Crown of Smoke Page 3

  “After you,” she insists, pointing the way ahead.

  On the other side, Kip gives me a nod.

  Nisai regards me with gentle eyes. “Are you well?”

  Barden barrels past and envelopes me in a hug. “Stars, Rakel. Almost thought I’d lost you there.”

  I manage something resembling a smile.

  So did I.

  It’s late in the day when we crest a ridge.

  Luz lets out a self-satisfied sigh. “Splendid tidings, my tattered travellers. It’s all downhill from here.”

  I peer ahead. The ground slopes down, sure enough, but there’s nothing else to remark. Everything beneath us is shrouded in thick grey cloud.

  We set out towards the mist, the air growing damper with every step, like the tiniest of raindrops have been suspended mid-fall. Then the fog is clearing or, more to the point, we’re clearing it.

  We’ve been leading our mounts since the pass. Now Barden stops his so abruptly I almost walk into his pony’s rump.

  I squint, but all I can see is jagged rock, ice, snow and smoke-grey sky. “What is it, Bar?”

  “There.” He bends his knees until he’s at my level, pointing almost directly ahead. “Down below. A valley.” Awe laces his voice.

  And then I see it. Far below, so distant my eyes can no longer make out the details.

  A thin smudge of green.

  Life.

  For the first time since the sultis valley, I feel something akin to curiosity. It’s not exactly wonder, but it could be its lesser cousin.

  The way down is the steepest trail I’ve ever walked, even though we switch back and forth across the slope. The first thing that changes is the wind. It’s been our constant companion since we made it higher than the foothills, howling and tearing at us. Now, on the leeward side of the last ridge, it falls quiet.

  Next, the ice begins to melt. It drips from the rock like I’m back in the caves of Trel, where Ash and I found Azered’s bones. Where he first showed me the vulnerability I’d had no idea he masked. When trust started to unfurl between us.

  I take the two sticks of incense from the pocket of my robe. Cypress. The first stage of mourning. Marjoram, the second. Once the others have passed me along the trail, I gently lay the cypress on a ledge beneath weeping icicles. An offering, I suppose. May the mountain remember Ash as I do.

  Moss is the first sign of life. Then small heathers. We pass cliffs sheeted with runoff, more and more gathering until it’s forming tiny waterfalls in the crevices. It’s almost musical, a chorus of liquid voices. I raise the marjoram to my nose and inhale, letting myself remember Ash’s voice. The way he sang at the camp in Edurshai, deep tones – warm as sandalwood and dark as smoke – soaring into the night.

  Soon, shrubs start to appear, roots gnarled as they burrow their way into the thin soil accumulated in the cracked rock. Further still, grass dots the track. The chill recedes from the air and I begin to smell things again: the earth beneath Lil’s hooves, the shy sweetness of a clump of tiny pink wildflowers I’ve never seen the likes of before.

  Flowers. The only time I’ve heard talk of the mountains beyond the Seson Territories is in tales. And those speak of a dead place. Barren. Endless. As if it’s not even real, just somewhere that exists in myth. At the edge of memory. I’ve never had any reason to doubt them until now.

  I push back the hood of my cloak and bend to touch the petals.

  Luz appears at my side. It’s unnerving, the way she can move silently like that.

  “This…” I point to the flower. “How is this possible?”

  “The elevation is so drastically different from the surrounding mountains that it allows for clement temperatures. And you’ve already seen the main source of water – there’s a steady supply of melt even in the dry season. Why wouldn’t it be possible?”

  “The stories I’ve heard of these mountains… They say nothing of this.”

  “Splendid! I and my colleagues take that as the highest of compliments.” Her gaze traces the ridge above us.

  Was that movement? There. The glint of metal. A weapon? Armour?

  “Let me guess: you’re not going to tell me anything about that, are you?”

  “I could spin you a fine yarn, petal. I have bard blood in me. But the Magister has reserved the right to brief you. And the Magister gets what the Magister wants.”

