A Secret Atlas (12 page)

Jorim would offer a duel if challenged.”

“But the ambassador wouldn’t . . .”

Her mother shook her head. “The Viruk have a very strong caste system. Her consort,

Rekarafi, is a warrior. And they will do anything to uphold the honor of the Viruk.”

“Why did Grandfather invite them?”

“Having the ancient ones here to venerate the anniversary of his birth feeds his ego.”

“But putting Jorim at risk . . .”

Siatsi raised a sculpted eyebrow. “It may not. It could be that Rekarafi would view the slain

Viruk as provincial barbarians, much as we see the wildmen in the Wastes. If we are

lucky, those slain were his enemies—but I do not wish to chance it. Remember, our Viruk

guests are not only old enough to remember the coming of the True Bloods, they likely

remember the fall of Virukadeen. Such long lives make them view us much as we would

sand midges—something we could swat without a second thought. And I don’t want Jorim

swatted.”

“Had you swatted him when he was a babe, he’d be less likely to cause trouble now.”

“And had I swatted you as a child, perhaps your tongue would not be so sharp.”

Nirati laughed. “I merely take after my mother.”

“And she will take after you if you do not perform this duty.” Siatsi sighed. “And be

watchful for other deviltry. Your grandfather has been in a foul mood, and I would not put

anything past him. Avert disaster where you see it.”

“Yes, Mother.” Nirati nodded toward the wine table. “Speaking of which, perhaps you wish

to see to Uncle Eoarch. That’s his third cup of wine in an hour. If he’s heard the Viruk

rumors, he’s likely to set up a duel just so he can wager on it.”

“Thank you.” Her mother kissed her softly on the cheek, then headed off to intercept her

brother.

Nirati watched her go, then turned to study the next guests arriving. A young woman

accompanied a man roughly twice her age and it took Nirati a moment to recognize her.

She would have done it faster, but the woman’s handsome escort distracted her. When

she saw who it was, she wished for a dozen more Viruk.
Oh, Grandfather, you have been

causing trouble.

Nirati moved to cut them off as they entered. She let her voice drop to a frosty tone. “I had

not thought to see you here, Majiata. I would have thought you had
some
self-respect.”

Majiata began to answer, but her escort stopped her. “You will forgive me, please, for the

fault is mine. I am newly come here. The invitation from your grandfather was unexpected,

and it was suggested Lady Majiata might be free to attend.”

He spoke very precisely, and with a Desei accent. His purple silk overshirt had been

trimmed in gold, though his shirt and trousers were midnight blue. The white sash belting

his waist suggested mourning, but knotted the way it was it signaled his status as an

exile.
Which would make him . . .

Nirati bowed appropriately for one of his status, but held it longer than required out of

deference. “Forgive me, Count Aerynnor, for being so rude. You are a most welcome

guest. My grandfather will, no doubt, be pleased you took his suggestion to heart.”

The man returned the bow and tugged Majiata down with him. As he straightened up he

smiled slowly, white teeth splitting his black beard and moustache. Light blue eyes

sparkled in a handsome face. The short scar over his right cheekbone only accentuated

his good looks. That he had paled at her reaction to Majiata endeared him to Nirati, and

she’d always found the Desei accent intriguing.

“Please, you will be calling me Junel. My title hardly pertains, as my family’s lands have

been seized by the Crown.”

“I had heard stories to that effect, Junel.” Nirati smiled, liking how his name felt in her

mouth. Majiata’s discomfort only helped accentuate Nirati’s satisfaction. “Are you aware

Prince Pyrust has said he will attend?”

Junel frowned for a moment, then gave her a quick nod. “I had assumed so, since he is

here in Moriande. Until you mentioned it, though, I had not considered how I felt. I will not

cause you any difficulty in this matter. I thank you for the warning. It was most kind of you.

If there is a service I can render you, you have but to ask.”

“Two services. Simple, both, but I ask you to indulge me.”

“As you are my hostess, I would offer you two services, even if both were complex.”

“Thank you.” Nirati smiled. “The first is that you keep Majiata away from my brothers,

either or both of them.”

Junel looked at Majiata. She blushed, and he nodded. “And the second?”

Nirati looked straight into Majiata’s eyes. “Save the last dance of the evening for me,

Junel.”

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

The first two things that happened as he entered the Grand Ballroom did not surprise

Keles Anturasi at all. The Keru guards had let him and his brother pass without notice,

which made him share a secret smile with Jorim. The Keru, being tall, strong, and alluring,

had long been the fantasy fodder for many a Naleni youth. While all of them knew the

Keru did not engage in carnal adventuring, stories of illicit affairs abounded—always

having happened to the friend of a friend, thus escaping verification because of the

remove—so the adolescent dreams never died.

Once inside, his brother immediately slipped away, which Keles had anticipated. Jorim

started off on an arc through the crowd defined by the prettiest women present. He angled

his way around toward the dance floor near the musicians, for Jorim’s reputation as a

dancer had many anticipating his invitation.

The second thing was his sister approaching him, filling the vacuum Jorim had left. The

visible concern on her face braced him for some sort of trouble. “Good evening, Nirati. Joy

of the Festival to you.”

“And you, brother.” She linked her arm in his and drew him toward the room’s northwest

corner, where the crowd thinned. “Mother has asked me to keep an eye on Jorim. The

Viruk ambassador brought her consort, and he is a Viruk warrior. Mother is afraid that he

may have heard tales of Jorim having slain Viruk on his travels. If he were to challenge

Jorim . . .”

“Jorim would accept. And either way it turned out, there would be trouble. Do you wish

help on that assignment?”

