The Prince straightened up, then ran a hand over his face. Pressure from the north, pressure from the south; rumors of discontent among the inland Naleni lords-it was all slowly crushing him. He crossed to his chair and dropped heavily into it.
Perhaps I should let Pelut just run everything. Better his collapse than mine.
He smiled, then threw his head back and laughed, trying to keep a note of hysteria from it.
A tiny tapping came at the interior door. It slid open enough to reveal a kneeling servant with his head pressed to the floor. “Does his Magnificence require something?”
“No, Shojo, I am fine.”
“Yes, Master.” The older man began to slide the door shut again.
“No, wait, don’t go.” Cyron drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Send a runner to the Lady of Jet and Jade. If it would not be an inconvenience, I would enjoy the pleasure of her company this evening. I have need of relaxation.”
“Yes, Highness, of course.” Shojo lifted his face enough for the Prince to catch the hint of a smile. Not because the Prince was summoning the nation’s legendary courtesan to attend him; Shojo found no scandal in that. He smiled because he didn’t think Cyron did it frequently enough.
“Shojo.”
“Yes, Highness?”
“Don’t send a runner. Convey the message yourself. All arrangements will be in your hands.”
“I shall see to it, Master.”
“Thank you.” The prince bowed his head as the man slid the door shut again. “If only Pelut would serve me as well as you.” Cyron slowly shook his head. “But he does not, which is why the burden of the nation’s future rests squarely on my shoulders. But for how long?” Cyron could sense doom lurking. “And from what direction shall destruction come?”
Chapter Five
12th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Kunjiqui, Anturasixan
Nirati Anturasi rather liked being alive. She dwelt in a paradise that had been a childhood fantasy she’d shared only with her grandfather. Somehow he had shaped it for her and put it at the heart of a vast continent. In Kunjiqui, flowers always bloomed, clouds never cluttered the sky, and water ran cool in streams. Whatever foods or refreshments she desired would be borne to her by small fanciful creatures that, if the expressions in their large eyes could be credited, worshipped her.
The only thing that disturbed her was that she seemed to have remembered dying. Lying naked on the grasses at the edge of a stream, with one toe dipped into the water and fat goldfish nibbling at it, she tried to recall the circumstances of her death. They would not come-though it seemed to her that she had shed her old body the way she shed clothes, and had come to Kunjiqui newborn, innocent, yet a bit wiser and more perceptive than before.
Dying certainly was unpleasant business, and she felt no impetus to dwell upon it, save from time to time when nothing distracted her. These moments of pure peace came seldom on Anturasixan, for much was being done and, she had been assured, much also needed doing.
As her grandfather had shaped her sanctuary, so he shaped and reshaped Anturasixan. From where she lay, she could see him silhouetted as a dark speck against the dying sun. She knew he faced north, but only because along what would have been the line of his vision, a sharp mountain range rose slowly and inexorably, its grey teeth piercing the sky. In one heartbeat snow capped the peaks, and in the next had melted and flowed down into valleys she could not see.
She had not puzzled over how he could do this because, in a sense, he always had been able to do it. When Qiro Anturasi added features to a map, it meant they truly existed. Qiro had defined the world for countless Naleni merchants and sailors. Here he defined his own continent, revising and reshaping it as he would have in changing the details on a map.
Nirati heard a delighted squeal and brought her head up. A tiny creature-barely the size of a two-year-old child, yet with the body and well-formed limbs of an adult human-came bounding through the grasses. Takwee would have appeared to be entirely human, save that a soft ivory down covered her body. Her head, which was slightly large for her body, held big gold eyes, a slightly protuberant muzzle, and was crowned with a glorious golden mane that ran down her spine and matched the tuft at the end of her tail.
Takwee had been born in one of the Anturasixan provinces. Nirati did not know if she were the only one of her people in Kunjiqui, but Takwee did not seem to suffer loneliness. She seemed content to spend time herding the serving creatures or washing and braiding Nirati’s hair. She would chitter and whistle away gaily-Nirati could not understand a thing she said-but the squeal usually presaged one thing only.
In the tiny creature’s wake, a man crested the hill to the north. Quite tall and powerfully built, he descended toward her with a casual confidence. His long black hair danced at his shoulders. The hue matched his beard and the thick mat of hair on his broad chest. His loincloth and eyes both were a deep blue, and Nirati felt joy rising in her at his approach.
She sat up, but made no attempt to cover herself. She and Nelesquin had become lovers. In fact, he had taken her within minutes of their meeting. The memory of it still shocked her-not so much because she had never given herself to a man so quickly before, but because it had seemed the most natural thing in the world. It was as if upon meeting him, she had discovered the lover she had always been meant to have.
Nirati smiled. “My lord, you have been away much today.”
“And every moment away from you has been as if a year under the lash.” He came and sat at her feet, then leaned over and kissed her. He pulled back after only a second, stared into her eyes, then smiled before kissing her again, more fully and deeply.
Nirati broke their kiss but lingered with her forehead pressed to his. “And why was it you were away so long?”
A little tremor ran through him, and it surprised her. He straightened up and pulled away, his eyes half-closed. “Memories come back slowly, Nirati, and not all of them are pleasant. I collected scrying stones and have consulted them-this helped, but also revealed a number of things to me. I had to sort through them to help me focus. Your grandfather and I will work well together, though his lack of focus hurts us.”
“I am not sure I understand, my lord.”
Nelesquin smiled and caressed her leg. “Take your dear Takwee here. A delightful creature, with many uses, but not suited to the tasks we need to accomplish.”
Takwee, upon hearing her name, looked up from the stream bank where she crouched. She smiled, baring all her teeth, then returned her gaze to the stream. She barked harshly, then dove deep, scattering a small school of bright green fish.
Nirati laughed at her antics and Nelesquin joined her. “I think your grandfather modeled Takwee on the Fennych. He worked from memory, and had not heard the true tales, or sought to forget them. It seems much of the truth of the world has been lost.”
She smiled indulgently. “I have no doubt it is as you say, my lord.”
“And I am chastened for telling you my conclusions without sharing my full thoughts.” He nodded. “Indulge me, please, Nirati.”
“As you desire.”
“Tell me what you know of Empress Cyrsa.”
Nirati frowned, not at all certain what the last empress had to do with anything on Anturasixan. “I only know her from the tales told to children, my lord. At the time of the Turasynd invasion she gathered together all the greatest heroes of the Empire. She took them west, along with the Imperial treasury, so the barbarians would follow her into the far provinces. There they fought a battle that released much wild magic. It devastated the provinces and created the Time of Black Ice. Millions died as magic and years without summer ravaged the land. Some say she was killed in the battle, others say she waits in far Ixyll for a threat to the Empire to rise, whence she will return with her army to restore peace and order.”