RAKEL
It’s the ache in my back that wakes me.
I must have been hunched tight in a ball all night. I remember drifting in and out of sleep, feet numb with cold, the scent of cypress and … something else. I could have sworn it was marjoram, used for the second stage of mourning – the time to cherish memories of those who’ve gone to the sky.
I open my eyes. I wasn’t imagining it. A fine stick of grief incense lies not far from my nose. The expensive kind. Made with a high ratio of fragrance to powder.
I’m not stupid. I know it’s a signal to keep going. To begin to move forward. Memories are blades and loss keeps them sharp, Ash said to me once. Losing someone you love is hard enough, losing them twice is a special kind of cruelty. After the sultis incident, there’s a part of me that wants to stay here, waiting for the cold to numb me for ever. Maybe someone has noticed.
Barden and Kip are preparing the ponies for another day of trekking higher and higher into these Rot-forsaken mountains. Beyond the activity, Nisai sits at the edge of camp, burning incense in prayer. It takes a while for the scent to reach me; the colder it gets, the less I can rely on my nose. Ah. There it is. The same as the stick in my hand. Sweet of him to think of me even in his own grief.
I can see why Ash was loyal to him. So, loyal is what I’ll be, too. If this Sanctuary that Luz speaks of lives up to its name, then I know Ash would want me to put one foot after the other until we made it there. Until the Prince is safe.
Through, he’d say, taking my hand. The best way out is through.
We mount up and strike out for another day of misery. Above us, the snow line beckons. I’ve never been this close to snow before. Even when I was with Ash in the Hagmiri mountains, so suffocating with their thick-canopied vegetation compared to the bare rock that now surrounds us, we didn’t climb this high.
The rock formations up here are so different to the Aphorain landscape. We’re surrounded by grey stone in vertical peaks that claw at the sky. They’re all angles and shards, so different to the sandstone of the lowlands where the weather scours off every sharp edge. The temple in Aphorai City used to be the tallest peak in my world. These make it seem an anthill.
I should be excited. Curious. Not just for the Sanctuary. But for a much deeper mystery.
My mother.
The few hours we spent at home in my village before setting out on this journey were supposed to have been joyful. Instead it felt as if a groundshake heaved the desert beneath my feet. I should be glad she’s alive. Should be relieved. The weight I’ve always carried on my shoulders, that my life was at the cost of another’s, has lifted. But it’s been replaced by a gaping hollow. The feeling of being unwanted. Abandoned.
I let you live in the shadow of a lie, Father attempted to explain. For that I will always be sorry. I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted you to have your own life. When she told me she was leaving once you were born, and that where she was going she couldn’t take us, was forbidden to take you…
I’d reeled at that. She didn’t have to leave? She wasn’t forced?
He’d looked hopeless, like he was trying to find an impossible balance between blame and forgiveness. Yaita felt compelled to leave. I don’t know all of her reasons, but I know that she needed above all else to dedicate herself to a higher cause. The Scent Keeper let it be known that she had died of birthing fever, and that at Sephine’s mercy your mother would retain the honour of a priestess and be sent to the sky. I was sure I was the only one outside the temple who knew the body they burned on the funeral pyre was not your mother. Knowledge, I was told, that would see me – and you – endangered if it came to light.
In the here and now, rain mixed with ice begins to sting my face. I can barely see two horse lengths in front of me.
The numbness seeps back in with the cold.
We’ve been walking for ever, I’ve been running for ever, and for what? More secrets. More lies. The answers I would have moons ago been so keen to find at the end of this journey no longer seem so important. Everything seems dull. Grey. Futile.
I’m putting one foot in front of the other. I’m keeping going. But that doesn’t mean I’m all right.
Barden rides close. He’s good at watching me like a hawk, but too clunky about it for me to not notice. It should be a comfort, having my friend here. But I can’t seem to feel anything. Just like this landscape – rock, snow and no signs of life – I’m empty.
The cold days and colder nights we’ve been through blend into one frozen hell. The only change today is, as we move higher, the snow becomes more and more compacted. We’re soon forced to dismount to cross entire stretches of ice, our feet threatening to slide out from under us at each step, the usually sure-footed ponies scrabbling for purchase.
I have no idea how long we’ve been walking, climbing, trudging higher when Luz holds up a hand, halting us.
