The Eunuch's Heir (19 page)

“We could fill another palace with such things, Highness Wolfram.”

“We’re just building an observatory back home to mark the locations of the stars.” He hesitated. “What do you know of our Lady Finistrel?”

“But little, Highness. Indeed I should like to hear more.”

“Among my people, we believe that we are made from stardust and earth. When we die, our bodies are burned, to return the dust to the stars. The first star seen through the smoke of the fire is the star where we were born.” He looked at the priest, gratified by the interest in his face. “For us, to
mark the paths of the stars is to know where our ancestors are and who is watching over us.”

“Ah,” Esfandiyar replied. “For us as well, this is a holy place. Our God watches through the eye of the sun, and his Lady through the eye of the moon. The stars are as their many words to us. Each hour and turn of the sky holds great meaning. Some such meanings are inscribed here, and marked by these lights as you have seen. Not only do we read their ideas for us by this, but also shall we know what they hold for us in the future.”

“That’s more than our wizards can do,” Wolfram said, aware of the skepticism creeping into his voice. For all her months here, he doubted Lyssa would have seen this place and wondered what she’d make of it—a monument to the heresies these people practiced. Now Esfandiyar claimed to tell the future with his observations, even as the Woodsmen saw doom in a flight of birds or the cracking of ice on a river. Wolfram chuckled. The stars of his ancestors hid no such secrets.

“Indeed, Highness, and when you have studied a thousand years and more, and devoted your spirit to the power of the Two, such knowledge may be plain to you as well.”

“I don’t mean anything by it, Esfandiyar,” Wolfram said, “but, these paintings are the past. The skies you’re watching don’t change except with the seasons. You must make the same predictions over and over. That’s no great knowledge.”

“Do not affront the Two with your ignorance, Highness Wolfram,” Esfandiyar said. In his Holy Office, the assurance he lacked outside suddenly rang in his voice and posture. “Come!” He hurried Wolfram before him down the crossing path and out to the wall. With the dome arching high over them, Wolfram crouched slightly to avoid brushing the decorations—that would probably be another death-offense, knowing these people. “Here!” Esfandiyar’s arm jabbed upward past Wolfram’s ear. “Do you see the Two?”

Not far above, he saw the edge of an elaborate painting a little off from the path marked by the current round circle.
The figures of the holy couple could be made out, but were very small in relation to an encompassing circle of darkness ringed again by flames rendered in gold.

“The darkness, the light, the sun and moon, Ayel and Jonsha—this is the birth of the Two. And they have promised us they will be reborn! When this place again is marked, then the Two shall return among us and all of their blessings be upon us. Every man shall know their power, and our every enemy they shall smite from the world.”

Wolfram studied the painting, and the intersection of the line of images that contained it with the arc the sun traced as it reached for the next round circle. “Then I don’t see what you’re on about—the sun isn’t anywhere near it. No wonder you’re having so much trouble, if you’re waiting for that mark to bless you.”

“Then you are stupid and wrong! All the skies move, all are changing. When you have watched for two thousand years, then you can know how it is they will change. You can look for the signs, and you shall know the rebirth, as I do, even if the motion shows—” Suddenly he broke off, his face red, beads of sweat forming on his forehead in the stuffy space.

“What?” Wolfram asked eagerly. “What does the motion show?”

Patting his face with a bit of cloth, Esfandiyar backed away, trying to bow despite their awkward positions. “Many pardons,” he said, breathless. “Many, many pardons I must beg of you, Highness Wolfram. I have spoken overmuch, and given offense. Please, you will pardon me. Please.”

Wolfram cursed himself under his breath. Whatever the priest had been about to reveal was gone. All of their mysteries must tie together somehow—this anticipated rebirth and the rumor of war. His head throbbed, but he pressed his fist against the pulse and forced himself to regret instead of anger—anger that would earn him no more favor from this man. “No, the fault is mine. You know better than I what messages the Two have placed in the sky. I was foolish to laugh at you, and at them.”

“No, indeed, Highness Wolfram. Always I am insulting you, and yet I do not intend so. Many pardons I must beg of you.”

Wolfram rolled his eyes in the shadows and took a few careful steps toward the crossway where Esfandiyar waited. “I guess we should both admit our ignorance about each other and leave it at that.”

Stilling the patting motion of his hand, Esfandiyar peered at him, then nodded, and gave a little bow. “Indeed, Highness Wolfram, there is wisdom in you for all that you deny it so.”

