21

THE PALACE OF A THOUSAND YEARS

The glory of a king comes from neither wealth nor finery but from the well-being of his people.

FROM “THE THREE GIFTS OF THE PEASANT KING,” A SCIM LEGEND

The archon’s palace stood at the center of Far Seeing. A hill rose gracefully beneath it, pastel-colored houses and buildings lapping up along the sides like waves. Shops and markets splashed beneath those, filled with people from all over the Sunlit Lands seeking a trinket or a necessity from carts and stands festooned with bright flags and flowers.

“None but the Elenil are allowed beyond this point without a host,” Hanali said to Madeline as they stepped down from the carriage. “Humans may neither ride a steed nor carry a weapon. Nor may the Scim, the Aluvoreans, emissaries from the Southern Court, the Zhanin . . . all the other races. They must pause here before entering the heart of the Elenil world and the seat of our magic.” Hanali paused and stared at the pulsing crescent-shaped stone at the apex of the main tower.

Jason, freshly bathed, straightened his jacket. They had tried to get the durian smell out, but it lingered. Without magic it couldn’t be easily cleaned, and Ruth had told him buying another would be a “luxury” and that he could find his own money rather than spend the knight’s. Shula had not been invited to the palace. She had business elsewhere, she said, and had wanted to reconnect with some of the other soldiers. Jason had asked her about Baileya, a Kakri woman he mentioned from time to time but whom Madeline had not yet met. Shula knew her and said she would likely see her and asked if Jason had a message. “Tell her —” Jason said, looking like he was thinking carefully, “ —tell her, uh . . . I said hi.” Shula, grinning, had promised to do so.

For the seventieth time Hanali launched into how to be polite in the archon’s presence. Curtsy or bow. Speak when spoken to . . . with the proper restraint. Do not release Scim prisoners to wreak havoc in the court or mention previous instances where one might have done so. Do not touch the archon. Are you listening, Jason, do not touch the archon. Not with a fist nor with a fingertip.

Madeline found it painful to hear again, especially since it seemed to be aimed at Jason. The wonders of Elenil architecture distracted her in any case. The main tower of the palace stood in the center: a delicate, slender white column with graceful lines. Nine slightly shorter towers stood at equidistant points around it, with white latticework like lace covering their lower halves. Wide marble stairs arched between the towers, leading to meticulous gardens overflowing with bright, gorgeous flowers. A stunning variety of people and creatures moved up and down those stairs, each of them accompanied by at least one Elenil guide. None of the guards here were human, unlike elsewhere in the city, but only Elenil in splendid royal-blue uniforms with gold trim.

“It’s beautiful,” Madeline said, almost whispering.

Hanali paused his lecture and stopped, one gloved hand on the elbow of each of his charges. “It is known as the Palace of a Thousand Years. It was built entirely by hand. No machines from your world, no shortcuts or tools other than what can be held in a person’s hand. Each stair is a single piece, mined by the Maegrom. The Aluvoreans coaxed the gardens into being. Not a single blade of grass was planted —they encouraged local plants to arrive of their own free will. Even the Zhanin participated, in their way, by not interfering with the amount of magic drawn upon in that century. It would cause a war today to use so much power so quickly.”

“That century?” Madeline asked. “Didn’t you say it was the Palace of a Thousand Years?”

“Yes,” Hanali said, guiding them to the stairs. “It would have taken a thousand years without magic. There is no comparable architecture in any world I’ve seen. My forefathers built it, I am told, in less than two centuries. A hundred and sixty years, more or less.”

Jason asked a question, trying to sound nonchalant, but Madeline could tell he asked with purpose. “I’ve been studying Elenil magic. So for these buildings to go up more quickly, there must be other places where building happened more slowly?”

Hanali’s face lit with delight. “Ah! At last young Jason takes an interest in the culture of the Elenil. Indeed. There are trade-offs. The speed and beauty of this construction means that, by necessity, there is a balance elsewhere. The magic here was carefully wrought, and it is geolocational. Which is to say, the spells made it easier and faster to craft the palace here, on this hill. There is another place elsewhere in the Sunlit Lands, linked to this hill, where it would be immensely difficult —if not impossible —to build. Magic would fight you every step of the way.”

Jason wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d probably caught a whiff of himself again. “Where is that place, Hanali?”