We’re a mere few paces from the edge of a cliff. The wind whips the hem of my robe, snakes bitter fingers through my short-cropped hair. I don’t try to stop it.
Luz stands on the brink like it’s no matter, peering down to where the stone drops off into a ravine that makes the canyons near my village seem mere wrinkles in cloth. The bottom disappears in blue-tinged mist. I can’t for stink nor stench see beyond it, even though the blurriness in my vision since healing Nisai seems to have begun to subside. Or maybe I’m just learning to live with it.
Ahead, the path all but vanishes. There’s only a thin ledge, barely the width of one of the mounts Luz purchased back at the border. It’s never been clearer why she chose mountain ponies.
Now, she sweeps her gaze over us. “Single file only, my lovelies. Lead the animals. And if you don’t like heights, hide it. The beasts will respond to your fear more than they’ll fear the height itself.”
Perhaps the truest words I’ve heard from those lips. I stroke Lil’s neck. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, girl?”
My mare remains still. Ready. Warm and alive. More than I can say for myself.
“Lostras, you lead?”
Kip nods. She doesn’t even balk at the familiarity. She was the first to get used to the nickname Luz assigned her.
“Next our Prince, then Lord Amber.”
Barden scowls. Others are still not used to their nicknames.
“Then you and Midnight, petal.”
I don’t bother correcting her on Lil’s real name.
“And I’ll bring up the rear.”
I huff derisively, my breath clouding for a moment only to be snatched by the wind. “So you can let one of us find out where the most dangerous ground is?”
“So it’s easiest for me to double back and fetch our Prince’s mount. I’ll be the only one who must cross thrice.”
Oh.
“But good to see you getting some of that bite back. I’ve missed being surrounded with vinegar fumes.” The last is said with one of her infuriating winks.
We form a line, the others leading their mountain ponies, me leading Lil.
Kip begins, taking it slowly but surely. Nisai follows, testing the ice with the heel of each of his crutches before letting them bear his weight. I wonder if it would have been better for someone to carry him. Then again, would I want someone else to have control of my fate like that?
Near the halfway point, his crutch slips.
I suck in a breath through my teeth.
Then Barden is there, one strong arm steadying Nisai, the other holding his nervous pony back at a safe distance. The Prince gathers himself and focuses again on the path.
The ledge looked narrow from a distance. Up close, it feels even tighter. It’s barely wide enough for us, Lil’s flanks scraping the rock face when it leans close. I look back and notice the stirrup on her other side hangs over thin air.
“Eyes to the front, petal!” Luz calls.
And for once, I agree wholeheartedly with her.
I keep moving, one foot after the other.
Near the point where Nisai almost slipped, something unexpected reaches my nose. I’m sure I’d have smelled it earlier if it weren’t for how the cold distorts the world.
There. A beast, like an oversized lion without a feathered mane, prowls the opposite side of the ravine. Its coat is pure white, hiding it almost completely against the snow, except where blood stains its muzzle. Guess it recently fed. Hope that means it’s not looking for another meal anytime soon.
“Calm,” I murmur to Lil without looking back, hoping she doesn’t notice it. We take another step.
Then Lil snorts, stamping at the ledge, sending splinters of ice tinkling down into the ravine.
“It can’t get to you,” I tell her.
But it’s a predator, and she’s a prey animal, and there’s death in the air. I can’t be stuck out here with her losing her head. She’d never willingly hurt me, but instinct is powerful.
I look to Barden. He’s made it across. Back on solid ground, the Prince is breathing relieved plumes of mist.
The way is clear. I take another step and flatten myself against a shallow depression in the rock face. “Go!” I command my horse.
She hesitates, then skitters past.
I glance back to Luz. Her pony gives a nervous huff but seems otherwise fine. And when I look back to where the big cat had been there’s now nothing but a flurry of snow.
With how much I trust my eyes these days, I’d think I had been seeing things if Lil hadn’t have spooked.
“Keep moving,” Luz orders. “It’s probably on its way back to its den, but I’ve no inclination to test that theory.”
I breathe in deep, exhale and take another step. I’m moving so slowly and carefully that I feel as much as hear it when the ice cracks. I try to shift my weight, but I’m sliding. I twist, only for my foot to skid out from under me. Then I’m coming down on my front, grazing my chin as the breath whooshes from my lungs.
