0425277054 (F) (36 page)

“They’re crazy,” Corene remarked.

Liramelli sighed. “I wish I had that much energy.”

“Well, if you did, you’d use it for something more productive,” Corene answered. She waved toward the stairs. “You two go first. Foley and I will come after you.”

“Are you sure? I climb pretty slowly,” Liramelli said.

Corene laughed. “So do I.”

Alette didn’t argue, just put her fingertips against the curved wall and began the laborious ascent. Like the stairwell at the red towers, this one had no outer railing, and Liramelli clearly wasn’t comfortable without a handhold, so she followed Alette, her own hand brushing the wall. Corene waited until Liramelli had cleared a few steps before beginning her own climb. Foley fell in step beside her.

She glanced over at him. “You’re not afraid of falling off the edge?”

He shook his head. “I tend to have a pretty good sense of balance.” He glanced up, where they could glimpse the nimble forms of Greggorio and Steff bounding up the stairs. The sounds of their laughter and their heavy footfalls still drifted down to the rest of them, but more faintly now. “That may change when we’re about halfway there.”

“Yes, that’s about when I started getting dizzy in the other tower,” Corene agreed.

“You don’t have to make the climb,” Foley told her. “Just to prove you’re not afraid to do it.”

She laughed a little breathlessly. Great, only a few steps up and she was already panting. “I don’t do
everything
just to prove a point.”

He smiled faintly. “My mistake.”

“I’m curious,” she said. “I want to see what makes this tower different.”

“And what’s your impression so far?”

“I think Josetta would like it.”

“It does have an elay feel to it,” he agreed.

“But
I
find it a little spooky. I don’t like the light. I think it would give me a headache to be here very long.”

“Well, I don’t expect we’ll linger.”

They didn’t talk much more during the rest of the climb, which seemed to take forever. Corene couldn’t shake the idea that she was running out of air, as if she was nearing the peak of some windswept stony mountain where the atmosphere was almost too thin to breathe,
and with every step she took, the oxygen seemed to grow scarcer. Beside her, Foley wasn’t struggling at all, and both Liramelli and Alette seemed to be climbing at the same sturdy, determined pace, so Corene assumed she was simply imagining the pressure building in her lungs. That didn’t make the experience any more pleasant.

At least it grew easier to see the closer they drew to the top. The white light spilled over the edges of its metal cradle so that, as they climbed upward, they seemed to be moving straight into a phosphorescent fog so dense Corene could almost feel it settling against her skin. Her hand seemed pearled with white—as she assumed her face did—as Foley’s did when she glanced over at him.

“You look like a ghost,” she told him, managing to inhale just enough air to speak.

“So do you,” he answered. “And your hair is glowing. Like a fire that you see through a frost-covered window.”

She would have laughed except she couldn’t spare the breath.

Finally, finally, they reached the upper limit of the stairwell, and Greggorio and Steff were on hand to pull them through the trapdoor. An impudent wind swirled around them at this height, making the air even colder, but Corene didn’t mind because it delivered air to her famished lungs. She wrapped her hands around the thin railing that crowned the tower and just stood there a moment, trying to restore her balance and slow her heartbeat.

“Who won the race?” Liramelli asked.

“I did!” Steff replied. “I think whoever’s on the inside always wins.”

“You should race somewhere else,” Liramelli said. “Along a flat surface. Where neither runner has an advantage.”

“The point is the challenge of going up the tower,” Steff told her. “A regular race wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

Corene let their words wash over her, but didn’t take part in the conversation. Once she’d caught her breath, she turned to study the glowing heart of the tower. It was bigger than she’d expected, fully as tall as she was, a great white globe of quartz that appeared to have been cut in half and securely nested in a metal base. Its rounded surface was smooth as glass, but in its milky depths she could see faults and fractures that added complex internal layers. The eerie white emanation didn’t fluctuate like
gaslight or fire, though Garameno had once told Corene that the light was produced when the crystal had absorbed enough heat. She leaned over far enough to touch the slick stone with her fingertip and found the globe cool to the touch. She could not entirely repress a shiver.

