The Priory of the Orange Tree (The Roots of Chaos)
The Priory of the Orange Tree: Part 5 – Chapter 63

When Tané woke, she found herself looking at a window. The sky beyond was pale as bone ash.

She lay in a canopy bed. Someone had dressed her in clean silk, but her skin was gritty with salt. A bowl of embers sat nearby, casting a lambent red glow on the ceiling.

When she remembered, her hand flinched to her side.

Her sash was gone. Seized by dread, she scrabbled through the quilts, almost scalding herself on a copper bedwarmer, only to replace her case on a stand beside the bed.

The rising jewel glistened inside. Tané sank into the pillows and held the case to her chest.

For a long time, she remained in bed, imprisoned in a doze. Finally, a woman came into the room. She wore layers of blue and white, and the hem of her skirt touched the floor.

“Noble rider.” She curtsied to Tané with clasped hands. “This humble one is relieved to replace you awake.”

The room swam. “Where is this?”

“This is the City of the Thousand Flowers, and you are in the home of His Imperial Majesty, the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes, who rules beneath the gracious stars. He who is pleased to have you as his guest,” the woman replied with a smile. “I will bring you something to eat. You have had a long journey.”

“Wait. Please,” Tané said, sitting up. “Where is Nayimathun?”

“The shining Nayimathun of the Deep Snows is resting. As for your friends, they are also guests in the palace.”

“You must not punish the Westerner for breaching the sea ban. He has knowledge I need.”

“Neither of your companions have been harmed,” the woman said. “You are safe here.”

She retreated from the room.

Tané took in the ornate ceiling, the nightwood furniture. It was as if she were a rider again.

The City of the Thousand Flowers. Ancient capital of the Empire of the Twelve Lakes. Its palace was home not only to the honored Unceasing Emperor and the honored Grand Empress Dowager, but to the Imperial Dragon herself. The dragons of Seiiki looked to their eldest for guidance, but their Lacustrine cousins answered to one ruler.

Her thigh was throbbing. She pushed back the sheets and saw that it was bandaged.

She remembered the Seiikinese man, clad in robes of mulberry red. Another scholar who had run from his fate. He had called her the descendant of the long-honored Neporo.

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.

The servant returned and set down a tray. Red tea, porridge, and boiled eggs with a helping of winter melon.

“I will have a bath filled for you.”

“Thank you,” Tané said.

She picked at the meal while she waited. The Unceasing Emperor would not have her as his guest for long when he found out what she was. A fugitive. A murderer.

“Good morning.”

Thim was in the doorway, clean-shaven, wearing Lacustrine clothing. He lowered himself into the chair beside her bed.

“The servant told me you were awake,” he said in Seiikinese.

His tone was cool. Even if they had worked together on the ship, she had still stolen it from his crew.

“As you see,” Tané said.

“I wanted to thank you,” he added, with a dip of his head, “for saving my life.”

“It was the great Nayimathun who saved you.” Tané put down her teacup. “Where is the Westerner, honorable Thim?”

“Lord Arteloth is in the Twilight Gardens. He wants to speak to you.”

“I will come when I am dressed.” She paused before saying, “Why did you sail with people from over the Abyss?”

Thim furrowed his brow.

“They are not only raised to hate fire-breathers, but our dragons,” Tané reminded him. “Knowing this, why would you sail with them?”

“Perhaps you should ask yourself a different question, honored Miduchi,” he said. “Would the world be any better if we were all the same?”

The door closed behind him. Tané reflected on his words and realized that she had no answer.

The servant soon returned to take her to the bath. With her assistance, Tané rose from her bed and limped into the next room.

“There are clothes in the closet,” the servant said. “Will you need help to dress, noble rider?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Very well. You are free to explore the palace grounds, though you must not enter the interior court. His Imperial Majesty desires your presence in the Hall of the Fallen Star tomorrow.”

With that, Tané was alone again. She stood in the shade of the bathing room and listened to the birdsong.

The bath was brimful with hot water. Tané slid her robe from her shoulders and unwrapped her thigh. If she craned her neck, she could see the stitches where someone had sealed the bullet graze. She would be fortunate to avoid a fever.

Bird skin stippled her arms as she lowered herself into the bath. She sluiced the salt out of her hair, then lay in the water, tired to her bones.

She did not deserve to be addressed as a lady, or given fine chambers. This peace could not last.