The realization comes to me, sudden and shocking: my legs are dangling over the edge of the cliff.
“Rakel!”
Barden’s voice. It comes from the other side of the pass and echoes around the peaks. Too far to lend a hand.
I cast about. There’s nothing to grab to haul myself up, and I’m sliding, slowly, on the freeze-slick rock. Sliding towards the end.
Somewhere in my numb mind, I wonder if that would be so bad. We must be close to the Sanctuary now. Nisai’s safe on the other side of the pass.
Here, the fall looks so long, it would be almost like flying. And then it would be over.
No more cold. No more emptiness.
No more endless roads.
No grief.
Just nothing.
Then, long fingers wrap around my wrist, blue eyes boring into me. “Don’t even think about it, petal.”
With strength that belies her lithe frame, Luz lifts me back to the ledge. “My orders are to deliver you to our destination. I’d rather you not be a sack of frozen sludge scraped from the bottom of a ravine when I do. Now. Anything broken?”
Bruises will no doubt be blossoming across my ribs from the fall, and my shoulder aches from being pulled back from the brink. I bit my tongue when I hit the ice – copper oozes in my mouth – and my grazed chin burns in the freezing air. “Couple of scratches, that’s all.”
“Lovely. Now let us put this precarious moment behind us, no?”
I stare blankly in reply.
“After you,” she insists, pointing the way ahead.
On the other side, Kip gives me a nod.
Nisai regards me with gentle eyes. “Are you well?”
Barden barrels past and envelopes me in a hug. “Stars, Rakel. Almost thought I’d lost you there.”
I manage something resembling a smile.
So did I.
It’s late in the day when we crest a ridge.
Luz lets out a self-satisfied sigh. “Splendid tidings, my tattered travellers. It’s all downhill from here.”
I peer ahead. The ground slopes down, sure enough, but there’s nothing else to remark. Everything beneath us is shrouded in thick grey cloud.
We set out towards the mist, the air growing damper with every step, like the tiniest of raindrops have been suspended mid-fall. Then the fog is clearing or, more to the point, we’re clearing it.
We’ve been leading our mounts since the pass. Now Barden stops his so abruptly I almost walk into his pony’s rump.
I squint, but all I can see is jagged rock, ice, snow and smoke-grey sky. “What is it, Bar?”
“There.” He bends his knees until he’s at my level, pointing almost directly ahead. “Down below. A valley.” Awe laces his voice.
And then I see it. Far below, so distant my eyes can no longer make out the details.
A thin smudge of green.
Life.
For the first time since the sultis valley, I feel something akin to curiosity. It’s not exactly wonder, but it could be its lesser cousin.
The way down is the steepest trail I’ve ever walked, even though we switch back and forth across the slope. The first thing that changes is the wind. It’s been our constant companion since we made it higher than the foothills, howling and tearing at us. Now, on the leeward side of the last ridge, it falls quiet.
Next, the ice begins to melt. It drips from the rock like I’m back in the caves of Trel, where Ash and I found Azered’s bones. Where he first showed me the vulnerability I’d had no idea he masked. When trust started to unfurl between us.
I take the two sticks of incense from the pocket of my robe. Cypress. The first stage of mourning. Marjoram, the second. Once the others have passed me along the trail, I gently lay the cypress on a ledge beneath weeping icicles. An offering, I suppose. May the mountain remember Ash as I do.
Moss is the first sign of life. Then small heathers. We pass cliffs sheeted with runoff, more and more gathering until it’s forming tiny waterfalls in the crevices. It’s almost musical, a chorus of liquid voices. I raise the marjoram to my nose and inhale, letting myself remember Ash’s voice. The way he sang at the camp in Edurshai, deep tones – warm as sandalwood and dark as smoke – soaring into the night.
Soon, shrubs start to appear, roots gnarled as they burrow their way into the thin soil accumulated in the cracked rock. Further still, grass dots the track. The chill recedes from the air and I begin to smell things again: the earth beneath Lil’s hooves, the shy sweetness of a clump of tiny pink wildflowers I’ve never seen the likes of before.
Flowers. The only time I’ve heard talk of the mountains beyond the Seson Territories is in tales. And those speak of a dead place. Barren. Endless. As if it’s not even real, just somewhere that exists in myth. At the edge of memory. I’ve never had any reason to doubt them until now.
