Season of the Dragon, page 19
This woman has been too long in Qülla. If Pelagia visited the Sulmére, she’d see how people could dwell in the sands their whole lives without once thinking about the capital or the Exalted. For all people in the Sulmére knew, the capital was ruled by a giant rat making decisions by spinning a wheel of fortune. The petty squabbles and territorial battles of the Exalted and the Mājas mattered little to the people of the Sulmére. But there’s no point arguing it with her.
“Come, Quen. It is time for you to meet Xa’Vatra, your true master.”
Doubt crept in like a shadowed beggar. If even Pelagia considers herself a subject of this so-called Exalted, how can I expect this person to nullify her own edict?
Quen fingered the back of her neck. Nausea swelled in her gullet, and chills ran along her spine. A fresh idea grew like a seedling planted in her mind. I have a destiny.
Gods, what destiny did you plan for me? Will my actions be in the name of peaceful Lumine or warring Hiyadi? She had no more answers about Rajani, dragons, or the Dragos Sol’iberi now than when she’d left Solia. I still don’t understand what being Doj’Anira really means, or what the Exalted wants with me.
Quen gingerly pressed her fingers to the bony anomaly at the back of her neck. Visions of Vahgrin came to mind. Vatra fire ignited in her core. I must flee this city. She didn’t know what the gods had planned for her. Frankly, it didn’t matter. Quen had plans of her own. Vahgrin, and any Rajani who compel him, will pay for their crimes.
Chapter 14
Exalted
Exalted Xa’Vatra had summoned Quen to the Palace di Soli, the height of opulence and grandeur in all Indrasi. Quen wanted to hope she was bound for honor, but the lingering malodorous stench of Qülla set her on edge. Thoughts of the mutilation endured by Caz and Luz—and poor Nivi’s capture—made her insides roil. If she had any chance of escaping Qülla, she needed her audience with Xa’Vatra to go well. But Quen feared the Palace di Soli was, like Pelagia’s Palace, a webweaver’s trap, and she was the insect likely to get snared.
At the doorway where she’d entered the Palace with Imbica, Anu’Bida stood with Hem. Anu clapped his hands to his mouth, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Oh, Pelagia. The Exalted will be more than pleased.” His eyes rode up and down Quen’s body.
“Let us hope so.” Pelagia faced Quen. “Anu and Hem will escort you to the palace. I will meet you there.” The shark-tooth dress rattled as she walked swiftly away.
“This way.” Anu held the door open for Quen.
Hem followed and stayed only a pace behind. Anu led them to a narrow sidewalk rounding to the back of the palace. It ended at a stone-paved landing beside a sheer cliff face.
They were at the edge of the city—the part that looked like a piece had been broken off. Above them loomed Mt. Néru. Quen couldn’t see the Palace di Soli cradled in the land like a bit of stew resting in a spoon. She glanced over the edge, careful not to get too close for fear she’d slip on a bit of loose rock and tumble over the side.
Below was a chasm so deep the bottom was a dark void. Reminds me of descriptions of Vay’Nada—the realm of the Shadow. The waterfall’s rushing water drowned all other sounds. The water appeared to drop off into nothingness as it toppled from Mt. Néru into the valley.
A large bronze gong stood between them and the chasm. Anu retrieved the hanging mallet and struck the gong. Its clatter echoed across the deep canyon.
Anu and Hem stood patiently, staring straight ahead as though the sight of a mountain suspended over them was so mundane as to be of no interest. Quen got a sore neck from straining to glimpse the palace. The structure was fascinating, but Quen was even more curious about the sort of people that lived in such a remarkable place.
“Be careful at the edge, Doj’Anira. If you fall, you will be dead before landing. The valley fills with poisonous vapor,” Anu said.
A mountain in suspense. A palace precariously resting over a valley of poisonous gas. Peculiar mechanics of nature—or machinations of the gods—have brought this to be. She stepped away from the edge.
An updraft rustled the skirt of her dress. With the slight breeze came an awful odor of rotten eggs, the same smell that lingered inside the entire walled city.
“You there, back away from the edge,” a man said. His voice was low and muffled, as though spoken through a rolled scroll.
