The Gantean (Tales of Blood & Light Book 1) (26 page)

“But you miss her.” Laith’s voice softened. He squeezed my shoulders.

“As I miss my boy.”

“I assume you will not come with me in search of Jaasir and the Cedna just yet?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I must find Tiriq first.”

“You know that this means we will part in two days.”

I grabbed his arm. “Remember, Laith. You cannot kill the Cedna. You must capture her and wait for me. It must be done correctly, in the Gantean way. If you cannot find me, if something happens to me, search for a Gantean man named Atanurat. I expect he can be found in a coastal town along the Parting Sea. He will know what to do. Promise me. Do not kill her until one of us can arrange it. Laith—” I hesitated.

“Yes?”

“My Tianiq. She’s with this man, Atanurat. If anything happens to me, will you find her? Will you make certain she is all right?”

“Someday you’ll explain this better,” he said, but he nodded in agreement with me.

“Promise me?” I held his blue-eyed gaze.

“I promise,” he said in the most solemn tone I’d ever heard leaving his lips.

“Thank you, Laith.”

“You’re my sister. You don’t need to thank me.”

After Laith left I continued to study the two opposing stars on the horizon. My Gantean guilt for shirking my duty almost equally balanced the desperate joy of the thought of finding Tiriq.

This was why we Iksraqtaq cut our bloodcords and our ung-aneraqs: to perform our duties without conflict, to be unfettered.

T
he
deep crevice
of a bay divided Engashta City’s opposing shores like a wedge cleaving stone. The houses, which pressed right up to the pea-soup water, were painted in a smooth, gleaming cream color and trimmed in gold and silver. They reminded me of the porcelain tea cups used at the Palace—delicate, pretty, and rich. More than Murana or Queenstown, Engashta oozed a wealth almost on par with the High City, though an underlying strain hinted at the tense relations amongst the four Houses that ruled the city: Entila, Gaart, Shiree, and Talata. Ruled by all, the city belonged to none.

A cooler wind blew down from the north, pushing the morning fog from Entila’s broad bay.

Laith came to my cabin on the
Tourmaline
the morning after our arrival in the deep-water bay and handed me a jewel-box. “So I can aether-send to you,” he told me as he pressed it into my palms.

“What do you mean?” I peeled the soft lid back. The box held a small opal set on a silver ring, the stone no bigger than a fingernail, round and milky as a pearl.

“It’s like my magestone. I can make sendings to it, and you can draw them out. Be careful. There’s no security on it other than the lynchkey that you use to access it.”

“And what’s that?”

He leaned in close. “The Lethemian sigil for the star that shares your daughter’s name.” He traced a shape across the back of my hand. “You must learn it.” He traced it again. I watched the motion of his hand.

“Again.” I closed my eyes and pictured the shape of what he drew: a star comprised of nine points. Just like the Gantean symbol I’d carved for her.

Laith explained, “You want to try to get it as regular as you can. If it’s too sloppy, it won’t work.”

“Let me try.” I took up his hand and traced the shape.

“Good. Now you can know what becomes of your brothers.”

“Laith, you mustn’t kill her, no matter what she may have done to Jaasir,” I warned yet again. “When you find them, aether-send to tell me where you are. I’m coming after you as soon as we’ve got Costas free and Tiriq safe. Wait for me.”

“I heard you the first ten times, Leila, and I’ll wait as long as I can, but I’ve no idea if I can even keep her captive, much less fight her magic.”

D
ays after Laith
had departed on a ship heading north, Allian and I meandered up the broad quay that ran the length of Engashta’s southwestern harbor. Laith’s messages had pointed us towards Engashta, but here in the city, Costas’s trail went cold. The denizens of the city were either uninformed or uninterested. I had spent two days searching the western market with Miki, scouting, eavesdropping, and making leading small talk with the shopkeepers. People discussed the war, but they spoke of their nephews who’d been called to service or their suffering businesses. No one declared a favorite for High King, not when Costas and Xander Ricknagel had both disappeared as surely as the sun beneath the horizon. Would the Warrior or the Flower rise up in the east tomorrow? No one could say, and no one wanted to express support for the wrong choice. The Engashtans held their tongues, at least in these dangerous times.

After days without success, desperation for information had brought Allian and me to the sketchy footbridge that spanned the river and led to the east side of the city.

“I suppose we must cross.” Allian gestured to the skinny thing.

I frowned. “We’re safer asking questions here on the west side.” But we would cross, inevitably. Costas, if he had truly been brought to Engashta, would be found on the eastern side. The Ricknagel soldiers were stationed there.

“We can ask questions all we want,” Allian argued. “There are no answers here.”

Any misfired questions could get us into serious trouble on the east side. We had heard talk of pressing the poor for service into Ricknagel’s army, and the wariness we encountered told us people feared to speak against Ricknagel.