  The Magister. The Order. The Sanctuary. So many ridiculous names. I wonder what my mother thinks of all this. When Father spoke of her, he said she was pragmatic. It was something that first drew him to her. Is this nonsense something she got used to over time? Or did she come to enjoy the secrets and games?

  We resume our trek and I begin to make out more details of what I presume is our destination. Carved from the grey granite of the mountains is a huge circular structure like a wheel laid flat. But before I can make out any more details of the inner part of the stone ring, we’ve descended lower than the line of sight. All I know is it covers a ground area bigger than all other buildings I’ve seen in my life, Aphorain, Ekasyan or anything in between. It makes even the imperial palace and temple complex seem small.

  Nisai is so wide-eyed that I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into how he would have looked turns ago. A boy awed by a grand sight. I never thought I’d live to see something grand enough to wow a Prince.

  We eventually find ourselves looking up at a blank wall that otherwise must be three, four, maybe even five storeys high.

  “Halt,” calls a voice, presumably a guard’s, from a small opening in the wall.

  Luz sighs. “We’re not really going to have to go through this whole performance, are we?”

  The guard, a fierce-looking woman with a square jaw, large brow and hair as grey as the surrounding rock, leans out and glowers down at us.

  “Fine, fine,” Luz says. “Greetings, Stoneleaf. I seek entrance to the Sanctuary of the Primordial Divine on a mission sanctioned by Snowthorn.”

  The guard nods, seemingly satisfied. “Wait where you are. An escort party will be assembled.”

  “I can handle this myself. Just open the gates.”

  “Rules are rules, Sandbloom.”

  I snort laughter despite myself. As if “Snowthorn” and “Stoneleaf” didn’t sound ridiculous enough. “Sandbloom?”

  “An unfortunate ceremonial throwback.” Luz grimaces.

  “Just makes everyone sound like they’ve had smoke blown up their butt.”

  Luz flashes me a smirk. I find myself returning it. That’s a first.

  A grinding noise begins somewhere inside the rock. Then a vertical line appears in the stone. The line becomes a gap and soon two great slabs are rolling back into the walls like sliding gates.

  When they stop, Nisai steps forward, running a hand over the now-flush surface. “What a fascinating mechanism.”

  “Impressive, no?” Luz asks airily, as if merely showing us a new rug.

  The woman called Stoneleaf appears, and with her, several more guards form up around us. They’re all women, unlike the few who served in the Aphorain army, or the presence of Kip in the Rangers. They look formidable. Lean. Skin weathered by the mountain weather. Shoulders seeming all the broader for the grey-and-white fur mantles draped across their shoulders.

  We’re led inside the stone structure to a walled yard. There, more guards move to take our mounts. I hesitate. It’s not like I’m prepared to hand Lil over to just anyone.

  “She’ll be well cared for,” Luz says.

  “She’d better be,” I glower, then stand on tiptoes and give Lil’s bridle a light tug at the same time. She leans her head down, so that I can speak in her ear. “If you smell anything off, I give you permission to bite. Just reserve kicking until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  She bumps me with her nose.

  “Good girl.”

  We’re led down a long hall dimly lit with some sort of greenish fire that transports my mind back to the Library of the Lost. We emerge into a huge
circular chamber, the floor dropping away in stepped terraces towards the centre.

  Opposite the door, the wall is dominated by a giant statue just like the one at the Library. A human-ish figure, seated on a massive but simple throne. Its carved features give nothing about its identity away. Smooth scalp and face, slender limbs, one hand palm up, the other palm down. Barefoot at the base.

  Asmudtag.

  It’s hard to work out what the place is meant to be. Some kind of temple? A huge prayer room? A stage for troupes of players?

  On a platform below the statue, several figures wait. Again, all women. Their robes are all made from the same greenish weave – with some minor variations in design. But there’s nothing else alike about them. Tall, short, heavy, waif-thin. Some as old as the Chroniclers, and others appearing ageless, like Sephine.

