Bright of the Sky (45 page)

So the legates were not the only ones who spied—but to have Hadenth take notice, that cooled his heart.

“The view, High Lord. A fearful view, and beautiful.”

Hadenth had now turned his full attention to Ghinamid’s feet, which were at eye level for him. He petted the feet, as though meditating with what was left of his mind. The smell of overbearing sweetness came to Quinn’s sensitive mouth.

From beside Quinn, Cho made a sound like a strangled whistle. But he was only attempting to swallow. No doubt Cho was used to Tarig; but he may never have been in the presence of one of the five high lords.

Hadenth’s voice, although deep like all Tarig voices, had a shredded quality, as though he had been shouting too long. “Who watches from the rim?”

“Bright Lord, by your sufferance, Dai Shen, soldier of Ahnenhoon and smallest son of Master Yulin of the great sway.”

Quinn looked closely at Hadenth for scars. The blow he had delivered was crushing, almost killing him. But why should any Tarig keep scars? He felt a keen disappointment.

Hadenth said, “From Ahnenhoon to the heartland. Such a long way. And not getting lost, either. Hnnn. Without companions all the while, wearing a chime?” He approached swiftly, but Quinn held his place, and then found himself an arm’s length from Hadenth, the lord who had blinded Sydney. And told her father about it in excruciating detail.

Extruding a three-inch nail, Hadenth reached toward Quinn and lifted the chain from around his throat. He drew forth the heartchime. In the Tarig’s hand a remarkable sound erupted from the pendant, like a distant scream.

Quinn’s eyes met Hadenth’s. Now, at this range, would be the test of Bei’s surgeries. It seemed impossible that this creature would not remember him, would not see him for who he was. But the Tarig did not attend to faces.

The lord dropped the chime and pointed to Cho. “Is this not a companion, and traveler?”

Cho visibly flinched, and opened his mouth to answer. Then, thinking better of it, closed his mouth.

The lord shouted at him, “Speak, Steward!”

Cho gargled something. Then, beginning again, he said, “Traveled. Yes. Bright Lord. On the River Nigh, by your leave and gracious permission for the legate Min Fe, the lowliest matters, of course. A mere understeward.”

Lowering his voice, Hadenth said, “Enough speaking.” He turned and walked slowly back to the bier. Suddenly he spun around and, flicking his hand, indicated that they were to follow him.

Quinn did so, putting a hand in the small of Cho’s back to steady him.

At the bier, Hadenth once more took up a rhythmic stroking of Ghi-namid’s shod feet as his black gaze lit on Quinn again. “Fighter of Ahnen-hoon, a pleasant little title. Wounds? Any?”

“Small wounds, Lord.” But lasting ones, he thought. And in the next thought, Anzi’s words came to him:
Do not, do not risk . . .

Anzi wanted him to put the past behind. But for Quinn the hope still lingered: father, mother, and daughter together once more. Being in this city, it still seemed possible. But seeing Hadenth reminded him that it would never come again.

“Wounds,” Hadenth whispered. Perhaps he remembered his own. Those received. Those given.

The lord was weaving from one subject to the next. Perhaps he roamed these halls like an elder with dementia: respected but ignored. With no mechanism of retirement or abdication, the Tarig didn’t know how to remove a high lord from power if one became unfit for duty.

“Son of the great sway,” Hadenth murmured, gazing at Quinn. “Does Yulin know where the leaks are? Hnnn? How the invaders travel into the realm?”

Invaders.
Did the lord sense something amiss? He answered: “Yulin confides little in one such as me, Bright Lord.”

“But you are son of Yulin, so you said? Did we mis-hear?”

“No, Lord. I said so.”

“Ah, son of Yulin knows what Yulin knows. So, again, does Yulin know how the aggressors slide into the All?”

Aggressors.
With relief, Quinn realized that Hadenth was talking about the Paion. He answered, “No, Lord. He does not know. Nor do I.”

The lord’s gaze was unnaturally steady. The Tarig had no need to blink, a thing Quinn had always hated.

“You speak bravely. Too bravely, for one who stares at views. We do not favor you,” Hadenth said.

No, and never had. “Bright Lord, my life in your service.”

Hadenth waved this away. “Yes, yes.” He picked at the shoe of Ghi-namid, muttering to himself. Then he turned to Quinn. “You think yourself brave, to face the Paion?”