“Thank you, Esfandiyar. That’s more than I deserve.”

They watched one another a little longer, then Wolfram glanced up to the wall, where a new mark approached the circular. “Didn’t you say something about eating, not long ago?”

“Yes, indeed, we shall.” He stepped lightly across the path. “Do use caution, Highness Wolfram. Even for those who know it, this is a difficult place.”

“I can see that it would be,” Wolfram agreed, grateful when they had again found their way out of the darkness.

WOLFRAM FOLLOWED
Esfandiyar through a workshop full of busy servants, most of whom were packing strange devices into sturdy crates. Eyeing them, Wolfram noted that some of the brass contraptions resembled those that Dylan used in the new observatory. Parchment scrolls and bark tablets, some of them dark and crumbling, were placed carefully into cases of their own and sealed with wax. The writing on some of the pages even resembled Dylan’s, and Wolfram smiled to think of the same notations used by sky-watchers the world over.

“Are you moving, then?” Wolfram inquired.

“No indeed. I believe that Faedre has mentioned her mission to your country to entreat our countrymen to return. At that time, I shall go as well, to make observations with these instruments.”

“One of my friends works at the new observatory in Lochdale, with instruments a little like these.”

“Ah,” said Esfandiyar, looking over the shoulder of one of the workers.

Sidling around a large crate on the floor, Wolfram felt a twinge across his side and winced. The reminder brought to mind his narrow escape, and he paused. Dawsiir, the guard who had given him twigs to block the doors, deserved some reward of him, and yet there was little to offer. Frowning, Wolfram considered a moment. “Do you have a spare bit of parchment?”

“Indeed, of course.” Esfandiyar procured a square, and a pen carved from a slender bone. “Will you write now?”

“At lunch will be fine.” Wolfram’s stomach growled, and he laughed. “Better than fine, I think.”

While they waited for their meal in a colonnaded balcony overlooking a fountain, Wolfram scratched out a few lines on the page, blowing on them gently to dry the ink. Warm food arrived quickly, and Wolfram observed, “You must have kitchens all over this place.”

“Of working hearths, Highness Wolfram, they number seventeen. A few of these are reserved for the Jeshan or his ladies.”

“Seventeen kitchens! I could get to like that.” He helped himself to a breast of fowl, sticky with honey.

“Indeed, I hope that you one day have that opportunity.” Esfandiyar ate neatly and sparingly, dipping his fingers into scented water after every morsel.

Wolfram slurped juices from his own hands and washed them with a sigh when he could devour no more.

“We shall continue our tour, Highness Wolfram?”

“Of course, as long as we visit the stables at some point.”

Esfandiyar’s eyes shone suddenly white in his dark face. “You do not wish to ride again?”

“No, not today,” Wolfram said, grinning at Esfandiyar’s obvious relief. “I just wanted to talk to one of the men we met there. He has done me a favor I should repay.”

“As you will, Highness.”

Wolfram swore they saw at least a dozen of the kitchens by the time they came to the stables again. Esfandiyar seemed to hope he would forget, but Wolfram’s own sense of direction steered them inevitably the right way despite the priest’s diversions. Dawsiir was brought out, looking a little apprehensive himself at whatever the summoner had told him. He bowed immediately, and kept his eyes upon the ground, though they flickered often to Esfandiyar’s naked feet.

“Will you translate?” Wolfram elicited a reluctant nod. “First tell him he can meet my eyes.”

Hesitantly, the young man did so, and Wolfram smiled, nodding encouragement.

“You have done me a service so great that no treasure may
repay it,” he told Dawsiir, through Esfandiyar’s voice. “So I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t got any treasure anyhow.”

Esfandiyar stumbled through this, and Dawsiir flashed a tiny smile. Evidently, he understood.

Wolfram slipped the rolled parchment from his sleeve. “I am a prince in my own country, for what it’s worth, so I can give you this.” He held out the page, and Dawsiir accepted, glancing briefly at the strange script, then back up, questioning. “If ever you come across the sea, this will tell anyone who reads it that you are my friend, and should be allowed free passage, at least to my own home.” His brow furrowed as he considered what to say. “Some refugees from Hemijrai are not treated well; certainly they aren’t trusted. This writing gives you my protection.”

He waited for the translation, watching Dawsiir’s intent expression, regretting that these few words were all he could offer to a man who had probably saved his life. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more, not here.”

Dawsiir shook his head quickly, clutching the parchment in both hands, and bowed over it. Raising his head again, he beamed, and Wolfram returned it.