I push back the hood of my cloak and bend to touch the petals.
Luz appears at my side. It’s unnerving, the way she can move silently like that.
“This…” I point to the flower. “How is this possible?”
“The elevation is so drastically different from the surrounding mountains that it allows for clement temperatures. And you’ve already seen the main source of water – there’s a steady supply of melt even in the dry season. Why wouldn’t it be possible?”
“The stories I’ve heard of these mountains… They say nothing of this.”
“Splendid! I and my colleagues take that as the highest of compliments.” Her gaze traces the ridge above us.
Was that movement? There. The glint of metal. A weapon? Armour?
“Let me guess: you’re not going to tell me anything about that, are you?”
“I could spin you a fine yarn, petal. I have bard blood in me. But the Magister has reserved the right to brief you. And the Magister gets what the Magister wants.”
The Magister. The Order. The Sanctuary. So many ridiculous names. I wonder what my mother thinks of all this. When Father spoke of her, he said she was pragmatic. It was something that first drew him to her. Is this nonsense something she got used to over time? Or did she come to enjoy the secrets and games?
We resume our trek and I begin to make out more details of what I presume is our destination. Carved from the grey granite of the mountains is a huge circular structure like a wheel laid flat. But before I can make out any more details of the inner part of the stone ring, we’ve descended lower than the line of sight. All I know is it covers a ground area bigger than all other buildings I’ve seen in my life, Aphorain, Ekasyan or anything in between. It makes even the imperial palace and temple complex seem small.
Nisai is so wide-eyed that I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into how he would have looked turns ago. A boy awed by a grand sight. I never thought I’d live to see something grand enough to wow a Prince.
We eventually find ourselves looking up at a blank wall that otherwise must be three, four, maybe even five storeys high.
“Halt,” calls a voice, presumably a guard’s, from a small opening in the wall.
Luz sighs. “We’re not really going to have to go through this whole performance, are we?”
The guard, a fierce-looking woman with a square jaw, large brow and hair as grey as the surrounding rock, leans out and glowers down at us.
“Fine, fine,” Luz says. “Greetings, Stoneleaf. I seek entrance to the Sanctuary of the Primordial Divine on a mission sanctioned by Snowthorn.”
The guard nods, seemingly satisfied. “Wait where you are. An escort party will be assembled.”
“I can handle this myself. Just open the gates.”
“Rules are rules, Sandbloom.”
I snort laughter despite myself. As if “Snowthorn” and “Stoneleaf” didn’t sound ridiculous enough. “Sandbloom?”
“An unfortunate ceremonial throwback.” Luz grimaces.
“Just makes everyone sound like they’ve had smoke blown up their butt.”
Luz flashes me a smirk. I find myself returning it. That’s a first.
A grinding noise begins somewhere inside the rock. Then a vertical line appears in the stone. The line becomes a gap and soon two great slabs are rolling back into the walls like sliding gates.
When they stop, Nisai steps forward, running a hand over the now-flush surface. “What a fascinating mechanism.”
“Impressive, no?” Luz asks airily, as if merely showing us a new rug.
The woman called Stoneleaf appears, and with her, several more guards form up around us. They’re all women, unlike the few who served in the Aphorain army, or the presence of Kip in the Rangers. They look formidable. Lean. Skin weathered by the mountain weather. Shoulders seeming all the broader for the grey-and-white fur mantles draped across their shoulders.
We’re led inside the stone structure to a walled yard. There, more guards move to take our mounts. I hesitate. It’s not like I’m prepared to hand Lil over to just anyone.
“She’ll be well cared for,” Luz says.
“She’d better be,” I glower, then stand on tiptoes and give Lil’s bridle a light tug at the same time. She leans her head down, so that I can speak in her ear. “If you smell anything off, I give you permission to bite. Just reserve kicking until it’s absolutely necessary.”
She bumps me with her nose.
“Good girl.”
We’re led down a long hall dimly lit with some sort of greenish fire that transports my mind back to the Library of the Lost. We emerge into a huge circular chamber, the floor dropping away in stepped terraces towards the centre.
Opposite the door, the wall is dominated by a giant statue just like the one at the Library. A human-ish figure, seated on a massive but simple throne. Its carved features give nothing about its identity away. Smooth scalp and face, slender limbs, one hand palm up, the other palm down. Barefoot at the base.
