Fire In The Blood (Shards Of A Broken Sword Book 2) (4 page)

              Rafiq woke in the sable dark, unsure of what it was that had roused him. He could hear the prince’s heavy breathing, and to his left was the soft in and out of Kako’s breath. There was nothing irregular or threatening about it. The rest of the room was silent: a heavy silence from the book-lined walls and five cold points of empty silence where the windows and connecting door made a hole in the books. Then, while Kako’s breath remained soft and steady, Rafiq heard the slither as she uncurled from her settee and set her bare feet silently on the marble floor. Not asleep, then.

Rafiq cracked his eyelids open just enough to see a blurred slit of the room as Kako looked, listened, and stole away softly across the swiftly cooling tiles. Where was she going? It came to his mind that she had slept late yesterday morning: had she been wandering last night as well? And if so, where? Two rooms and a staircase didn’t leave a lot of leeway.

He briefly considered following her, but by the time he sat up Kako’s almost indiscernible footsteps had died away altogether and Rafiq had the distinct impression that she was no longer in the two-room paradigm with himself and Akish. Besides, if he knew where she’d gone and Prince Akish asked about it later, Rafiq would have to tell him. Rafiq preferred to tell the prince as little as possible, and if he didn’t know anything he couldn’t tell anything.

By the time Kako returned, waking him, the pre-dawn cool was already seeping across the marble floor, causing Rafiq to burrow deeper into his rug in an attempt to escape its lingering touch. Through his eyelashes he could see that Kako was weary but well content, a glow of satisfaction about her. She fell asleep almost immediately and this time Rafiq could hear the difference in her breathing. She must have stayed awake for hours waiting for himself and Akish to fall asleep.

What exactly did she want with himself and Akish? She certainly had no need to stay with them. And when Prince Akish had declared his intention of taking her with them yesterday, Rafiq was certain that Kako had been pleased. Was she a part of the Keep’s enchantments? Was she only there to obfuscate the path and hamper them in the Circles of Challenge?

              It wasn’t until quite late in the day that Prince Akish sent a bellow of triumph echoing through the two-room paradigm. Rafiq, who had been prowling the great hall—ostensibly in search of a way forward but actually in search of some form of food—betook himself to the next room slowly enough to please himself while not being slow enough to force Akish to call him in.

Kako was already there, reclining on a settee with a book and not looking very interested. Akish was standing in front of one of the emptier bookcases, his face alight with triumph, and when he drew nearer Rafiq understood why. It was curious that he and Kako hadn’t seen it: those two stacks of books supporting the old shelving made a doorway.

“The writing,” he said, nodding.

Prince Akish’s eyes flamed. “Books are the door!”

“And knowledge is the key,” agreed Kako. “It’s a Shinpoan saying.”

“It’s a sign,” Akish said impatiently. “You wouldn’t understand. Those piles of books are the doorway to the next Circle.”

Kako’s eyes became particularly flat. “How interesting. How does that work?”

“I suppose one simply walks through it.”

“I see. You don’t seem to be getting very far.”

Prince Akish, who had tried to walk through one rather sturdy wall, pounded his fist on the blocks that showed between book stacks. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Maybe the door’s shut,” said Kako helpfully.

“There must be a key phrase to unlock it.” Prince Akish crossed his arms tightly across his chest, scowling. “
Knowledge is the key! Books are the door!
”

“It’s not working,” Rafiq said, when it was obvious that it
wasn’t.

“It
must
work!” Prince Akish said furiously. “The words are a sign! My conclusions are correct!”

He made a violent gesture at the wall, spewing potent magic from his fingers, and both piles of books exploded in a fluttering of leaves and covers, knocking several other books from the shelves and starting a domino effect of several massive tomes that had been leaning against the back of one of the settees. The last of these, a monstrously large and improbably thin atlas with biscuit-coloured borders that was nearly as tall as Kako, tilted ponderously and slapped against the marble floor with a soft, dusty
paf!

All three of them stared at it speechlessly, aware of Prince Akish’s magic reacting with something distinctly magical in the book before it fizzled away.

“It’s certainly big enough,” Kako said.

Prince Akish, recovering both his temper and his breath, ordered: “Open the book, lizard.”

              This time it was obvious that they’d chosen the right way. When Rafiq propped the atlas back up against a bookshelf and opened it, the internal magics lit the dusty twilight of the room. He opened it to the page that it most naturally opened at, and instead of a map they found themselves looking at a highly detailed rendering of what seemed to be another room in the Keep. It was about the size of a large ballroom, the marble tiles on the floor of myriad colours, and was rather incongruously dotted with a series of articles that looked distinctly out of place. Even to Rafiq the profusion of chairs, desks, random ottomans, and chaise lounges seemed unusual. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was also the odd wardrobe or two about the room, and that was certainly a massively canopied bed over in one corner.