“Somewhere in the Wasted Lands, no doubt. We could ask a storyteller. They keep tales about such things hidden away for curious minds such as yours.”

They paused at the top of the stairway to appreciate one of the gardens. It sank away to the left of them like an amphitheater and was filled to the brim with fruit trees, luscious grasses, and exotic animals. Peacocks wandered in the shade, shaking their fanned tails. Birds zipped between the branches, and large cats lounged, uncaring, in the dappled sunshine. Madeline gasped. A white mare, as brilliant as mother-of-pearl in the sunlight, stepped out of the trees. She had a long, silver horn protruding from her forehead.

Jason’s hand clenched Hanali’s forearm. “What is that?”

Hanali smiled gently. “A rare Earth animal. I believe it is called —what was it now? —ah, yes! A rhinoceros. I’m told they are extinct in old Earth.”

Seeing the look of impotent rage on Jason’s face gave Madeline the giggles. She tried to keep a straight face, but soon she was leaning against Hanali, wiping tears from her eyes. Jason’s face softened, and soon he was laughing too. Hanali asked what was so funny, but they wouldn’t answer. A foal emerged from the trees and cavorted at the mare’s feet. They both stopped to feed on the sweet grass.

“We can speak to them later if you wish,” Hanali said. “Though it is rude to laugh at such noble creatures.”

“They can talk?” Madeline asked.

“Of course,” Hanali said, as if it were a ridiculous question. “All rhinoceri can speak.”

They entered the palace through a gateway arch which soared above their heads, several stories tall. There were no gates or doors because, Hanali explained, most of the defensive capabilities were magical. And if an enemy made it this deep into Far Seeing, the defense of the city had already fallen, and it was better to allow their enemies entrance to the palace than risk its destruction.

The rooms in the tower wound up along the inside of the wall, leaving the center free all the way to the top. Birds glided above them, delivering messages. A series of long ropes hung from different levels of the palace, allowing braver souls to swing across the vast space between the walls. Toward the top of the tower, suspended in a glass room, was a crescent-shaped crystal. Significantly smaller than the one affixed to the exterior of the main tower, it was, like that larger stone, black and glowing with a purple aura. It could be seen even from the bottom of the tower, as the ceiling was made of some sort of glass or transparent crystal.

“The Crescent Stone. Also called the Heart of the Scim,” Hanali said, noticing Madeline staring. “At the heart of all our magic is that stone. It is displayed there at the top of the Palace of a Thousand Years in a glass room which can only be accessed through the archon’s quarters. It is transparent so all can see if any approach it. I do not know of a person entering that room in a generation or more.”

“Don’t you mean the Heart of the Elenil?” Madeline asked.

Hanali, surprised, drew away from her, as if trying to get a better look. “Ha! Of course, that would make sense. Many centuries ago, the Elenil and the Scim exchanged stones. The Heart of the Elenil is with them, the Heart of the Scim with us. Some find it distasteful to call the stone after the Scim, and so they call it the Crescent Stone. In those days, though, we were friends, and the name was without controversy. Those were better days. I am told the Heart of the Elenil is a beautiful stone —so transparent one seems to see a delicate blue sky within it and a faint shine of sunlight in a corona around it. More beautiful, most say, than the stone we keep watch over here.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jason said. “If that’s the Crescent Stone, what is that big crescent stone that’s on top of the tower? The one we can see from outside? The gigantic one?”

“Ah,” Hanali said. “Another insightful question. The Crescent Stone itself is smaller than you would think, though great magic flows through it. The stone affixed to the top of the tower is an amplifier, which allows the magic to flow freely into the rest of the Sunlit Lands.”

Jason’s brow furrowed with concentration. He was working hard to figure this out. “So the true Crescent Stone is not the one on the exterior of the tower.”

“Indeed not. As I have just said.”

“Got it,” Jason said, and it sounded as if he had filed that information away for some reason.

“So where do we meet the archon?” Madeline asked.

Hanali pointed out a gaudy throne, three times the size of what a normal person would fit on. It was on the fourth through sixth floors and could be seen easily from anywhere in the building other than directly above it. “On feast days and during celebrations, the archon sits on the Festival Throne. Today he desires a more intimate setting, so you are to meet him in the Apex Throne Room, near the top of the tower.”

