The Deathless
Peter Newman
From one of fantasy’s biggest recent breakthrough authors comes an exciting, brand new series.
The demons…
In the endless forests of the Wild, humanity scratches a living by the side of the great Godroads, paths of crystal that provide safe passage and hold back the infernal tide. Creatures lurk within the trees, watching, and plucking those who stray too far from safety.
The Deathless…
In crystal castles held aloft on magical currents, seven timeless royal families reign, protecting humanity from the spread of the Wild and its demons. Born and reborn into flawless bodies, the Deathless are as immortal as the precious stones from which they take their names. For generations a fragile balance has held.
And the damned…
House Sapphire, one of the ancient Deathless families, is riven by suspicion and madness. Whole villages are disappearing as the hunting expeditions holding the Wild at bay begin to fail.
Then, when assassins strike, House Sapphire shatters.
Nothing lasts forever.
The Deathless is the first novel in an astonishing new series from Gemmell award-winning author Peter Newman.
PETER NEWMAN
The Deathless
Copyright (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Peter Newman 2018
Cover illustration © Jaime Jones
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Peter Newman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008228989
Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008229009
Version: 2018-05-10
Dedication (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
For my friends,
who I really should see more often!
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue3ad7aa9-faa6-5323-8c7f-8cc1f3aa8b7f)
Title Page (#u007f7a4a-6de8-5abc-bb7f-6201d2e526c2)
Copyright (#u9880dd4e-59eb-56a8-8f74-a1a3f7282a73)
Dedication (#u8f99496a-fbb3-554c-bac9-3a0bc6781adf)
Chapter One (#u90d9d5e1-5db3-5135-a2cf-3695f022cae8)
Chapter Two (#uc4f2e5c4-9e0c-53c7-85ff-78afe8b46b60)
Chapter Three (#ufd5f7fcc-0e47-50c0-bbc9-be8b1121d497)
Chapter Four (#ue621f333-1778-5a10-bcb8-502374b9e758)
Chapter Five (#u10d2a9d1-239b-53bd-97a0-feb14cca359e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Peter Newman (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
Vasin Sapphire had risen long before the three suns, unable to sleep nor act, waiting, like the rest of the castle, for the drums of the hunt to begin.
He wished it were otherwise, that experience had taught him how to be calm, allowed him to conserve his strength, but it was always the same, his nerves as much a part of the ritual as everything else. How many times had he participated in the hunt? How many lifetimes? To his surprise, he was hazy on the exact number.
But his body knew. An instinct made him tense, the muscles bunching as he held his breath. And sure enough, on the next beat of his heart, the first drum was played, a single, thunderous strike. Housed at the very centre of the sprawling castle, its reverberations were felt at every corner, through the stone and in the guts, echoing throughout as the note faded to make way for the next. This was the deepest drum of the set, and its beat would steadily quicken as time passed, signalling all to prepare for the hunt.
Vasin exhaled. Some of the tension he had been holding in his limbs released. He kept looking out of the window. The darkness remained, starless and black, a greater emptiness that echoed the one inside.
Clearly he should be getting ready now, but the motivation simply wasn’t there. It was all he could do to resist lighting some Tack and inhaling its aroma of sweet oblivion. He’d been eking out his dwindling supply over the last year, taking just enough to bury his troubles.
But for all of his lack of motivation he didn’t dare. The honour of House Sapphire was in his hands, and no matter his misery, no matter how far he had fallen, he was a Sapphire, blood, bones, and soul.
The deep drum sounded a second time. Servants would be flowing down corridors, their measured steps at odds with their excited faces.
Hunting was at the heart of everything. The road-born supplied the castles of the Deathless, and the Deathless kept them safe from the demons of the Wild. If the hunt failed, then all Vasin’s people would suffer, the road-born from attack and the sky-born from starvation.
Though only he and his hunters would take flight, the whole castle would be present: the quality of the send off, it was believed, affected the hunt’s chances of success. Everyone had their part to play, especially Vasin.
But am I ready? It was a question he asked each time he led a hunt, but rarely with such uncertainty. A memory of his first life arose, him in another body, younger, nervous, his mother coming to his rooms to—
He dismissed it with a growl. He would not think of his mother. Not now and especially not today.
One set of feet stopped outside his open door and a man’s voice began singing for permission to enter. Without turning from the window, Vasin waved him in.
‘May I, my lord?’
‘Yes,’ replied Vasin.
A moment later, he felt the teeth of a brush in his hair. It started low, at the small of his back, banishing tangles from the tips, and worked up, each pull of the brush growing longer. There was a symmetry between the brush strokes and the drum beats that pleased Vasin.
‘I didn’t send for you,’ he mused aloud, and the brush hesitated halfway down his back. ‘Continue. I’m not displeased. Who sent you?’ he asked, curious. Who would know he had not requested assistance, and come to the conclusion that he needed some?
‘Your brother, my lord. Lord Gada bade me aid your preparations and tell you that he is on his way.’
It was unusual to meet before a hunt. Whatever was bringing him here it was unlikely to be good. They’d barely spoken in the last year, but clearly his brother was still keeping an eye on him, enough to know that he wasn’t grooming himself as he used to anyway. Vasin wondered what else Gada had seen and felt a twinge of shame as he regarded his room. The knowledge that a member of his family was arriving shortly threw the state of his quarters, and himself, into stark relief.
Vasin groaned, his brother always thought he knew best. ‘How long do I have?’
The servant, who looked familiar in a way that suggested Vasin had seen him before, and if not him, some ancestor who looked similar, chose his words carefully.
‘Lord Gada did not share that information with me, my lord.’ The servant made an apologetic face. ‘But if I were to guess, I would say he has already left his quarters.’
‘In that case we had best get to work. There is no time to bathe, but I must be scented and dressed before Gada arrives, and all of this clutter must be gone.’
The servant looked about the room, dismayed. ‘My lord.’
In the end it took the two of them to get everything straight, and Vasin had to spray the scented water over himself, then bind silk around his own chest, arms, and thighs, which was difficult, but by the time Gada entered, the illusion of serenity and cleanliness was established, betrayed only by the glistening sweat on the servant’s brow.
The body his brother had taken in this incarnation was classic Gada. Tall, thin, lightly muscled, as if exercise was something to be sampled but not indulged in. The thick eyebrows and beard, both neatly trimmed, suited, adding weight to an otherwise ephemeral appearance.
Like all Deathless, Lord Gada Sapphire held his own castle and looked after his own settlements. Despite this, he had become a regular fixture of Vasin’s life since their mother’s exile. Gada was still playing the game, fighting to keep them both in High Lord Sapphire’s favour. It was a fight he seemed destined to lose.
A slight flick of Gada’s finger dismissed the servant. They were alone.
Gada’s smile of greeting lacked sincerity, but then, it always had. It was why few trusted him and fewer warmed to him. If blood didn’t tie them, Vasin doubted he’d be very fond of the other man either. It wasn’t fair, because Gada had always looked after him, had taken his duties as elder brother seriously. Perhaps that was the problem. He’d always felt more like a duty to Gada than a loved one.
Vasin stood there, his habitual social ease failing him after years of disuse. Gada seemed afflicted by the same problem and so the brothers simply stared at one another, Gada’s smile looking like it could flee the scene at any moment.
Meanwhile, adding to the tension, the space between each beat of the great drum grew steadily shorter. Soon, the second drummer would begin, and Vasin would have to leave.
‘You look well,’ said Gada.
‘No I don’t.’
Gada’s smile faded away. ‘No.’
‘If you have something to say …’
‘Yes.’ He contradicted himself by pausing and Vasin felt frustration well up. His brother’s surprise visit was stirring up feelings he’d worked hard to bury. Grief stirred within him like a beast coming out of hibernation. He’d isolated himself on purpose, hiding behind his walls, refusing to see people. And when that hadn’t been enough, he’d used Tack, smoking himself into oblivion. Bad enough that he had to face the outside world today, but must he face the past as well? Why couldn’t his brother just say whatever it was and leave?
Gada closed the space between them, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder as he did so. ‘I was surprised to hear you had volunteered to lead the hunt.’
‘And you weren’t sure I was up to it?’
‘This has to go well, Vasin.’ His words were hushed, conspiratorial. ‘It’s bigger than you or me. All eyes are on us now, from below and without, and across the other houses … After the last hunt failed, we—’
He’d heard about the failed hunt, the hunt that failed even to happen. Sorn, one of the Sapphire holdings belonging to Lord Rochant, had called for help against the Wild. Lord Rochant had been between lives at the time, and so it had fallen to Yadavendra, High Lord of the Sapphire, to oversee Sorn’s protection. They’d made the proper sacrifice, followed tradition, but, for the first time in House Sapphire’s history, the call had gone unanswered. Not only had the High Lord turned his back on them, he had forbidden the other Sapphire Deathless to get involved. Since then, nothing had been heard from Sorn, and a feeling of unrest had settled over the rest of the Sapphire provinces. Sagan had been the first settlement to call for aid since, and though Yadavendra hadn’t responded personally, his silence allowed the others to take action.
‘If it’s so important,’ said Vasin acidly, ‘why doesn’t High Lord Sapphire lead the hunt himself?’
Gada’s expression was pained. ‘He’s still too disturbed by grief.’
‘What?’
‘Please don’t, Vasin.’
‘He’s disturbed by grief? He is! What about us? What about our grief? She was our mother—’
The sound of the second drum cut off Vasin mid shout. Two beats, close together, following on the heels of the first drum. Gada spoke into the quiet that followed.
‘Hunt well and thorough, brother.’
Vasin forced his fists to unclench. It wouldn’t do to part like this. He pulled Gada close, feeling the man stiffen before settling into an awkward embrace. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but his voice cracked and his throat tightened, swallowing the rest of the sentence.
‘Sssh,’ Gada said. ‘Deal with the hunt today. I can wait till tomorrow, the court for a while after that. One thing at a time.’ He peeled himself out of Vasin’s grip as another beat of the drums reverberated through the castle. ‘Hunt well and thorough.’
Unable to speak, Vasin nodded and left the room. His eyes were blurry with tears but it didn’t matter, he knew the way well enough, the hallways and rooms mapped over many lives.
With effort, he could push aside thoughts of the Sapphire High Lord and his brother, but the rage sat there, burning, like a hot coal in his chest.
It had been a glimpse, nothing more. The bottom half of a tunic and a pair of boots ascending a stairwell. One of the night guards doing the rounds.
Honoured Mother Chandni wandered to the bottom of the stairs, a frown spoiling her features. She knew all of the guards by sight and yet this one had seemed like a stranger. She also knew the routines of the castle as well as she knew the habits of the babe in her arms, and there were no changeovers due for at least an hour.
Still frowning, she continued up the stairs and stepped out onto the ramparts. It was still dark, the three suns some hours from rising, but Satyendra showed no signs of sleepiness. She felt the same. There was simply too much going on for her mind to rest.
A guard saluted her as she came into view. His name was Ji, one of the older ones. Ji was not the one she’d seen on the steps, they had moved too quickly, their stride that of a much younger man.
‘Did another guard come this way?’ she asked.
‘No, Honoured Mother. It’s just me and the cold out tonight.’
‘You’re sure?’
He nodded. ‘Even the castle is quiet.’
‘It’s holding its breath. We all are.’ It was Lord Rochant Sapphire’s rebirth ceremony in the morning and they all wanted him back dearly. The halls had seemed empty since he’d gone between lives.
‘When do you think he’ll come back to us?’ asked Ji.
‘When he’s ready. It’s not for you to question the time or place.’
‘Sorry, I just miss him.’
Chandni allowed herself a polite smile. ‘We all do.’
It’s time to replace Ji, she thought. The man’s losing his focus. I’ll keep him on long enough for Lord Rochant to see him in uniform one more time, and then retire him.
She made a slow circuit of the walls. Had she really seen that guard? It was dark and she was tired, perhaps she had imagined it? Chandni didn’t believe that though. There was something in the air, a tension that she hoped was connected to Lord Rochant’s return. But it wasn’t hope she felt in her stomach. Satyendra stirred in her arms, uncharacteristically restless.
‘You feel it too don’t you?’ she said softly. ‘You’re not alone. I doubt any of us will sleep easily tonight.’
Satyendra regarded her with dark eyes. He had always been a quiet baby but there was something alert in his manner, a watchfulness that suggested a wise head rather than a vacant one.
‘Somewhere over there,’ she continued, pointing into the night, ‘is another castle just like this, floating high in the sky. It belongs to Lord Vasin Sapphire. At dawn, he’ll be hunting for demons in a place called Sagan. Normally your grandfather, Lord Rochant, would do it, but his soul is somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.’
All along the battlements were sapphire lanterns that took the sunslight of the day and turned it into a series of little blue halos. Chandni loved the constancy of their light almost as much as she loved the order of their placement, each painstakingly positioned the exact same distance from its neighbours, a visible testament to the perfection of House Sapphire. She found it much more impressive than the stars, strewn messily across the sky.
Only the greatest minds can create such order.
And Lord Rochant’s castle was a beacon of order. Strong walls, symmetrical, smooth, polished so that the stone and sapphires shone. She had lived here her whole adult life and never felt safer or happier.
Her imagination re-conjured those feet on the stairs, unfamiliar, moving quickly, and she looked down into the courtyard, then across to the opposite wall, then either side of the ramparts.
Nothing.
The castle was as it always was. A fortress hanging impossibly in the sky, held aloft by ethereal currents and forgotten arts.
Safe and dependable and beyond the reach of demons.
The thought made her look in the other direction, out, over the edge of the battlements, away from safety.
Below, she could see miles and miles of unconquered woodland spreading in every direction: the Wild. Strange. Threatening. The very sight of it chilled her, and in the dark it was all too easy to imagine it growing, reaching out to engulf the road-born who dwelled on its perimeter.
She couldn’t imagine living so close to death. How do they sleep down there? she wondered. How do they bear it?
Her eyes moved to the silver-blue ribbon sparkling in defiance of the dark: the Godroad. There were many paths through the Wild but the only safe ones were the Godroads. Relics from the Unbroken Age, each was built straight and true, cutting clean lines of glittering crystal through the trees, dividing the great forest into sections.
Chaos and order. The Wild and the Godroad. The demons and the Deathless.
She let the thoughts roll around in her mind, seeing the way one connected to the other. Like a set of dance steps repeated over and over, endless.
The road-born scavenged the forest, in part to provide for themselves, and in part to provide for people like Chandni.
Inevitably, their activities would catch the attention of the demons and a stalking would begin. After a while, a farm animal would vanish, or a child that had not listened to the warnings of their elders. When this happened, a village would call to their crystal lords for aid and the hunters would come, sending whatever it was back into darkness one way or another.
So it is with the people of Sagan. A cycle. Demons, sacrifice and then the hunt. Soon there will be order again.
But then, should it not also have been that way for the people of Sorn? Chandni shook her head sadly. High Lord Yadavendra had left Sorn to the mercy of the Wild. It was Lord Vasin, not Yadavendra, that was coming to Sagan’s aid.
Things are not as they should be, she thought. We need Lord Rochant back now more than ever.
Satyendra shifted in her arms and she realized she’d been ignoring him for too long. She lifted him up so that he could see over the top of the battlements.
‘Somewhere down there, the elders of Sagan will be choosing their tributes and sending them into the forest. Tributes are very brave, they draw out the demons so the hunters can get them.
‘If you look closely, you might even see their lights. Each one carries a torch to guide the hunters to them.’ Each one would also bear a fresh cut to lure the demons with their blood, but she didn’t mention that.