When she was clean, Tané dressed. An undershirt and a black silk tunic, then trousers, socks, and snug cloth boots. A sleeveless blue coat, trimmed with fur, came next, and finally the case on a new sash.

Her heart stumbled when she thought of facing Nayimathun. Her dragon had seen the blood on her hands.

Someone had left a crutch by the door. Tané took it and stepped out of her bedchamber, into a passageway of latticed windows and richly paneled walls. Painted constellations glinted at her from the ceiling. Dark stone paved the floors, heated from beneath.

Outside, she beheld a courtyard of such immensity that it could have housed a shoal of dragons. Lanternlight burned through an ashen mist. She could just see the great hall, raised on a terrace of layered marble, each tier a darker shade of blue.

“Soldier,” Tané said to a guard, “may this humble one ask how to replace the Twilight Gardens?”

“Lady,” he said, “the Twilight Gardens are in that direction.”

He motioned to a distant gateway.

It took an eternity for her to traverse the courtyard. The Hall of the Fallen Star loomed above her. Tomorrow, she would be inside it, standing before the head of the House of Lakseng.

More guards directed her through the grounds. Finally, she reached the correct gate. The snow had been shoveled from the courtyard, but here it had been left untouched.

The Twilight Gardens were a legend in Cape Hisan. At dusk, they were said to come alive with lightflies. Night-blooming flowers would sweeten the paths. Mirrors stood here and there to direct the moonlight, and the ponds were still and limpid, the better to reflect the stars.

Even by day, this retreat was like a painting. She walked slowly, watched by statues of past Lacustrine rulers and their consorts, some of them accompanied by young dragons. Each consort held a pot of creamy yellow-pink roses. There were season trees, too, dressed in white for winter, reminding Tané of Seiiki. Of home.

She crossed a bridge over a stream. Through the fog, she could see pine trees and the shoulder of a mountain. Walking between those trees for long enough would take her to the Lake of Long Days.

Nayimathun was coiled in the snow on the other side of the bridge, the end of her tail swirling through a lotus pond. Loth and Thim were deep in conversation in a nearby pavilion. Tané collected herself. When she was close, Nayimathun huffed cloud through her nostrils. Tané laid down the crutch and bowed.

“Great Nayimathun.”

A low growl. Tané closed her eyes.

“Rise, Tané,”the dragon said. “I told you. You must speak to me as you would to a friend.”

“No, great Nayimathun. I have been no friend to you,” Tané raised her head, but there was a stone in her throat. “The honored Governor of Ginura was right to exile me from Seiiki. You were on the beach that night because of me. All of this happened because you chose me, and not one of the others, as your kin.” Her voice quavered. “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 pure, Tané. It is to be the living sea. That is why I chose you. You have a dragon’s heart.”

A dragon’s heart. There could be no greater honor. Tané wanted to speak, to deny it—but when Nayimathun nuzzled her as though she were a hatchling, she broke. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around her friend and shook.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Nayimathun.”

A contented rumble answered her. “Let go of your guilt now, rider. Do not spend your salt.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Shudders racked Tané as she pressed her cheek against Nayimathun. She had carried a nameless weight on her shoulders since Susa had died, but it was no longer too heavy to bear. When she could breathe without weeping, she moved her hand to where Nayimathun had been wounded. A metal scale now covered the flesh, engraved with wishes for healing.

“Who did this?”

“It no longer matters. What happened on the ship is in the past.” Nayimathun bumped her with her snout. “The Nameless One will rise. Every dragon in the East can feel it.”

Tané dried her tears and reached into the case. “This belongs to you.”

She held out the rising jewel in the palm of her hand. Nayimathun gave it a delicate sniff.

“You say it was sewn into your side.”

“Yes,” Tané said. “I always had a swelling there.” Her throat felt tight again. “I know nothing of my family, or why they would have put it into my side, but on the island, one of the Pursuit’s crew saw the jewel. He said I was the descendant of . . . Neporo.”

Nayimathun puffed more cloud. “Neporo,” she echoed. “Yes . . . that was her name. She wielded this jewel the first time.”

“But, Nayimathun, I cannot be descended from a queen,” Tané said. “My family were very poor.”

“You have her jewel, Tané. It may be the only explanation,” Nayimathun said. “The Grand Empress Dowager was a temperate ruler, but her grandson is young and impulsive. It would be best for us to keep the true nature of the jewel between us, lest it be taken from you.” Her gaze flicked to Loth. “This one knows where it is, but he is afraid of me. Perhaps he will confide in another human.”

