The Speaker leaned forwards and slapped his hands flat on the desk, making her jump at the impact. “I am concerned about you. I am concerned about the people of Ioth getting ideas from Edland and thinking that they can do better than what they have today. I will not have them make the same mistake as you people have.”
“I am unsure what you are referring to,” stammered Alana, though she had a pretty good idea.
“You will talk no more with the good but misguided citizens of Ioth, under penalty of their incarceration and probable dismemberment.” Alana flinched at the threat of violence. “Would you have that on your conscience?” She couldn’t help but shake her head at the thought, though she instantly regretted giving this man a reaction. “No. I thought not.”
The Speaker rested back in his chair and Alana didn’t know what to say. So she did as she had when she was a child and had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She said nothing.
“I think we are done here. Please pass on my regards to your Lord Protector.” The Speaker stood and walked to a door at the rear of the room. He paused and turned back to face Alana. “You are of course welcome to stay for our Wintertide celebrations, but I am sure you… miss home.”
Then he was gone, the door shutting silently behind his retreating form. Alana was left alone with the island of a desk and the musical egg, Tin Man still tinkling away.
“I figure it didn’t go well,” panted Dolph, as he shuffled backward away from Alana’s thrust.
She followed it up with another, and then further flicks of her rapier as she responded to the question through gritted teeth. “What. Makes. You. Say. That?”
Dolph parried the strikes, his feet crunching on the pea gravel as he ceded ground. They were in a small courtyard within the Ambassador’s residence, a miniature fountain gurgled away in the center of the square-shaped peristyle, but otherwise free of adornment. It was proving to be the perfect place to practice. And the perfect place for Alana to let off some steam.
“The way you’re attacking. I like the aggression,” said her tutor as he parried another blow, stepping to the side at the same time and letting Alana’s momentum send her past him. She felt Dolph’s rapier jab into her ribs through the padded training vest she wore. Alana looked to the sky and grunted in frustration at losing the point. “But you need to be careful of falling into a trap.” Dolph let his rapier dip, the spar over, and Alana traipsed over to the fountain to perch on its rim. She panted as she regained her breath, the sweat on her brow feeling good, the exercise making her head feel light, and for a moment she had forgotten the events of that afternoon.
Dolph perched beside her. She took a smidgen of pride that he was a little out of breath. “You’ve come a long way, Alana. And I’m glad our training can help you channel your frustrations. Just remember, we don’t need you to take on an army yourself. Or fight a duel. If something happens you need to protect yourself until someone can come and help. Me or the Ravens won’t be far. I don’t want you picking up any bad habits.”
She nodded. Alana knew this, but damn, it felt good to go on the offensive some times.
“Don’t worry about the meeting. If I know you, I’m sure you have some other ideas.”
Alana nodded again, her eyes focused on the blunted training sword in her hands. “I have some thoughts. But I hoped it would be easy for once.”
“Don’t we all. In my experience, if it’s easy, then it’s not worth doing.” He put his arm around her in a brotherly fashion and she rested her head against his shoulder. She breathed in his scent of sweat and leather, bringing back memories of her father.
“Tell me again how I’m better than Mareth with this thing.” She twirled the point of the rapier in the air, forming small circles.
“Hah! That’s not difficult.” She nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “I mean, you are clearly the superior fighter to the Lord Protector,” he added with a grin. “In fact, you’re probably better than… Ah, Admiral. I was just talking about you.”
Admiral Crews was walking through the courtyard, his hands in his pockets. Alana had noticed that he had taken to roaming the passageways, often passing by when she was training. He looked up at Dolph’s hail and sauntered over.
“Dolph. Lady Alana.” She wasn’t sure why but she was momentarily aware of how close she was sitting to her trainer. “A pleasant evening for some exercise.”
Alana nodded. “Yes. Or are you referring to your walk?”
“Both I guess, though I think you are getting the better work-out.”
