Authors: Jaida Jones
Kouje rose only once I’d reached him, and fell behind so that his steps would not take him alongside me.
“I hardly feel regal at all with you towering over me so,” I whispered, hoping that I might cheer myself simply by acting cheerful.
Kouje paused as though I’d surprised him, and I wished that I might look back, just to catch a glimpse of his face. He was far too good a servant, though, and even if I’d looked, I knew I wouldn’t be able to see him.
“I might always walk on my knees, my lord,” Kouje said, catching me off guard so that I had to clench my jaw to keep from laughing at the thought.
Instead, I raised my head and sniffed. “From now on, I think that I will employ only very
short
servants in the palace.”
“My lord might wish to wait until he has an actual palace to employ from,” Kouje murmured, “and not a very fine heap of rubble.”
I shook my head in despair, even as I felt relief like a warm wind against my face. In a time when everything had changed so drastically, so that even familiar buildings did not go unchanged, there were some things that remained the same.
One window in the hall was open, the lattice shade lifted to let in the sun. Down below the palace, sloping toward the rest of the city, I caught sight of the magician’s blue dome. From that height, it seemed no more than a child’s broken teacup overturned and, however momentarily, forgotten.
For once, Alcibiades and I were in complete agreement. It was high time we crossed the mountains and returned to Volstov—for I was going to come down with a bad case of the vapors, like my poor
great-aunt Eurydice, if any more excitement was caused by us or to us in at
least
the next month.
We’d lived through the death of two Ke-Han Emperors in our short time in the lapis city, and it was time to remove ourselves from the premises before we fostered any further bad luck. I liked the new Emperor; he had a sweet little face, almost like a rabbit’s, and I wanted him to do well. Therefore, for everyone’s sake, I intended to return home, and have a nice cup of tea before I sought out my next adventure.
“You mean you actually
want
to go home?” Alcibiades asked me, without his usual vim and vigor. He was so tired, poor dear, after his little display, and I’d made sure to keep him resting despite his own wishes. The moment he’d come around after fainting—one couldn’t blame him for that, either, after destroying nearly an entire palace before taking on the Ke-Han Emperor—and learned which way the wind was blowing, it had been his intention to hop the next carriage back to the Volstov countryside. I’d spent all my energy and persuasiveness convincing him to give it a little more time, and once he’d realized just how little leeway his body intended to afford him, he finally agreed.
It didn’t mean he’d been very pleasant about it. But that was merely his
way
.
“I thought you loved it in this place,” Alcibiades went on, grimacing.
I patted him on the shoulder. “A change of scenery
is
necessary now and then. And I wouldn’t trade our time here for the world! It
has
been exceptional. But someone must see you home safe and sound, and I don’t think anyone else is quite as fond of you as I am.”
“Hmph,” Alcibiades grunted, looking away, and I couldn’t tell whether or not he was pleased—or, rather, I couldn’t tell just how pleased he was.
Let him be shy. He had saved all our lives.
I busied myself instead with all the details: the carriage, the cushions, the blankets in case the evenings grew chill; I made provisions for my peacocks, the ones my admirers had given me, to send them to my country estate for the time being. Perhaps I would donate them to the Volstov zoo—which meant of course I would also have to see my way toward snagging a white tiger. And, if I was lucky, too, one of those darling red pandas I adored so much.
“Cultural exchange, hm, Greylace?” Josette said as she watched me instructing the men carrying the cages about.
“I’m merely stealing a few animals,” I pointed out, “and
not
a warlord.”
“I was assigned to him,” Josette replied tersely. “The Esar’s orders.”
I had to pause for a moment to shout at some fool who was being careless with the white peacock’s glorious tail. When I returned, I couldn’t help but add, “It’s very lucky of you, then, that he wishes to return to Volstov.”
“Cultural exchange,” Josette muttered. “That’s all.”
All that was left was to have an audience with the Emperor.
“Not on your life,” Alcibiades told me. “I’ve had about enough Ke-Han Emperors for one lifetime, thank you very much.”