Jason groaned. “That’s a lot of stairs. Couldn’t he meet us down here?”

“We won’t climb the stairs,” Hanali said. “Step upon these circles.”

The circles painted on the floor were about the size of dinner plates and all different colors. Madeline stepped solidly into the outline of two dusky-orange ones and, following instructions from Hanali, imagined herself moving to the 114th floor. The circles lifted from the ground and began to move smoothly upward. No ropes or pulleys, no seat belts, and no nets, air bags, or pillows waiting below. She yelped. Jason screamed.

Jason fell off from about ten feet up, landing in a clutch of Elenil who had the misfortune to be walking below him. They helped him to his feet, clearly unhappy, and sent him floating upward again.

“Stand up straight!” Hanali yelled to Jason. “Stop flailing!” He floated past Madeline, confidently standing on only one of the flying plates, his other foot moving in graceful arcs, toes pointed.

They were about thirty stories up now, and Madeline couldn’t bear to look down at Jason. An Elenil swung past her, headed from one side of the wall to the other, his golden hair streaming behind him. “Are you okay, Jason?” she called, still looking toward the top of the tower.

“Jason wants to take the stairs!” Jason yelled.

“Posture,” Hanali shouted. “Good posture is paramount, Mr. Wu!”

The Heart of the Scim stood above them, its purple energy crackling with power. The light gleamed against the glass walls, revealing that it rested on a glass pedestal —it was not floating, as Madeline had believed. It was about the size of a manhole cover —there must be some sort of magnification effect that allowed it to be seen so clearly from the bottom. Above it she could see the gigantic crystal crescent that hung over the tower.

Hanali floated up and to the left, disembarking with a careless step onto a wide landing. Relieved to be at the end, Madeline held out her gloved hand as she rose to his level, and he took it, helping her to step more or less gracefully from the floating circles.

Jason came only a moment behind. He panicked, leaning toward the solid edges of the wall, and fell from his circles, his arms grabbing the landing, his legs kicking out into empty space. Hanali dragged him across the floor. “Stand still and stand straight. Are these instructions truly too difficult for you?”

“I don’t like hover plates,” Jason said.

“They are perfectly safe,” Hanali replied. “Only a child would fall from them.”

Jason snorted.

A civilized Scim stood nearby, his entire uniform, from boots to gloves, a stark white. Even his dark hair had been caught up in a white tie, and his collar extended even higher than the current style. He had no tusks and small, white, almost human teeth. He bowed gravely. “Sirs and miss, I am called Bright Prism. I will guide you to your audience with the archon.”

Madeline helped Jason to his feet. “I’m Madeline, and this is Jason. You probably already know Hanali.”

“Indeed,” Bright Prism said, politely inclining his head. “Kindly follow me.” He led them through an endless series of sumptuous rooms —ballrooms and dining halls, leisure rooms and rooms full of paintings. One room was an indoor garden cunningly made to look as if it were outside by painting on the ceiling and walls and, as near as Madeline could tell, not through the use of magic. They did not pass any kitchens or bathrooms or bedrooms or any evidence that people lived in this section of the tower, though Hanali had assured them these were, in fact, the archon’s quarters. Of course there were no televisions or other technology, though there was a room with a variety of musical instruments. There was no library, a reality of the Sunlit Lands that still struck Madeline as strange. No books, no street signs, no grocery lists, no notes to loved ones. Magic allowed them to mimic high technology in some sense, but they were illiterate.

Nevertheless, the tour, she suspected, was intended to awe them. They wandered in and out of strange halls, through parties and balls and choral performances. Madeline found it impossible to believe all these things happened constantly and had not been set in motion merely to impress her, Jason, and Hanali. They arrived, at last, at two large golden doors which met at a point two stories above. Bright Prism stood with his back to the doors. “The Duru Paleis are the only doors in the palace. When one seeking entrance places a hand against this door, it can sense their intention. It grants or refuses access based on what is seen in that person’s heart. Archon Thenody has instructed that each of you place your hand upon the handle to request entry.”

Hanali nodded brusquely, stepped up to the door, and took hold of the long handle that ran down the middle. In a moment he stepped away. “I have been denied entrance,” he said quietly.

Madeline narrowed her eyes. “We can’t go in without Hanali,” she said.

“You must,” Hanali said. “It will be worse for me if you do not.”

