Season of the Dragon, page 16
The gorgeous snow tiger sniffed the air, and its gaze rested on Quen. Like Quen’s right eye, the tiger’s eyes were the color of a clear blue sky.
The magnificent cat made no move toward them, content to receive the affections of the woman stroking its back. Quen recognized the woman. She’s Pelagia, Mistress of the Menagerie. Fano told me stories about her and the Menagerie. His description of Pelagia was flawless.
A cape flowed from her bare shoulders to the ground. The cape made it look as though she wore butterfly wings of bright yellow, orange, and red rimmed in black. Light spilled through the iron latticework, and the woman’s wrap shimmered. Quen stared at the cape, and upon the woman turning toward them, she realized why it glittered. The butterfly effect was, in fact, made from real butterfly wings. Somehow, Pelagia had placed hundreds, maybe thousands, of butterflies, creating the illusion of enormous, flowing butterfly wings.
Pelagia’s skin was so pale it looked like she’d never seen the Brothers’ light. Beneath the elaborate cape was a collar of bleached bone. Attached to this collar, held by perhaps a single strong filament, a thin wisp of silky cloth skimmed her long, slim body. More wings adorned her pale-grey eyes, creating the effect of butterflies kissing her eyelids.
Her accent was northern, like Aldewin’s. “Imbica.”
The woman moved toward them, gliding as if on unseen rollers. It’s like she’s made of smoke rather than flesh and bone.
Pelagia approached Imbica and gave a curtsy, dipping low but still at eye level with the Kovatha. She was as tall as Quen, perhaps even taller. She never took her eyes from Imbica’s. Her lips curled into a small, courteous smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a Kovatha visit?” Her voice was low and smooth.
Imbica yanked on the chain, forcing Quen to stand beside her. “Under Edict 42 in year five of the reign of Xa’Vatra, Exalted Ruler of the Kovan Dynasty, Hiyadi’s Third Epoch, I deliver this day a Doj’Anira.”
Excited anticipation rendered Quen breathless. She’d never met a woman taller than her, nor one with such pale skin, hair, and eyes. Pelagia was like an incarnation of Lumine, fallen from the heavens as a butterfly. Pelagia’s otherworldly beauty and grace disarmed her.
Imbica yanked on the chain and hissed, “Kneel.”
Quen was about to obey, but Pelagia waved her up. “I am not the Exalted, Imbica. No kneeling is required here.”
Pelagia locked eyes with Quen. She peered first into Quen’s right eye, the clear blue one, then the left amber-colored one. “A Doj’Anira from the Vindaô?” Her voice was a whisper.
“No, from the Sulmére.”
Pelagia circled them as if inspecting the package Imbica had delivered. “Where did you find her?”
“Recovered at the Tilaj Gates. She’d been traveling with Druvna’s little band of rogue Jagaru.”
What did Imbica mean by ‘rogue’ Jagaru?
Pelagia stood less than a pace in front of Imbica. “And you, loyal servant of the Dynasty, took the Doj’Anira off Druvna’s hands.” She wore a bemused smile.
“Of course, as Edict 42 mandates. And I have delivered it forthwith to the Mistress of the Menagerie, as the law requires.”
Pelagia was silent but gave Imbica a cordial smile. She clicked her tongue, and the magnificent tiger rose from its perch atop the rocks, leaped over the stream in one easy jump, and sidled up to Pelagia.
The tiger’s head was half again as large as a person’s head. He was tall enough to stare Imbica in the eye. Pelagia stroked the cat’s head.
“Were you under the impression you may abuse and neglect a Doj’Anira?” Pelagia asked.
“I never.” Imbica attempted to sound aghast at the accusation. She’s a terrible actor.
Pelagia smirked then once again regarded Quen. Her movements were slow and deliberate, and she ran a long, thin finger along Quen’s jawline. Her touch was gentle. Pelagia grasped Quen’s hands, thrust her palms up, and examined them. Quen’s chains rattled, and Pelagia’s smile disappeared.
Spidery blue veins threaded Quen’s palms. They radiated from an intense blue at the center to a purple-red at the fingertips. Imbica had said the evidence of her immolation spell was temporary, but in the days since, the bruises had bloomed an even nastier shade of purple.
“You immolated her.” Pelagia’s calm grey-blue eyes grew dark with anger.
