A Secret Atlas (8 page)

Qiro’s icy eyes glittered. “A matter of
Imperial
importance, even.”

“Yes, indeed.” Cyron nodded, but refused to let himself be distracted by Imperial

daydreams. “I will need those charts by the end of the Festival.”

“Consider it done, Highness.” Qiro smiled. “I am given leave to place the dual clock on

the
Stormwolf
?”

“Yes, of course. The sooner the better. The
Stormwolf
cannot leave until after the Festival.

Its premature departure would attract attention.”

“As you desire, Highness.”

A chill ran down Keles’ spine. He dared not move, lest the two of them be reminded he

was there, and motioned to his returning brother to likewise be quiet. His grandfather and

the Prince were making decisions that would shape the future. The blanks on the wall map

would be filled in, and the vast resources of Nalenyr would grow even larger—perhaps

large enough to force the other Principalities to join it or be driven to economic ruin.

Prince Cyron nodded. “Good, very good. I had come here to convey bad news, but you

have made it a joyous day.”

Qiro’s head canted. “Bad news, Highness?”

“Yes. Your request to leave Anturasikun is denied. I will, of course, come here to attend

your birthday celebration.”

The old man’s pale eyes flashed for a moment, then he waved a hand through the air.

“Consider the request withdrawn, Highness. I have so much to do, I may even cancel the

party.”

The Prince shook his head. “To do that would attract attention, and we don’t want that. No,

things will go as planned. You and I will host the Virine and Desei. We will show them how

generous we can be. In the future they will hunger for our generosity again.”

Qiro smiled his predatory smile—sharp and with a flash of teeth. “As you, in your wisdom,

Highness, command.”

“Good.” The Prince bowed, then made to withdraw through the curtains, which Jorim held

open for him. “Your health, and that of the Principality.”

Keles did not like the expression on his brother’s face. Jorim waited for the white curtain to

sag heavily shut, then pointed at Qiro. “You ancient hypocrite!”

Their grandfather’s eyes sharpened. “Be very careful, Jorim. I am in a good mood. Do not

spoil it.”

“I don’t care what sort of mood you’re in!” Jorim’s nostrils flared. “I told you about Borosan

Gryst’s device
months
ago, when I returned from Ummummorar. You dismissed it. You

berated me for being stupid and lazy. You told me that I couldn’t keep the clocks wound,

so I could never care for such a device. And
now
I discover you have sought out the

device? You bastard!”

Qiro kept his voice even, but it came with an edge. “I reconsidered.”

“Reconsidered the device, yes, but not how you treated me. What is it about me?” Jorim

opened his hands and flung his arms wide. “Do you think me stupid? Do you think me . . .

I don’t know what. Why couldn’t you tell me I was right?”

“Because, Jorim, your being correct this
once
hardly excuses all the times you have been lazy and sloppy in your duty to me and this family.”

“Oh, we’ve trod this path before!” Jorim smashed a fist into an open palm, tearing a scab

from a knuckle. “You shame me and I am to be contrite. It doesn’t matter that you never

were going to admit your error!”

“It was not an error, Jorim. Do you want to know what I thought when you came to me? Do

you?” Qiro raised an eyebrow. “Consider carefully before you answer.”

Jorim sucked on the bleeding knuckle for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I want to know.”

“I thought, ‘It is another of his lazy schemes, to get out of work and excuse his inattention.’

Your survey of Ummummorar was adequate, but only barely so. You went, you explored,

you discovered things, but your work was hasty. You allowed yourself to be distracted. I

saw your face, just now, when the Prince thanked you for the specimens you provided to

his sanctuary. That’s good for you, but not for
us
.”

Jorim licked at his split lip. “You mean
you
.”

“I mean
us
. How does your brother benefit? Your sister? Your uncle and cousins? How do

they benefit?”

“I do what I do for the
world
.”

“You little fool, I
am
the world!” Qiro spun and Keles flinched as the old man’s gaze met his in passing. “The world does not exist,
does not exist
until I place it on the map. You bring animals and plants back from places that are nothing and nowhere until
I
show their proper location. The Cataclysm left us buried in black ice. When the dark blizzards came,

people died. The world became naught but snow-choked valleys. Small communities

huddled within ruins of once vast Imperial cities. Our world shrank until I began to grow it

again.”

Qiro thrust a trembling finger at Jorim, but his gaze included Keles. “You are my eyes and

ears and feet and hands. You exist to serve
me,
give
me
information, not to indulge your whims picking flowers and trapping animals! And, worse, disgracing us here in Moriande

by engaging in common street brawling. You stand there with bloody evidence on hand

and face of all I have said.”

Jorim’s hands knotted into fists and his face flushed scarlet. As veins began to rise in his

neck, Keles stepped between the two of them. He pressed his right hand flat against

Jorim’s breast and felt the rage trembling through his brother.

“Stop it, both of you.”

“Don’t try to protect your brother, Keles. He has gone too far.” Qiro snorted. “I shall see to

it that this is a problem no longer. From now on, he shall go nowhere.”

Keles held his left hand palm up toward his grandfather. “Stop it. You don’t mean that.

You’re not that stupid.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear what I said.”
You never heard it from me before, but

perhaps it is time you did.
Keles looked at Jorim. “Back away. Calm down.”

“This is not your fight, Keles. It’s been coming for a long time.”

“I think you’ve done enough fighting for now, Jorim.”

A jolt ran through his younger brother. Tears began welling in his eyes as betrayal

weighted his words. “You, too, Keles? Nothing I do is good enough. I am lazy. I don’t do

my work. I am distracted. I have no discipline. I’m not like you.”

“Jorim.”

