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July 7 - July 12, 2021
She stopped. Niclays looked up. The Golden Empress dropped her blade. A curved sword was across her throat, and Tané Miduchi was standing behind her.
We stan a queen.
“The rising jewel,” the scholar breathed, staring. “You. You are the descendant of Neporo.”
Tané Miduchi. Heir of the Queen of Komoridu. Heir to an empty rock and a dead tree. It was clear from her expression that she had no idea. Riders were often taken from deprived homes. She must have been separated from her family before they could tell her the truth.
A ringing drowned her words. Just before his world turned black, he looked toward the sky and saw, at last, the form of death. Death, as it turned out, had wings.
His brow was damp. He had never killed. Not even the cockatrice. After all this madness, he was somehow free of that stain—but he would, to survive. To save his country.
Mortal sin or certain death. Death was the option the Knight of Courage would have taken, but the Knight of Courage had never needed to get to the Empire of the Twelve Lakes as badly as Loth did.
“Well met, great dragon of the East,” he tried, shouting over the wind. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but I must speak to the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes. It is of the utmost importance. Might you be able to take us to his palace?” A rumble went through its body. “Hold on to Tané,” it said in Inysh, “and yes, son of the West, I will take you to the City of the Thousand Flowers.”
Loth really makes besties wherever he goes
Impossible, surely. Neporo had been a queen. Her descendants could hardly have ended up in a fishing village, scratching out a living in the farthest reaches of Seiiki.
“Perhaps you should ask yourself a different question, honored Miduchi,” he said. “Would the world be any better if we were all the same?”
“You should not speak kindly to me. I have killed and lied and served myself. I ran from my punishment. The water in me was never pure.” The dragon tilted her head. Tané tried to stay facing her, but a rush of shame made her drop her gaze. “To be kin to a dragon,” Nayimathun said, “you must not only have a soul of water. You must have the blood of the sea, and the sea is not always pure. It is not any one thing. There is darkness in it, and danger, and cruelty. It can raze great cities with its rage. Its depths are unknowable; they do not see the touch of the sun. To be a Miduchi is not to be
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Terrifying as she appeared, with her mountain-tops of teeth and firework eyes, she seemed almost gentle. She had cradled Tané with her tail like a mother. She had saved Thim. Seeing that the creature was capable of compassion toward a human made Loth doubt his religion all over again. This year was either a test from the Saint, or he was on the verge of apostasy.
“A woman of Seiiki, a man of the West, and one of my own subjects. A fascinating combination.
Even as Loth said it, the face of the Donmata Marosa rose unbidden from his memory. Would she survive if the city was stormed?
“Really?” Loth blurted. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he added, hot in the face.
He must be protected at all costs
How can a mortal be unceasing, after all, except through memorable and historic actions?”
“Nayimathun.” Tané patted her neck. “Are you sure you feel strong enough for this journey?” “I am certain. Besides,” the dragon said, and nudged Tané with her snout, “you seem to have a habit of stumbling into trouble without me.” A smile warmed her lips. It felt good to smile.
Nayimathun rolled over lazily. Suddenly she lashed her tail, spraying water, and Tané was drenched to the bone. For the first time in an eternity, she laughed. She laughed until her stomach hurt. Nayimathun snapped playfully as Tané used the jewel to fling water back at her, and the sun made rainbows in the spray.
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“Yes,” Nayimathun said, “but if she seeks our help, Queen Sabran must have learned the difference between fire and water. Remember to be compassionate when you judge her, Tané. She is a young woman, responsible for the welfare of her people.”
“How will I reach Inys without you?” Tané said thickly. “You will make a path,” Nayimathun said, gentler. “Water always does.” She gave Tané a soft nudge. “We will see each other again soon.”
Even when she lost the trail, she knew where the women had gone. She was following a feeling. It was as if her quarry had left warmth in their wake, a warmth that called to her very blood.
When Kalyba looked back, both she and Tané froze. Recognition sparked in her eyes. “Neporo.” Tané watched her expression flicker. Kalyba began to laugh. “Neporo,” she exclaimed. “I wondered— all these centuries, I wondered so often if you had survived, my sister. How wonderfully strange that it should be here that I find my answer.” A smile twisted her mouth, beautiful and terrible. “Look upon my work. All this destruction is because of you. And now you come on your hands and knees to beg the orange tree for mercy.”