“She attempted to escape.”
“You could have subdued her.”
“How else could I counter her power?” Imbica asked. “I had to prevent her escape.”
The giant snow tiger curled his upper lip, showing a mouth full of pointy teeth fit for tearing and shredding flesh. His chest rumbled with a low growl.
“Be still, Nivi.” Pelagia patted Nivi’s massive head, soothing him. “You see. Such primitive methods are unnecessary, even when calming a ferocious beast.” She glared at Imbica, her pale eyes now dark with anger. “Now remove the shackles and chains.”
Imbica didn’t invoke the spell to open the scorpion lock. “I do not recommend it. Not until you have shown you can control this Doj’Anira.”
Pelagia’s laugh was deep and throaty. “I need show you nothing. You have delivered the Doj’Anira as required. Your service is complete. Remove the shackles. Take your chains and go.” All feigned amiability toward Imbica was gone from her voice and demeanor.
Nivi growled again and bared his teeth. Pelagia’s glare could have withered a day-blooming desert marigold.
The Kovatha wound her hands and thrust them toward the lock while whispering an incantation in the ancient tongue. “I came far, you know. Lost a wagon, a yindril, and two horses on this errand.”
The scorpion lock’s legs clicked forward and up, releasing their grip on Quen’s wrists. The shackles fell, revealing pale skin in contrast to the dirt covering the rest of her. Quen rubbed her wrists. I feel freer already. Unlike Imbica, Pelagia seems kind. Maybe she’ll help me plead my case to the Exalted.
Imbica retrieved the clunky cuffs. Pelagia held two shiny gold kovars between her fingers. Where did those coins come from? Pelagia had no purse, pouch, or hidden pockets in such a thin shift.
Imbica snorted. “You think you need to pay me, like a common trader, and I will be happy for your gold?”
Pelagia smiled wide. “You are a money collector, no?”
Imbica still didn’t grab the coins.
Quen knew little about how money worked beyond the Sulmére, but she knew a copper kovar was worth many skins. A silver one could buy a half-dozen thukna or a small herd of drey. She couldn’t imagine how many thukna a gold kovar was worth. She’d never seen one gold kovar before. Before her eyes were two. A fortune in the Sulmére.
“You want to leave empty-handed? And after all your troubles,” Pelagia said. She slid the coins together, and they clinked.
Imbica held out her hand. Pelagia dropped the coins into Imbica’s open palm, avoiding touching her skin.
“You will tell the Exalted, won’t you? I am the one who delivered this Doj’Anira?” Imbica’s voice had lost its stoic indifference. She now sounded like a begging child.
Pelagia again focused her attention on Quen, and gave her a bemused smile.
“Mistress—you will tell the Exalted?”
Pelagia waved her off. “Yes, yes. You did your duty. If I were you, I would go back to southern sands. Who knows, Imbica, you may be lucky enough to find another Doj’Anira wandering the dunes. A few more gold kovars, and you can buy yourself out of the slums.”
Pelagia turned and flourished her remarkable cape. As she did, a few butterflies moved, breaking the pattern. Quen gasped. I thought they’d used dead butterflies to construct the cape, but these are alive. How does she control them to make them behave in such an odd way?
If Pelagia’s living cape awed Imbica, she didn’t show it. “Mark my word. You must watch yourself and take care with this one.”
Pelagia continued strolling away, and Nivi padded after her.
“She may be Rajani,” Imbica called.
Pelagia stopped. She called over her shoulder, “Are you coming, Doj’Anira?”
Quen turned her gaze to Imbica, the woman who had taken her from her First Kin, friends, and future. I wish Pelagia would allow Nivi to sink his teeth into Imbica. It would serve her right.
Imbica, her voice higher and more shrill, implored Pelagia. “There are strange things afoot in Indrasi. What are these ‘Doj’Anira’? Is it related to the dragon?”
Pelagia continued walking, as though oblivious to Imbica’s strident queries. She showed no interest in what Imbica said. Not even Imbica’s mention of a dragon.
Quen turned her back on Imbica. She followed Pelagia through the courtyard garden toward the impressive black-lacquered door set within an intricate brass web. Quen hoped she’d never see the puffy-faced Imbica again.
Pelagia slid through the doorway into a metalwork spider’s web. Desperate for answers, Quen entered Pelagia’s web.
