Leviathus took the stairs two and three at a time, forcing the door guards to scramble before him and his Draiksguard to jog along, clattering with every step.
He had chosen his own costume that morning with no little care, knowing that this would be the day of their arrival. He wore a tunic of fine white wool embroidered in gold beneath his draikscale armor, battered from use but polished and sharp. The white-and-gold cape of ne Atu flared behind him, and he kept a spring in his step and a wide grin on his face no matter how his legs and his cheeks ached from the effort.
He was tired, bone-tired, sore and worried sick about Sulema, but he was home, and that meant he had to be at his most alert. He wanted nothing more than to deliver his sister into their father’s care and collapse at her side with his belly full of food, but the heart’s yearnings laid easy paths for an ambush.
He caught the arm of one of his most trusted soldiers, and pulled him close without breaking stride.
“Thaddeus,” he said, “send mantids to the members of the Third Circle. I will have them attend me in the Sunset Chamber.”
“Yes, ne Atu.” Draik Thaddeus touched the pommel of his sword. “Will Mattu Halfmask be attending as well?”
Leviathus raised his eyebrows. The boy was sharp.
“Yes, I believe he should. Good call.”
“Shall I send food?” An insolent grin flashed beneath the snarling dragon’s helm. “Pemmican perhaps, and stale water?”
“Food of a certes, soldier, but if I so much as smell pemmican I will personally feed your ass to the soldier beetles. Is that clear?”
“Sir!” Thaddeus slapped his leather breastplate and dashed away.
Someone bumped into Leviathus’s hip, nearly bowling him over.
The attack has come sooner rather than later, he thought. He drew his short sword and pivoted…
…and stopped short, sword point a scant hand’s width from the face of Hafsa Azeina’s small apprentice. The boy’s chest was heaving, but he did not so much as glance at the weapon.
“The shadowmancer told his apprentice to tell me to tell you,” he said, quickly and quite out of breath, “that there is a problem with the horses.”
“The horses? What problem is that?”
“Your people are trying to touch them.”
“My people are supposed to touch them,” he explained. “That is what they do. We have grooms to care for our horses, here in the city.”
“Your horses. Not our horses. It is death for outlanders to touch the asil.”
Leviathus rubbed at his face. He did not have time for hard heads or small minds, not this night. He turned to his third-in-charge.
“Hekates,” he sighed, “I need you to go tell my father’s grooms to stop trying to touch the Zeerani horses, before someone gets killed and eaten.”
Hekates hesitated. “Stablemaster Ippos…”
“Probably looks like a suckling pig to a barbarian who has eaten nothing but pemmican and moldy bread for so long. Take this.” He wrenched the signet ring from his finger, and handed it to the Draik. “This ought to shut the old windbag up. The Zeeranim are to be shown around the stables and pastures, and will be taking care of their own animals. Go! Go!” Hekates saluted and ducked away, and the boy turned to leave. “No, not you,” Leviathus said, and put a hand on Daru’s shoulder. “You come with me. Keep your eyes open…”
“And my mouth shut.” The boy nodded.
“Good lad. Can you keep up?”
“I… yes.”
Leviathus led the boy and the remaining guards through the hallways at a pace that was just short of a jog, and so they arrived at the Sunset Chamber well before the others. The chamber was richly furnished, and designed with an eye toward catching the last rays of sunlight. The western wall to his left was a series of narrow arches left open to the night breeze. On the eastern wall a masterwork of painted tiles depicted a shining Sun Dragon stretching his wings over a wide blue sea. From the ceiling hung a riot of red and gold magelight globes brought all the way from the Forbidden City, and a heavy stone table of white-and-gold marble dominated the center of the room. The far wall was dominated by a white marble fireplace in the shape of a dragon’s snarling face, but on this evening no fire was necessary.
Leviathus took his usual seat at the head of the table, his guards in a tight semicircle behind him and Daru seated on a low bench at his side. The servants appeared with food just as members of the Third Circle began to arrive. Mattu Halfmask was first, mismatched eyes snapping and angry in his crocodile’s face. Leviathus nodded to the patreons as they entered the chamber. He helped himself to food and wine, and made no move to stand.
