Lance of Earth and Sky (The Chaos Knight Book Two) (17 page)

Oneira invited An'du and her young guest into the state room for tea and refreshments while Thalnarra and Altair saw to Arikaree's comfort and doubtless set about exchanging gossip. Though it was morning still, the fare spread out by one of the black-coated attendants was seafood, which, to their collective relief, seemed not to offend An'du or the boy. Quite to the contrary, Tepeki tucked into the steamed clam soup with verve, possibly to avoid being drawn into conversation. Isri had joined them as well, and Vidarian cast a grateful look at Oneira for providing her a more appropriate tray of sliced fruit and shelled nuts.

Upon seeing An'du, Isri, to their surprise, had gone straight to the massive woman and embraced her. They exchanged several words in a language that, this time, Vidarian could almost recognize—an antique dialect of High Alorean? Or if not, certainly related.

The seridi's cheek-feathers were puffed out with happiness as she took a seat next to An'du. “It's such a relief to know that the Traenumar survived the Long Dream,” she said. At this the boy looked up from his soup. Isri caught his eyes, and her feathers flattened again. She even gave a small gasp. “And—is our young friend…Velshi?”

“He is,” An'du said, a motherly pride evident in the quiet way she beamed at Isri's recognition. “One of the few remaining. A prince of his people.”

Isri raised a feathered hand toward him, as if not quite believing he was there, and then gave a soft chirp to herself. “Please excuse my curiosity, young friend. I have never in my life met one of your people, though my own people, the seridi, much desired to, before the Dream.”

“The Velshi have always been notoriously private,” An'du explained. “Historically they have treated only with the Traenumar, and that rarely—and on their terms, not ours.”

“How are your people, An'du?” Isri asked. Vidarian had never seen her so animated.

“Many have yet to awaken,” An'du replied, with a sigh that rang in her chest like the low note of a stone flute. “Which is why I've brought Tepeki to you.” She took a sip of her soup, then lifted her spoon to Oneira in a small salute at its flavor, and turned to Vidarian. “It's our strange good fortune to have found you,” she said. “I had thought we would have to travel overland to the Imperial City, and then we sensed a strong water wielder not far from here, next to the wind bell.”

“The wind bell?” Vidarian asked, pausing over his tea.

“It is an energy signature that my cousins say has marked the water near here for twenty years or so. Surely you felt it?”

“There was a pattern,” he agreed. “I had no idea it was a bell.”

“Well, it rang for leagues,” An'du chuckled. “And we are lucky it did.” She hesitated, then folded her hands on the table. “I had hoped you would consider bringing Tepeki with you,” she said, delicacy in her posture and tone. “As an ambassador to your Alorean emperor.”

“You and master Tepeki are welcome aboard the
Wind Maiden
for as long as we may host you, gracious mother, and I would be honored to see the young master to the hand of the emperor personally,” Oneira said, speaking for the first time since the meal started, and Vidarian worked to avoid choking on his tea. He did not quite dare glare at Oneira, but he did allow himself a frown, which An'du thankfully—or perhaps deliberately—missed.

“I would be in your debt,” An'du said, tipping her steepled fingertips toward Oneira in a gesture of thanks. “As I said, many of my own Traenumar have not yet awakened, and I am needed in our five seas to search them out and bring them to consciousness.” Now she smiled at Vidarian. “There is much Tepeki could learn from you, Vidarian, of the Alorean culture and how his people, and mine, might work together peacefully with your empire.”

“And if I do not wish to learn?” the boy said quietly, setting his spoon aside. “With respect, gracious mother? If I believe that my place is with our people?”

An'du's face did not change, but as she turned toward her young charge, the air in the stateroom seemed to cool a degree. “Then it is all the more important that you have the opportunity to do so—for the future of your people. We will not speak on this further.”

The boy bobbed his head, though his black eyes still glinted with roguish defiance. What was An'du getting them into?

“I would be pleased to assist him at the palace as well, dear An'du,” Isri added. The boy looked at her and seemed to thaw just a degree, and Vidarian realized that his objection was to interacting with humans. A seridi, not being human, ranked lower in his mind than a Velshi or Traenumar—but higher than a Tesseract.

“We are both grateful for that, friend Isri. Some of my Traenumar have found seridi over the ocean, and we extend to them the same guidance, and assistance if they require. That is to say…when it can be received.” This last she said delicately, and sadness touched her large, pupilless eyes.

“More we cannot ask,” Isri said, and Vidarian did not need telepathy to know her thoughts. She saw in her mind, as he did, the last insane seridi they had captured, and thought of how many more still ranged over the seas and mountains.

“We will all recover in time, Nistra willing,” An'du said, and Isri reached over to clasp her hand warmly. Within it, Isri's feathered one looked like a child's.

“Nistra willing,” Isri agreed, and even Tepeki, for a moment, seemed to forget his insolence. Vidarian watched him while Oneira proceeded to make genteel small talk about the Traenumar and the Velshi. The flash of the boy's eyes when they accidentally met his across the table made him think that, whatever he learned, it would not be what An'du was hoping for.

