The Grass King’s Concubine (67 page)

And finally, after they had checked on Clairet and found her bandaged and eating happily, there was a room and solitude. Not the room where the Cadre had first imprisoned her and not Tsai’s rich quarters, but a room Aude had not seen before. It occupied the south wing of a small courtyard in the lee of the Grass King’s own residence. The courtyard itself was filled with slender birch trees, their white branches already showing hints of green. Shirai had escorted her and Jehan there, brought them trays of bread and fruit and cheese, a deep pitcher of cool white wine and another of water. “The bathing chamber is in the adjacent west wing, and there’s fresh clothing in the press,” he said, and he bowed and took his leave.

Aude took Jehan’s face in both her hands and looked at him. His face was dirt and sweat-smeared. His clothes were
a disgrace. She bit her lip, hard, and said, “I knew. I always knew you’d come for me. My bravest officer. You wouldn’t let me be lost. I knew you’d find me.”

“I knew I’d find you in trouble.” But he smiled at her as he spoke, and his arms closed about her. “I must smell horrible.”

“Like a sewer.” Resting her forehead against his shoulder, she breathed in deeply that odor of sweat and fear. “Worse.”

“And you smell like a bathhouse. Not a respectable one, either.”

She looked up. “Do I want to know how you know about those?”

“No.”

“Was it…?” She wasn’t sure how to ask. “Was it hard, getting here?”

A shiver of laughter ran through him. He said, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Really?”

“Oh, well, after that inn we stayed at the first time we made port…” But there was a note of restraint beneath the laughter. She stepped back, releasing him and looked him in the eye.

She said, “Tell me.”

“I don’t…It wasn’t like normal things. The twins wouldn’t explain, and the house opened up under us, and then there were giant beetles…It sounds crazy.”

“Not to me.”

He put his head to one side, considering her. “No, I suppose not. It was all upside down. Stone boats, a moss sea. Trees made of crystal.” He shivered again, but this was not mirth. “They talked. Dead people talked through them, and I kept listening for you. And then…” Another shiver. “There was her. Tsai.”

She took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. We should never have stayed in that house on the steppe.”

He said nothing to that, only wound his fingers around
hers. They stood in silence for a while. He looked down at her middle. “I didn’t think about…that we might make a child. How long?”

She had no idea. She had lost all sense of time, down here in this static world. She said, “I don’t know. Two months? Three?” She hesitated. “Do you mind?”

“I…” He shook his head. “No.” And then, looking down at himself, “I really need a bath.”

“Yes.” She tightened her fingers on his. “Want me to help.”

“So you know about those bathhouses after all?”

“I know I want to be with you. I don’t want to let you out of my sight. You might vanish.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Never. I swear it.” And then, “I think I must love you. Even after the beetles.”

She kissed him back. “That’s good. Because I definitely love you, even if you do stink.”

In the Courtyard of the King, the five Cadre gathered around the dais: Shirai and Sujien, Liyan and Qiaqia and Tsai. Each was correctly dressed in the full uniform of their banner, except that Qiaqia was unarmed, and her hair hung unbraided down her back. The air was thick with the stink of yeast. From her position halfway down the hall, Aude leaned into Jehan, her hands pressed protectively to her stomach. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. The twins, both ferret-shaped again, circled them, fur bristling and ears back. The air was still, as if the Rice Palace itself held its breath. At the heart of the dais, the doughy mass churned. Limbs formed in it, lumpy and misshapen, reaching out to this Cadre or that. The lump heaved, and a face broke briefly through its surface, mouth open in a silent cry. Bubbles formed, lifted and burst, scattering flakes of thin, brittle stone. A great clump of it spilled outward, groping toward Shirai, who stood firm. It fractured, opening thick fingers to clasp him, and he did not flinch. They closed over him in a cloud of stench and dust. The mass
heaved anew. Under Jehan’s hand, Aude trembled, and he slid his arm around her. The doughy fingers worked, convulsed, and burst apart in a cloud of dust. Someone cried out. Jehan wrapped both his arms around her as Aude turned her head aside, burying it in his shirt. Flakes and fragments of stone pattered onto the floor, bounced off walls, trickled and pittered and bounced into stillness. A ferret chattered. Something fell with a splintering crash. Jehan held on to his wife and stood firm.