Loremaster Rothfaust, as was his custom, was last to arrive. The loremaster had leaves in his wild hair, and in his wild beard, and ink stained his fingertips. He took his place at the end of the bench, gestured to one of the comelier serving girls, who dimpled at him—Loremaster Rothfaust was ever popular with the ladies— and then nearly knocked the ewer of wine from her hands as he spread his arms wide.
“Leviathus, my boy! Word in the kitchens is that you have succeeded in your quest. Our lost lamb, home at last! I have my apprentices setting aside the very best of this year’s hatchlings, and I will see to the selection and training of her mantid myself.” He took the proffered wine and smiled again at the girl over the lip of his cup. She blushed prettily and looked away. “Every one of us here is delighted to hear you have returned our queen consort to us. The girl—how is she? When might we meet her?”
Leviathus arched a brow at the man. The loremaster had been close to Hafsa Azeina all those years ago, and doubtless had helped effect her escape.
“My sister is at least as delighted to be here as we are to have her, Loremaster. But she has been ill, and needs to rest.” He nodded to Master Healer Santorus, who inclined his head gravely in return.
“The girl needs rest, and quiet.” His voice rumbled like far thunder, and he beetled his brow at the other patreons. “And of course, Ka Atu will wish to spend some time alone with his daughter before you lot begin parading her about the city.”
“Eh? What is this?” Ezio, his father’s Master of Coin, peered suspiciously about the table. “The girl is ill? Is she sickly, then?”
Aasah spoke up from his seat nearest the head of the table. “Sulema ne Atu,” he spoke the title pointedly, “has grown up these many years among the barbarian Zeeranim. She is as hale as one of our prince’s soldiers, here. The girl was injured as she attempted a foolish quest.”
Leviathus watched the shadowmancer’s face closely, and noted that Mattu did the same. Oddly enough, Yaela shook her head fractionally and a shadow crossed her smooth features.
“The girl was very brave,” she said. It was the closest Leviathus had ever heard her come to disagreement with her master. “She battled a lionsnake alone. And killed it.”
“Indeed?” Loremaster Rothfaust set down his empty glass. “Well, she will hardly be battling such beasts here in Atualon, where it is perfectly safe.”
There was a moment of complete silence at that.
Leviathus cleared his throat. “In the interests of preserving the peace and maintaining the safety of our city,” he said, ignoring Rothfaust’s snort, “we need to deal with the Zeeranim who have traveled so far to deliver my sister into our care. Many of them are seasoned warriors, while the rest are either highly respected persons or new-made warriors.”
“Likely to cause trouble,” Mattu added.
“Likely to cause trouble,” Leviathus agreed. “We need to host them, feast them, thank them, and send them on their way with full bellies and a suitable reward—and no blood spilled on either side if we can help it.”
“No blood, and no seed.” Santorus scowled. “We have enough problems maintaining our population without an explosion of halfbred brats overrunning the city this time next year.”
“Master Santorus.” Leviathus leaned forward. “The Zeeranim are my sister’s people. If you sharpen your tongue against them again, I will have it out.”
The master healer spluttered. “I was simply—”
“Out, Master. Either hold your tongue, or I shall have Draik Brygus hold it for you.”
Santorus bowed his head and remained silent.
“Very good. Now, as to their reward…”
“Salt.” Yaela’s jade eyes flickered up to meet his, then found her hands again. “Forgive me, ne Atu. I speak out of turn.”
“No, no.” He waved the apology away. “I would hear your words.”
“The magic of the salt jars in Aish Kalumm has begun to fail. The water goes flat in three days and stale in ten.”
“If we paid them in salt jars…” Rothfaust mused. “Sweet water is life in the Zeera. Life for life.”
“Life for life,” agreed the Master of Coin, beaming. “Fifty salt jars should…”
“One thousand.”
All heads turned to Mattu.
Ezio spluttered. “One thousand salt jars? One thousand! Do you know how much…”
Mattu held up one hand. “The Zeeranim have raised a daughter of Ka Atu as one of their own. Fed her, clothed her, and by all accounts loved her. At the very least, they seem to have been able to keep the girl alive. Think on this—if the girl is echovete, Ka Atu will have his heir. If the Zeeranim have saved Sa Atu, the Heart of Atualon, they have saved us all. I say anything less than one thousand salt jars is an insult and unworthy of Atualon.”