There were complicated rules about the choosing of a tribute. Some villages would pick their best in the hope that they would survive, bringing honour to all involved. Others would pick their worst, as the hunt was the neatest way to deal with undesirables. For a pariah, such an outcome could be a second chance. More than once, Chandni had heard tales of criminals volunteering to become a tribute in an effort to be forgiven for past crimes.
‘Though the Wild is cruel, my Satyendra, our world is fair. The road-born can rise all the way up here, if they are able enough. Lord Rochant proved that when he became Deathless. And even the Deathless can fall if they betray us. The traitor, Nidra Un-Sapphire, and the previous High Lord, Samarku Un-Sapphire, proved that when they made deals with the Wild. So you have to be perfect in all that you do and never bend, for when crystal bends, it shatters.’
Satyendra’s eyes attended her as she spoke. He is such a bright little thing. Chandni knew he could not understand her yet, but she liked talking to him and believed that, on some level, the spirit of her words was sinking in.
‘Our thoughts are with Lord Vasin and his hunters tonight. May they hunt well and thorough.’
When Satyendra gave a soft gurgle, she took it as agreement and planted a kiss on his forehead.
The rest of her walk passed peacefully, and soon she was back where she’d begun, at the stairwell.
Satyendra yawned and, a moment later, she found herself stifling one of her own. If she went back to her chambers now, she might have time for a few hours of sleep before the rebirth ceremony.
She turned to give Ji a goodnight wave before going inside. He was not the man he used to be, but he had served loyally and she was fond of him.
Halfway through the gesture her hand stopped, confused. Ji was nowhere to be seen. His post empty.
Though she knew in her heart that things were bad, Chadni took the time to check Ji had not simply slipped away to relieve himself or take refuge from the cold. He had not. She checked again. Then she ran.
The Chrysalis Chamber was glass on three sides, letting sunslight pour into the space. Even on a dawn like this one, when only the weakest of the suns, Wrath’s Tear, was peeking over the horizon, the heat was palpable, like a wall that Vasin had to press through.
Normally, sapphires adorned the back of the chamber, slowly spreading in pools of milky liquid, but on hunting days all was cleared away save for a single stand of armour and the two Gardener-smiths ready to help him change.
Each life that Vasin lived demanded a new set of armour, the crystals picked and grown by the Gardener-smiths the day his newest vessel was chosen, taking years and a great deal of skill on the part of the smiths to form it to the individual and establish a firm bond to the body. Though he preferred to be reborn as an adult, Vasin had gone through several childhoods and could recall little more tedious than the long modelling sessions.
Luckily, his last rebirth avoided the whole mess, his descendant having reached maturity before the soul was replaced with Vasin’s. This meant, thankfully, that it was his descendant, rather than him, that had spent several hours a day wearing each piece of crystal as it was grown and cut to fit.
It resulted in armour that fit so close and so naturally it was like skin.
More than that though, each set was grown from crystals harvested from the set before, and over time, they developed a personality of their own. For Vasin, putting the armour on was like reconnecting with the best part of himself. It was like coming home.
He raised his arms, assuming the ritual stance, and the Gardener-smiths took a little blood from his palms, daubing each piece with it, waking the crystal to his presence.
As the drum beats continued, nearing the point where the third and fourth drummers would join, the Gardener-smiths helped him into his Sky-legs, a pair of boots ending in long curving blades that would allow him to land safely, or bound easily into the air. Once mounted, he stood several feet higher than them. This was one of the things Vasin enjoyed most when hunting, the feeling of becoming something greater. Once, in better times, he’d talked about the feeling with his mother, and she’d told him it was the closest they came to being like the gods they were descended from.
The rest of the armour was then attached. He shivered as the crystal greaves were locked into place. At first he could feel them, cool against his calves, and then it was as if they had melted and become part of him.
Plates were attached to his thighs and groin, to his chest and shoulders, arms and hands. He turned his head from left to right, catching a glimpse of crystal wings, feather carved, curved and blade thin, sprouting from his back. Unlike those of birds, his were rigid.
At last a helm was placed on his head. Open-topped to let his hair spill out like a waterfall down his back, the crystal was thinned to give only the slightest tint of blue to his vision, and grown to leave breathing space at his nose and mouth.
Into his outstretched hands they placed a long silver-handled spear with a sapphire tip. His fingers moved naturally to the trigger set halfway down the shaft.
‘Hunt well and thorough, my lord,’ said the Gardener-smiths together, bowing low.
Vasin saluted them, pleased with their workmanship, and made his way to the edge of the Chrysalis Chamber, being careful to take small steps so as not to engage his Sky-legs too early.
As he approached, the Gardener-smiths backed away and the glass went with them, sliding aside to allow him onto a balcony overlooking the central courtyard of the palace.
People had gathered below, their adoring faces peering up at him. A block of hunters stood in the centre, their spears and wings glinting proudly in the sunslight. They were armoured in leather, not crystal as he was, and their Sky-legs and wings were lesser, the most their limited skills could handle. It was not their fault, there was simply only so much that could be achieved in a single lifetime. Vasin did not judge his mortal followers for it as some did. In fact, it made him proud how far his people managed to get within so few years. According to his mother, Gada had taken two lifecycles to reach their standard.
About the hunters were their families, and about them a greater crowd of staff and visitors, traders and children. All were dressed in their finest, a shimmering display of silks and crystal, sparkling, joyous.
Vasin raised his spear, and the third and fourth drummers joined in, one deep like the first, and one lighter like the second. The resonance was growing, the faster beats beginning to build, forcing him to lean forward as his wings were pulled back by each wave of sound.
It would not be long now.
‘Who has made the call?’ he said, and it took all of his skill to project his voice high enough and far enough to be heard below.
‘The people of Sagan!’ came the choral reply. Sagan, a sister settlement of Sorn. He wondered if the plight of one had become the plight of the other.
‘And who has answered the call?’
‘We have!’ bellowed the hunters.
‘Then there will be a hunt. And who will lead the hunt?’
‘Vasin,’ replied the crowd as one, ‘Lord Vasin, Lord Vasin of the Sapphire Everlasting, it is he who leads the hunt.’
‘And what will carry him through the Wild places?’
‘We will!’
‘And with what will you carry him?’
‘With song and heart and blade and blood.’
‘Prove it!’
And with that he leaped from the balcony.
The drums paused for the slightest part of a second, long enough for the crowd to take breath, and for Vasin to plunge down. He held his arms out, straight and still, and closed his eyes.
Wind whistled by, hurling back his hair.
Then the drums played again, all seven this time, a frenetic blast of sound, with the higher ones dancing over the lower, and the crowd’s cheer blasting over that.
Each of the sounds came together to form a net, swelling beneath his wings.
There was a moment of utter weightlessness in the gasp that came between falling and soaring, like the moment between one life and the next, and then Vasin was skimming over the heads of the crowd, spear thrust in front, calling for the hunters to join him.
And they did, each step a sailing bound, bobbing beneath him as they raced towards the outer wall. When they reached it, the hunters threw themselves over the edge, trusting to their wings and the essence that rose up from far, far below. For directly beneath them was a great split in the rock, a chasm that led into fathomless depths. The sides of the chasm were grey and so smooth they were almost soft to touch, like stone worked by years of sand and sea. From it, currents of essence rose, oddly coloured wisps of purple and yellow that slowly bled transparent as they mixed with the air. It was these currents that held the castle in the sky, like a giant cork riding gentle, invisible waves.
As the hunters passed over the lip of the wall, the ethereal currents swept them upwards, allowing them to glide in Vasin’s wake.
This was one of his favourite parts of the hunt, before the dive, where the world was spread out below. The floating castle was picked out by the rising red light of Wrath’s Tear, its chain bridge a flopping tongue that reached down to Mount Ragged and the deep path gouged into its side. But the base of the mountain was mist-shrouded, hidden beneath trees that carpeted everything as far as the eye could see and beyond: the Wild. Monsters and nightmares, tricksters and demons lurked beneath that twisted canopy; all desperate to get their hooks into the unwary.
He could feel the lift starting to fade from his wings and banked to the right, making a slow circle on the edge of the castle’s essence currents. The hunters followed his lead, all eyes alert for the signal.
A cry went up from Vasin’s right and he saw Mia, a young hunter, pointing. Following the angle of her arm, he was able to see the glimmer of light winking from the trees far below. It irritated him that the first spot was not his but he let it go. There would be more than enough glory to go round by the time this was done.
He raised his spear high, then let the point fall forward as he started his dive.
Away from the chasm, the essence currents were weaker and harder to manage. Enough to glide down but not enough to give lift. The Wild itself was a web of invisible essence but only the most skilled gliders could navigate it for long. The trick of the hunt was to drive the quarry towards the edge of a Godroad before putting down, otherwise the hunters could easily find themselves lost and overwhelmed.
As they descended on the first tribute, they could see the light was moving quickly through the trees, bouncing and flickering as it flitted under the canopy: something was making them run. This was to be expected, as each tribute was cut before they set off, the combination of blood and light designed to lure any demons from their hiding places as quickly as possible.
Another cry went out from the hunters. The second tribute had been spotted. Vasin frowned as he located them. They had become separated from the first and were moving deeper, their light flickering off to his left. The second tribute was not going as fast as the first, suggesting they were not under immediate threat, but Vasin was sure that would soon change.
He considered his options. The sensible thing to do would be to lead the hunters after the first tribute. They would surely lose the second but would maximize their chance of saving the first and killing the beast that pursued them cleanly.
However, this hunt did not need just to be successful, it needed to be perfect. The second tribute was nearly beyond the reach of his hunters but he could still get to them if he went immediately.
The thought made his wings nudge that way, as if the part of him that had seeped into the armour over the years, the better, bolder part, already knew what had to be done and was just waiting for him to catch up.
‘Mia,’ he called out. Hoping that his voice would carry over the winds. ‘You have the hunt.’ He pointed to the light of the first tribute and the dark shape glimpsed behind it. ‘Go!’
Whether or not she heard his words, she saw the way his spear pointed and read his intent, leading the hunters down in a sharp dive.
As they sped away, he banked left, doing everything he could to maintain his height. Still, it was not long before the greens and browns of the trees were racing only a few feet from his chest.
The canopy was thick here and he lost sight of the second tribute’s light, but it did not trouble him. In his mind he could still picture it, his imagination mapping its progress where his eyes could not.
This deep into the Wild, the gaps between the trees were few and far between, and it was a delicate choice to decide when to drop to ground level. Too soon and he would have to chase the tribute on foot, too long and he would crash into the branches.
One gap passed him, and through it, he was rewarded with a glimpse of a torch, another, and he could just see the outline of the one holding it. To his surprise, they’d stopped moving.
He dived into the next gap without thinking, submerging himself in the dark of the woods. The sudden stealing of the light left him blind for a second but he twisted and turned with the wind, instincts guiding him between the trunks as lesser branches clawed at his armour.
Three times his Sky-legs touched the ground, absorbing momentum until he could skid to a halt on the fourth.
Without the roar of the winds, the silence was abrupt, shocking. Vasin turned on the spot in the direction of the tribute’s torch, to find it was coming slowly towards him. An outline of a cloak, and a hood. Vasin’s eyes were still adjusting but he could tell the tribute was an adult.
A little of the red sunslight fingered its way through the trees above, coming in slender shafts in the space between them.
‘You have called and we have answered,’ he said. ‘Fear not, for you are under the protection of the Sapphire Everlasting.’
The figure stopped to laugh, a bitter and oddly familiar sound. The torch went out and the tribute threw it to land, smoking, at his feet, the damp grass hissing in protest against its heat.
Vasin raised his spear in readiness, glancing about for signs of others. He could see no one else, though in that moment he wasn’t sure who this favoured.
‘Who are you?’
The figure moved closer and Vasin’s throat tightened, his body knowing and reacting to the truth before his mind could grasp it.
‘Oh my sweet one, do I pass so quickly from memory?’
She pulled back the hood. Her dark skin had paled a little, and there was a scar on her cheek he did not recognize. Sorrow had marked her eyes and put new lines around her mouth but there was no doubt who she was.
Ashamed, Vasin lowered the spear and cast his helmet aside. ‘Mother?’
‘Always,’ she replied, stepping into the space where his spearpoint had just been.
CHAPTER TWO (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
It was quiet as Chandni hurried along the castle halls and she hated it. Most of the inhabitants were in their beds, asleep or fretting for the future, and Captain Dil had pulled the guards back to the Rebirthing Chamber. It made the place seem deserted. Normally the castle moved to a beat she knew, everything and everyone in its right place. On special days, like those of a hunt, the beat changed, but it was still one that was known. This was the first rebirth to take place in her lifetime, and the strangeness of it put her on edge.
By now her summons would have reached Captain Dil and she imagined he’d be unhappily making his way to her room. She was determined to get there before he did.
Chandni only paused by Honoured Vessel Kareem’s door. The room was empty now and would never be filled by his presence again. The young man had already been taken away for the rebirthing ceremony. Either he would prove to be worthy for Lord Rochant Sapphire’s soul, or something else would come through and make an abomination. Kareem would die in the morning, that was certain. Only the manner of his death remained to be decided.
She’d miss the man’s quiet confidence, and the dash of humour lurking behind his studious nature. Chandni’s thoughts went to Kareem’s Honoured Mother. How must she feel right now? Such a strange thing to balance the joy of a son being chosen as an Honoured Vessel against the grief of losing him.
An impulse made her hug Satyendra close. Of course, if the house ever needed her to give up Satyendra, she would. But I hope it never comes to that. Kareem must succeed, he must. And Lord Rochant must have a long and prosperous lifecycle, and my Satyendra must live a full life. One that stretches far beyond my own.
Not just for herself, but for the house, she hoped Kareem would succeed. He was a good match for Lord Rochant, disciplined, intelligent and well educated. If Kareem failed then the honour would pass through his other living descendants: Mohit was next in line, then Dhruti, and then her Satyendra.
However, any vessel other than Kareem would be a disaster for the house. Mohit, for all his sweetness, was a bad match. He was hard working but dogged, lacking the brilliance that so characterized Lord Rochant’s actions. And while Dhruti and Satyendra were more promising, both were too young, which would mean more years of waiting.
Chandni prayed it would not come to that.
We need you now, my lord.
She rested her hand on Kareem’s door for a moment, a silent goodbye, then walked the short distance to her own chamber.
Satyendra seemed sleepy but not quite ready to settle. She carried him over to the Wall of Glory. A single slab of grey amid the brickwork, the Wall of Glory recorded those of importance. Names were engraved deep, then painted in gold. Lines of blue displayed family links and unions. Each of House Sapphire’s Deathless was inscribed there, and she had positioned Satyendra’s cot so that it would be the first thing he would see in the morning and the last thing at night. She pointed to the highest and boldest name, and tried to sound sincere when she said: ‘This is High Lord Yadavendra, greatest of all.’
Her finger paused in the air over a blank piece of stone. Once it had held the name of Nidra, Yadavendra’s sister, but since her exile those details had been removed, leaving the stone a paler shade than those around it. Somehow it made the absence more glaring, harder to forget. The sight of it always brought on a sadness in Chandni. Normally, if one of the Deathless lost their status, they would be replaced, just as Lord Rochant had replaced Samarku Un-Sapphire. But not this time.
Since the end of the Unbroken Age, seven Deathless Sapphire had stood watch over the land. In his grief, Yadavendra had made them six, destroying not only his sister but the seat of her immortality as well. There was a hole in House Sapphire and no good would come of it.
