The only other way to kill a Parani is to remove it from the water and let it suffocate on land. Supposedly that takes the space of two sunsets to happen, for they can breathe our air for a time but the water sustains their lives.
Reconciling the stories of such savage beasts to the creature trembling in Rolan’s arms as he sets it down by the fire is quite impossible. Its skin does not appear so elastic to me as to be impenetrable. And so far, it has done nothing to lash out or attack its captor.
All it does is quiver uncontrollably.
“Trade it?” Rolan laughs. “I was under the impression you were hungry, friend. Nay, we’re going to eat her. Keeping her alive long enough to trade wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Besides all of that, do you know of any shortages of Parani in Anyar?”
Her. Somehow Rolan knows this Parani is a female. And she looks young—or at least, not as big as the Parani in the drawings and paintings Father keeps in the great hall. Perhaps those are all of males, and the females are smaller in comparison. Or perhaps all of them are exaggerated fantasies of someone’s imagination. Perhaps no one in Serubel really knows what a Parani truly looks like. Or likely, they’re all as unimpressive as this, and care had to be taken to make them more fearsome.
It’s difficult to say, because most Serubelans never ventured to the Underneath, much less to the River Nefari; if they wanted to swim, they could do so in the fresh, natural pools of rainwater among our floating mountains. Apparently Theorians have much more knowledge of the creatures than we do, the Nefari being the pulse that keeps their kingdom alive.
“I’ve never eaten Parani before,” Chut says, disappointed. “What if I don’t care for it?”
Rolan looks Chut up and down, deliberately stopping when his eyes reach Chut’s belly. “Seems to me you care to eat, period. You’ll enjoy Parani, I’m certain.” Rolan turns to me. “What about you, Mistress Sepora,” he says with amusement. “Have you ever feasted on fire-roasted Parani?”
I behold the small creature staring back at me with eyes full of panic. Does she understand what they’re saying? Does she understand that they mean to eat her? Surely not. Though intelligent enough to be afraid, she has a feral look about her. The same look a Serpen would have if captured in the wild.
I meet Rolan’s eyes. “Of course I’ve eaten Parani. It’s a delicacy in Serubel.” A lie. And a rather transparent one at that. Still, saving this creature’s life is worth a small lie. Declaring it a staple is also a good way to tell whether these two have ventured into my kingdom. If they had, they would know how full of rubbish I am.
“Is that so?” Rolan says, even more amused. “Do tell us, mistress, how does it taste?”
“Rancid,” I say, feigning disgust. “Especially the females.”
“What do you suggest we do with this rancid beast, then?”
I shrug. “I’m sure I couldn’t care. But if you were in Serubel and weren’t going to eat it, you’d be expected to throw it back.”
Rolan laughs. “Fortunate that I’m not in Serubel, then. Aside from all that, I’ve heard it’s a wretched place.” I try not to take offense, try to focus on the fact that Rolan has obviously never been to Serubel—and what’s more, he would not know whether the place was wretched. If he saw the greens and blues and purples of the mountains, he would surely know how wretched a place his precious Theoria really is.
Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Theorians are known for their imperial pride.
He scratches his cheek and turns back to his companion. “Chut, what has the mistress here given you? Let me see that.”
Chut pounds his way to Rolan, and the two scrutinize the spectorium ball as though it were an animal they’ve never seen before. Could that be possible? Could there exist someone who has never even seen spectorium up close and in person? Of course not. Not Theorians, anyway. The very pyramids of Theoria are made from spectorium; they know what it is. Theoria is Serubel’s most eager trading partner for spectorium. Theoria is the reason I labored day and eve to Forge it.
I can tell that Chut is relaying our transaction to his friend. Rolan’s head snaps up, and his eyes narrow as he looks at me.
It’s time to see how much of a thinker Rolan really is.
The shorter man strides toward me where I lean against the rock and squats before me. “Chut here says you’ve requested to trade your spectorium for your release.”
“That’s correct.”
“Where did you get the spectorium?”
“I told you I’m from Serubel. That’s where all the spectorium is.”
“We checked your satchel, mistress. There was nothing but the Serpen figurine in it when Chut here came across you in the river. Nothing.” Rolan is no longer entertained. Everything about him feels hostile. This could go badly.