Prince Akish gazed at the room in mingled triumph and dissatisfaction. “Why are there articles of furniture strewn through your ballroom?”

“It’s only one ballroom of many,” Kako said. “I suppose it needed to keep the spare furniture
somewhere
.”

Rafiq, certain that Kako was again only telling half of the truth and rather annoyed with her in consequence, said abruptly: “Who goes first?”

“The serving girl,” said Akish at once, as Rafiq had been certain he would. “I will follow her and you will immediately follow me. Do you understand?”

“I hear and obey.”

“Very well. Lead the way, wench.”

Kako’s one-shouldered shrug as she turned away from the prince was as eloquent as an eyeroll. In turning, she slipped sideways and into the room in one unconsciously familiar movement that had Rafiq wondering just how well she knew the magic of the Keep.

The prince waited only until a rather flat representation of Kako appeared on the page before he followed her through without a ripple of the sorcerous page, leaving Rafiq to bring up the rear with the rather grim question of what the third Circle would present in the way of challenge.

***

              The book glowed briefly as the last of the challengers stepped through, and when the glow faded a certain swirling of unformed words remained. Slowly, slowly, word by word, two lines formed in soft sepia on the creamy page.

Herein is entry to the Perilous Room

Seek the Changeable Path or find here your Doom.

The Second Circle is ended.

              The first thing Rafiq heard after a fuzz of soft edges and round, fluffy noises was the sound of Prince Akish swearing. That was neither soft nor fluffy. At first Rafiq thought that the tiles beneath his feet were soft and fluffy too, but once his consciousness adjusted to the abrupt fact that he was now in the ballroom he’d seen from the book, he came to the rather unpleasant realisation that the tiles were in fact some sort of quicksand, and that he had sunk in it to his knees. Prince Akish had also sunk into the floor some way ahead of him and was making all possible speed to clamber onto a nearby table that was squat, long, and above all unsinking.

“Chair,” said Kako significantly. She alone was standing on a tile that seemed to be solid, and if Rafiq read her aright, she was very much amused. Still, there
was
a chair in easy reach, and when he carefully levered himself out of the miry tiles and onto it, he found that quite a decent area around the chair seemed to be quite solid as well. It was hard to be annoyed with Kako when the floor beneath him was so blessedly normal.

Prince Akish scowled around at the ballroom. “What enchantment have we walked into?”

“I think,” said Kako, with a laugh trembling in her voice; “I
think
the floor is quicksand.”

“Don’t be pert, girl. I could ascertain so much for myself.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Kako said. The laugh was gone from her voice but to Rafiq’s eyes she fairly irradiated laughter. “Look at all the furniture: it’s just close enough to clamber on or jump to. It’s a giant game of The Floor Is Quicksand. I used to play it with my brother and sisters.”

Prince Akish’s brows snapped together. “Is this accursed place making light of our quest?”

Rafiq cast his eyes up and began feeling carefully around the base of his chair with his feet. Once Prince Akish began to be annoyed about real or perceived slights, everything took lesser place to his ire. Still, when he finished being annoyed he was bound to tell Rafiq to find them a way forward, and since Rafiq was now hungry with the kind of dull, continuous ache that preyed upon the mind, it seemed sensible to begin finding a way through the quicksand.

“Not light, exactly,” Kako said, as Rafiq’s questing feet met slightly firmer tile where he was certain he had only met treacherous quicksand before. “It does seem to have a fascination with games, though.”

“Rafiq–” began Prince Akish.

“Never mind Rafiq; he’s stuck over there,” said Kako. “I’ll find a path for us.”

Was
he stuck, though? wondered Rafiq. The tiles that he had mired through seemed to be solidifying quite quickly.

“Stay there,” Kako said warningly as Rafiq brought his feet beneath him to rise. “The quicksand is beginning to firm.”

“That’s a good reason to move,” he said.

“Yes, if it were going to stay like that. I’ve got a feeling that it’s only gone away to make room for something more nasty.”

“What about you?”

“I think I’ve found a pattern,” said Kako. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Three to the left, then blue, then yellow. One step back, repeat. I tested it with the quicksand tiles before you both got here. There was a bit of a lag.”

