A Secret Atlas (11 page)

maps that allow others to go further than anyone before, and yet you will be limited to this

little scrap of Moriande.”

Keles felt a hand squeeze his heart. Being trapped in the family tower did frighten him.

Certainly it brought with it security, but security without freedom was useless.
To never

again look upon a sunset in the mountains, or see gaily plumed birds winging through rain

forests . . .

“I guess you’ll just have to bring the world to me, Jorim. It is what I will be called upon to

do. If we are lucky, you and I, we will become
jaecaikyr
and live a good long time. Perhaps the Prince will let us take turns here, being each other’s eyes and ears elsewhere,

bringing back the world. If that is not the case, then I will have to depend upon you, your

children, my children, and perhaps Nirati’s children, to do that for me. It is an eventuality I am willing to accept, for the good of our family and our nation.”

“Protecting me again, brother?” Jorim smiled, then waved a hand toward the door of his

chamber. “I know that’s what you were doing in the map room. That’s what you’ve always

done. Nirati distracts Grandfather, and you appeal to reason. It drives me utterly mad, but

I know I benefit from it.”

Keles reached out and tugged on a braid. “You benefit from it, and you make us work very

hard, you know that?”

“That’s what little brothers are for. It says so in all the stories.”

“And here I thought you preferred being unique.” Keles preceded him from the room. “One

thing, tonight. Please, no fighting. There’s still blood in your eye, and that bruise is not

quite in keeping with the color scheme.”

“Yeah, the purple isn’t quite Imperial, and the yellow edges are just not the right shade of

gold.” Jorim’s hand landed heavily on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “Fear not,

brother, I will be on my best behavior. If what you have told me is true, I don’t wish to give

Grandfather any cause to change his mind.”

“Good.” Keles let himself exhale loudly. “This is his night. We let him have his way, and

things will be perfect.”

2nd day, Harvest Festival, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Anturasikun, Moriande

Nalenyr

Nirati found she was having difficulty breathing, and it was not just because of the corset

into which she had been laced. She was a slender woman already, and the corset had

been used to shrink her waist to an impossibly tiny circumference. Her handmaiden had

pulled it tight, admonishing, “Lass like you, Mistress, don’t need to be breathing, since all

the men will think you’re breathless because of them.” Nirati had laughed at that, and the

servant used the exhalation to tighten it just a bit more.

Nirati looked out through the tower’s Grand Ballroom, which was only half-full, and felt a

bit dazzled. The evening’s colors were purple and gold—purple for the Prince and gold for

the Anturasi family. She, her brothers, cousins, mother, and grandfather all wore

predominantly golden robes, overshirts, and trousers, with purple ribbons as decoration.

The Prince and his household would reverse that, and everyone in between would wear

whatever struck their fancy, with gold and purple accents as befitted their ties to the family

or Crown.

Or depending on what sort of impression they wished to make.

The Prince, though not yet in attendance, had already made a strong impression. He had

allowed some of his Keru bodyguards to be stationed at the gate, front door, and the

ballroom entrance. Drawn entirely from the women of the exile population of

Helosundians, the Keru pledged themselves to the Naleni royal house, eschewing

marriage and children, leading an ascetic life filled with training and guard duties.
And odd
rituals, if the whispered tales are true.

Without exception, the women wore their golden hair braided with a white ribbon, in

mourning for their lost homeland. Though quite handsome, few among them would have

been described as beautiful because their features were as strong as their bodies, and

their hard-eyed stares lacked warmth. Each wore a sword and carried a spear, but was

polite and respectful—although Nirati wondered if they would retain that demeanor when

the Prince of Deseirion appeared.

The rectangular ballroom had a row of tall windows along the western wall that allowed a

wonderful view of the night sky. Opposite them, to the left as one entered, tables had been

set up and laden with all manner of viands. Merchants and traders who wished to curry

favor with the Anturasi had gifted much in the way of wine, cheese, and other exotic foods.

Her grandfather’s taste for heavily spiced food had also been represented at the

centermost table, with cooks preparing and bringing out dishes that filled the air with

delightful scents in much the way the musicians in the room’s southwest corner filled the

air with sweet sounds.

As she surveyed the chamber, her eyes were naturally drawn to the catwalk running

around the entire room a good fifteen feet above the floor. Six feet wide, save at the

southeast corner where it became a triangular platform, its golden bars formed a lattice

that separated anyone up there from those below. In the southeast corner stood a chair

and small table, along with two Keru guards. The door in the east wall would be the one

through which her grandfather entered and from which he would eventually announce

the
Stormwolf
expedition.

She smiled slightly because she knew the posting would please Jorim beyond measure.

Her only worry was that her grandfather, through preoccupation or deliberate action, might

make the pronouncement in a way that would set Jorim off. While she loved her little

brother dearly, he did have a temper, and her grandfather’s celebration was not the place

to let it flare.

She shivered because a display of temper could do more than ruin the party. She could

not remember her grandfather’s sixty-third birthday feast, but Qiro and Ryn Anturasi had

gotten into a shouting match. From all she’d heard, Ryn had only been defending himself.

The fact that he’d left on the
Wavewolf
the next day without ever exchanging a civil word with his father—and had then disappeared—kept rumors alive that Qiro had had him

murdered.

Nirati looked over at her mother and smiled. Siatsi Anturasi wore a robe of gold, with

broad white bands trimming it at the hem, sleeves, and edges, and a purple sash holding

it closed. Taller than Nirati, though not as tall as any of the Keru, her mother had gone

from being a slender girl to mature woman without any diminution of beauty. She wore her

black hair up and secured with golden sticks. She’d powdered her face white, and used

gold to add a sparkle of freckles over her cheeks and nose. Gold paint also emphasized

her eyelids and lips, giving her the look of an alabaster statue come to life.

