Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (38 page)

“He’s probably anxious,” Owen said after a while.

“Shade? That’s what I just meant, Owen.”

“No, I meant Diaz. Being here again.”

“He’s been here before?” Nora took another sip from her waterskin. The water still tasted brackish.

“On his pilgrimage to all the temples and shrines.” Owen shrugged. All pilgrims were wanderers. Since Owen had taken the vows, this journey counted as the first leg of his own pilgrimage. They carried on a few steps before Owen added as an afterthought, “Maybe he had a lover here.”

Suddenly Nora was spluttering, choking, with Owen thumping furiously on her back. She coughed the accidental sip back up, tears running down her cheeks. Owen motioned with his hand that the others could continue.

“A what?” she croaked.

Owen grinned sheepishly. “Well, I’ve yet to see any mention of celibacy in the code. So why not?”

Why not?
Nora thought darkly, staring at the back of the half-wight who led the company through the red ravines. That was indeed the question.

S
hadowing her eyes after the
twilight of deep ravines, Nora stepped out into the glaring sunlit white space. Beyond the dull red stone tunnels, the sky was tall above a large plaza, a perfect square lined with potted palm trees, but it took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness.

“My gods,” she said, fighting the sudden urge to shield her face from the glory and fall to her knees.

The Temple of Fire was built of pure white marble into the red rock mass of the natural ravines. The clean lines of the central block tower speared the blue sky and reflected the sun with a blinding brilliance. Two wings flanked the central tower, their stonework etched with curving, twisting spiral patterns that moved in the glimmering heat, pure white-hot tongues of fire licking the stone. Its sheer size was mind-boggling. She lifted her gaze to take it all in but then bowed her head, eyes watering in pain from the glare. Standing before the immense white walls dwarfed everything else—the purity erased everything else, the vast weight of the towering stone looming over her head like the fist of a wrathful god sticking his middle finger up at the mortality of the world.

“I think I need to sit down,” she said, mouth dry.

“Two hundred thirty-four,” Owen said, head tilted far back. “Two hundred thirty-four steps high. The shrine’s spire in Dernberia. This must be…this is at least…a lot higher.”

He rested his chin on his chest, rubbing his neck before raising his eyes up to the apex of the central tower once more, hand still at the back of his head.

“I wonder how they built it,” Owen said, shaking his head, lips pressed together. “So much knowledge we’ve lost. We can’t build like this anymore.”

“Where did they get the stone?” Nora asked. “And how did they get it here? There’s no way they brought it through the ravines.”

“It was built by Shinar Himself.” Shade knocked Owen’s shoulder. He was grinning at the slack-jawed country bumpkins Owen and Nora currently resembled, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes. “Take off your shoes. You stand in the presence of the divine.”

“Come on.” Bashan rolled his eyes and hoisted his backpack on his shoulder. “Looks like we’re expected.”

He pointed at three figures coming toward them under the great gates, the points of their spears reflecting the sunlight in flashes of silver. They wore black leather jerkins and had curved swords at their hips. A symbol of three flames was worked onto their breastplates and the tips of their helmets. The cheek pieces of their helmets reached so far into their faces all Nora could see were dark pools instead of eyes. The effect made them appear disconcertingly like Diaz’s eyes. Nora shot the half-wight a glance. His lips were pressed thin, as though he was about to vomit on the plaza’s trodden red earth.

“Prince Bashan, Master Telen Diaz.” The guard had a deep voice. He took his helmet off as a courtesy, brown hair plastered to his skull by a band of sweat, and bowed low. “My queen has seen you from far off and welcomes you. She is awaiting your presence in the throne room.”

Bashan turned to Diaz and raised his eyebrows. Diaz’s shoulders sagged a fraction, but he nodded.

“Very well. We shall follow you,” Bashan told the guard.

The guard bowed once more and then gave a cry to the other two. They bowed and then pushed open the gates, which were as high as six men and as thick as Nora’s thigh, as easily as though they were pushing aside a linen curtain.

“There must be some kind of mechanism behind the gates,” Owen whispered to Nora as they passed through them. “The hinges must be as thick as my arm. I wonder, how do they open them so easily?”

I wonder whether Diaz is going to puke
, Nora thought, walking behind the half-wight.
And I wonder whether the gates open from the inside just as easily
.

Behind the threshold was another smaller plaza lined with a ring of white-bark trees that cast their dappled shade over the dusty red ground. In the middle was a fountain, and the sound of water in this dry place was refreshment to the wanderer’s soul. As they left the small grove, they could see the city. A city built within the red rock, several stories high and upheld by many mighty pillars of stone etched with carvings and statues. Everything was a balance of red and white.

The group followed their guard of honor toward three great arches that led deep into the rock. The middle arch was the largest, towering over their heads with a dizzying height. In the stone dome above, lit up by flickering torchlights, Nora could see the same abstract spiral patterns that were on the walls outside, until she recognized a round shape and her view suddenly adjusted. The figures carved into the red stone were men and women in various positions together, some positions…interesting, others incredible, repeating themselves over and over, filling the ceiling and reaching down to the floor. They were so lifelike that Nora, stretching out a hand to touch a couple, was surprised at the feeling of cold stone under her fingertips, half expecting the marble-veined woman to sigh and move.