Not wanting Satyendra to see her unhappy before bed, she pointed at the name below the empty space. ‘Look here,’ she pointed at some golden letters, ‘the name of the one leading the hunt in Sagan this night. Yadavendra’s nephew, Lord Vasin, who is always happiest in the sky.’
And may the sky restore him. May this night restore all of us.
‘You see,’ she continued, ‘all of the Sapphire Deathless are related by blood, save one.’ She held Satyendra up so that he could paw at the one name separate from the others in their nest of blue lines. ‘Your grandfather, Lord Rochant, started life as a road-born but he was so brave and so clever that High Lord Yadavendra brought him to his castle to serve as a hunter, and later, an adviser. When Rochant gave his life to save the house against Samarku Un-Sapphire, High Lord Sapphire made him into a Deathless. Your grandfather is wise and perfect, the very essence of what it means to be a Sapphire.’
She heard a voice sing for permission to enter and granted it, recognizing Captain Dil’s voice immediately.
The captain wore his best uniform, and had put a little wax in his beard to make it look fuller. Nerves made him seem younger than usual. It is his first time protecting a rebirth too, I must remember that.
‘Honoured Mother, I hear there’s a problem?’
‘I saw someone in the castle, a stranger wearing a guard’s uniform. I didn’t like the way he was creeping about.’
Dil nodded to himself. ‘I should have guessed it would be something like that. There’s nothing to worry about, you just saw some of the extra protection I’ve brought in for tonight. I’m sorry, Honoured Mother, I should have informed you.’
‘I see.’
‘Is that all?’
She didn’t like his tone, it made her feel as if she was being unreasonable rather than thorough. ‘No, that is not all. I spoke to Ji earlier tonight on the ramparts. When I finished my walk, I saw that he was no longer at his post. Nobody was.’
‘All of the guards are checking in with me at regular intervals. As a matter of fact, I’ve just spoken to Ji.’
‘He left his post without replacement? That makes no sense. Why was a section of the castle unguarded on this night of all nights?’
Dil bristled. ‘No attack is going to come over the wall, Honoured Mother. We live in the sky. That is why Ji is on duty there, it’s the safest posting I could find for him. The bridge is secure, the Rebirthing Chamber is secure. They are the places that matter and they are protected at all times by several of our best. I have it all in hand.’
‘My apologies, captain, I’m sure you do.’
He took a step towards the corridor. ‘Can I ask you to keep to your room from now on, it makes it easier if I know where everyone is.’
She looked down at Satyendra who had gone very still in her arms. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem. Is all well with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me, captain, but you don’t seem yourself.’
Dil paused to fuss with his uniform. ‘The Bringers have arrived. They make me nervous.’
Few people got to meet the Bringers of Endless Order. They were the ones who carried out the rebirth ceremony, and dealt in matters of the soul. Nobody even knew what they looked like under their masks and heavy robes. ‘Has it started?’
‘Not yet. Soon though. I should be going.’
He left quickly, leaving Chandni with a sense of foreboding. He’s worried. Good. We should be worried, it will keep us focused.
As if giving the lie to that, Satyendra fell asleep. She placed him in his cot with a faint smile and settled down, knowing she would not be able to relax until the ceremony was over.
Few were allowed to bear witness to a rebirthing ceremony, the honour reserved for Crystal High Lords and the Bringers of Endless Order.
Pari Tanzanite was neither.
The tunnel she’d used to breach the inner castle was secret, winding, hidden by glittering architecture and sumptuous art carved in ancient crystal, smoothed by the touch of admiring hands. Behind hard faces of blue gemstone it went, through spaces between the castle’s floors, bending around stairwells and pillars, allowing one to spy on the great halls of House Sapphire, or gain entry to a select number of bedchambers.
It was said that in the ancient days, when the gods still walked the earth, unbroken, that there were those who could look into the face of another and know their secrets. Pari had spent many of her lifetimes trying to rediscover that art with only partial success. She could not read thoughts or summon specific knowledge from the minds of her enemies. Nor could she overwrite their thoughts with her own, such powers remained the province of the shattered gods and the things that lurked in the Wild below.
However, her efforts had borne some fruit. Sometimes, Pari would know that a lie had been spoken, or have a sudden insight into where a person was going, or who they might harbour secret affections for. As if all of her observations were gathered in a wordless part of her mind and joined together, the resulting sequences given back to her as feelings or hunches.
These insights were only sometimes useful and always impossible to prove, but she had learned to trust them, to grasp and follow them before they slipped away. It had led to her having a reputation of being flighty and chaotic when the truth was very much the opposite.
So when an anonymous message had arrived four days ago, slipped under her dinner plate, she had known at once that she was reading truth:
Things are not well in the home of your lover. Loyal friends are posted elsewhere. Strangers walk the halls, sharpening knives while they wait for his return. He needs help. He needs you. Come now. Come carefully.
Without hesitation, she had made a show of throwing up and had then retreated to her room, leaving strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed. An hour later, she was on the road, hidden in the back of a wagon, and en route to the castle of Lord Rochant Sapphire.
He was in danger, of this she was certain, and that was enough to have her enter, uninvited and unlawfully. Discovery would mean disgrace and the possible loss of her immortal status. But not to act, to allow whatever was coming for Rochant to take his life unopposed, was unthinkable.
She had been twenty years younger the last time she used the tunnel. Though it was unchanged, her age lengthened the journey, doubling the effort required for each drag of the knee, tripling it where walls and ceiling narrowed and she was forced onto her chest, worm-like.
For Rochant, it would feel like no time at all, the space between death and life but a moment for him, while she had felt keenly every second they had been apart. And she had lived those seconds, time taking its toll on her body. Would he still be drawn to her? Would he still recognize her? Of course he will, she chided herself, our attraction is stronger than common sense, or family taboos, or time. She tried to picture his surprise at seeing her, and his joy. The picture in her mind found a mirror on her face, infused by the growing sense of excitement that, at last, they would be reunited. And while the feeling did little to remove her discomfort, it made it a lot easier to ignore.
As she inched her way forward, noises of the castle wound their way up to her. The chatter of servants, hushed, preparing to retire. Snores of the drunk, rattling and regular. And softer, a groan of relief, followed by a litany of curses directed against shoes and the people that made them so tight. Nothing that suggested danger. A little doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. What if she was wrong? And what if, by being here, she put his life and reputation at risk? Perhaps the letter was a trap rather than a warning and her instincts were wrong. What a bitter irony that would be.
One by one, the noises settled, till only the snoring could be heard, and Pari came to the end of the tunnel and her lover’s bedroom. In the dark, her fingers fumbled, memory not enough to guide them, until persistence brought them to the catch.
Inside the room, a painting of a surprised young man slid aside, allowing Pari to pull herself free. Able to stand upright again, each limb was stretched in turn, joints cracking like whips. Pari grimaced, knowing that she would pay for this excursion tomorrow. Such is the price of age, she thought. Not so much that we have less fun, just that the cost of it keeps going up.
She allowed her hand to slide along the gem-studded wall, until there was warmth under her skin, and pressed. Solar light, captured over the day and piped where needed, spilled out, filling the room with heat and illumination, blue-tinted.
The bedroom was mostly as she remembered it. Plain walls hardly visible beneath the paintings, all of them of live subjects, and by a variety of different artists. She used to know the history of every piece but it was so long ago. The subjects were long dead and her memories were of Rochant’s face rather than his words, and the way his stern features became so delightfully boyish when enthusiastic.
No dust had settled on the furniture, and the sheets on the bed were perfectly smooth until Pari sat on them. The room smelt fresh, clean, but it did not smell of him, and she was struck by the hollowness of the place.
It’s waiting for you to come back. We all are, my darling.
Pari went to the door on the opposite wall and slid it back to reveal a rack of clothing. Hanging underneath Lord Rochant’s cloak, hidden, was a second simpler one of Sapphire design, the kind worn by the castle staff on a cold night.
She took out the cloak and slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the hood forward till it cast her face in shadow, hiding her only concession to vanity: a pair of golden earrings that fastened to the top and bottom of each ear; a gift from him to her from their early, heady days.
There was a sad lack of mirrors but some of the paintings were protected by glass and, from the right angle, she was able to see a paler version of herself. Her reflection gave her an approving nod, before smiling.
Much better.
So far, her intrusion had been easy. The routines of the castle had not changed, and it was a small matter for her to sneak in through the servants’ quarters. House Sapphire had few enemies, and Lord Rochant fewer still. With most of the guards assigned to the ceremony, she had plenty of opportunities to cross from the courtyard where visitors were taken, to the outer wall. From there, it had only been a short run to the tunnel’s entrance and complete concealment all the way to Rochant’s bedchamber.
The hard part was yet to come. She slipped out into the corridor and began her walk towards the Rebirthing Chamber. By her estimate, the suns would only just be starting to rise. Rochant had been born under the lesser red sun, Wrath’s Tear, and so she still had a little time before the ceremony began.
In short bursts, she travelled, crouching by glazed vases bursting with yellowed leaves, then dashing forward to hide by a statue of a serious looking man in long robes: Lord Rochant Sapphire, rendered in crystal, and mounted on a plinth. It had been grown over years, sculpted meticulously to match the subject at every stage of life. If the rebirthing ceremony was successful, the statue would be moved to the ancestral hall and a new one would be put in its place. Accuracy had been given priority over flattery, every feature worked to match the original’s. The artist had done an exquisite job and it was no accident that Pari’s hand came to rest on the statue’s bottom.
Where are the guards? she wondered. So far, she had seen no one, heard nothing.
Halfway to her next hiding place, she saw one coming out of a bedroom, closing the door, carefully, quietly. It would only be a few moments before he looked up and saw her. Instead of diving for cover, Pari straightened, trusting to her disguise.
No longer creeping, the sudden sound of her footsteps filled the pre-dawn quiet, and the guard jumped so high the plume of his helm nearly tickled the ceiling.
Making the most of the man’s surprise, Pari hurried past: the guard stayed facing the door until her back was to him. She heard him then set off quickly in the opposite direction.
She’d noted the slight shine of his cheeks and wondered about it as she turned the corner. Something in the man’s manner nagged at her, slowing her steps. Embarrassed or not, the guard she had encountered was in the family wing of the castle on the night of Rochant’s ceremony, and he should have challenged her.
Suddenly, all thoughts of her reunion faded away, banished by the puzzle. Not only had the guard not challenged her, she realized, he had been as keen to get away as she was. And then another thing occurred to her. When the guard had left, he was going at speed, and yet she could not remember hearing the sound of his footsteps.
Pari stopped. She didn’t understand what was going on but all of her instincts were telling her to run, and so she did, away from where the ceremony would be starting and back to the door where she had first encountered the guard.
It was quiet on the other side of the door, the same kind of quiet she’d experienced in Rochant’s room. With a sickening feeling, Pari turned the handle and pushed open the door.
Dim light from the corridor bled through into the dark room, painting a sleeping girl in greys, serene. Pari would guess her to be no more than fifteen, most likely one of Rochant’s grandchildren.
Around her the room contained a few hints of chaos: a broken chair, a scattering of beads and a second body, a young woman in a guard’s uniform, chest down, head twisted too far to the left, as if she wished one last look at the ceiling as she died. Her right hand clutched at a dagger, the tip daubed in fresh blood. She marked him before she died. Good.
Unable to help the unfortunate guard, Pari crossed to the bed where the girl was. Her chest neither rose nor fell, and in the soft light, she saw a thin needle protruding from the girl’s throat.
Too late, Pari. She cursed herself. Far, far, too late.
A part of her wanted to examine the scene, another to rush to Rochant’s side but the guard, the assassin, she corrected herself, hadn’t been going towards the Rebirthing Chamber. Either he’s finished here or his next target isn’t Rochant.
Pari rushed outside and noticed a speck of blood, glinting in the gemlight of the corridor. She went in the direction the assassin had gone, finding another speck some way further down. Whatever wound he’d received was bleeding slowly, making a poor tracking aid, but it confirmed she was going the right way.
She ran, wondering where in the name of the Three Blessed Suns any of House Sapphire’s guards were. Their absence now seemed glaring, ominous rather than fortunate.
A soft thud sounded from one of the rooms behind her. She slid to a stop, backtracked three paces until she was level with the door, and went straight in.
The assassin was kneeling, bent over a baby’s crib, his right hand raised and curled around something she couldn’t make out through the gloom. The thud she’d heard had been his head being banged against the side of the crib by the woman on his back.
Even in the half light, Pari could tell the woman was highborn, her skinny arms sticking from her flapping nightdress like sticks from a sail.
By some miracle, the baby wasn’t crying, making Pari fear she was too late a second time.
With a grunt, the assassin drove his elbow backwards into the noblewoman’s gut. She bucked with the force but kept hold, knocking his head against the crib a second time. The assassin elbowed her again, then brought his fist up into the woman’s face.
Pari was halfway across the room as the woman fell down.
She considered her opponent, as yet unaware of her arrival. He looked young, fast and strong. Closer now, she could just make out another of those long murderous needles in his grip.
Not someone to play games with.
Though her body was not as fast as it once was, her instincts remained sharp, and Pari let them guide her, flowing into action before her conscious mind fully understood what she was about to do.
She reached out to his raised hand and plucked the needle from it. His reaction was swift, one fist lashing out on instinct. Pari barely managed to get her arms in the way in time. The force of the blow slammed into her, bruising forearms, and she tripped on the other woman’s leg, stumbling back to the far wall for support. Before she could recover her breath the assassin was leaping after her, one hand raised, index and middle fingers locked together ready to strike.
His movements suggested that his hand-to-hand training was excellent, at least as good as one could be in a single lifetime. In a younger body, she would have dealt with him easily, now most of her efforts were going into staying upright.
As if he sensed her fatigue, the assassin lunged forward but Pari, still leaning against the wall, showed him her empty hands before giving her best smile and flicking a look to his throat.
The gesture made him pause. His eyes widened as his fingers touched the side of his neck and the needle protruding from it.
He just had time to look at her in understanding before something seemed to switch off inside, and he collapsed to the floor.
Pari pushed herself upright and moved to the side of the crib, rubbing her arm. It turned out that the baby had woken after all, his eyes staring up at her, two black pools in the grey.
‘Well,’ she said, picking him up. ‘You’re a very calm fellow, aren’t you?’
The baby didn’t reply, watching her with intensity. The woman by Pari’s feet however, was another matter. ‘I know that voice … Pari? Lady Pari Tanzanite, is that you?’ At her nod, the woman became haughty. ‘I demand that you tell me what is going on this instant! Who was that man? Why was he trying to kill my Satyendra? And what are you doing here?’
Pari peered down at the woman, unflustered. Satyendra did the same. She saw a delicate face, the kind that smiles too rarely and was not built to handle tears. ‘All good questions …’ she paused to allow the woman to introduce herself.
‘Chandni.’
‘Can it be? Little Chandni, all grown up and an Honoured Mother! I never would have recognized you. Who is in charge here?’
‘I am,’ she replied, standing up and regaining something of her dignity. ‘Lord Rochant entrusted me to oversee the castle in his absence.’
‘My, my, it has been too long, my dear.’
‘You haven’t answered my questions.’
‘True,’ replied Pari, ‘and you haven’t thanked me for saving you and your baby either.’
‘I … thank you,’ said Chandni, then again more calmly, earnest. ‘Thank you.’
‘Much better. As to who the man is, I’m not sure yet. But he’s already killed at least twice tonight.’
Chandni took a fortifying breath. ‘Who?’
‘One was a girl, younger than you, the other her guardian.’
‘No!’ Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘It must be Dhruti. But why?’
‘She was a descendant of Lord Rochant.’