“It’s only
polite,”
I pleaded, trying, however futilely, to fix his tie. Would he never learn how to do it up? “We simply cannot leave without exchanging a few pleasantries. For diplomacy’s sake, Alcibiades—”
“Then stop talking about it and get it
over
with!” Alcibiades snarled.
He was excited too, poor darling, only he didn’t know how to admit it. Just think of all the stories we could tell when we returned, triumphantly, to court! No one there would have seen the new Emperor face-to-face. And Alcibiades would have to carry a stick with him at all times to fend off the gossips.
When we entered the council room, the Emperor was sitting a long way away from us, across the narrow room, on a raised dais. Beside him stood his loyal friend, a man whom I admired not the least for the way he held himself. His warrior braids were drawn back off his face; when next to him, the Emperor looked less like a rabbit and more like a bear cub protected by his fearsome mother. If only I could have commissioned a portrait artist to capture that moment—but there was no time.
“It is my honor to meet with you,” the Emperor said.
“Oh,
no
,” I told him, bowing low. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t that so, Alcibiades?”
“Yeah,” Alcibiades managed, clearing his throat. “Right. Thank you.”
It was hardly the beautiful speech I’d imagined—next time, I’d have to prepare one for him beforehand so he wouldn’t spoil the moment—
but the prince seemed happy enough with the informality, and who could blame him? Even I, who reveled in the lush formality of it all, was ready to depart for a breath of fresh air. If I were the young Emperor, I thought privately, I would have preferred to stay in the mountains.
At
least
until my shoes got dirty.
I’d mentioned to Alcibiades that I had one last bit of business to accomplish, quite small but terribly important, and because of curiosity or boredom or both, he’d agreed to accompany me.
Of course, I’d always known I’d get him to see reason in the end. One just had to have the proper constitution for cultivating a friendship, and I very fortunately numbered myself among those lucky few.
“It’s just this way, my dear,” I told him, taking his arm as we turned down a mirrored corner. There were a great many things I would not miss about our sojourn in the Ke-Han palace, but I couldn’t help but think I’d picked up one or two terribly clever ideas while there. I would have to see about getting mirrors installed in my own estate. If nothing else, they would keep me remarkably well coiffed at all times.
“I hope you’re leaving us enough time to pack,” Alcibiades said. “Not that
I
need as much time as some. Knowing you, you’ve probably got more clothes leaving than you did coming here.”
I waved my hand to dismiss the idea, then reached out to open the door that led down into the stables.
“It just seems that way because the fabrics are so voluminous,” I pointed out. “I’ll be the first to wear such fashions in Thremedon. I predict they’ll become a trend soon enough.”
“Yeah,” said Alcibiades, scuffing some hay aside with his boot. “Sure. I can’t believe you’re going back to all… to all
that.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.
Alcibiades blinked down at me. “You’re going back to Thremedon, I take it,” he said. “City of pleasures and vices alike. Well, not me. I’m not even stopping there. I’m going straight to the farm, and I guess that’s where
we’ll
be saying good-bye.”
I guided him through the bank of stalls that housed the mounts for the Ke-Han nobility. There was one at the end that held a horse much larger than normal, more like a farmer’s draft horse than one meant for a diplomat.
“Oh, my dear,” I said, releasing his arm as we drew up to the stall,
“you have it all wrong. Do you think I would ever give up the opportunity to meet the famous Yana Berger?”
Alcibiades went still at my side. I glanced up at him, quite delighted with myself, only to find his expression changed. He looked quite serious all of a sudden.
I opened my mouth to apologize—or perhaps to express my shock at finally having provoked some emotion out of the general at last.
“It’s
Petunia,”
he said before I could speak, and the next thing I knew he was hefting himself up over the stable wall to put himself into the stall with his horse.
I sighed and plucked a stray piece of straw from my sleeve. I was going to have to have a whole new wardrobe made up for the countryside.
