Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (13 page)

And that crowd was
everywhere—countless Eseerians bustling across the market. Many of
the poorer folk were dressed like Cam in nothing but trousers, their
thin chests bronzed. Even the wealthier folk, better fed and brighter
of eyes, did not wear much, only humble skirts or tunics of white
wool, revealing their legs, arms, and often their chests. What they
lacked in fabric they made up for in jewels, sporting many rings,
earrings, and necklaces of burnished gold and gemstones. Soldiers
marched here too, the butts of their spears clanking against the
cobblestones. Sandals held their feet, their breastplates displayed
scorpion sigils, and their khopeshes—swords shaped like
sickles—hung at their sides.

"Cam, do you see a
zigzagging rat?" Linee whispered, walking at his side.

He
glared at her. "I told you a million times, it's a
ziggurat
,
and I don't even know what that means. But if the clock hand is
anywhere in this city, maybe we'll find it in this market. So keep an
eye open!"

As they walked along the
streets, they passed many stalls. Hundreds of merchants lined the
roadsides, calling out their wares. Cam scanned every stall. One
merchant, a toothless old man, hawked a hundred spices from a hundred
tin bowls; Cam recognized cardamom, cinnamon, coriander, and cumin.
Another merchant, a woman clad in shawls, called out over barrels of
olives, raisins, dried figs, almonds, and dozens of other
comestibles. Some merchants sold jewelry, anything from rings to
plates of gemstones worn across the chest, while another sold
animals—snakes, parakeets, and even monkeys—in cages. Cam and Linee
walked by stalls selling blades with antler hilts, figurines carved
from olive wood, drums and flutes, and even—Cam cringed to see it—a
roadside market selling slaves in iron shackles. The smells of
spices, sweets, wine, frying fish, and sweat filled his nostrils.

Above the colorful stalls rose
the tan, brick walls of shops and homes. Awnings stretched out
between them, revealing only a strip of sky. Weeds grew between the
streets' cobblestones, and palm trees and pines grew at every corner,
full of dates and nuts, conures, and chattering monkeys. Down the
street, Camlin caught glimpses of a distant palace—or perhaps a
temple—its stairs lined with statues of men and women with insect
heads.

"Camlin, look!"

Linee grabbed his hand and
pointed to a palm tree. Cam's heart leaped into a gallop. For an
instant he was sure Ferius's spies had found them, but when he looked
at the tree, he saw a rat scurrying around its trunk and into a
sewage hole.

"A ziggurat!" Linee
whispered in awe. "Do you think the clock hand's in the sewer?"

"Why don't you go look?"
Cam said. "For pity's sake, it's not a rodent. Why can't you
understand that?"

She pouted and crossed her arms.
"Well, at first I thought the rat was zigzagging. But . . . I
guess you're right, Camlin, he did move in more of a beeline. I'll
keep looking."

Cam sighed. "Why couldn't I
have gone looking for the number with Bailey? I'd take all the
arm-bending and ear-tugging in the world over this." He stared
at a few monkeys in the palm tree; they were busy picking the fruit.
"Linee, let's keep going. I— Linee?"

He turned and couldn't see her,
and his heart raced anew. Again he could imagine Sailith monks
tugging her into an alley. He scanned the marketplace, then breathed
in relief when he saw her. The exiled queen had approached a stall of
embroidered shawls and was busy browsing.

"Oh, Camlin, can you buy me
this one?" she asked when he approached. She held up a pink
shawl, its wool embroidered with flowers and its hems tasseled. "I
promise if you buy me this, I'll find you a zigzagging rat."

"No, we have to save our
money. We—"

"But I want it!" she
said, voice rising louder, and stamped her feet.

Cam winced. If any heard them
speaking Ardish, the language of the north, their disguises would be
useless. More to keep Linee quiet than happy, he dug through his
pocket and produced a few Eseerian coins. Empress Hikari had given
them to him, having taken them from the corpses of Eseerians who had
invaded Ilar. Grumbling under his breath, he paid the shawl vendor—a
child barely older than ten. Linee grinned, tossed the shawl around
her shoulders, and kissed Cam's cheek.