‘She was,’ Chandni’s eyes widened. ‘Like Satyendra!’
‘Yes –’ she replied, giving the baby a squeeze ‘– like Satyendra. How many more blood descendants are there in the castle?’
‘I …’
‘Come on, Chandni, think!’
‘Well, two. There’s Satyendra’s father, Mohit, and Kareem. But Kareem was chosen, he’s in the Rebirthing Chamber now.’
‘Show me Mohit’s room.’
A minute later they stood at Mohit’s bedside. There had been no guard to protect him and the needle in his neck was still quivering. Like the girl beforehand, Mohit’s death had been swift and, she hoped, painless.
‘He’s only just died. You know what this means?’ Pari asked, pointing at the needle.
Chandni covered her mouth and gasped behind her hand, ‘Poor Mohit. Quickly, turn Satyendra away.’
‘It means there’s a second killer, maybe more. The castle isn’t safe.’ She passed Satyendra back into Chandni’s arms. ‘You have to leave.’
‘What?’
‘Right now. Don’t stop to pack, take Satyendra and go, use the tunnel.’
‘What tunnel?’
‘I’ll show you. It’ll take you to the main doors.’ Pari took off one of her earrings. ‘I have a man outside, his name is Varg. Give him this,’ she said, and placed the earring into Chandni’s hand, ‘tell him I sent you. Tell him to get you as far away from here as he can.’ She kissed the baby’s forehead. ‘Keep Satyendra close. If things go badly, he might be Rochant’s last hope. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.’
‘Wait, where are you going?’
‘To the Rebirthing Chamber. Someone is trying to erase Rochant’s line, and I intend to stop them.’
Vasin’s mother stood before him. Wonderfully impossible. Though her body had been weathered and scarred, aged by time and sorrow, it didn’t matter. She was here! As purposeful as ever. Just the sight of her made him feel safer, as if things could begin making sense again. And yet, her very presence meant that the world did not make sense, and would not again.
‘They may take my title, strip me of my crystal skin, sever my link to the immortal, bury me with lies and hatred –’ she reached up to his face and he could not decide whether to move forward or back ‘– but I will always be your mother, I will always be yours, and you mine.’
She was also a traitor, accused and found guilty of selling out their people to the Wild. Treating with demons was a terrible crime in itself, but for a Deathless it was a thousand times worse, a betrayal of their most sacred duty. Such a thing could not stand, especially not in House Sapphire where it had happened before.
But this was his mother, alive and fierce. He’d never entirely believed she was guilty. Never forgiven himself for not doing more to defend her when he’d had the chance.
‘Forgive me, Mother. I’m happy to see you, thrilled. I never thought … I mean … I thought you were …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. There was a chance he was dreaming and if that was the case he didn’t want it to end.
Nidra gestured to the looming trees. ‘This is a kind of death. A slow and terrible kind.’ She gave him a bitter smile. ‘I intend to outrun it.’
‘But how did you survive? Where have you been living?’ He looked down at the smoking torch. ‘How did you become one of Sagan’s tributes? I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve spent lifetimes studying the Wild. I’m not afraid of it like my brother is. A hunter is more than weapons and armour. That knowledge saved me. And I have allies still, ones that serve from the shadows. We have been preparing, they and I. One will come to you soon. Treat her requests as if they were mine.’
‘I will, of course I will, but I need to know, where have you been?’
‘Sorn. The Wild has had its way with it and nobody else dares to go there. It’s a ghost town, and I’m its ghost.’
‘And now you’re in Sagan?’
‘No. I stole the torch so that I could signal you. I knew none of the other hunters would be able to fly this deep.’
With the Sky-legs he was so much taller than her that he had to lean down to bring his face close to hers. Her fingers touched his cheek, smearing the fresh tears there and he finally leaned into her touch, the grief and sadness he had kept bottled up these years melting away.
‘I’ve been lost without you.’
‘I know. And now you’re found again.’
Her stoicism made his guilt worse. How could she be so strong when she had lost so much? ‘I should have been there at the end. I’m so sorry.’
‘There was nothing you could have done. I’m glad you didn’t have to see. Your uncle made the whole thing a public show. My humiliation a spectacle for his amusement.’ Her face hardened at the thought of it. ‘They hacked at my reputation with their lies, the Story-singers making me into a monster in the minds of my people, and then the Bringers came and cut the bonds between my soul and my Godpiece. It was an agony I have no words for. It left me without dignity, an animal.’ She shook her head, firm. ‘No, that is not how I wanted to be remembered by my son.’
‘I still should have gone to the trial. I know Gada did.’
‘Yes. But Gada is not you. If you had been there, you would have done something beautiful and foolish. It was right that Gada was there then, just as it’s right that you’re here now. I need you, Vasin, I need you more now than I did then.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s simple, do you want me to die, finally and forever?’
‘No! No. Not when I’ve just found you again. I’d do anything to make things the way they were, you know that.’
She removed her hand from his face. ‘Good. Because I am going to need you to do things for me, things you may not like.’
Vasin frowned. Living too long in the Wild was known to bring on madness. ‘But there is nothing to do. The Sapphire High Lord has given his judgement. And even if he overturned it, he’s already destroyed your Godpiece. Your soul is without anchor … It’s too late.’
Her features hardened. ‘There are other Godpieces among the Sapphire that would suffice.’
He was aware of her eyes on him as he thought through what this would mean. It would be like becoming Deathless for the first time again. Her soul would need to be attuned to a new Godpiece by the Bringers of Endless Order. Though what she said was true about there being other Godpieces within the house, they were already allocated. To give one to his mother would mean destroying another member of the family, wiping out every member of their line. Rather than follow that to its unpleasant conclusion he decided to focus on a different issue. ‘But only the High Lord can take or give Godpieces.’
‘Then you will have to find a way to persuade the High Lord … or replace him with another more sympathetic to our cause. There are those that will support us. It will take a long time to achieve but things have already begun, this very night plans are in motion. I will provide the Godpiece and you will mobilize the house to see that it is used to restore me.’
‘I wouldn’t know how. Since your exile, I have not been myself. I turned my back on the court. I … left those things to Gada.’
She took a deep breath and Vasin shrank from her barely contained anger. When she spoke however, her voice was calm. ‘Then you will go back to court and you will see who remembers the name of Nidra Sapphire with fondness.’ She slipped a pack from her back and began unfastening the top.
‘There was a time, before you were born, when I was considered the best choice for High Lord. However, the machinations of my brother and his pet, Lord Rochant, put paid to that. Your uncle was not always head of this house, nor will he reign forever, that I promise you.’
She opened the bag and held it out for him.
Vasin peered inside to see what looked like a human arm rendered in shell, with antennae sprouting from the knuckles. ‘What’s that?’
‘A trophy. You’ll take it back with you, as part of your glorious return to court.’
His eyes widened as he realized what it was. ‘Wait, you killed the Scuttling Corpsema—’
She hurriedly put a finger to his lips, cutting him off. ‘Not killed. Maimed.’ She looked over her shoulder suddenly as if expecting to see something. Vasin tensed and did the same but there was only darkness between the trees. ‘It’s still out there, somewhere. We would be wise not to use its full name.’
‘But how?’
‘Later. You must go before questions are raised. Take my gift, take the glory. Use it well. Come to me when you have news and I’ll tell you all about the Corpseman and what I’ve been up to in the last few years.’
‘I will. I won’t fail you again.’
‘I know you won’t.’ She pulled up her hood and made to step back into the shadows, but Vasin could not bear the thought of her leaving, and dragged her into an embrace, lifting her till her toes skimmed the top of the long grass. ‘I love you.’
‘And I you, my sweet one. Remember that when you are in the world above the Wild and I am but a memory.’
She had to force herself out of his arms, and only when she was gone from sight did he turn back towards home. He would find a way to make this right, or he would die, a true and final death, in the attempt. Vasin swore to himself that if it came to that, he would not go alone.
CHAPTER THREE (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
It was as Pari feared. The majority of the castle’s guard had taken up posts outside the Rebirthing Chamber, protecting the two doorways into the room. Traditionally, one was used by the Bringers of Endless Order as they escorted the vessel in, one was for the High Lord, if he or she wished to attend. There was a third way into the room but this was used only as an exit should the ritual fail.
Pari had never witnessed a ritual go wrong but she had heard rumours of bodies inhabited by infernal spirits and turned into tragic, destructive creatures. Some believed, if the proper rites were not observed, a demon could push aside the waiting soul and enter the world in its place. Pari had little time for such notions, sure that the pain and confusion of a botched rebirth would be more than enough to explain away the rage of the poor wretches.
Whether due to madness or demonic possession, the results of a failed ritual were too dangerous to be allowed to live, and the third exit was a means of dealing with them: a beautifully designed portal covering a chute that was nothing more than a glorified hole in the underside of Rochant Sapphire’s floating castle. Anyone unfortunate enough to use it was ejected directly above the gaping chasm, far beneath.
Unguarded, and unknown to most of the castle’s inhabitants, it was arguably the ideal route for someone trying to sneak in without being seen. However, the only way to reach it was by scaling the outer walls, and even if she’d had time, such feats were beyond her in this lifecycle.
Pari studied the faces of the three guards stood to attention outside the first entrance. The Bringers of Endless Order must have already gone inside. She didn’t like what she saw. Nothing was obviously wrong but she didn’t recognize any of the guards, and as her eyes swept over them, a word screamed into her mind: killers.
Quickly, she moved to the second entrance. It was similarly guarded, but one of the men was familiar.
She tried to think where she had seen him before. A wispy beard covered his chin and cheeks, but beneath it was a face she knew. Older and harder but not entirely unfriendly. The picture of a young boy came to mind, shy, with watchful eyes, who blushed at the slightest praise.
She approached him, so bold that it took them all a moment to react.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, one hand going to the Sliver Pistol at his side. The man and the woman flanking him followed suit, reaching for well-worn hilts.
She ignored the impulse to run and focused on the man she knew. ‘Shush now, Dil, I need you to listen.’ Then she noticed the extra bands of colour around his right arm. A captain now, she thought. And he was such a quiet boy.
The man spluttered in surprise at the use of his name but something in her tone and manner disarmed him and he came forward. ‘Do I know you?’ He frowned. ‘No! It can’t be! Lady Pari Tanzanite?’ Despite himself, Dil bowed.
She couldn’t help but smile at his naked amazement. ‘Your eyes are sharp as ever.’
And there it was, the sudden colouring of his cheeks. ‘But …’
‘There’s no time to explain, Dil. Lord Rochant is in danger. Assassins are in the castle dressed in House Sapphire uniform. You must find them. And you must let me inside the chamber. I’ll protect him.’
‘What? That’s … No.’
‘No? You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you.’ A little sweat formed on his top lip. ‘Has anyone already been killed?’
‘Mohit and Dhruti.’ She let it sink in. ‘At least one of your people died defending them. One assassin tried for Satyendra but I managed to save him …’
She sighed inwardly as Dil’s hand slipped from the Sliver Pistol, his frown deepening. ‘Who else knows?’
‘Just you, me, and Chandni.’
‘Good. Where are Chandni and Satyendra now?’
‘Safe.’
‘Are they in their room?’
‘They’re safe, don’t worry.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Later. We don’t know who else might be listening.’
He turned away with a scowl. ‘Of course.’
She stepped past him to find the other two guards had drawn blades and were levelling them at her chest.
‘Stand down,’ commanded Dil and they reluctantly sheathed their weapons. ‘Open the doors.’ As they complied he turned to Pari and added. ‘If you do anything to disrupt the rebirthing …’
‘I’ll be quiet as a Flykin,’ she replied, ‘I promise.’
The Rebirthing Chamber was not much to look at, smooth stone walls that curved to make a circle, and a stone floor, equally smooth, grey, featureless. A spiral of pillars started by the first entrance and slowly wound their way towards the centre. Though the pillars were as dull to look at as the walls, each one was double her girth, giving Pari plenty of places to hide.
The soft light in the room came from the Bringers of Endless Order: stored sunslight released slow and muted through cloudy diamonds atop their wands of gold. As tradition dictated, seven Bringers were present, dressed in robes of black and white, their faces covered in plain masks divided down the middle, white on the left, black on the right.
Pari wasn’t convinced that any of them were required for the rebirthing to work but she was grateful for their sing-song murmurs as they masked the sound of her tiptoeing from one pillar to another.
She could see a young man, naked, strapped down on a slab set at the centre of the room: Kareem Sapphire, living the last moments of his life before his soul made way for Rochant’s to return. In typical Sapphire fashion, the young man was stoic about his fate, neither railing against it nor revelling in the honour his body was about to receive.
She took some time to appreciate the new form her lover was to assume. Lean but not too thin, with a pleasing firmness to biceps and buttocks that she looked forward to exploring further. She was also pleased to see Kareem had cut his hair short against the fashion. Not only was this good for Rochant, who had proven himself immune to the fashions of court, it was also good for her. Long hair was fine to look at, but it tended to get in the way. Pari was already imagining what those lips might feel like against hers.
One of the Bringers took out a needle, raising it theatrically in the seven directions: up, then down, to the left and right making a cross, then three times more, across the left shoulder, then the right, and finally down at a forty five degree angle from the right hip.
The sight of the needle made the breath catch in her throat. Could one of the assassins have hidden themselves within the Bringers? But no, this needle was different to the other two she’d seen, a more elaborate tool. She watched as the Bringer switched it on, and a concealed pouch began to beat within their robes, like a second heart jutting from the small of their back. Shimmering liquid was pumped from the pouch through a tiny corkscrew tube that ran within the Bringer’s sleeve, and into the back of the needle. The other six were humming but she could hear the needle humming too, like a living tongue, sharp, now tipped with golden spittle and ready for its task. The Bringer raised the needle to Kareem’s unblemished flesh, and set to work.
Kareem’s head was worked on first, a jagged line of gold drawn from forehead to cheek, narrowly missing the eye. At the bottom the line forked and forked again, forming a lattice that spread back towards the ear: this was to symbolize Rochant’s first death, when his head had been split open defending his lord during the Battle of Bloodied Backs.
Next, the Bringer worked on his chest, inscribing tiny rows of text across his heart. Rochant’s second death had come when his body was ancient, and was caused by heart failure, which in turn was caused by the arrival of an unexpected message, the contents of which remained a mystery to Pari, much to her irritation.
Not all of his deaths would be represented, only the ones of significance. With bated breath, she watched as they added marks to his right hand and his cock. Neither of these were familiar to her and there was little of Rochant’s body she had not seen. Another puzzle. If only she could examine them more closely, she might be able to discern clues as to why they’d been added but if the Bringers found her here, there would be consequences even she feared to face.
Pari took a moment to appreciate Kareem’s strength of character. Though the young man gripped the edges of the slab and his body was locked rigid, he did not cry out at any time, enduring the stab-stab of the needle with barely a grunt. Even from a distance, it made Pari’s eyes water.
This is why he was chosen. Not for those cheek bones, that’s a common enough Sapphire feature. For his self-discipline. Rochant is a stickler for it.
Eventually, the needle went quiet, vanishing into the cavernous sleeves of the Bringer’s robes. More whispering followed, the Bringers reciting history and lineage, recounting a life that skipped across generations before surfacing to influence the Sapphire line, then vanishing again.
The whispers were just loud enough to sound enticing and, for the second time, Pari wished she could get closer. She also wished there was somewhere to sit down. Her feet were throbbing, and one of her knees was starting to tremble.
The Sapphires can have their self-discipline and suffering, she thought, right now I’d trade all of my dignity for a cushioned seat and a footrest.
