Page 30

CHAPTER

Thirty

T HE IMPERIAL SUITE WAS , without a doubt, the finest residence on the island. Perched at the top of the Dragon palace, the lower floor housed the apartment’s kitchens, storerooms and servants’ quarters. The larger top floor was divided into two identical wings, connected by an inner courtyard. Nothing could match it in size, location or quality, which was why every emperor and empress of Orrun since Yasthala had chosen to live there.

Until Bersun the Brusque, the reluctant emperor. Too opulent for him, too refined. He felt like a real bear blundering about the place, he broke a priceless chair the first time he sat down on it. As for the panoramic views, they only reminded him how far away he was from home. Two thousand miles—an empire away. After a week he’d said, gruffly, “This is no good,” and moved to an apartment within the inner sanctum, in easy reach of the throne room. He had lived there ever since.

With the emperor out of the way, Lord Clarion and Lady Harmony had snatched up the west wing of the suite, paying an astronomical rent for the privilege. Yaan Rack took the east wing and almost threw himself off it when the Hounds came for him. As they dragged the old man down the stairs at knifepoint, they’d passed the emperor’s mistress, the Lady Kara Kandraga 11 heading up the other way, clutching a handful of swatches and a measuring tape. Lady Kara, the emperor’s official consort, was entitled to charge her extensive renovations to the treasury. When Vabras saw the bill he’d said, “Perhaps we executed the wrong person,” and no one could tell if he was joking.

This was how things stood until the Princess Yasila had returned to court with her daughter Nisthala. The young girl was sick, some sort of lethargy, or seizures, or a weak heart, no one really knew the truth of it. The emperor had written to Yasila. You must bring her to court, madam— somewhere between a plea and a command. She will be safe here, under our care.

And privately to Vabras, clutching his arm, haunted. “I cannot lose another one. We must do everything to save her, Vabras. Whatever they need.”

What they needed, as it turned out, was the imperial suite. Both wings. And complete privacy. These had been Yasila’s conditions. She would bring her own servants, an elderly male couple who had worked faithfully at the Majan estate since her grandfather’s day.

A few courtiers caught a glimpse of Nisthala on her arrival. A thin, pallid thing, shivering in her woollen cloak despite the mildness of the day. She was too weak to climb the nine flights of stairs to the imperial suite. The emperor carried her up in his arms, Yasila trailing behind like a living ghost. Then one more flight, to the courtyard. Nisthala disappeared inside, still shivering. “You may leave us,” Yasila said to the emperor, and that was that.

Seven years passed. Yasila rarely left the suite. Nisthala never left it at all. Once a month the emperor was allowed up to visit, for one hour. He would not be drawn on these meetings. Only once, he said to Vabras, in front of a guard, “She’s an odd little creature. But that’s to be expected, I suppose.” The line had escaped out into the wild. “Odd little creature, apparently.” The guard fell from a window shortly afterwards.

Was the girl still sick? If so what ailed her? Could she never come down? She must be what, fifteen now? Almost sixteen, almost grown up. It seemed cruel to keep her locked away like that. Unnecessary.

Was she even alive? People wondered.

Seven years. And now Cain and Neema were on their way, imperial passes in hand. The emperor had made Yasila a promise, but the murder of a contender took precedence. She must allow them in to her home, her sanctuary.

Let us fly there now—a few minutes early, the Dragon will permit that much. Come with us, up through the palace, look there’s Neema on the stairs, long limbs and tight black curls, Raven sigil on her chest. Cain at her side. Don’t tell them this, but they are a handsome couple, somehow more handsome together than apart. They make sense: two sides of the same pendant. Moving well together with their matching strides, hands almost touching.

They have another three flights to climb, but we shall take a shortcut through this open window. Up and out, wings pulling us high into the sky above the palace, the sea stretching on to the horizon. Far below we see the two wings of the imperial suite, and the courtyard between, with its potted trees and wooden fountain. We swoop down again to land on an olive branch. Curl our black claws tight, and watch.

Yasila has put on an old outfit from her days living as a Commoner in the grids—a plain cotton tunic and trousers. No make-up, no jewellery, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A snub for her visitors, when they arrive. While she waits, she sweeps the courtyard’s ancient mosaic floor, laid in the time of her ancestor Yasthala. She is angry about the coming intrusion, she is angry about many things. The sweeping calms her. Once or twice she lifts the broom and it becomes a staff, a weapon—she turns and spins and drops like a seasoned warrior, supple moves she learned by spying on the Dragons as a child and has made her own. Shift, turn, strike. These last seven years of seclusion have afforded her thousands of hours to practise; she is now a master.

A final turn and twist of the broom as she spins a circle.

My daughter is safe. She is protected. No one will take her from me. That will never, ever happen again.

She comes to a stop. She thought she sensed… eyes upon her. She looks up to the olive branch where we are perched, watching her. There is nothing there. No sound in the courtyard, except for the gentle flow of water in the wooden fountain.

She says, in a soft but defiant voice, “ No one will take her from me.”

And returns to her sweeping.

Footnote

11 . Often referred to as The Long-Suffering Lady Kara, as if she’d had the title bestowed on her in a grand ceremony. Here, she is a footnote. But if this were a tale about picnics, and interior design, and looking the other way when the killing starts, Lady Kara would be our heroine.