Dust spun out in a choking veil. The twins huddled together. Jehan stroked Aude’s hair and whispered, very low, “It’s all right now.” Slowly, she lifted her head. Sujien and Tsai had moved to the left of the dais, Liyan and Qiaqia to the right. Sujien had drawn his sword; smiles danced across Tsai’s face, and twisted the corners of Liyan’s mouth. Only Qiaqia seemed unmoved. And between them, in the center…

The stinking mound of yeast was gone. In its place stood Shirai, his arms outstretched, head thrown back. The dust swirled around him, shimmering brightly. He lifted his arms, and across the room, the shining particles rose. He brought his arms together before him, and the dust followed in their wake. For a moment he was invisible, wrapped in its dense shroud. And then it was gone.

Liyan let out a sound, part cry, part laugh, and dropped to his knees. He said, “Sire.” A beat, and Tsai and Sujien knelt also.

Shirai—but it was not Shirai, or not simply Shirai who stood there, sound as living rock—inclined his head, and said, “Thank you, my Cadre.” The palace shivered. He continued, “You may rise,” and from every part of the hall came a scraping, grinding sound. Jehan fought a desire to step back. He had to stand firm now, for Aude’s sake. But she stood firm and unalarmed beside him. In this place and that, crystal bones slipped together, climbed and writhed, slid into silken robes, shook out long dark limbs, clothed themselves in smooth flesh. Mouths worked, eyes stared, wide and uncertain. On his dais, Shirai said, “You may leave
us.” And in a swish of silk, a whisper of soft soles, the courtiers filed from the room, their voices, raw and shocked, rising from the corridor as they went.

Shirai smiled and held out his hands. Aude looked at Jehan once and then stepped from the circle of his arm and walked down the room. Jehan followed and stopped next to her at the foot of the dais. The twins shadowed him, low and suspicious, their claws loud on the flags. Shirai—this new bright Shirai, said, “Don’t be afraid. All will now be well. My word on it.”

His word. The word of a Cadre, of one of those who had stolen Aude from him, from the Woven House, dragged and bullied her, sought to make her into something she was not, could not be. The word of Shirai, who had healed Clairet and whom Jehan so wanted to trust, and who now shone with something far greater than he had been. Straight-backed, Aude sank into a deep curtsy. She said, “Thank you, Majesty.”

Shirai gestured for her to rise. Then he nodded to Sujien, who stepped down from the dais and brought her a small bench. His eyes slid away from hers as he set it down. Aude sat, reached for Jehan’s hand as he stepped forward to sit beside her. He met Shirai’s eyes and found them calm and level.

Shirai. It made more sense to Jehan, it seemed, than to almost anyone else. It had been written in Marcellan’s book, after all. Five Cadre, one for each element. Earth in air, earth in water, earth in fire, earth in darkness. And earth in earth. The Grass King was earth, quite simply, present in every part of his realm and people. His old form had weakened with the decay of the palace, turned into the doughy destruction that had infested the old audience hall. But he could not die. He was earth, and earth was eternal. Watching over the palace and the other four Cadre, where else would he have gone than into the heart of his closest companion, his second self?
The Grass King is WorldBelow, and WorldBelow is the Grass King
, Marcellan had written. And he was right. If it had always been so, or if Marcellan’s
words had made it so, Jehan neither knew nor wanted to know. Such matters were far better left to philosophers and priests.

Now Shirai smiled and beckoned the twins forward. They hesitated, nosing each other. Then, in a twist of whisker and fur, they transformed into human form. “You,” Shirai said, “are very troublesome.” They hung their heads. “Even more trouble in exile than under my eye, it seems. Your exile is rescinded.”

“Don’t want it,” said one twin.

“We want our man,” said the other.

“Marcellan.”

“We want Marcellan.”

“Did I say,” said the Grass King, “that you could not have him?” The twins stared at the foot of the dais. “Trust, little ones. Wait, and trust.” He turned to the Cadre. “Mo-Qia.”