Asmudtag.
It’s hard to work out what the place is meant to be. Some kind of temple? A huge prayer room? A stage for troupes of players?
On a platform below the statue, several figures wait. Again, all women. Their robes are all made from the same greenish weave – with some minor variations in design. But there’s nothing else alike about them. Tall, short, heavy, waif-thin. Some as old as the Chroniclers, and others appearing ageless, like Sephine.
Is one of them my mother? Would I recognize her if it was?
Luz takes the steps two at a time. When she comes face-to-face with those waiting, she dips a courtly bow.
Nobody moves.
Nisai catches my eye, concern etched in his features. I hesitate, then wave him on as if I’m simply making way for him on protocol.
He takes the hint, and mounts the stairs, Kip beside him. Barden and I follow.
“Your Imperial Highness,” Luz says in a voice that takes me back to the perfume trials in Aphorai, the way Zakkurus held the crowd enthralled. “First Prince Nisai, heir of Aramtesh, may I introduce you to the currently elected officers of the Order of Asmudtag. Our Procurator, Administrator and Preceptor.”
“Their what?” I mutter, mostly to myself.
“Official names for people who get things done, sign off that things got done, and teach people how to get things done.” Nisai’s lips barely move as he whispers back to us.
“And,” Luz continues, “the current Magister of the Order.”
“The person who speaks of what should get done,” Nisai murmurs.
I’m surprised that it’s the youngest-appearing woman who steps forward and bows. As she straightens, I take in her features. My hand goes to my locket. The rest of me freezes, feet locked to the floor.
“Welcome, our Prince.” She speaks loud enough that it’s obviously not just Nisai’s ears she’s intending to reach. Guess her and Luz are ingredients from the same perfume.
“On behalf of the elected officers of the Order, may I extend this exceptional invitation to the Sanctuary.”
Exceptional? Don’t suppose they get many visitors all the way out here. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that Barden and Nisai are the only men we’ve seen since arriving.
“In the name of the divine Primordial,” she continues, “we pledge to keep you safe from those who organized the attack on your person, whoever their identity may be revealed to be, so that when the time is right you may return to take up your inheritance and maintain balance in the Empire. Please let my people know of anything you require for the comfort of you and your companions.”
Nisai inclines his head, a gesture I guess is equal to an elegant bow when it’s coming from a prince. “Your hospitality is most appreciated. May I have the honour of your name?”
“Here, I am known simply as Snowthorn. But before that, I was called Yaita.”
The square-jawed guard who first greeted us at the Sanctuary entrance clears her throat pointedly.
“I will not lie to my own kin, Stoneleaf,” Yaita says.
The guard – if that’s truly what she is – doesn’t hide her disapproval.
Yaita looks to me and steps forward, a smile of overwhelming warmth now on her face.
I don’t return it.
I had tried to imagine what it would be like at the end of this road. But I wasn’t prepared for this, like looking at an older version of my reflection in the oasis pool of home. Dark hair hanging in loose waves past her shoulders in the same way mine did before it was shaved. Eyes the same amber hue as mine, too widely spaced to be considered by many to be pretty. Striking. That’s what she is.
From when I was a small child, I would lie awake at night and imagine I was talking to my mother. She was always a hazy presence in my imagination, a kind of benevolent glow of a figure. I’d tell her everything, my fears, shames, hopes, dreams. I told her when I first managed to leap a dry stream bed on Lil’s back without tumbling from the saddle. I told her when I’d first noticed Barden sprouting a beard, and even though he’d shaved it just as quickly, I’d noticed he’d started looking at me differently – a look that I didn’t realize at the time would mean that one day he’d hope for something more from me than I could give to him. I told her when I first realized Father had the Rot and how terrified I was of what that meant for him, and, selfishly, for me.
The woman who stands before me heard none of those things whispered into the night. She may be unsettlingly familiar because of the portrait I’ve worn around my neck since I was a child telling secrets to the dark. She may have once wanted a family. She may have borne me, given me life.
She may be all of these things. But she’s also something else.
A stranger.
“Daughter,” she says, voice thick.
I’d never quite believed I would be here. And now that I am, I have no words.
She steps forward, bringing with her the scent of desert rose and smoky incense. Gently, she takes both of my hands in hers.
I snatch them back.
