The Gantean (Tales of Blood & Light Book 1) (20 page)

“Tianiq.” I slid my hands over my throat where my tormaquine and the anbuaq used to sit. “She was knocked from my arms, Costas. One of the men rescued her, but we got separated.” The memory struck viciously. “We have to search for her. They must have made it to land. We have to find her. We—”

“Tianiq? And what does that mean?” He bypassed the building frenzy of my emotion with his question.

I drew a shaky breath. “Tiriq’s sister. In the Gantean myth she cried the oceans when Tiriq left her.”

He passed Tiriq back to me. “We’ll send messengers throughout Lethemia as soon as the roads are open to travel. We’ll find her; never fear. We will have a naming ceremony for the two of them as soon as she is returned to us. You say one of the crew of the ship has her?”

“Atanurat, yes.”

“This sailor, he will keep her safe?”

“He loves her like his own.”

Costas stared at me. “Why does he love her like that?”

My mouth opened, but his obvious anger stymied my words.

“Why, Leila? Why should he love
our
daughter as though she were his own?”

“He’s Gantean! We—we care for all children like that. That is our way.”

“Who is he?” He took me by the shoulders and dug in his fingers. Tiriq whimpered. “Do you … care … for him, too?”

I remembered Atanurat’s hands, his soft, gentle touches, and the single chaste kiss he had left on my hair.

“I—”

“You’ll forget about him, whoever he is. Do you understand? You belong to
me
.” He shook his head in fury. “Put on your gown,” he commanded as he hoisted the dress from the window seat.

“I don’t think—”

“Now!”

My flesh shivered beneath his gaze as I placed Tiriq on the bed and removed my clothing to don the heavy gown. Still doubting his decision to put me in such attire, I turned away from Costas to let him lace it.

I wanted to explain that Ganteans mated for life, that I would never betray him in the way he suspected, but his anger prevented me. But couldn’t he feel the tight bind of the ung-aneraq? Didn’t he know what it meant?

With a quick, hard pull, he cinched the gown closed. “You wear it better than Stesichore did.” With those words he stalked from the room. The embroidered fabric so weighed me down that I could barely move. What was he thinking, forcing this inappropriate costume on me?
I wore it better than Stesichore? It had been hers?

Flaunting me in Costas’s recently deceased bride’s gown before the scions of the Ten Houses was madness. I hoped Costas wouldn’t do anything else so rash. Obviously the pressure of his new position was taking its toll on him.

N
ot knowing
what else to do with myself, I dressed Tiriq in his ridiculous costume and descended into the public areas of the Palace. The two Dragonnaires shadowed us to the ballroom.

Cream-colored stone inlaid with a yellow marble chrysanthemum had replaced the floor destroyed during the Brokering attack. Servants scurried, arranging chairs and unrolling a swathe of white velvet from the entry to the center of the room.

Several strong men bore an enormous rock into the hall: the famed Lethemian throne, a single giant geode cut into a rough and ancient seat. The core blazed with vibrant red crystal. I gasped. It looked very much like the red crystal wall of the Hinge from which Nautien’s anbuaq spall had been taken. Had the Crystal throne been robbed from Gante just like the vast Palace pillars? And how had I forgotten to ask Costas about my necklace? The man made me lose my wits.

The business of servants and courtiers flowed around me. Some of the people gave me strange looks—I assumed on account of the dress I wore—but most ignored me until young Adrastos Galatien, a paler copy of his older brother, scuffled up to me. Like Costas, he wore a great deal of gold. “Costas told me to keep you company,” he said, staring at the floor.

“Oh! Why, thank you. I’m Leila.” I shifted Tiriq on my hip. “This is Tiriq.”

He nodded. “I know. Costas tells me everything.”

I frowned. I hoped very much he had not. Some matters were not fit for young ears. “What happens at the coronation?” I wondered aloud to fill the silence.

“First the Magarch puts the actual crown on Costas’s head. Then we all have to dance. It’s part of the ceremony. All the delegates from the Ten Houses dance the Ballo. It’s the traditional way of showing support for the new king. The Ballo is thought to be the most magical of the dances, because it follows the six-point star figure.”

I vaguely recalled learning to dance from Tiercel in Entila, but the steps themselves had not stuck. “Will I have to dance?” I asked, worry tingeing my voice.

“Of course.”

“I fear I don’t know the steps very well.”

“I’ll show you,” Adrastos replied. ‘It’s easy, nothing like my brother’s Forms. The Ballo is only six steps.”