Tané followed her line of sight. When he saw them both watching him, Loth stopped talking to Thim.

“You must support his appeal tomorrow. He means to propose an alliance between the Unceasing Emperor and Queen Sabran of Inys,” Nayimathun said.

“The honored Unceasing Emperor will never agree.” Tané was stunned. “It would be madness even to propose it to him.”

“He may be tempted. Now the Nameless One is coming, it is of paramount importance that we stand together.”

“He is coming, then?”

“We have felt it. The diminishing of our power, and the rise of his. His fire burns ever hotter.” Nayimathun nudged her. “Go, now. Ask her envoy about the waning jewel. We must have it.”

Tané put the rising jewel away. Whatever Loth knew about the twin, it was unlikely that he would agree to yield it to dragonkind, or to her, without a fight.

She walked across the bridge and joined the two men in the pavilion.

“Tell me where the waning jewel is,” she said to the Westerner. “It must be returned to dragonkind.”

Loth blinked before his face set. “That is quite out of the question,” he said. “My dear friend in Inys is the possessor of the jewel.”

“Which friend is this?”

“Her name is Eadaz uq-Nāra. Lady Nurtha. She is a mage.”

Tané had never heard the word. “I think he means sorceress,” Thim said to Tané in Seiikinese.

“The jewel does not belong to this Lady Nurtha,” Tané said, irked. “It belongs to dragonkind.”

“They choose their own wielders. And only death can sever the link between Ead and the waning jewel.”

“Is she able to come here?”

“She is gravely ill.”

“Will she recover?”

Something flickered in his eyes. He rested his arms on the balustrade and gazed out at the pine trees.

“There may be one way to heal her,” he murmured. “In the South there is an orange tree, guarded by wyrm-slayers. Its fruit can offset the effects of poison.”

“Wyrm-slayers.” Tané misliked this revelation. “And is this Eadaz uq-Nāra a wyrm-slayer, too?”

“Yes.”

Tané tensed. “I am aware,” she said, “that over the Abyss, you consider our dragons to be evil. That you consider them as cruel and frightening as the Nameless One.”

“It is true that there have been . . . misunderstandings, but I am quite sure Ead has never harmed one of your Eastern dragons.” He turned to look at her. “I need your help, Lady Tané. To carry out my task.”

“And what is that?”

“Several weeks ago, Ead found a letter from an Eastern woman named Neporo, who once wielded your jewel.”

Neporo again. Her name was all over the world, haunting Tané like a faceless ghost.

“Do you know that name?” Loth said, studying her.

“Yes. What did the letter say?”

“That the Nameless One would return a thousand years after he was bound in the Abyss with the two jewels. He was bound on the third day of spring, in the twentieth year of the reign of Empress Mokwo of Seiiki.”

Tané calculated. “This spring.” Beside her, Thim cursed under his breath.

“Queen Sabran wishes us to meet him when he rises. We cannot destroy him, not without the sword Ascalon—but we can bind him anew with the jewels.” Loth paused. “We do not have much time. I know I have little evidence of what I claim, and that you may not believe me. But will you trust me?”

His gaze was open and sincere.

Making the decision was easy, in the end. She had no choice but to reunite the jewels.

“The great Nayimathun says we should not tell anyone else about the jewels, for fear others might seek to take them,” she said. “When we meet His Imperial Majesty tomorrow, you will put your queen’s proposal to him. If he agrees to the alliance . . . I will ask if I can fly to Inys with Nayimathun to inform your queen of his decision. On our way there, we will go South. I will replace the healing fruit, and we will take it to Eadaz uq-Nāra.”

Loth smiled then, and his breath came out in a fur of white. “Thank you, Tané.”

“I do not like keeping this from His Imperial Majesty,” Thim muttered. “He is the chosen representative of the Imperial Dragon. Does the great Nayimathun not trust him?”

“It is not for us to question gods.”

His mouth became a thin line, but he nodded.

“Be sure to make a persuasive case to the honored Unceasing Emperor, Lord Arteloth Beck,” Tané said to Loth. “Leave the rest to me.”

First light spilled like oil over the palace. Loth considered his reflection. Instead of his breeches and a doublet, he now wore a blue tunic and flat boots in the style of the Lacustrine court. He had already been examined by a physician, who had found no evidence of the plague.