“As I told Chut, it was in a secret compartment. You must have missed it.” I can Forge a blade and kill him if I need to. I’m surprised at how quickly this thought forms in my mind. I’m not going to kill anyone. The whole point of this journey was to save lives.
Rolan wipes a hand down his face. Then uses the back of the same hand to strike me hard across the cheek. Searing pain resonates through me. The force of the blow knocks me on my side, and I take a bit of sand into my mouth. It stings the already open cut on my lip. Gruffly, he uses the crook of my arm to pull me upright. Grabbing my chin, he rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, taking care to touch my wound. “Stories amuse me,” he says. “Lies do not.”
I glance at Chut, who’s looking on intently, fidgeting with the ball in his hand. A pity. Chut, the gentle one, doesn’t have the sense of a worm. If he did, he would stop this madness. Rolan, the thinker, has the mercy of a Scaldling. I get the feeling that he craves this sort of cruelty. In the growing dark, the blacks of his eyes seem to get bigger.
Without warning, he seizes my throat, squeezing it between his long fingers, fingers that seem to have been made for just this thing. “Hidden compartments have their place,” he growls. “Good on you for having one. But that…” He nods toward Chut holding the glowing ball. “The weight of that alone would be difficult for you to carry, let alone any other supplies. We would have felt a burden like that when we handled it, mistress.”
He’s right, of course. It would weigh me down and the heaviness would be noticeable to anyone. It was different when I was trying to convince Chut. I’d thought I could barter for my release and be gone before Rolan returned. But that is not the way things turned out.
Perhaps instead of lying, I should say nothing. Nothing is what I have left, after all. The truth is not possible to tell and several different versions of a story will make me appear less trustworthy. I should stick to the one and be done with it.
I feel his fingers loosen their hold. “Be a good little chit and tell me.” When he loosens his grip even more, I’m finally able to take a sustaining breath.
“I did,” I gasp.
His grip tightens again. Would I have to kill him then? Could I kill him? And what would I do about Chut?
“Do you know what a Lingot is, mistress?”
Saints of Serubel, how does he expect me to answer, clutching me so tightly? I think hard, as hard as Rolan squeezes me. The word strikes nothing but air in my mind. Aldon never taught me about a Lingot. The darkness I see now has nothing to do with the setting sun. Slowly, I shake my head.
“What were you doing in the river to begin with?”
“Bathing,” I force out.
Rolan shoves me away, and I crack my head on the boulder behind me. The horizon seems to tilt. The fire dances in three different places instead of the one pit that contained it mere moments before. Vomit. I’m going to vomit. I will, and I’ll do it all over Rolan’s smug face.
All three of them.
“She doesn’t even know what a Lingot is.” He snorts. “But you do know how dangerous the River Nefari is, don’t you? You Serubelans have your superstitions about it, do you not?” He shakes his head. “To think, I could have l
ost such a magnificent spoil to a carnivorous beast such as that.” Rolan nods toward the Parani, who now holds very still as she watches us. There is an understanding in her eyes that I missed before. How I could have thought her a simple animal I’m not sure. The corners of her mouth tug down, and I wonder if it’s because of the gag or if she’s actually grimacing. She must discern what is happening here. At the very least, she discerns that she and I are in the same predicament. Is she concerned for my safety as I am for hers?
Or has Rolan brained me on this blasted rock?
Rolan stands. “Anyhow, where are my manners? I thank you for the gift, Mistress Sepora. It was very thoughtful, and though I believe none of your lies, we’ll gladly accept this offering.”
Gift? Offering? “And my release?”
He laughs into the night sky. “We have decided to decline your request. Now sit quietly while Chut brings you some snake to eat.”
So there will be no trading for my release. Of course there won’t. And even if there were, I couldn’t leave now.
Not when she needs my help.
10
TARIK
Tarik absently scratches Patra’s head as he listens to his advisers and royal scholars fight among themselves. Patra leans in for a fuller caress, pushing her ears back and nudging his palm with her nose. He chastises her with a look, but only halfheartedly because he’d much rather be coddling his giant cat than listening to these nobles bicker. Calling an assembly together to discuss alternative methods of creating power had seemed, in theory, to be a good idea. Now that he has his entire council and collection of the kingdom’s brightest thinkers gathered in the same room, it seems the only true power everyone is concerned with appears to be each individual’s superiority over his or her peer.
