Season of the Dragon, page 20
A grand staircase of creamy white marble curved up on each side. She followed Anu up the left side of the stairs. Red silk curtains covered the walls and billowed in the breeze. As they climbed even more stairs, faint sounds of lively, toe-tapping music grew louder. High, melodious flutes fluttered over dulcimer stringed instruments all in time with deep, mellow drums. If Quen had been there under different circumstances, she would have liked to twirl, feeling the dress’s silk against her bare legs. The music made her daydream, if only for a moment, of swaying to the sultry music with Aldewin.
She shook her head and took a deep breath. Aldewin’s not here. I’m alone in this beautiful but terrible place.
At the top of the stairs, an expansive landing was empty save for guards posted at a wide-open doorway to a massive room. A glass dome topped the hall’s soaring ceiling, giving the appearance of the room being open to the sky. Twilight’s pink light bathed Xa’Vatra’s court in a rosy glow.
Rectangular tables were arranged in a semicircle, divided by a wide aisle. People dressed in fashions like Quen had seen in Qülla filled the seats. There were no long tunics, kefflas, riding aprons, or long pants of rough-spun or linen. A few well-endowed women left little but their nipples covered, and both women and men sported bare midsections and shoulders and showed ample leg. Gold bracelets jingled, and rings glinted in the candlelight of the tables.
Anu’Bida held his head high as he escorted Quen up the middle aisle, leaving Hem in the hall with the guards. As they moved forward, a hush came over the crowd. Quen felt their eyes on her. Their whispers were like the buzz of a cornered desert rattler.
Anu whispered, “Pay the onlookers no mind, Doj’Anira. They may whisper and even gawk. They will pretend they are better than you in public, but most would give anything to be you.”
Quen couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be her—a prisoner who might end up a tongueless thrall. “And the rest? The ones who don’t wish to be in my shoes?”
Anu gave her a sideways smile. “The rest fear you.”
The concept that anyone would fear her, a woman in bondage, was stranger still. “Why would anyone fear me?” Anu didn’t know her, but anyone who did would likely find the idea laughable. At least anyone who’s seen me try to mount a kopek.
They were near the end of the walkway. Anu ignored her question.
Before them was a raised platform of red marble. In the middle was a small table with a large wooden seat carved with Hiyadi and inlaid with solid gold. The chair was empty, at least for now.
Disappointment filled Quen. She’d hoped she could speak with Xa’Vatra right away, but the Exalted wasn’t even at her own feast. I wanted to get this over with. The need to rejoin the hunt for Vahgrin was a persistent nagging itch, ever present in her deepest thoughts. Pondering the hunt for Vahgrin made her Nixan heart flutter, and her neck ridge tingled.
Quen reached for Still Waters. Bide your time, Quen. Patience is your only ally in this.
To each side of the raised dais was a long table with vacant chairs. Pelagia had spoken of the Conclave, presumably Xa’Vatra’s inner circle. I bet the empty seats are for the Conclave.
At the end of the middle aisle was a man dressed in a silk tunic and pants, much like what Anu wore, though the silk wasn’t as finely spun. He wore a pale-pink sash across his body, pinned at his waist. His hair was pulled into a high bun.
Anu stopped and held out his arm, motioning for Quen to halt. The man whispered something into Anu’s ear, and Anu whispered back. The man’s eyebrows rose, but only for a moment before he composed his face into a stoic mask.
“Please welcome Anu’Bida di Māja Wix, guest of Mistress Pelagia.”
People banged their water cups on the table and said, “Welcome, son of Hiyadi,” and cheered.
“At the Mistress’s request, the Exalted grants accommodation for Ser Anu’Bida di Māja Wix to accompany honored guest Quen Tomo Santu di Sulmére, pursuant to Edict 42, a Doj’Anira.”
The assembled gasped, followed by hushed whispers and pointing. No one cheered or bid Quen welcome. It would have bothered her if she cared what these strange people thought.
The man in the pink sash gestured for Anu and Quen to sit at a table on the left. Their table was closest to the aisle and directly in front of the dais. Quen had the best seat in the house to see Xa’Vatra.