Quickly, Esfandiyar said a few more words, and the guard who had found Dawsiir jerked his head back to the stable. Dawsiir said a few words and bowed again before being hurried off to his work.

“He thanks you, and honors you for your gift,” Esfandiyar translated, warily watching them leave.

“For what it’s worth,” Wolfram murmured.

The sky above them showed the orange flare of sunset, and Esfandiyar examined it a moment. “I have said that we shall rejoin your ambassador and our priestesses for the meal, and to see what shall be done, yes?”

“Lead on.”

Back in the courtyard where Wolfram had eaten his first meal in Hemijrai, they found the women waiting. Faedre and Melody sat side by side upon a marble bench while Lyssa paced furiously in front of them. Off to one side, nearly in darkness, Deishima stood in her veils while a servant metic
ulously folded a length of silk and laid it upon the stool and the ground before it so that she might step from her path of leaves. At their appearance, Lyssa stopped short, waiting to pounce until Wolfram had taken a seat not far from Melody.

Lyssa stalked over and planted herself before him. “Tell me you haven’t gotten in any more trouble, please.”

“If I had, the whole palace would know it by now. I never do anything halfway.”

“Good, because I’ve gotten you safely exiled, leaving on the ship tomorrow.”

“What? But that’s not long enough,” Wolfram protested, claws beginning to prickle at his neck. He dropped his voice to a hiss, forcing her to bend toward him. “Haven’t you heard what I’ve been saying?”

“So what evidence did you find today? Is the priest running a whorehouse inside the Quarter?”

“Lyssa, please,” he began, but she straightened away from him.

To his side, Melody turned away quickly, refusing to witness their scene.

“Prince Wolfram, you will be awakened early to ride an elephant back to the docks, like the royalty you are supposed to be. If you’re still here after dawn, they’ll kill you.”

“I can’t just leave.” He pressed a fist to his temple, staring up at her. He itched to grab her and shake her until she understood.

“If you can’t, then other means will be tried.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are the options?”

She set her teeth in a feral grin. “One, you leave of your own accord. Two, I make you.”

“Oh you will?” he spat back at her, feeling ready to take her on despite the nagging sting of leopard clawmarks.

“Don’t make me drag you home in chains, Wolfram,” she murmured, her breath steaming against his face. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do it.” Her uneven breaths caught in her throat, and she turned away, vanishing into the darkness in the direction of her quarters.

Wolfram felt limp, and he did not doubt her. He took a
deep breath, afraid to turn back to Melody and Faedre on their bench. Across the table and a little distant, Deishima’s still figure leaned toward him slightly. She held her braceleted hands palm up upon her lap. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. Strange, how he could see so little of her, could not even see her eyes from here, and yet he found her so compelling. Almost he suspected her Ashwadi, despite her claim that the bracelets would prevent it. He became aware of the hushed steps of servants, the slide of platters onto the low table, then of his own breathing, matching Deishima’s rhythm.

Wolfram shook himself, and Deishima leaned back as a goblet was placed beside her. Settling upon his stool, Wolfram allowed himself to look to Melody and Faedre. The priestess sent her slender, sensuous smile his way, flickering her eyes to Melody with a tiny roll of her shoulder as if to suggest he should forget her. The princess herself stared rigidly ahead, the hard line of her neck and backbone pinning her in place, her hands clenched together, the pendant of Ayel and Jonsha swaying slightly with her careful breaths.

They ate in silence—Deishima only sipping from her goblet—and rose uneasily at the meal’s end. Esfandiyar, turning with Faedre in the direction of their evening ritual, assigned a servant to escort Wolfram back to his room. Wolfram went willingly enough, vowing somehow to wake before Lyssa’s messenger could find him—assuming he slept at all, for dread of the voyage ahead of him. He couldn’t decide which would be worse: to face his mother again, after all he had done; to see his father again, for the first time; or just the days of agony on board ship, wishing he could drown rather than roll belowdecks in his wretchedness. He might rather have faced the leopards after all.

TRUE TO
his fears, Wolfram spent most of the night tossing more than he might even on board the ship. There seemed to be an endless pattering of servant feet outside, and Esfandiyar did not return until very late to chastise the servants for
their furtive movements. At last, Wolfram stripped the cover from the bed and piled it on the floor, curling into the mound and imagining the furs of his place among the Woodmen. He pictured Morra’s round, pleasing face and could almost hear her voice in the murmur of healing song. He finally slept and dreamed of hunting a ghostly boar through the wild, lush trees of Hemijrai.