  Is one of them my mother? Would I recognize her if it was?

  Luz takes the steps two at a time. When she comes face-to-face with those waiting, she dips a courtly bow.

  Nobody moves.

  Nisai catches my eye, concern etched in his features. I hesitate, then wave him on as if I’m simply making way for him on protocol.

  He takes the hint, and mounts the stairs, Kip beside him. Barden and I follow.

  “Your Imperial Highness,” Luz says in a voice that takes me back to the perfume trials in Aphorai, the way Zakkurus held the crowd enthralled. “First Prince Nisai, heir of Aramtesh, may I introduce you to the currently elected officers of the Order of Asmudtag. Our Procurator, Administrator and Preceptor.”

  “Their what?” I mutter, mostly to myself.

  “Official names for people who get things done, sign off that things got done, and teach people how to get things done.” Nisai’s lips barely move as he whispers back to us.

  “And,” Luz continues, “the current Magister of the Order.”

  “The person who speaks of what should get done,” Nisai murmurs.

  I’m surprised that it’s the youngest-appearing woman who steps forward and bows. As she straightens, I take in her features. My hand goes to my locket. The rest of me freezes, feet locked to the floor.

  “Welcome, our Prince.” She speaks loud enough that it’s obviously not just Nisai’s ears she’s intending to reach. Guess her and Luz are ingredients from the same perfume.

  “On behalf of the elected officers of the Order, may I extend this exceptional invitation to the Sanctuary.”

  Exceptional? Don’t suppose they get many visitors all the way out here. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that Barden and Nisai are the only men we’ve seen since arriving.

  “In the name of the divine Primordial,” she continues, “we pledge to keep you safe from those who organized the attack on your person, whoever their identity may be revealed to be, so that when the time is right you may return to take up your inheritance and maintain balance in the Empire. Please let my people know of anything you require for the comfort of you and your companions.”

  Nisai inclines his head, a gesture I guess is equal to an elegant bow when it’s coming from a prince. “Your hospitality is most appreciated. May I have the honour of your name?”

  “Here, I am known simply as Snowthorn. But before that, I was called Yaita.”

  The square-jawed guard who first greeted us at the Sanctuary entrance clears her throat pointedly.

  “I will not lie to my own kin, Stoneleaf,” Yaita says.

  The guard – if that’s truly what she is – doesn’t hide her disapproval.

  Yaita looks to me and steps forward, a smile of overwhelming warmth now on her face.

  I don’t return it.

  I had tried to imagine what it would be like at the end of this road. But I wasn’t prepared for this, like looking at an older version of my reflection in the oasis pool of home. Dark hair hanging in loose waves past her shoulders in the same way mine did before it was shaved. Eyes the same amber hue as mine, too widely spaced to be considered by many to be pretty. Striking. That’s what she is.

  From when I was a small child, I would lie awake at night and imagine I was talking to my mother. She was always a hazy presence in my imagination, a kind of benevolent glow of a figure. I’d tell her everything, my fears, shames, hopes, dreams. I told her when I first managed to leap a dry stream bed on Lil’s back without tumbling from the saddle. I told her when I’d first noticed Barden sprouting a beard, and even though he’d shaved it just as quickly, I’d noticed he’d started looking at me differently – a look that I didn’t realize at the time would mean that one day he’d hope for something more from me than I could give to him. I told her when I first realized Father had the Rot and how terrified I was of what that meant for him, and, selfishly, for me.

  The woman who stands before me heard none of those things whispered into the night. She may be unsettlingly familiar because of the portrait I’ve worn around my neck since I was a child telling secrets to the dark. She may have once wanted a family. She may have borne me, given me life.

  She may be all of these things. But she’s also something else.

  A stranger.

  “Daughter,” she says, voice thick.

  I’d never quite believed I would be here. And now that I am, I have no words.

  She steps forward, bringing with her the scent of desert rose and smoky incense. Gently, she takes both of my hands in hers.

  I snatch them back.