Though she couldn’t hear the words, it became clear to her that the Bringers weren’t addressing Kareem, rather their masked faces were tilted towards a small box that had appeared on the upturned palm of the lead Bringer. Fine lines were brushed into the sides of the box, each movement making ghost-shapes along its surface. The lid was open. She could see the contents nestled snugly within: a platinum sphere, about the size of a human eye. From this distance it appeared flawless, but she knew in the right circumstances clever mechanisms within would rotate, cracking open to allow vapours to pass through the outer shell.
Nobody knew exactly where the soul went between rebirths but there was a good chance that it was there, right now, in the box, in the Godpiece, waiting to begin its next life.
For a rebirth to be attempted, a noble house would have to entreat the Bringers of Endless Order to attempt a ritual. This was normally a formality but one which had to be observed, and paid for.
Assuming this went well, the family would have to produce the relevant Godpiece: a relic of the immortals that once ruled the world, and the only thing capable of anchoring a soul once it had left the body.
Each Godpiece was attuned to a different member of the crystal dynasties; each one was unique, irreplaceable. Its allocation was a thing of incredible potency, and the singular right of the Crystal High Lords.
Most of the houses, her own included, had already allocated all of their Godpieces, meaning that any new immortals could only be made by removing one of the old, again a power held by the Crystal High Lords. It was also why Pari was always polite to High Lord Tanzanite, no matter how annoying she could be at times, and why Pari kept her affair with Rochant a secret.
It was one thing to break a taboo, quite another to get caught doing it.
The third requirement of the ritual was its location, ideally the correct family stronghold, though Pari and Rochant had debated whether any of the dynasties’ floating castles would suffice.
The fourth was time, the Bringers scheduling the ceremony to take place at the same moment of the day, and with the same alignment of the suns, as the immortal’s original birthday. This was why everyone, even the least fortunate, took careful note of the sky when a child was born.
Finally, a suitable host was required. They had to come from the immortal’s line, with stronger blood ties preferable. Each house endeavoured to groom potential hosts to have skills and interests similar to the immortal, to make the rebirth easier, however this was not always possible, and some immortals had lived lives in the opposite gender, and in bodies of a variety of shapes and sizes.
For Rochant, the signs were good, better than good, and yet Pari could not help but worry as the ritual drew to a close. The thought of having to wait another generation to be with her love was painful, the thought that she might never see him again, unbearable.
Somewhere nearby, Rochant’s enemies were moving, preparing to act. Pari doubted they’d dare try anything while the Bringers were present, but as soon as they had gone, Rochant would be easy pickings for any that could get past his guard.
And if they do, they’ll find me waiting, thought Pari, but the bravado sounded hollow, even in her own mind. She was tired already, and scared. What if I’m not good enough? What then?
One of the Bringers produced a mesh of wires and solemnly approached Kareem. Another stepped up to the side of the young man and placed their hands either side of his head. Kareem did not resist, though she thought she saw him flinch as he caught sight of the device. The lump in Kareem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then the young man opened his mouth.
The mesh was placed inside, flattening down Kareem’s tongue and jacking open his jaws. There was a click, loud, and the device locked into place, whereupon the lead Bringer stepped forward, took the Godpiece from its box to place it carefully, ritualistically, into Kareem’s mouth, into the mesh.
The others closed in, making a loose circle around Kareem, wands pointing inward, much of their light blocked from Pari. Their murmurings became louder, not quite a song, but a series of harsh lyrical whispers, ends and beginnings brushing over one another. Planes of light could only escape in the gaps where the Bringers’ robes were not touching and in the space above their heads. A tableau of shadow danced on the ceiling, and to Pari, it looked at times as if the shapes were wrong, the Bringers seeming to have too many limbs, and extra protrusions defying the human form.
She looked away but the noise still reached her. The strange words, and beneath them, muffled by the mesh, Kareem, making a sound she could not name but was born of suffering.
Until now she had never really thought about the ones that gave up their lives so that she and those like her might live again. It was always spoken of as an honour, and of course, those that took that honour for her, Pari had never met. But she found herself thinking about it now, that curious part of her brain forced to consider that Kareem did not sound like a man experiencing a great honour, and to wonder what would happen to his soul once Rochant’s took up residence.
Gradually, the whispers faded, each of the Bringers falling quiet in order, like waves receding from the shore. When they were done, they took a step back, widening the circle.
She risked a glance, and saw that Kareem’s eyes were closed. Or were they Rochant’s now? She had to know if he had survived the ritual and edged out from behind her pillar, sliding rather than stepping, until she managed to align herself with a gap in the ring of Bringers.
His chest. Is it moving? Yes. It moved! She felt joy that he was alive, tempered with fear. The body lived, true, but it was not yet certain what dwelled inside it.
Together, the Bringers raised their golden wands, touching them one to the other, so that the seven diamonds clinked softly.
The man on the slab groaned, then opened his eyes.
‘One man is welcome here,’ the lead Bringer said. ‘Are you that man?’
Pari saw the muscles in his arm flex against the straps that held him fast. He worked his jaw slowly, as if testing it for damage. The motion was so considered, so calm, that her heart leapt. It was Rochant, it had to be! The Bringers may not know it yet, but she was already certain.
‘I am Lord Rochant Sapphire,’ he said. And again, Pari rejoiced, she knew that intonation better than her own.
‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome,’ replied the Bringer, ‘if you are he.’
‘If,’ hissed the others.
‘If you are he,’ continued the lead Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Examine yourself, and tell us what you find.’
This was to be the test then. Pari had undergone several herself. Each time was different, a means to be sure that the immortal had truly returned, rather than a demon.
‘I feel the marks on my skull. The scars of my first life.’
The Bringers said nothing, none of them moved, though each seemed poised to act.
‘I see the marks on my heart, and remember my second life.’
Again, the Bringers said nothing, and Rochant turned his attention to his hand. There was a long pause. She saw the flicker of concern on Rochant’s face.
Something’s wrong.
The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.
‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.
The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’
Rochant only frowned.
Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’
‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’
‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’
There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.
When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.
‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’
‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.
Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’
The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.
Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.
‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’
A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.
‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’
Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.
He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.
The Bringers turned from him, processing outward, single file, following the spiral of pillars towards the first doorway.
For a moment, she was sure one of them was looking at her, and she caught a glimpse of peridot eyes that seemed to glow with their own soft light.
Pari pressed herself back against the pillar and held her breath.
The tunnel was smaller than Chandni had expected it to be. Why go to all the trouble of making a secret passage that’s almost impossible to use? she thought to herself. What were the architects thinking?
She hated being in this undignified position, squeezing herself and Satyendra through the tiny space between floor and ceiling. It made her feel like a stubborn lump of food stuck in the throat.
But most of all she hated Lady Pari. Bad enough that the Tanzanite had broken into her chambers, she’d started giving orders inaSapphirecastle. Even worse, she knew more about the castle’s secrets than Chandni herself. It hinted at the true depths of the friendship between Pari and Lord Rochant.
She stopped.
If it is just a friendship.
No. Such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, against the rules that governed the Deathless.
She shook her head, forcing herself to carry on. It was not her place to question her lord. She was just in shock, that was all. Whatever was happening, there would be a true and proper explanation that would be given to her if it was deemed appropriate.
She still hated Pari though.
Most of the stress in Chandni’s life had been the kind one could prepare for. From difficult guests from other houses who needed to be handled with care, to complicated negotiations over rights, to pregnancy. All were managed with meticulous planning and Chandni was proud of how smoothly she’d navigated through.
To the outside eye, it appeared that she never broke sweat or struggled, and that was just how she liked it. Exactly as a true Sapphire should be.
Yet again, her head knocked against the top of the tunnel, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Satyendra jolted in her arms but did not cry. His tiny fingers splayed in surprise, then settled again, gathering the front of her nightgown in two tight bunches.
Pride for her son’s stoicism overwhelmed the throbbing on the back of her skull and she paused to kiss his forehead. He’d always been calm in spectacular circumstances, including those surrounding his birth. For Satyendra was born on the same day as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and under the same alignment of the suns. Upon hearing this, the High Lord had come in person to inspect the baby, and was so taken with him, he decreed they should share a name of equal length, an honour normally reserved for the other heads of the Crystal Dynasties.
Beneath her, the castle was surprisingly quiet.
Surely Pari should have raised the alarm by now? But even as she thought that, Chandni knew there were many reasons for Pari to fail. Perhaps the assassins had caught her, or perhaps the real guards had arrested her. Perhaps she was still hobbling along in that ancient body. She’s probably fallen asleep!
The image made Chandni start to giggle until she realized she was being hysterical, at which point she started to cry.
It was cold and dark in the tunnel. Her knees were raw from crawling, and she had to shuffle one-handed so that she could hold Satyendra in the other. As babies went, hers was small and light, like her, but over time that little weight seemed to increase, until it was like hefting a sweet, huggable boulder.
A tear fell onto Satyendra’s head and she heard the tiniest intake of breath.
Then, summoning the inner voice of her mother, Chandni berated herself until the tears stopped falling. This is not how a child of the Sapphire behaves! It simply will not do! Your face should be inscrutable, a puzzle for your enemies to fret over and your allies to admire. It should be held still, a weapon, only moving when it serves your purpose. It should not wobble and blush like a spanked bottom!
Chandni nodded, shaking, but herself again. Thank you, Mother.
She forged on, gritting her teeth as the skin of her knees ground against the stone.
Just as she began to despair that the tunnel was endless, her head connected with the exit, causing her to curse Pari, the assassins, the castle’s architects, and her own stupidity.
A panel slid away, admitting her into the main entrance hall behind the feet of an ancient statue from a time long-forgotten. The crystal had been grown through several floors of the castle and carved in sections, so that the head emerged in the feast hall and the feet straddled the entrance. There was an old belief that the great sapphire giant held the castle together, and kept it in the sky. Chandni had always liked the statue and thought it sad they did not have a name for it. The man depicted had a kind face and was the only crystal-forged smile to be found in Lord Rochant’s home.
Mohit had said the hollows where the eyes should have been were creepy, but she disagreed. She felt the dark spaces gave the statue a sense of intelligence that the others lacked.
Mohit, my poor, poor, Mohit. He had been kind, respectful. And though not the best of lovers, he had endeavoured to follow her instructions to the best of his ability. What he had lacked in initiative, he’d made up for in determination. In fact, by the end of their time together, she’d hardly been bored by him at all.
The panel closed behind her, softly, bringing her back to the present. It was a short walk from here to the main doors of the castle. Unfortunately, they were closed and barred, and from her hiding place, she could see several alert looking guards in place.
Even from a distance, she could tell they weren’t her people. Chandni made it her business to know every member of staff at the castle. She didn’t tell them of course, saving the knowledge for when it could be employed to maximum advantage.
These are the assassins. Not just one more as Pari believed, but a group, possibly a whole unit.
The castle kept only a small team of defenders but they were highly trained, at least she had always considered them so. It troubled her that they had been dealt with so easily.
There was no way she could leave by the main entrance, but there was more than one path in and out of the castle. Using the statue as cover and keeping out of sight of the gates as best she could, she made her way towards the kitchens.
She had almost reached the stairwell off the main corridor when she heard a woman’s voice behind her. ‘Hold there!’ It was coming from the other end of the entrance hall. She was not surprised that the speaker was unfamiliar.
Pretending not to hear, she walked a little faster, giving Satyendra a calming smile, and making sure her body blocked him from sight.
‘Hold there, I say!’
She turned into the stairwell and, as soon as she was out of view, took the steps three at a time, her feet skidding off the end of one, straight onto the other, threatening to fly out in front, as her long hair flew out behind.
Satyendra’s eyes grew wide and his hold on her tightened, but the baby kept his peace, just as his mother did.
Like a thing tossed from a storm, she burst into the kitchens, her feet bruised, her nightdress filthy, her knees swollen.
‘Ooooh!’ crowed the old cook, who moments ago had been asleep but was now most definitely awake.
Chandni straightened, and raised an imperious finger, cutting off the questions forming on the cook’s lips. She’d served the Sapphires all her long life and was talented but slow, and liked the sound of her own voice far too much for Chandni’s liking. ‘Open the outer door. Tell no one that I’ve been here. You have not seen me or Satyendra, do you understand?’
‘Of course, Honoured Mother. But what—’
‘—Immediately, dear Roh.’
The cook beamed at the use of her name, then went the wrong way, snatching up a bag and stuffing it with food.
Chandni channelled her mother again as she admonished the cook. ‘Were you not listening? Or is this an act of deliberate insubordination?’
‘But you’ll be wanting something for the baby, and a cloak for your shoulders. Wouldn’t do for you to be seen out there in your nightwear, I’d never forgive myself. And what about your poor feet?’
Behind her, Chandni felt rather than heard someone enter the room. She went to step away but a hand caught her arm.
She turned to find a woman dressed in House Sapphire uniform – but most definitely not House Sapphire – looking at her. The absolute lack of respect in the assassin’s eyes was chilling. She was about to say something when the assassin pulled out, not a sword, but a long, thin needle coated in something that glistened in the gemlight.
Chandni made to pull away but the assassin simply stepped with her, keeping close, the needle arcing down towards Satyendra’s neck.
Instinct took over, and in the next moment she felt something bite into her palm, briefly painful, and then suddenly, worryingly numb.
The point of the needle protruded from the back of Chandni’s hand, quivering inches away from her baby’s skin. Blood rather than poison coated it now.
Chandni exchanged a helpless look with Satyendra, whose little eyebrows raised questioningly, as if asking if this was an appropriate time to cry.
Yes, she thought. This is the perfect time to cry.
If the Bringers saw Pari, they made no comment as they passed out of the chamber, keeping to their ritual path. She listened intently as their robes whispered their way to the door, paused, then came the measured sweep of the door opening and them passing through, one by one, taking the light with them. The door closed with a heavy thud, plunging them into darkness. She heard Rochant sigh.
‘You can come out now.’
Pari used the pillars to navigate through the darkness, letting each one brush cool against her fingertips. ‘How did you know I was here?’
His voice was tired but not without warmth. ‘I didn’t, I just hoped.’
She reached out for him, finding the line of his shoulder in the dark. ‘Ah, there you are.’
‘Yes.’
She wiggled onto the side of the slab, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against her, and leaned down so that her lips hovered just above his. ‘And here I am.’
‘Yes.’ He lifted his head so that the word brought their mouths brushing together.
Pari longed to stay like that but neither her conscience nor her back would allow it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, breathlessly. ‘But we have to talk, you and yours are under threat.’
‘Something’s happened?’
She told him quickly of the assassins, of the recent deaths in his line and the attempt against baby Satyendra that she’d foiled. He didn’t argue or interrupt until she’d finished.
‘Who would do this to me?’
Pari considered. ‘High Lord Sapphire could have done it, the Bringers implied he was angry with you.’
‘You heard them? By the Thrice Blessed Suns, is nothing sacred?’
‘No, and you should be grateful. Without me things would be much worse.’
Rochant found her hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re right about me but wrong about my High Lord. If he had wanted me removed it would be done publicly, as an example to others. He would never stoop to knives in the dark.’
‘Perhaps that was true once but I hear rumours that High Lord Sapphire is not the man he was.’
She felt Rochant turn his head away. ‘I tell you it is not his way.’
‘Who then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Even someone as charming as you must have enemies.’
‘Whoever it is has planned well. They’ve taken full advantage of the disruption the ceremony causes.’ She could hear the interest in his voice. Despite the threat, he was intrigued by the puzzle. ‘The assassin you confronted, you said he was in Sapphire uniform?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did it fit?’