Turning away from the quartz, she gazed at the vista below. Just as it had from the crown of the red tower, the city looked calm and somewhat surreal, like a painted or imaginary place. She strained her eyes to see the harbor, wondering if she could spot the blockade, but all she could make out was a haze of infinite blue and specks of color that might be naval ships and might be reflections off the water.

More intriguing was the view toward the north and west. Although, as Garameno had said, the city had expanded enough to engulf the tower, it petered out only a few miles past it, devolving into small, isolated neighborhoods that appeared to be half town and half farmland. Beyond those outposts of civilization, the land opened up to what might be rocky prairie—vast sweeps of empty space that sprawled toward a faraway serrated horizon line. Those were the mountains separating Berringey and Malinqua, Corene guessed, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her and she couldn’t really see that far. But Garameno had clearly been right; any enemy hordes racing across these plains would have been visible for miles. No wonder the clans had never mounted a successful invasion.

No, to do any real damage, an adversary would have to attack by sea.

She was still staring at the distant horizon when Alette came to stand quietly beside her. The other girl also appeared to be studying the jagged gray line that seemed to mark the end of the world. “So that way lies Berringey?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“It doesn’t seem so very far away.”

“Maybe that’s what happens when you can see your neighbors,” Corene remarked. “You want what you think they have.”

Liramelli moved carefully around the circular walkway to join them. “I’m too cold to stay up here,” she said. “I’m going back down.”

“I’m right after you,” Corene said. “Magnificient view, but I’ve seen enough.”

The descent was quicker than the climb and accomplished without
incident. Emerging on ground level into the open air, Corene was surprised to find that the temperature felt at least ten degrees warmer.

“I don’t think I’ll need to climb that tower again,” she observed to Liramelli. “It’s such an odd place.”

“Garameno and Jiramondi love it,” Liramelli replied.

“Really? Garameno’s been to the top recently?”

Liramelli nodded. “He usually goes up once or twice a year. They have a relay team to carry him up the stairs—so, of course, after all that effort, he stays for a couple of hours.”

Corene glanced at the cousins, currently having a private colloquy from horseback while Melissande politely waited out of earshot, looking bored. Soldiers were fetching the horses that had been tethered a few yards away while the six of them were in the tower. Greggorio and Steff were engaged in what seemed to be a good-natured argument, while Alette had wandered in the direction of a small shop that appeared to sell baked goods. Corene couldn’t blame her; she was suddenly hungry as well.

“I can see why Garameno didn’t want to be hauled up on someone’s back while the rest of us were running up and down the stairs, but I’m surprised Jiramondi didn’t come with us, if he’s so fond of the place,” Corene said.

“I think he doesn’t enjoy the experience when a lot of other people are around,” Liramelli replied. “Trust me, the white tower has an entirely different feel when you’re the only one at the top.”

Corene supposed that was true, but she couldn’t imagine that she would want to
intensify
the experience, so she didn’t intend to find out. “Well, I’m glad I got to see it, but once was enough. But I’d go back to the red tower any day.”

Liramelli smiled. “That’s because you’re a—What’s your word?—
smeela
girl.”

“
Sweela.
And yes.”

“Sometimes I think—”

Her thought went unspoken. Greggorio tore past them at a run, his voice raised to shout a single word.

“Alette!”

SIXTEEN

C
orene spun around to see what was happening and loosed her own cry of horror. Two men had grabbed Alette—one gripped her by the shoulders, one by the knees—and they were awkwardly running toward a cart where two more men were waiting. Alette was writhing furiously in their hold, kicking and clawing, but it was clear she was overmatched. Corene saw her bright yellow shawl trampled on the ground outside the bakery.

“Alette!” Liramelli shrieked, and then they were all chasing after her, those on foot, those on horseback. Jiramondi and Garameno were the fastest, thundering by so recklessly Corene had to jerk Liramelli out of the way of the flying hooves. Foley was just seconds behind them, already mounted. Corene saw the gleam of something metallic in his hand, and it looked far deadlier than the tool he’d lent Steff to pry open the door to the storerooms.

Behind them came a flurry of royal soldiers, also armed, then Steff, and finally Melissande.