Madeline strode to the door. Could it be that Hanali had pretended to be denied access? There had been no flash of light, no obvious display of power. She took hold of the door’s handle. At once the world around her grew dim. The doors alone held light. She noticed, now, carvings in the door’s surface. People moving about, as if in the midst of their day, in a village. One of them, a poor man in ragged clothes, waved to her. She waved back, and a smile spread across his wooden face. He motioned for her to follow him, which she did not understand, but as she concentrated on the man, the scene on the door shifted so that he grew to life size.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He smiled, and she noticed a simple crown upon his forehead. “An ancient king, long since gone from the Sunlit Lands. I reigned before this palace or city came to be, and my throne was a bale of hay, my crown a twist of holly. They called me the Peasant King. In mockery at first and later with respect. More titles came, in time, but the Peasant King is one I have cherished.”

“How did you come to be a . . . a door in this palace?”

“Hmm? Oh! I’m not a door. I saw the door open your mind, and I thought I would say hello. I am no longer in the Sunlit Lands, but I think of the people there as . . . well, the closest word for it would be children. They are my children, and I like to look in on them.”

“Your children are quite strange.”

The Peasant King laughed at that. “As are most children! Now, my friend, a word of advice. There are a great many people who want you to be a great many things to them. A savior or messiah or agent of world change.”

Madeline sighed. “You’re going to tell me to be true to myself or something like that.”

The king’s eyebrows raised. “Not at all. You are already a person committed to being true to yourself and your friends. I wanted to say only this: the myth of redemptive violence is just that, a myth. Violence solves a problem in the way gasoline solves a fire. There are other paths. They are, almost always, more difficult. Seek them out.” He smiled at her. “The door’s magic fades. Farewell.”

The king receded into the door, leaving it smooth and untroubled. Madeline jolted back into the real world and found the door had budged under her hand. She pulled, and it swung open. “Come on,” she said to Jason.

“He must also put his hand upon the door,” Bright Prism said.

“He comes, or I don’t. It doesn’t matter what the door says.” She gestured to Jason again. He stepped ahead, carefully making his way past Bright Prism and through the doorway. The door shut behind them. The last thing they heard was Hanali calling to them, “Be sure to bow or curtsy!” She couldn’t keep track of when one was meant to curtsy or not. No doubt that was why Hanali kept reminding them.

The room housed a wide pond with trees growing along the outer edges. A white path wound around the pond to a cottage on the far shore. A fish jumped in the pond. Two moons rose over the cottage. It was, for the first time in many weeks, nighttime. The stars made no noticeable pattern. “We go to the cottage,” Madeline said. Without discussing it, Madeline took the lead and folded Jason’s hand in hers. Her heart was beating fast, thinking about the encounter with the Peasant King and the upcoming audience with Archon Thenody. She was glad Jason was with her.

“Do we knock?” Jason whispered. They heard nothing but night insects and a brief crashing in the undergrowth.

The door creaked open as if in answer.

Madeline stepped in.

They were in a formal throne room. Archon Thenody sat on a raised throne, several civilized Scim standing near him at attention, two of the blue-clad Elenil soldiers at the base of his dais. “I hate this place,” Jason said. “Everything is the wrong size. The outdoors are indoors, the indoors are outdoors. It’s terrible.”

Archon Thenody, again wearing his strange golden sheet, raised a hand as if acknowledging them. Madeline curtsied. So did Jason, badly, beside her.

“Jason,” she hissed.

“Hanali said we could bow or curtsy.”

“He meant for you to bow and me to curtsy.”

“That makes sense. Curtsying is hard.”

She snickered. Did he do these things on purpose? No doubt he had offended Archon Thenody again.

“Leave us,” the archon said. The Scim left with crisp, quick steps. “And you,” the archon said, and the guards stepped out the door Madeline and Jason had entered. “Come closer.”

Madeline walked to the bottom of the dais. The archon stood and flowed down the stairs to her.

Archon Thenody removed his golden sheet with a flourish, letting it slide to the floor. Underneath he wore white-and-gold brocade clothes that covered everything but his head. Golden crisscross lines of magical connections spread across his entire face. If she hadn’t seen it so close, she knew his skin would appear golden. Even the whites of his eyes had branching golden tattoos, even the roots of his hair follicles. Every bit of him was traced with magical tattoos. At his neck he wore a choker with a facsimile of the Crescent Stone —a black sliver of rock that sparked with purple energy.