Chapter 12
Temerity
Temerity in check, Quen hurried after Pelagia. A grand iron door banged shut, the sound echoing off the glass walls and stone floor. Pelagia led Quen through a hall of iron ribs and glass, the only sounds the subtle swish of her silken gown and the occasional flap of butterfly wings.
“I am sure you have many questions.” Pelagia didn’t stop to allow for conversation.
“I have so many questions, my head feels like dust in a sandstorm.”
Pelagia chuckled softly as she opened the last door in the long hall. “You must be exhausted from your journey.” She took Quen’s hand in her long, thin one. “And I fear you were badly mistreated.” She gazed at Quen’s purple palm and shook her head. Pelagia favored her with a friendly smile. “There will be plenty of time for questions. And under the Edict, I must arrange an audience for you with the Exalted.”
Quen’s hearts double-thumped.
“But first, you need rest. And a bath.”
They entered a room larger than all the living space Quen’s family had occupied in Solia. Light shone through a vibrantly colored glass ceiling, casting a warm glow on plastered walls painted violet. A raised platform occupied the center of the room. On it, a sumptuous bed splayed with silk covers and pillows of teal, aubergine, and emerald-green pillows beckoned for sleep. Potted plants, both tall and small, undulated from the wall edges, making the bed look as though plopped into a forest. A copper tub, large enough for Quen to lie In, invited her for a bath.
Pelagia pushed a silent black button on a panel beside the door and pulled a fire starter kit from a wood table. She struck a spark and lit lamps on either side of the door and one on the table.
By the time Pelagia lit the lamps, two small women had appeared. Both wore long silky pants billowing about their legs. The pants rested low on their hips while their small chests were covered with little more than strings, their stomachs bare. The women wore their dark hair down, not braided as most people in the Sulmére.
Both women, like Quen, had two different-colored eyes, though each had one brown and one green instead of blue and yellow-amber. They are Doj’Anira. Were they brought to the Menagerie under Edict 42 like me? Is this what I am to become? It was strange for the Exalted to create a law to conscript people to be house servants. Plenty of desperate people across the continent readily sold themselves into indentured servitude in the capital. For a set time, they exchanged their freedom for a roof over their head and food in their belly. Not a life I would choose.
The twins bowed slightly to Pelagia as they entered, then stood side by side.
“Luz and Caz, welcome our new Doj’Anira.”
The two women bowed to Quen. They wore a mask of neutrality, evincing no curiosity about Quen. Unsure whether Qülla custom called for a bow, curtsy, or something else entirely, Quen opted to nod and smile. The twins responded with stoic, emotionless masks.
Pelagia returned her gaze to Quen. Her welcoming smile stoked Quen’s hope that being Doj’Anira was an honor, not a curse. Maybe the Exalted didn’t intend for Imbica to mistreat me.
“The Doj’Anira has had a long journey.” Pelagia gently took Quen’s hand in hers, staring down at the purple and blue bruises. She frowned. “And has been ill-treated. Bathe her, and massage away the soreness from her journey.” Pelagia squeezed her hand, her eyes glistening. “And feed her well.”
At the mere mention of food, Quen’s stomach rumbled loudly. I hope Pelagia didn’t hear that.
Pelagia let go of Quen’s hand and turned to leave.
“Wait. I’m not too tired to talk. What is this place? Why was I brought here? What does being Doj’Anira mean?” She glanced at Caz and Luz, still standing like statues, their faces expressionless. “And when will I get to meet with the Exalted and get this whole thing sorted?”
“Oh, my dune flower,” Pelagia said. “You say you are not tired, yet your face looks careworn. It is my job to see to your needs, and I cannot deliver you to the Palace in your state. Besides, one does not simply pop in for a visit with the Exalted. I must follow protocols. While I work on that, allow Caz and Luz to massage the knots from your back and the cares from your mind. Sleep. Eat. Recuperate.” At the door now, she looked back before crossing the threshold. “Food and rest are nearly as good as O’Dishi chants to cure whatever ails you.”
Dini had said something similar. Pelagia knows of Sulmére healing arts? Amidst the glamour and wealth of Pelagia’s palace, she longed for tea out of Dini’s handmade earthenware cup and a bit of Rhoji’s simple stew eaten with family. Unless your drink can transport me back to the life I had before Nevara darkened my door, then I doubt you can cure what ails me.
