The Promise of the Child (58 page)

He noticed Envoy looking at him and cleared his throat. “I heard the war, when I came here from the Utopia.”

“Loud, isn't it?”

“Like thunder.”

The trees opened up to the edges of the embassy gardens, the air dampening. Lycaste noticed how grey the clouds had become, like old linen, and the trees moved more restlessly in the wind than they had anywhere else he'd been. Once the landscape dulled as a passing cloud obscured the vague light, and Lycaste felt an imagined chill pass through him.

“Well, we're secure up here,” Envoy said. “There are Protocols, things made clear by those to whom the boy-king listens. Even if Elatine succeeds in the Greater Second, the First shall endure.” He laughed quietly to himself and sighed. “Listen to me—I'm sorry, Lycaste, we talk about the war up here like we discuss the weather, you must be very bored of hearing about it.”

Lycaste shook his head. “No, I know so little about it all. We are safe from them? The Asiatic?”

“Quite safe. My own guard are loyal, raised from infancy here at the embassy.”

Lycaste looked about, always hoping to see one of the giants following them through the woodlands, but he and Envoy appeared to be alone. He still couldn't believe he was safe from the Berenzargols simply because of an ancient border only visible on maps.

“I still don't think I understand, Envoy.” He pointed stupidly at his face. “You took me away, delivered me from those people—even though I had been tried and found guilty—because of how I look?”

Envoy smiled broadly, nodding at the apparent ridiculousness of the situation. “Because of how you look, Lycaste.”

Lycaste couldn't help but smile back. “And they—Callistemon's family—had no choice but to accept your decision.”

The Firstling shrugged modestly. “Oh, not my decision. My instructions came from higher up, from court. Do you understand? From His
Enlightenment
, Lyonothamnus the Second himself.”

Lycaste took a moment to digest what the Firstling had said. “What would the king want with me? I was famous in the Tenth already, he could have come to see me then.”

“Indeed? Well, you're famous in the First now, a different thing entirely.”

They were back in the garden again, passing ornamental bushes and scampering serving finches. Lycaste turned to watch them run, smiling. A light drizzle floated in the grey air. Envoy stretched, yawning silently. Lycaste glimpsed the teeth again, tiny white triangles against his golden skin.

“You mentioned coming from the Utopia, Lycaste. I heard you were there for quite some time?”

“A little while.” Lycaste felt less at ease when the man asked him questions in return.

“How did you find
them
? I heard they are all quite mad—is that so?”

Lycaste shrugged. “Have you never been?”

“Well, I did the grand tour, like most First men. Dutifully introduced myself to my ancestors and strolled the ruins of Olimp and Terziyan. All very lovely, but I found their company understandably lacking.”

“Well, then, you've been there—you've seen them.”

“Most were mad, in a way.” He glanced at Lycaste, creamy eyes narrowing. “But they're not
all
like that, are they, Lycaste?”

He looked blankly back, waiting.

“It's all right, this isn't an interrogation.” Envoy leaned forward. “I've met one, too, you see.”

Lycaste put his hands behind his back stiffly and continued walking, sensing Envoy wished to stop a while or sit.

“You are most privileged, Lycaste,” the Firstling continued, lengthening his stride to keep up. “These particular Amaranthine only appear to people for a reason, you know.”

“And why were you honoured so?” Lycaste asked quickly, unwilling to slow his pace.

“I still don't know.”

He finally stopped and turned. “How did you know about …?”

“About you?” Envoy grinned, eyes flicking to Lycaste's stomach. “I was at the show trial. That injury you sustained was clearly fatal. I'd already written to tell the king's secretaries that he would be disappointed, and had to hastily recall the letter.” He reached out slowly, hesitantly, towards Lycaste's scar. “It appears you have a guardian angel. They make themselves known only if it is their desire, never by accident. Was he among us, then, at the trial?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps he's here now.”

Envoy assumed an expression of mock fear, glancing about the garden. His face softened to a smile. “You won't need him here.”

Lycaste glowered at him. “You give me your word?”