Pari thought for a moment. ‘Yes, like it was made for him, in fact.’
‘So that means either he had been working here for some time, or he’d had the uniform made specially.’
Pari shook her head, then realized Rochant wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. ‘Or he found a guard of similar size and stole his.’
‘In any case,’ Rochant continued, ‘this is something that has been planned well in advance.’
‘I agree but how does that help us here?’
‘Motivation. Someone wants this done but is willing to wait to achieve it.’
‘But why? Revenge? Ambition?’
‘That’s the next thing we have to understand.’
‘No,’ said Pari. ‘The next thing we have to do is get you out of here.’
‘Wait, I’m not ready to move just yet.’ Though his new body was exhausted, his mind seemed agile as ever. ‘There are two obvious reasons to remove my line. One, because the person or persons behind this desire my death. Two, the person or persons behind this stand to gain from my death. If I and all of my descendants were gone—’
Pari nodded, ‘—then High Lord Sapphire would be able to raise a new member into the Crystal Dynasties. Who would he have in mind? We need to find out …’
‘And I need to think about the past, cases I have presided over, decrees I’ve made, anything that could have seeded resentment.’
‘While you’re doing that, I’ll go and make sure Chandni is coping with Satyendra. I fear life outside the castle is going to be a bit of a shock for her.’
‘Quite.’
Though she couldn’t see it, she could imagine Rochant’s expression. His face rarely gave much away, but there was a whole language kept in the crinkles around his eyes. She resisted the urge to touch his face, seeking them. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
He took breath to reply but the second door to the chamber opened suddenly, interrupting him.
Pari slid from the slab, darting behind the nearest pillar.
She just had time to tuck herself out of sight before a pair of boots could be heard marching on the stone, and then Dil’s voice, oddly cold, ‘My lord.’
‘Dil? Is that you?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Ah, the mantle of adulthood suits you, captain.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
Something in Dil’s manner seemed off, but it was hard to read the man by sound alone. Unable to help herself, Pari peeked round the pillar. With the second entrance wide open and light flooding the chamber, she was able to see, not just Dil, but two other guards alongside him.
But I only heard one pair of boots!
She had to hold her hands together to stop them shaking. The assassins were here, and Dil was oblivious. She prepared herself to act. Perhaps between them, they could hold off the killers long enough for help to arrive.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ said Dil, ‘but you are about to be attacked by an assassin sent by the Tanzanites.’
The comment was so ridiculous, so unexpected, that she nearly came out of her hiding spot to argue.
Luckily Rochant seemed happy to do it for her. ‘Explain yourself, captain. The last I heard, our accords were strong with all the crystal dynasties.’
‘They are, my lord. But after we’ve killed you, that’s what we’re going to tell everyone, and I suspect the accords won’t matter then.’
Dil turned to the man and woman behind him. ‘Find the Tanzanite.’
They immediately drew weapons and split up.
Pari retreated further into the darkness on the opposite side of the chamber. After we’ve killed you! Who is this man? Dil had served Rochant his whole life. Where was the faithful, quiet child she remembered?
‘There’s no one here but us, captain,’ said Rochant, the epitome of calm.
‘That’s a lie,’ replied Dil, ‘but then you’ve always been good at lying, haven’t you?’
If the sudden change of tone surprised Rochant, again he gave no sign. ‘Ah. I see anger in your eyes and can only assume I am responsible. Whatever the problem is, let us solve it peaceably. You have always been reasonable, even as a boy. Negotiation is the only path, surely you can see that?’
Dil snarled and sprang across the gap.
Still weak from the ritual rebirth, Rochant was unable to defend himself and Dil clapped something over his mouth, hissing, ‘I don’t want to hear your voice ever again. But I want you to know that I was the one that ended your line. Me!’
Pari could see her lover struggling to breathe. Dil intended to kill him, wanted to, but something was holding him back. Perhaps he just wanted to make Rochant suffer first but that didn’t fit. The man seemed impatient, even desperate, to get revenge. Whatever the reason, she would not stand idly by as her lover was murdered. She edged into position, removing her remaining earring. The pin was too short to be very effective but if she could get it into one of his eyes, she might have a chance.
But, before she could make her move, another figure appeared at the door.
‘We’ve searched the castle. There’s no sign of the baby or the mother.’
‘Then search further,’ snapped Dil, releasing the pressure from Rochant’s face, ‘and keep searching until you find them.’
Without a word, the silhouette vanished as quickly as it came.
From nearby, startling Pari, the woman spoke, ‘What now?’ She’d been so absorbed in what was happening to Rochant, she hadn’t realized how close she’d come to being discovered.
‘Have you found the Tanzanite?’ Dil demanded.
‘You’d know if I had.’
Dil swore under his breath, then covered Rochant’s mouth again, and Pari tensed, the urge to protect her lover battling a strong instinct that she should wait, though it tore at her to stand by.
Dil maintained the pressure until Rochant stopped struggling and flopped on the slab, unconscious.
‘You, grab one end,’ he called out to the man, then to the woman, ‘you the other. We take him with us.’
‘They won’t like this,’ muttered the woman.
‘Piss on them! We can’t kill him yet and we can’t leave him here. Now do what I say.’
Pari stayed silent as the two assassins carried Rochant from the room, Dil following behind. Several times he checked over his shoulder, but each time, she ducked out of sight. She was just about to give chase when the door swung shut behind them, sealing her inside.
In the dark again, Pari fumbled her way forward until her palms pressed against stone, then the door they’d left through. She tried the handle but the door was locked. Frantically, she made her way round the outside of the chamber to the first door, the one the Bringers had used, but this too was locked. She let her forehead rest against the stone, trying not to panic as she thought about what to do next. About Rochant. About Chandni and the baby.
To be of any use she had to escape, and there was only one other way out of the Rebirthing Chamber.
Pari hugged herself tight, feeling the many complaints of her tired, aching body.
Come on! she urged herself and felt her way to the third exit. It was set into the floor directly beneath the slab of stone that Rochant had recently lain on; seven hinged triangles that could be released independently or all at once. This allowed the Bringers to jettison abominations, slab and all, without needing to untie them, and ensured they would fall fast and hard. She felt the edge of one of the triangles, marvelling at the intricate designs under her fingertips that would never be seen or appreciated by anyone save the Bringers, and pushed down. Unlike the other doors, this opened easily, and a cool breeze washed across her face. Pari climbed inside, settling her legs over the edge of the chute.
The other end would eject her from a hole at the base of the floating castle. If she failed to hold on, a long drop would follow to the chasm waiting below, and then another, into the bowels of the earth and beyond.
In order to avoid thinking about what could go wrong, she thought of Rochant, and she thought of Dil, of what she would do to the traitor when she caught up with him. And she thought of the mystery demanding to be solved.
And then she jumped.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
Chandni blinked, at least she thought it was only a blink, but when her eyes opened she was sat in a chair, Satyendra in her lap, and a thick wad of fabric strapped around her hand and several bands wrapped painfully tight around her wrist. Underneath the padding her hand felt hot, far too hot.
On the floor at her feet the assassin was sprawled out flat, dead, her expression frozen halfway between smug and surprised.
‘Nasty little fingers,’ said the cook, looking at the body with disdain. ‘Dirty nails. In all my years I’ve never seen one of good Lord Rochant’s soldiers with dirty nails. You can’t trust one that can’t clean themselves.’
‘Thank you, Roh. I won’t forget this, but how did you—’
The cook waved off her questions and hooked a bag over Chandni’s shoulder, plucking her own cloak from a peg. It was warm from the stove and full of pouches, many of which felt full. ‘Eat from the left pockets but not the right, Honoured Mother, never the right.’
She tried to take this in as a wave of nausea hit her. ‘I don’t … I don’t feel myself, there was poison …’
‘Aye. I’ve drawn and treated it best I can. Have to wait and see now. Stick a pin in the wound when the suns are at their peak. If you don’t feel the pin, lose the hand. Then stick a pin in your wrist, your forearm, until it hurts. Keep what hurts, Honoured Mother, lose the rest.’
Chandni nodded, too shocked to speak as the cook unbarred the outer door and pulled it open. Air, cold and fresh, rushed in, and she closed the cloak around Satyendra to protect him.
The cook helped her to her feet and propelled her towards the door. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’
‘I do, a—’
The cook raised a finger, mirroring Chandni’s earlier gesture with almost mocking perfection. ‘Less you say, Honoured Mother, less I can say.’
‘There are more enemies in the castle. They’ll be angry that you helped me.’
‘They won’t suspect a daft old woman,’ replied the cook with a wink, pushing Chandni outside.
‘But what are you going to do about the body?’
The cook tapped the side of her nose and smiled to reveal a full set of yellowing teeth. ‘Don’t worry, Honoured Mother,’ she said as she closed the door, ‘they won’t even find the bones.’
Chandni stumbled away from the castle. She was so tired she felt it should be dark outside, but all three suns were just visible on the horizon, the two greater ones, red and gold, Vexation and Fortune’s Eye, only half visible, while the smaller third, Wrath’s Tear, arced above.
Underneath her cloak, a small hand tugged at Chandni’s nightdress and she realized she’d stopped moving. She’d lost focus, lost time, staring at the suns like a simpleton.
This will not do!
She staggered on, feeling the vibrations beneath her feet. For the great chunk of rock that the castle sat on was shot through with veins of crystal, and these crystals chimed and sang, rising and falling like the tides.
Though Rochant’s castle floated it was not static above the chasm, it bobbed slowly up and down. Because of its size these movements were rarely noticed, like being on board a vast ship, but if one looked outside, they would see the horizon gradually moving.
An outer wall circled the perimeter of the rock, protecting Chandni from the worst of the winds but doing nothing about the cold. Soon her feet had become clumsy lumps on the end of her ankles and she feared she would fall. The drop in temperature was easing her fever however, allowing her mind to function more clearly, and the burning sensation in her hand was less distracting.
A few eager travellers had tucked their tents alongside the wall, like plush barnacles, no doubt wanting to be the first to take advantage of Rochant’s return. None of them were flying Tanzanite flags but that was no surprise. Wherever Pari’s man was, he’d be trying to keep a low profile.
She could not escape the feeling that she was being watched, and began to worry that more assassins had been placed outside.
It’s what I would have done.
After discounting the first tent because it was too grand, and the second because it was crammed full of people, Chandni came to one discreetly pitched next to a wagon. A five-legged Dogkin, white-furred and almost as big as the wagon itself, slept alongside.
Though the tent’s occupant had not come out to meet her, she could make out his tensed silhouette against the fabric. Here is a man ready to take action.
She looked over her shoulder, sure that someone would be there, but the courtyard was empty, save for the slow-turning shadows of the wall.
Chandni turned back to the tent and whispered, ‘Varg?’
The flap opened almost immediately and a man’s face appeared, broad and bearded, with a high, weathered forehead. He took a long look at her and the baby, his lips paling as he mashed them together. One arm held open the tent flap but the other was kept out of sight and she was in no doubt that he was armed.
‘My name is Honoured Mother Chandni of House Sapphire,’ she said carefully, watching for any hint of malice, ‘and this is my son, Satyendra. Lady Pari sent us. We need you to get us to safety, urgently.’
‘Piss off,’ said the man, vanishing back into the tent.
Chandni crouched down, unsteadily, and slid Pari’s earring under the entrance flap.
There was a pause. Then, from within: ‘Fuck.’
Seconds later he was scrambling out of the tent and throwing a pre-packed bag into the back of the wagon. ‘I’m Varg,’ he confirmed as he bent down to grab the edge of the tent, pulling until the under-suckers came free of the stone with a loud pop. ‘Where’s Pari?’
‘She’s not coming.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Varg, if we are going to travel together you will need to broaden your vocabulary.’
He was halfway through hauling the tent onto the back of the wagon when her words sunk in. ‘Doesn’t bother Pari, and she’s a lady.’
If things weren’t so desperate Chandni would have laughed. ‘That’s a debate for another time. What can I do to speed things up?’
‘Start waking Glider. But watch out, she’s a biter.’
She went straight over to the Dogkin, taking a large floppy ear and shaking it, while calling Glider’s name. Satyendra leaned forward in her arms, trying in vain to make contact with the glossy coat.
Eyelids slowly lifted, revealing a dark eye, hostile, and a second lighter eye, glassy, unseeing, human. One legend had it that Dogkin were the reincarnated souls of children who had wandered so long between lives they’d forgotten what they were. Another, that Dogkin were descended from people cursed by the old gods during the Unbroken Age.
Chandni preferred the first legend as it came with the promise that if a Dogkin could remember its true nature, it would be reborn as a human child in the next life. She liked to think that there was always a way to make things better.
‘It’s time to get up,’ said Chandni.
Glider growled meaningfully and then shut her eyes.
Refusing to be ignored by an animal, Chandni tried again. This time Glider’s growl was louder and her teeth snapped in the air, coming awfully close to Satyendra’s reaching hands.
Rather than intimidate, the animal’s behaviour converted all of her pent up worry into anger, and Chandni slapped the Dogkin across the muzzle so hard that a lance of pain shot through her bandaged hand.
Glider looked up in surprise, before opening her mouth to snap again.
‘No!’ said Chandni, pitching her voice as deep as it would go, and slapping the Dogkin’s mouth a second time.
Glider whined pitifully and lowered her head but Chandni resisted the sudden urge to cuddle her, and kept her expression stern.
‘Better. Now get up.’
Glider stood up.
‘Good.’ She reached into the left hand pockets of the cook’s cloak, searching, and found one that contained some dried sausage. She held it up in front of Glider. ‘If you run fast and without complaint, I have more.’
Glider’s mouth opened and Chandni threw the sausage in. The little chunk of meat vanished, like a coin into a well. Glider’s mouth remained open however.
‘No more until you’ve earned it.’
The Dogkin made to lick the grease from Chandni’s fingers but she pulled back her hand. ‘No more I said, not even a sniff.’
With another noise of disgruntlement, Glider padded over to the front of the wagon, where Varg stood staring at Chandni in astonishment.
‘Well don’t just stand there,’ she said, ‘help us up.’
She placed Satyendra within the wagon but was forced to rely heavily on Varg’s strength to climb on – her own was fading fast.
‘You don’t look right,’ he muttered. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No. Just tired.’
Varg didn’t look like he believed her but gave no argument, fitting a harness over Glider’s head and untangling the reins.
Chandni looked back to the castle. The great doors remained shut, and all appeared far too peaceful. On a normal day the early risers would already be up, preparing for business, and Chandni was always one of them. It forced the staff to match her example and made sure things started when they were supposed to.
She didn’t believe that people were inherently lazy, but it was better to take away the temptation just in case.
How many of the castle’s inhabitants would be rising early today? she wondered. How many would not be rising at all?
Varg leapt up alongside her on the seat, bumping against her as he settled into position. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
She glared, about to reprimand him, when she realized she’d naturally sat dead centre of the driver’s block. He’d been forced to squeeze onto the end, one of his buttocks hanging, precarious, from the side.
Not quite willing to apologize, she made a noise that she hoped sounded sympathetic and slid away from him.
It only took one shake of the reins and Glider was off, pulling them bumping across the courtyard.
‘You certainly got a way with Glider,’ he said. ‘She’s been a stubborn one ever since she was a pup.’
‘Animals know authority when they meet it,’ she replied.
‘Usually have to scream murder to get her arse off the mud.’ He shook his head. ‘Never seen her so obedient.’
‘Not even for your mistress?’
‘Pari?’ He laughed, a short and nasty sound. ‘Pari’s no good with Glider. They can’t stand each other.’
