Page 79

CHAPTER

Seventy-Nine

T HE EMPEROR’S LEVIATHAN was a toy boat on the horizon, heading south for Dragon’s Mouth Bay. The fleet followed in its wake. On board their private yacht, Lady Harmony said to her husband, “We must make more of an effort with Havoc when we reach Samra,” and Lord Clarion said, “Yes, we must.” It was a thing they said to each other, from time to time.

Down in the galley, their new servant reached to tug her plaits, before remembering she had cut them off. She put her hand in her pocket and touched the ribbon she’d tucked there. Samra. She’d passed through Samra on her way east across the empire. She had friends there. Benna made friends everywhere.

The Dragon contingent were in the throne room, strengthening the binding spell. A miserable, endless task their queen had given them. Cursed, one might say. Exiled from their home, like the Eight they watched. Guardians of the Guardians.

The binding spell was holding strong, but they chanted it together anyway on their knees. Chanting brought them comfort, if not peace. The Princess Yasila had left them a store of Dragonscale oil to keep the walls secure. Now that the incense burners were gone, and the heavy scent of frankincense and patchouli was fading from the air, the bitter smell was apparent. Little wonder Shimmer Arbell had seen visions, transported by her own genius to the Hidden Realm. She’d had no idea her paint had been laced with it, seeping into her skin as well as into the walls. Day after day, it had urged her on to fulfil her greatest desire: to create a masterpiece that would last through the ages.

Unwittingly, she had built our cages.

Bound inside our portraits, we suffer. The Eight Guardians of Orrun. Seven times we came to save the world. The Eighth time…

We will destroy it. Tiger, trapped into the door.

If we hold very still, and concentrate very hard, we can speak a few words to each other.

We, the Raven, call up to the Dragon on the ceiling. We are sorry, Dragon. We failed you .

Though to be fair (we think, but do not say), perhaps if you had specified which Tiger warrior you wanted us to stop… Not that we are complaining, or abrogating our responsibility, but a name might have helped. Or a nudge in the right direction, at the very least. This is the problem with being numinous and enigmatic. Mystique is a wonderful thing, no doubt, but look where it has brought us.

I too am sorry , Tiger says, which is a bit of a first. Andren was mine. Rivenna was mine.

There is a long, long silence, while the Dragon thinks its thoughts. We feel a warmth spread through us, soothing the relentless pain of our confinement. And in our heads the Dragon speaks, not with its grand and echoing voice, but gently, with forgiveness:

ALL IS AS IT MUST BE.

To the east, beyond the Garden at the Edge of the World, Nisthala stepped out on to the deck of her Leviathan, and was pleased by what she saw. Shal Worthy had inspected every inch of the ship before he had let her board.

She lifted her bare arms, enjoying the sun on her skin. The bliss of being warm at last. Let her father shiver in the winter of the old capital. On Helia it was never cold. “We’re going home,” she said, to her mother.

Yasila smiled, faintly.

Nisthala’s face fell. “You’re not happy.”

“I’m happy for you. That is all that matters.”

Nisthala, who adored her mother, gave her a hug. “You will feel better once we are settled.” She was a queen now. It sounded almost like a command.

Yasila drew back. “Where are your beads? Have you lost them?”

The wooden necklace Nisthala had worn for so many years was missing from her throat. She touched the emerald sunk into her forehead. “They didn’t match. I’ll find something more suitable among Helia’s treasures. More befitting a queen,” she said, and laughed at herself. When her mother didn’t react, she said, “They were children’s beads, Mama, they barely fit me.”

“We must plan something special for your birthday,” Yasila said, finding a subject they would both enjoy. Nisthala would turn sixteen soon. At which time, as a direct descendant of the Empress Yasthala, she could take the title of princess. Not that she would, now that she was queen.

They talked of what they might do, whether they might reach Helia in time. “Imagine if I arrived on the day itself,” Nisthala said. As always she had a sense of herself beyond herself, as an historical figure, like her ancestor Yasthala. Fate-driven, a myth in the making. And so it came to pass, that Queen Nisthala touched the earth of Helia for the first time, on the day she turned sixteen… “We must arrive on the day,” she decided.

The crew pulled the anchor and set sail. The sun sparkled on the water. Dolphins arced from the waves, swimming alongside the boat. Another image to add to the myth—a future subject for a tapestry, perhaps.

Nisthala talked, and Yasila remembered. Ruko had made that necklace. They’d had no money left for Kind Festival presents that year. He’d turned the beads himself on a lathe at school, carving the tiny sigils of the eight into the wood. Ruko had always been good with his hands. Yasila remembered him sitting on the rickety staircase outside their grid apartment in Armas, threading the beads on to the wire. She remembered him holding it up and saying, “What do you think? Will she like it?” Smiling. Her son smiling up at her. She couldn’t remember her reply.