Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (12 page)

They feasted then, the meats,
mushrooms, and fish filling the chamber with their savory aroma.
Soldiers talked and laughed as they ate, and one began to sing a
song. A fireplace crackled at the back. Koyee ate little, spoke less,
and did not sing, for too many worries lay upon her.

I
built this castle to defend the darkness,
she thought,
and
yet I sent my daughter into the very heart of sunlight.

Koyee had traveled across the
sunlit lands of Timandra, and she had seen the looks people gave her
and Madori—two women with eyes as large as chicken eggs, one an
Elorian with pale skin and white hair, the other with dark hair and
tanned skin, marking her mixed blood. The sunlit lands shunned them,
yet what could Koyee have done?

"I'm shunned in Eloria
too!" Madori had shouted at her, eyes damp. "I'm just as
monstrous in the night—a girl with black hair and tanned skin—as I
am in Timandra. So at least let me be monstrous at the university
where I can learn magic."

Koyee had tried to embrace the
girl, to tell Madori, "You are blessed, pure, and beautiful."

But Madori would not listen. She
would shout, stamp her feet, and bring tears to Koyee's eyes. And
finally Madori had left. And now she was gone. And even now, sitting
here in this fortress across the border, Koyee missed her daughter
and wished she could embrace her one more time.

"Wherever you are, Madori,"
she whispered as soldiers laughed and sang around her, "I love
you, and I pray that you're safe."

After the meal ended, Koyee
climbed the castle's coiling staircase. Still holding her goblet of
wine, she stepped out onto the roof, climbed the tiled slope, and
stood beneath the bronze dragon and the moon above. A soft smile
touched her lips. She thought back to her youth, an urchin living
barefoot and wild on the streets of Pahmey. She had often climbed
roofs then.

"I was not much older than
Madori," she whispered, "when I sat upon some shop's roof
in that distant city, watching the floating lanterns and fireworks
during the Moon of Xen Qae." She sighed. "May you have a
better youth than mine, Madori. May you never know fear, hunger, and
cold like I did."

She gazed downhill. South of the
castle nestled the village of Oshy, its clay huts embracing the Inaro
River, its boats swaying at the docks. When Koyee turned her head
westward, she saw the dusk. The scar stretched across the land,
gleaming orange, yellow, and gold. From up here, Koyee could just
glimpse the green forests beyond—Timandra, the land of daylight.

You're
there, Madori,
she thought.
Somewhere
in that light. Be safe.

She whispered into the wind,
speaking to her invisible friend, the shoulder spirit Eelani. "I
built this castle and brought these soldiers here, praying their
watch is silent, praying this castle forever remains only a thing of
beauty, never of warfare." She gestured down at the river where
boats were sailing in and out of dusk. "Look at them, Eelani.
Merchants. They deliver our silk, mushrooms, and fireworks into the
lands of daylight. They return with wine, fruits, vegetables, the
fare we cannot grow in the darkness. Perhaps that is how we will
prevent war. Trade. Merchants will defend us more than any fortress
or wall. Where ships of trade sail, ships of war are less likely to
fire their cannons."

She
felt warmth caress her cheek, a hint of her invisible friend upon her
shoulder.
If you
truly believed these words,
a voice seemed to speak inside her,
you
would be sailing upon one of those ships, not standing here above an
army.

Koyee raised her sword in one
hand, her goblet of wine in another. "This will be
Eloria—lifting the bounties of trade and peace in one hand, a sword
in the other. Thus perhaps we will survive."

She left the castle.

She walked along the river,
heading toward the light.

Rocky, lifeless hills rolled
before her, but soon moss grew upon them, slippery under her boots.
As she approached the light, thin grass rustled, then bushes, and
finally trees. The sun emerged above the horizon, and Koyee pulled
her hood over her head. She walked into the light. Trees grew taller
with every step, their leaves dark and thin at first, then lush and
sweetly-scented.

The shadows vanished behind her,
and she emerged into the eternal daylight of Timandra.

