A groan came from the floor. Turning back, she saw Lionstar breathing from the new mask. The stagman gripping her arm relaxed, though not enough to let her pull away.
Lionstar sat up, holding the mask in place. When his man tried to offer assistance, the governor shook his head. So the stagman withdrew, stepping out of the coach. Lionstar stood up, one hand braced against the wall, bending his head so it didn’t hit the roof.
He moved his mask aside and spoke to the man holding Kamoj. “Let her go, Azander.”
“Sir, she took your breathing skin off,” Azander said.
Lionstar waved the mask. “Curiosity’s nay murder. Go’n. Drive us home.”
“Yes, sir.” As Azander backed out of the coach, he gave Kamoj a hard look. She recognized the warning. If she hurt Lionstar, Azander would see that she paid for it.
Within moments they were rumbling along the road again. Seated next to Kamoj, Lionstar leaned back and closed his eyes, holding the new mask over his face, with the metal cylinder at his side. She wondered if he really believed she had taken off his other mask out of curiosity, or if he suspected what Azander almost said, that his new bride had tried to murder him.
Sitting up again, Lionstar took out his bottle and fumbled with it, trying to open it one-handed. Finally he dropped the mask in his lap and used both hands to open the bottle. He drank deeply from it, his throat working as he swallowed.
When he finished, he handed Kamoj the empty bottle. “Put top back’n.” Then he put his mask over his face again, holding it with one hand.
Kamoj replaced the top, wondering if he always drank this much. Maybe that was why he didn’t care that he lived in the ruins of a palace.
The new mask covered only his mouth and nose, giving her a view of his eyes. They were large, and a remarkable color, dark violet. Red and violet, actually; they would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been so bloodshot. Even stranger, though, were the pupils. Rather than vertical slits, his were round. Although odd, the effect wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it had a sense of “rightness” that puzzled Kamoj, an inexplicable familiarity.
Right now those unusual eyes were watching her. Lionstar pulled aside his mask. “Why’d do it?”
She knew what he meant. “I wondered what you looked like.”
“You could have just asked.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt you.”
He nodded. Then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. After a moment the mask fell out of his hand and into his lap.
“Governor Lionstar.” Kamoj shook his shoulder. “Your breathing skin.” When he opened his eyes, blinking at her, she gave him the silver mask. He tried pressing it into place, with no more success than she had managed earlier. He squinted at it, then flipped the metal skin over and tried again. This time it stayed in place, leaving his face a smooth sheen of silver, with black ovals for eyes.
“’S better,” he mumbled. He laid his head back and the ovals closed, taking away that last vestige of humanity.
III. Pacal. Scattering Kernel
They rode for an hour, Lionstar sleeping while Kamoj sat in bored silence. Finally the coach rolled to a stop. Azander opened the door and took in the scene, Lionstar dozing, Kamoj holding the empty bottle. The stagman didn’t look surprised.
Leaning inside the coach, Azander shook Lionstar’s shoulder. “Prince Havyrl. We be home.”
Kamoj blinked at the archaic title. Prince? Of what?
Lionstar’s eyes opened, black on silver. “What?”
“Home,” Azander repeated. “You and your bride.”
“Bride?”
“Yes, sir. Your bride.”
“What bride?”
Azander tilted his head toward Kamoj. “The Governor of Argali.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Lionstar sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. “See to the stags.”
“Yes, sir.” Azander backed out of the coach.
Lionstar followed him out into the night, which was lit by a faint radiance. As Kamoj stepped down from the coach, he offered his hand. Taking it, she thought she felt callouses under his glove. That made no sense, though. A man of his power would hardly have the callouses of a farmer.
Then she turned around—and froze in astonishment.
They were in the courtyard of the Quartz Palace. Gone were the crumbled ruins covered by tangled vines, briars, and roses. Now the rose-quartz palace gleamed, restored to its full beauty and more. Long and narrow, with a terrace that stretched its length, it had nine evenly spaced entrances. A tower reached up at each end, topped by red turrets. Bird-shaped lamps hung in the windows and from the eaves, making the walls glow. Above it all, the aurora borealis shimmered in the sky, curtains of gold and pink luminance undulating across the heavens.
“Sweet Airys,” Kamoj whispered. “It’s lovely.”
“S’pretty,” Lionstar agreed.
He took her elbow and led her toward the steps that went up to the terrace. The double doors in the center swung open and more radiance spilled into the night, backlighting three people. She recognized two as villagers from Argali, a man and woman, each of normal height, both dressed in servant’s clothes.
The third person came out to meet them. Tall and gaunt, with a craggy face and short graying hair, the woman was like no one Kamoj had ever before seen. She wore a form-fitting gray suit made in one piece, with gray knee-boots. A patch on her shoulder showed an exploding star within a triangle.
She met them half-way down the steps. Lionstar nodded to her, and they all walked up the stairs together. Although the woman looked hale and fit, her breathing was growing labored, as if she had just run a race instead of walking only a few steps.
At the top of the stairs, Kamoj froze. A few paces away, a shimmer of light hung in the open doorway.
“‘S even nicer inside,” Lionstar said, mistaking her hesitation.
No one else seemed bothered by the curtain of light, and Kamoj didn’t want to look foolish. So she took a breath and walked with them through the shimmer. It clung to her like a soap bubble, sliding over her face, hair, and clothes.
The entrance foyer looked as she recalled, a small room with tiles on the floor enameled in Argali rose designs. Except now the tiles were whole and the walls smooth, each brick snug with its neighbors, none showing their former chinks and cracks.
Lionstar peeled off his mask and Kamoj tensed, afraid he would choke again. But no one else acted alarmed. In fact, she had never tasted such pure, rich air. It made her dizzy, almost euphoric.
The tall woman was breathing normally now. She asked Kamoj a question, but Kamoj had trouble with her heavy accent. The woman was speaking Bridge, Kamoj’s language, but she used the same odd dialect as Lionstar. Like Lionstar, she also mixed in words from Iotaca.
The woman tried again. “Are you all right, Governor Argali?”
Kamoj stood up straighter, trying not to feel intimidated by the woman’s unusual height. “Yes.”
“She’s fine.” Lionstar waved his arm at the two Argali servants. “Jus’ like them. Fine.”
The woman glanced at him, then at the bottle Kamoj still held. She spoke to Lionstar in another language, her voice tense. Lionstar answered with a scowl, then turned away and took Kamoj’s arm. He led her to an archway across the foyer, where another shimmer curtain hung. Kamoj held her breath as they walked through it, but nothing untoward happened.
The air in the Entrance Hall, on the other side, felt as pure as in the foyer. New panels of mellow sunglass wood covered the walls. She had never before seen the paintings Lionstar’s people had hung here, scenes of the Argali countryside. He must have commissioned them from the villagers, which meant he was supporting the Argali economy.