“What’s happening?” Liramelli shouted up at her, because someone on horseback had a much better view of the action than those on the ground. “Can you see?”

“Greggorio has reached her! He is
punching
one of the other men—Oh, he is so angry! And the second man, he has had to release Alette to fight back. She is on the ground— No! There is a third man with her, he is dragging her away—but Jiramondi is there, and, and—Foley! He has
leapt
from his saddle, he has a knife in his hands, I think, and he is—there is a lot of blood suddenly, I cannot tell who is bleeding—”

“Is it Alette?” Liramelli said anxiously.

Is it Foley?
Corene wanted to ask. Her stomach was suddenly a twist of pain. It was even harder to breathe than it had been at the top of the tower.

Suddenly the mounted soldiers shifted positions, and Corene could see straight past them to the ongoing fight. It was true—both Foley and one of the attackers were covered with blood, and Corene thought both of them must be wounded. Foley’s injury didn’t seem to be slowing him down, though, since he moved and slashed with an easy grace that forced the other man to fall back two steps, three, five.

“They look like Dhonshon men—do you see?” Melissande demanded.

“Her father’s soldiers?” Liramelli asked.

“It would seem so. Awful creatures!”

Several of the royal guards also had leapt from their horses and waded into the fight, obscuring Corene’s view, but reassuring her, too: Surely with so many soldiers to take on a handful of men, Foley was not at risk. Jiramondi and Garameno remained on horseback, circling the fighters and shouting directives. “Don’t kill them! We want to take them alive!” Corene thought it might be too late for that.

“There’s Greggorio!” Liramelli gasped and started running.

Indeed, Greggorio had escaped from the churning mass of bodies and was stumbling back toward the tower, carrying a limp Alette in his arms. With a last glance toward the melee of the fight, Corene dashed after Liramelli, Melissande trotting beside her.

Greggorio didn’t stop until he’d slipped inside the tower—maybe a place of safety, maybe not—and laid Alette gently on the stone floor. In seconds, the three women were kneeling beside him, all of them frantically patting Alette’s hands, her knees, any part of her they could reach. Greggorio had planted himself right at her shoulder and was brushing the dirt and blood from her face. Her eyes were closed, leaving her face
a dark, blank mask. She lay so still that Corene was not certain she was even breathing.

“Alette, can you talk to me? Are you hurt? Say something,” Greggorio begged.

Her eyelids fluttered, lifted, dropped, lifted again, to reveal those startlingly blue eyes. She took a deep shuddering breath. “Those men—” she whispered.

“They’re gone. They’re being taken care of,” Greggorio amended.

“They—” She didn’t seem able to complete the sentence. “They were—”

“Probably following us from the minute we left the palace,” Greggorio supplied.

Melissande, who was all the way down by Alette’s feet, leaned forward. “They were dark-skinned like Dhonshon men and each of them worse a hawk symbol on his sleeve. That’s your father’s crest, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Alette said on a sigh.

Corene squeezed Alette’s hand. “Tell us where you’re hurt. You seem to be having trouble breathing. Do you think you broke a rib?”

“I saw one man try to strangle her,” Liramelli said. “Maybe he bruised her throat.”

Alette was silent a moment, as if she was trying to marshal her thoughts. Then, “Help me sit up,” she said and tightened her grip on Corene’s fingers.

Greggorio moved behind her for support and they gently maneuvered her into an upright position. She blinked slowly a few times, then looked straight at Greggorio.

“Thank you,” she said somberly. “You saved my life.”

“I saw them take you,” he said. “I happened to be looking that way. They were so fast—another two minutes—”

“I was careless,” she said. “I should never have stepped away from the guards.”

“You sound better,” Liramelli said hopefully. “Are you all right? Is anything broken?”

Alette nodded. “I feel stronger. But my head hurts. My side hurts. I don’t know if I’m just bruised or—”

“We shall get you back to the palace and examine you,” Melissande
said firmly. “At any rate, you do not appear to be bleeding, for which I am very grateful! Blood is scary but bones will heal.”

Corene came to her feet. “I hear horses outside. I’m going to see how the fight went.”