O
nce Tepeki found out about Iridan, there was little speaking with him about anything else.

It was not surprising that a young man should be fascinated with a mechanical being—but Tepeki's focus was unwavering and single-minded. For his first day on the ship he peppered anyone who would listen with questions about his function and creation, an obsession that couldn't help but recall an otter cracking open a clam.

The thought itself widened a fissure that had been growing in Vidarian's heart. First An'du, then Calphille, Iridan, and now Tepeki—they looked, sounded, and behaved human, except when they most manifestly did not. An'du and Calphille he had trusted from the first moment he'd met them, a “gut trust” as his father would have said. Iridan he could make neither heads nor tails of, and now the young Tepeki seemed hells-bent on showing him just how strange and unknowable a shapechanger race could be.

Vidarian had seen enough bigotry between the elemental families and the many cultures that dwelled even in Alorea to know the signs of it in his own heart. It was Iridan that confused him; surely his intelligence and humanlike capacity for grief and pain warranted fairer treatment than he'd received, yet Vidarian could not put his machine nature—purpose-built with intentions now lost to the centuries—out of his mind. And it had made Vidarian avoid him, even when part of him knew the shape of his body was the genuine solution to Ruby's predicament.

The puzzle of Iridan would not be easily solved. But he could attempt to remedy Tepeki's animosity.

He found Oneira in the ship's solarium, a lavish compartment abaft the forecastle with glass walls all around. The glass brought in the sun's heat but kept off the wind, and consequently the air inside was tropic warm and thick with the herbal scent of the tiny white flowers that sprawled from stone pots just inside the walls.

For once, Iridan was not with her, and so neither was Tepeki. She reclined on a plush divan, reading an antique book embossed with a flame and gear-wheel insignia Vidarian didn't recognize. When Vidarian took a seat opposite her, she closed the book and delicately removed her reading spectacles, setting them on a jade-topped side table at her right hand. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

“A lovely one,” Vidarian agreed. “And a remarkable solarium your
Wind Maiden
has.”

“You find it ostentatious.”

“I would never so accuse a vessel of the Alorean Import Company.”

“See that you do not, while her decks are below your feet, anyway.” Oneira looked him up and down. “Well, what can I help you with, Captain? You certainly didn't come out here to insult my livelihood, I should hope.”

“It's about Tepeki,” Vidarian said, leaning back into the plush upholstery. “You graciously offered to introduce him to the emperor.”

“Yes?”

“I greatly appreciate the gesture,” he said carefully, “And most certainly Tepeki does as well. But the promise for his welfare was mine.” Vidarian leaned forward, folding his hands. “I've not properly counseled the boy. I'd like to begin to make amends by conducting his introduction myself.”

A silence stretched between them. High above, a feathery cloud drifted across the sun, painting a line of shadow across the glass.

“The solution is simple,” Oneira said, folding her hands. “We shall introduce him together.”

He looked at her a long moment, calculating, and finally nodded, standing. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She picked up the spectacles from the jade side table again.

Vidarian bowed, then walked to the door. His hand was on the brass latch when he turned back. “Can you truly provide Ruby a body like Iridan's? What artificer could create one today, if the Grand Artificer who made only four such in his lifetime died almost a thousand years ago?”

Oneira gave him a long look over the wire rims of her spectacles, lifted an eyebrow, and pointedly opened her book again.

They moored back at the palace four days after the failed attempt to retrieve Ruby's body; a prevailing wind had made the homeward journey faster.

When they were gliding downward to land in the north field, tiny, moving specks far below showed that they would be met by a small welcome committee. There were three small, humanish figures and three distinctly nonhuman ones—and Vidarian guessed that the one racing through the grass in wide, wild arcs was Rai. When the ship drew closer, the racing shape barked, and twice released a small shower of sparks in its excitement. One of the sparks started the grass to smoking, and the three humans ran to stamp it out, while Rai took up a post nearby and barked even louder. Vidarian laughed, once it was clear the small fire was out.

“What is that?” Tepeki said, leaning over the rail.

“His name is Rai,” Vidarian began.

“That's Rikani for ‘trust.’”

“You are full of surprises,” Vidarian said.

“And you are full of assumptions.”

“I would not have assumed,” he kept his voice as even as he could, “that any young man your age would speak Rikani.”

“They are an ocean-faring people, not so different from mine.” He vaulted up onto the rail, and it was all Vidarian could do to stop himself from lunging after. Any warning would only amuse the boy, or worse, goad him to even greater risks.

Tepeki reached out to the great, braided cables of the mainstay, leaning even farther, and Vidarian's thoughts raced, planning even now how they would rescue him if he should fall. By his size, Altair should be able to fly with him, he hoped…and there was some chance the wide starboard wing mast just below them would slow the fall…The boy became the otter, and lightly ran up the mainstay, then leaped off—this time with the
Wind Maiden
's deck thankfully beneath him—to clamber over the foremast shrouds.

Vidarian shook his head, and when he returned to watch the landing from the rail, they were almost on the ground. A slow grinding motion signaled the furling of the lower fin-mast as the ship prepared to land.

