LUZ
The ride back over the dunes to Aphorai City gives me time to reflect.
It was a fractious interlude, though not without its parochial charm. The girl was reunited with her father and stole an evening with her beloved Shield. Copperlocks pored over her collection of scrolls and fragments as if she were trying to read her destiny in a cup of kormak. And, judging by the din emanating through the mudbrick walls, Yaita and old man Hab had the former-lover’s tiff to end all former-lover’s tiffs.
It was clear upon our departure in the cool hours before dawn that there was no rekindled affection, no sign of reconciliation within that most convenient and yet often confining of arrangements: marriage. Others may have seen two hands clasped for the briefest of moments. They may have comprehended it as a poignant gesture. Perhaps a symbol of regret, an acknowledgement of the turns and love lost.
I’d ventured I was the only one to catch the glint of the vial that Yaita pressed into her estranged husband’s palm.
Until the girl slows her horse, dropping back to ride alongside my camel. “It was the cure, wasn’t it?”
I sniff. “You’ll have to be more specific, petal.”
“What Yaita gave to my father.”
“What do you believe it was?”
She shifts her gaze to Yaita, who rides some distance from the rest of us, her mind no doubt still back at the oasis village. Then the girl reaches down to stroke the mare’s midnight neck. “What do you think, Lil? Did she do something purely decent after all this time?”
“If you truly want to know, wouldn’t it be best to ask your mother rather than your horse?”
The girl shrugs. “I trust Lil more than either of you.”
“I’m wounded. Deeply wounded. And to think I’d ventured you’d be grateful for my showing mercy to your Ashradinoran.”
She gives me a long, considering stare. “Why did you do that?”
There may be a time and place in our futures for an explanation, but this is most certainly not it. I return her frank appraisal. “Never question my motives, petal.”
“Pah.”
She nudges the beast’s flank with her heel and rejoins the Shield. He’d been the most relaxed I’d seen him earlier in the ride, but the closer we get to our destination, the more rigid he becomes. Copperlocks, on the other hand, rides absently, sketching in a notebook. One lurch from her camel and she’ll topple into the sand. I suppose that’s her prerogative.
As the great walls of the Aphorai City appear above the dunes, something else demands my attention. Movement – along the ridge of one of the emperor dunes that leads towards the city. I’ve used it enough times to observe comings and goings to know it’s a decent vantage point.
It’s too far to know whether they’re friend or foe, so prudence demands acting as if it’s the latter.
I draw my mount level with the others. “Let us pick up the pace a little, shall we?”
Copperlocks’ head snaps up. “What is it?” she asks, a nervous wobble in her voice.
“Rangers always scout in pairs.” The Shield scans the dunes. “If that’s what they are, there will be more nearby. There. The ridge opposite. And further along.”
“It’s almost as if they knew we were coming,” the girl says.
I curse inwardly. Am I slipping? Was Old Man Ana’s house being watched? Or did the Shield and Copperlocks have company before that? I’d run a perimeter around the Library and not seen another soul, did I miss something? Or did the girl and Yaita inadvertently stumble into one of their scouts without being any the wiser?
Speculation won’t help. We need a solution. Other than the winged lion of Aphorai flying from the battlements, there’s no way to discern what’s taken place in the city since I last left. If Ekasya has turned into a foreign land, what manner of welcome will we find behind the walls before us?
I’d venture it couldn’t be significantly worse than where we’ll find ourselves if we’re apprehended out here.
“Keep your mounts faced forward. We’ll maintain that we’re unawares until we’re level with the first group, then we’ll put on some speed.”
The girl eyes the camels. “I’m not sure they’ll be as fast as—”
“And if it looks like it’s going wrong, you and Midnight here give your all to reach those gates and get help. We have to trust that the Prince safely returned and the balance of power inside those walls tilts in our favour. If we don’t make it, our fate is in your hands.”
“You trust me to do that?”
“I have no choice.”
The Shield balks. “Someone else can take my horse. If anyone’s left out here, it should be me.”
“We don’t want to draw any attention by playing musical mounts.” Though by the looks of the first pair of figures getting to their feet, it’s too late for that. One raises their arms in the unmistakable stance of an archer.
“Ride,” I bark.
They don’t have to be told twice.
It’s only by the Primordial’s grace that we avoid becoming human pincushions. It wasn’t through lack of effort; the arrows rained, one sticking in my mount’s pack uncomfortably close to my thigh.
When we’re through the gates, I’m compelled to do a lot of fast talking. It’s not the easiest thing to accomplish while trying to catch one’s breath at the sharp end of a whole patrol’s spears. Eventually, the guard captain appears and we come to an understanding that he’ll let us pass. Thankfully, it doesn’t cost nearly as much as the same transaction had in Ekasya.
It’s clear Aphorai City is preparing for a lockdown of its own. Buildings in the outer edges of the sector are being boarded up. Sacks of rocks and quivers of arrows lashed together are making their way up pulley systems to the battlements. Province Army officers work alongside the Eraz’s own guard to draw water from the wells and stow it safely in barrels should the groundwater be compromised. Above it all, the sound of smith’s hammers on metal rings out. Armour. Weapons. Reinforcing braces for the city’s fifteen gates.
And, most importantly, not a Ranger in sight. Yet.
I look to the Shield as he self-consciously tucks the cloth covering his tattoos tighter, and consider my options. The general populace can be superstitious at the best of times. When their safety is under threat, their minds are even more volatile. Our first stop will be the Chief Perfumer’s manse; my people are the very essence of discretion. From there, I can set out solo to meet with the Prince directly at his uncle’s, without getting waylaid by a jittery crowd looking for something to exorcise their fear upon.
I lead the way through the streets. When we arrive at the plaza closest to our destination, two guards block the way.