Her brow creases, then smooths again. “This must be a confusing, challenging experience, and I imagine you are exhausted. Your animals will be stabled and cared for. You will each have quarters; the Primordial knows that these days we have the space, though it wasn’t always so.”
The last sets the other Order members to murmuring. I catch a “by Their grace” among the other words.
“Our menu will be limited compared to what you’re used to, my Prince, though I think you’ll find our cook does an admirable job of balancing taste with sustenance.”
Among the green-robed attendants, a rosy-cheeked woman, thin as a river reed, stands a little taller, chin a little higher.
“Please, rest. We shall meet on the morrow. Sandbloom will show you all you need between now and then.”
Luz dips the same elegant bow and begins to descend the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation, Nisai follows, Kip at his heels. Barden gives me a look that’s part question, part commiseration.
“Wait!” I can’t believe this. “That’s it? Greeted and dismissed, just like that?”
The Magister gives a single, slow nod. “Until the morrow.” She smiles again before making her way down the other side of the platform, towards a door opposite the one we entered through.
Luz retakes the stairs three at a time. Her fingers wrap around my arm.
I don’t move.
She bends so that her lips are close to my ear. “Those legs of yours better remember how to walk, petal, unless you want me to sedate you and have your guard friend carry you out of here.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
But if I’ve learned anything about Luz, she would.
I let her lead me from the chamber.
Out in the hall, she lets go of my arm. “That went surprisingly well.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
“I beg to differ, petal. You mother took a risk. A calculated one, but a risk all the same. It was just as likely they’d call an immediate Conclave. Days of debate just to decide if you could even stay. Judging from what we just saw, though, I expect once the officers have met, they will grant you run of the grounds.” Her tone is now chatty, as if nothing was amiss. “Apart from a few select areas.”
I sniff the air. “Smell that?”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Just caught a distinct whiff of oh-so-surprised.”
The eyebrow drops back down. “Lovely to see you’re back to your sweet self. Though yes, as you’re a guest here, it’s natural you won’t have free rein. At least for now. In the meantime,” she says, her voice rising so the others can hear, “there’s a training ground for those of you who would like to keep your physical skills honed.” Behind me, Barden and Kip murmur to each other.
“For keeping a sharp mind,” Luz continues, “there is an archive. Not as impressive as the Imperial Library, but I’m sure you’ll discover some interesting texts that you’ll not find in any other collections.”
Nisai had been keeping his expression mild but his eyes light up at the mention of archives. I remember how Ash wished the Prince could have seen the Library of the Lost with us, how much he loves books and scrolls.
We’re each given a room along a corridor that’s curved just enough to seem like it’s never-ending. When I’m shown through a thick stone door that somehow moves smoothly on a kind of hinge mechanism, I expect darkness and cool, even chill, air. But there’s a window of faceted glass splaying the sun’s last rays into splotches of rainbow across the wall and floor, the room almost as big as the entire house I grew up in. The air is mild, rich with the scent of clary sage candles, and when I reach out a hand, the smooth stone feels warm.
“Pleasant, no?” Luz gestures to the light. “The orientation of the complex encompasses the path of the sun and the shadows thrown by the surrounding mountains as the starwheel turns. Now that there are so few of us, we move quarters seasonally. The cold doesn’t have time to penetrate during the night, while the cooling that does occur during the hours of darkness ensures the heat cannot become stifling during the day. We draw lots each time – one quarter a single room cell, the next a suite. It prevents any … unbecoming squabbles.”
“Everything in balance,” I murmur.
“For now,” Luz agrees. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the minutiae. You can find my quarters down the hall.”
“Keeping a close eye on us, then?”
“As the Magister said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. And I recommend you take up that invitation until we are satisfied that you’re safe to return.”
“We’re prisoners, then.”
“Of course not. But I imagine Yaita will be quite disappointed should you decide to vacate prior to meeting with her.”
“I don’t give a sack of camel scat what she—”
“And if you do choose to leave, we’ll require you to chew enough sultis that you never knew you were here, even before you pass through the valley. I’m not one to gamble.”
Even if I wanted out of here, I never want to go through those realizations again.
She shrugs and presses a square of stone that recedes into the wall. The door swings closed as she leaves, shutting with a soft click.
I cross to the polished granite basin in one corner, alongside a deep bath. Thick bars of soap sit in a woven basket. I bring one to my nose. Lime and basil. Unusual combination.
