Chapter XVII

  An Audience With the King -- Part 2

  It was well that Alia had elected to visit the Eagle’s Aerie before the First Bell—because almost immediately after it rang, the king of Zanbil sent the golden women to summon his visitors.

  “The king invites you to break your fast with him,” said the golden pseudo-women to the guests of the palace.

  Bright, airy rooms marked the route to the private apartments. Then they came to double doors of highly polished wood, embellished with a carving of an ash tree. The sentries at the door opened it at once and ushered them inside a long, narrow hallway.

  Above them, clear glass skylight showed the rosy haze of the barrier dome outside. Likely in Zanbil’s glory days it would have shown them the sun by day and the stars by night.

  Alabaster, marble, creamy dragon ivory, moonbow, gold and silver—these made up the sculptures projecting out from the walls of the corridor. In high relief the pegasus, gryphons, dragons, and as ever, swans frolicked amidst white clouds. Silver gilt the wings of the marble pegasus, and gold the wings of the alabaster gryphons. Scales of moonbow steel glittered on the dragons’s bellies.

  Beautiful enough, but what made their breaths halt in their throats was the floor. To their eyes, someone had emulated the Huntress in seizing hold of a rainbow. Unlike Her, that someone laid it gently across the ground so as not to sunder it into a thousand moonbow stones as She had done. Instead it remained intact, forming a shimmering iridescent path of light that undulated in soft waves.

  “Are we to fly across?” Bessa asked one of the golden women.

  In her dreams the Huntress may have had such a floor in Her abode, but she could not imagine traversing it by ordinary means. Surely one must be of a pure heart or some such, and have the blessing of the goddess Herself. Or maybe the wall reliefs were a hint: they would need wings to cross into the king’s private chambers.

  “No, honored guest. Step as we step, and fret not.”

  The automaton escorts walked with such grace that Bessa smiled wryly and gamely put her own best foot forward. This was how she learned the “rainbow” was solid, not a field of light she might fall through. It held her weight and that of her friends. Filaments of ruby, flame topaz, and citrine shimmered to her right. Beneath her feet snaked emerald filaments, then came sapphire, lapis, and amethyst.

  Bessa committed to walking on the sapphire parts. Giddiness overwhelmed her, and she allowed herself a little twirl and leap, reveling in the magic of the experience.

  “This is something you must put in your stories, Bessa,” Edana said. In her left hand she held her sandals by their straps. She walked barefoot, as though they trod upon holy ground. Or perhaps she wanted to soak up every part of the experience, and wanted nothing between her feet and the rainbow.

  “All of this is going in!” Idly, Bessa wondered how Brison would dramatize the Zanbil portion of this adventure. This she would pay much coin to see.

  Double doors at the end of the rainbow walk stood open, and their sentries made no move to bar their path. Beyond, they came to a courtyard arrayed with sculptures and fruit trees. In the center, someone had made up an elaborate feast on a long table covered by a star-spangled table cloth. Gossamer sheers formed an awning which filtered light over the table.

  And at their feet a void of stars.

  Here the golden women stopped. They went no further than the doorway, two of them joining the sentry at the right-side of the door, and three of them joining the sentry at the left-side door.

  “We go no further than this,” said Gulalla. “You will speak with the king and queen.”

  Standing at their center of the void, as if they were on a solid floor, stood King Sarvin and Queen Rekhetre.

  But they were not alone.

  Several men and women surrounded them, gesticulating vigorously and speaking with firm, upraised voices.

  “… we will not be put off. We all have a right to speak to the Visitors and confirm for ourselves what they’re about.” This from a woman in a slinky sheath dress, dyed lapis blue. The wig on her head matched her dress, as did the lapis hair rings threading through the night-dark sidelocks framing her face.

  “… they should be subjected to a trial to make sure these are not clever pretenders—” declared the stern-looking man, whose elegant white robe was trimmed with wide golden embroidery along the hem.

  At this, a younger man stamped his sandaled foot and rolled his eyes. “Insanity! Insanity! How could they be pretenders? Who lives here whom we have not seen?”

  The exasperation in his voice made Bessa smile slightly in solidarity. His question was one she would have asked in his place. The thought of seeing only the same faces over and over for the whole of her life would have driven her mad. Stagnation and endless repetition made her very soul itch; she would have been desperate for a change, were she a resident of Zanbil. Novelty thus became the next arrow in her quiver.

  As she was in the lead, Bessa had reached the doorway first. She held up a hand, signaling her friends to halt, but she listened in silence. The raging debate in the king’s dining room pleased her, for she had not been looking forward to wending her way through caltrops, snares, and ambushes while she tried to figure out the king’s motives and simultaneously avoiding bringing destruction down on herself and her friends. Let everything be in the open—doubts, fears, hopes, all must be put on the table for examination.

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  “… am I not your king? Have I not kept us safe? How do you doubt me now?”

  “… this is not about doubt! I’m telling you the Visitors are emissaries of destruction. All of the signs say it so!” insisted an older woman, who wore her henna-dyed hair coiled into an elegant knot.

  Now was the perfect opening.

  “What signs have set you against us, when the heavens are hidden from you, and the Seeker is known to be keeping silent in these days?” Bessa asked.

  All of them reacted as if she had just shot a fiery arrow into their midst. Everyone scrambled, left and right. Within five heartbeats they formed a phalanx—not in front of their king, she noted, but beside him and the queen. Facing her, with their backs no longer against the door.

  Bessa dipped her head, a respect gesture akin to what she would have given Tarkhana. Before King Sarvin could speak she said, “Forgive the interruption, your highness. We’ve come at your invitation, but I see our presence as caused distress amongst your people. Is there something we can do to put you all at ease?”