Envoy reached to place a hand on his arm. “You are
absolved
, my dear fellow. Didn't you realise? When the king requests one's presence, puny Second noblemen see to it that they obey. That was Penstemon's mistake, but you taught him better than I could, didn't you?” He laughed.

Lycaste laughed, too, his tension seeping away. He'd never have imagined it possible, that the ordeal could somehow end this way. “I was sick of people telling me what to do.”

“There comes a time, doesn't there, when one puts one's foot down,” the Firstling agreed, smiling up at him. “For what it's worth, I'm proud of you. They are a
nasty
little family, those Berenzargols. Too much influence for such an ignorant bunch.”

He stretched again, looking out to the embassy. “And now I have to leave you for a little while. The lodge where you slept this morning is yours until your departure. It's been a pleasure, Lycaste. I'm glad to say, after meeting you, that the interest shown in you by the First is justified.” He smiled toothily. “Would you come up to the embassy dining room for main supper tonight?”

Lycaste shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

“I find you too fascinating to leave to dawdle in the grounds. Please, you'll enjoy it.”

“Fine.”

“Good. I'll come and collect you end of third Quarter.”

“Farewell, Envoy.”

“Until then, Lycaste.”

Normally people said dusk. Dusk was a perfectly reasonable and unambiguous measure of the Quarter. It was still daylight when Envoy came for Lycaste, and he wasn't at all hungry yet. Together they walked, chatting politely, through the dimming woodland to a path that flanked the embassy, crossing a bridge over a clear stream and entering the building through a high, open arch.

Lycaste caressed his beard as they walked beneath the arch, feeling how soft his usually wiry hair had become. The necessarium in his lodge was extraordinary, equipped with pools of scented water and coloured oils and a retinue of servants on hand to wash and dry him. Lycaste had shrugged them off at first, unnerved by the attention, but had gradually relaxed.

Envoy watched him stroking his beard. “Did you try the fragrances? I smell nothing on you.”

“Fragrances?”

“In the room adjoining the water-chamber, on one of the shelves—a row of bottles. They are scents, aphrodisiacs and such.”

Lycaste had no idea what
aphrodisiacs
were. “No. I'm happy just to be so clean.”

For much of the day he'd been wary of dropping his guard in the luxurious household where he was staying, looking up sharply whenever a serving bird entered, expecting to see one of his many enemies come for their revenge. How times had changed; he'd once been shocked to hear that Elcholtzia possessed locks. To calm himself, Lycaste had sifted through the library of books the lodge offered. New things moved on metal pages so thin they were nothing but rectangular shavings, bendy to the touch. If he turned his head and concentrated hard he could just make out quiet whispers coming from somewhere in the metal, almost inaudible in the oldest of them.

“Supper's nearly ready—would you like a drink first?” asked Envoy. They had entered a naturally lit, high-ceilinged reception room elaborately crusted with dangling stalactites of sculpted stone that looked out over a view of the waterways of the Second. The grey-brown clouds above the far mountains were daubed scarlet where the sun hit them, and both men stopped to look. Lycaste accepted a drink without noticing, touching the bitter liquid to his lips with a nod. To his right stood a massive globe half his height. He wandered over to it, glancing at the Firstling to make sure it was all right to touch.

“Can you see where we are?” his host asked from across the chamber, coming to examine it, too. Lycaste ran his fingers with exploratory hesitation over the green and gold painted surface, looking in vain for his home coast. He ducked down to one side, eyes following the contours of the mountains, finding it hidden by his knee. The Nostrum Provinces. North-west across the continent lay the broken spear-tip of land they stood in now, smashed into westward-drifting islands. Lycaste stood back, trying to take in the whole thing. Over his head the land changed as embossed and gold-tipped mountains rose beneath his fingers, leading into a continent of strange colours and names. Its edges were blurred and hardly marked, save for an S-shaped appendage almost on the other side of the world.

“It's so big,” he whispered, scanning the scrolls of city names and tiny painted capillaries of river systems.

“I can't move it,” said Envoy, “not even with both hands.”