“You’re not wrong,” said Dolph, stepping away from their perch to approach Crews. He patted him on the belly. “Looks like you could do with some real exercise. Don’t want to get soft now do you?”
The Admiral looked at Dolph, puzzled and taken aback. “Tell me again why I shouldn’t just leave you here when we return to Kingshold?”
Dolph barked a laugh. “Mareth tried to fire me before and that didn’t work out so well. I don’t think you can manage it. Anyway, I think we’ll be here for a while longer. Right, Alana?”
She nodded again, smiling at Dolph’s teasing. Crews wasn’t so bad, but he could be quite stiff and formal. It would probably do him good to have someone give him a hard time. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Admiral,” she said. “I’m too tired tonight.”
Before Crews could answer, Dolph interjected. “Not too tired for one more round though, I hope.” Alana shrugged. “Good. Admiral, why don’t you take this one? I think I have pulled a muscle.” Dolph touched his ribs where she had elbowed him, obviously feigning injury—her elbows were not that sharp.
The Admiral protested for a few moments, but Dolph’s barbs egged him on until he submitted. Crews took off his blue coat and folded it neatly on the floor, revealing his torso framed in a crisp white shirt devoid of marks or creases. Dolph offered him a training vest too, but he declined.
Alana and Crews faced off against one another, both of them armed with the blunted swords. The Admiral looked slightly perplexed, unsure what he had gotten himself into. He waited to attack, and Alana, mindful of Dolph’s words, waited to defend. After a few seconds of nothing happening, she struck, desperate for them to begin. Crews fended off her attacks. He was not as big a man as Dolph and his parries came with less force, gentle flicks from his wrist. She paused her advance, and now Crews came forward to meet her. He was quick, though also not as quick as Dolph, and she could tell that he was concentrating his attacks on her torso where she was padded; Dolph was not as gentlemanly, he just expected her to get out of the way
.
Now they reached some kind of rhythm. The ting of metal on metal as their blades met. It felt like a demonstration for a feast day. When she sparred with Dolph or Florian, it was more urgent. Intense. She shuffled around the courtyard as Crews continued to press his advances, a smile on his lips. Occasionally he paused to nod as she glided away from a thrust before resuming his attack, but she could tell she was frustrating him. He bought a feint and she nearly scored the strike, but he twisted away at the last second, the shock on his face delighting her. He came in with a quick flurry of jabs, and as Alana moved to evade, her foot banged into the stone of the fountain. She still managed to block but now Crews was close, up against her, their swords locked close to their hilts. He pushed on his blade, the force bending her backward over the water bubbling away in the pool. She stared in his eyes.
“Alana,” came a familiar voice. Crews lingered there, close to her, for a moment longer, before he stepped back and helped Alana regain her balance. She looked around. It was Jill, who had finally stopped referring to her as Lady Narring. She was no lady. Especially not in this training garb. Jill stood alongside Dolph, who had an appraising look on his face. How long had she been watching too? Alana was suddenly very uncomfortable with all this attention.
“What is it, Jill?” she asked. Hopefully politely, though she knew there was an uncommon edge to her voice.
She waved a sealed envelope in the air. “It’s another invitation. From the Sanctum. The Saint would like to see you.”
Chapter 29
Devoted To Arloth
Toad hopped across the canal, leaping from one moored boat to another. He scrambled up the stone steps and set off at a run toward the Ladders. He was going to be late for the meeting, and he still had to fetch Marn. The elevated wooden platform that connected each of the towers of the Ladders, known as the Prom, was teeming as usual in the late afternoon. People looking to finish their business or get home before the sun set, others looking to get out to do whatever they did in the dark. Toad dodged and weaved through the crowds, a shiny crisp apple gripped in each hand as he went. He’d ran through crowds like this before with similar produce in his mitts; he’d been forced to learn how to steal, Arloth save his soul, to stop he and his sister from starving. But today, like all the days since he had met Shep’d, he had earned this food. And he was doing god’s work.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 29