The younger man hesitated, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before the

rage drained from him. “I didn’t mean that last.”

“You should have, Jorim. You should be more like your brother.”

Keles felt anger beginning to burn hotly in his chest. He turned to his grandfather. “No, he

shouldn’t be. I should be more like him.”

Qiro straightened up. His voice became a rime-edged whisper. “And exactly
how
do you

mean that,
lyrkyrdin
Keles?”

A fluttering started in his belly.
Was it in a cold rage like this that you sent our father off on
his last journey?
The use of his formal title emphasized how much he had yet to learn, and reinforced just how angry his grandfather was.

“Despite only being ranked Superior, I have gone everywhere you have sent me. I have

learned everything you deigned to teach me. I have been good and dutiful. My reward for

all this was to be posted to the
Stormwolf,
and yet you never chose to tell me of the dual clocks? Had you decided I would go before you knew of them, thereby exposing me to the

risk of being lost or of bringing back inaccurate data, or was I just not important enough to

be told of this discovery? I should have been doing the geometry and preparing to use the

device.”

“So you believe I think you are untrustworthy.”

“Is there another conclusion I should draw from this?” Keles took a deep breath. “I don’t

think you trust any of us.”

“Meaning?”

Jorim answered. “Meaning that you are eighty-one years old. Meaning that Ulan is not, by

disposition and training, capable of taking over for you. Neither are his sons or grandsons.

Meaning that our father, who could have taken over for you, is long gone. Meaning that

Keles, who is best suited to taking over for you, is being sent away and not trained to be

able to do what you do. You complain that what I do is not good for
us,
but you do the same thing.”

“Keles is not ready to take my place.
You
are even further from it.”

“Oh, you may chain me to a desk here, but I never imagined you would train me.”

“Ah, so you
do
have some inkling of your limitations. Good.” Qiro’s eyes narrowed. “You may think it is time for a younger generation to supplant me, but I have forgotten more

than you will ever know.”

“But what if you forget everything without our ever learning it?”

“Stop, again, both of you.” Keles looked at his brother. “I’ll speak for myself, thank you.”

“Then speak.” Qiro and Jorim both looked up as their words echoed each other.

“I will.” Keles straightened. “It’s a simple fact, grandfather, that Jorim is better suited to

the
Stormwolf
expedition than I am. True, I have spent more time at sea than he has, but only a little. You are sending the
Stormwolf
into the unknown, where new plants and

animals and people will be discovered. I don’t care that you don’t care about those things;

the Prince does, the nation does, and Jorim is better prepared to bring that information

back than I am. I can do the surveys and the math, but he can
discover
things. You are

not so foolish as to let your anger with him jeopardize what will be the most important

voyage of a lifetime by letting it go without him, are you? Your anger comes from the fact

that the two of you are so alike, it’s disgusting and obvious to anyone but you.”

“Is that so? Then what would you do?” Qiro half turned and gestured at the map. “Would

you take over for me? Would you do my work, wipe my mouth, wipe my ass, usher me

into my dotage?”

“No,
dicaikyr,
I would learn from you. I would do whatever you asked to guarantee that your work lives forever.”

“Oh, of course, Keles, why did I think differently?” Qiro’s voice rose dramatically. “You’d

learn from me until that merchant-whelp coaxed you to give her family our secrets. You

cannot fool me.”

Keles’ cheeks burned hotly. “Majiata is no longer an issue. She has been sent away,
for

the good of the family
.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Keles found his hands had knotted and forced them open. “I have no desire to

supplant you. I know I could
not
supplant you. I merely wish to become capable of keeping your work alive.”

The old man nodded slowly. “We shall see, we shall see.”

Jorim was about to make a comment, but Keles grabbed the breast of his overshirt and

jerked him toward the curtains. Bowing low, pulling Jorim down with him, Keles spoke

softly.

“Your wisdom is unquestioned, Grandfather. We serve at your whim and will.”

They straightened up and Qiro inclined his head a little toward them. “Words in which you

will find fulfillment or damnation, Keles. I pray you have the wisdom to know which is

which.”

1st day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Moriande, Nalenyr

Moraven Tolo drifted through the throngs of revelers with the ease of smoke wending

through the leaves of a tree. Where others might have seen people in a riot of finery,

wearing masks to disguise themselves, donning gaudy feathers to brighten their costumes

and layering on cosmetics, he saw flows of energy. The crowd moved slowly at times, and

in strong surges at others. By shifting his shoulders or twisting his hips, he passed through

the masses with barely a notice.

He worked his way past the crowds and deeper into the city not because he felt no kinship

with those celebrating. He
did
enjoy the Festival and had enjoyed it in Moriande many

times before. Even if Master Jatan had not sent word to him, Moraven would have made

the trek in this very special year. A sense of urgency, which fascinated him since he had

long since thought he’d conquered that sort of thing, had been growing in him.

He smiled to himself. He enjoyed the spectacle and had a taste for grand things. On the

road, wandering from spot to spot, he seldom had a chance to indulge it—which, he

admitted, was good for the development of his soul and his art. Even so, he envied the

celebrants and wondered how it had been, centuries before, back when the Empire still

existed. He knew without a doubt that the Festivals had been even more ostentatious and

delightful then, and if instead of traveling through Moriande’s streets he could have

traveled back in time to those ancient days, he would have gladly embraced the

opportunity.

The Harvest Festival—save in years of famine—was always a phenomenon of excess.

The hard work of the spring and summer gave way to bellies filled with freshly harvested

produce and coffers brimming with money earned from selling surplus. Wines that had

been laid down years before were bottled; the finest brewers vied to produce the best

beers; and luxuries brought to the capital on trading ships added an element of the novel