Her mother was an interesting woman, for she had managed to prosper within the

framework of two families dominated by strong patriarchs. Her own family, the Isturkens,

had been prosperous merchants who had married her off to Ryn Anturasi hoping to gain

some sort of benefit from Qiro. They had continued to prosper until her father died and her

elder brother, Eoarch, had taken over the business. His gambling habits extended beyond

the gaming tables, and lost cargoes and ships drove the family to the brink of ruin.

When Ryn died it had been expected that Siatsi would function as Qiro’s hostess, but she

declined and instead returned to her family and took over for Eoarch in all ways save for

the trading company’s public face. She bargained with Qiro for maps in return for allowing

his grandchildren to visit and be trained. Nirati had even heard it said that her mother had

become one of Prince Araylis’ mistresses in return for favorable customs duties on certain

shipments, but she had never asked after the veracity of those remarks.

She and her mother had worked hard preparing the celebration and smoothing things over

between Qiro and Jorim. They’d both agreed to act on Jorim’s behalf without consulting

him. Jorim sometimes did not know what was good for him, and would eventually come

around to their point of view.

Several gasps from near the entrance caused Nirati to turn. She did so slowly, not

because her robe restricted her movement—there would be dancing later, after all—but

because calm patience in the face of any emergency was the hallmark of a successful

hostess. She braced herself for anything from a splash of spilled wine to Jorim’s entering

awash in blood. Despite her preparation, her breath did catch in her throat.

The Keru at the door had stepped aside to admit the Viruk ambassador and her consort.

Ierariach of Clan Nessagia likely would not have elicited the gasps herself. Her ebon eyes

always attracted comment, as did the thick flow of her jet-black hair, which she wore

unrestrained. Her pale green flesh, on the other hand, did make her inhuman nature

apparent. Of average height, she had chosen to wear a gown of sea green that

complemented her complexion. Her concession to the evening’s color scheme came in

the form of a large amethyst set in gold that she wore as a spider-shaped pendant above

her ample bosom.

But her consort
was
enough to take the breath away, and guarantee nightmares. Had he

stood up straight, he would have topped eight feet easily, and Nirati suspected that his

outstretched hand could touch the bottom of the catwalk. He wore only trousers and a

sleeveless overshirt that let everyone see the bony plates on his long, slender arms. The

hue of his flesh matched hers on throat, chest, belly, and the insides of his arms, though it

deepened to a pine green over the rest of him, including his face. His black hair was as

long as Jorim’s and could have benefited from similar braiding, though that would have

entailed plaiting it down the length of his spine. His fingers and toes ended in sharp claws.

The hooks on his elbows and the thorns on his head appeared not quite as sharp as the

claws, but when he smiled, an ivory row of needle-sharp teeth reinforced the idea that

while he carried no weapons, he was far from defenseless.

Nirati strode forward at a pace that would allow her to reach the Viruk at the same time as

her mother. Siatsi stopped ten feet from them and bowed. Nirati matched her in depth and

duration—which were both considerable given the Viruk relationship to Men. They

straightened in unison and smiled.

“
Dicairoun
Nessagia, you honor us with your attendance.”

The ambassador smiled, but not without a little effort. “We were most pleased to receive

the invitation to celebrate the life of the man who has recovered much of the world that

was lost.”

Nirati kept her smile in place. Most of the people hearing those words would think the

ambassador referred to the Cataclysm and the resulting loss of contact with the rest of the

world, but Qiro’s granddaughter knew better. The Viruk had, millennia before, ruled over

an empire that encompassed all Nine Principalities, their provinces and more. The men

who lived there had been enslaved, along with other races, to serve the Viruk.

The Viruk capital, Virukadeen, had been located in what was now the heart of the Dark

Sea, but had been destroyed in a cataclysm of Viruk manufacture. The Viruk who lived

away from the capital, administering the provinces, suddenly no longer had the legions of

Viruk warriors to secure their positions. Revolts followed, and Viruk rule was overthrown in

places. Human freedom did not always last, but just over two thousand years ago, the

True Bloods had come in a vast armada, invaded the Viruk Empire, and driven them out of

what became the Principalities. Within the provinces, pockets of Viruk population still

existed, though scattered and isolated. Far Irusviruk—the Viruk nation from which the

ambassador had come—neither invited nor tolerated human interlopers. Peace between

the races, for the most part, reigned—though did so uneasily the further one got from the

Principalities.

Siatsi clearly had not missed the implications of the ambassador’s greeting. “The world is

a vast place. Not all that was lost can be discovered, and some things discovered may

never have been lost—such as the pleasure your presence brings to me. May your visit be

blessed, and the peace of the Festival yours to enjoy.”

The consort bobbed his head and again flashed teeth. Nirati felt he was no more used to

smiling than Ierariach was, but just enjoyed watching the human reaction to his grin. A

shiver descended her spine as a thin ribbon of spittle began to roll down over his jaw.

Fortunately, his thick black tongue licked it back before it could reach the floor.

The ambassador nodded. “We will enjoy your hospitality. Thank you.”

As they moved away, Siatsi took her daughter by the elbow. “Watch your brother when he

gets here and keep him away from the Viruk. The story that Jorim slew two warriors while

in Ummummorar is not unknown. I doubt anything will lead to violence this evening, but