Lycaste spread his arms, hands flat against continent and ocean, and pushed as the Firstling stood back to watch. Very slowly the sphere turned. Parts of the world he knew nothing about slid by beneath his elbow. A crescent of land appeared as the globe stopped, multiple round bite marks like craters decorating its edges.

“
Ban-klosh
,” Lycaste read, bending once more to follow it south. “Have you been here?”

“No, no. Never.”

He walked back around to locate the First and Second. “Have you travelled much?”

Envoy gulped his drink and went to get another from the table. “The East is another world. Lyonothamnine ambassadors who travel there don't return. Some flippantly suggest that's because it's a paradise, but there are certainly more morbid conclusions one might draw.”

A bell sounded in a far room. Lycaste straightened, wondering with mild alarm if anyone else would be joining them. Envoy clapped his hands together excitedly. “Supper.”

Whoever or whatever had rung the bell wasn't present when they arrived at the richly laid table. Lycaste stood by it until Envoy had chosen a seat and offered the one at his side.

“So that we can talk without having to raise our voices. I hate raised voices, don't you?”

“It's an awfully big table for just the two of us,” said Lycaste, looking around nervously. He thought he saw a shadow move in a doorway.

“That's the butlers. First laws demand that they remain unseen while we eat. For privacy. Start, go on.”

Lycaste looked down at a bewildering selection of ceramic cutlery arranged in a circle around his plate. Even to a Melius accustomed to six meals a day, there appeared to be an unnecessary amount of everything, including napkins. He took two and spread them on his knees, which banged up against the underside of the gilded table. Envoy opened a case by his glass, taking out a fragrant red stick and offering one to Lycaste. “Perfumed spitette?”

“I'm sorry?” He took a stick and sniffed it, trying to crumble it in his palm.

“No no, here.” Envoy reached across with a candle, lighting the end. He showed Lycaste what to do, puffing some smoke in his direction. It smelled delicious.

Lycaste stuck it in his mouth, waiting for something to happen while he watched the tip burn with crossed eyes. He took a breath experimentally, feeling the fragrance tickle his throat and lungs.

“I like this,” he said through his teeth.

“They heighten the senses, perfect before a large supper.”

Lycaste continued to puff away as he was poured another drink, watching the alcohol fill the goblet. It was almost, but not exactly, the same shade of blue as Jasione's colour, the one she'd shown him. He stared at it for what felt like a very long time.

“Try it,” said Envoy, noticing his hesitation. Lycaste took a sip and grunted. It was very strong.

“No, you drink it all in one go. Like this.” The man slugged it back and screwed his eyes shut animatedly.

Lycaste smiled and did the same, enjoying the familiar burn as the alcohol touched his throat and warmed his stomach. He put the stick back into his mouth and let the flavours combine, forcing his thoughts away from the course they were taking.

Envoy was a lightweight. He began to giggle as they talked of earthly things: the increasing storms and rains, the foetid smell of overripe bloodfruit. Lycaste matched the Firstling's drinking, feeling more at ease, remembering that Impatiens used to claim he could drink the most because he was the biggest of them. A pang of regret chimed inside him when he thought of his old friends. At least Sotiris had said they would be protected, whatever happened.

Envoy circled back, as Lycaste knew he would, to the topic of Amaranthine visitations. As they ate course after course of food prepared in every conceivable style and fashion, not all to his liking but some very delicious, Lycaste insisted the Firstling tell his own tale of his dealings with the Immortal, still not ready to reveal too much.

“It is a rite of passage, of sorts, for any First man to be visited, or at least to suggest that they have been visited—I'm not sure how truthful all the accounts are. Some don't ever receive an audience and are darkly respected for their honesty if nothing else. I
was
visited, I assure you. Anyway—” he waved his hands together, as if expecting Lycaste to interrupt, “—it is an accepted truth that the men of the First are closer in form and mind to the Immortals than any other species of people, and as such we have a special bond with them, you see. They work with us, help us, guide us. The world—
this
world—is sacred to them, you understand, the jewel of their Firmament—their name for the heavens—and our rule is accepted. Through them we learn about the Satrapies beyond our own, the
solar system
and such, and the further stars they call their homes.” He paused, his train of thought lost. “Where was I?”