Liah leaped behind a gathering of trees and shrubs, hiding herself among the large foliage. She pressed her back against the trunk of a tree and held her breath, hoping she had not been discovered.
“Great and powerful Empress…”
Liah heard a familiar voice. She peeked out from behind the shrubs. The bone carver was no longer gazing in her direction. He must not have seen her. She breathed a soft sigh of relief. She had been foolish to sneak into the palace. Her toes wriggled in the goatskin shoes, filling her with shame. She would wait until he was well distracted and slip out unnoticed. On their travels home, she would find the right moment to confess.
“Wise beyond years … whose cruelty is justified … whose benevolence and grace know no bounds … feared by many … adored by all…”
It was the Lie-peddler who spoke. Liah had not seen him in the lengthy line. He had appeared as if out of nowhere, striding past the others straight to the front of the line. He stood below the terrace, gazing up at the Empress.
“What is it you come to sell?” she asked in a delicate, yet rigid voice.
The Lie-peddler folded his hands, raised them over his head, and bowed low in customary reverence. Then, Liah watched as he tilted his face upward, one sharp eye meeting the Empress’s. “Lies.”
Liah stifled a giggle. But if the Empress perceived the slight, she gave no indication. Instead, she remained still, reminding Liah of a cat, waiting for the right time to pounce upon its prey.
“I have no use for lies,” she said, each word dripping from her lips like poisonous honey.
The Lie-peddler raised himself to his full height and grinned. “Of course not. How foolish of me. I forget you already have an elaborate selection of your own.”
The Empress sat stiffly, her features frozen in a look of icy amusement. “You are familiar to me. You resemble an arrogant sot I had punished some time ago for displeasing me with his nonsense.” She seemed to be thinking back fondly. “You could not be him, though, for his bones lie rotting unremembered and unattended.”
“An interesting story,” said the Lie-peddler. “Perhaps I might tell you one of my own? It is quite a remarkable tale. It tells of a great and terrible Empress who is vanquished with the bones of an old storyteller … and a little bit of magic.”
Two guards stepped forward, but a slight wave of the Empress’s hand stayed their swords.
“That may be interesting indeed,” she said, calmly, “but I have a better one. Shall I tell you the tale of the storyteller who danced to his death?”
Her thin lips furled into a smile as a group of guards brought forth an enormous bronze cylinder. It was over twenty feet long and eight feet wide with wheels on each end that allowed it to rotate. They placed the cylinder over a bed of coals, lathered it in oil, and forced the Lie-peddler to walk on top. One of the guards lit the coals while others used fans to stoke the flames. As the cylinder grew hotter, the Lie-peddler shifted his feet to avoid burning.
Though the masses of drunken guests laughed and jeered, the Lie-peddler remained staunch and fearless, with a determined, haughty look in his eyes as though he knew something none other did.
When at last the Lie-peddler slipped off the cylinder and into the fiery coals, the bone carver dropped his sack and sprang forth. Before the guards were any wiser, the bone carver had dragged the Lie-peddler out of the flames.
Liah watched in horror as a guard lay hold of the bone carver and thrust him before the Empress. But he rose tall and addressed her in an angered voice such that Liah had never heard.
“Your cruelty and corruption dishonor your ancestors. You neglect your people. You show no mercy. You rule with tyranny and malice. Renounce yourself, for you have lost all moral right to rule. Renounce yourself or your own people shall rise up against you, and your name shall echo with hatred for a thousand years.”
The Empress’s expression contorted into a foxlike grin. “Not only will you dance for me alongside this fool—but for your insolence your bones shall hang on my mountainside for a thousand years, as a warning to all who oppose or offend me.”
The breath caught in Liah’s throat—the boxes she’d seen—they held bones. Without proper bone burial, the spirit could never rest. It would wander the earth for all eternity. She watched as the bone carver was thrown onto the cylinder along with the Lie-peddler. Both did their best to remain upright, but the metal glowed fiery red.
Liah could feel the unbearable heat from where she stood. Her heart fluttered inside her chest as she pressed her mind to think of a way to stop the madness. But what might she do? How could she fight a great army on her own? It would require strength, or magic, or both.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she peered out from the shadows. The Lie-peddler caught her gaze. A deep sound rumbled inside his belly and burst forth from his mouth as he began to laugh.
“You are a greater fool than I thought,” said the Empress, “for you laugh at your own demise.”
“I laugh not at my demise,” said the man, his face as flush as the fiery coals. “I laugh at yours. For even the strongest guards cannot protect one who has allowed her own doom to pass freely through her gates.”