Page 45

LESSA CRAIER HAD GLOWERED IN WELL-PRESERVED SILENCE on the way through the town, like a spirit in a jar, potent and ready to be released.

Bahba and two other of the Mithrik, Chalada and Sosul, had joined them on the journey down into town in a fine gilt carriage with a canopy that protected them from the sudden downpour.

The rain thundering into the streets, streaming into deep gutters, and washing filth, fallen fruit, dust and market leavings away towards the sea, leaving only the scent of warm stone and rising steam.

But when they reached the centre of the market, the others had alighted with polite goodbyes, and Lessa had managed to acknowledge them. Skedi could tell by their shades that they did not believe her one bit.

He was getting better at this human thing.

Inara’s colours were seething like a simmering pot. Skedi was frustrated too, for his attempt to sway the council had been overridden by their own wills.

You’re right, he said to Inara. The Restish colours held violence after the council. We should tell your mother.

But we do not know why, or what it means.

She might .

Bahba was watching. They didn’t know if she could sign, but Skedi could speak to Lessa without being seen, if she would let him in.

Lady Craier, he had pressed into her mind. Hard. Harder. Human colours were an entry point. When they were hidden, it was like looking for a crack of light while blindfolded. He pressed harder, lowering his antlers. Lady Craier!

The lady winced, flinched. Looked at him.

The Restish have some plan in motion. Something violent. Inara and I could see it.

She pressed her lips together and released just a touch of her emotions. He could see them, rich and stirring, threaded through with green and silver. She was thinking of her House. Of Middren.

She glanced at Bahba, then at Inara. And very slightly, she nodded.

It is likely they intend to launch an attack, she said, her voice cool and serious in his head.

On us?

On Middren. Sosul and Bahba all but told us they had made a trade deal with some of the Mithrik councillors. My bet is that it includes our ports.

By the time they reached the warehouse, the hush about them was so thick that Skedi felt even moving would shatter it into sharp and bloody pieces. Kissen, however, had no care for the delicacy of silence.

‘What the fuck do you mean, Restish will attack?’ she said, and then remembered to add sign for Telle’s benefit.

‘Indeed,’ said Bahba, staring at Inara now. ‘What makes you think so?’

Inara glared at her but said nothing.

‘It is no secret that Restish have been building warships,’ said Lessa. ‘And no lie that they have sent some to support the Talician invasion. Why set so much store by a treaty, unless they are hiding more than just a few ships?’

‘Well,’ said Bahba, folding her hands over her chest and leaning back in surprise. ‘You’re even more astute than I took you for, Lady Craier.’

Lessa raised her eyebrows at Bahba. Elo’s mother’s colours were steady now. They had flickered briefly with surprise, but it didn’t last.

She knew.

‘I have prepared a meal,’ she said, to Skedi’s astonishment. ‘In the night market. We will dine together. All of us.’ She smiled at Kissen, who returned the expression a little nervously. ‘Make it seem friendly-like.’

‘I’m afraid we must be leaving, Mitha Bahba,’ said Lessa, trying her best to hide the fury Skedi could see was filling up her insides. ‘We must head for Restish and see if we can sway them from this course.’ Or sway their gods at least, Skedi thought. ‘Each hour is precious.’

‘The tide is out,’ said Bahba. ‘Your crew is dispersed. Come, break bread with me, and we will discuss our options. You will not be departing tonight unless you wish your hull cracked on our harbour.’

Skedi, Inara said, her voice coming into his head clear as a song. Her colours …

Skedi had noticed it too. Bahba’s colours in the fortress had been edged with thrills of strange amethyst and a dark stream of jade. Contrarian, contrasting. Deceptive. But now they were pure and shining gold. She had something for them, some generosity.

‘Lady Craier,’ she said, ‘I wish to be better friends with you.’

‘Mama, I think we should go with her,’ said Inara.

Lessa frowned, Likely she had no intention of setting sail: she simply wanted to take her bad temper to her own cabin. But she looked at her daughter, then at Skedi. ‘Very well,’ she said.

‘God Skediceth,’ came a voice from near Yatho.

Skedi turned, and his ears pricked with delight.

Solom, the giver of his finest offering: the green-beaded bracelet on his antlers.

The archivist was frailer than he had been, but his colours, oh his colours.

They were azure and ruby, bright as fresh ink on pale parchment.

Skedi knew that steady brightness: faith.

But – he could feel it in his feathers, his antlers – this wasn’t faith for another god.

This was for him. ‘I have something to show you.’

Inara didn’t say a word as Skedi dug in his claws, excited, surprised, nervous, and walked straight towards the archivist. Skedi didn’t even question that she should come with him as Solom led them around the fountain towards the back of the foyer.

The sound of rain on the roof was gentle, like beads being poured from a basket into a bowl, and there was the faintest scent of incense in the air. Sandalwood.

At the back, beneath the stairs, a small house had been raised, painted bright, vivid red. It was a simple thing, two walls, a roof, but beautiful. A shrine.

And within it, was a statue of Skedi. He was made of polished wood, swirling and knotting with the grain of the original branch.

The wings were tucked close to his back, but they were whittled in painstaking detail, while his antlers were made of carved white bone, brighter even than the shining amber eyes that had been inset delicately.

The sound of the rain faded, the murmuring of folk, and all of Skedi’s senses focussed on this vision, this totem: his fur, his wings, his self. Every shape and part of him.

‘God of telling tales, and giving hope,’ said Solom. ‘You stood against a great old god of knowledge and protected us. It was the first thing I had made when we came.’

For him. Just for him. Skedi danced his paws on Inara’s shoulder, unsure what to do, but she reached up with her palms to him, and held them out. He lifted his wings slightly and stepped into them, then she lifted him towards the shrine. He shrank enough to fit it, and stepped inside.

Colour. The statue, the totem, had colour. Light. Feeling. Faith. An offering of ink sat in a bowl before his statue, and sandalwood burned, held in a pincer of pewter in a slot at the edge of the shrine.

This was not sharing Yusef’s shrine. This was not a tie on a little girl’s heart. This was for him alone, built with love.

You deserve this Skedi, said Inara. You deserve people to believe in you. She paused. Skediceth.

‘Thank you, Solom,’ said Skedi.

He knew he had been feeling stronger, brighter, bigger, but he had thought that was all to do with the shrine Lessa had added him to on the ship, partaking of offerings to Yusef. But the old archivist, injured and worn as he was, had made good on his promise to make Skedi a home of his own.

He wondered if he had colour like a human, what it would look like now.

If he could weep, whether he would. But he could see the emotion in Inara.

It bloomed around her like the petals of roses, like the dead god Makioron, swirls of ink and paper like Scian – pale and red and peach shades flowing out and blossoming.

Her memories and emotions flowed around her, around him.

Love, and loss, the knowledge that one day they would be parted, and the joy that he had somewhere to be. Somewhere he belonged.

She cried for him, his human.