As they kept walking through the
city, they emerged from the marketplace and found themselves on a
boulevard of wide, white flagstones, each engraved with a different
insect. Cam saw scorpions, scarabs, dragonflies, and many others.
Columns lined the roadsides, their capitals supporting statues of
deities, their humanoid bodies supporting insect heads, the bulging
eyes inlaid with gemstones. An obelisk rose in a square ahead,
hundreds of feet tall and tipped with platinum, and priests in white
robes swayed around it, blowing ram's horns. City folk moved toward
the pillar, everyone from beggars in loincloths to wealthy, bearded
men in jeweled chariots. Hundreds of doves and starlings flew above,
darkening the sky, flitting from palm to fig to pine tree.

"Camlin, I'm hungry."
Linee tugged his arm. "And I'm sleepy. Can we find food and a
bed?" She pointed to a stone building on the roadside, palm
trees framing its door. "That looks like a tavern."

Cam was about to glare at her,
to roll his eyes, to insist they kept searching, but before he could
open his mouth to speak, his stomach gave a growl. He too was
famished and weary; he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten or
slept.

"Just a quick bite and
nap," he said. "Then we keep looking for the hand."

Linee managed to simultaneously
rub her belly and yawn. They walked along the street, skirting a
woman carrying a basket of grapes, a child juggling for coins, and an
old man riding a donkey laden with jars of preserves. When they
reached the tavern, Cam saw a sign shaped like a dragonfly, and
through the windows, he glimpsed men drinking and eating. The sound
of flutes and the smell of frying fish wafted into the street.

"Remember, don't speak
loudly in Ardish, and—" he began, but Linee ignored him and
raced through the doorway. With a sigh, Cam followed.

They found themselves in a hot,
dusty chamber. Jugs of wine stood along the walls, painted with
scenes of soldiers fighting dragons. Several dozen men and women
reclined upon tasseled pillows, eating pears, figs, and chickpeas
from low wooden tables. Upon a stage, a woman clad in palm leaves and
silver played a timbrel, swaying to the beat.

Cam found a small, low table in
a shadowy corner, only a foot tall. He and Linee sat side by side
upon an embroidered cushion, their backs to the wall. Cam knew only a
few words in Eseerian—mostly studied from old books on the journey
here—but managed to order them a meal, wine, and a bed for the
night.

The food arrived: a roasted duck
upon a bed of leeks and apricots, wild rice mixed with pine nuts and
shallots, pears stewed in honey and wine, and grainy bread dipped in
olive oil. After so long in the night, eating little more than
mushrooms and fish, the meal was heavenly. The meat melted in his
mouth, gravy dripped down his chin, and the wine tingled through him.
He let out a contented sigh, and Linee's eyes rolled back with every
bite.

After their meal, a serving girl
led them upstairs into a bedchamber. It was a humble room, and a
large straw bed occupied most of it. When the server had left them,
Cam closed the door, and Linee doffed her cloak and hood. They found
a basin of water, washed off the grime and sweat of their journey,
then sat upon the bed. A sandy breeze blew from the window, and the
palm trees rustled outside.

Sitting beside him, her hands
folded in her lap, Linee laid her head against his shoulder.

"I missed this," she
said softly. "Real food. A bed in sunlight. The song of birds. I
wish . . . I wish we could just stay here. Well, maybe not here in
this tavern. And maybe not even in this kingdom. But in sunlight. I
wish we could forget about that war back in the night." She
placed a hand on his knee and looked at him, her eyes earnest.
"Camlin, maybe we can do that. We have some money. Maybe we can
just find a home here—you and me. Let's forget about clock hands,
Sailith spies, and all those scary things. Let's buy a little house
with a garden, and we can eat duck every turn, and . . ." She
looked down and sniffed, and when she looked up again, her eyes were
damp. "I don't even need a palace anymore. I don't need to be a
queen. I can be a wife to you. Or just a friend if you prefer! We can
live together, the two of us, here in the daylight. I know you think
I'm silly and a little stupid, and I know I sing too much, but if you
agree, I promise I'll learn. I promise I'll be good to you."

Her hand was warm against his
knee, her lips parted, and her eyes shone. She leaned forward,
waiting for an answer.

Cam had spent the past year
scolding her, rolling his eyes at her, sometimes even yelling at her.
Sitting so close to Linee now, her body warm and her eyes damp, his
anger melted away, his throat felt too tight, and his own eyes stung.

"I would like that,"
he whispered and placed his hand upon hers. "I would like
nothing more. Even if you sing too much, and even if you're silly.
But I think of our friends in Eloria. I think of Suntai who died for
us. And I think of Koyee who's sailing into danger. And I think of
Hem who gave his life in this war." His voice was hoarse. "We
can't forget about them. We have to keep going. We have to do our
part and not let down our friends."