“If we go, we’d better look the part,” I said. “Everyone has said the eastern side is for those with wealth.”

“We’ll stop at the first shop we see,” Allian promised. “I have jhass enough to outfit us.”

Like the famous bridge that led into Galantia, Engashta’s footbridge was mage-crafted, impossibly narrow and insubstantial to eyes accustomed to the limits of natural physics. The mageglass twisted into rope-like trusses that appeared more fragile than they were. Even so, every time we took a step, the whole structure swayed.

Allian walked so slowly that I assumed he struggled with the vertigo, too. Surely the tenuous bridge discouraged many people from crossing. By the time my feet arrived on solid ground on the east side and I exhaled, I vowed not to traverse it again, even if it meant swimming back to the
Tourmaline
in the western harbor.

“We’ll go back by the sky carriages,” Allian said as he looked over his shoulder at what we had crossed. “They’ll let us once we are dressed better.” The other transit between the two sides of the city involved a costly trek over the water in mageglass carriages suspended from cables. When we had presented ourselves at the sky carriage station, the conductor had refused us passage based on our shabby attire.

We left the shore and headed into the eastern quarter, following a tree-lined path that broadened into a carriage road and then a bustling avenue. Pedestrians and carriages whizzed by at the speed of commerce. We easily found a shop with fancy robes in the window.

“I’m looking for a new tunic,” announced Allian to the shopkeeper’s inquiring look. “Blue, if you have it.”

“Certainly, certainly.” The tailor bowed, a more pleasant look on his face having heard Allian’s cultivated voice. Engashtans, I’d learned these past days, were inveterate snobs. “I have a few ready-made; I could fit one to you?” He pushed through his racks, gesturing for Allian to remove his battered shirt. The tailor found a tunic, laced Allian in, and pinned up the excess fabric.

“Where have you come from, sir?”

“The south.”

“Did you encounter the war as you traveled?” the little man asked.

“In Hemicylix, a bit.” Allian appraised the situation and took a risk, since the tailor seemed talkative. “They say Costas Galatien has been taken.”

“So they do, so they do.” The tailor turned Allian so he could reach the back side of the hem.

I sighed. We never got any response when we delivered the news of Costas’s capture. The tailor continued his pinning silently. I pretended interest in a rack of beaded capelets.

“Now, young man, just let me take this up to my workshop. It won’t be long. Look around at my samples. Maybe you want something else? A better dress for your handmaiden?” The tailor frowned at my Sulphidite garb—I still wore it as a form of protection—as he departed.

“Trusting, isn’t he?” Allian whispered. Despite his now-bare chest, his long leather gloves still covered the magemark he had on his left arm—the one every Dragonnaire received upon induction into the order. “Leaving us unsupervised.”

“Look at this!” I picked up a long, elegant cloak, peacock blue, embellished with intricate gold embroidery. I’d never seen anything like it. “Is it for a man?”

“Absolutely, and most appropriate.” A voice called from behind us. A fat man struggled through the entrance preceded by a tiny child. His gaze locked on Allian’s bare—and one could hardly help but notice, well-muscled—chest.

The child, a genderless creature, had its hair cut around its head in the shape of a mushroom. I returned the child’s bow, keeping up the image of a handmaiden.

“Good day.” The newcomer wore a friendly smile, and a waistcoat stretched across his belly, straining the buttons. He could not hide his obvious interest in Allian. “That cloak is from Vhimsantyr. It
does
require a lean man. I bought it for my niece’s husband upon their wedding. As it turns out, he’s an absolute brick, far too large for the garment. It wouldn’t do at all. The tailor offered to sell it for me. I’ve no use for it, myself. It wouldn’t fit the likes of me, either.”

I caught a manic giggle at the top of my throat. Finally we had found someone willing to talk!

“Try it on, try it!” the man urged Allian as he plucked the cloak from my hands and dropped it over Allian’s shoulders. “You do look
quite
majestic. It would be perfect for the masque. You could go as a Vhimsantese emperor.”

Allian and I stared at the man blankly.

“You are going, aren’t you?” he asked eagerly. “Why else would you be here? This place specializes in costumes.” I glanced nervously down at the servant child, who offered no reaction.

“I’m just getting a new tunic,” Allian said.

“You don’t know about the masque tonight? But you simply must go as a Vhimsantese emperor! You look the part! All you’d need is that cloak and to paint the sigils of a god-born on your cheeks. It works all the better because your girl can still wear a veil as your attendant. She’s a Sulphidite, I assume?” He gave Allian an assessing look. “I’ve heard Sulphidites are quite expensive.”

Allian gave a noncommittal grunt and tried to peel the cloak from his shoulders.