The plan Tané had proposed might just work. If she had mage blood, like Ead, then she might be able to retrieve an orange. The thought nerved him for the meeting ahead.

The dragon, Nayimathun, was nothing like Fýredel, except in her great size. 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 servant soon came to take him to the Hall of the Fallen Star, where the Unceasing Emperor would receive his unexpected visitors. The others were already outside. Thim was dressed almost the same as Loth, while Tané had been given another fur-lined surcoat that struck Loth as a mark of status. Dragonriders must be held in very high regard.

“Remember,” she said to him, “say nothing of the jewel.”

She touched the case at her side. Loth looked up at the hall and took a deep breath.

Armed guards led them through a set of studded blue doors, which were flanked by statues of dragons. More guards stood on either side of the track of dark wood, polished to a high shine, that would lead them to the middle of the hall. Loth gazed up at pillars of midnight stone.

A latticed ceiling soared above, the panels arranged around a carving of a dragon. Each panel showed a phase of the moon. Lanterns hung one under the other, so they looked like ever-falling stars.

Dranghien Lakseng, the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes, sat on a raised throne of what looked like moulded silver. He cut an arresting figure. Black hair, bound in a knot at the crown of his head, ornamented with pearls and silver-leaf flowers. Eyes like shards of onyx. Thick brows. Lips as sharply cut as his cheekbones, set in an arch smile. His robe was black, embroidered all over with stars, so it seemed as if he wore the night. He was no more than thirty.

Tané and Thim both knelt. Loth did the same.

“Rise,” said a clear, smooth voice.

They rose.

“I hardly know which of you to address first,” the Unceasing Emperor remarked, after several moments had passed in silence. “A woman of Seiiki, a man of the West, and one of my own subjects. A fascinating combination. I suppose we must make do with Inysh, since I am told, Lord Arteloth, that you do not speak anything else. Fortunately, I challenged myself, as a boy, to learn a language from each of the four parts of the world.”

Loth cleared his throat.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said. “You speak the Inysh language very well.”

“There really is no need for flattery. I receive more than enough of that from my Grand Secretariat.” The Unceasing Emperor gave them an arch smile. “You are the first Inysh man to set foot in the Empire of the Twelve Lakes in centuries. My officials tell me that you come with a message from Queen Sabran of Inys, yet you arrived on dragonback, looking rather more disheveled than official ambassadors generally do.”

“Ah, yes. I apologize for—”

“If this one who stands beneath your throne may speak, Your Majesty,” Thim chimed in. The Unceasing Emperor inclined his head. “I am a privateer in the employ of Queen Sabran.”

“A Lacustrine seafarer in the employ of the Inysh queen. This is indeed a day of surprises.”

Thim swallowed.

“We were stranded by a storm on Feather Island, where my captain and crewmates are still marooned,” he continued. “Our ship was captured by the noble rider of Seiiki, who chased the Pursuit eastward. We freed Nayimathun, the exalted dragon, and she carried us to you.”

“Ah,” the Unceasing Emperor murmured. “Tell me, Lady Tané, did you replace the so-called Golden Empress?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Tané said, “but I left her alive. My purpose was to free my esteemed friend, the shining Nayimathun of the Deep Snows.”

“Majesty.” Thim went to his knees again. “This humble one pleads with you to send the Lacustrine navy to assist Captain Harlowe, and to retrieve his warship, the Rose—”

“We will speak of your crew later,” the Unceasing Emperor said, with a wave of one hand. A broad ring encircled his thumb. “For now, I will hear the message from Queen Sabran.”

Skin prickling, Loth drew in a deep breath through his nose. His words would dictate what happened next.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he began, “the Nameless One, our mutual enemy, will soon return.”

No reply.

“Queen Sabran has evidence of it. A letter from one Neporo of Komoridu. He was bound with the celestial jewels, which I believe are known to the dragons of the East. The binding will end a thousand years after it was made, on the third day of the coming spring.”

“Neporo of Komoridu is a figure of myth,” the Unceasing Emperor stated. “Do you mean to mock me?”

“No.” Loth dipped his head. “It is the truth, Majesty.”

“Do you have this letter?”

“No.”

“So I am to trust your word that it exists.” The corner of his mouth gave a humorless twitch. “Very well. If the Nameless One is coming, what do you want from me?”