And
there
, thought Rafiq. There it was again! The strange, absolute certainty that Kako was lying to them. Still, lying or no, when she made her way across the floor toward him in an inching, crab-like manner that followed her prescription, she didn’t sink so much as an inch through the tiles.

She was quite close to him when Rafiq heard the faint whirring of something magical stirring. It was deep in the floor, crawling along the underside of the tiles.

Rafiq was still trying to pinpoint the source of it when Kako said a frantic: “
Aiee!
” and leapt for his lap. He caught her by reflex, wincing very slightly: for all her diminutive size, Kako was surprisingly heavy. She was also surprisingly warm for a human. Where a bare section of her back touched the inside of his arm Rafiq felt the contact like a ray of the hottest summer sun. Without meaning to, he found himself tightening his arms around Kako, delighting in the sunlight warmth of her.

She wriggled indignantly, and when Rafiq remembered himself enough to release her, she immediately curled one foot up to examine it. There was blood seeping from the underside of it. Rafiq automatically reached for the foot to inspect the damage but Kako elbowed him and hunched away, swiping the trickle of blood away on the silken fabric that clothed her other leg.

“It’s fine. The wound will close by itself.”

“What is it?” called the prince.

“Spikes,” said Kako, observing the floor with disfavour. “Small and very sharp. Lucky I was mostly on the right path. They took me by surprise.”

Surprise? wondered Rafiq. No, that was annoyance he’d seen on her face. Annoyance at herself. At her own carelessness, perhaps?

And
why
could he smell burning silk once again? That was the important question, decided Rafiq. Another was the question of why Kako was so very warm? His eyes snapped to Kako’s face, which was at present looking decidedly wary, a light suffusion of dark orange permeating the air around her. It was very, very faint: had been faint from the first moment he’d seen her. Those tiny, tell-tale colours in aura around her had been so close to indiscernible that Rafiq hadn’t consciously seen them. He’d only reacted to them as he would have reacted to any other she-dragon.

Remembering his melted blade and the scent of burning silk then, he grimly bent to examine Kako’s trouser leg in spite of her physical and verbal protests. There where her blood had smeared across the silk were burnt patches; tight, crumpled little sections that had blackened, hardened, and in some cases burnt right through.

“Happy?” said Kako when he straightened. “When I melted your stupid dagger it ruined the only set of clothes I have access to.”

Rafiq looked down into those clever, wary, almond eyes and said in quiet certainty: “You have fire in your blood.”

Kako startled so badly that she almost fell off his lap and into the intermittent spikes that surrounded them. She caught herself with one clutching hand at Rafiq’s collar and said: “Excuse me?”

Her voice was very carefully calculated between anger and annoyance, but Rafiq could see reddening in her faint aura. She was very frightened indeed. If he hadn’t been sure of it before, he was now.

“Sorry,” he said, and tore away the whispy loops of Kako’s scarf from her neck.

She made a stifled sound, snatching the scarf back to her neck, but it was too late. Rafiq had already seen the new, pink scar that ran below her left ear and across her throat to the opposite shoulder. It was a very familiar slash: he had used the exact slice on the Dragon of the Keep.

Kako was the Dragon of the Keep.

“Don’t assault the serving maid!” called the prince irritably. “I informed you of neck scarfs earlier, Rafiq. I won’t be held responsible if she wants to marry you.”

“We’ll talk later,” said Rafiq softly, as Kako rewound her scarf.

Kako, with her fingers trembling slightly, said to the prince in a careless voice: “Oh no! My mother expects me to marry much higher. At least a steward, I should think.”

The prince, who didn’t care about the matrimonial aspirations of a serving girl, said: “Is the path found, or must we begin again?”

“It’s found,” said Kako, slipping from Rafiq’s lap. She favoured her left foot slightly but didn’t seem to have too much trouble standing. “I just had to stop for a bit to fix my foot. Follow me, Rafiq. Three steps to the left, then blue, then yellow. One step back, repeat. Follow me exactly. And make sure your
whole
foot is inside the tile. The spikes are rather painful.”

              Kako and Rafiq made their way slowly across the floor, followed closely and then overtaken by the evening shadows. By and large their path bore them left, and it wasn’t long before Prince Akish was cautiously able to lower himself to the floor behind them. Kako was entirely silent, and though Rafiq had found her chatter both bothersome and cheeky, he now found that he felt very badly about her muteness. It seemed, he thought uncomfortably, that he’d behaved more like Prince Akish than a dragon, and he didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t miss the occasional look that Kako flicked his way, her sloe eyes shuttered and watchful.