“No, no!” cried the man. “Keep it on!” He tapped his servant’s shoulder. “See what’s over there for a navel-dancer.” The little one snapped to attention and scurried to a rack of clothing in the far corner.

“I didn’t introduce myself. I am Sir Kiril Engashta, as my cousin the duke would have me styled.” He offered a pudgy hand to Allian. “I really was so taken in by you in that cloak.”

Allian took Kiril Engashta’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am ah… Allian—Allian Ker-Kersin. Of Amar.” I glared at Allian and wished he were as smooth with deception as Laith.

“You’re far from home. I wouldn’t have placed you as Amarian. Kersin. Kersin. I don’t know that name. What brings you to Engashta?”

Allian cleared his throat. “Oh, my business has me traveling all over. I don’t often get all the way up here—”

“What business are you in?” Kiril interrupted.

Allian flushed. “Ah, import-export, sir.”

“Very good, very good!” Kiril exclaimed. “I dabble in that myself from time to time. I have friends in Vhimsantyr, so I do my share of ferrying unusual items back from there. It can be so hard to get eastern items these days with the tight control of the border. You are staying with friends in the city?”

“I have a ship. I sleep there with my crew.” Allian’s men had been scouring the city with as little success as we had had.

“Now, a ship is no place to sleep! Leave your crew to manage the boat and do come along with me to my place, Kersin. Or can I call you Allian? I prefer a less formal address, don’t you? There’s plenty of room at my place. The masque begins at the hour of Amarite, and you simply
must
attend as my guest. What have we then?” The little serving child stood before Kiril, burdened with reams of silky fabrics.

The fat man took up two pieces from the pile and held them up. “This one seems a trifle large.” He cast the garment aside and drew up another.

“This is wonderful,” Kiril exclaimed. “I have just the baubles to go with it.”

“Sir,” Allian said in a strangled voice. “She is a Sulphidite. She cannot wear such garb.”

“Oh, nonsense. Maybe if she were in Lysandra, but no one cares here. You’ll love the masque. It’s the most important event Engashta’s ever hosted! I hear Xander Ricknagel let his daughter plan it, which is why it’s a masque.” He gave us a significant look. “She’s disfigured, you know, Lady Sterling.” He leaned in close to us. “The masque is for her betrothal. Xander Ricknagel has promised Lady Sterling to Erich Talata. I hear Ricknagel does not approve of Brokerings, which is understandable. Look what happened to his poor Stesichore.”

Both Allian and I had sprung to full alert at the mention of Ricknagel’s name.

“Lord Ricknagel’s here?” Allian probed. “In Engashta?” I winced as Allian forgot to title Ricknagel king. Obviously this Kiril was a Ricknagel supporter.

“Of course he is! Lady Sterling arrived shortly after him. Tirienne Talata and her son Erich are here as well. They’ll all be at the masque.”

“Forgive me,” Allian said. “I was under the impression that Ricknagel led a war. What is he doing attending masques?”

“You didn’t hear, my boy?” Kiril thrust the bits of clothing he had selected for me into my arms and clapped Allian’s back. “The war’s done. The betrothal’s a celebration! Ricknagel’s won! It’ll be a new era in Lethemia, a Ricknagel era. Such eras tend to be short-lived, of course, but I’ve high hopes for Xander. He’s a strong man with good character.”

“Is Costas dead then?” Allian’s face paled, but his voice remained steady. I could have kicked him for using Costas’s first name so casually.

“Dead? Why, I couldn’t say. I never had a problem with him, of course, but if what they say is true, he murdered his wife! What else could Xander do for the love of his daughter? Xander’s skilled. A bit harsh, a bit rigid, to be sure, but I hear he’s throwing us a fine party.”

I wrinkled my forehead beneath my shroud. What sort of king threw a masquerade ball before he even had the country secured from the war he’d waged upon it?

The tailor returned with Allian’s new tunic.

“So you’ll come to the masque?” Kiril asked as Allian paid for the item and donned it. “I’ll not have no for an answer.”

Allian and I exchanged a quick glance. We both knew the masque would be our best hope of gathering more information. People who knew Costas’s fate would be there. Xander Ricknagel himself would be there.

Allian took the offer. “We’ll come, but I must go back to my ship. I’ll bring my young manservant with me, if you do not mind?” I silently thanked Allian for remembering Miki. He had mentioned when planning our scouting missions that he thought Miki might be the most useful of all of us for gathering information because “people will say things in front of children that they won’t before adults.” This had seemed to reconcile Allian to Miki, at least for the moment. He had said nothing of Oruscani, at any rate, though I had feared the Dragonnaire might hold that death against Miki.

“Why, of course, go fetch him and bring him,” Kiril Engashta said. “I’ll send my servant with you to show you the way back.”