Return to the stunning world of
Havemercy
and
Shadow Magic
with the newest novel from
the dynamic duo of
Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett:
DRAGON SOUL
Set in the immediate aftermath of the
Volstov/Ke-Han war, and
returning one of fantasy’s
most unlikely pair of siblings to the page,
this novel brilliantly begs the question:
do metal dragons have souls?
Available in June 2010.
Turn the page for a special preview….
On the day Rook became my brother again, I turned into a liar.
Balfour was the first to ask, once we started up a correspondence, whether or not I had any memories of my older brother. Our time together had been so distant, and to fondly remember a brother only to be confronted years later with the reality of
Rook
was bound to be a nasty shock.
The question surprised me, but I’d found myself writing an answer nonetheless.
Of course I remember John
, I’d said, clutching at the few specifics that I knew to be true. They were enough to make these memories convincing to others and—after a time—I too became convinced.
After that, it was too late. When others asked me whether or not I remembered my older brother, I always said “Of course,” as though it was a foolish question, and didn’t bear thinking about. I’d always prided myself on my honesty—a rare virtue, since it was always the first thing a Mollyrat cast aside—and that I’d stifled it so quickly was a notion that troubled me.
“So you two are brothers?” the innkeeper asked. He was a short, provincial man, with one of those recognizably provincial accents: blurring his h’s and his e’s together, and rounding off his r’s, as though his tongue couldn’t quite shape them in time to get them out. I wondered if I could ascertain his place of birth and whether or not he had been raised there. To me, it seemed clear that he had been born in Hacian, just on the border between New Volstov land and the Old Ramanthe, but I never offered a theory on birthplaces unless I was a hundred percent sure. You never knew whom you’d offend, and among this man’s properties I noted a certain strength of arm, if not of character, that I myself did not possess.
I would let the matter go, though I would make note of it in my travel log.
We were far enough into the countryside that no one knew Rook by sight. We were anonymous travelers, with the mystery of the open road before us—though when I’d shared this sentiment with Rook he’d threatened to take my logbook and stick it somewhere where I need make no further entries. There was nothing to intimate that my brother was one of the greatest heroes of our time—the famed pilot of the dragon Havemercy, who had saved this country.
Not single-handedly, but for some reason Rook had a way of sticking in people’s minds like an irritating burr.
“Yes,” I told the innkeeper. “We are brothers.”
“Don’t look anything alike,” said the innkeeper’s daughter. She wasn’t looking at me. She was staring straight at the window, out toward whatever place Rook had disappeared to earlier. The excuse was that he intended to stretch his legs, but we’d been walking for half the day, and personally I would have found it more relaxing to take a hot bath, have a hot meal, and compile notes about what we’d seen.
“Ah,” I agreed, not trying to offend her either way. Searching for some other topic, I happened upon the only matter on which I was an expert. “I notice that you have an accent of peculiarly—”
“I’d best be seeing to the horses,” she said, hurriedly fixing a strand of her hair before disappearing out the door.
“Now you listen here,” the innkeeper said, reaching across the desk and grabbing me by the collar. “I don’t want any funny business in my establishment.”
“She’s just gone to see—”
“The horses?” the innkeeper said. “Horses my left nut. She doesn’t need to fix herself up for any horses. You find that brother of yours and you make sure nothing happens.”
“I will do my utmost,” I promised. It was the liar in me reasserting himself—though it wasn’t a true lie, since I did intend to try my hardest.
I just wasn’t particularly optimistic about our chances—mine or the innkeeper’s.
But what was most shocking to me was that anyone seemed to think that
I’d
have any influence on the situation. Despite what had changed since the time of our meeting in Thremedon—a time I preferred to examine in private, like poking at a bad tooth—it was fair to say that I still had very little influence upon what my brother chose to say and do.
To his credit, thus far Rook had managed to avoid any behavior that would have gotten us thrown out of a night’s accommodation, but this was hardly the first time I’d been threatened in this manner. And it seemed that all the innkeepers we’d encountered were under the misapprehension that I had some control over my brother.