They’d barely sat before a young serving woman wearing only flowing silk pants and long hair to cover the tips of her breasts came bearing a cold pitcher of wine. Anu turned Quen’s wine glass over.
“Apologies, Doj’Anira, but by strict order of the Mistress, you are to have no wine this evening.”
The young woman was about to walk away, but Anu objected loudly. “Is my cup upside down?” He held his wine glass up for her to see. “Pour liberally, voiceless hen, or I shall inform your master of your error.”
The woman hastily poured his cup full, her eyes downturned. She waited for him to take a drink, then she topped off his goblet before she glided away to fill more glasses.
“Do all servants have their tongues cut out?”
Anu drank deeply from the wine goblet. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with the orange silk napkin. “Only the women.”
“How awful.” Her heart picked up speed as she worried she would be next to lose her tongue. “Why not the men?”
Anu used a small silver spoon to scoop kikoi nuts into his hand, and he popped them into his mouth. He didn’t bother to swallow before speaking. “Oh, the men lose something else.” He looked down at his lap and pointed to it. “If you get what I mean.” Seeing the aghast look on Quen’s face, he chortled. “What, they don’t take the fortitude of male servants in the Sulmére?”
Quen wasn’t sure which was worse, losing speech or of the ability to—well, to leave one’s mark on the world. “We don’t have servants in the Sulmére.”
Anu faked a shudder. “Why, you practically live second era Dune Blossom.”
After her time in the capital, Quen couldn’t argue against what he said. It was as though Solia and Qülla were of two different times and places. “Why a woman’s tongue and a man’s, er—”
“Surely you have seen kopeks lose their stones. Does it not make them more docile? Men are no different. Besides, they say Xa’Vatra takes from each condemned that which they cherish most. Women love to talk and men to, eh—Well, I do not think I need to tell you.”
“Not all women like to talk.” Quen wasn’t sure she believed what she said, though. Being around girls and women from the herdclans, and Dini and other women in Solia, she couldn’t recall meeting a woman who didn’t enjoy chatter.
Anu popped more nuts into his mouth and shot her a disbelieving look. He took a sip of wine, moved closer, and whispered, “Of course, there are other uses for a woman’s tongue, so perhaps both men and women lose something equivalent, eh?” His eyes were lazy from the alcohol, and his smile too vulgar for Quen’s liking.
They announced more guests, and the crowd welcomed them with cheers, some more enthusiastically than others. When the seats were nearly full, the man in the pink sash announced a name Quen knew.
“Please welcome Kovatha Imbica di Tikli, guest of the Exalted Xa’Vatra.”
The welcome was reserved. Quen noticed Imbica’s back stiffen, her chin thrust out in prideful defiance.
Anu lightly tapped his cup once and quietly clapped a few times. “Skeeving little climber,” he hissed under his breath. “I am surprised the Exalted bothers to honor Imbica in public for bringing you to the capital.”
As much as Quen detested Imbica, she didn’t agree with Anu’s assessment of her. Perhaps the woman was a social climber, as he and Pelagia said. But Imbica had battled Vahgrin and lived to tell the tale. Quen doubted either Anu or Pelagia would survive such an encounter. With a dragon circling Indrasi’s skies, they might consider adjusting their priorities.
A low gong interrupted the buzzing babble of nearly a hundred people speaking at once. The room went silent save for the gong’s echo.
Quen had been mindlessly eating olives. She wiped her fingers and sat up straighter, looking around to see what the hush was about.
At the back of the room, a brilliant ball of light appeared. It bounced first off one wall, then swirled to the other, dancing around the assembled guests.
People laughed and pointed. A few clapped like giddy children.
As the light moved forward up the aisle, two men followed behind. The first man, bent with age, had milky eyes and walked with an ornately carved black cane with a copper knob. Quen had never seen such a long beard. Silken black embroidery edged his deep-crimson robes, and a broad gold silk cummerbund was wrapped around his waist. On his head was a round box-style hat of the same crimson and black, embroidered with a golden Hiyadi. Painted in red between his eyes was the mark of Vatra Pillar. It was merely a sun, the symbol of Hiyadi, painted so it appeared as a third eye. Niyadi and Lumine were missing from the mark.
This is what Rhoji told me about changes the Dynasty has made. Kentaros used to display their devotion to Vaya di Solis by wearing the Trinity symbol.
