The Infernal City (21 page)

Qijne glared down at the trays and the food they contained.

“Explain,” she snapped. “Start with the fish.”

“Annaïg calls it ‘catfish,’” Slyr said. “The taskers bring us quite a lot of them.”

“I’m aware of that,” Qijne said. “We’ve burned hundreds for the Oroy mansion workers. What I want to know is, why are you sending a complete fish to Lord Ghol? It’s far too coarse for his palate.”

Why question us? Annaïg wondered. Except for that first time, we’ve done nothing but succeed. Can’t you just trust us?

She could not, of course, say that out loud.

“That’s true, Chef,” she said instead. “He will be surprised by it, I believe.”

“Not pleasantly, I should imagine by looking at it.”

“Ah, yes, but when he touches or breathes on it, it will deliquesce. That will release a series of odors viandic; the fish will liquefy and mingle with the void and fire salts there around the fish, which will then release their essences. That will lead nicely into the second course, here, a cold broth of tadpole bones garnished with
live frog eggs. Finally, the white froth of Terriswort will cause his palate to vividly recall each aroma and taste—but in reverse order.”

“Another of your metagastrologics?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“These are tricks, stunts,” Qijne complained. “You hazard boring him.”

“I think he will be pleased,” Slyr said. “But if you have any suggestions, I would be most happy to hear them, Chef.”

Qijne narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to decide if she should feel insulted. Annaïg had to stop herself from holding her breath.

The moment passed, ending when Qijne simply walked off.

“That’s it, then,” Slyr said. “Let’s send it up.”

The news from above was good that evening. She and Slyr hadn’t been back to the little room with its view of the night sky in days, but that night they celebrated there again. Slyr brought baubles as well as food this time—little coils of glass that glowed like small suns.

And after Slyr was asleep, Annaïg felt her amulet wake.

“Thank Dibella,” she murmured. She lifted a coil, rose and tiptoed out of the room into the cellar, and only then did she open the locket.

And there was Prince Attrebus, looking back at her. The light seemed to be firelight, for shadows flickered about him, but his face was bruised and battered. His eyes were full of concern, but now his features relaxed in relief.

“There you are,” he said. “I was worried about you.”

“And I about you, your highness. It’s been days. I’ve tried to contact you—”

He nodded. “I’ve been unable to respond,” he said. “I …” He trailed off. He seemed different—not the assertive, confident man she remembered from their earlier conversation.

“I understand, Prince Attrebus,” she said. “You’re a busy man.”

He nodded. “I want you to know,” he said, “that I am coming, as I promised. But it may be that …”

Again he didn’t finish. He seemed very vulnerable.

But then something seemed to strengthen him and his tone became firmer, more familiar.

“Have you discovered anything new?”

“Yes. I’ve found a place where I can see the sky—a way in and out. And I’m trying to re-create the tonic that Glim and I used to reach this place.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Perhaps I can find something like that on my way there. We should pass through Rimmen in a few days, and then Leyawiin.”

That sounded a little odd, as if he didn’t have his mages with him, but maybe he preferred to handle certain things himself.

“I’ve always wanted to see Rimmen,” she told him. “They say the Akaviri built a magnificent shrine there, the Tonenaka. They say it houses ten thousand statues. And the canals are said to be amazing.”

“Well, I’ve never been there either,” Attrebus said. “But I’ll tell you about it next time we speak.”

“That would be wonderful, Prince.”

“I shan’t be dawdling there, though,” he went on. “Time is of the essence. But I’m sure I’ll see something worth mentioning.” He paused. “I find titles cumbersome in conversation. I would prefer you did not use them.”

“What should I call you, your highness?”

“Attrebus will do, or ‘Treb.’ It will save time when we talk.”

“I’ll try,” she said. “It seems strange to be so familiar with you.”

“Try it, for my sake.”

There was that troubled look again.

“Are you—well, Attrebus? Is something wrong?”

“There have been some setbacks here,” he said. “I won’t bore you with the details.”

“It wouldn’t be boring,” she said.

“Well, then I’d rather not talk about it,” he modified.

She realized then that his eyes were glistening a bit.

“I must go now,” he said. “Keep yourself safe, above all. Will you do that?”

“I will,” she said.

He nodded, and then his image vanished behind Coo’s door.

She stood there for a moment, a bit breathless, then snuck back into the shaft-room. Slyr didn’t look as if she had stirred.

Annaïg sat with her back against the wall.

Something was wrong with the prince. That didn’t bode well, did it?

But at the moment there wasn’t much she could do but continue to stay alive, try to get in touch with Glim, rediscover the secret of flying …

Actually, that was quite a lot, wasn’t it? Her hands were full.

So she needed her rest. No use to worry about things that were, at the moment, beyond her.

But she hoped Attrebus—he’d asked her to call him Attrebus!—she hoped he was all right.

Attrebus closed the little door on the bird. This was the first time he’d seen her face; her green eyes and generous, sensual lips, a nose that some might consider a bit large, but belonged perfectly on her face. Hair like dark twists of black silk.

The face of the woman he’d failed.

“Well, she, at least, is alive,” he told Sul, who sat on the other side of the small fire they’d built.