Chandni quickly turned her head away so that Varg wouldn’t see the pleasure she took from hearing about Pari’s shortcomings. She’d felt usurped by the Tanzanite in her own castle and it had awakened a petty need to score back some points. However, it wouldn’t do for Varg to realize that. Sapphires were supposed to be above such things.
The wagon was soon approaching the gap in the outer wall, big enough to manage a unit of ten soldiers marching shoulder to shoulder. A short lip of rock stuck out on the other side before cutting off, abrupt, leaving a long fall to the chasm below, and then another, longer fall after that.
There was nothing to bar their exit, no gates, no guards, which was odd as there was usually someone posted at the outer wall at all times.
Chandni shook her head, feeling sleep draw her in.
As they continued forward the Bridge of Friends and Fools came into view. Made of chains and planks, it was the only way back to earth. It had to be flexible to account for the air currents that moved the castle in constant, shifting increments.
The bridge was also the main defence. Two mechanisms held it fast to the rock. If the castle came under attack, it took only one soldier to release them both and send the bridge, and any unfortunates still on it, plunging to their doom.
She remembered being terrified of the bridge as a child, and a single look down reminded her why.
Through gaps in the slats she could see the crack in the earth far below. And from those depths, plumes of mist rose, pale purple, green, and yellow, seeming to hold some shape as they first broke free before dispersing, like mouths stretched so far they tore themselves open and scattered on the wind.
It was the power of the rising mists that held Lord Rochant Sapphire’s castle in the sky. Chandni did not understand how or why, but accepted it as part of life.
Meanwhile, the wagon bounced its way across the bridge. Satyendra watched for a while but it soon became too much stimulation for young eyes and he buried his head in Chandni’s chest.
‘Sshh,’ she said, stroking his dark gossamer hair.
‘Be best if you get in the back,’ said Varg. ‘Keep quiet and out of sight. There’s a little den back there you can use.’
This was true though it was also smelly in the back of the wagon, a mixture of musty cloth and Pari’s perfume. The idea of resting in a place where Pari had no doubt slept filled her with horror but she did not complain. Varg was right about the need to hide.
Her mind was full of worries, for her own health, for the safety of her son, and how this treachery and murder would impact on the family in general. She tried to process what she’d seen and make appropriate plans, but as soon as she’d arranged herself and Satyendra had settled down, the warmth of his body and the exertions of her own lulled her into a swift, dreamless sleep.
Even as she fell, and Pari’s mind was questioning the sanity of her decision, her body was reacting, adrenaline overriding fatigue, lifetimes of training overriding fear.
The chute was short and steep, taking a near vertical route through the floor of Rochant’s floating castle. In the seconds it took to reach the end of it, Pari cursed that she had left her climbing claws in the wagon. But in her belt she had her silk rope, and the gland of the Spiderkin that spun it. Twisting her body, she pushed her feet against one side of the chute, pressing a shoulder and one hand against the other. Warmth then pain flared against her palm, and rough stone scraped viciously across her scalp. Her descent slowed but did not stop as she gripped the rubbery gland in her free hand and raised it to her mouth.
The flesh of the organ slid under her teeth as she found purchase, then stretched out absurdly, before tearing open. One end of the rope was still joined to the gland, the other to her belt. Pari squeezed hard to force the milky ooze to the surface of the new hole before jamming it against the roof of the chute. With a sound like a wet kiss, it adhered to the stone, sticking fast.
There was just long enough for Pari to shudder at the flavour on her tongue – a muddy bitterness with a stomach-turning gritty aftertaste – and then the edge of the chute thrummed past her feet, past her fingers, and she was spinning through space.
She tumbled for only a second before the silk jerked taut at her back, stopping her fall but leaving her at the mercy of the winds. And if Pari had thought the breeze that blew up the chute was cold, it was nothing compared to being fully exposed to the elements.
As she spun there, like a child’s toy dangled between the underside of the castle and the great chasm waiting below, buffeted back and forth, Pari considered her options.
In many ways the simplest thing to do would be to detach herself and allow this lifecycle to come to an end. There would be a brief moment of pain when she hit the ground but that would be tempered by the memory of the fall, an exhilaration that she would treasure for many incarnations to come. The next thing she knew, she would be rebirthing in a Tanzanite stronghold, in a younger body. Several had been prepared, raised elsewhere in preparation for her next life. From what she had heard, the primary match, Rashana, her granddaughter was perfect.
However, her family would want to wait for an auspicious day for the rebirthing ceremony, and the required alignment of the suns was months away. That would be months for Rochant’s enemies to act freely. Chandni was a spirited girl, and Varg, despite his coarse edges, would be an able protector for baby Satyendra, but neither of them were Deathless, and a single life only got you so far. Pari could feel the hand of another immortal behind all of this and did not dare a long absence.
She took a long hard look at the crack in the earth below. Its dark was thick, fathomless: the combined light of the three suns did not penetrate its depths. All floating castles of the Deathless were built above similar fissures and were kept aloft by the ethereal energies they exhaled. Nobody knew how deep they went, or if they even had an end. There was a chance that if she let go, she would not die. She would simply fall, endlessly. Perhaps her soul would travel too far, beyond even the reach of the Bringers to call back. Or perhaps she would travel beyond this world, into the realm where the demons lived. Pari normally had little patience with such superstitious nonsense, but dangling there, gazing into the hole far below, her usual bravado faltered.
Taking death out of the equation, there were few roads open to her. Her recent adventures were fast catching up, and she could feel a great wave of fatigue building, heralding a sleep that even the winds and the cold would not disturb.
It was tempting to simply hang there and sleep. Scaling the underside of the castle might be possible if she were more rested.
Pari laughed at herself, knowing that such thoughts were folly. The truth was that the next time she woke would be agony, her body already preparing to punish her for all she’d put it through in this ill-considered venture. Besides, she would never wake from such a sleep. Either the cold would finish her off, or the constant swaying of the silk rope would work the Spiderkin gland loose from the chute.
Come on, she exhorted herself. Putting this off isn’t going to make it any easier.
Gritting her teeth, Pari hauled herself upwards. Three times, she heaved, placing one hand above the other, before she had enough slack to wind the rope around her right foot, taking some, but not nearly enough, of the strain from her shoulders.
It was dizzying, the way the wind spun her, but she blocked it from her mind, narrowing her focus down to the silk, her hands, her feet, and the next stage of the climb.
Soon, she had a rhythm, and her left foot was looped too, allowing her to progress swiftly back to the mouth of the chute.
She leaned against the back of the chute, letting it and the silk share her weight. The fatigue threatening to overwhelm her, and again she pushed it away.
I can’t climb any more. I can’t. I daren’t fall. If only I had my wings!
In her mind she could picture her armour mounted on its stand. How she longed for its embrace, the feel of the crystal against her skin, protective, supporting. If she were wearing it now, it would be a simple matter to ride the essence currents to safety.
How strange, she thought, that the great mass of Rochant’s castle could defy gravity, while she would fall as swiftly as a common stone.
Her eyes were drawn to a cluster of sapphire poking from the rock. Over the years the crystals had grown, giving the castle greater stability and, to her mind, beauty. As the essence currents met the base of the castle, it made the crystals vibrate and sing, soft, like the murmurings of a sleeping giant.
The crystal …
By leaning out and trusting her weight to the silk she could just reach a long slender lance of sapphire that cut a diagonal slash across her view of the horizon.
The crystal …
She tapped along its length with her nails, attending to the way it chimed, until one of the notes sounded off. She tapped that place a second time to be sure. Again, the note was dull, flat. The crystal here was flawed.
Pari pushed against it, so that she swung backwards on the silk rope. When the momentum drew her forward again, she leant with it, striking the crystal with the heel of her hand. There was a sharp crack and then a chunk broke away. Pari tried to snatch it from the sky but the crystal tumbled from her tired grasp, splintering into fragments, leaving her to watch, powerless, as it fell.
But the fall was only momentary, the next updraught catching each splinter and making them tinkle, like rain on a rooftop, as they rose once more into her waiting arms.
Once she was wedged into the chute again, Pari bound the sapphire pieces into her cloak, bundling them tight, binding the ends together, and tying each to her wrists.
She worked the gland free of the wall, paused, and sighed.
This is it.
Too tired to jump, Pari simply released the tension in her legs, flopping out through the hole.
As soon as the bundled crystals entered the current, they began to push upwards, taking the cloak with them and snapping Pari’s arms vertical. Not enough to hold her there, but enough to allow her a measured descent.
Perfect.
It was not the same as hunting. She had little control beyond being able to nudge slowly to the left or right. But she had spent many lifetimes in the air, and made the most of that skill to keep to the stronger currents, dropping in gasps and stutters.
To the east she could make out the Bridge of Friends or Fools and, despite the early hour, a cart rumbling along it. Though it was flying no house flags, she was certain it was of Sapphire design, and moreover, that Rochant was tucked away inside it.
They are taking you from me, my love. But where?
She stared after it, straining her eyes until it was swept from view and she was forced to consider her own predicament again.
Gradually, the crack in the earth below grew larger and darker, and she could make out individual wisps as they first emerged, a pluming flurry of purples, yellows and greens. Rather than be repulsed, she found herself drawn, a part of her wanting to give herself over to that place and be swallowed up. But it was a false part of her, and she repressed it with a shudder, forcing her eyes away from the hole and towards the rocky ridge that surrounded it.
The further she moved away, the weaker the currents became, turning her landing into a barely controlled fall. She hit the ground at speed, falling naturally into what would have been a graceful roll had she not become tangled in her own cloak.
Several tumbles and groans later, she came to a stop amid moss and stone. Pari allowed herself a victorious grimace before taking a tally of her injuries. No bones were broken but she had sprained muscles in her shoulders, thighs, and ankles. And the bruises! She managed to count three on her cheek and was just about to start on her arm when sleep embraced her.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u552a2707-b260-5fc1-b7a9-0e3b816ff0d8)
‘Tell us the story!’ said a voice from one of the far tables.
‘Yes,’ chorused several others. ‘Tell us!’
Vasin smiled easily, casting his gaze across the feast hall. ‘Again? Most of you have heard it already, several times.’ He sipped at his drink, then added, ‘I’d rather hear about how Mia led the other successful hunt.’
All eyes went to Mia, and she was nudged swiftly off her cushions to the applause of the assembled. Before she started her story, she bowed low to Vasin, and he saw the admiration in her eyes, and the desire.
To his surprise, he felt a flicker of lust. It had been a long time since he’d taken anyone to his bed. But then, it had been a long time since he had felt up to it. His victory over the Scuttling Corpseman had given pride back to House Sapphire, just as it had restored his own.
Even though it was not his victory.
Even though it was a lie. His mother had battled the Corpseman, the first person ever to wound it as far as anyone knew, and the second Sapphire Deathless to betray her house. What did that make him? The third?
Mia began her own story of the day, starting with a generous account of how Vasin had stirred them all, and as she told it her eyes met his, sparkling, and his smile grew that little bit wider.
He had allowed himself some Tack before the evening’s festivities. Not a full dose, he needed his wits about him still, but enough to ease the tension in his jaw and shoulders. He had to appear relaxed, the very image of the champion they considered him to be. When news of Rochant’s death reached the High Lord, there would be an investigation, and it was important he only draw the right kind of attention.
And so, despite the stress, he sat back and listened to Mia’s voice, his thoughts made pleasantly fuzzy by the Tack.
Then he saw a figure drift by the entrance to the room, pausing just long enough to catch his attention, and the smile fell from his face faster than a wingless hunter from the sky.
To a casual observer she appeared like just another Sapphire servant but he knew better. Her loyalties were more discerning than that. There was no signal given, no communication needed to get his attention. The very fact that she had come was all the summons he needed.
It’s all gone wrong! he thought, even as he forced himself to smile again and set his drink down, so that others would not see the way the liquid trembled in his cup.
Her name was Yi, and she had first come to him after his mother’s judgement at the hands of the High Lord. It had been night, the castle had slept. She had presented herself to him at the zenith of his grief. She had talked and the words had meant nothing. Yi was an agent of his mother, raised and trained in secret, ready to serve in all things. To advise, to take revenge, to act where others could not.
At the time he’d had no interest in taking action, had screamed at her to leave him, and she had gone without protest. The whole incident was soon forgotten, buried under a tide of emotions and drug-fuelled emptiness. Now he remembered, however, and now he understood, and now, he would listen.
To leave in the middle of Mia’s story would be an insult to her. And though any possibility of enjoying her company later had vanished, she deserved better than that. Besides, if he survived whatever Yi had come to warn him about, he would need many allies within his house.
So he waited, trying to be calm like his brother would be, while nodding and laughing at all the right places.
When he did stand to go there was a pleasing sound of disappointment from the assembled. ‘Please,’ he told them, ‘enjoy the bounty that grateful Sagan has provided. Eat, drink, whatever else brings you pleasure.’ There was a chuckle that he turned into a laugh by adding, ‘Except you, Zir. You stick to the food and drink.’
They made another attempt to get him to stay. He very nearly sat back down again. Another dose of Tack and he’d be able to escape his worries until tomorrow. A single thought of his mother, exiled, alone, mortal, was enough to banish that idea. ‘My friends,’ he began,‘to be with you again has been the greatest of honours. I must go now, but I promise you this: keep the lights shining, keep your voices warm, and I will find you again.’
And with that, he left, the sounds of their banging on the table and singing his name, honouring him, carrying him from the hall.
He moved swiftly, worried he would attract more servants or dignitaries hoping for a private word, working his way to the lower, less frequented sections of the castle.
A door opened on his left and he could see Yi’s outline within. He turned quickly, went through and she shut the door behind him. Without a word she led him on. The light of the gemstones was waning, their stored energy almost spent, casting the walls in pale twilight. Even though it was late, the corridors were clear, and they made their way swiftly, without seeing another soul.
Vasin did not think too hard about how this was possible, there were plenty of other things to worry about. Though Yi appeared calm, the fact that she had sought him out anywhere other than his private chambers conveyed urgency, and disaster.
They descended deep into the bowels of the castle, into a tunnel that appeared on no maps, a short, angled, bumpy thing, like a piece of anatomy evolution no longer needed, forgotten, useless. Here, Yi stopped. ‘You met with my lady?’
‘I did, and I swore to do whatever it takes to bring her back.’
‘Then you should know that we have already begun and there have been complications.’
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘All of Lord Rochant’s descendants are dead, save two.’
A partial success or a total failure? ‘Which two?’
‘A baby, Satyendra. His mother managed to remove him from the castle. She had outside help.’
‘Outside help?’ He pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Lady Pari Tanzanite. She knew we were coming.’
‘How?’
Yi bowed deeply, apologetic.
If Pari knew then who else did? And did they know about his involvement? The deal he’d made with his mother? What she was trying to accomplish? A wave of panic rose up inside, enough to make him lean on the wall for support. From the tumult of worry a thought managed to swim free. ‘Two. You said two had survived. Who was the other?’
‘Lord Rochant. He survived the rebirthing ceremony but we have him.’
‘Where?’
There was the slightest pause, Yi’s thin lips pinching in displeasure. She pointed to the door behind her.
It was everything Vasin could do not to shout. ‘Here? You brought him here?’
‘On Captain Dil’s order.’
And clearly that order had left a bad taste in her mouth. ‘Where is Dil?’
‘With the prisoner.’
Vasin levered himself upright and strode through the door. The top of a crystal had poked itself through the back wall, its gemslight weak, silhouetting the two people in the room. They had stopped mid-motion at his arrival, giving them an unreal appearance, like a painting, presented for his approval.
And he did not approve. Not in the slightest.