“Queen Sabran wishes us to face the beast on the Abyss on the day he rises,” Loth said, trying not to rush his words. “If we are to do this, we will need help, and to set aside centuries of fear and suspicion. If Your Imperial Majesty will consent to intercede with the dragons of the Empire of the Twelve Lakes on her behalf, Queen Sabran offers a formal alliance between Virtudom and the East. She begs you to look to what is best for the world, for the Nameless One seeks to destroy us all.”

The Unceasing Emperor was silent for a very long time. Loth tried to keep his expression clear, but there was sweat under his collar.

“This is . . . not what I expected,” the Unceasing Emperor finally said. His gaze was piercing. “Does Queen Sabran have a plan?”

“Her Majesty has proposed an attack on two fronts. First,” Loth said, “the rulers of the West, North, and South would join their armies to take back the Draconic stronghold of Cárscaro.”

Even as Loth said it, the face of the Donmata Marosa rose unbidden from his memory.

Would she survive if the city was stormed?

“It will draw the eye of Fýredel, right wing of the beast,” he continued. “We hope that he will send at least some of the Draconic Army, to defend it, leaving the Nameless One more vulnerable.”

“I presume she also has a plan to drive back the beast itself.”

“Yes.”

“Queen Sabran is indeed ambitious,” the Unceasing Emperor remarked, one eyebrow rising, “but what is it she offers my country in return for the labor of its gods?”

As their gazes met, Loth suddenly remembered the glassblower in Rauca. Bargaining had never been his strong point. Now he would have to barter for the fate of the world.

“First, the chance to make history,” he began. “With this act, you would be the emperor who bridged the Abyss. Imagine a world where we can trade freely again; where we can benefit from our shared knowledge, from—”

“—my dragons,” the Unceasing Emperor cut in. “And those of my brother-in-arms in Seiiki, I presume. The world you paint is beautiful, but the red sickness is still as much a threat to our shores as ever.”

“If we defeat our common enemy, and stamp out Draconic support, then the red sickness will ebb away.”

“We can only hope. What else?”

Loth made the offers the Virtues Council had permitted him to make. A new trading partnership between Virtudom and the East. Guarantees that the Inysh would support the Lacustrine, both financially and militarily, in the event of conflict or disaster for as long as the alliance endured. A tribute in jewels and gold for the Eastern dragons.

“This all sounds very reasonable,” the Unceasing Emperor remarked, “but I note that you have not mentioned marriage, Lord Arteloth. Her Majesty does offer her hand?”

Loth wet his lips.

“My queen would be honored to strengthen this historic alliance through matrimony,” he began, smiling. Even Margret had admitted that his smile could soften any heart. “However, she is latterly widowed. She would prefer that this be a military alliance only. Of course,” he added, “she understands if Lacustrine tradition forbids this without marriage.”

“I am saddened for Her Majesty, and pray she replaces strength in her grief.” The Unceasing Emperor paused. “Admirable of her, to think we can overcome those differences without marriage, and the heir that would follow. Indeed, all this is a step toward modernity.”

He drummed his fingers on the arms of his throne again, studying Loth with mild interest.

“I can tell that you are no diplomat, Lord Arteloth, but your attempts to flatter me are good-natured, if clumsy. And these are desperate times,” the Unceasing Emperor concluded. “In the name of a modern alliance . . . I will not make marriage a prerequisite of the arrangement.”

“Really?” Loth blurted. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he added, hot in the face.

“You are surprised by my swift agreement.”

“I did expect more difficulty,” Loth admitted.

“I like to imagine that I am a forward-looking ruler. And it happens that I am in no mood to marry.” His face tightened for a moment. “I should clarify, Lord Arteloth, that I am only agreeing to the stand against the Nameless One. Other matters, such as trade, will take far more time to resolve. Given the continued threat of the red sickness.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Of course, my personal consent to a battle on the sea, while valuable to you, is not a guarantee that this will proceed. I must consult with my Grand Secretariat first, for my people will expect an alliance to come with an empress, and I imagine that the more old-fashioned of them will argue for it. Either way, it must be framed wisely.”

Loth was too overwhelmed with relief to worry. “Of course.”

“I must also consult with the Imperial Dragon, who is my guiding star. The dragons of this country are her subjects, not mine, and will only be persuaded if she replaces this alliance to her liking.”

“I understand.” Loth bowed low. “Thank you, Majesty.” He straightened and cleared his throat. “There is great risk for us all, I know. But what ruler made history by avoiding it?”

At this, the Unceasing Emperor permitted himself the ghost of a smile.