“Who’s the old man?” Quen asked.
“Prelate Vidar of Val’Vatra Pillar. He’s a legacy member of the Conclave.” Anu sniffed. “But probably not for long.”
At first, Quen thought Prelate Vidar made the light. But the Prelate held his cane in one hand, and the other remained at his side. Behind him walked a much younger man, about Rhoji’s age, Quen guessed. With golden hair to his shoulders, he, too, wore a round box-style hat of crimson, though it was not as richly embroidered as Vidar’s. He wore a short wrap-style tunic in crimson linen over black linen pants to his knees.
As Qülla’s fashion dictated, the man had a clean-shaven face. With an outstretched hand, he controlled the ball of magical light.
When the two men approached the dais, Quen gasped.
“What is it?” Anu asked, his mouth full of olives.
Quen’s breaths were shallow, her heart like a stampeding thukna herd. How can this be?
Anu’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Speak to me, Doj’Anira. Please, by Hiyadi’s light, tell me you have not been poisoned.”
Still unable to speak, she shook her head. She took a sip of water. “I’m—fine.”
Everyone now standing, they bowed. Though still playing, the musicians genuflected.
Prelate Vidar bowed.
And Aldewin bowed.
Chapter 15
Wild
Wild cheers, shouts, and cup pounding filled the grand hall of the Palace di Soli. Like rowdy herders during Solia’s summer festival, Xa’Vatra’s guests cheered, their voices echoing off the stone walls and glass dome. Raucous exuberance replaced elegant restraint.
Quen’s two hearts thumped wildly with renewed hope. Aldewin is here, and if he’s here, maybe Rhoji is, too. I’ll escape the bonds of being Doj’Anira tonight.
Still standing, Anu’Bida pulled her arm. “Bow to the Exalted, dune blossom.”
She wanted to call to Aldewin, but she couldn’t acknowledge him. He was Jagaru, not a member of Xa’Vatra’s court. He must be here by subterfuge.
Aldewin directed the mage light to the throne. The musicians played a fanfare, and a circle of young women wearing only cocourie shell belts danced gracefully before the throne.
Bowed low, Aldewin caught Quen’s eye. After giving her a nod, he focused on the throne above.
Aldewin saw me. He came to help me.
The water-taxi driver—what had she said? “You have friends in the capital.”
It took a colossal effort not to go to him. Still Waters, Quen. She had no idea how Aldewin had gotten past the Niri Bridge and infiltrated Xa’Vatra’s court. He looked like he belonged in the palace, though, and the observation renewed her belief that Aldewin was more than what he claimed. But she’d take those questions up with him once they were beyond Qülla’s walls.
Anu again yanked on her. “Bow!” he hissed.
Quen stood tall. They’d wrongly imprisoned her. They’re the criminals, not me. I won’t bow to injustice.
She glanced to her right and realized the eyes she felt were Imbica’s. Though Imbica bowed like the others, her dark eyes bored into Quen. The mere gaze brought memories of the searing pain of being cooked from the inside out.
Pride be damned, Quen. Bow before Imbica burns you again. Quen grudgingly bowed.
From behind the throne, a woman approached the raised platform. She held Quen’s life in her hands. Quen had planned to reason with her—woman to woman.
As soon as Quen glimpsed Xa’Vatra, doubts arose about her plan to talk her way out of confinement. Many considered the Exalted the representative of the god Hiyadi on Menauld. The vision of Xa’Vatra rising from the shadows made Quen believe it could be true.
A gold headdress spread from the crown of Xa’Vatra’s head like sun rays. Her flawless, dewy brown skin highlighted golden eyes so bright they glowed. With eyelids and lips painted gold, Xa’Vatra’s face shimmered like twilight on rippling water. Quen gasped at Xa’Vatra’s beauty, the personification of Hiyadi’s heavenly light.
The tight-fitting bodice of the Exalted’s sleeveless dress clung to her bosom. It looked as though the artisans who’d carved the palace’s lacy stonework had cut similar patterns from thin sheets of gold to create the dress’s fabric. Xa’Vatra’s bronzed skin showed through the cutouts.
