“Rose red city half as old as time,” Caleb murmured.
“What?”
“Just a quote about a city on earth once.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that on earth.”
“And you won’t.” For some reason, he didn’t look as impressed as I was. “Human society is too fluid to have built up something like that. It would have been razed at some far earlier stage by a conqueror, or made obsolete by new technology. That must have taken thousands of years to build by a people stuck in one phase of existence and not allowed to move on.”
“Maybe they don’t want to move on.”
Caleb shot me a look. “And maybe their overlords won’t allow it, since it would make them harder to govern. Harder to control.” His lip curled. “I’m beginning to understand why John hates this place.”
He looked like he’d have said more, but Rian was back, thrusting overflowing canteens into our dusty hands. I drank some water, swirled it around my mouth, and spat it out, trying to get sand to stop cracking between my teeth. It didn’t work.
“All right, now do you understand?” Casanova hissed. It was always easy to tell when he was talking; Rian’s careful, measured voice and graceful movements gave way to wilder gestures and harsher tones.
At least they did when he was talking to me.
I didn’t answer until we’d moved away from the crowd, closer to a small, built-up edge of stone, near the precipice. It was only about waist high, and the wind was something else, so I kept to the right side of the camel thing. But it didn’t help; it felt like we might both go flying at any moment.
I squatted down, and that was a little better, mainly because I couldn’t see the drop-off anymore.
“Now do I understand what?” I asked.
“Now do you understand how stupid this is?” Casanova demanded, squatting in front of me. “We need to get out of here before anyone recognizes us!”
“Recognizes?” I gestured around. “There’s got to be two, three thousand people just on this damned platform.”
“Yes, so with our luck, that should buy us about five minutes!”
“It’s not the recognizing that’s the problem,” Caleb said, his eyes on the gate. “They’re not checking everybody or even most people going in. It’s the getting out.”
“We’re not going to get out. We’re probably not even going to get in!” Casanova said, before Rian stopped his mouth with a canteen.
“We’ll get out like we got in,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as them. “Mother said I should be able to open the gates between worlds, with or without the guard’s approval. It was her greatest gift.”
“Should be?” Casanova hissed, thrusting the canteen away. “You didn’t test it?”
“How am I supposed to test it, Casanova?” I hissed back. “Demons tend to take a dim view of people breaking into their courts!”
“Dimmer than Rosier when we try to steal his heir and then can’t get the hell out—”
The canteen was back.
“Mother said I could do it,” I repeated, slowly enough to hopefully get through that thick skull of his. “‘Should have’ was my phrasing and it was . . . poorly chosen. I’m sorry.”
I hoped an apology would calm him down, but of course not.
“If you’re sorry, then get me out of here!” he spluttered, shoving the canteen away and spraying water all over me.
“I’m not leaving him here!”
“He’s a demon lord! He can take care of himself! If he wants out, he’ll find a way—”
“It’s been six months, Carlos,” Rian said, causing him to change octaves and facial expressions midway through a sentence. It gave him a weird, schizophrenic tic, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to absorb what she was saying.
“Six months?”
“Time passes differently here,” she reminded me. “That is why your power doesn’t work. We are no longer in your time stream.”
“But six—”
“That is one reason I agreed to come with you. Lord Rosier has waited a long time for this. He isn’t going to lose his son again if he can help it.”
“Is that why there are so many guards?” Caleb demanded.
“No.” Rian glanced around, and for a second, I thought I saw her large, almond-shaped eyes sliding behind Casanova’s. “I’ve never seen so many all at once. It’s the only good sign.”
“Good?” Casanova asked himself. “How is that—”
He abruptly stopped when several indigo-robed guards broke away from a nearby group and came in our direction. They were muffled up more than the tourists, just sharp dark eyes and arched black eyebrows showing between their turbans and the veils they’d tucked into the necks of their robes. Which didn’t entirely obscure the no-nonsense curved swords at their sides.
I didn’t say anything, either, as they came closer. Or move. Or even breathe. I tried to tell myself to act natural, but it wasn’t working so great. And I wasn’t the only one. Suddenly, the only movement in our small group was the wind whipping our robes around, and the camel thing chewing on Casanova’s hair.
Until the guards passed by, and grabbed a couple of kids who had been playing on the rocky edge of the precipice. A frantic mother came up and retrieved them, already sobbing even before one of the men started telling her off. I swallowed sand and hung my head, and poured some of the water over my hot neck until they’d gone again.
“It is good,” Rian said, clearing her throat. “For it shows that the master is worried. There are at least three times the usual number of guards on duty, perhaps more. Something that would not be the case if he didn’t consider himself to be vulnerable.”
“He thinks we can do it,” I said, translating that.
“He thinks we’ll be stupid enough to try to do it,” Casanova corrected. “The guards are to make sure we don’t succeed!”
I stared at the gate, which had a huge, old-fashioned portcullis at the top, its jagged teeth cast in some kind of black metal. The tips glinted dully in the light’s last rays, as if they’d been dipped in blood. I glanced at Caleb, who was looking at them, too.
And unlike Casanova, he and I didn’t have an out. Rosier had promised Pritkin recently not to attempt to assassinate me again, but I wasn’t sure how that worked when I was the party on the offensive. But even if it did apply, it left a whole host of options wide-open—none of which I was likely to enjoy. And as for Caleb . .
“If you want to go back, I’ll understand,” I told him quietly.
He pursed his lips slightly, and shot me a glance. It almost looked like he was trying to hold back a grin, except that Caleb didn’t grin. It seemed to be against the war mage code or something. And because it would have been crazy under the circumstances.
“You going back?”
“No.” It wasn’t like this was going to get any easier later.
He stood up and stretched, corded muscles rippling under the thin material of the robes. “Guess I’ll go when you do.”
“Oh, for—God preserve me from brainless heroics!” Casanova snapped.
“Didn’t think you believed in God.”
“I believe in Satan,” he said, pushing the camel thing away from his hair. “I ought to. I’m standing on his bloody doorstep!”
If Satan’s doorstep was impressive, his atrium was breathtaking.
We passed through the gate into a chasm of a tunnel, the fading light from behind us washing along the ceiling like red water, too late in the day to really light our way, but too early for the lanterns that glinted in intervals overhead to be lit. I navigated by letting my fingertips trail over the rough, rocky surface of the nearest wall, which still held the heat of the day and probably would for hours considering the thickness of the stone. And felt some of that initial awe creep back.