An arrow sailed across the clearing then and struck Kalyba in the back of her shoulder, making her turn in fury. A woman with golden eyes had emerged from the caves, a second arrow already nocked. She looked straight at Tané, and her gaze was a command. Run.
Yaaaaassss N!!
“Meg,” she whispered, “I believe this is the second time I have found you nursing me.” A choked laugh. “Then you should stop giving me cause to nurse you, silly goose.”
“Send word at once to Her Majesty that Lady Nurtha is awake. Doctor Bourn, too.” “Her Majesty is in council, Lady Margret.” “I assure you that Her Majesty will have you all gelded if this is kept from her. Go, now.”
“Dearest Meg,” she said, quieter, and touched her hand, “did I miss your wedding?” “Of course not. I delayed it for you.” Margret took back the cup. “I had no idea what a tiring affair it would be. Mama wants me to wear white now. Who in the world wears white on their wedding day?”
“Damn you, Eadaz uq-Nāra.” Ead released a breath, half sigh and half laugh. “How many times have we damned each other now?” “Not nearly enough.”
“Nairuj must have given me a diluted measure on purpose. She spared me.”
We stan.
“I have spent my life believing that in my blood was the power to keep a monster chained. Now I must face it knowing otherwise.” Sabran closed her eyes. “I am afraid of what that day will bring. I am afraid that we will not see the first light of summer.”
They had been parted twice, and Ead knew, as she had always known, that they would be divided anew before long, whether by war or by fate.
“Cleolind and Neporo,” she said. “One mage of the South. One of the East. It seems that history is to repeat itself.”
“To die in the service of a better world would be the highest honor.”
“The Nameless One came here after Cleolind wounded him. He bid me find an artist to paint the story, to show how it was on that day in Lasia. So he might always remember.”
“I see it only took the House of Berethnet a thousand years and a crisis of this magnitude to follow its own teachings on courtesy.”
“Mita Yedanya, unlike her predecessor, looked inward. Now, a little inwardness is reasonable, even necessary—but if your climb to this position at the Inysh court is anything to go by, Eadaz, you also look outward. A ruler should know how to do both.”
But she would do it. Because it was the right thing—the only thing—to do.
All his life, he had intended to find a companion. Now he wondered if he was fortunate to have never fallen in love.
It took Tané a moment to understand. Ead was offering an artefact she had fought to obtain, a keystone of her religion, to a dragonrider. Someone she should still, by rights, consider an enemy.
“We said our duties would be done,” Ead murmured, “but we both knew it was an airy hope.” She sought her gaze. “You are a beloved queen, Sabran. A queen Inys needs. You cannot give up your throne tomorrow, whether or not the Nameless One falls. And I cannot give up on the Priory.”
“Let us not think of the future this night,” Sabran said softly. “It is not yet dawn.” She cupped Ead’s face with a faint smile. “We still have time for airy hopes.”
Ead tucked her head under Sabran’s chin and listened to her heartbeat. She prayed that sound would never cease.
The witch had promised that the death of Ead Duryan would break Sabran Berethnet and, once she was broken, Kalyba would give her to the Nameless One.
Kalyba would resurrect him if the guards ran him through. He would be allowed to return to Mentendon not only with riches, but with Jannart. She would give Jannart back to him.
Every time I start to think he has a brain he proves me wrong
let you live on Komoridu,” she hissed at him, “but no more. You always come back. Like a weed.” She wrestled against the Knights of the Body. “I will gut you with my own blade, you soulless—”
“Jannart is dead. He chose the manner of his death, and by resurrecting him like that, Kalyba dishonored his memory.”
“Jannart was my midnight sun,” he rasped. “The light I have followed. My grief drove me to Inys, and that step took me to the East. There, I tried to finish his work in the hope that it would bring me closer to him. By doing all this, I completed, unbeknownst to me, the first stage of alchemy, of my work. The putrefaction of my soul. With his death, my work began. I faced the shadows in myself.”