Rai ran up the gangplank before its base had even touched the ground, to the annoyance of the otherwise precise crewmen who lowered it. They were also less than impressed by the dashing arrival of the thornwolf, his spines throwing off sparks, and so Vidarian pushed his way down the gangplank alone, the better to distract Rai from leaping onto the ship itself.

Tepeki followed him down, and though Rai ran several circles around Vidarian, desperately pleased at his return, he was rapidly distracted by the young sea boy. The wolf capered, and Tepeki laughed, dancing with surprising agility for a boy who must have spent most of his life in another shape, and swimming. The two seemed to understand each other, and find a special joy in that understanding.

My creatures know things
, the Starhunter had said.

Though it gave him a pang—it felt strange how much he'd missed the wolf pup, who was noticeably larger than he had been a fortnight ago—he left them to play and turned toward Brannon, his sister, and the other Sky Knight apprentice who was so often with them.

“Welcome home, sir. We were sent to watch for you,” Brannon said. “The emperor has asked for you—and he wants to meet a ‘Prince Tepeki’ also.”

Oneira must have had one of the relay spheres aboard the ship for news to travel so fast. He couldn't help but wonder what else about the empire had already changed as a result of the things.

“Of course,” Vidarian said. Behind him, Oneira was descending the gangplank, meticulously coiffed and smelling of expensive jasmine. She must have spent the entire descent, as perhaps Vidarian should have, preparing.

As it was his usual function, Brannon fell into the role of page boy again, leading them across the field and through the corridors of the palace. Rai had expunged his excitement, and now paced beside Vidarian, strolling and panting.

The emperor was waiting for them, and as soon as they arrived, sent the two stewards and secretaries that had been attending him out of the room. This was a central audience chamber, albeit a simple one—intended to impress, but also intended to comfort familiar friends. Calphille was with him, and they both stood as Vidarian, Oneira, Tepeki, and Rai entered the chamber.

“Ah, Vidarian, Oneira—welcome home,” Lirien said, and the warmth in his voice was genuine. Vidarian marveled at how this man—one of the most powerful in the world—had seemed so terrifying scant weeks ago, and yet now evoked only warmth and friendship. “I trust you had a successful journey?”

“I found what I was looking for,” Vidarian agreed, still careful. “Thank you, your majesty, for your tolerance of the expedition when you have much need of us. I promise you that it was a necessary one.”

Tepeki was smiling at Calphille, a silly, ogling smile that Vidarian had to restrain himself from correcting with force. Calphille was a striking woman—today resplendent as a rainforest blossom in a gown of crimson and forest green—and perhaps the boy had no experience with ladies at all, though he had not reacted the same way to Oneira, who by all accounts deserved similar.

Vidarian contained his response to gripping Tepeki's elbow firmly. “I'm pleased to introduce to your majesty Tepeki Underbranch, a prince of the Velshi people.”

“And I am pleased to meet him,” Lirien said, stepping forward to offer the boy his hand. Tepeki seemed not to know what to do with it, and Vidarian guided their hands together with his own. “Oneira tells me your people are an ocean-faring one, like our allies, the Rikani.”

“
Modo dalashi kure
,” Tepeki replied, and though Vidarian was hardly much judge, his Rikani accent seemed flawless. The emperor, too, was impressed. “We are kin, of a sorts,” Tepeki repeated. “My people have sent me to learn what may be learned from yours.” There was a challenge in his eyes, but not one of the emperor's authority. But then the boy's gaze strayed again to Calphille.

“You admire my consort, the Lady Calphille,” Lirien said, the slightest edge to his voice.

Vidarian only had a moment to be surprised at the title.

“She's a shapechanger,” Tepeki said. He shrank, gliding into his sea otter form, then back to human again. “Like me.”

Silence dropped, thrumming in the air as if someone had shattered glass in front of them.

Lirien was staring at Tepeki, clearly taking in with shock what he'd just seen. He'd drawn back, ever so slightly. Vidarian's thoughts raced for the second time that day. Did he know about Calphille already? Surely she must have told him, and yet if she had, the gossip at court would have taken on a radically different tone. Perhaps she had told the emperor, and he had been keeping her secret? Or perhaps, wildest of miracles, the court had accepted what she was already.

“You may all withdraw,” the emperor said at last. Calphille stretched a hand toward him, and the coolness of his reply was knife-sharp. “All of you.”

Calphille's hand stopped, curled. She knelt, gathering her skirts with deliberate care. Oneira led Tepeki out by the elbow, and for a moment Calphille stood, chin down, eyes iron flat. Vidarian was sure she would say something, and then she strode from the room, all pretense at courtliness abandoned. She was, though wrapped in silk, the warrior again. Vidarian turned quickly to follow her.

His hand was on the door when the emperor's voice stopped him.

“Vidarian.”

He stared down the hall. In a moment she would turn the corner, and he would lose her. Slowly, he turned back around.

There was a cold anger in the emperor's eyes, and something worse. “I thought that we understood each other.” He turned away, walking back to his chair. He did not sit, but placed a hand on the carved golden eagle on its arm. “I was wrong.”