Amphipteres were vicious Draconic creatures without limbs. They had strong jaws, and were said to shake their prey like poppets until they were too weak to run.
“I would have retrieved his remains, but I was attacked the moment I ventured too close. I said the necessary prayers.”
“Thank you.”
“Despite appearances, I am still faithful to the Saint. And he needs us now, Lord Arteloth.” The Donmata placed a hand on his forearm. “Will you do as I ask?”
He swallowed. “What of Lord Kitston?”
“He can remain here, and I will watch over him. Or he can go with you—but he must be afflicted, too.”
Even the Knight of Fellowship would not expect Kit to do this for him. He had already done too much.
“Will Fyredel see through me?” Loth asked.
“No. You will have the usual kind of plague,” she said. “I have tested the theory.”
He elected not to ask how. “Surely there are others in the palace who are loyal to the Saint,” he said. “Why not send one of your own servants?”
“I trust only Priessa, and her disappearance would raise alarm. I would go myself, but I cannot leave my people without a sane Vetalda. Even if I am powerless to save them, I must stay and do what I can to undermine Fyredel.”
He had misjudged the Donmata Marosa. She was a true woman of Virtudom, imprisoned in the shell of a home she must once have loved.
“It is too late for me, my lord,” she said, “but not for Virtudom. What has happened here in Yscalin must not be allowed to happen elsewhere.”
Loth looked away from those fire-opal eyes, to the patron brooch on his doublet. Two hands joined in affinity. The self-same twine of fingers that graced a love-knot ring.
If the Knight of Fellowship were here, Loth knew what she would do.
“If you consent,” the Donmata said, “I will take you back to the Flesh King, and you will lay your hands on him. Then I will show you the way out of Yscalin.” She rose. “If you refuse, I advise you to prepare yourself for a long life in Cárscaro, Lord Arteloth Beck.”
20
East
While the other sea guardians celebrated the end of the trials in the banquet hall, Tané lay exhausted in her quarters. She had not emerged since her fight with Turosa. A surgeon had cleaned and stitched her shoulder, but moving drained her, and the throb was ceaseless.
Tomorrow, she would find out if she was to ride.
She gnawed the nail on her little finger until she tasted blood. If only for something less painful to do with her hands, she found her copy of Recollections of the Great Sorrow. The book had been a gift from one of her teachers for her fifteenth birthday. It had been some time since she had opened it, but its illustrations would distract her.
Close to the twelfth hour, when the song of the tree crickets was swelling outside, she was still awake, reading.
One image portrayed a Seiikinese woman with the red sickness. Her hands and eyes were crimson. On another page were the fire-breathers. Their bat wings had frightened Tané when she was fifteen, and they still gave her a chill. The next image showed the people of Cape Hisan standing on the coast, watching a great battle. Dragons twisted and thrashed among the waves. Their jaws snapped at the demons as they rained fire upon Seiiki.
The final image showed the comet that had come on the last night of the Great Sorrow—Kwiriki’s Lantern—weeping meteors into the sea. The winged demons fled from it, while the dragons of Seikii rose from the waves, painted in coin-bright silvers and blues.
A knock interrupted her reflections. Tané shifted painfully to her feet. When she slid open the door, she found Onren, clad in a dark green robe, hair bedecked with salt flowers. She was holding a tray.
“I brought supper,” she said.
Tané stood aside. “Come in.”
She returned to her bedding. Her candles had burned low, stretching every shadow. Onren set the tray down, revealing a small feast. Tender cuts of sea bream, bean curd rolled in roe, and salt-pickled kelp in a fragrant broth, as well as a jar of spiced wine and a cup.
“The honored Sea General let us taste his famous sea-aged wine,” Onren said with a brief smile. “I would have saved you some, but it ran out almost as quickly as it arrived. This is a touch less special”—she poured from the jar—“but it might dampen your pain.”
“Thank you,” Tané said. “It was kind of you to think of me, but I never had a taste for wine. You have it.”
“The trials are over, Tané. You can let go. But … I suppose I could use it.” Onren knelt on the mats. “We missed you at the banquet hall.”