“I thought we should get to know one another, we three. No need to stand on ceremony,” the archon said. “You made me look the fool on that tower,” he said to Jason. “Fortunately, it was only my closest advisers there. If that had happened on a feast night —the Festival of the Turning is coming, for instance —I would have had to punish you both publicly. Along with that young fool Hanali.”

“He had nothing to do with that,” Madeline said quickly.

“He invited you to the Sunlit Lands, did he not? There are rules we follow.” The archon gestured to the floor, and three chairs appeared. He took one and invited them to take the others, which they did. “When recruiting, we only take children. What you call teenagers or younger. Never adults. Never.”

“Why?” Jason asked.

“They lack a certain flexibility,” the archon said. He tugged absently on his glove, taking it off, revealing more skin colored gold by his network of magic. “Secondly, they must be in dire need. Perhaps they are victims of war or refugees. Perhaps their parents are cruel and abusive. Some have medical problems, like you, Miss Oliver. There is also the question of whether they can survive the journey. The road to the Sunlit Lands winds through deadly, dire landscapes. If a child cannot cross that road, they cannot come to us.” He tugged off his second glove. “Do you meet this requirement, Mr. Wu?”

Jason didn’t come back with a joke or a quip for once. He bit his lip, concentrating. “I believe I do, Mr. Archon,” he said.

“You may call me Thenody here, in private,” the archon said. “May I see your agreement again?”

Jason pulled off his glove and pushed his sleeve up, then leaned over so Thenody could see it. The archon studied Jason’s bracelet for a long time, the golden pathways on his fingers pulsing lightly. At last, he said, “Your heart’s desire is a dessert. You are a curious creature.”

“Do I pass your ‘hard life’ test?”

“I suspect you do. It is hard to say, for your agreement is scarcely magical at all. The delivery of a single pudding cup every day takes less magic than that necessary to make these chairs appear for a few minutes. There is little to be gleaned from your markings. It does not, however, include a promise of fealty to the Elenil, a third requirement of those who come here. Hanali has broken that rule at the least.”

“But Jason promised loyalty to me, and I’ve promised mine to the Elenil,” Madeline said.

Thenody leaned back in his chair, studying her, one fingertip resting on his lower lip. He dropped his hand casually to the side and a goblet appeared. He sipped from it lazily. “You speak with such familiarity to me. If I did not know better, I would suspect you contradicted me in that last statement.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Madeline said. Was he doing this on purpose? Telling them to call him by his name, then accusing them of being too familiar when they disagreed with him? He seemed to be purposely pushing them off balance.

“She completely meant to, you crazy golden psycho,” Jason said, and then dropped his own hand, staring at it to see if a drink would appear in it. When none did, he turned back to the archon and said, “Honestly, it feels like you invited us to a private audience so you could make sure we’d treat you with the proper respect in public.”

The archon flew from his seat so quickly he knocked his chair backward. A frigid wind blasted Madeline, and when she could open her eyes again, Thenody had Jason by the throat and had lifted him out of his chair. Jason’s hands held the archon’s forearms, pulling his body up to try to lessen the choking. Thenody stalked across the room as if Jason’s weight meant nothing. Madeline scurried after them. The archon moved down a long hallway, pausing in the middle. He muttered something under his breath, and the room expanded. Doors appeared along the hallway.

Thenody kicked one of the doors open. Instead of revealing another room inside the palace, it led onto a mountainous cliff overlooking a raging sea. The archon stepped onto the cliff, holding Jason over the ocean. Madeline rushed at him from behind, but with his other arm the archon easily stopped her by grabbing her forearm and forcing her to the ground.

“I would like to make sure,” Thenody said, “that you treat me with the proper respect.” He shook Jason over the edge.

Jason tried to speak, choking out his words. “I . . . knew . . . it!”

Disgusted, Thenody threw him aside, leaving him on the ground between the cliff and the door. “You have no natural fear of your betters,” he said. “It is a troubling quality.”

“He only speaks truth,” Madeline shouted. “It’s not troubling, it’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

Thenody’s golden eyes drifted down his arm until he found her face. “But you are bound to the Elenil —to me —through your agreement.” He tore off her glove, revealing the silver latticework of her tattoo. He turned her wrist. “This agreement can be canceled,” he said slyly. “No more Sunlit Lands. No more Elenil. No more breathing.”

