But Chay-Liang wasn't pointing at the miraculous city of stone that lay before them. The enchantress was pointing up. To the golden palace that hung from the sky.
6
The Palace of Leaves hung over Xican. Beside Bellepheros, Tuuran gaped in slack-jawed awe. It was hard not to. More than a dozen discs of gold-tinged glass floated high in the bright sky, each as wide as a war-dragon's outstretched wings. A hundred chains of Scythian steel, with links as thick and long as a man, tethered them to the cliffs below. From beneath, the discs were a dazzling brightness so fierce that Bellepheros could only look at them sideways. From the ground a cluster of glass and gold spires and a few of black obsidian reached up like fingers. Tiny bridges of glass joined one tower to the next, wires of light that sparkled in the sun. Great silver and gold eggs hung beneath the discs, suspended by gleaming chains. In its midst Bellepheros saw a ship, masts and sails and all, simply suspended in the air.
The enchantress Chay-Liang took a glass ball the size of a fist from the bag at her belt. She had three wands there too: one of black stone, one of pale golden glass like the lightning wands that the soldiers carried, and one of silver. She stepped off the cradle and held the glass ball in front of her. Bellepheros watched in fascination, torn between the detail of what she was doing and the overwhelming immensity of what rose above them. He settled for watching her. It was easier than trying to stare at the blinding miracle that floated in the sky.
The glass ball bulged and flattened and grew into a disc ten feet wide that hovered in the air at the enchantress's feet. She looked pleased with herself. ‘A perk of being what I am,’ she said, looking straight at him. She was showing off, and he laughed because the idea that this woman wanted to impress him struck him as absurd, that she somehow felt the need amid the dazzling marvels that surrounded them.
She smiled back and offered him her hand. He supposed she thought he was impressed, and yes, a part of him was. But mostly he was seeing again how much he mattered to these Taiytakei, and the more he saw it, the more it woke the dread inside him. When it came to potions and dragons he could teach them everything he knew and it wouldn't make a blind bit of difference. They probably weren't going to like that, when they finally understood what made him what he was and why none of them could ever be the same. They certainly weren't going to be happy to let him go home.
‘Are you coming?’ The enchantress stepped onto the glass and beckoned him again to follow. The Taiytakei soldiers hesitated — it seemed they didn't know quite how they should treat him any more — and settled for shoving Tuuran onto the disc instead. Bellepheros followed, reluctant, bemused and anxious and wondering what came next. As soon as he was on, it rose into the air and his heart jumped into his mouth. He stumbled. At his feet the glass was as good as invisible. The city and its jumble of stone was falling away. They were climbing into the void between colossal spikes below and the brilliant palace above and everywhere he looked was huge open space. He staggered again as his stomach tied itself in knots and his legs quivered and started to give. He was going to faint! The woman in white was smiling at him, amused at his terror. Space! So much space! Too much space! The starkness of her black skin against the white of her robe struck him hard. He was gasping. He was going to faint. He closed his eyes and clung to the nearest body and never mind who it was. Great Flame! Such sorcery as this! Not even in the works of the Silver King. .
‘Mind him! You'll have Abraxi out of her grave if you let him fall!’ He barely heard over the rushing in his ears. Hands gripped him tight, easing him down. A voice whispered in his ear.
‘I have you.’ Tuuran. ‘Witchcraft and blood-magic, but we're stronger, Lord Alchemist. We're stronger! Cling to that!’
No, we are not! Bellepheros didn't feel strong at all, but words like witchcraft and blood-magic made him open his eyes a fraction because this was clearly neither of those things and that sort of ignorance had always annoyed him.
No, opening his eyes was a mistake. The terror had him straight back again. Everywhere he looked, he saw sky. Even dragons had never made him feel so small. His head began to spin. He closed his eyes again and shut them tight. Wind pulled at him and whipped at his robes and his hair, playful and gleeful as though it wanted to nudge him over the edge and watch him fall and then laugh at him for being so utterly trivial. His fingers dug into Tuuran's arm. He wanted to be sick. He'd looked dragons in the eye and now he carried the dread of the storm-dark in the pit of his stomach, yet he'd never felt as sharp a terror as this.
He swayed as Tuuran lifted him up. The Adamantine Man's easy strength helped him. ‘We are arrived, Lord Alchemist. The ground is stone again.’
Bellepheros opened his eyes a crack. He caught a glimpse of pale golden glass walls, of a gaping hole and of the sky beyond and a cold white marble floor. He staggered forward and then his legs buckled and he fell out of Tuuran's arms to his hands and knees. Solid stone. Even if it was floating in the sky, it felt like the ground and that was enough. A blessed relief. He stared at the veins in the marble for a second or two and then threw up. Pathetic. What must they think of me? He stayed where he was, trying to breathe.
‘Bellepheros?’
The woman. Gentle hands reached under his arms and lifted him back to his feet. Hers, and when his eyes remembered how to focus, the concern on her face seemed real enough, even if a part of her was laughing at him. She looked odd with those glass lenses over her eyes. Owlish.
‘If anyone ever invites you to walk the Path of Words, you should probably decline.’ She smiled and pulled him away. As they moved, two women in white belted tunics ran from alcoves where they had stood like statues and started to clean the mess he'd made on their floor. Pale-skinned. Slaves again. The enchantress wrinkled her nose and made a face. ‘You've been in these clothes since the Picker took you, haven't you? Your travel chest will arrive shortly. Really, I don't see why they couldn't have taken some other clothes out for you and let you have them. I'm afraid you smell quite. . strong. And that won't do for when you meet the sea lord. You'll need some new ones. Do you have a preference? I know you have a liking for silk in your realm. Did you know that silk was something you stole from us? Old history and mostly forgotten now but it caused a great deal of trouble once.’
Bellepheros tried not to look at anything except the floor. The space around him was huge and filled with light. The ceiling was far above, if there was a ceiling at all, and the walls were all the same gold-tinged glass. If you peered you could see the clouds and the harbour and the city outside, all of it adding to the sense of nakedness around him. ‘Alchemists are used to tunnels and caves,’ he muttered. ‘Not great spaces like this.’ It was the emptiness that oppressed him, more than the size. There was no one else here except a few slaves standing patient and still in their alcoves and the soldiers who'd come with Chay-Liang. A place like the Speaker's Hall in the Adamantine Palace, where many could gather when the occasion arose yet rarely used. It had no sense of life. For all its perfect beauty, it felt cold and dead.