  Silence. Furtive glances amongst the courtiers, looking at each other then at their king and queen. The queen gave Bessa an appraising stare. Purposely Bessa had worn the same cloth-of-copper gown she had worn to meet Tarkhana, precisely because she’d bought it in Karnassus. With its pleats, beaded embroidery, and capelet about her shoulders, the dress was an example of high Athyriian fashion … in modern Athyr-ai, anyway.

  For the most part the Zanbellians dressed like Athyriians, so she gambled they would interpret her clothing as a sign of respect. And that Queen Rekhetre would note the more modern differences. Arrayed in a night-blue gown spangled with silver stars, the queen’s gown reminded her of the echomancer’s robes. Perhaps the queen was indeed an echomancer. However, contrary to a seer, the queen wore a moon-burst crown of glorious moonbow steel, studded with pearls and rubies.

  Approval and interest flashed in the queen’s striking hazel eyes, then she turned to her husband and exchanged a meaningful glance with him. Locking arms together, King Sarvin and Queen Rekhetre stepped forward. The king beamed at Bessa.

  “Young maiden, We are not distressed. It pleases Us that you have answered Our invitation. My people simply have questions. After so long a time without visitors, your presence has stirred up … excitement.”

  “But of course,” Bessa agreed. “Forgive me for the incorrect interpretation of the spirited talk I have witnessed. I am told the Dragon’s Den where our leaders meet is similarly spirited, in Valentis. And as you do, Emperor Tarkhana also gives an ear to the concerns of those leaders who speak for us.”

  This last she said to remind them that she came from a nation not known to them, with a power similarly unknown. Let them suppose her to be an ambassador. For now, at least. She glanced down at her right hand, where she again wore Tarkhana’s seal ring on her middle finger.

  “Again I ask, how can we allay your fears? We come in peace to Zanbil.”

  With a subtle gesture Bessa beckoned for her friends to enter the room. Flanking her, they formed their own phalanx.

  King Sarvin kept his smile. “Welcome, honored visitors. Welcome … is the Ta-Setian not among you?”

  Startled, Bessa glanced left and right. Where was Alia? During their walk Selàna and the men had brought up the rear, and she had paid no mind with all the wonders in front of her to look at. So Alia had found a chance to leave the palace and do some exploring? Sheridan, she noted, did not appear perturbed by her absence. Did the Huntress give him warning or instruction? Out loud she would ask him nothing. In front of the king let him speak what Alia had given him leave to speak, but Bessa wouldn’t introduce any questions the king should not have the answer to.

  Sheridan inclined his head, acknowledging the sovereign. “My lady huntress is attending to her dawn prayers.”

  “Huntress? She is a sorceress? Or priestess?”

  “Priestess.”

  The king and queen exchanged a glance, and only then did one of the golden women speak up. Ruxshin, the golden woman assigned to Bessa. Apparently she had keen hearing, because she came to the doorway and proceeded to answer King Sarvin’s question.

  “She has left the palace, in the care of Simin-katin and the chief of the air guard. They have taken her to where she bids them take her: a place high, where she can see the city and say her prayers,” said Ruxshin.

  The queen’s long lashes fluttered, and the king’s nostrils flared, but again they held their peace.

  “We had hoped to have an extended conversation with you all, about the lands where you hail and suchlike. But no matter. Zanbil was not built in an hour; we have time to talk with you all!” King Sarvin said.

  Bessa eyed the henna-haired woman who had mentioned signs. “Again I ask you, lady of Zanbil, how you come to have signs when there is no way for you to see signs and portents? Outside of Zanbil, the Seeker gave Her last prophecy two years prior, on the autumn equinox. We know of five prophets She gave revelation to. No one else since then has been given a prophecy. Why are you certain we’re ‘emissaries of destruction’?”

  The woman eyed her frankly in return, but her lips trembled. She clutched the folds of the fringed shawl wrapped around her torso.

  Putting every ounce of compassion as she could manage into her voice Bessa added, “May I assure you the prophecy did not mention Zanbil? You are not condemned, or cursed, nor was any misfortune proscribed for you in particular. We have not been sent here to do any harm to your city-state. Do you have any Truthsayers among you?”

  Murmurs reached her ears, but Bessa could barely make out any words. So she watched their faces. Awe, disquiet, relief, confusion — all of this she read in their expressions and voices.

  King Sarvin quickly interjected, “We do not accuse you of any deception or ill-intent.”

  “That gratifies us, Your Majesty,” Bessa said, and inclined her head again.

  The Zanbellians looked so perturbed she that she anticipated a struggle in calming their fears.

  “You say a prophecy came on the—how did you call it? The equinox … ?” Queen Rekhetre’s question trailed off.

  In Bessa’s understanding, royalty was always educated. But the queen might not have been taught about something even her teacher would have been ignorant about: the movement of the heavens.

  “Yes. But I’m not certain I can explain the equinox to you, if you have no frame of reference,” said Bessa. She softened her statement with an apologetic smile. “What is this floor you stand on? Not long ago echomancers showed us events of the past, and took us to a starry void. Is this room meant for echomancers? Are those actual stars beneath your feet?”

  Again King Sarvin exchanged a glance with his queen. Brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, she gave him a fond smile.

  “My love. You have wanted this for so long. This is your moment. Make it so.”

  The king of Zanbil paused and looked over at them. One by one he studied their faces. He locked eyes with Bessa and his expression turned to boyish delight.

  “I sense no lie in what you say. If any of you have the gift of truthsay, then prepare to be astonished: Zanbil is not anywhere you know. We are not in the Palace of Land and Sea. We are in the Place Between.”