“Leave her alone!” Jason shouted.

“Ah. I have your attention at last.”

“You already showed us you could do that,” Madeline said. “On the tower.”

Golden fingers readjusted their grip. The archon touched Madeline’s wrist with his index finger. “See there? That’s where the gem on your bracelet used to be. It has spread now. Much faster than most. But pay attention.” He pushed into her wrist, and a surge of piercing pain spread up her arm and nearly to her shoulder. She screamed. “If I break the gem, the agreement is broken. No breath for you, no oath of fealty to the Elenil.” He dropped her arm. It ached like she had just done a thousand push-ups. “Remember that when next you think to insult me in public. Break the gem if you want to be free from our agreement, but do not think to violate it without dire consequences.” A bell rang, somewhere back in the palace. “Ah. I believe our tea is ready.”

The archon stood by the door like a hotel doorman. Jason got up, then helped Madeline to her feet. They leaned against each other for strength. The edges of this place were blurry, like a video game where the designers hadn’t managed to get all the scenery finished. “We have to get away from him,” Madeline whispered to Jason.

They made their way back to Archon Thenody’s receiving room. He motioned to their chairs. They sat, and he served them tea from an antique ceramic teapot with delicate flowers. “Sugar?” he asked, holding a lump of sugar in a pair of golden tongs. Madeline shook her head.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Oh, more than that. Yeah. Like, ten of those.”

The archon smiled faintly, counting them out. “Eight . . . nine . . . ten.”

“Make it eleven.”

Thenody frowned, but gave him one more. “Eleven, then. I believe that is all of them.”

“I hope you wanted some,” Jason said.

Thenody sighed. “Perhaps I have been overly harsh.”

“Ya think?”

The archon took a sip from his cup and said to Madeline, “Perhaps this would be smoother if we were alone.”

Madeline shot Jason a warning look, terrified they would be separated. “He’ll behave.”

“Ah, lovely. I suppose he will thank me for the sugar, then.”

Jason’s face flushed. He clamped his lips tight. “It’s okay,” Madeline said.

“Thank you,” Jason said.

“My pleasure,” Thenody said brightly. “Now. I asked you both here because I am concerned about your safety. The Scim —those vile creatures —have expressed an interest in you. I fear it is more than you have heard. The Black Skulls themselves have made it clear that they will not rest until they find you, Madeline. I do not know why they desire you, but they are not so . . . gentle . . . as I am.” His eyes rested on her bare hand.

Madeline covered it with her napkin. She had left her glove near the cliff. She couldn’t bear to have the archon’s eyes on her bare hand, though, not after he had hurt her arm like that. “We’ll be safe with the Knight of the Mirror,” Madeline said. “Ruth explained his magic to me. Once something is given to him, it can’t be taken away again, not without his permission. The magic doesn’t allow it.”

“Yes.” Thenody licked his lips. “It was a clever solution the magistrates came to. A solution they arrived at when I was in great pain and unable to participate in the discussion because of —” his eyes flicked to Jason — “an unfortunate prison break.”

“Hey!” Jason said. “I bet the knight’s magic means you can’t throw me over any cliffs!”

“You would be wise not to test such boundaries,” Thenody said.

“In any case,” Madeline said, “we’re safe.”

The archon sipped from his teacup. “It is said you will bring justice to the Scim, Miss Oliver. If that is true and not some outlandish tale of Hanali’s, then you are immensely valuable to me. But you should know there are limits to the knight’s magic.”

“Like what?”

“A clear boundary: should he choose to give you willingly to the Scim, his magic will be no protection to you.”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

Thenody barked a laugh. “How delightful, the innocence of the young. There are certain precious things the knight might value more than your life. That is only one possibility. Or you could be taken during the Festival of the Turning, when all magic that flows from the Crescent Stone ceases. Or his magic could be neutralized somehow. Countered. Evaded.” He raised a hand. “No, I do not know how, only that my seers have said that when the time comes, his magic will not protect you.”

“The same seers who said Mads is the one who is going to save the world?”