The bed is covered with a blanket decorated with an embroidered six-petalled flower. Dahkai. Just like the carvings in doors and stone back in Aphorai City – though this one is inside a circle. When I sit, the mattress yields kindly beneath my weight. I give the pillow an experimental prod. Feathers. Laced with chamomile and lavender to aid sleep. Seems the Order of Asmudtag enjoys its creature comforts.
There’ll be time enough for washing and rest. But first, I want to see what the others have made of all this. I tentatively press the mechanism I’d seen Luz use on the stone door. It slides open.
Out in the hall, Kip is guarding the next door down.
“How is he?” I enquire of Nisai.
She folds her arms. “Are you tired after all that travel?”
“Exhausted.”
“Then imagine how he feels.”
She’s right. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own grief that I’ve not been checking in on Nisai as much as I should have. It’s clear the poison continues to have lingering effects, even if he does seem to grow stronger by the day.
“You know where Barden is?”
She waves down the hall.
I start in that direction.
Light spills from a doorway. But it’s not Barden’s. It’s Luz’s. She’s standing over a large desk piled with scrolls. She gestures for me to enter, sinks into the chair behind the desk and takes up a scroll from the pile, waving it under her nose.
“Pass me the molshir essence, would you, petal? Top shelf, third jar from the left.”
I retrieve the jar, knowing the right one from the purple-red hue extracted from the plant’s leaves.
Luz dips a brush in and washes a thin film over the scroll. As if by magic, words begin to appear behind the others, these ones pale and glowing rather than of dark ink.
“How’d you do that?”
“My informants are thin on the ground, but they all honour our system. We only ever write surface-level messages that are completely innocuous if intercepted. The real message is hidden beneath. But if you use the wrong reagent, you’ll destroy it.”
“How did you know this one needed molshir?”
She taps her nose. “The code is in the scent. Whatever perfume used on the scroll has a matching reagent. And the codes are updated regularly.”
She studies the scroll but gives nothing away as to what it reveals.
I crane my neck, blushing when I realize she’s noticed.
“You want to see, petal?” She rises from her desk and hands it to me.
I take the scroll and pretend to read. Luz leans against the desk, long legs crossed at the ankles, as she watches me.
The letters on the parchment are a mess. Reading is a big-enough challenge at the best of times, let alone with two messages running into each other. But I’m not about to let Luz in on that. Everyone here seems to act all high and mighty, as if their scat doesn’t stink. And Luz is just as annoying as ever, like sand in your clothes – once it’s there, it’s almost impossible to get rid of every last irritating grain.
So while I’d love to know what’s in that message, I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.
Finally, I manage to make out a few words.
Ekasya.
Shield.
Dungeon.
Dead.
Each word is a blow. Just because you know something is true, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to be reminded of it.
“Satisfied, petal?”
I hand back the scroll, swallowing hard. Luz stands and crosses to the fireplace, lights the parchment with a candle and tosses it into the grate. Leaning on the hearth, she watches as the message goes up in pungent smoke, expression unreadable.
When there’s nothing but ashes, she returns to leaning on the desk and pops something into her mouth, taking a long moment to roll it over her tongue. The exhale is practised, elegant, and curls towards me as if it had been sent on an errand. Clove. “You can’t read, can you? I thought as much back when you signed your contract before the perfume trials.”
“As if I can’t,” I sputter.
“Don’t consider changing trades – you’re a terrible liar. Being able to read, on the other hand, is useful no matter one’s vocation. Reading can take you wherever you wish to be. It’s one of your many shortcomings that we’ll have to remedy, long term.” She looks back to the fire, the flames reflected in her dark blue eyes. “Though it’s probably for the best, on this occasion.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stands and brushes invisible dust from her robe. The movement reveals she’s still wearing her travelling clothes beneath. I would have thought she’d be the first to want to wash away the stench of the trail.
She runs her hand along the shelves, retrieving a jar and a series of vials she slips into a leather holder, rolling it up and tying it securely. Both get stowed in the pack beside the door. “Feel free to take a look around. Use anything you need while I’m away.”
As if it’s a reflex, my gaze flicks to the shelves. There must be hundreds of ingredients here. Many of them I’ve never heard of. “Away? Where are you going?”
I turn back towards the desk.
But Luz is already gone.