Well, that was unexpected. Leviathus pursed his lips and listened to the labored breathing of the boy beside him. “Have some food,” he whispered under his breath. “Have some wine. Do not fear—it is well watered.” His own pitcher was, in any case. That which he had served to the patreons was less so. The boy reached obediently, if timidly, toward a platter of rainfruit.
“The salt jars are failing everywhere.” Rothfaust spoke to the ceiling above them.
Aasah turned to him. “What is this? I have heard no such thing.”
“I am fond of the kitchens.” The loremaster patted his belly. “So they are fond of me. I hear things. The jars in the kitchens and the market no longer keep water sweet, and the new firings are… flawed. They come from Salar Merraj blackened, or cracked, or malformed, and sometimes they give the water a bitter taste.”
“It is true,” Ezio mused, “that the price of the jars has risen steeply of late, and there are not as many to be found. The Salarians tell us that production is slowed, or that there has been some damage to the kilns…” He shrugged as the others stared at him. “I thought they merely sought to drive up the price. Those salt folk are notorious thieves and hagglers.”
“How much more this gesture will mean to the barbarians, then.” Aasah purred. A strange smile played about his mouth, and the stars in his skin glimmered. “One thousand salt jars. I agree.” He held up two fingers of his left hand, calling for a vote. The patreons raised their hands one by one, save Ezio.
“It is agreed that Atualon will pay one thousand salt jars to the Zeerani prides, in accordance with law and custom,” Leviathus said. He held the Master of Coin with his eyes.
Ezio sighed and bowed his head. “As you say, ne Atu. I do wonder, though, how delivery of such a large shipment of pottery into the Zeera will be managed. The king does not maintain roads farther south than Bayyid Eidtein.”
“I have full faith in you and in your magic, Master Ezio.”
The old man sighed again. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Master Santorus tapped his wineglass hesitantly against the table. “If I may…” He fiddled nervously with the fruit on the platter before him. “It occurs to me that the failure of these salt jars may be a symptom of a weakness in atulfah. My blood mages have been complaining to me for some moons now that some of their treatments are less efficacious. Particularly those cures needing a little song and dance.” He spread his hands wide. “I have not noticed any difficulties in my own work, and had dismissed the complaints. But now…” He shrugged.
Leviathus turned toward the shadowmancer. “Have you noticed anything amiss?”
Aasah’s face was inscrutable. “I have not. But then… my magic comes from a different source than yours. Perhaps it is a regional failing.”
“Perhaps it is a passing thing, like the seasons…” Ezio suggested.
Yaela smiled at that, just a flicker of emotion, the flash of teeth beneath still waters.
Rothfaust banged his glass down so hard that Leviathus winced.
“Salt magic is failing. Blood magic is failing. My mantids become wilder and more unmanageable every year, and they darken earlier. I have heard this song so many times that I cannot get it out of my head… can you not hear it? Are you all surdus?”
The loremaster stopped short and sucked his breath in, flushed from his fantastic beard to the roots of his unruly hair. “Ah, Leviathus, I am sorry…”
“Are we all deaf?” Leviathus held his hand up for silence. “No, wait. I shall have to think on this some more. My father tells me that more and more children are born without ability to hear the song every year. Loremaster, what do your books and scrolls have to say on this matter? What songs do your little mantids sing to you? Surely these things have happened before.”
A triangular head no bigger than a man’s thumb peeked out from behind the loremaster’s ear at the word “mantid,” and cheeped hopefully. Rothfaust handed a tidbit to his little pet. If Leviathus did not know the loremaster better, he would have said the man was stalling.
“Well, speak up,” urged Mattu, cracking a pomegranate open so that the juices ran down his forearms like blood. “You have so many words, surely you can spare a few for us.”
Leviathus leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Loremaster Rothfaust,” he asked, “in all your readings, have you found mention of such a thing as the failure of magic? Has such a thing happened before in the history of Atualon?”
“I have found mention of such occurrences in one book. Only one book,” he held his hand up as if he would apologize, “but it describes our situation exactly. Blood magic, water magic, salt and song, all seemed to lose their strength. Like the weakness in the limbs of a sickly child.”
Leviathus heard Daru’s sharply indrawn breath, but a quick glance at the boy’s face showed nothing. Loremaster Rothfaust was not an unkind man. Why would he say such a thing?