The breeze picked up and brought with it an even fouler odor. Up from the chasm wafted a giant canvas balloon. Attached below was a flying boat of the sort used to traverse the canals.
Inside the boat was a round man wearing a leather sack about his head with a mask protruding forward into what looked like a long bird’s beak. The man wore goggles of thick glass, and a long-sleeved grey suede shirt over long pants of the same material tucked into tightly laced black leather boots. Over the entire ensemble, he wore a long black leather coat. Not a speck of skin was exposed.
The gib-rig operator was a vision scarier than even a child’s nightmare. Why would Xa’Vatra allow someone so disfigured to drive a gib-rig to the palace?
As the gib-rig floated to the edge, the squat man threw a lasso and landed it around the pole holding the gong on the first try. He pulled the rope and brought his flying boat to the chasm’s edge.
With his face entirely covered, it was impossible to view the man’s reaction to seeing Quen, Anu, and Hem. His breathing was loud and labored behind the mask. “Careful gettin’ into the gib-rig.” He offered Quen a hand.
Reluctantly, she accepted his aid, though she worried she was touching a diseased person. His glove was dry, the fingers stiff the way leather gets after years of use. The butterflies in her stomach eased when she got both feet inside the boat. She tried not to think about hanging in the air over a poisonous pit.
Anu entered the flying boat with the driver’s help while Hem hoisted himself in. Quen’s stomach flip-flopped as the small vessel swayed with Hem’s considerable weight.
The driver undid the rope from inside the boat, and they floated up effortlessly and quickly, air whooshing by them. Quen felt as though her belly had dropped to her toes. She laughed a nervous, involuntary giggle.
Anu laughed as well, his nose ring jingling. “So, Pelagia’s dune blossom can smile.”
Quen didn’t like how Anu ogled her chest. “I smile when there is something to smile about.”
Anu’Bida took a tiny round bronze box with a colorful lid out of a pocket hidden inside his tunic. He pinched a snowy-white powder between two fingers and stuck the substance between his cheek and gum. “I would offer you some, but I suspect Pelagia would be cross with me if I delivered you to the Exalted in a swooning state of ecstasy.” His pupils grew large. Anu stood, and the gib-rig wobbled. “Exhilarating, is it not?”
Quen remained silent, trying not to show fear as the gib-rig swayed with Anu’s every move.
He threw his arms out to the side. “Ah, to fly.” He had his eyes closed but opened them suddenly and looked gravely at Quen. “Enjoy this part.”
“What? Watching you try to tip us over?”
He giggled as if he couldn’t stop. “No, shite blossom, the flying. It is the best part of visiting the Palace di Solis.” He flopped down and waved his hand in the air. “The rest will be all kiss this arse over here and talk behind your hand about that one over there. Bend and curtsey and try your best not to kiss the wrong arse or talk about the wrong person. And above all, never contradict the Exalted or anyone on the Conclave. Don’t allow your face to express disagreement, no matter what shite spills from their mouths.” Anu’s expression had grown dark, his last words holding a distinct edge of bitterness.
“This must all be so exhausting for you.”
Anu laughed maniacally. “Sarcasm?” He held his ribs as though the laughing pained him. “I didn’t know that flotsam from the Sea of Dunes had the capacity for it.”
Quen held herself erect, her chin out. “We people of the Sulmére have the capacity for many things.”
Anu’s lips turned up in a churlish smile. “Oh, I bet you do.”
It wasn’t how she’d meant her words to be taken. Quen sighed and decided it wasn’t worth arguing with him. Whatever he pinched from that tiny box has made him like a second-sitting drunk.
Quen made the mistake of looking over the side of the gib-rig. The grounds of Pelagia’s Palace, the Menagerie, and the landing pad zoomed away. Her head swam. She gripped the sides of the gib-rig.
“Have no fear, Doj’Anira. Lyas has not lost one. Yet.”
Lyas snorted, the sound muffled by his mask. He ripped the goggles from his head, pulled the face mask down, and spat over the side. Though puffy and red from the horrid mask, Lyas’s face was normal enough.
“Of course, there is always a first.” Anu’s dilated eyes twinkled with mischief.