Qiaqia came forward. The Grass King said, “You want your parole, yes?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“You may have it, if you will grant me one condition.” She said nothing, watching him. He went on, “You must be replaced. And this time, I think it safer to do my own choosing.” He looked again at Jehan and Aude.

A chill laid its hand on the back of Jehan’s neck. He stepped between the Grass King and Aude. “She didn’t have anything to do with all this. It was her ancestors. Centuries ago.”

“Indeed so.”

“And she’s pregnant.” He had followed her so far. He would not lose her now. He said, “If you must have a human, take me.” Aude gasped, reached out for his wrist. He forced himself to stand firm.

“But you are a living man.” The Grass King shook his head. “A living man cannot serve. And I have another candidate.” He lifted his hand, and from the rafters came a cloud of bees, all those Jehan had seen before and more. “These have waited long under my curse, long beyond their
natural span. And I have a promise to fulfill.” He stood, holding his arms out wide. The bees flew into a tall column before him, dark as thunder. Over their hum, the Grass King spoke a word, and their multitude thickened into the shape of a man. For a moment he stood before them all, as square as the Grass King himself, his skin as dark as mature oak. Then he began to change. Gray ran through his hair; his limbs bent and bowed, drew him in on himself. Deep lines carved themselves into his skin, pulled back against bone and sinew. He began to shake and fall.

A twin cried out in protest. “No!” Her sister snatched at the man, supporting his failing form.

“Man is ours.” One twin said.

“We chose. We claimed him.”

“We want him.”

“Peace,” the Grass King said, and held up a hand. “You shall have him. Watch.” The man’s shape trembled again and began to straighten. Like new grass, or grain that ripens in the field, he stretched upward, his limbs filling out, skin smoothing. His head lifted; his eyes opened, bright and clear. Only his hair remained as it had been, graying. “See?” the Grass King said. “He is whole, your Marcellan.”

The man—Marcellan—did not seem dazed, or surprised or even inconvenienced by what had just happened to him. His face was calm and expectant; he looked straight at the Grass King and bowed. The twins squeaked and squealed, hanging on his arms, nuzzling into his neck. A twist, a wriggle and they were ferret-shaped again, one on each of his shoulders. The Grass King said, “Marcellan.”

“Sire?”

“I have need of a new leader for my Darkness Banner. Will you serve? For I can’t let you go.”

Marcellan stroked one twin, then the other. He was just an ordinary man, plain-faced, in later middle life. He sighed. Then he said, “I seem to have no choice.”

“No. But,” and the earthquake whispered once more, “I will have no more meddling.”

Marcellan nodded once. He could not bow a second
time, burdened as he was with the twins. The Grass King considered him a moment longer and then turned away.

He said, “Mo-Qia.”

This time Qiaqia did not bow. She stepped down from the dais and stood there, eyes on the Grass King. He said, “You brought great harm to my realm.” She held silence. “You might simply have asked.” Still she said nothing. He sighed. “I can grant you release. But death…You are dead and beyond dead, Mo-Qia, yet you have form and power of your own. I can send you forth from here, but I can’t unmake you.”

At last, she nodded. “Then I will go forth, if you permit.”

Liyan said, “No!” And then, “Sire…”

“Mo-Liyan,” said the Grass King, “have you not yet learned that you can borrow, but you can’t own?” Liyan stared at his feet. The Grass King went on, “The decision is no longer mine.”

“Then let me go too.” Liyan said. He came to the front of the dais. “Mo-Qia, Qia-kai…”

Qiaqia said nothing, staring fixedly at her feet. Beside Jehan, Aude stirred. Then she stepped forward and said, “My lord, if I might ask a boon?” Jehan stared at her, alarm waking in his veins. She had no sense of caution. She had no
sense.
She would land them in trouble all over again.

He said, softly, “Aude, don’t.” She did not look at him. Back straight, she said, “I have a long way to travel home, and when I get there…Well, my family may not like what I want to do. I’ll need help.” Her chin was up, her shoulders square. He had seen that in her far too often in the streets of the Brass City. She said, “I’ll need help. Perhaps…?”