‘Oh, I believe you,’ he said, softly. ‘Tell me, though, if there was another under such a spell, could you tell? Could you look on him, and see if he were enchanted in the same way’
Now her expression changed, as mere curiosity shouldered aside all that mystic reserve. ‘Do you consider yourself enchanted, Master Maker?’ she asked. The trace of amusement in her tone cut him.
But I must make my confession to her, or she will not help me. ‘Since I left the sea… no, before that, since I left the presence of a certain sea-kinden, my mind has been drawn towards her. She has come to me many times in my dreams, in my waking imagination. She seems to fascinate some part of me, and yet… I felt none of that, when we travelled together. Only afterwards…’
‘You Lowlanders,’ she whispered, ‘you Apt, you know so little. And yet, Maker, you see so much further than your kind normally can, to even ask that question. Come here, Beetle-kinden, and kneel before the Monarch of Princep Salmae, if you seek her aid.’
Stenwold bristled at that demand, but he did so, lowering himself to his knees with a groan – feeling all the little wounds Teornis had dealt him twinge. He looked up at Grief, and she put a hand to his forehead. Her skin was remarkably warm and, as she touched him, colours danced and glittered about her fingers and up her arm.
‘Hah,’ she said, almost at once, ‘I feel the shell of an old enchantment here, but it is gone, dried up and dead. It holds you no longer. When did this woman last enter your mind?’
‘She…’ Stenwold frowned. ‘Since I came from the sea. In Collegium certainly, but…’ It was true that he had not thought much of Lyess since then. ‘Perhaps sea-kinden workings cannot survive in the dry air?’ he suggested, hauling himself to his feet and stepping away from her.
‘You are blind, still,’ she told him. ‘Such enchantments die by one means only – just as the spell I set on Salma died.’
‘You said it died because he really did love you, as the real replaced the false,’ Stenwold objected. ‘You think I really love this woman?’
‘Not her,’ Grief told him, almost pityingly. ‘You have feelings for another, Master Maker, and they have defended you against this enchantment. It is the only way.’ With that she stood up, and the morning sunlight caught her and made her flash and shimmer for one brief second. When his eyes had recovered from the glare, she was walking away, pale and grey as before.
Paladrya had done her best to bring Aradocles up to date with the current politics of Hermatyre, naming all the current powers of the sea-kinden to him: Heiracles, Rosander, Nemoctes, Mandir of the Hot Stations – and Claeon, of course. She and Phylles had introduced him to Wys, and to the convalescing Laszlo, and the five of them were in deep conference when Stenwold found them.
Looking at Aradocles, Stenwold could help not but think, He is so young for what they will ask of him. There was a set, determined look to the Kerebroi youth’s face, though and if it reminded Stenwold of anyone, it was surely of Salma.
He sat beside Paladrya, letting her speak, while he himself contributed little to the conversation, glancing sidelong at her occasionally. Grief’s words to him still echoed in his memory.
Shortly after he rejoined them, Sfayot tracked them down and informed them that the Monarch wished to see them all at the airfield.
A crowd had gathered there, a great motley of all the kinden and half-kinden that made up Princep Salmae. It was rare that their beloved Monarch walked amongst them, and Stenwold and his followers had to push and shove through them to make headway. He expected to find Grief surrounded by a ring of her Dragonfly guardsmen, but she had come with only a pair of adherents: the Beetle Ordly Penhold and the ubiquitous Sfayot. The massed citizens meanwhile maintained a respectful distance.
‘Ah, Master Maker,’ she addressed him, when he managed to extricate himself from the crowd. ‘Come stand with me.’
He did so apprehensively, wondering whether she intended to show some manner of favour by this public display. This seemed unlikely, given her attitude so far, so he made his way with caution across the open space to where she stood, almost in the shadow of the flying machines. Aradocles strode at his side, seemingly entirely at ease, and the rest of the sea-kinden followed, with Laszlo jostled and cursing in their midst.
‘I have arranged your conveyance, Master Maker, to take you from my city,’ she informed him, ‘and your pilot also.’ She reached out as if to touch the nearest machine, although her hand stopped a few inches from its metal hull.
Stenwold frowned, recognizing the black and gold of its painting. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he said slowly.
‘Indeed?’ she enquired archly. ‘Ambassador, will you come forth?’
From around the Imperial heliopter’s side stepped a familiar figure. He was not dressed in uniform, but was a Wasp nonetheless, and one that Stenwold was well acquainted with through recent bouts in front of the Assembly.
‘Ambassador Aagen,’ he identified the man.
‘There are some few that I shall always be glad of, Master Maker,’ Grief declared. ‘Aagen is one.’ Her tone made clear that Stenwold himself was not in that number.
‘So I see.’ Despite himself, Stenwold felt slighted. ‘Well, Salma told me of the history between you and Aagen. I suppose freedom is a great gift.’
‘Hope is a greater one,’ Grief told him. ‘He comes of a cruel kinden, and yet he is kind. Consider that.’
Stenwold sighed, sourly. And so I come from a peaceful one and yet make war, is that it? What does the woman expect me to do? Where does she think we would all be, if we hadn’t fought the Empire?
He looked at Aagen, who nodded to him levelly.
‘Aagen has sworn to me that he will take you to Collegium as fast as his machine can carry you,’ Grief explained. ‘Otherwise, Master Maker, you must rely on your feet.’
Stenwold could feel the sea-kinden growing restless, obviously sensing an insult but not understanding the cause. Only Aradocles held himself apart from it all, and no doubt he was used to the Butterfly woman’s ways by now.
‘You want to see if I can trust my enemy,’ he said tiredly. ‘Well, I gladly accept the assistance of Master Aagen. I am no Mantis-kinden, to cut off my own fingers rather than clasp hands with someone opposed to my city. ‘
It was clear that she considered this some kind of victory, and Stenwold could not help but think, And when the Empire comes again, where will all this love and tolerance get you? He derived a certain spiteful pleasure from the thought.
‘Master Maker,’Aagen said, without mockery, ‘shall we go?’
They made a swift departure, after Stenwold left a message instructing Jons Allanbridge to follow on to Collegium with all speed, and after Ordly Penhold had clasped Aradocles’s shoulder and given him some almost fatherly words of advice. The sea-kinden’s reaction to being in the belly of the flying machine, with its shuddering and clattering and the roar of its engines, was a sight to behold, and Stenwold spent most of the time with his arm about Paladrya, listening to Laszlo swearing at every jolt and lurch. Just once he went forward to where Aagen sat alone, the Imperial ambassador out flying without any staff or soldiers. The two of them exchanged a few civilized words on recent developments in artificing, and even on a play they had both watched the month before.
By silent mutual agreement they studiously avoided talking politics of any kind.
Forty-Two
There was a sound from downstairs, and Helmess Broiler stirred sleepily. It must only be his servants pottering about, rising for the day to come.
Which meant it was later than he inwardly felt it should be. He yawned and stretched. Beside him, Elytrya murmured something, and Helmess again wondered precisely how late or early it was, and whether she could be persuaded into a little exercise.