Linee lowered her head and
nodded, and her tears splashed against her lap. "I know. I know,
Camlin. I'm just so afraid all the time, and . . . and I love you. I
really love you so much."

He squeezed her hand. "Linee
. . ."

She trembled. "I'm sorry. I
mean . . . you're the only person who listens to me." She
touched his cheek. "Everyone thinks I'm just a baby, but you go
on quests with me. And you listen to me, even if you think my words
are stupid. Nobody ever treated me that well—not my father, not my
late husband . . . only you, Camlin Shepherd." She leaned
forward and kissed his cheek.

He drew back a strand of her
hair, tucked it behind her ear, and found himself caressing that
hair, running his fingers over and over through the silken gold.

"You're
not stupid." He stared into her eyes. "Don't let people
tell you that. Don't let
me
tell you that. You solved the last riddle in Pirilin's court, a
riddle Suntai and I couldn't answer. You learned to speak Qaelish and
Ilari faster than I did. And I bet you find this clock hand before I
do, at least if you stop looking for rats." He couldn't help but
smile when she giggled. "All your life, Linee, people told you
you were a silly, childish princess, and you wanted to please them.
You wanted to be what people expected you to be. So you played along
with it. But there's more to you. Somewhere deep down, there's more.
I've seen it. That's all."

Her tears spilled and her body
shook. "That's a lot."

She embraced him with a crushing
urgency, her arms wrapped tightly around his back, and he held her
closely, and he found himself kissing her, and her kiss tasted of
wine, honeyed pears, and tears.

They lay upon the bed, wrapped
together, and they could not stop kissing, not even as Linee's silks
slipped off her body, as they pressed together, naked and warm under
the blankets, their fingers entwined. Cam had never loved a woman
before, and it was strange to him, a dance of heat and shadows, of
confusion and laughter as their teeth banged together, then of silent
gasps as they found their rhythm. It seems hours before he lay on his
back, drenched in sweat, breathing deeply as Linee slept against him,
her head on his chest, her leg tossed across him.

"Camlin," she mumbled
in her sleep, nestling closer to him. "My Camlin."

He stroked her hair, and he felt
more confused and lost and happy than ever before. He was about to
close his eyes and sleep too when he saw the painting on the wall.

He had not noticed it when
entering the room, but lying on the bed, it hung before him in a beam
of sunlight. The canvas featured a triangular building, stairs
running up its facades, its crest flattened. The foremost stairs,
lined with statues, rose toward a shadowy archway leading into the
structure. A figure stood there, painted no larger than Cam's finger.
At first he thought the figure a warrior in armor, but when he
squinted, he saw a creature constructed of springs, sprockets, and
scraps of metal like the toys artisans would make in Pahmey, little
soldiers that marched when you wound them up. Standing in the
archway, the automaton stared at Cam from the painting, its eyes red,
its metallic arm raised in condemnation—a limb made from the hand of
a clock.

 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE:
MEMORY IN FIRE

They
stood on the palace balcony, gazing upon a city of steel, stone, and
silk.

Asharo,
the last standing city of the night, rolled down the hills toward the
black sea. Its sisters had fallen. Hives of color and crystal, ports
of glowing towers, cities of mighty walls—all had burned in the
sunlit fire. Empires had crumbled; nations were gone. The night
blazed and yet here they stood, a last corner of darkness, a last
bastion of shadow in a sea of sunlight.

"Asharo
must stand," Jin said, hanging in his harness from Hikari's
chest like a babe in a sling.

The
empress nodded, hands upon the balcony railing, gazing at the city
and the sea beyond. "It will stand . . . or all the night will
fall."

The
entire city seemed like a single great fortress. Pagodas of black
bricks and red roof tiles rose upon every hill, full of soldiers.
Archers stood in minarets along the city streets. Homes and shops
alike sported crowns of battlements, and men stood upon them, clad in
black steel. From every roof flew the banners of Ilar, Qaelin, and
Leen, silken standards showing flames, moonstars, and diamonds. The
people of each empire huddled within these walls; the refugee camps
outside the city had been dismantled, and the last survivors of
Eloria now hid in homes, in workshops, in cellars, or simply along
the streets. The old empires were gone; they were one people now.
They were all Elorians. They were all the night.