The Mirrored City (19 page)

The leader of the school had two giant black horns that swept back over his head and muscular back. He broke through the surface into the diving bell. Jessa could discern no eyes. He had a long thin mouth filled with rows of black triangular teeth, but his voice was eerily pleasant. “Empress. We are to escort you to the Maw.”

Jessa suppressed a snicker when she realized one of Pisclatet’s empty sausage casings hung off the side of one of their escort’s impressive horns.

“Give us a moment,” Pisclatet said.

The creature bowed and submerged himself below the waves. The rest of the envoy swam in slow, wide circles.

“Caprae. Fierce warriors,” Pisclatet noted. “The coelacanth could have sent less impressive envoys… or better ones. It’s too soon to read into it.”

“So we make them wait?”

He nodded.

Jessa fidgeted impatiently while Pisclatet hummed a tune to himself and inspected the stitching on his coat. She was ready to be done with this but didn’t want to appear overeager. The denizens of the Abyss viewed impatience as a human flaw. After an interminable wait, Pisclatet dove into the water. Jessa waited a bit more and then dove into the ice cold ocean after him.

Beneath the waves, her senses came alive. Having been born in Amhaven, she had never ventured this far deep before. Her silver dress floated around her legs like a rippling bell. She could sense the sonic vibrations as the Caprae communicated.

Her silver eyes adjusted to the darkness under the water, and she could see clearly for quite a distance. The glowing lights on the Caprae’s faces shone like blazing beacons of light through the depths.

The Caprae shot down toward the bottom of the sea, several of them stopping at various points and floating upright with their beams of light trained on the depths. Jessa realized with some excitement that they were forming a tunnel of sorts, guiding their descent. With each row they passed, the Caprae would charge down and form a new ring at the bottom of the formation. It was like falling through an endless tunnel of light.

Jessa marveled at both their precision and endurance as they made their way ever deeper, propelled, she realized, by the currents created by the Caprae swimmers. She was so mesmerized, she barely noted the passage of time. The lights of the Abyss came alive before her eyes.

The Maw was a vast collection of glowing structures set inside a deep trench. The biggest object, a towering calcified anemone the size of a palace, was a soft violet color. The swimmers guided them there.

More creatures swam around them, many Jessa had seen only in picture books as a child. The Caprae lashed violently at a shark-man that swam too close. They tore it to bits and returned to formation. She tried to get Pisclatet’s attention, but he only glanced at it and continued looking bored.

As they approached the mouth of the massive anemone, its maw widened and a giant glass bubble, the size of a ballroom, emerged on four massive chains. Through the thick foggy glass, she spied greenery and lights.
A terrarium!

She forgot her trepidation as the envoy escorted her to a sealed airlock. She and Pisclatet stepped inside. Water fled the small metal chamber, and the door opened to a lush garden of palm trees and massive ferns. A slight mist fell from droplets of condensation on the ceiling. Birds chirped in the trees, and she watched a monkey pick an orange from the branch of a small tree.

Jessa gasped. “Unreal.”

In the center of the space, a long table with a white cloth awaited them. It was laden with colorful delicacies, crystal decanters, and ancient Thrycean silverware, doubtless the treasure of a sunken ship. A lion reclined on a decorative stone, licking its paw and cleaning its mane.

“They have a fucking lion!” Jessa whispered to Pisclatet. “How did they get a lion down this far?”

He looked at the animal. “Meh. Pisclatet is not impressed.”

Footsteps approached from the opposite side of the sphere. A woman with silver scales on her body and long green hair walked toward them, holding a silver box in both hands. Two fishmen followed behind, carrying a long diaphanous train from her dress.

“Lady Jessa, I am Mariel, slave to Master Sharp-Tooth-Wicked-Fin, most esteemed ambassador to the Arid Places and preceptor of Dark Mysteries. We welcome you.”

“It is
Empress
Jessa,” Pisclatet corrected. “Tempest of Thrycea and heir to the Coral Throne.”

Mariel inclined her head and shut her large eyes for a moment, as if listening to something. She opened her eyes and smiled. “We apologize for any breach of custom. It was not our intention to offend you. May I offer refreshments? My master put much thought into the exacting preparation of the feast in front of you.”

“Thank you but I’m not—” Jessa said, but Pisclatet elbowed her hard in the ribs. She was learning to read the expression behind his large fishy eyes. Jessa smiled. “Thank you, I look forward to dining with you.”

Mariel offered the box to Jessa. “First an exchange of gifts.”

This part of the protocol was not something she expected. She had no gift to offer in exchange. Jessa removed her coronet and held it in front of her. “I kept it safe on the journey down. It has been in my family for many generations.”

Mariel never stopped smiling her painted on smile. She nodded. “It is most suitable, Empress. My master conveys his deep regret that his gift will seem paltry by comparison and humbly begs your pardon. This crown is the symbol of your rulership, is it not?”

“She has dozens more,” Pisclatet said. “Many of them far more valuable and less hideous. Pisclatet is glad for it to find a home far from where anyone can lay eyes on it.”

“I’m sure your master is too modest.” Jessa handed Mariel the crown and took the box.

Mariel looked at Jessa expectantly, and she unlatched the lid of the box. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, sat a gold and ruby ring set with three tear-shaped rubies. The settings were kraken tentacles. It was massive.

“It was your uncle Maelcolm’s,” Mariel began. “My master—and many of us who knew him personally—wishes to convey our deepest condolences for his passing. His loss was both brave and tragic. It pleases me to know a part of him lives on in you.”

Jessa shut the box. “It is very thoughtful, and I will convey your regrets to Sireen and Nasara who knew him better.”

Mariel nodded gracefully and subserviently. “Shall we eat?”