“No, but it will keep me occupied the whole of the evening, I fear. I do need to warn you of

something else, though.”

“What?”

“Majiata is here. She arrived with a Desei noble exile of the Aerynnor family. Grandfather

sent him an invitation and suggested he bring Majiata. He seems rather gracious, whereas

she is . . . herself.”

Keles felt a barbed serpent begin to coil in his guts. “Do you want me to stay away from

her? I really don’t care that she is here.” He put emphasis on his latter statement, hoping

both of them could be convinced it was true.

“I trust you to use your judgment and all will be well.” Nirati kissed him on the cheek.

“Actually, I want you to have fun. I’ll keep Jorim out of trouble for tonight, at least. After

that, he’s
your
responsibility for the rest of the Festival.”

“Great.” Keles sighed, but smiled. “You have as much fun as you can as well. I’ll be

careful and keep my eyes open.”

“Good. I love you, Keles.”

“And I you, Nirati. Go.”

His sister departed in a flash of gold silk, but Keles remained in the corner for a bit. The

knowledge that Majiata had chosen to attend his grandfather’s birthday celebration

surprised him. In the short time since she had been forced to return his ring, he’d let

himself think back over their courtship. While they had been affianced for two years,

during a considerable amount of that time he’d been traveling in the west, completing a

survey of the navigable stretches of the Gold River. Back in the days of the Empire one

could sail from the Dark Sea all the way to the coast, but the glaciers that had come in the

Cataclysm’s wake had deposited much debris in the river. The Prince wanted to know

what work would have to be done to make the river suitable for trade again, and Qiro had

entrusted that job to Keles.

When he was in Moriande and not working, he had attended social gatherings. On the

latter occasions Majiata had been with him and had been a perfect companion. She was

polite and witty, rescuing him when he would let his enthusiasm carry him into detailed

explanations of things that bored others to tears. When they were alone—and there had

been precious little privacy outside of bed—Majiata had surrendered the maturity she had

shown in public and become demanding, requesting gifts and throwing childish tantrums.

He’d felt guilty for having spent so much time apart from her, so he weathered her moods,

thinking that it would all be better once they were married and living together.

But recently he had begun to see what Nirati had likely seen from the beginning: these

things would never get better. While some people are capable of change, most are not.

Majiata had no motive to change because Keles acceded to her every demand. And her

family was certainly telling her that what she was doing was right.

Keles shivered. In many ways it would have been easier had humans been as the Soth

were rumored to be. The Soth went through each life stage with a period of hibernation in

between. Like caterpillars that emerge as butterflies—though the Soth changes were not

nearly as pretty—they reached points in their lives where radical changes were necessary.

As legend had it, they found a place to hibernate, took months or years to reorder their

thinking, then molded their shapes to suit and emerged new creatures, facing the world

more wisely.

And the Soth Gloon are even supposed to be able to see the future—though to be seen

by one brings dire consequences.
He smiled.
One must have seen me when I was first
introduced to Majiata.

He wished he could just put Majiata out of his mind, but it wasn’t that easy. He could

remember her smiles, her coos. While she’d not been very attentive to his needs, he still

craved human contact. He wanted someone to look at him with eyes full of desire in the

middle of the night, and the feeling he’d not know that again sent a trickle of fear through

his bowels.

He shook his head, watching his brother move from knot to knot of giggling women. Jorim

was all but a
jaecai
in the art of flirtation. He had an exotic air about him because of his hair, the bruise on his eye, and the stories he engendered. He was wild and unsafe, and

the civilized women of the capital craved that.

Whereas I’m just safe.

Keles sighed. Women had never flocked to him as they did his brother—which was part of

the reason he’d fallen so hard for Majiata. She had played him well, making him feel

desired. And while he did want someone to share his life with, part of him wondered how

he would ever know if he was being played, or if the interest was genuine.

The sharp crack of Keru spear butts on the floor announced the arrival of someone

important. Keles glanced at the doorway, half-expecting to see Prince Cyron and his

attendants, but instead he saw a single, tall man clad entirely in midnight blue, save for a

gold ribbon swirling down his left arm. Prince Pyrust of Deseirion waited for the Keru to

bring their spears back upright so he would not have to bow his head to get past their

spearpoints. He waited, but they did as well, relenting only after the time one would have

held a bow of respect for one of Imperial rank.

The man moved into the ballroom entrance then paused, giving the Keru the chance to

watch his unprotected back. He reached up with his left hand to stroke his goatee. Though

it and his light brown hair were shot with white, he did not look terribly old. Even at a

distance, Keles saw that the Prince had lost the last two fingers on his left hand. A large

ring of state rode on what would have been the middle finger.

Even Keles knew the story of that ring. While the conquest of Helosunde had taken place

well before Pyrust ever took the Desei throne, the royal line of Helosunde had not been

eliminated. After Pyrust became prince, they led a strong incursion into Helosunde and

Pyrust himself had headed the army that opposed them. In his travels he was ambushed

and wounded, losing both the fingers and the Desei ring of state. He survived, however,

and in the subsequent battle shattered the Helosundian force, killing the Crown Prince.

The new ring of state that he fashioned for himself came from the coronet he’d pulled from

the Helosundian Prince’s head.

Keles started to move toward the Prince to greet him, and the Prince, seeing him, strode

in Keles’ direction. He even held up a hand to stop Keles from leaving the corner. At ten

feet the Prince stopped, allowing Keles to bow, and the bow was returned respectfully.

Pyrust looked him up and down. “You clearly are an Anturasi. Keles, I assume?”

“I am honored, Highness.”

“The honor is mine. I dreamed of meeting you.”

“A pleasant dream, I hope.”