Lyas whistled a mournful tune as he worked the ropes that steered the boat as it ascended. Pahpi used to whistle as he worked, but his songs were always cheery tunes. Lyas sounds like he’s headed to a Nilva pyre.
The chilly air made Quen’s flesh bumpy and her nipples taut beneath the gauzy fabric. She wished for her tunic, riding apron, and more than anything, her keffla. It wasn’t so much from modesty. Pahpi always said bodies are gifts from Doj’Madi—the Great Mother—and not something to be ashamed of. But showing one’s mouth to strangers was something a person in the Sulmére rarely did. It made her feel vulnerable and naked.
Hem kept his arms crossed over his broad chest, his face pinched into a scowl. He stared at Quen as if daring her to try for an escape.
Quen ignored Hem’s persistent glare. She tried to forget she was flying in an impossible machine perched over a poison-filled chasm.
Lyas steered the gib-rig away from the black chasm and up over the lip of the sheer rock face. Ahead lay a verdant hill, tender green grass and moss-covered rocks.
Up and up, higher still, past a smaller cliff opening to a deep valley below. And within the verdant bowl was a glowing castle carved from the mountainside itself.
The palace was constructed of sunset-colored marble and stone. Golden pyramids capped soaring spires of red-gold. Intricate carvings, repeating the motifs Quen had seen in Qülla, covered the windows. Vines and birds, flowers, and bees. Soli were abundant, especially Hiyadi. In some depictions, he cradled Lumine like a lover. Hiyadi might long for her, but everyone knows Lumine’s heart yearns for Niyadi. At least that was how people in the Sulmére told the story of Menauld’s most well-known love triangle.
A grand portico, supported by giant marble columns, shone in Hiyadi’s setting light. A massive staircase led to the entrance. On the ground below the stairs was a large stone landing around which stood several gib-rig operators by their rigs. All wore the same protective gear Lyas wore, and they’d removed their headwear as he had. A few smoked pipes. One lay across the seats of his gib-rig, taking a nap.
Lyas worked the ropes to open the hole in the top of the giant balloon. As he did, they descended, touching down in the middle of the stone landing pad. “Welcome to the Palace di Soli.”
Above them, atop a stone staircase that seemed to go forever, the grand palace glowed like a burning ember in the setting sun’s light.
“It’s magnificent,” Quen whispered.
Lyas gave Anu a hand, but he still wobbled as he disembarked. Anu slurred his words. “What, this old thing?” He waved his hand up at the castle. “It is just a hunk of rock.” He drew near to Quen as she descended from the gib-rig. He whispered in her ear. “It’s what’s inside that will blow the Sulmére sand from your arse.”
All eyes of the idle gib-rig operators were on them. A few mouths were agape as they took in Quen. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her unusual height or eyes. Or perhaps the too-revealing slip of a dress Pelagia made her wear. Her cheeks colored.
No older than Quen, one young man took off his hat and bowed low to her.
Anu clapped his hands. “Here now, get yourself up.”
The young man hastily stood, his face red.
“You best never let a member of the Kovan Dynasty see you do that to anyone who is not Kovan.”
The man mumbled, “But the eyes—”
Anu pulled the man by the wrist and shoved him in front of Quen. “Do you see golden eyes here?”
The man shook his head. “’Pology. ‘Pology.”
Anu roughly dropped the man’s wrist and shooed him away. The other gib-rig operators, at first unable to take their eyes off Quen, averted their gaze. They minded their own business in an overtly measured way.
Anu turned his attention to Lyas. “Where are the palanquins?”
Lyas chewed whatever wad of something was in his mouth and spat to the side. “No rides up the steps tonight.”
Out of the flying boat, not a lick of air moved. A thin film of sweat had formed on Anu’s upper lip. Will his nasty sweat melt that beautiful purple from his lips?
Anu raised his voice. “For the love of Niyadi’s skinny ass, why are there no palanquins? You will fetch me one this instant. The Exalted awaits my delivery of this Doj’Anira.”
A few other gib-rig operators bowed to Quen, and Anu looked as though his head would explode with anger. “Stop doing that. You do not bow to anyone but a Kovan. Why can you not understand?” He dabbed his brow with a silk handkerchief. “And why is no one fetching a palanquin?”
The young man who’d initially bowed said, “We heard the ‘Xulted says no rides.”