I submitted to Adrastos Galatien’s dancing instruction, which was much more particular than Tiercel’s guidance had been in Queenstown. My feet barely remembered the movements, and Adrastos wasn’t impressed. He howled and clutched his hair at the mistakes I made, stopping me repeatedly to trace the proper lines I was to follow on the floor.

“Again!” he cried.

“Gen!” Tiriq squawked at him, waving his arms in glee. Tiriq loved getting jostled about as I struggled through the motions, made that much more awkward by my having to carry him.

Adrastos paused us again. “No, no!”

Tiriq echoed him: “Nehneh!”

“Make the steps like this.” Adrastos waved his hand in the star shape over the ground.

“Maki es tos iss!” said Tiriq.

“It’s a star figure,” said Adrastos.

“Sa sta figa!” Tiriq roared.

I dissolved into giggles and stopped. It was impossible to dance with a baby in one’s arms. Tiriq yanked happily at tendrils from my braids, which I’d pinned up in a circle around my head.

“You have a good eye for the steps, Prince Adrastos.” An incisive voice cut through my amusement.

Adrastos looked up at the speaker. “Welcome, Lord Jaasir,” he said. I attempted to melt into the ballroom’s edges. The Amarian lord hadn’t changed at all; he still wore black and looked as if he had never spent a day in the sun.

A second black-clad shadow lurked behind Jaasir, spinning his mage’s staff in front of him. I flinched. I didn’t doubt that Laith Amar would be angry that I had escaped him in Murana. I hugged Tiriq close.

Jaasir turned to Adrastos. “You should demand more discipline of your students, or they will never learn to respect you.
I
trained in the courtly dances with Hiotiko himself. I was not allowed to laugh if I missed the steps.” He studied me, scowling. “Laith!” he barked. “Let me borrow your staff.” Jaasir reached without looking at his brother.

Laith gave him a dirty look and pulled his staff closer to his own body. Adrastos and I stared as Jaasir tried to grapple the staff from Laith’s grip. Jaasir won and took up the stick, whereupon he used it to smack my ankles.

“Sluggish feet!” he snapped. “You move too slow for civilized dance. I guess it figures, since you were nearly raised by wolves.” He struck my leg hard enough to almost knock me over.

Adrastos flew at Jaasir, ripping the staff from his grip. Jaasir had a moment of appalled surprise, and then his face darkened. He raised a fist, but Laith’s laughter made him freeze.

Laith held out his hand to Adrastos. “My staff, if you please, young prince.”

Adrastos returned it. “Don’t hurt my sister-in-law with it.”

“Your sister-in-law?” Laith replied. “Amassis, who knew? Never fear, I wouldn’t dream of using an instrument of magic as a dance-master’s stick.”

Jaasir snapped at Laith, “Enough with you! Learn some respect!”

“I might if you would, little brother,” Laith said lazily, waving his staff at the Amarian lord. “It’s improper to touch a mage’s staff.”

Jaasir stormed from the ballroom, his boots rapping on the stone floor.

“Are you all right, Leila?” Laith took my hand, pressing the back of it lightly to his lips as though he kissed hands all the time. I nodded, but already my palms sweated.

“My poor brother had a traumatic experience with his dancing master. I fear he was quite abused. Dancing makes him edgy.”

“I see,” I eked out, pulling my hand from Laith’s probing fingers.

“Is he really your brother?” Adrastos asked Laith.

“Indeed, he is. Before Onatos Amar ever wed Jaasir’s mother, Lady Daria, he got a child on an acolyte of Amarite—my mother. The Temple threw her out when she fell pregnant, of course.” He sighed. “The Temple makes more orphans than our wars with such rigid policies about bearing children.”

“You angered your brother,” Adrastos stated.

“It’s nothing new, I assure you. Do you never anger yours?”

“I strive to please him.”

“Perhaps your brother gives you more reason to please him than mine.”

Adrastos cocked his head. “Do you know how to dance as well as your brother?”

“I can hold my own, dancing. I was never taught by Hiotiko, though.”

Laith frowned at Tiriq, who beamed back at him with his most precious baby look. He turned to me. “Last time I saw you, I discerned you were pregnant. But I swore I saw two. May I?” Laith gestured towards Tiriq with a questioning expression.

“What do you mean to do?” The fact that he had seen two frightened me. Neither Miki nor Atanurat, who had all the skill of Gantean shamans, had such clear sight of Yaqi. Laith was a dangerous and powerful mage.