The village of Fairwool-by-Night
awaited her. Thirty-odd cottages rose around a pebbly square, their
roofs made of straw, their walls formed of wattle-and-daub. An
ancient maple tree grew from the square, and a stone library rose
behind it, the place Madori would spend so many hours lost in. Past
the buildings swayed fields of wheat and rye, and beyond them rolled
green pastures dotted with sheep.

"Fairwool-by-Night,"
she said into the warm breeze. "My second home."

As Madori was torn between day
and night, perhaps Koyee was too, spending half her time in the
darkness, haunted by dreams of the war, and half her time here in
daylight, being a wife, being a mother, seeking solace in the sun.

She walked into the village and
approached her home. A garden bloomed outside the cottage, its
sunflowers rising nearly as tall as the thatch roof, its peonies
filling Koyee's nostrils with their sweet scent. She allowed herself
a soft smile. This home would feel empty without Madori, but soon
Torin would return to her. And in a few years, Madori would too, and
perhaps someday—even if it's many years down the line—Koyee herself
would feel at home here, would forget the memories, would find the
peace she sought.

A scroll stuck out from Koyee's
new mailbox, a little hollowed-out log perched upon a post. Soon
after her accession to the throne, Queen Linee had founded the Sern
Postal Company—two cogs that sailed along the Sern River every
month, delivering mail between the capital and the riverside
settlements. Koyee walked across the clover and pulled the parchment
free. It was probably another letter from Linee; the queen enjoyed
sending her letters full of poems, drawings, and tales from the
capital. Holding the scroll and still smiling, Koyee stepped toward
her front door.

She gasped.

The scroll fell from her hand.

Shock, then fear, then finally
rage filled her.

With red paint—no, it was
blood, its scent coppery—somebody had drawn a symbol onto the door.
It looked like the sun eclipsing the moon. Below it appeared the
words: "Elorian pigs go home."

A pig's head, a paintbrush still
stuck inside it, lay upon the doorstep.

A slow whisper—more of a
hiss—fled Koyee's lips. "Who did this?"

She spun around, her fist
crushing the scroll. She stared across the village, seeking somebody
who might be laughing, pointing, hiding. She saw nobody.

"Who did this?" she
shouted.

Birds fled the old maple tree
and a dog barked. Nobody answered. The villagers were all working in
the fields, shepherding their sheep, or hiding in their homes.

The scroll crinkled in her fist,
and she stared at it. The seal was blank; this letter had not come
from Queen Linee. Fingers trembling, Koyee unrolled the scroll and
instantly recognized her husband's handwriting; he had written in
Qaelish, the language of the night which few in daylight could read.
She read and reread the letter.

"Koyee,
my love,

Billygoat
has passed the Teel Trials and enrolled at the university. She is
well but the world is not. A new movement—the Radians—are preaching
hatred across the lands of sunlight. Sailith has died and they are
its reincarnation. Tam Shepherd has enrolled at Teel too, and he'll
look after Billygoat. She is safe. I've met Cam here and am returning
with him to Kingswall; he needs my help fighting this new threat.
Koyee, be careful. Stay in Oshy until this blows over. Stay in your
new fortress, surround yourself with soldiers, and be safe. I'll come
for you when I can.

I
miss you and love you always.

Your
husband,

Torin"

Koyee closed her eyes, the old
war pounding back into her. Cruel leaders preaching hatred. Soldiers
pouring into the night with torches, lanterns, swords, and arrows.
Blood and death across the night.

Her daughter was halfway across
the world. Her husband was traveling into danger.

"And you leave me here?"
she whispered.

She turned back toward her door,
stared at the symbol drawn in blood, and again she saw the blood of
the war—it washed over her in a wave of memory.

She grabbed a rag. She dipped it
in water. She began to clean the door, her eyes dry but her heart
trembling.

 
 
CHAPTER TEN:
THE PEWTER DRAGON

Madori sat at a table with her
quartet, ready to learn magic.

Many other tables filled the
room, each seating four students. Scrolls, vials full of bubbling
potions, monkey skulls, and mummified reptile claws crowded the
tabletops, the shelves lining the walls, and the great desk at the
back of the room. Before that desk stood little Professor Fen, bald
of head, white of mustache—one of the professors who had quizzed
Madori at the trials. He rolled up his flowing sleeves and cleared
his throat.