  Her brow creases, then smooths again. “This must be a confusing, challenging experience, and I imagine you are exhausted. Your animals will be stabled and cared for. You will each have quarters; the Primordial knows that these days we have the space, though it wasn’t always so.”

  The last sets the other Order members to murmuring. I catch a “by Their grace” among the other words.

  “Our menu will be limited compared to what you’re used to, my Prince, though I think you’ll find our cook does an admirable job of balancing taste with sustenance.”

  Among the green-robed attendants, a rosy-cheeked woman, thin as a river reed, stands a little taller, chin a little higher.

  “Please, rest. We shall meet on the morrow. Sandbloom will show you all you need between now and then.”

  Luz dips the same elegant bow and begins to descend the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation, Nisai follows, Kip at his heels. Barden gives me a look that’s part question, part commiseration.

  “Wait!” I can’t believe this. “That’s it? Greeted and dismissed, just like that?”

  The Magister gives a single, slow nod. “Until the morrow.” She smiles again before making her way down the other side of the platform, towards a door opposite the one we entered through.

  Luz retakes the stairs three at a time. Her fingers wrap around my arm.

  I don’t move.

  She bends so that her lips are close to my ear. “Those legs of yours better remember how to walk, petal, unless you want me to sedate you and have your guard friend carry you out of here.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  But if I’ve learned anything about Luz, she would.

  I let her lead me from the chamber.

  Out in the hall, she lets go of my arm. “That went surprisingly well.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “I beg to differ, petal. You mother took a risk. A calculated one, but a risk all the same. It was just as likely they’d call an immediate Conclave. Days of debate just to decide if you could even stay. Judging from what we just saw, though, I expect once the officers have met, they will grant you run of the grounds.” Her tone is now chatty, as if nothing was amiss. “Apart from a few select areas.”

  I sniff the air. “Smell that?”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Just caught a distinct whiff of oh-so-surprised.”

  The eyebrow drops back down. “Lovely to see you’re back to your sweet self. Though yes, as you’re a guest here, it’s natural you won’t have free rein. At least for now. In the meantime,”
she says, her voice rising so the others can hear, “there’s a training ground for those of you who would like to keep your physical skills honed.” Behind me, Barden and Kip murmur to each other.

  “For keeping a sharp mind,” Luz continues, “there is an archive. Not as impressive as the Imperial Library, but I’m sure you’ll discover some interesting texts that you’ll not find in any other collections.”

  Nisai had been keeping his expression mild but his eyes light up at the mention of archives. I remember how Ash wished the Prince could have seen the Library of the Lost with us, how much he loves books and scrolls.

  We’re each given a room along a corridor that’s curved just enough to seem like it’s never-ending. When I’m shown through a thick stone door that somehow moves smoothly on a kind of hinge mechanism, I expect darkness and cool, even chill, air. But there’s a window of faceted glass splaying the sun’s last rays into splotches of rainbow across the wall and floor, the room almost as big as the entire house I grew up in. The air is mild, rich with the scent of clary sage candles, and when I reach out a hand, the smooth stone feels warm.

  “Pleasant, no?” Luz gestures to the light. “The orientation of the complex encompasses the path of the sun and the shadows thrown by the surrounding mountains as the starwheel turns. Now that there are so few of us, we move quarters seasonally. The cold doesn’t have time to penetrate during the night, while the cooling that does occur during the hours of darkness ensures the heat cannot become stifling during the day. We draw lots each time – one quarter a single room cell, the next a suite. It prevents any … unbecoming squabbles.”

  “Everything in balance,” I murmur.

  “For now,” Luz agrees. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the minutiae. You can find my quarters down the hall.”

  “Keeping a close eye on us, then?”

  “As the Magister said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. And I recommend you take up that invitation until we are satisfied that you’re safe to return.”

  “We’re prisoners, then.”

  “Of course not. But I imagine Yaita will be quite disappointed should you decide to vacate prior to meeting with her.”

  “I don’t give a sack of camel scat what she—”