“No, no,” the loremaster mused, stroking his beard with one hand, and gesturing with his wine cup with the other. “Not a weakness, precisely, not an illness… a flicker. Like a torch in an airless chamber. The flicker of light before it goes out completely, and leaves you in darkness.”
There was a second moment of silence. Two in one council meeting—that itself was probably a historical moment.
“What book?” Aasah asked. He leaned forward, eyes like blue fire in their intensity. “What book, what scroll, describes these things?”
Rothfaust was silent.
Leviathus put his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. “What book, Loremaster?”
“The Dragon Cycle.”
“Heresy!” spluttered Ezio. “Rubbish! Nonsense! That book does not even exist!”
“Bad science!” Santorus roared. He looked as if he might fall victim to an apoplexy. “Bad science!”
“The Dragon Cycle,” Mattu repeated. “You are telling us that you believe these things are happening because the dragon is preparing to wake after a thousand years trapped in slumber? Is this your claim?” He leaned back and took a careful sip of wine. “If this is the case, I suppose we should take emergency measures to prevent that from happening. Pray tell us, Master Rothfaust, how exactly does one convince a dragon not to wake?”
Yells of “Bad science!” and “Preposterous!” shook the chamber walls.
“I am telling you that the only book I have found which refers to such a pattern of events is The Dragon Cycle,” Rothfaust replied, unperturbed. “That does not mean you need to make an ass of yourself, Mattu Halfmask.”
Ezio choked on his wine, and the master healer pounded him on the back. Daru was as still as a mouse in a room full of cats.
“Patreons, please,” Leviathus held up both hands. “Let us hear the loremaster out.”
Rothfaust shrugged. “I am telling you what a book says. What the words say, and the stories, and the songs. Something is happening in this world, do you not feel it? Do you not hear it? The magics are failing. Women and infants die in childbirth, our crops fail, and our fishing fleets return with empty nets—when they return at all. The daeborn gather in numbers greater than at any time since Davvus, and someone has been calling up bonelords in the desert. I have heard on three separate occasions that the Great Hunt has been seen in the east—”
“The Great Hunt! Bonelords and dragons!” Santorus threw his hands up in the air. “Rumors and stories and myths! We are trying to govern a kingdom, and you bring us children’s stories, Loremaster.”
“All truth is found in stories,” Rothfaust insisted. “Where else?”
Leviathus was too tired to watch old men hurl wine-cups and insults. He brought his own cup down upon the table, harder than he had intended. A small chip flew off the stem and flicked against his cheek, narrowly missing an eye.
“Masters,” he said, “Patreons. Esteemed shadowmancer. I have been riding a long while, and I am weary. We have a great deal to discuss, but perhaps some other time?” He softened the tone with his best and most disarming smile. “I would dearly love a bath and a bed. Let us take a while to ponder these things, and perhaps our loremaster may pursue this line of research further.” Rothfaust nodded.
“Excellent,” Leviathus concluded. “I can assure you, I will take these concerns directly to my father… once I have seen the baths.”
Mattu coughed discreetly. “Perhaps not tonight, ne Atu? I believe your father is entertaining company at the moment.”
Leviathus frowned. Mattu made it sound as if his father was…
Oh.
Oh.
The last rays of sun filtered in through the dragonglass columns, lighting the room with sparks of gold and bronze. The silk lanterns from Khanbul glowed softly as Akari Sun Dragon plunged into the sea in search of his long-lost love, and behind him, the fireplace roared to life. Leviathus stood, smothering a yawn, and the patreons rose with him.
“Very good, then, let us adjourn, and continue these discussions another time.” The servants filed in and began removing the foodstuffs. Leviathus kept a genial smile on his face as the rest of the Third Circle—having been rather abruptly dismissed—rose, bowed to their prince, and left the chamber.
All of them, that is, except Mattu Halfmask. He remained behind, even as the servants brought in rags and buckets and began scrubbing the stone table.
“Might I beg a moment of your time?” he asked. “A new troupe of fools has just rolled in to one of my establishments, and I think you would find their tale most… illuminating.”
Leviathus was too tired to play his cousin’s games. “Later, perhaps.”
Mattu stepped close, so close that Leviathus’s sword hand twitched. “Ne Atu. You really need to see this. Come with me.” He glanced down at Daru, and gave a mocking little bow. “Do bring your guest. I am sure this will be of interest to his mistress, as well.”