“Papers, please?” For good or ill, he doesn’t recognize me. Yet unlike their Ekasyan counterparts, the Aphorain guards have kept the semblance of civility.
“We’re friends of the Chief Perfumer. Perhaps you’d let the appropriate valet know we’ve arrived?”
“No can do, I’m afraid.”
With valiant restraint, I maintain a mild expression. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Can’t. For good reason, mind. Forgive me for saying, but your friend never struck me as the generous type. S’pose when it matters, it matters though. Donated all their resources – staff included – to the city’s defence.”
Suspicion curls like incense smoke around my thoughts as I peer past the guard into the plaza. It’s abuzz with members of the Eraz’s household staff. There. Among the hive. A particularly officious steward. One who no doubt gleefully seized the opportunity to exact bureaucratic revenge after being duped by the Chief Perfumer into signing away the Eraz’s own barge for my trip to the capital.
It’s distasteful. But it’s not worth the fuss. At least for now.
The next best place to seek refuge is the temple. Given the high priestess is technically in charge until another Scent Keeper is agreed upon, she could have moved into Sephine’s quarters after her death. She chose not to. She’s always been a reasonable woman, but that action garnered even more of my respect. Not to mention that the best place for the Shield to be – whether the future bodes well or otherwise for him – will be under her watch.
Temple it is.
I force a smile for the guards and turn to the others. “Change of plans.”
The girl opens her mouth but I stop her with a snap of my fingers. “Not now, petal. Please, not now.”
The distance between the perfumery and temple has always been a mild inconvenience, but today it’s positively grating. Rather than the usually orderly to and fro of business, people are behaving erratically. On edge.
At least when we reach the temple estate, the guards admit us without pretence. We’re escorted through the gardens of lavender and neroli, olive and bay, and up the endless flights of stairs to the high priestess’s quarters on the second tier of the temple’s five-sided pyramid.
The woman herself sits at a desk, her head bare of hair or adornment, her body draped in a sleeveless tunic tucked into the crimson-feathered skirts of her office. Her face is creased by deep lines of consternation. It would seem the bunches of holy thyme suspended from the low ceiling and the vetiver and opoponax incense have not brought on the spiritual calm one would hope. The burdens of unexpected leadership, one supposes.
She waves the guards away.
“Luz.” She greets me, businesslike. “And is that you, Yaita? How long has it been since you left our halls? Twelve? Thirteen turns?”
“Seventeen.”
“And did you accomplish what you set out to do?”
Yaita looks as guilty as an acolyte who slept through dawn prayers. “Not entirely. Which is why I’d ask your permission to access Sephine’s quarters. I’d continue my work with what remains of her resources.”
The high priestess nods assent. “The Prince has been notified of your arrival. He shall join you in the archives after evening prayers.” She wrinkles her nose so that the lines of consternation twist into aversion. “You’ve had a long journey, please refresh yourselves. Someone will be here soon to show you to some lodgings.”
“Where is Nisai then?” Rakel asks. “He’s not on the Eraz’s Estate with his uncle?”
The high priestess gives Yaita a pointed look. “Your daughter, I presume?”
“Yes, High Priestess.”
“Impertinence runs in the family, I see.”
Yaita mumbles something but the high priestess is already moving on.
“And you.” She jabs a bony finger at the Shield. “You’re only being granted sanctuary because your Prince requested it. But you must not miss a prayer.”
He nods, seemingly unperturbed. “Of course, holiness. I’m grateful for the opportunity. It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance to visit a temple.”
Satisfied, the high priestess stands and smooths down her feather skirts. It’s a signal of dismissal that goes over the heads of most of the others. “Off with you, then. Clean up and proceed to your meeting. It’s impudent to keep Princes waiting.”
As the acolytes refresh the candles along the temple halls after evening meditation, I join the others in the archives. The Losian stands guard by the door, arms crossed, wearing her traditional scowl and battle braids. She grunts acknowledgement as I enter.
What a splendid new development. I flash her a smile in return.
His Imperial Highness, the First Prince and Emperor-elect, sits at the head of the table. Though his journey was shorter than ours, it appears it has taken its toll – he looks more than a little haggard. The big, amber-drenched Aphorain sits close beside the Prince, as if he has no concept of courtly protocol. Though given his time spent in the palace, I’d venture he is entirely aware of his infraction.
In contrast, the Shield seems out of sorts. A lingering look passed between him and the Prince when he entered, but that was the extent of it. Now it’s as if Ashradinoran doesn’t know his place. He’s trying to appear relaxed, but he can’t sit or lean or stand for more than a few moments before prowling to another side of the room. Every so often he glances sideways at the Aphorain guard.
Amber, to his credit, ignores him.
“Your highness,” I greet the Prince, honouring him with the most elaborate of bows. “Lovely to see the troupe back together.”
He inclines his head.
Copperlocks has already half buried herself in scrolls. I pull up a chair across the table from her and turn it around, straddling the seat so I can lean folded arms on the time-polished back.
The Prince rests interlaced hands on the table. “My mother arrived back in Aphorai a few days before us. She has confirmed that my brother disbanded the Council of Five.”
“Treason,” the Shield scowls.
“I’m loath to put it so bluntly, but, technically, yes. My brother is in breach of the Founding Accord. He is also amassing an army back in the capital. My mother and uncle are united in their response.”
“My Prince, with all due respect,” I say, “marching to the capital is not the answer here. I’ve seen the forces camped at the base of Ekasya Mountain. Even a moon ago they were far more than Aphorai alone could muster. And from what I found in the capital, their numbers are likely to have swelled with more mercenaries since.”
“Which is why we’re not preparing to march. We’re preparing for a siege.”