Crown of Smoke Read online

  For once, she thankfully doesn’t object.

  We set off in the opposite direction to the Aphorain guards, heading for the main boulevard back to the market. Our best chance is to lose the Rangers in a crowd.

  The two shnik-shnik players have abandoned their game and done a remarkable job of closing the distance between us. Definitely Rangers.

  I quicken my stride, voicing apologies as I jostle through the press of bodies. Back in the market square, I change direction sharply, checking over my shoulder that I’ve not lost Ami in the process. She follows nimbly.

  When I turn back, I’m nose-to-nose with a live sandsquab seller. I toss the boy a silver coin and unlatch the cage, sending the birds fluffing and clucking into the crowd. Curses and cries of surprise erupt behind us and we duck lower, doubling back to a tight lane off the plaza.

  Once out of line of sight, we break into a run until we’re one, two, three turns closer to the nearest city gate. We pause, trying to catch our breath. My ears strain for the sound of pursuit. Nothing.

  And then we’re back into a main thoroughfare leading out of the city. I chance another look behind. Four Rangers argue with twice as many Aphorain guards. The locals aren’t budging. I’m not about to stick around to see how long they can hold out.

  We slip through the gate.

  It’s a tense walk to the trader camp outside Aphorai City’s walls, but the guard seems to have spoke true. Esarik’s emergency coin stretches to an old nag of a camel for Ami to ride. Walking beside the beast, it’s an effort not to constantly check over my shoulder.

  Clear of the city, my thoughts soon turn to what we’ll do once our supplies run out. Beg? Hire myself out as a mercenary? Sooner or later I’ll be recognized and…

  I shift my focus to the heat of the day, grounding myself in the here and now. It’s as hot as the five hells combined, but I don’t mind. After moons cooped up in a cell, being able to use my body still feels a welcome freedom.

  The route to the oasis is near deserted. When we were travelling together, Rakel used to lament how her village was “on the road to nowhere”. I thought she was at least in part speaking figuratively, but it seems it wasn’t an exaggeration. We eventually pass one man and his young son with a trio of camels loaded with trade packs, but see no other signs of human life.

  At camp that evening, we hear nothing but the occasional insect. It’s a still night, and though there’s a chill to the desert air without the sun, it’s not unpleasant. I take first watch. The last time I was out here, Rakel and I travelled by the stars. I’d forgotten how incandescent they were. What I would do for a prayer braid and the holy oils for each of the gods. If ever they would heed a prayer, surely it would be under a sky such as this.

  Merciful Azered. Guide me back to her?

  I let Ami sleep until a few hours before dawn. We travel in the cool of the morning, take refuge at highsun until the late afternoon. It’s dusk when we come in sight of the mud houses surrounding an oasis pool like a herd of livestock gathering around the shore to drink. There’s the rock fig trees that Rakel used to speak about, and the huge boulder, bigger than any of the dwellings, at one edge of the water. At first glance I think its dotted with paint until I realize the splotches are pale-shelled tortoises soaking up the last warmth.

  “How do we know which house is hers?” Ami drags her sleeve across her brow.

  “I know there was rosemary growing at the door.”

  “That won’t be sufficient to narrow it down here. What other details did she give you?”

  Her studious approach reminds me once again of Esarik, of how they would have been together if they had full lives stretching out before them. Now we all bear the burden of unrealized possibility. Because of me.

  I scan each of the dwellings. They may be of simple mud brick, but they’re well kept, an aspect of most Aphorain architecture I failed to notice last time I visited the province. Most have clay urns spilling over with herbs at their front stoops, some have roses climbing over the doors.

  “There.” I point to where a broad-shouldered man lunges a horse, a huge grey with swirled markings like clouds or smoke, in a circular corral. One hand holds a lead rope in a relaxed grip, the other a switch he’s lightly bouncing behind the horse’s rump with the cadence of its hoofbeats. There’s a crutch underneath his arm and his leg is bandaged at the knee but he carries himself upright. A soldier’s bearing.

  Rakel’s father. Surely.