“No more than any soldier, Bright Lord.”

“Braver still, to face your Lord Hadenth, ah?”

Quinn remained silent, not liking this turn of conversation.

At the lord’s next action, Cho gasped. The Tarig sprang up on Ghi-namid’s platform, crouching like a gargoyle at the foot of the sleeping form. “Hnnn?” His voice had risen higher, louder. Cho was now shaking hard. Hadenth’s voice echoed in the room. “You think I cannot kill the invaders at will? You think this lord a coward?”

Quinn guessed that the lord was beyond conversation. He glanced at the Sleeping Lord, half expecting him to wake up in all the commotion, but he slept on.

“Well? Well?” Hadenth rasped.

In a whisper, Cho pleaded, “Answer him, Dai Shen.”

“A simple soldier does not presume to judge a high lord.”

Hadenth beckoned to Quinn, and Quinn walked closer to the bier.

Still crouching, the lord bent close, his scent coming strong to Quinn’s senses. “You do not tremble like the steward.” Hadenth flicked a gaze at Cho. “Such poise, for a common son of Yulin.”

Quinn needed to mollify him, and was able to bring himself to say: “Bright Lord, I have not the grace to know Ascendancy ways. Being a common son of Yulin.”

A line formed on Hadenth’s cheek, less a frown than a ceramic crack. “And being common, you gape at our high views. Hnn. The heights alarm you? Yes, admit that the fighter of Ahnenhoon fears the long fall.”

Quinn could barely bring himself to speak to Hadenth. His stomach clenched with the effort of it. “It would take a long time to hit the ground. A fearful thing.” He thought of pushing the lord. Of seeing the fear on Hadenth’s face.

Cho softly cleared his throat, eyes pleading with Quinn.

Hadenth jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. Whatever mental damage he might have suffered, he was still agile. “Perhaps we will have you stand on the rim for our amusement, ah?”

From behind, Cho whispered, “Supreme Lord, we are called to duties, below, in your service, by your leave.”

Hadenth swung around to face the steward. “No, not so. We are called to duties. You are not called.” He squinted at Cho. “Ah?”

“Yes, pardon, Bright Lord,” Cho managed to say.

With that, Lord Hadenth turned and walked away, boots clicking on the floor, striding like an upright insect. He passed through the small door from which he’d first entered. After a few steps, he stopped and turned around.

Returning to the doorway, the Tarig reached out and pushed the door closed.

Quinn watched the door for several moments, unsure whether Hadenth was gone for good. But the door remained shut.

“He’s gone,” Cho whispered.

“Yes.” Quinn wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed. Hadenth had deteriorated from the old days. Reduced to muttering paranoia and intimidating stewards, he was still capable of higher viciousness, Quinn was certain.

Cho led the way from the chamber. Silently, they emerged onto the steps outside, which led to a plaza where a view of the city spread in one direction and the innards of the Magisterium spread in the other. Still intent on controlling his emotions, Quinn descended and walked across a small courtyard toward the fountain he’d visited before.

The steps sank directly into the pool. He sat on the steps and pulled out a small brick of food, a compressed bar that was his food allowance for the day, and shared it with the carp. The bits of food floated, attracting a pod of fish, but not the orange-backed one.

Cho stood at the head of the stairs mopping his brow with his scarf. His jacket bore the understeward emblem of the lowly white carp. Cho took a step forward, startled. “Dai Shen,” he said, “here is a sight.”

As Quinn joined him, Cho said, “This is a day of wonders. There is the high prefect herself.”

Quinn joined Cho at the head of the stairs and looked where he pointed. Here was the very woman he’d come to see. On so short a woman, her hair looked impossibly tall, and glinted as though lacquered. She held a parasol, and was dressed in bright green edged with orange. At her side was an enormous Chalin man, richly dressed.

“The preconsul Zai Gan,” Cho said. “You had known Master Yulin’s brother in the great sway?”

“No. I was banished from court.”

Cho cut a glance at him. “Indeed? Shocking, Excellency.” He frowned, considering something. “That must be why he knows so little of you, and is reduced to asking questions of a steward such as myself.”

Quinn covered his alarm. “What sorts of questions?”

“Oh, as to your business here.” He looked offended. “I told him nothing, I assure you. As though I know the business of personages!”