They came into a cavernous hall that held a long flight of stairs leading farther down, deep under the earth. It was cooler already, and Nora shivered pleasantly at the chill on her skin. Grand pillars of white stone touched the high ceiling, each one shaped in the likeness of a beautiful woman, a serene smile twinkling in the whites of their carved marble eyes. Between the pillars, shafts of golden light fell from above. Where the light shone, clusters of potted plants grew well tended, bringing green and life to the reign of red and white. If the temple was a body, the hall with its high red naves and white columns was the backbone, and from it streets of houses jutted like ribs. Hewn from the solid rock, every house was fashioned like the settlements they had seen on their journey.

A bustle erupted on the long stairs as they walked down among the calls and waves of the women welcoming the newcomers. Tight skirts, men’s shirts slipping off their pale shoulders, easy smiles on guarded faces, all those pretty girls. Nora tossed her scarred head high and stared back. A city of women. No, a brothel. The air was thick with want and desire, heavy with a rich scent of perfume and secrets. On every flight of stairs pungent smoke wafted from copper braziers, dulling the senses like a hammer blow and making Nora retch. It wasn’t a woodsmoke scent she recognized, more like an herbal concoction than resin.

When they finally reached the bottom of the long stairs, they halted before twin doors of normal height, interlaced with gold. The carvings around them had changed. Stylized flames blazed in the darkest hues of red stone, uncovered by the white flagstones. When she touched the jagged points, they were sharp and pricked her finger. The tips of flame gleamed, polished until translucent like candle fire while their bases were the color of freshly spilled blood. The two guards with the spears took each of the doors’ handles. Before they pulled them open, though, the chief guard without a helmet turned toward Bashan’s company once more and bowed.

“No weapons allowed,” he said. “You may leave your swords and daggers and spears in our keeping, and they will be returned to you in the guest houses to which you will later go.”

The prince nodded. It only took a few minutes. They all stripped off their weapons, leaning them against the polished walls of flame. Nora placed her knife on top of her backpack, next to Owen’s spear and bag. Diaz took his time. He unbuckled his sword last and handed it over to the chief guard, catching Nora’s gaze. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

“Come,” the guard said. “Enter before the throne of Suranna, the Queen of Shinar.”

T
he doors swung open soundlessly,
and beyond them lay blackness. The group filed into the room, their eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness within.

The throne room felt vast, yet everything was black and that made it seem close at the same time. It was a strange, ambiguous sensation Nora couldn’t quite handle, as though she were standing in a ball of shadows, a dark womb. The walls were hung with heavy black tapestries, embroidered with the three-tongued stylized flame, making her feel small, wishing she could hide behind them like they were her mother’s skirts. The floor mirrored the midnight surroundings, the flagstones smooth on their surface but puckered underneath like lava.
Obsidian
, Nora thought. She had once seen a dagger made of obsidian, and even her foster father had been speechless at the sharpness of the stone blade. And at its price. She felt like kneeling down and running her hands over the floor, but she straightened, taking in the rest of the throne room. Three shafts of light divided the space, each ray hitting the surface of an oblong pool of still, black water. And beyond the pool, between two high copper braziers, stood the throne itself.

It was placed on a dais in the middle of the room, all of black stone, nothing more than a straight, clean seat built out of one huge block, obscured by transparent silk veils. A figure sat upright on the throne, arms resting on her knees. Next to her, Nora heard Shade take a deep, rattling breath. The veiled queen held up a hand and the guards bowed low and left, closing the doors behind them. The shadowed woman rose from the throne and stepped through the veils.

Nora gasped. The queen was a goddess, tall and proud, black hair cascading down her naked back, her skin a tone of gold and without blemish, young and firm and perfect. She came down the stairs of the dais slowly, deliberately, one bare slender foot after the other, moving with natural poise and grace, a faint chime of her golden bangles heralding her presence in the pregnant silence. There had never been a woman as beautiful as the Queen of Shinar. Or as desirable, or as strong. She was the essence of everything Nora had ever wanted to be, could ever aspire to be. The eyes of the queen were all she could see, and she wanted to lose herself in them forever. Forget she’d never be as beautiful, that she could never be anything other than a monster. The Dark Twin. Cursed and twisted, fire-burnt and ugly, her right place was on the floor and groveling.

“My Lord Bashan.” The queen’s voice rang deep and clear, golden honey dripping from her lips. With her appearance and just three words, she held the entire room enthralled.

Around her throat, Suranna wore a coiled snake of gold and black and crimson. She wore the neckpiece and her flame-shaped golden crown and nothing else. Nora’s breath caught. Like with the glory of the temple above, Nora’s eyes hurt with the onslaught, scanning the flawlessness for details, any detail, that would reveal the artifice of the creature standing before her. But her eyes registered nothing—no hair, no spot, no wrinkle, no scar, no powder to hide any imperfection.

“My lady.” Bashan struggled to stand tall. The tip of her crown let Suranna stand taller than him. “It is my pleasure to kneel before one who is so fair.”

She laughed at that and gave him her hand to kiss as he fell to one knee. As his lips brushed her knuckles, his hand trembled and he lingered over her fingers a bit too long, the creep. Suranna didn’t seem to mind. She withdrew her hand slowly, her eyes wandering over his body as though it were her possession. Suranna smiled and shifted her attention to Shade. She held out her arms wide.