Thenody sniffed disdainfully. “They have said no such thing. They do not see any special qualities in you or the girl. The other treasures we have given the knight to steward over the decades are of more value. The Sword of Years, perhaps, or the Ascension Robe. Have you heard those names?”

“Never,” Madeline said, sipping her own tea.

“The Memory Stone? The Mask of Passing? The Disenthraller? He has mentioned none of these things?”

“No.”

Thenody rubbed his smooth jaw. He had not put his gloves back on, and Madeline wondered how such a dainty hand could have so painful a grip. “I am filled with wonder that he has not mentioned those artifacts, since it is only a month past that the Scim came looking for them. To mention them would be no risk, since nothing can be taken from his hand. But perhaps he has been too busy gazing into mirrors. Surely he has not betrayed the Elenil and turned those artifacts over to the Scim. Although —it is strange that they have ceased warring against us.”

Jason slurped his tea, loud. “You’re saying you think the knight gave them back their stuff in exchange for . . . something he wants. Whatever it might be.”

“The opposite,” the archon said.

“You’re saying he took the artifacts away from the Scim, and in exchange they took something he wants?”

“No, fool, I am saying he would never betray us in such a way.”

“Ookaaaay,” Jason said slowly. “But we would have never thought that.”

“You’re trying to plant the idea in our heads,” Madeline said.

Thenody spread his hands wide. “Not at all. But if he had traded those artifacts away . . . I would want to know. I would want you to tell me. It could mean that you, my children, are not safe.”

Madeline set her teacup on its saucer and, no table being near her, set it at her feet. “I think I’ve had enough.”

The archon’s face twisted in rage. “You dare dismiss me?”

“Enough tea,” Madeline said, making an effort to sound calm.

Thenody stood angrily. He clapped, and all three teacups disappeared. Madeline gasped.

“Hey, I wasn’t done!” Jason said. “I was just getting to the sugar sludge at the bottom.”

“I am done, however, and you wait upon my leisure,” Archon Thenody said, walking away from them.

Bright Prism appeared again, bowing low, and escorted them from Thenody’s quarters. The journey out was not as long as the journey in. They passed a few dank corridors and a blazing hot kitchen. The servants’ passageways, probably.

“Those doors,” Jason said. “I don’t think we actually went anywhere. The magic here doesn’t work like that. He’d need to have three people waiting to come through another door into the palace if the three of us wanted to come out of it.”

“It was an illusion,” Madeline said. “I don’t know why, but he’s trying to make us see things that aren’t there.”

Bright Prism led them back through the golden doors, and they stood on a wide landing. They could see the Heart of the Scim glowing in the glass room at the center of the tower, just one floor above them. They could just walk up to it if they wanted. Bright Prism bowed and said, “The master wanted you to have this, miss.” He held out a box meticulously wrapped in golden paper, with ribbons spilling off it.

“It’s probably socks,” Jason said. “He’s just the type to give out socks. White ones, probably. Those short athletic ones.”

Madeline opened the gift. Inside was one glove. A left glove, like the one she had lost, as golden as the archon’s magic-infused skin. It filled her with dread to touch it. Her skin crawled just looking at it.

Bright Prism said, “He asked me to say, ‘To remind you of our talk overlooking the sea.’”

Madeline’s stomach fell. A burning sensation started in her center and moved up into her face, a boiling, furious heat. “Tell him I hope to repay him one day,” Madeline said. “A thousand times over. Tell him that.”

The Scim bowed. His small black eyes darted left and right before he spoke. “Lady, you ought not say that.”

“Say those exact words,” Madeline said. “Now, which way is out?”

Bright Prism pointed a large hand toward a stairway which hugged the outer wall. “That way, lady.”

Of course he would make them take the stairs. Hanali was gone, no doubt sent away the moment she and Jason had gone through the golden doors. She balled up the archon’s glove and threw it over the side. She watched it float a few stories, crumple, then fall. She didn’t see where it landed.

Jason said, “Do you think they have magic toilets here? Because I want to use one before we go back to Westwind.”

“Yes,” Madeline said. “I’m sure they do.”

It was a long walk to the bottom of the tower. Madeline spent the entire time figuring out what to do. It seemed she had somehow made an enemy of the most powerful of the Elenil —the people she was sworn to serve. The Scim army had withdrawn, though it appeared they wanted to kill her.

She couldn’t believe it, but today she sort of missed chemistry class.