Jessa took a seat at the head of the table, and Mariel sat at the opposite end. Various dignitaries filed in. Jessa tried to remember their names and titles, but they were all slaves or vassals to some coelacanth or another. She hoped Pisclatet was keeping track. Most of them were fishmen, but they were also joined by a giant pink jellyfish in a floating tank of water, the court wizard, if Jessa understood correctly. One of the Caprae, with carvings on his massive horns, was carried in by slaves on a palanquin that resembled a bathtub.

She poured a glass of wine, but it was a foul briny fermented concoction that did not come from grapes. The food, however, was delicious, but Jessa was careful to eat only foods others had sampled first. While she and Mariel made use of their utensils, the other guests fell into a literal feeding frenzy. She realized she needed to move quickly or dinner would be over before she had her fill.

They chatted about trivial matters, most of them curious about life in the Arid Places. They were particularly fascinated by the customary distinctions between edible and inedible animals. That conversation lasted most of the meal. Goats? Yes. Lions? No. Horses? In some places.

When all that remained of the feast were ruined scraps and the tablecloth was stained beyond recognition, Mariel spoke. “That was a lovely meal. But you did not come here for our hospitality. Our masters would know your concerns.”

Jessa smiled politely, making eye contact with each of the guests where applicable. “Thrycea has long enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship with our territories in the Abyss, and you have graciously accepted us as your rulers for nearly a thousand years. I have since heard alarming reports that Agnathan dreadnaughts have bolstered my aunt Nasara’s navy.”

“They have,” an eelman said. His face was dominated by a massive slavering maw. “Nasara holds the Coral Throne. My master understands that is the seat of your power. Without it, forgive my master’s skepticism, you are not the ruler of Thrycea.”

“My power exceeds hers,” Jessa insisted.

“But only just barely,” the Capra interjected. “And there is the other matter of your allegiance to the air-breather, Kondole. My master is deeply disturbed by its reemergence after we helped your ancestors to rid it from Creation.”

Jessa stiffened. “There is room for all faiths to practice in my Empire. Kultea was my mother’s god and the god of many Stormlords. I have no desire to change their minds. Those that wish can continue to—”

One of the fishmen stated, “My master finds this attitude unsettling. If you do not impose your will, you are not the true ruler of the Arid Places. Nasara understands this.”

“Where are your masters?” Jessa demanded.

“They swim around us, whispering their thoughts.” Another fishman motioned to the glass sphere around them. It was too dark and the glass was too foggy to see outside.

Jessa leaned back. “I see. So rather than meet with me directly in open water, they convey their wishes through intermediaries in a bubble strong enough to withstand the crushing pressure of the water. Some might interpret that as fear.”

Mariel cooed, “We chose this place for your comfort, where you can speak easily in your own language. My master—”

Pisclatet belched loudly and dabbed his mouth on the tablecloth. He continued to clean himself for a while before noticing everyone was watching him. He recovered his dignity and sat back in his chair.

“Nasara will die,” Jessa addressed the table. “She is a cruel woman who abused my mother and forged her into a living implement of her hatred. The question becomes, how many others need to die? Your dreadnaughts will kill many of my people, but they are an inconvenience. I will take to the battlefield myself if I have to, but I
will
sit on the Coral Throne.”

The eelman said, “My master will reconsider if this comes to pass, but for now all you have are words.”

“There have been precedents,” the Capra said, “to adjudicate these disputes of power. Normally it would be the Emperor of the Abyss; however, our last emperor met with an untimely end at his own hand furthering your mother’s ambitions. We have no Stormlord ruler to give us guidance in Kultea’s will, so it must be tradition.”

“One of you must die and the other take the Coral Throne.”

“She must appoint us an Emperor of the Abyss.”

“If you are as strong as you say, then prove it by destroying your enemy.”

Mariel, still grinning placidly, said, “We are not governed by strange laws of succession. Our way is simple: the strong devour the weak. We serve only those who could consume us, and we consume those who would serve us, just as you have dined this feast of the flesh of slaves who displeased our masters.”

Jessa’s hand went to her mouth. Her food had been intelligent, feeling creatures. The illness welled inside her.

“I thought it was best I not mention that part,” Pisclatet whispered.

Jessa doubled over and jammed her fingers down her throat until she vomited, which took little prompting. When her dry heaving settled, she wiped her mouth and caught her breath. Her eyes were slits. “Enough with this charade! Tell your masters I would meet them in open water and I will remind them what a Stormlord’s power is.”

“As you wish,” Mariel said solemnly.

The walls of the sphere shattered as raging water and chunks of broken glass came in from all sides, tearing through the plants and wildlife. The soil beneath her buckled, hurling the table and silverware into the air. The pressure of the wave sucked the air from the room, and the water slammed hard into her body with the weight of the world’s oceans.

N
INETEEN

The Libertine

L
IBBY AND
S
WORD

FROM: [email protected] (Oscar Han)

TO:
[email protected]
(Astrid Stephens)

SUBJECT: Lily’s Performance

Astrid,

I am concerned about Dr. Valentine’s recent lab work and commitment to our mission. Her recent reports are a mess (see first attachment), and she has contaminated important experiments through carelessness (see second attachment).

When she does show up for her rotation, she is usually intoxicated and has made unwelcome advances toward other members of my team. This sort of libertine attitude is highly unprofessional and disruptive to our scientific mission. She is vocal in her opinion that the quantum portal will not reopen, and it has a demoralizing effect on the junior researchers.

The recent anomalies, loss of contact with Earth and the death of Dr. Ling are a blow to us all, but I feel she may be experiencing mental health issues. I realize her unique background in biochemistry is sorely needed in light of our nutritional concerns, but until she gets the help she needs, I fear she is more of a hindrance than a help.