  I nod to Ami and set out across the dust.

  The man doesn’t indicate he’s noticed our approach, instead finishing up with the horse, and pouring grain into the animal’s feed trough. He disappears between the house and the mudbrick stable.

  Ami and I continue to the front door of plain and solid wood. I give it a polite rap with my knuckles.

  Nothing.

  I try again.

  Still nothing.

  “Hello,” I call.

  There’s no answer. Where could he have gone?

  I try knocking again, this time with the heel of my hand. I’m rewarded with a hollow thud and not much else.

  “See if it’s open,” Ami suggests from behind me.

  “I’m not about to play thief.”

  “You seemed quite comfortable rowing off with someone’s boat.”

  “This is different,” I snap, instantly regretting it. I close my eyes and exhale. I can’t let my irritation get the better of me, or I’ll just be fulfilling Ami’s expectations and driving the wedge further.

  I try the door handle.

  It opens.

  “Hello?” I push the door open a little further. Nothing. I take one step, and then another over the stoop.

  A flurry in the shadows. The door slams behind me. I’m pinned against the wall, a wooden bar – is that a crutch? – against my throat, and the point of a knife hovering mere inches from my eyes.

  “Can I help you, traveller?” The thickly accented Aphorain voice is politeness laced with menace.

  “I hope so, sir.”

  The knife point dips a fraction at the honorific, then steadies.

  “You have a daughter?” I enquire. “Rakel?”

  He smiles a smile that would almost be convincing if I couldn’t see his eyes. “Think you’ve got the wrong house. I live alone. Unless you count the gelding, and a couple of colts.”

  I don’t blame him for lying. I could be anyone. A Ranger. A mercenary looking for a bounty on the girl who “poisoned” the Prince in case it’s still on offer. But I’m sure this is Rakel’s father. She has his chin, his high forehead. And I’m now witnessing close up how she knows how to hold a knife. While I’m fairly confident I could get out of this situation alive – even in this close space it couldn’t be too hard to unbalance him – I’m not sure I could do it without losing an eye.

  “My apologies,” I begin, trying not to go cross-eyed at the blade. “I should have introduced myself. My name is Ashradinoran. I served in First Prince Nisai’s household.”

  “And I’m the Eraz of Aphorai. I suggest you be on your way, son.”

  I’m going to have to prove myself. Swiftly.

  “Your daughter has a black horse named Lil that you gave her on her twelfth turn day.”

  The tip of the knife wavers in front of my nose.

  I plough on. “She wears a silver locket etched in stars, holding a portrait of her mother, who died not long after her birth – she thinks it’s her fault. When she was young, she used to get overwhelmed by the mix of scents in the marketplace, so you would carry her out of there on your shoulders.”

  Now it’s his expression that wavers.

  My words come thick and fast. “She has a temper fit for royalty, and a tenacity I’ve never seen the likes of before or since. In the name of that refusal to give up, she once stole something from you in order to try to help you – your cylinder seal. And she has a birthmark on her upper thigh, a pale patch about the size of an imperial standard coin.”

 
The knifepoint presses back against my throat. I press back against the wall.

  Who in his right mind tells a girl’s father that he knows she has a birthmark on a part of her she never shows in public?

  “I, ah, I meant nothing untoward, sir. Please. Let me show you I am who I say. May I remove my head covering?”

  He doesn’t forbid me, so I move my hand slowly, carefully, aware of every pulse of blood in my veins. Finally, I push back my headwrap and the desert cloak from my shoulders, revealing my tattoos.

  The knife lowers in time with a whistle through his teeth. Just the way Rakel does when she’s stunned or impressed. Sweet mother Esiku, even his mannerisms remind me of her.

  I replace the wrap. “You look like you’ve seen a shade, sir.”

  “They said you were dead. They believe you’re dead.”

  “They?”

  “Everyone. Your Prince. Her.”

  “She was here?”

  The door handle opens. He raises his knife again. “Ah, Hab, is it?” Ami peeks around the frame. “My name is Ami, I work – used to work – in the imperial Library. For what it might be worth to you, Ash is who he says he is.”