Even so, his eyes popped open early, and he found his old clothes, neatly laundered, with the rips and worn patches carefully repaired. He dressed and slipped through the curtain of beads into the silent courtyard. Stars hovered in the lightening sky, and the strange trees were shaggy silhouettes. Wolfram searched the ragged leaves—not a single monkey. Curious now, he prowled the perimeter of the yard, looking for where they might sleep, and found no sign of them. He returned to the entrance as the door moved open to admit a bowing servant, who beckoned him along.

The silence persisted until they reached the elephant yard, which teemed with activity. Horses and carts filled the spaces between the huge gray beasts, busily loaded by legions of dark servants. One cart contained the crates full of Esfandiyar’s instruments. Sure enough, the priest himself was overseeing the final strapping of the load. Spotting Wolfram above the crowd, he bowed and grinned, gold gleaming in the early light.

The servant brought him to a pair of elephants, where Lyssa was snapping commands at people who barely understood her. In a wagon not far off stood a tall cage of metal bars, with Faedre’s pet tiger pacing inside. Scenting the wind, it turned its malevolent gaze toward him, opening the great jaws in an eager pant, ears laid back. Wolfram tore his eyes from it and came to stand by Lyssa. “I didn’t realize we were part of a caravan.”

“Nor I. Faedre claims you knew about this plan of hers.”

“I knew she planned to come over someday, when the war was done, she said, to convince her people to come home, but I didn’t expect all this.” He swept a hand over the busy court.

“Gifts for the royal family and wonders of Hemijrai.” Lyssa snorted. “It’s turned into a parade. Wagons have been going to port all night long.”

As their elephants were led to the mounting platform, Wolfram searched the crowd to no avail. “Is Melody coming?”

“Do you jest? She’s Faedre’s new acolyte. I am very glad she’s not my problem; I can’t imagine what Melisande will say.”

“Probably that she’s got too much of her father in her.” Wolfram crossed his arms, watching the elephants sidle up to the stone platform. “I think they’re ready for us.” He led the way, and soon was mounted on a cushioned platform swaying high above the ground. From this vantage, as his driver prodded the beast into motion, Wolfram caught sight of Dawsiir among a small herd of nervous horses. By their delicate bearing and fine color, Wolfram knew these must be royal gifts rather than cart animals. He called down and waved as they passed. He might accept his rightful place again if one of those horses were meant for him. But then he recalled his mother, her consort, and the mistress he had left behind with child. The babe must be born by now. Wolfram shuddered and forced these thoughts aside. Time enough to deal with that. He kept busy watching the countryside, counting the number of children who gathered before their huts to watch the elephants pass, and keeping an eye out for the glint of water or the hint of war.

Lunch this time was packed in a little chest at his side, and he nibbled on the chilled offerings as they rode. A large ship—the same he and Melody had crossed over on—tugged at its moorings and rubbed the stone jetty. Slender and long, the ship boasted four masts banded with iron for strength. The sails now loose upon them were nearly triangular, stiffened by narrow strips of wood and strung about with more ropes than a lady’s tapestry had threads. Hundreds of men swarmed around it, loading the contents of the wagons and settling the finicky livestock. The color and variety of birds in cages astounded Wolfram until he recalled the delicate
wire aviaries in the gardens at Bernholt. Perhaps these were Faedre’s attempt to appease her former mistress. The brightness and exuberance of all involved, far from convincing Wolfram of the riches of their country, left him wondering if it was a vast smoke screen for another plan entirely. This could be the circus meant to engage their attention while darker things moved behind the scenes.

Lyssa, on the other hand, was almost smiling now, especially as she saw the horses herded up a wide plank. She nearly stopped breathing for a moment after that, as a large team of workers struggled to haul a huge block of stone up the same plank. Lyssa approached with caution, gazing up at the pinkish surface, its shady side slightly luminous with the sunlight.

Glowering, Wolfram waited his turn for the passenger’s way. Whatever instinct Lyssa might have had for danger was dulled first by their own argument, and now by the gifts reserved for her. A sailor showed him to a small berth at the stern, more cramped and sloping than the one he’d had before. Wolfram’s body swayed with the roll of the ship, and his stomach began to question the wisdom of having eaten at all. The sailor bowed and strode away, easily matching his walk to the motion. The round window above the bunk alternately showed sea and sky, and Wolfram eyed it before he swallowed his pride and went in search of a bucket to keep him company for the long voyage ahead.