“I was tired.”
“I thought you might say that. Not to insult you, but you look as if you haven’t slept in years. And you’ve earned a rest.” She picked up the cup. “You did well against Turosa. Perhaps the bastard’s finally realized that he is not so high above the peasants he despises.”
“We are not peasants now.” Tané studied her. “You look worried.”
“I think I lost the chance to ride today. Kanperu fights as well as he—” She sipped the wine. “Well.”
So she had fought Kanperu. Tané had been taken to the surgeon before she could see the other trials.
“You excelled on all the other days,” Tané reminded her. “The honored Sea General will judge us fairly.”
“How do you know?”
“He is a rider.”
“Turosa will be a rider tomorrow, yet he has spent years picking on those of us who came from peasant stock. I heard he beat a servant once for not bowing low enough. Either of us would have been exiled from the Houses of Learning for behaving that way … but blood still holds power.”
“You do not know that he will be a rider just because of that.”
“I wager you all I own that he will.”
Silence fell. Tané picked at the bean curd.
“I was scolded once, when I was sixteen, for gambling in the city,” Onren said. “Because it was disreputable, I was barred from lessons and told I would have to earn back my place in the East House. I was scrubbing the outhouses for the rest of the season. Meanwhile, Turosa can almost murder a servant and have a sword in his hand a few days later.”
“Our learnèd teachers had their reasons. They understand the true meaning of justice.”
“Their reason was that he is the grandson of a rider, and I am not. And that will be their reason tomorrow if I am cast off in favor of him.”
“That will not be the reason,” Tané bit out.
It had leaped from her tongue before she could catch it, like a slippery fish eluding her grasp.
Onren raised her eyebrows. The silence hung, an unstruck bell, as Tané wrestled with herself.
“Come, Tané. Speak your mind.” Onren raised a cautious smile. “We are friends, after all.”
It was too late now to take it back. The trials, the outsider, her exhaustion and guilt—all of it came together violently, like bubbles in boiling water, and Tané could no longer hold it in.
“You seem to think that if you are not made a rider tomorrow, it will not be through any fault of yours,” she heard herself say. “I have worked every day and night during our time here. You, in the meantime, have shown no respect. You arrive late to your trials, in front of the Miduchi. You spend your nights in taverns when you ought to be practicing, then wonder why you fight poorly against your opponent. Perhaps that will be the reason that you do not become a rider.”
Onren was no longer smiling.
“So,” she said curtly, “you think I don’t deserve it. Because … I went to the tavern.” She paused. “Or is it because I went to the tavern and still outperformed you in the knife trial?”
Tané stiffened.
“Your eyes were bloodshot that morning. They still are. You stayed up all night practicing.”
“Of course I did.”
“And you resent me because I didn’t.” Onren shook her head. “Balance is necessary in all things, Tané—it does not equate to disrespect. This position is the chance of a lifetime, and not to be squandered.”
“I know that,” Tané said, her tone clipped. “I only hope that you do, too.”
At this, Onren smiled thinly, but Tané glimpsed the hurt in her eyes.
“Well,” she said, rising, “in that case, I had better leave you. I have no wish to drag you down with me.”
As quickly as the anger had brimmed inside Tané, it cooled. She sat very still, her hands pressed on the bedding, trying to swallow the tang of shame. Finally, she rose and bowed.
“I apologize, honorable Onren,” she murmured. “I should not have said any of that. It was inexcusable.”
After a pause, Onren softened. “Forgiven. Truly.” She sighed. “I have been worried about you.” Tané kept her gaze down. “You have always worked hard, but throughout these trials, it seems to me as if you have been punishing yourself, Tané. Why?”
When she spoke like that, it was like having Susa again. A kind face and an open mind. Just for a moment, Tané was tempted to tell Onren everything. Perhaps she would understand.
“No,” she said at last. “I have only been afraid. And tired.” She sank back onto the bedding. “I will be better tomorrow. When I know my fate.”
Onren laughed at that. “Oh, Tané. You make it sound as if the jailhouse is the alternative.”