He took Darath’s hand as they walked back through the thin high dark passageway out into the world beyond. When Bil’s child is born, he thought, I will love it as if it were my own. The thought made him suddenly deeply happy. Bil will have a child. I will be a father. I will raise a life. Only a few months now. A child! he thought.
Grey Square was hot and muggy. Crowded, too. The city seemed noticeably more pious with all that had happened. The kite seller had moved there, the tinkle of copper bells followed Orhan as he walked past. Another man was selling waxed silk balloons in bright colours that floated up into the sky when a tiny candle was lit beneath them. Very pretty, they must look at night. Flying things up to the heavens seemed a new fashion, a childish distraction from the chaos that had almost engulfed them, an attempt to reach the numinous glories of the light whilst trapped in human decay.
Orhan bought a blue balloon for Bil. Nice and symbolic. She’d like that.
They skirted the Court of the Fountain, heavy with street merchants and whores and all the music of the city that shifted around them, the crowds parting almost unthinking before them in deference to great men. A few people still cheered for Lord Emmereth, the saviour of the city. Darath snorted but squeezed Orhan’s hand. In the Street of Closed Eyes, a man was breathing fire, watched by a small circle of children and stupefied drunks. He wasn’t very good: the fire was barely coming out more than a hand’s width from his mouth. His torch smelled oily and rank and his clothes were shabby. Imitating a dragon. The tell-tale marks of hatha cravings around his smoke-sore eyes.
‘Always wanted to be able to do that,’ said Darath. He turned to Orhan. ‘Let’s go and do something pleasant, then.’
‘I should go to the palace. Work.’
‘No. You almost died last night! You should enjoy yourself a bit.’
Orhan looked at him, and laughed, and took his hand.
They went to Darath’s bathing house, swam in the cool water of the shade pool. The room was kept in darkness, its walls and ceiling gilt in silver, the water heavy with rose oil. Larks and heart doves in cages buried in the walls. The hot pool next door was heavily salted so that one floated on the surface of the water. It stung sweetly on Orhan’s injured skin. Thick steam pumped up from the floor was scented with frankincense, the atmosphere so humid it was hard to see clearly and the water upon which one rested seemed to merge into the heat of the air. Finally the cold plunge, icy sweet. Afterwards they sat in a rooftop garden walled in lilac trees, listening to a boy sing. A servant girl brought milk curdled with vinegar and spiked with brandy. The twilight bell rang across the city. Ferfews began to fly and to call. Great green moths circled their heads, drawn by the flicker of the lamps.
Night comes. We survive.
Orhan thought: I may just have saved the Empire.
Or at least I’ve done the best I can.
A dark clear night and the stars were out, looking down on them.
Lord of Living and Dying, Great Tanis Who Rules All Things, thank you.
Thank you.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Illyn Altrersyr’s troops reached Third ten days after Marith did. Great chains had been raised at Toreth Harbour to keep out the ships, but the people of Escral turned on the Relast men sent to do likewise. Two died, the rest were imprisoned. Five great ships with sails the colour of clotted blood swept down into the harbour there only a few hours afterwards. A day’s march from Malth Salene, and no time to call for aid. They reached Toreth with the dusk, and the city reluctantly opened her gates to her king.
Thalia saw them in the morning light, drawing up before the walls, pennants fluttering in the wind. Cold winter sunlight shone on their armour. Another hard frost, painfully beautiful: the dark shapes of men and horses stood out harshly against the silver white of the world, looking false and unreal.
Marith was closeted with Lord Relast, had been since the message came in the grey cold of first light that his father was present in person and the men of Third were uneasy with it. The set of his face as he left her had been terrible; when he had been told his father had come, he had laughed.
I wish I was back in Sorlost, Thalia thought. That this was all a dream. He’s a beautiful boy, he shines like the moon. Kingly. And myself a queen. A golden throne and a crown of silver … But this! This! She looked at the men outside the walls. A bit late now to think she might leave.
Just after noon, there was a stirring in the men outside the walls. Voices shouted, too far away to make out the words. She craned her head out of the window, trying to see what was happening. Figures milled around in a tight knot of action; someone brought up horses, raised a standard with a deep red flag worked with gold stars.
A tap at the door. A servant entered, flushed and out of breath from running.
‘My Lady,’ he said hurriedly, ‘My Lady, My Lord Prince desires your presence in the great courtyard. He said as quickly as you can.’
Thalia picked up the black cloak. Desires your presence? An order. His face, once, in the desert, afraid to go near her, afraid she might push him away. And so now we come to this. Your woman, the dragon had called her. The holiest woman in all Irlast, and no one would ever say he was her man. A trophy. A thing to display. Look, look, Father. Look what I’ve got.
They walked through the corridors, the serving man dancing impatience, wanting to go faster. I will not run for him, Thalia thought. People bustled aimlessly around them, fear in their eyes, drawing back as she passed.
In the courtyard, Marith stood in the midst of a mass of armed men. He was dressed in a shirt of fine silver armour, a sword at his hip, a deep red cloak spilling out behind him. In the bright clear pale light of the winter sun he was as beautiful as dreams, as shining as frost, with a shadow behind him that stank of pain and despair and death.
The serving man led Thalia through the press of people to his side. For a moment she thought that she should kneel.
‘You are to come with me,’ he said shortly. His eyes sparkled, a boy’s glee in which maggots writhed. ‘We’re to ride out, to meet him. I want you to see them. I want them to see you. Ti will be so jealous.’
A groom stepped forward with horses, a great white stallion saddled in red and gold, gold ornaments at its head and mouth, a honey and cream palfrey with a side-saddle in black velvet and silver gilt.
‘She’s very tame, My Lady,’ the groom said gently. A kind man, sensing her fear. ‘No harm come, mounted on her. And I’ll be with you, see, walking at the rein.’
Lord Relast gestured impatiently. ‘We need to go out, My Lord Prince. They’ll be waiting.’ Deference fighting terror in his voice.