Akish, while not so self-absorbed as to be oblivious to the tension, was fortunately too busy counting tiles under his breath to notice, and it wasn’t until they found themselves between a wardrobe and the grand bed they’d seen from the other Circle that he seemed to notice how little light remained of the day.

He muttered something beneath his breath, producing a flare of sorcerous light, and at once the tiles beneath their feet blanched to white, all hope of identification gone.

“That’s torn it,” said Kako, gazing around. They were the first words she’d spoken in quite some time, and it was something of a relief to hear her voice again. Rafiq realised that he’d been waiting for her to disappear through the Door Out and leave himself and Akish to their own machinations.

Prince Akish said something rather rude and banished the light, but it was too late. In the last of the fleeting sun the tiles remained white, useless as a guide.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I think your magic reacted with the Keep’s magical mechanics. It thinks you’re trying to cheat with magic, so it’s taken away your privileges.”

The prince looked annoyed with himself. “I didn’t consider the possibility. Will the patterns come back, wench?”

“I’d imagine so,” Kako said. “Probably not until morning, though. We may as well stop for the night.”

“What a plaguey nuisance! Very well, we’ll stop for the night. Find somewhere to sleep and we’ll start again in the morning.”

Prince Akish of course took the bed. It was a massive, canopied thing that could have held the three of them with ease and very little embarrassment, but in spite of that Kako made herself a nest in the wardrobe with some conveniently hanging furs and Rafiq threw himself onto a nearby chaise lounge that was much less comfortable than it looked. From there he could see the diminishing flame of the sunset as it flickered and died, while listening to Kako’s tiny rustles as she settled in her wardrobe and Prince Akish’s various rasps, rattles and thumps as he divested himself of the more cumbersome pieces of his armour.

After the fidgets and rustles came the quiet, and it was slowly borne in on Rafiq that Kako was working small, quiet magic. He rolled over to watch her work, the soft, fiery heat of her magic overshadowing the peaceful iridescence of lavender that fluctuated in her aura. It looked as though the working was calming her.

When Prince Akish’ irregular in and out of breath had settled down to a rhythmic snore, Kako’s voice, low and muted, said: “Are you going to tell him?”

“No,” said Rafiq. “But if he asks me–”

“You’ll have to tell him. All right. I can work with that.”

Rafiq, struggling to find a way to put his regret into words, rolled over onto his back once again and said to the ceiling: “I didn’t mean to tear your scarf. I’ll get you a new one.”

Kako’s dragon aura had almost faded now, but he saw the faint edging of forgiving gold from the depths of the wardrobe and relaxed.

“That’s all right,” said Kako. “I have others. Good night, Rafiq.”

              Kako was gone again. Rafiq, waking late in the night to the solitary snoring of Prince Akish, saw the empty, shadowed inside of the wardrobe in which she’d been sleeping. He was conscious of a feeling of relief mingled with disappointment: it was safer if she stayed away from Akish, but he’d really thought she meant it when she said she’d stay.

He found himself regretful that he wouldn’t have the chance to ask Kako about her dragon form. He would have liked to know more about the construct– not to mention the small matter of why she wasn’t dead. He’d never heard of a human with fire in the blood surviving when they died in dragon form.

Rafiq was still pondering the question when he heard slight scuffling sounds from across the room. It was Kako; carefully clambering across furniture piece by piece to make her way back to the wardrobe, and she appeared to be carrying a small bundle. It seemed good to Rafiq to close his eyes once again and feign sleep. He was surprised to discover himself smiling.

He felt Kako hovering over him a little later. What was she about? Then there was a slight fumbling somewhere in the region of his right arm, and Rafiq heard the slight creak of the wardrobe as Kako climbed back in and made herself comfortable.

He sat up and saw in the grey light of early morning that she had tucked a carefully folded handkerchief of food into the crook of his arm, along with a small flask of water. The food was simple fare—bread and some species of preserves that were tangy and a little bit sweet—but there was quite a lot of it. It was the sort of thing he would have expected of a hungry youth raiding the larder late at night. It was immensely satisfying; filling and delightfully piquant.

When he had finished eating Rafiq folded the handkerchief neatly, took a long, refreshing draught of water, and lay back to gaze up at the silvery ceiling with his hands laced behind his head. It was very pretty, of course, but the silver did throw some strange reflections. The blue in the floor, for example, was nothing like the blue that the silver reflected back at him. It was more of a robin’s egg blue. And come to think of it, the yellow tiles reflected in the ceiling looked closer to robin’s egg blue than yellow, too.