Bei had spoken truly when he’d said that the Magisterium was full of spies. Far from passing unnoticed, Quinn’s every movement seemed to draw interest. Truly, his best chance was to leave as soon as possible. But, so far, he could not leave.

Cixi hated to be under the bright. She once had had a reputation for never leaving the Magisterium, but she had gradually changed her habits in order to allow just such an outing as this. Once every few days she took a walk, and often, it
was
only walking.

Unaccustomed to walking, Zai Gan was already puffing at her side. But he wouldn’t have turned down an offer to be seen with the high prefect. Many eyes were following them, Cixi was sure, though no one dared to approach them without a summons. Around the promenade near the canals her presence was becoming noted, as functionaries bowed, even from a great distance away. She was the center of attention. Given this inescapable fact, it became essential to do her treasons in a most public manner.

Zai Gan did not often accompany her on these little forays. She bestowed the honor of her company on a different functionary each time. Once, to shock her sycophants, she had walked with a clerk. But it was all for one purpose, that out of her many forays, she would hear the thing she longed for in the tower of Ghinamid, in the alcove where she could lose her life.

Her hands felt slick with perspiration, but she didn’t dare wipe them on her jacket, lest a hundred pairs of eyes take note. God’s beku, but she hated going abroad!

Zai Gan whipped out a fan from his belt. “Are you warm, Your Brilliance?” He fluttered the thing at her face.

She cut him a look:
One more evil exhalation from your mouth, and I will have
it stuffed with offal.

Zai Gan snapped the fan shut and they strolled on.

“Such lovely swimming creatures,” Cixi said in her sweetest tone. She had cultivated the impression over these thousands of days that she was fascinated by the fish, though there was not a nonsentient in the All that she could abide. Of course, as the saying went, not all carp were carp.

Zai Gan grunted. “It’s not natural to breathe water.”

“Whatever the lords decree is natural,” Cixi snapped.

He slid a glance at her, always watchful for how far her loyalties went. He knew she spied incessantly, and perhaps he wondered what her purposes were. No. Zai Gan didn’t wonder. He could see no farther than master-of-the-sway. He no doubt believed that her machinations were all for who should be promoted in the Magisterium, and who merited advancement in the sways. Someone like Zai Gan could not imagine that Cixi’s vision reached farther than his own.

She made a turn toward the great tower. She meant for it to be a natural meander in that direction. On some outings she stopped at the tower, and some outings she didn’t. All to make the real visit appear trivial.

Leaving Zai Gan outside the entrance, Cixi entered the tower. Ahead of her were the three hundred stairs. She had only a few moments to do what she must. Once finished, she must climb to the top and appear to be taking in the view from the ramparts. Sentients all over the city—those who had noted that she visited the tower—would expect to see her there.

Cixi took off her elevated shoes, leaving them at the first bend in the stairs, and raced upward.

They were stairs made for giants, and already her thigh muscles ached. The Tarig could ascend them easily; the length of their stride was unnerving. They could cross a room in an instant just by standing and taking a huge stride forward. She shuddered.

Coming to the alcove, she placed her hands inside and pressed the nub that gave her access to the bright. Or that might give access. Here, in the tallest structure on the palatine hill, one was very close indeed to the river of fire. The fiends shaded the city from its fierceness, somehow. And also, somehow, they passed messages through the bright, and not at speeds they allowed their subjects, but
at bright speeds
. Cixi’s spies had discovered this long ago. Nor was she surprised to find this so. Of course the bright lords communicated at a distance. Would they have created the Entire any other way?

And where could they send messages or receive messages from? Her investigations had revealed three additional places: the brightships, any axis city, and the River Nigh. Only Tarig commanded the ships; and only Tarig knew how to empower messages at bright speed at the axis cities. But all navitars knew how to send messages from the binds. And whether navitars were loyal or not, now that was a question of great complexity. For one thing, they were deranged.

After a thousand days of subterfuge, Cixi had found a navitar who might send a message. The navitar was one who plied the river in the Long Gaze of Fire. Cixi had both ends covered.

Once all this had been well ordered, Cixi began looking for the message. But so far, her envoys had failed to signify that they had reached her beloved girl. For four thousand days, there had been no word, but she kept faith, returning again and again to the tower.