Anu snorted and stowed his handkerchief in his tunic’s sleeve pocket. “I think you are all lazy and do not want to do your job. The Exalted will hear about this.”
A young woman operator spat out tobacco juice. “Listen here, Ser, it ain’t like that. My da said he heard the ‘Xulted ordered no rides so visitors be thinking ‘bout the glory of Hiyadi as they climbing the steps of Infinite Light. That’s what the steps be called now.”
The stone steps before them had been polished to a high sheen. The light of the two suns shone brightly off the stairs, making them glow as the palace did in the early evening light.
Anu clenched his jaw. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Quen like he said, “More shite here than on a baby’s behind.”
“What say you, Ser?” Lyas asked.
Anu’Bida harrumphed.
“You best get to climbing if you want to be at the Palace afore Hiyadi bids us all ‘night.” Lyas’s face lit up, his dark eyes twinkling, and his ample cheeks dimpling.
Hem said, “I can carry you, Ser, if you need to rest your legs. You be small as a woman, and ole Hem can get you up.”
Anu’s glare at Hem could have withered even the sturdiest desert vine. His face was so red it was nearly purple. “I am no invalid. You will walk behind.” He pulled a small vial from his pocket, filled his long pinky nail with pale-blue powder, and sniffed it up his nose. Anu wiped a bit from the tip of his nose and licked it from his fingers. “Come, Doj’Anira. Apparently, we are destined to climb this together.”
The stairs were more than ample enough for two people to walk side by side. They were shallow and easy to climb, but copious. Clad in silk slippers that barely qualified as shoes, Quen slipped on the first stair of slick stone and nearly went down.
Anu’Bida rolled his eyes.
“Should I carry the Doj’Anira?” Hem asked.
Anu’s voice was pitchy. “For the love of Lumine’s tits, you are not carrying anyone, you cumbersome oaf. What has gotten into you tonight?”
Hem looked genuinely taken aback by his master’s chastisement. “I only thought—”
“I do not pay you to use the jelly inside your thick skull, Hem.” Anu held out his arm to Quen. “Give me your hand. They’ll throw me into a dark cell if you crack open your head on the way to the Palace.”
Anu’s hand was clammy, but she was glad for his help to steady her. They climbed with Hem trailing a few steps behind.
The stone at the bottom of the stairway of Infinite Light had been pearly-pink. As they climbed higher, the color changed to light orange, then darker, and higher above them still were stones of deep red.
Anu stopped to rest, and Quen looked behind them. The stairway had narrowed as they rose. The narrowing gave the stairs the appearance of being higher than they were. There were many stairs, to be sure. She had already counted over one hundred. But the effect from below was of a stairway to the heavens.
“Contemplate Hiyadi,” Anu grumbled. He dabbed at his sweat again as he panted. He looked up at her. “Do people of the Sulmére not sweat?”
Quen shrugged. Her legs were slightly tired, but the climb was more exhilarating than tiring. Smooth, even steps were a blessing compared to climbing sandy dunes. If not for these silly slippers, I’d be in the palace by now.
Anu stowed his handkerchief. “Ah, to be young.”
As they walked, Quen did contemplate, though not Hiyadi as the Exalted intended. Instead, she imagined a roleplay of what she would say to the woman who held Quen’s freedom in her hands. She tried out demanding release, but knew it wouldn’t work. She was in no position to order anything. Quen could beg, but that was no more likely to achieve freedom than commanding. As they neared the top, she concluded that her only hope was to argue it was all a mistake. She would have to prove she was not whatever the Exalted Xa’Vatra hunted. What is she searching for?
The stairs narrowed, and finally, there was room for only one. Anu gestured for her to go ahead of him.
Quen stepped onto a grand walkway paved with smooth grey stones. The mundane stone contrasted starkly with the luxurious marble of the stairway.
As if expecting her question, Anu said, “The stones in this plaza are from the beginnings of the Kovan age. Each ruler has left them here to remind of how their ancestors struggled to bring order to Indrasi and unite the provinces under one liege.”
Given the affluence she had seen so far, it was difficult for Quen to imagine the Kovan family toiling at anything. They appeared to have plenty of servants struggling on their behalf.