“Halfmask…”
Mattu reached for the hilt of his sword, and drew…
Leviathus drew as well—and found himself guarding against a bright spray of silk flowers. Mattu laughed and tossed the bouquet to Daru, who plucked it neatly from the air.
“Oh, come along now. I mean you no harm, O favored son. My sister adores you, for whatever reason, and I would show my true face before I ever caused her a moment’s sorrow. Besides,” he winked at Daru, who stared solemnly over the flowers, “I would never harm a child. Shall we?” He turned and walked from the room, whistling. After a moment’s hesitation, Leviathus sheathed his sword and followed, with Daru at his heels and the Draiksguard close behind.
* * *
They left the palace through a low door most commonly used by merchants and kitchen-lads. Mattu drew his hood up so that only his mask peered out, but Leviathus left his face bare.
They walked quickly down an alley between two rows of well-appointed merchants’ houses. The bright light spilling from colored-glass windows onto pale cobblestones gave their path a merry look. It was time for a late supper, and the smells of roasting pig and fish stew—and of some lemony dish from one house— reminded Leviathus that one light meal after months’ worth of travel was not a sufficient homecoming.
He knew this alley well, had spent many an evening with friends in these elite establishments. Mattu led the way up some stairs and into a well-lit bathhouse. The guards who had followed them remained in the street.
“I did not need to come this far for a bath,” he grumbled. “I do have a tub in my rooms.”
“And a girl waiting to help you,” Mattu agreed as he held the door open with a mocking flourish. “I know, I sent her there myself. I must warn you, though, Ginna is a spy in my sister’s employ. Why do you think I am so close with my own… business?” He let the heavy doors bang shut behind them. “I have given my staff each a copper and the night off, save old Douwa. At her age she has no more need of coppers than she has of gossip.” He laughed.
They shed their clothing. Leviathus threw Daru a towel, which he wrapped about himself with a grateful look, and they walked down the steps, through the proud enameled columns, and into a blinding cloud of steam.
Leviathus tensed, half expecting an attack as Mattu led them around the pit of steaming rocks and toward the figures seated on the wooden benches at the far side of the room. As they stepped closer, and the figures resolved themselves through the fragrant steam, he stopped dead in his tracks. He did not recognize the youth with the salt-clan tattoos, though the boy seemed familiar, and neither did he know the older Zeerani man, but he knew the woman who sat between them. Knew her, and could not imagine the reason for her presence.
“Istaza Ani.” He bowed, nonplussed. “I had not expected to find you here.” Nor had he expected to see her naked. For all her years, the woman had a startlingly fine figure, lean and muscled and curved like a girl’s. He tried not to stare.
“Impressive.” The youthmistress smirked at him. “Your scar, I mean. A man is so much more attractive once he has a few marks on his hide, do you not agree, Askander?” The middle-aged man beside her, lean and scarred as an old stallion, snorted a laugh without ever opening his eyes.
“A reminder never to get too close to a sea-bear.” Leviathus resisted the urge to touch the ugly marks that nearly bisected his torso, and took the bench farthest from the Zeeranim. “I had thought you were to remain behind.”
“That was the plan,” she agreed. “Plans change.”
“Istaza Ani.” Daru chose to sit with the desert folk. “Sulema has woken. She is weak and tired… but the Dragon King has agreed to heal her.”
Istaza Ani smiled at the boy. “I had heard, thank you, Daru.”
“Will you tell us now why you have come?” Mattu Halfmask asked. The sweat beaded in his hair and dripped down his mask, causing it to look as if the crocodile shed tears. “I am pleased that you sought me out in the market, but I am afraid I cannot bear the suspense a moment longer.”
The older Zeerani man—Askander—opened his eyes then, and gave Mattu a look like a hawk sizing up its prey. Istaza Ani placed a hand on the man’s thigh. She glanced at the salt youth, and at the half-masked man, and then shrugged and reached for a bundle of leather at her side.
“I found this in the Bones of Eth, at the very site where Sulema was… wounded. I had thought to bring it to Hafsa Azeina, but the idiots at the gate would not let me see her and I thought it might be rude to kill them.”
“One does not simply walk into Atukos and demand to speak with the queen consort.” Mattu laughed.
“Ha. She squats in the sand just like any woman. I would know.” Ani unwrapped the bundle. “She would not thank me if I turned back without first giving her this.”