Pelagia glided out the door, her butterfly cape outstretched behind her. She left Quen with more questions than before.
The women wasted no time drawing Quen’s bath. In the parched Sulmére, bathing was a weekly basin of water and cloth, with wipe downs of huson oil between. Quen rarely had the opportunity to immerse fully in water.
“Thank you. I can bathe myself.”
Rather than taking the cue to leave, they helped her undress. Before Quen could protest, they’d peeled off her filthy, frayed riding tunic, scorched riding apron, outer pants, and leg wrappings. The two even stripped off her treasured inner silk tank and long underpants, luxuries Pahpi had bartered many skins for as a gift to Quen. She stood naked and instinctively covered her breasts and tender parts with her hands in an attempt at modesty.
Caz took Quen by the hand and led her to the bath. The brass and bead necklaces Caz wore jingled as she walked. Luz poured scented oil from a small ewer into the steaming water.
Each took a hand and helped Quen step onto the platform then down into the scented water. Quen lay back, splashing some of the water out. She giggled, and the two women smiled amiably but said nothing.
The water was the perfect temperature. The steam carried an intoxicating spicy floral scent. Quen rested her head on the curved tub back and nearly cried with joy. The water buoyed her, and Quen relaxed fully into Enara’s loving waters.
She closed her eyes and nearly drifted to sleep. Caz lifted an arm and washed Quen from armpit to fingertips and cleaned underneath her nails with a small metal tool.
While Caz bathed Quen, Luz washed her hair. She gathered a separate basin and let the water drain down from Quen’s head, the warm water whisking away weeks of sand, sweat, and grime. After running through three fresh changes of rinse water, Luz turned her attention to massaging Quen’s neck and shoulders, pressing the tension out of her.
Quen drifted in and out of sleep. She would float into a dream only to wake as they moved to another body part to wash or massage. They spoke neither to Quen nor to each other. There was only the gentle slosh of water and the fragrant odor of flowers.
By the time the bath ended, Quen felt like she had been given nys’t. Her limbs were fluid, her mind free of questions or cares.
Caz and Luz steered her to the bed when the bath was done. Quen didn’t argue.
Quen was used to sleeping on the ground with only a pallet of reeds for comfort. The fluffy bed was like resting on a cloud. Quen was asleep before Luz and Caz had turned out the lamps.
• • •
Quen slept the rest of the day, the night, and into the following day. She might not have woken then, except her stomach protested its aching hunger.
Not knowing where to go or what to do, she pressed the small black button on the wall she’d seen Pelagia use. Within a few minutes, Caz and Luz appeared. As before, neither of them spoke.
“I’m hungry,” Quen said. Unsure if they understood, she rubbed her stomach and pantomimed eating.
They nodded in unison, and Luz waved her to follow. Someone had dressed Quen in a creamy-white tunic tied about her waist, with bell sleeves dropping from the wrists in long tails. Her legs were naked beneath the tunic. It’s odd to have bare legs. I like it. Caz retrieved a pair of white silk slippers that matched the gown. The slippers were whisper-light on her feet.
She followed Caz and Luz out into the sun-filled hall, back to the vestibule with three doors, and this time they took the middle door leading to another courtyard. It was as though she had stepped outside, but beneath her feet was a floor of polished stone, overhead a ceiling of glass and brass. Bird song filled the sultry air.
Quen followed the women on a winding path of time-worn stone that opened onto a large patio of polished orange-red marble. In the center was an ornately carved wood table surrounded by at least a dozen chairs. At the far end of the table, Pelagia perused a scroll while Nivi sat by her side.
The scroll was attached both top and bottom to a brass mechanism that held it flat for reading. Pelagia wound a lever on the side to reveal more of the manuscript. As Quen entered, Pelagia looked up from the scroll, and her eyes brightened at the sight of Quen.
Pelagia’s butterfly dress was gone. Instead, she wore a sleeveless gown of feathers in rainbow colors. The neckline was a low V, outlined in vibrant red feathers. Under her bust, the feathers morphed from red to orange, blending to yellow at the hip, then green, blue, and deep indigo at the floor. Stylized wings at her shoulders gave the impression Pelagia had spread her wings and was about to fly.