  I give her a grateful smile. She doesn’t owe me any assistance.

  Hab inclines his head. “You’d better come inside.”

  He leaves his crutch by the door, moving about the house with an ease of someone who knows every angle and the distance between every wall, nimbly leveraging the sideboard and table as balancing aids.

  “I have some kormak, if you take it?”

  “Would I ever,” Ami says, sinking on to a rug-covered bench. “I haven’t felt truly awake in an age.”

  I shake my head. I’ve not had kormak for turns, and I don’t intend to start again any time soon. Especially since I haven’t had Linod’s in weeks, and I’m not yet sure of the consequences of Zostar’s tests. The last thing I need is a stimulant upsetting my equilibrium. “No, thank you. Some water, though, would be appreciated.”

  While he fetches the drinks, I take the chance to look around the room. There’s no overt signs that this man was a soldier, though there are subtler clues, if you know where to look. It’s tidy to a regimented degree. A linen cloth covers the table, the sharp creases of neat folding still running across the weave. The floor has been swept so meticulously you could probably come to no harm eating your meal off it. Ornamentation is minimal, and each utilitarian item is neatly stowed on a shelf or hook, the incense burners polished to a shine. A place for everything and everything in its place.

  And through the doorway into a darkened room, the gleam of a bronze Province Army officer’s sword mounted on the wall.

  “I’m afraid it’s not hot,” Rakel’s father apologizes as he returns with a mug for Ami. “I only light the fire once a day when it’s just me here.”

  “Kormak is kormak is kormak.” Ami smiles, and takes a gulp, sighing with pleasure.

  When we’re all seated, I cut straight to the point. “Sir, you said they thought I was dead. Please, tell me what you know?”

  He smiles wryly. “Know wouldn’t be a truthful word for this moment. The only thing I’m sure of is there are much bigger forces at play than I’m privy to, lad.”

  I nod gravely. “Bigger than all of us.”

  “Your Prince and my daughter, they came by here, true. Both were shaken up. I felt for your Prince – I know what it’s like to adjust to walking aids, and he was tired.”

  “Walking aids? He’s…”

  My chest aches. The poison. I don’t know why I assumed it would have no lasting effect, and yet I’d pictured Nisai to have gone back to exactly as I’d last seen him before that night the dahkai plantation burned.

  I regard Rakel’s father from the bench opposite. I can’t help but let my eyes stray to his bandaged leg. What would it be to lose a limb? Rakel said he had lied about his condition, back when it had just started. Would I have done the same? Trying to cover up a dark secret, a secret that could hurt others?

  Time has already told. I’d have done exactly the same thing.

  Hab looks down into his cup, turning it one way, then back the other, as if he’s working towards a decision. “They were taken somewhere safe. I trust that. But I was not given any further details. For their protection, you see.”

  He looks me straight in the eye, with that soldier-to-soldier manner.

  And knowing he speaks the truth makes it all the more frustrating.

  I’m tempted to close my fist around the glazed cup of water, crushing it to shards. If they bit into my palm, all the better. The cleansing fire of pain and anger would be welcome.

  Instead, I set the cup down with exaggerated gentleness.

  “I understand. At the barracks, I told them I was seeking a horse breeder.”

  “Under the guise of looking to buy a mount? Can you even ride, lad?”

  I lift my chin. “Rakel taught me.” Truth be told, I was wary of the beast to the point of fear before that. But no need to mention that.

  He grimaces, almost as if he’s hurt.

  “You have concerns?”

  “Only in that now, if we want your ruse to hold, I’ll have to gift you a horse.”

  I scratch my beard.

  “And would a razor be stretching the friendship?”

  *

  I promised Ami I’d take her to the Library of the Lost.

  I’m a man of my word. Though I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to atone for Esarik’s death, it’s the least I can do. We’ll be quick, and I’ll return to Rakel’s father’s – it’s the likeliest place for now that I’ll hear any news. And if none is forthcoming, it’s as good a place as any to figure out a plan. I may not be able to show my face in Ekasya, but there must be another way to keep my promise to Mish and Del and the other captives beneath the Mountain.