The cloth fell away to reveal a blade, a wicked thing made for a wicked purpose. Red as blood, carved all over with tiny human skulls, it had a golden spider at one end and a blade meant for stripping hide from flesh at the other.
Mattu grimaced to look upon it. The salt-clan lad reacted even more strongly, scuttling away from it as from a scorpion exposed to the sunlight, mouth open and eyes wide and white as boiled eggs.
“Interesting.” Leviathus leaned in, though wary of touching the fell thing. “A nasty-looking weapon. You say you found this in the bones of something? Where that lionsnake attacked Sulema? I am afraid I do not see a connection.”
“The Bones of Eth,” murmured Mattu Halfmask. He stared at the knife. “A place of ill reputation, to be sure. May I?”
Ani hesitated, and then placed the thing upon his outstretched hands, wrappings and all.
“I would not touch it, if I were you. It feels… wrong.”
“I have no intention of touching it.” Mattu handled the knife as if it were a venomous snake, and very much alive. “Exquisite craftsmanship. It turns the stomach, to be sure, but it is beautifully made. Look here, you can see tiny hairs on the spider’s legs, as if it had been crawling about one day and then poof! Turned to gold. And the eyes.” He turned the blade, careful not to let it brush his skin. “The eyes seem to follow you. I do not think I would sleep well with this in my bedchamber.” He returned it with a shudder. “Horrible thing.”
“It is horrible,” the youthmistress agreed, “but do you know what it is? What it is meant to do? This is not a weapon meant for combat, but it hardly seems a bauble.”
“I know what it is,” Daru whispered. His eyes were enormous in his thin face, and he shrank a little as they all turned to look at him. “That is a blade of Eth. I saw a drawing of one once. In a book.” He swallowed.
“Let me guess.” Mattu’s voice was dry. “It was a book you were not supposed to be reading.”
Daru shook his head.
“I have heard of such a thing, as well.” The tattooed youth looked as if he wished himself far away. “Very bad. Very bad.” He shook his head. “Chop it up. Throw it away. Throw it into the sea. It is evil.”
“A thing cannot be evil, though it may be used for an evil purpose.” Leviathus frowned. “In any case, I would like to take this to my father. If someone is playing at Eth-worship, Ka Atu needs to know about it.”
Istaza Ani shook her head. “You will give this to Hafsa Azeina. She is waiting for it.”
Leviathus raised his brows. “My father—”
“She is right.” Mattu raised his hands as Leviathus turned toward him. “Wait, cousin, hear me out. If you take this to Ka Atu, he is going to give it to his shadowmancer for study. And Aasah…”
“…is a priest of Illindra,” Leviathus finished. “Consort of Eth.”
“He was born and raised in Quarabala.” Mattu raised a hand and adjusted his mask. “You know what the priests of Eth did to his people. If he suspects that the cult of Eth has arisen from the ashes…”
“He would tear Atualon apart to find them.”
“He would tear the world apart,” corrected Mattu Halfmask. “Shadowmancy is powerful magic, and Aasah would not be the king’s shadowmancer if he were not a dangerous man.”
“I will take the blade to Hafsa Azeina,” Leviathus decided, and accepted it carefully from the Zeerani woman. “If she believes these people are threatening my sister, she will find them.”
“And eat their hearts,” Ani agreed. “And use their guts to string her lyre.” The woman leaned back, breathed the steam in with a smile, and twined fingers with the man sitting next to her. “Your stonemasons should build such baths as this in Aish Kalumm. For the Mothers, of course. A fine gift for the people from Atualon.” She smiled, eyes half-closed.
“Ah,” Leviathus said, as he wrapped the knife again and sat it down on the bench. “As it happens, Atualon will be making a gift to your people. To express our gratitude for keeping my sister safe, all these years.”
Askander glanced toward Ani from the corner of his eyes. The youthmistress had lost her smile.
“There is no need for gifts,” she said, rather stiffly. “Sulema is a daughter of the pride.”
“Of course,” Leviathus agreed. “But she is my sister as well, and we are… I am… delighted to find her well and happy. You have no idea what this means to us. What it means to me.”
The woman scowled and said nothing.
The man at her side brought her hand to his lips. “Their ways are not our ways,” he reminded her gently. “He means no insult. Let the boy make his gesture.”
