THE ECHOES OF the dinner bells had long since quieted by the time I entered the banquet hall. I had planned to arrive after Lusha, so as to be the one everybody would stare at when I swept dramatically into the room. But, to my annoyance, my sister wasn’t there yet. The few people who glanced up at my arrival soon looked away again, unimpressed.
I gazed around, momentarily overwhelmed. Father had spared no expense in welcoming the Royal Explorer to Azmiri. So many villagers had shown up that they spilled into the yard, where a roaring bonfire provided relief from the mountain cold. Guests lounged on bamboo benches that lined the stone-paved hall, or crowded around the central hearth, drinking raksi. The wooden pillars that held up the high, flat roof were adorned with brightly patterned tapestries, which, combined with the murals, gave the room a colorful, chaotic appearance. Dragons threaded their way sinuously through the crowd or perched on stone shelves that lined the walls, suffusing the hall with a shifting glow as they begged alternately for scraps and ear rubs from sympathetic guests. Because they were so costly to breed and maintain, Father liked to have as many dragons around as possible when trying to impress important guests. This, however, was more than I had ever seen in one place. Father must have borrowed some for the occasion from other villagers. Guests waded cautiously through the sea of scales and flickering light, nudging aside the beasts with their feet.
I had never seen anything like it.
A nervous shiver traveled down my spine. For a moment, I wondered what I was doing. River Shara was the most powerful man in the emperor’s court, and the hero of so many fireside stories it was sometimes difficult to believe that a living version of him existed. He was known for his ability to climb mountains like a snow leopard, find uncanny routes to safety through enemy lands, and hike for days over grueling terrain without wearying. What he was not known for was either patience or sympathy. It was said that when one of his assistants betrayed him, he had hunted the man down, stripped him of his clothes, and left him tied to a tree in a frozen mountain pass.
But I knew I would never have another chance like this. Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the sea of chattering guests.
“Kamzin!” It was Litas, one of the village boys. “Is it true? You met River Shara?”
“I saw him land, but—”
It was the wrong thing to say. Three of Litas’s friends pressed close, their eyes wide. “How big was the balloon?” said one.
“Did you speak to him?” another demanded. “Is it true that the barbarians cut off both his earlobes”—the girl pressed her hands against her head, mimicking earlessness—“and now he can hear leaves rustling ten miles away?”
I sighed, reeling off a brief description of what Tem and I had witnessed. The children listened with fascination, pelting me with more questions. How tall was River? Did the balloon bear the emperor’s insignia? How many shamans did River have, and had they announced his arrival with lightning and fireworks? It was some time before I was able to satisfy their curiosity enough to escape.
I scanned the room. Scattered among the crowd, mostly in small groups, were men and women who could only be members of River Shara’s entourage. They all had the same Three Cities look—as if a dye shop had thrown up on them, as I had once sneeringly remarked to Tem. I had never been to the Three Cities or the emperor’s magnificent court, with its glittering pagodas and fragrant gardens—nor had most villagers, given that it was a weeks-long journey along a winding trade road favored by bandits—and I had no desire to, judging by the people who lived there. Blue hair seemed to be the fashion now, and they wore theirs curled and woven with silver charms that looked as though they would be an awful trial to remove. Instead of chubas, they were draped in wispy cloaks of dark green.
I had no idea what River looked like, but it wasn’t a stretch to assume he would be the center of attention. Soon enough, I found him.
He was as handsome as the stories said, with a wide mouth, tousled hair, and broad shoulders. He stood several inches above the tallest man in the room, but even without this, there was something about him that drew the eye. An odd, uneven scar extended from the edge of his temple across the bridge of his nose, halving his face. He wore the same elaborate costume as the other Three Cities guests, but his hair was undyed. Consequently, it was easy to see that he was graying at the temples. Deep furrows extended from the corners of his eyes, though he was far from an old man—perhaps thirty or so.
That gave me pause. Given River Shara’s reputation and accomplishments, I had expected someone close to Father’s age. Still, there was no mistaking the curious crowd of villagers gathered around him, listening intently as he spoke. He had an expressive manner, moving his hands as if painting his story in the air.
I smoothed my dress, which was dark blue with fox-fur trim. It was the finest I owned—or rather, the finest Lusha owned. She never bothered with the luxurious clothes her suitors bought for her, and I doubted she would even notice it was missing. I had altered it, of course, from her narrow measurements to my stouter ones. Around my neck I wore my whitest silk scarf, edged with gold stitches, and beaded earrings hung past my shoulders, clinking softly when I moved my head. The outfit felt strange, almost like a costume—my lessons with Chirri were usually outdoors, and involved messiness in some form, so I spent most of my days in plain tunics and sheepskin trousers. But I knew I had to do something to make up for my otherwise unfortunate appearance. My bronze skin was burned from the fierce sunlight that had beat down while I crouched over the dragon eggs, and my hands were scaly with a rash I had acquired helping Chirri prepare a healing salve. I hadn’t had time to exorcise all the tangles from my waist-length dark hair, and during my frenzied brushing I had broken several of the tines of my comb, which I was certain were now lodged somewhere behind my head.
Tem wasn’t there. He must have been angry enough to risk insulting my family by not attending the welcome banquet. Either that, or his father had ordered him to tend to the herds, not an uncommon occurrence. I tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment. Although I was still angry with him, his familiar presence would have been a comfort.
River had come to the end of his story, and seemed to be excusing himself from the hangers-on. He began making his way to the barrel of raksi.
I glanced over my shoulder. Where was Father? It was the height of rudeness to allow a guest, particularly one of River’s stature, to serve himself.
An idea slid into place.
I flew across the room, dodging elderly aunts and uncles and neighbors. More than one greeting was tossed at me, and I did my best to mumble and smile my way through them. I made it to the barrel a heartbeat before River did.
“More raksi?” I said breathlessly.
He paused, taking in my flustered appearance. Then, with a smoothness that reminded me of pulling on an old cloak, he flashed me a broad, wolfish smile.