“Until we come to an agreement, Lord Arteloth, you will remain here as my honored guest,” he said. “And unless my ministers raise any concerns that require further discussion, you will have an answer by dawn.”

“Thank you.” Loth hesitated. “Your Majesty, might— might Lady Tané go on dragonback to take this news to Queen Sabran?”

Tané looked at him. “Lady Tané is not my subject, Lord Arteloth,” the Unceasing Emperor said. “You will have to discuss the matter with her yourself. But first,” he said, “I should like Lady Tané to join me for breakfast.”

When he rose, the guards flinched to attention. He spoke to Tané in another language and, with a nod, she left with him.

Loth walked with Thim back to the Twilight Gardens. Thim skimmed a stone across the pond.

“It doesn’t matter what the ministers say.”

Loth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The only counsel His Imperial Majesty heeds, apart from that of the shining Imperial Dragon, is that of his grandmother, the Grand Empress Dowager.” Thim watched the ripples spread. “He respects her above all others. She will already know every word that passed between us in that throne room.”

Loth glanced over his shoulder.

“If she advises him against the alliance—”

“On the contrary,” Thim said, “I think she will encourage it. So that he might live up to his reign-name. How can a mortal be unceasing, after all, except through memorable and historic actions?”

“Then there may be hope.” Loth loosed a breath. “You will have to excuse me, Thim. If this is to work, I must do my part and pray for it.”

When she was a child, Tané had imagined many possible futures for herself. In her dreams, she had thrown down the fire-breathing demons on the back of her dragon. She had become the greatest rider in Seiiki, greater even than Princess Dumai, and children had prayed that they would be like her one day. Her image had been painted on the walls of great houses, and her name had been enshrined in history.

In all that time, she had never dreamed that she would one day walk with the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes in the City of the Thousand Flowers.

The Unceasing Emperor wore a cloak lined with fur. As they followed the paths, which had been cleared of snow, his bodyguards shadowed them. When they reached a pavilion beside a pond, the Unceasing Emperor motioned to one of the chairs.

“Please,” he said. Tané sat, and so did he. “I thought that you could join me while I break my fast.”

“This humble one is honored, Majesty.”

“Do you know what kind of bird that is?”

Tané looked in the direction he was indicating. Close by, a swan was tending to its nest.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “A swan.”

“Ah, not just any swan. In Lacustrine, these ones are called silent swans. It was said that the Nameless One burned their voices from their throats, and they will only sing again when a ruler is born who will see the end of that fiend once and for all. They say the night I came into this world, they sang for the first time in centuries.” He smiled. “And people wonder why we sovereigns form such a high opinion of ourselves. They try to make us think that even birds care what we do.”

Tané smiled a little in return.

“I replace your story intriguing. I understand that you were once a promising sea guardian, but a misunderstanding in Ginura led to your exile to Feather Island.”

“Yes, Majesty,” Tané said.

“I have a great love for stories. Will you humor me and tell me all that has happened to you?”

Her palms were sweating.

“A great deal has happened to me,” she finally said. “It may take some of Your Majesty’s morning.”

“Ah, I have nothing to do but watch my councillors wring their hands over Lord Arteloth’s proposal.”

Servants came to pour them tea and offer platters of food: dates soaked in red mountain-honey, sun pears, plum-leaved apples, steamed nuts, mounds of black rice. Each dish was covered with a square of silk embroidered with stars. She had sworn never to speak of her past, but his easy smile put her at ease. While he ate, she told him about how she had broken seclusion and witnessed the arrival of Sulyard, and how Susa had paid for her reckless attempt to conceal it, and everything that had occurred since.

Everything but the jewel stitched into her side.

“So you defied your banishment to free your dragon, with little hope of success,” the Unceasing Emperor murmured. “For that, I commend you. And it seems you also found the lost island.” He dabbed his mouth. “Tell me, now—did you happen to come across a mulberry tree on Komoridu?”

Tané looked up and met his bright gaze.

“There was a dead tree,” she said. “Dead and twisted, covered in writing. I did not have time to read it.”

“They say the spirit of Neporo is in the tree. Anyone who eats of its fruit absorbs her immortality.”

“The tree bore no fruit, Majesty.”

A flicker of some nameless emotion crossed his face.

“No matter,” he said, and held out his cup for more tea. A servant refilled it. “Now I know your past, I am curious about your future. What do you intend to do next?”