“Oh, very well.” Her scowl darkened, but she relented. “What value would you place on one Ja’Akari, then?”
“Ani…” Askander warned.
“One thousand salt jars.” Leviathus smiled. The salt-clan youth squawked and nearly fell from the bench.
The three Zeeranim stared at one another in open-mouthed shock. It was Askander who finally spoke.
“One. Thousand.”
“One thousand salt jars,” Leviathus agreed.
“You cannot know…” Ani swallowed. “You cannot know what this means to us.”
“Life.” He smiled. “Life for life. You cannot know how precious my sister is to me, so I suppose that makes us even.”
Ani looked at him for a long moment, and then slowly inclined her head. “I must apologize, Leviathus ap Wyvernus ne Atu. I have misjudged you.”
Not the first time that has happened, he thought, but said only, “It may take some time for us to complete such an order. I understand that there have been difficulties in production lately. As for delivery…”
“I believe I can help with that.” The tattooed youth grinned, bright teeth in a dark face full of mischief. “I apologize, ne Atu, for we have not been properly introduced. I am Soutan Mer ne Ninianne il Mer. I believe we have met, only,” and he winked, “never under such circumstances as these.”
“Son of the Lady of the Lake.” Leviathus laughed. “Of course! I did not recognize you without an angry husband shaking his fist in your face. I hardly dare ask how you ended up involved in all of this. What was it this time? Or should I ask, who was it this time?”
“You should probably not ask. There I was, naked in an olive tree…”
“Again?”
“Again—”
“As fascinating as this is,” Mattu Halfmask interrupted, “the hour grows long, and we should not risk discovery any longer. My staff will be returning to their duties soon, and it would be best if we were not here.”
“You are right, of course.” Leviathus collected the fell knife, and the wickedness of the thing dampened his mood. “You will have to tell me your story another time, Soutan Mer. If you would escort our friends to quarters here in the Merchant’s Circle…? Thank you. Atukos is in your debt.”
Istaza Ani yawned and stood, and laughed when the Atualonian men made themselves busy looking anywhere but at her breasts. “I should not linger, in any case. Inna’hael is outside the city walls, hunting, but I cannot guarantee that he will only take four-legged prey. Best we return to the prides as soon as we may. I had hoped to see Sulema…”
“I can bring you to the palace tomorrow, if that would be acceptable.” Soutan Mer glanced at Leviathus, and received a nod. “I can arrange the sale and delivery of your salt jars as well, and maybe even convince my mother to give you a fair price. Fairer than is her wont, at any rate.” He shrugged. “As many times as she has threatened to toss me into the Salt Lake, still she is rather fond of me, and I dare say she will appreciate my return. You desert folk seem to have a gift for returning lost things. Shall we?” He nodded to Leviathus, and left with the Zeeranim.
“Was that so wise?” Mattu Halfmask asked, rising from the bench.
“We had agreed that the gift was appropriate.”
“I am not speaking of pottery, ne Atu. I am asking whether it was wise to advise our enemies that they should go home and prepare for war. That is what they will do, you know, once they have thought about the cult of Eth and what that might mean.”
“Enemies? They are not our enemies.” Leviathus frowned. “I had thought to seek an alliance with them.”
“Oh, by all means, seek an alliance. Treat with them, trade with them, breed with them, if you feel so inclined. Atu knows, we need the children. But never forget this, Leviathus ap Wyvernus, ne Atu. We are the People of the Dragon.” He smiled, and tears ran down the crocodile’s face. “The world is our enemy. What is that word they use in the desert? Ehuani?”
“There is beauty in truth,” Leviathus agreed softly. The knife felt heavy in his hands. “Ehuani.”
The boy Daru gave a sudden shudder. He was so quiet, Leviathus had half-forgotten he was there. “Are you all right, child? Forgive me for keeping you up, I am sure you are…”
The boy looked at him, eyes wide and wild and dilated. “It is Sulema,” he said. “They are taking her to the Dragon King.”
Daru nodded. “Dreamshifter says you should come, right away.”
Mattu Halfmask had an odd smile on his face. “You had best hurry.”
“Hurry?” Leviathus frowned. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Trouble?” Halfmask laughed, odd eyes glinting. “Your father, Hafsa Azeina, and that hot-headed sister of yours, all together for the first time in years… what could possibly go wrong?”
Leviathus grabbed a towel and ran.