Ela studied me for a while, then shook her head. “It’s not something you can figure out by watching others, Pyrre. You can’t be me, you can’t be Kossal, any more than we could be you. I could tell you everything about my life, every kiss, every woman’s hips, every laugh, every sob, every stiff cock, and it wouldn’t mean anything. Language is a useful tool, but it’s only a tool. The truth is too large for it. If you’re going to survive this, you need to find your own way.”
I took a deep breath, then lifted the wine to my lips again. The glass was shadow-cool against my skin. I tipped it back, closed my eyes, and drank. I kept my eyes closed for what felt like a long time, listened to the insistent thudding of the drums, to the dozens of voices rising and falling around me, to the hushed susurrus of the Shirvian’s split waters running under the deck, threading the pilings, surging blindly toward the salt sea. When I finally opened them again, Ela was still there, still watching me with those wide, dark eyes.
“His name,” I said finally, “is Ruc Lan Lac.”
Ela repeated the name, “Ruc Lan Lac,” then ran her tongue delicately over her lips, as though the syllables had left a salty residue. “Tell me about Ruc Lan Lac.”
I hesitated. My own history felt like the drop at a cliff’s edge; once I stepped clear of the present, there would be no way to stop falling. “He’s here,” I said finally, teetering. “At least, he should be. He was a year ago.”
Ela arched an eyebrow. “And how did you learn that?”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “Tremiel was in Dombang last year, for a contract. I asked her about Ruc when she returned to Rassambur.”
“You’ve been stalking him,” Ela exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. “And here, the whole dull march to this city you’ve been lamenting the hard state of your cold, unbeating heart!” She narrowed her eyes. “But there are four hundred thousand people in Dombang. How did Tremiel know about Ruc Lan Lac?”
I grimaced. “He’s not just a person.”
“We’re all just people, Pyrre. That’s one of Ananshael’s oldest lessons.”
“Fine. What I mean is, he’s famous here.”
Ela tsked. “Don’t love famous people. I loved one of the Vested in Freeport years ago. It didn’t work out.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“But you’re planning to be.”
I blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Planning might be a bit of a stretch.”
Ela swirled her wine, eyeing me speculatively over the top of her glass. “I’ll be disappointed if, during this last month of travel, you didn’t come up with at least the faintest glimmer of an idea regarding how you might approach him. People use the phrase falling in love as though love is a mud puddle that you just tumble into when you’re not paying attention. I find the opposite: love requires a deliberate act of attention.”
“I know how to get his attention.”
Ela sipped her wine, waiting. I glanced behind me, gauging the distance to the next table, then leaned in, wrapped my hand around the carafe beaded with sweat, then pressed my palm on the wooden table. When I pulled my hand away, the print remained, soaked into the thirsty wood. I left it there for just a heartbeat, then scrubbed it out.
“Do you know what that is?”
“A squat, headless, five-legged beast?”
I lowered my voice. “It’s a symbol.”
I hesitated, uncertain how to go on. Ela waited a while, then rolled her eyes as she dipped her own finger directly into her wine and drew two semicircles, linked in the center. “Here’s a symbol,” she murmured in a conspiratorial faux-whisper. “I can never decide if it looks more like an ass or a pair of nicely proportioned breasts.” She dropped her voice even lower. “Maybe you could send it in a note to Ruc Lan Lac and ask him which he prefers.”
“I know which he prefers.”
Ela made an O with her mouth. “Makes the seduction easier.”
“I’m not planning to seduce him.”
The priestess’s excitement crumpled into a false frown. “How disappointing. One of my jobs as your Witness is, after all, to witness…” She shook her head. “No seduction. No ass or breasts. So?”
I leaned over the table. “Insurrection.”
Ela blinked. “Is that a sexual position?”
“It is the cliff on the edge of which Dombang has been teetering for decades.”
“Teetering. How tedious.”
“It will be a lot less tedious after we give it a shove.”
“We?” Ela cocked her head to the side. “I came for the dresses and the dancing, remember?”
“You can wear a nice dress to the revolution.”
“Any excuse for a party.” She frowned. “But what does this have to do with…” She gave me an exaggerated series of winks, then nodded to the scribble of water left on the table.
“That,” I said quietly, “was a bloody hand.”
“I’ve seen blood,” Ela replied. “It’s redder.”
“It will be when I do it for real.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”
The nearest other people on the deck were a dozen paces away, and the music was loud enough to talk without being overheard. I kept my voice low, all the same.
“Did you hear the name Chong Mi the last time you were here?”
“Does she run that brothel on the west end of the city? I only spent one night there, but sweet Ananshael’s touch, those beauties…” She trailed off, closing her eyes to savor the memory.
“Chong Mi was a prophet, not a prostitute.”
Ela frowned, opened her eyes. “Significantly less interesting.”
“Interesting enough to see you executed, if you’re caught reciting one of her prophecies in Dombang.”
“More interesting,” Ela conceded, leaning in once more, her eyes bright with the wine and the candlelight. “Recite one.”
“Did you not hear the part about the execution?”
She waved away the protest. “You’re planning to give seven citizens of this city to the god—five, since you started early—and you’re worried about repeating a few lines of some madwoman’s poetry?” She lowered her voice. “You can whisper, if you really need to.”
I checked over my shoulder once again, then leaned in toward Ela. We might have been two women gossiping about married life or trading surreptitious opinions on the few attractive dancers still left at the center of the deck, just a couple of normal people talking about love, not religious insurrection.
Although, in truth, I hoped I might find my way to one from the other.
*
“Woe to you, Dombang,” I began, my voice just a murmur, “for I have seen the day of our salvation.
A snake with the face of a man came to me,
A snake red as blood with eyes of fire,
And the snake spoke to me, saying, “Woe to the faithless.
“Woe to the fickle. Woe to those who forsake their gods.”
Three times it spoke, saying, “Woe, woe, woe,”
Then sank its poisoned teeth into my arm. And I saw:
I saw hands of blood, ten thousand bloody hands
Reach up from the waters to tear the city down.
I saw those who worshipped fire burned in their own flame,
Their fickle tongues turned, even in their pleading, to flame.
I saw vipers in a nest of vipers, black snakes driving out the green,
Three thousand coils curling tighter and tighter.
I saw the vipers of the waters rise up to feed,
Saw them gorge on the hearts of foreign soldiers.