Tané interlocked her fingers in her lap.

“First,” she said, “I wish to play a part in destroying the Nameless One. After that, I wish to return to Seiiki.” She hesitated. “If Your Imperial Majesty could help me do that, I would be grateful.”

“How might I help you?”

“By writing to the all-honored Warlord on my behalf. If you tell him that I retrieved Nayimathun, a subject of the shining Imperial Dragon, he may hear my case and allow me to return.”

The Unceasing Emperor sipped his tea.

“It is true that you reclaimed a dragon from the Fleet of the Tiger Eye, risking your own life. No easy feat,” he conceded. “To reward your courage, I will do as you request—but know that I cannot permit you to return to Seiiki before I have an answer. It would be remiss of me to allow a fugitive to return there without permission.”

“I understand.”

“Very well.”

He stood and walked to the balustrade. Tané joined him.

“It seems Lord Arteloth desires you to take word to Inys if I agree to his proposal,” the Unceasing Emperor said. “Are you so eager to be my ambassador?”

“It would expedite matters, Majesty. If you would permit a citizen of Seiiki to be your messenger on this occasion.”

The jewel felt heavy at her side. If he refused, she would not be able to make the detour to the South.

“It would be unconventional. You are not my subject, and you are in disgrace,” the Unceasing Emperor mused, “but it seems we are destined for a change in the way of things. Besides, I like to defy convention now and then. No ruler made progress by playing a safe hand. And it keeps my officials on their toes.” Sunlight gleamed in the darkness of his hair. “They never expect us to actually rule, you know. If we do, they call us mad.

“They raise us to be soft as silk, distract us with luxury and wealth beyond measure, so we never rock the boat that carries us. They expect us to be so bored by our power that we let them do the ruling in our stead. Behind every throne is a masked servant who seeks only to make a puppet of the one who sits on it. My esteemed grandmother taught me this.”

Tané waited, unsure of what to say.

The Unceasing Emperor clasped his hands behind his back. A great breath made his shoulders rise.

“You have proven your ability to see difficult tasks to their end, and we have no time to lose,” he said. “If you are willing to be my messenger to the West, as Lord Arteloth wishes, I see no reason to deny it. Since this is a year for breaking tradition.”

“It would be my honor, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” He glanced at her. “You must be weary after your journey. Please, go back to your chambers and rest. You will know when I have come to a decision to carry to Sabran.”

“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”

She left him to his breakfast and made her way back into the spiderweb of corridors. With little to do but wait, she took to her bed.

It was deep night when a knock woke her. She opened the door and ushered Loth and Thim inside.

“Well?”

“The all-honored Unceasing Emperor has made his decision,” Thim said in Seiikinese. “He agrees to the proposal.”

Tané shut the door.

“Good,” she said. Loth sank into a chair. “Why does he look so dismayed?”

“Because he has been asked to remain in the palace. I have also been asked to remain, to help direct the navy to where we left the Rose Eternal.”

A small chill went through Tané. For the first time in her life, she would be leaving the East. That thought would have daunted her once, but at least she would not be alone. With Nayimathun beside her, she could do anything.

“Tané,” Loth said, “will you go south before you go to Inys?”

She needed to save Lady Nurtha from the poison. Both jewels must be used against the Nameless One.

“I will,” she said. “Tell me where to replace the house of dragonslayers.”

He told her, as best he could.

“You must be careful,” Loth said. “The women there will likely slaughter your dragon if they see her.”

“They will not touch her,” Tané said.

“Ead told me that their present Prioress is not to be trusted. If they catch you, you must speak only to Chassar uq-Ispad. He cares for Ead. I am quite sure he will help you if he knows you mean to heal her.” Loth lifted a chain from around his neck. “Take this.”

Tané took the proffered object. A silver ring. A red jewel was mounted on it, enwheeled by diamonds.

“It belongs to Queen Sabran. If you give it to her, she will know you come from me.” Loth held out a sealed letter. “I ask that you also give her this. So she knows I am well.”

Tané nodded, tucked the ring into her case, and rolled the letter small enough to fit beside it.

“The honored Chief Grand Secretary will meet you in the morning to give you a letter for Queen Sabran from His Imperial Majesty. You will leave this city under cover of darkness,” Thim said. “If you can see this through, Lady Tané, we will all be in your debt.”

Tané looked out of the window. Another journey.

“I will see it done, honorable Thim,” she said. “You can be sure of it.”