As she stood on the raised dais before her throne, the room stilled. Xa’Vatra surveyed the assembled, her face calm as she scanned the room. The Exalted nodded to the man in the pink sash.
His voice rang out louder and more robust than before. “Behold Her Eminence, born Néru Kovan, daughter of Sunya, raised to Exalted in the auspicious year 1444 of Hiyadi’s Third Epoch, crowned Xa’Vatra, ruler of Indrasi and Exalted over all. Exalted Xa’Vatra welcomes her guests to Palace di Soli in this tenth month of the year 1449.”
With a loving voice like a mother to her children, Xa’Vatra finally said, “Rise, beloveds.”
The Exalted gracefully lowered herself to her throne, and the guests returned to their seats. They murmured hushed whispers until someone pounded a glass. That was enough to urge the assembled to renew their cheers, whistles, and pounding in admiration for their leader. Xa’Vatra nodded and basked in the ongoing adulation.
After many minutes of cheering and adoration, Xa’Vatra raised a single slim hand, and everyone quieted. The pink-sashed man announced Xa’Vatra’s Conclave: Xa’Vatra’s sisters, Nyx and Morana; her brothers, Djeuthui and Hauké; her husband, Asar; and last, Prelate Vidar. They didn’t announce Aldewin, and he was nowhere to be seen. I hope he remains nearby.
Also joining the Conclave at the upper table were Xa’Vatra’s five children. She doesn’t look old enough to have one child, let alone five.
Once the family was seated, Xa’Vatra rang a tiny gong with a small mallet. More topless servers, both female and male, sashayed into the hall from behind the tiger’s eye columns encircling the room. They carried trays of lightly fried orange slices, creamy cheese, and thin slices of bread.
Servants took the first platter to Xa’Vatra’s table. A woman stepped from behind the Exalted, inspected the food, and tasted a bit of each item. After a few moments, she nodded, then returned to the shadows. Waitstaff placed some of each type of food on the Exalted’s plate.
Servers circulated around the room, dishing similar food to each guest. No one ate until Xa’Vatra had taken her first bite, then everyone happily dug in.
Quen was unsure about cooked oranges, but she devoured a plum-like fruit in two bites and downed the lightly buttered bread as if it were air.
“Be slow with eating,” Anu’Bida said.
Quen finished the bite of bread in her mouth. “Why? Are my manners too Sulmére for you?”
Anu put down his fork. “No, because there are five courses in this feast to match the five Corners. This is but the first. If you stuff yourself now, you will be sad when you cannot taste the delicacies offered at the end.”
“Five corners? But there are only four.” She stuffed bread into her mouth, not heeding Anu’Bida’s warning. Her perpetually hollow stomach growled for more.
“I keep forgetting you are from the south.” He took a long draw of wine. “Enara, Vatra, Doka, Qüira, and the Exalted is the fifth.” He used his fingers to create a rough pyramid shape. “She is the pinnacle.”
“But…”
He shot her a shushing look. “Look around you, dune blossom,” he hissed. “Is anyone questioning the pronouncement that there are now five corners rather than four?”
Quen swallowed a wad of bread. “But—”
Anu’Bida’s withering look cut her off. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Sycophants do not question because they curry favor. By Niyadi’s skinny arse, some of them will even come to believe what they’re told because they choose not to think for themselves.”
Quen glanced around the room. “These people change their beliefs solely because she says to?”
Anu sipped his wine and dabbed his painted lips. “Others know the truth but choose to go along because they fear losing the few crumbs the Exalted allows them.” His eyes fixed on the dais, and he tipped his wine cup toward Asar, Xa’Vatra’s husband. “Still others go along with the fictions because they bide their time, waiting for an opportunity. If you hold your tongue, you live to see another day. Tomorrow often brings an opening when one did not exist the day before.”
Quen quietly considered what he’d said. “And in which of these three groups do you belong?”
He drained his cup. Anu’Bida snapped his fingers at a wine bearer and ignored Quen’s question. “Take care what you say of the Corners in this palace.”
No person, not even an Exalted, could make themselves a guardian spirit or god ruling over a realm of elemental energy. As far as Quen knew, the elements were already spoken for. But it sounded like Anu’Bida talked from experience, so she took his advice and let the topic go.