“I only wish to See his Aethers,” Laith said. “I mean no harm, of course.”

I nodded reluctantly and allowed Laith to place his palm over Tiriq’s forearm. Tiriq settled, wearing a curious, blank expression that made him resemble Laith in his trance.

“What an unusual aetherlight he has,” Laith murmured as he reanimated. “Quite clearly a Galatien—the family has a characteristic light signature.” Laith paused, his brows furrowing. “Costas knows, of course?”

I scanned for eavesdroppers. I did not like to have this private discussion in such a public place. Laith, sensing my caution, pulled me towards the ballroom alcoves. Adrastos hesitated, as though torn between giving us privacy and protecting me. He fell into step with the two Dragonnaires, who seemed to know the perfect number of paces to keep between us to provide both privacy and protection. No doubt they had a great deal of experience in the role of bodyguards.

“Costas knows—” I began as Laith frowned at the men shadowing us before drawing the alcove’s curtain.

“So he’ll marry you as soon as possible,” Laith urged.

“That was his suggestion, but—”

“In our youth Costas and I were friends, of a sort. He will be an honorable husband. I approve.”

It almost sounded as though he believed his approval necessary or important. I gave him a perplexed look. “While I’m grateful for your approval, I’m not sure the marriage is the right thing to do—”

“I doubt your opinions will have much bearing on the matter. Galatiens don’t do bastards. They cause too many problems. There’s never been a single one. Unlike our—unlike the Amars, that is. Galatiens carry heavier burdens than other families. It comes with the responsibility of ruling. Costas will not shirk his responsibility to his children. Not like some fathers.”

“What about the Ricknagels?” I wondered. From what little I had seen of the man, and from what I could glean of his actions, Xander Ricknagel took his honor seriously, too. How would he feel about Costas marrying me so quickly after Stesichore’s death?

“What about them?” Laith asked absently.

My question changed even as I thought it. “Can Xander Ricknagel shoulder the responsibility of ruling?”

Laith’s attention snapped in full focus. “Interesting you bring him up. I have no doubt Xander Ricknagel would make a strong king. He is a shrewd leader, experienced and successful. His rapid rise to prosperity following his father’s flagrant excesses shows that he knows what he is about. Even so, House Amar cannot support him. Not with his latest choice of ally.”

“His ally?”

“The Cedna of Gante, of course.” Laith’s too-perceptive gaze raked me. “My brother has quite a vendetta against her. He will not rest until he sees that woman’s head on the Alcazar’s ramparts.” Laith snapped his mouth closed and herded me out of the alcove to the rows of empty chairs at the back of the ballroom. “We’ll sit together,” he announced. “I shouldn’t like another mage to get a glimpse of your boy’s aetherlight.”

“Tiriq,” I muttered. “His name is Tiriq.”

“And the other?” Laith lifted one eyebrow.

I stared at him. “H—how did you know there was another?”

“When I saw that you were pregnant, I saw two separate aetherlights growing. I don’t make mistakes about such matters. What happened? Did she die?”

“Her name is Tianiq. She isn’t dead.”

“Yet you cut her from you like a Gantean, but not the boy?”

“It is the Gantean way,” I said stiffly. “And she is safe with Ganteans.” Then my throat closed and I could say no more.

The hall filled. Laith—who had proved to have a sensitive eye—took notice of my distress and changed the topic. “Traditionally a representative from each of the Ten Houses would attend the coronation to show support for the new king, but with the war, Costas will be lucky to get delegates from half of the families. Ricknagel, Talata, and Shiree certainly won’t be coming. And will you look at that! I hardly thought
she
would be Entila’s representative. For a while, I felt sorry for the girl, or I would have, if she weren’t such an insufferable little wretch. When I heard she’d matriculated at the Conservatoire, I made a point to look out for her. A novice magitrix’s life isn’t easy, especially not for a girl raised in the privileged milieu of the Ten Houses. I tried to like her, but she’s a conniving little schemer. Take care, by the way. She’s bound to give you trouble. She fancies herself Costas’s pet these days.”

Ghilene Entila stepped through the hall wearing rich purple—a color she’d always begged to wear but never been allowed. She carried a magestone in her left hand, bright green and nearly twice as large as the one Lymbok had stolen from the Brokering. I hadn’t seen Ghilene since the night I had fled the Palace, and I had thought of her very little in the intervening moons. I’d never missed her as I missed Tianiq, Miki, Amethyst, Lymbok, Merkuur, and Atanurat.