A pole had been driven into the ground, old enough to have held many other prisoners before this one. Now, Lord Rochant Sapphire was tied to it, his wrists bound above his head, his legs tucked underneath so that his feet could be tied to the pole also. A rough sack with a breathing hole was strapped to his head. Through it, Vasin could see bruising, fresh. He looked from that to the swelling on Dil’s knuckles, and the heat in his face.
Enough, he thought.
And though his reflexes were dulled by the Tack, they were more than enough to intercept Dil’s wrist. He could feel the fine bones under his fingers and, in his anger, it was tempting to break them. How dare this man, this underling, sully the face of a Sapphire! But Vasin could not stoop to his level, so instead, with a single shove, he ejected Dil from the room.
Rochant had been responsible for his mother’s fall. He deserved to be punished, but that punishment would be just, and it would come from his or his mother’s hand. Anything else demeaned their cause.
He became aware that the bag had twitched in his direction. He turned and felt Rochant’s regard. It was as if the man could see through the bag, as if Vasin stood exposed before him.
And whether this was true or not, he could not bear to stay in the room a moment longer.
Once the door was closed behind him, he converted his fear to anger and turned it on Dil. This man had forgotten his place in the order of things and Vasin would ensure that he never forgot it again. ‘You failed us.’
‘It was that devil, Pari—’
Vasin’s fingertips came to rest on the soft flesh of Dil’s neck, cutting him off.
‘And how did you deal with Lady Pari Tanzanite?’
‘I trapped her in the Rebirthing Chamber. I think she’s still there.’
His fingers pressed ever so gently deeper. ‘You think?’
‘I mean she is. She’s there. She’s definitely there. We sealed her in. There’s no way out and … and her body is old. It might even be dead by now.’
Vasin glanced at Yi, who nodded.
At some point, he’d pushed hard enough that Dil had gone on tiptoes to escape the pressure. Vasin took a breath. To navigate these waters he would need to master his emotions, be more like Gada.
‘And if she isn’t dead?’
‘I-I could denounce her!’ exclaimed Dil.
Yi gave a slight shake of her head, mirroring Vasin’s own. ‘Your word is wind against a member of the Crystal Dynasties.’ She turned to Vasin. ‘For it to hold, his accusation would have to be unchallenged. We would need proof of her betrayal.’
‘Her presence in our lands was secret, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Yi replied. ‘The official word is that she has withdrawn to her castle to recuperate after a mysterious illness.’
Vasin nodded, a plan forming in his mind. ‘Who else can access the Rebirthing Chamber?’
‘Only the Bringers of Endless Order and High Lord Sapphire himself,’ replied Dil, tilting his head up in order to speak. ‘I have the only other key, my lord.’
‘Then we go there, now, before the High Lord does. We must find out what she knows. And how she knew!’
‘I will make her talk, my lord,’ said Dil.
Vasin did not like the look in the man’s eye, he turned his hand ever so slightly, snuffing out Dil’s disgusting enthusiasm. ‘You will do as I command, nothing more.’ His lip curled as Dil capitulated.
‘Trespasser or not, Lady Pari deserves our respect. I will speak with her and learn the truth behind her involvement. When I am satisfied, we will pay a visit to her home, in order to prove she is not in residence. At that point, Dil will denounce her in the name of his murdered lord. The Tanzanite will protest, naturally, and there will be an investigation, but when they find her body in the Rebirthing Chamber at Lord Rochant’s castle, all further doubt will be erased. With luck she will be tried and condemned before her rebirth, privately and without disgrace.’ He leaned close to Dil’s face and gestured towards where Rochant was being held. ‘Do not cross the threshold of that room ever again, do you understand?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
He withdrew his hand. ‘Prepare yourself for travel, we leave within the hour.’
Dil’s eyes lingered briefly on the door, but then he straightened, saluted and left. Vasin and Yi shared a look, neither needing to express their misgivings with words.
‘Look after our prisoner while I’m gone,’ he instructed. ‘Keep him secure, but if you can, make him …’ he struggled for the right word. ‘Comfortable.’
Did Yi’s eyebrows twitch as she bowed? No matter, unlike Dil, she could be trusted to follow his orders to the letter.
He returned to his room, so busy lamenting the fact that he could not return to the feast, that he didn’t spot Gada pacing by the window until he spoke.
‘Where have you been?’
His brother was in his finery, tightly bound silk on his limbs, and a river of the same fabric flowing from his shoulders. A scent like air on a cold morning wafted from his face. His cheeks were darker than usual and the formal make-up was exaggerating his scowl.
‘Well? I have been searching high and low for you.’
‘What’s wrong, brother?’
‘The High Lord is on his way here, now. And he is most displeased.’ He paused to peer at Vasin more closely. ‘Are you yourself? Tell me you haven’t been smoking that filth again.’
Vasin did not meet his stare. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’d better be. We must be ready to weather the storm of the High Lord’s anger.’ Gada turned his attention to the rest of him. ‘You must refresh yourself, change, and help me with the preparations. There is to be a gathering of the Sapphire.’
‘Here?’ replied Vasin weakly. ‘With so little warning? There can’t be.’
Gada’s smile was weaker still. ‘There can. The whole family. Here. Tomorrow.’
A rough jolt of the wagon woke Chandni up. It took her a few moments to work out where she was and how she’d come to be buried under several layers of heavy cloth.
When it all came back, what little relaxation she’d gained from sleep flowed out of her.
But we’re still moving, she told herself. So they haven’t caught us. We’re safe, at least for now.
She began to consider her next move. The best thing to do would be to go to another family stronghold. There was an aunt in the north she could trust. If Chandni could find refuge with her she could request an audience with the Sapphire High Lord. An attack of this nature was surely an act of war. What if Lord Rochant’s line was only the first targeted? Or worse, what if it wasn’t? What if other Sapphire lines have already fallen?
Her lips were dry and her throat was worse. She needed a drink and something to eat. The best plans were made with a cool head and a quiet stomach.
She lifted Satyendra, still fast asleep, and saw a line of drool linking his lips to the clasp of her cloak. Chandni smiled and rested his head on her shoulder, before shuffling to the front of the wagon on her knees.
‘Is it safe?’ she whispered.
‘We’re well away,’ Varg replied. ‘You can come out here if you like.’
It was getting dark, the red suns Vexation and Wrath’s Tear already below the horizon, with Fortune’s Eyenot far behind. She’d expected to find them on the Godroad, part of a network of crystal pathways that linked the Sapphire strongholds to those of the other great houses. Given a choice, everyone used the Godroads. Not only were they untarnished by the passage of time and quick to travel on, they kept the denizens of the Wild at bay.
But instead of pulsing crystal running smoothly beneath their wheels, she saw a path of broken stones, rough and overgrown.
‘What kind of excuse for a road is this?’
‘A quiet one,’ replied Varg. ‘I’m hoping they don’t have eyes on it.’
‘And where is it taking us?’
‘Somewhere safe. Now how about you tell me what kind of shi—’ he saw her hand raise and corrected himself, ‘trouble I’ve got myself into.’
He offered her a flask of fruit-touched water, and Chandni had a long drink before recounting events as best she could remember them. She was just coming to the part where she had to flee the castle when the words fell away.
‘Something wrong?’
‘How is it the suns are going down already?’
He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘That’s what they do.’
‘But it was only just morning when we left!’
‘That was a long while ago, believe me. I’ve been driving Glider as fast as I can, only taking short breaks. And we’ve made bloody good time if I do say so myself.’
‘And I’ve been asleep all day?’
‘Yep, you slept like the dead. Reckon the baby did too. Never heard a peep from either of you.’
Fresh sweat broke out on her forehead. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Oh no, no, no.’
‘Something up?’ he asked.
Chandni ignored him and retreated back into the wagon. She laid Satyendra down on a nest of folded cloth and sat down heavily, staring at her bandaged hand. Seconds after she’d let go, Satyendra’s eyes opened and his face split in a yawn which became a stretch, whole bodied.
She ignored that too, and began to pull away the knots holding the bandage in place. Sweat stained the armpits of her nightdress and the back of her neck was slick with it. Is this nerves? Or is it fever?
Straps were removed and the wad of padding peeled away. A puffy red dot sat in the middle of her palm, the skin around it raised and angry. After rifling through the bag the cook had given her she found a small but very sharp knife. Slipping it from its sheath she pressed the point to her palm.
There was nothing.
She pressed harder, making sure that the point pierced the skin. The wound was sufficiently deep enough she could make blood seep out by squeezing the sides of her hand together.
Why can’t I feel anything? I’ve left it too late. By the Thrice Blessed Suns, I’ve left it too late.
She moved the point of the knife further down until it sat at the thick edge where palm meets wrist. It felt clumsy using her left hand but she pressed the knife in and, when she saw rather than felt the blade, made several more cuts around the area.
Each time, her horror deepened.
How can I protect Satyendra out here with just one hand? It’s not even my good one!
All of a sudden she missed the castle, and all the staff there. Several of them were her friends. She felt sure that she could manage if they were here. But she was alone, and her baby needed her to be strong.
I am more than strong, she reminded herself. I am Sapphire. She looked at her arm. Little streams of blood ran down it to start dripping from her elbow but she ignored them.
She directed the point of the knife above her forearm.
Please let this next one hurt. Please.
Just as she raised the blade, the flap at the front of the wagon was pulled open.
‘What’s going on in here?’ shouted Varg.
She brought the knife down and cried out, delighted. Never before had the sensation of pain brought such relief.
She heard Varg say ‘fuck’ several times, then felt the wagon come to an abrupt halt as he ducked in to join her. His face grew pale behind his beard. ‘What are you doing? Are you possessed?’
‘No,’ she gasped.
‘There’s blood everywhere!’ He grabbed the hand that was holding the knife. ‘Do you want to get us killed?’
A little indignation stirred within her. ‘I am not trying to kill anyone, quite the opposite.’
‘Shit and suns and fuck! They’re going to smell us a mile away.’ He picked up a piece of cloth, looked at her arm and then handed it to her with a look of disgust. ‘Clean yourself up.’
‘Aren’t you going to help me?’
‘I’ve been too close to you as it is,’ he muttered, releasing her arm and backing away. ‘You’re going to bring half the fucking Wild on our heads!’
Chandni replaced the bandage but it took her several tries to retie the straps. Though she couldn’t feel her right hand, she found she could flex the fingers. It was strange, as if the digits belonged to someone else. She forced herself to hope. Surely it was a good sign that her fingers still responded to her commands? If the poison had worked, wouldn’t the hand be useless?
Satyendra made an unhappy noise, one that would be followed by a proper cry if she did not feed him.
‘Ssh,’ she said as she opened the cook’s cloak and pulled down one side of her dress. ‘I’m coming. Ssh.’
When she picked him up, Satyendra’s mouth was flapping, fishlike, so eager that he missed, head-butting her shoulder before latching on.
She stroked his head as he grunted, content.
The wagon was moving again, faster this time, with Varg’s deep voice a constant companion to the creaking wheels. She found both the tone and the content objectionable.
Being careful not to disturb her son’s feeding, Chandni edged to the front of the wagon. No suns were visible now but a little gold still inflamed the sky. Long grasses swept to either side of the road. Not the short, leafy clumps she was used to at the castle but thick stalks over half her height, each one covered in buds the size of her thumbnail, each bud shaped like a human ear.
As Varg muttered, the grasses rippled, the nearest stalks bent by the sound, touching their neighbour, whispering and passing it on. Like a breeze, Varg’s voice was carried away across the fields.
Chandni’s eyes followed the trail until they came to rest on a distant shape, an anomaly in the gloom; she couldn’t tell if it were a person or animal, but whatever it was towered above the grass.
She cleared her throat and pointed. ‘What is that?’
The grasses caught her words, scattering them across the fields in a flurry of frightened echoes. ‘What is that, what is that, what is that …’
As the ripples reached the shape in the distance it began to move, unfolding long appendages. Fabric hung down from them like a pair of wings, tattered. And then it began to glide, and Chandni could not be sure if the grasses simply parted for it or if they were passing it along, one row to the other.
‘That,’ said Varg, ‘is a Whispercage.’
Glider started to whine and Varg responded by shouting and applying a boot to the Dogkin’s backside. ‘Go faster you stupid lump or you’ll really have something to complain about!’
‘Faster, faster, faster,’ said the grasses, ‘you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something, you’ll really have something.’
She had thought it big before, but as the Whispercage got closer Chandni realized she had not done the creature justice. It was nearly three times her height and twice as wide, with a long stretched skeleton, wrapped in rippling cloth.
Or is that loose skin? Chandni’s gorge began to rise. Is it wearing someone else’s skin?
‘It’s going to overtake us!’ she cried.
‘Take us,’ echoed the grasses, ‘take us, take us.’
‘We’re nearly past the fields,’ shouted Varg, ‘it won’t touch us unless we look at it or talk to it, understand?’
‘I understand,’ she replied, as the grasses whispered: ‘Touch us, touch us, touch us.’
‘That means keep your fucking eyes down and your mouth shut.’
Chandni bit back a retort and did as she was told.
With Glider’s five legs pumping for all they were worth, the wagon seemed to fly along the path, but the Whispercage was waiting for them up ahead. It leant out from the edge of the grasses, its arms – long poles of dirty bone – held high.
As they went past, the wagon rocked sideways as the Whispercage latched onto it, and Chandni felt something brush her cheek. It was surprisingly gentle, and soft as peach skin.
Don’t look up, she told herself.
From the corner of her eye, she could see the edge of the fields in sight, the grasses thinning out and giving way to a wall of twisted trees.
She forced herself not to react to the movement by her ear. The Whispercage was right next to her. In her periphery, she was aware of it watching, waiting for her to turn and make eye contact. It wore a hood of sorts, and within it something moved where she’d expect to find a mouth, a tongue-petalled flower, opening.
Don’t look up.
Satyendra’s urgent suckling had settled into a steady guzzle, now it stopped completely. She heard his happy sigh, then felt his head turn away. Too late, she tried to turn it back.
Everything went dark as the Whispercage lunged, covering her. She flailed against it and it struck back, and all became a flurry of movement, as if she sat within a flight of furious birds.
For a terrible moment she was convinced that Satyendra had been taken, his weight had gone from her arms and she screamed in despair, but when the Whispercage was ripped away, like a sail torn from a storm-tossed ship, her baby was still there, staring up at her. The blanket that he had been wrapped in was gone, but he appeared unharmed. And yet, despite the evidence of her eyes, she could not escape the feeling that she’d lost her baby.
Varg looked across and nodded. ‘Thank fuck for that.’ But he didn’t slow down and Glider seemed all too happy to keep running, until the last of the light faded away and only stars could be made out through the sparse canopy above.
By the time the wagon did come to a stop, they had left the grasses far behind. They were safe. Chandni breathed a long sigh and held Satyendra close.
To her surprise, he opened his mouth and began to scream.
Waking was as unpleasant as Pari expected. Muscles ached, joints locked up, stubborn, and bruises protested all over.
It was dark around her, the three suns having set some time ago. She wondered how long she had slept. Not long enough, replied her body.
The luminous Godroad cast a pale glow onto the night’s clouds. Pari allowed it to guide her, grunting and groaning, towards it. Soon, a choice would have to be made. Much as she would like to examine the bodies of the assassins more carefully for clues, and question Lord Rochant’s staff about Dil’s movements, she knew she couldn’t. Dil had named a Tanzanite as the one behind the attack effectively preventing her from approaching any of Rochant’s loyal staff for help.
Besides, both Rochant and his last living descendant were outside the castle now, and they both needed her help.
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