  If I thought the trail to Rakel’s village was rarely trodden, the several days’ ride to the Library – this time not a desperate night flight – is deserted. There’s no footprint, not human nor animal. It could be another world. A dead world.

  When Ami and I finally locate the edge of the vast ravine system, I scramble up the scree to reach the closest apex. Over to the west, the gorge carves a familiar pattern, each branch laid out in the distinctive shape that was outlined by the stars on Rakel’s locket. I’d considered that image so intently it feels like it’s seared into my memory.

  “Would you go first?” Ami asks. “I’m not good with heights.”

  “Of course.” It’s the first time she’s asked something of me since we fled Ekasya. I daren’t hope it’s a first step on the path to forgiveness, but it’s better than open hostility.

  We pick our way carefully down the slope, managing the first part without too much incident. Ami’s complexion takes on a green-white cast, her lips pressed in a thin line, but otherwise she seems to be able to function. Until we approach a particularly tight switchback where the semblance of a path has crumbled away. It’s not a huge gap, I could cover it with a jump, but for Ami it would be the leap of a lifetime.

  She shakes her head. “There must be another way.”

  Frustration flares in me. It threatens to darken into anger before I rein it in with considerable effort. Not for the first time, I long for the detached calm bestowed by a dose of Linod’s elixir. I scan the canyon walls. We’re around a third of the way down, perhaps moving closer to half. There might be other paths further along the gorge, but none within sight.

  We backtrack to the top of the gorge. Hours later, we find another route to descend. Hours more, we find ourselves down where we needed to be in the first place.

  On the canyon floor, it’s cool and hushed. I let Ami take a brief respite then try to retrace the steps Rakel and I took moons ago. But I only end up at a dead-end, the way blocked with drifts of sand half as high as the rock walls that hem us in.

  I look to Ami. “We have to leave our mounts.”

  She eyes the sand drift, then tilts h
er chin to where the cliffs meet the sky. “I’d rather take my chance with that than those heights again.”

  Wading through the sand is hard labour. In some places we sink to our knees, others the sand rises even further. The cliffs above us shudder, and suddenly the sand seems like it’s alive, shifting and ebbing like it’s attempting to consume us. Ami grabs for my hand, and we steady each other. We hurry on, sweat beading both our brows. It was only one of Aphorai’s frequent tremors, but the last thing I want is to be caught here in a full-blown groundshake.

  Persistence pays, and we finally find the outer concealed entrance to the Library’s seemingly dead-end canyon. The rubble and debris that could be easily assumed to be from the rare floods after torrential rain ends up marooned in a tangled mess, masking what lays behind.

  Ami looks on, a dawning sense of wonder lighting her features. “How did you find this the first time?”

  “We had a map. Of sorts. From the Aphorain Scent Keeper. Seems that woman had been playing a longer game than any of us realized. Her and who knows who else.”

  “Scent Keeper?” Ami scoffs. “They’ve been perpetuating reckless methods since the Empire was founded.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “They directed you here, didn’t they?”

  I study her for a long moment. I’d wager she speaks the truth. Yet it feels as if she’s also hiding something. I’m sure of that as much as I’m sure the moons wax and wane. And who is to blame for that? She’s lost the heart of any reason to trust me.

  We thread single file through the narrow gap in the rock to the enclosed canyon behind. There’s a lone boulder near the centre – the one I shifted to counterbalance Rakel’s weight when she rushed for the entrance. Ami, in contrast, waits behind. Perhaps she’s unsure, or perhaps she’s still just keeping her wary distance from me.

  “There’s a trick to this,” I explain. “You have to navigate across the correct stones or…” I gesture to the bleached white skulls at the base of the canyon walls. “Your Chronicler friends don’t welcome visitors.”

  “The preservation of knowledge must take precedence.”

  “Over human life? So it’s ignoble to eat animals, but it’s fine to kill people to keep some dusty scrolls a secret?”