"Class!" he said.
"Welcome to Basic Magical Principles. This turn I shall teach
you, well . . . basic magical principles."

Madori opened her notebook and
dipped her quill in ink. It was an ancient notebook, probably even
older than Fen—the parchment pages had been used several times,
scratched clean of ink after every use. When she squinted, she could
still glimpse bits of the old layers of writing and even a few dirty
drawings. Her father had bought her several notebooks before leaving,
and even the used ones had cost a full silver coin each—a small
fortune.

When she glanced aside, she saw
that Jitomi had unrolled a parchment of rich Elorian vellum, its
edges tasseled; Madori's mother would hang similar scrolls in their
home, each illustrated with birds, dragons, and Qaelish runes.
Neekeya, still wearing her necklace of crocodile teeth, had a
notebook that looked even shabbier than Madori's; the pages were
tattered, burnt at the edges, and already covered with Daenorian
letters, leaving only the margins available. Only Tam had a shiny new
notebook, its cover blue leather engraved with landscape scenes, its
parchment pages fresh.

"You can share my notebook
if you like," the undercover prince said to Neekeya, moving the
book closer to her.

The swamp dweller smiled. "It's
all right. My notebook is magical. Like my sword." She patted
the pages. "You see the writing that's already here? I just need
to tap my quill against the letters, and they'll reorganize
themselves into whatever words I like."

Tam seemed unconvinced and
Madori sighed. Neekeya had spent the past turn claiming that
everything she owned was imbued with ancient magic: that her sword
glowed around goblins, her necklace of crocodile teeth could bite
dragons, her shoes could walk on lava, and even her meals—dried frog
legs—gave her magical health and longevity. So far, Madori hadn't
seen anything magical about the girl.

Beside them, Lari and her
quartet sat at another table.

"Look at those creatures,"
Lari said to her friends, pointing at Madori's Motley. The girl
snorted. "Their books must be made from rat hides."

Lari's friends laughed—the twin
girls and the tall, golden-haired boy. The four had named themselves
Sunlit Purity, and all four wore Radian brooches pinned to their
pricey green robes. Madori's robes were shabby and second-hand, the
hems worn and the elbows patched, but the Sunlit Purity quartet wore
fitted robes of lush, embroidered cotton with golden hems, tailored
to look as fine as gowns.

"Rat hide?" Madori
asked, waving her notebook at Lari. "Do you recognize a
relative?"

A few students snickered. Lari's
face reddened, but before a fight could break out, Professor Fen
raised his voice again.

"Students! Please. Pay
attention. You can chat with your friends after class. Right now
listen to your old professor."

Giving Madori a sneer, her eyes
promising retaliation, Lari turned toward the professor.

"Is your book really made
out of rats?" Neekeya whispered to Madori.

Madori shushed her. "Of
course not. Now let's listen."

Professor Fen, barely taller
than Madori's own humble height, paced before his desk.

"The Basic Principles of
Magic!" he announced. "Three simple principles form the
basis of every spell you will ever cast. The chasm of puzzles you
walked through. The magic of mending broken bones . . . or shattering
them. Magic to see to the stars and under the ocean. All come from a
remarkably simple foundation woven in incredibly complex ways. Once
you learn the foundation, you will have the building blocks to create
structures to dazzle the world. The principles are . . ." He
paused dramatically, then raised three fingers. He tapped each in
turn. "Choosing, Claiming, and Changing."

Students wrote furiously into
their notebooks. When Madori glanced aside, she saw Neekeya tapping
the existing words in her "magical notebook," then grunting
as they refused to change shape. With a groan, the swamp girl
scribbled her notes into a margin.

Professor
Fen continued speaking. "These are the three steps to any magic.
First you
choose
your material. Then you must
claim
your material. Finally, you will
change
your material. Choose, claim, change." He coughed into his
sleeve. "Allow me to demonstrate. Say I wish to lift this vial
off my table." He pointed as a glass vessel full of bubbling
purple liquid. "How would I apply the three steps? Anyone?"