“So I gather,” Sul said. “Interesting, that bird. The dwemer
used to make similar toys, before the world swallowed them up. Do you know where it’s from?”

“She said it came from her mother, and I gather her mother was middling nobility from Highrock.”

“Well, things move around,” Sul grunted. “Let me see it.”

“See here—” Attrebus began, but the look in the Dunmer’s eyes stopped him. He stood and extended Coo. Sul took her, examined her a bit. The little door wouldn’t unclasp for him.

“Smart,” Sul said. “Only opens for who it was sent to.”

“I believe so,” Attrebus replied. “Radhasa couldn’t make it work.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Sul asked, prodding the fire, snapping a swarm of sparks toward the sky. “This Annaïg. Why didn’t you tell her you’ve lost all of your guard?”

“I don’t want to discourage her.”

“You’d rather give her false hope?”

“I don’t intend to give up.”

“That’s good,” Sul said. “It’s better that way.”

“As opposed to what?”

Sul didn’t answer right away, but instead drew his sword and examined the edge a bit before resheathing it. Finally he looked up at Attrebus.

“Here’s my worry,” Sul said. “I’ll make it plain right away, so it’s not between us from here on out. Let’s start with this: I’m going to find Umbriel. When I do, there’s going to be slaughter, pure and simple. I’m going to bring it down. It’s been suggested to me that you can help me, and that’s why I followed you, that’s why I killed your captors. But I saw your fight with the Redguard—I was waiting to be sure of where the others were before I made my move, and it was clear she had no intention of killing you. I heard the conversation.”

“She was lying,” Attrebus said.

“She wasn’t,” Sul replied. “You’re telling yourself that now
because you’re too weak to face it. But like she said, you’re not fundamentally stupid. The branch already has too much weight on it—it’s starting to creak. You barely managed to get through your talk with the Breton girl without getting weepy—”

“My friends have just been killed!” Attrebus heard himself shout. “Friends, lovers, companions, all dead. Of course I’m not myself!”

Sul waited for him to finish, then started again.

“In days or weeks that branch will crack, and down you’ll come. You’ll realize how right she was, and the world will turn over, and my worry is, will you be any use to me then? Will any of these principles you think you adhere to—honor, courage, honesty—survive it? Or are you just a child, playing at these things, as you played at being a warrior and commander?”

“You’re wrong about this,” Attrebus snapped. “Based on one conversation you overheard, you conclude she was right? Granted, she could outfight me—”

“A child with palsy could outfight you.”

“I’d been wounded, tied to a horse for days—”

“This isn’t an argument, Prince Attrebus.”

“Look, I’ll swear it even now. I will stop Umbriel, or I will die trying.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Sul said. “I’m trying to help you.”

“By telling me that everything I believe about myself is a lie?”

Sul’s eyes were fragments of the fire, lifting up to burn him.

And yet when he spoke, it wasn’t to Attrebus, and it wasn’t in Tamrielic. The only part of it the prince caught was the name “Azura”—one of the daedric princes. Then the Dunmer sighed harshly.

“Everyone faces that, you spoiled child. Most simply turn away and continue with their delusions—only a few are forced to accept the truth.”

“Not everyone, not like this,” Attrebus said. “I’m a prince—
I’m supposed to be Emperor one day. If what Radhasa says is true, I’ve been mocked my whole life without ever knowing it.”

“Your ‘whole life’ is a heartbeat,” Sul said.

“Maybe to you. But if people have been laughing at me—”

“Enough,” Sul snarled. “Enough. I’ve done far more for you than I should. I’ve tried to warn you, but instead I’m just going to have to wait and see what the baby does. How’s this, then? With or without you, I’ll do what I’ve set out to do. If it comes to it, I’ll cut off your head and revive it now and then to talk to the bird. Would that be a fair price for you breaking that vow you pledged so earnestly just now?”

Attrebus couldn’t meet those eyes anymore, and turned instead to the living heart of the fire, which was certainly cooler.

“Yes,” he mumbled. But now he was afraid. What did this man really want? What did Sul really need from him? Was it even true they had the same goal?

But then he suddenly understood that didn’t matter. Every single thing Sul had told him could be true, but that still wouldn’t put Sul on the right side of things. Maybe he was planning something even worse than whatever the master of Umbriel was up to.

In the end, they might be enemies—that would certainly explain this attempt to undermine him even more than Radhasa had. Maybe he and Radhasa had been working together and then had a falling-out.

Maybe Sul was the man she had been planning to sell him to, and this was all part of some elaborate game of his, breaking the will of a prince, reducing him to believing he was nothing …

He felt like screaming. He wanted to be alone, to think, to be free of fear long enough to sort through the confusion. He had a horse now …

But then again, running might be exactly what Sul wanted. Sure, he could keep his vow and go after Annaïg and Umbriel
himself, but Sul would be at his back the whole time. Hadn’t his father always said it was better to have your enemies where you could see them?

For now, that was probably his only choice. He had to keep his wits about him, think for himself, and not let Sul toy with him. He would work with the Dunmer as long as their goals appeared to be the same, and be ready the moment they weren’t. He was a Mede, after all. A Mede.