“Steam power has long been determined impractical,” says one of his best tutors of the sciences at the Lyceum. She crosses her arms at one of his royal advisers. “It takes more power to create the steam than the steam gives off itself.”
The man beside her huffs, adjusting his long blue robes in an apparent attempt at nonchalance. “Yes, well, it’s not nearly as ineffectual as the water power you’re suggesting. We’ve already diverted the River Nefari to water the crops in the eastern part of the kingdom. To divert any more would have a dire effect on the fishing trade. How would you like to explain the shortage of fish to the Middling fishermen, who depend on their day’s catch to feed their children?”
She scowls. “And when we run out of power completely? What would you have me tell them then?”
Tarik pinches the bridge of his nose. More than fifty of Theoria’s finest minds convened in this great throne room and all they can do is bicker. He wonders what his father would say, what his father would do. One thing he’s certain of—his father would never allow things to get out of hand as he has done today. Advisers speaking out of turn, and none of them addressing Tarik himself, as is the custom at assemblies such as this. He must put an end to it.
“Enough,” he roars, louder than he’d intended. The council members and the tutors and the engineers all desist with their squabbling. Some appear ashamed at having been chastised; others appear shocked. Even Rashidi, who stands beside the royal throne, seems surprised. Get used to it, he wants to tell them all. I am not going to allow my father’s kingdom to fall prey to chaos. “All we have determined today is what is not working,” he says. “Tell me, what are the other kingdoms doing? And I swear if any of you speak out of turn again I’ll have you escorted to the Half Bridge.” A lie. A few of those present are Lingots, and they can discern the deception, but most in attendance pay grave attention to their young king.
At first, none will raise their hands. At long last, though, someone finally does. It’s the woman scholar who’d stolen the floor moments earlier. She’s older, with gray-tinged wisps of hair peeking out of her stately golden headdress, symbolizing her premium rank at the Lyceum. “Your Highness, if I may?”
He nods to her. “Please.”
“The information we’ve gathered suggests that the other kingdoms are simply going without power or using fire. Trade with Wachuk for their lumber has increased, as you can imagine. But as you know, Highness, Theoria strives for a higher standard of living than that for our citizens. To go without power would mean—”
Rashidi snorts. “His Majesty is well aware of the severity of the circumstances, Mistress Raja. Is there anyone at all here today who can offer a solution, rather than reiterate—and therefore exacerbate—the problem?”
This time, the assembly falls as quiet as usually Patra does before she springs to attack.
“What of Pelusia?” Tarik says. “What are the reports coming from there?” The northern kingdom of Pelusia is rarely spoken of. Located on the edge of the vast ocean, some say the land there is cursed. Others that the inhabitants are mad, even resorting to cannibalism to survive. What it all tells Tarik is that no one really knows—and that Pelusia seems perfectly content with that.
“There are no reports from Pelusia, Highness,” Rashidi says. “They are of a solitary assortment, I’m afraid. They never traded for spectorium in the first place.”
He’ll speak to Rashidi in private for pointing out the obvious in front of an entire assembly, as if he didn’t already know that Pelusia was estranged from the rest of the kingdoms. “Yes, but what sort of power do they use, then?”
At this Rashidi seems confounded. “It’s not known, Highness. We’ve not had communication with that kingdom in decades. They are much too bonded with Serubel for us to form a trusted alliance.”
Tarik shakes his head. “Then we must reach out to them. Select a representative and send a caravan to the king. Let us see how the Pelusians have managed to survive without the convenience of spectorium. We shouldn’t assume anything that hasn’t been ascertained by one of our trusted ambassadors.” He leans on his elbow, gently pushing Patra’s imploring head away from his lap. “And since we cannot seem to find a way to manage without spectorium, we should be endeavoring to regain possession of it. Send a richly appointed caravan to Serubel as well. Let’s see what it will take for King Eron to trade.”
“It may well be more than we have,” Rashidi mutters for Tarik’s ears only.
“We’ll reconvene this assembly when we’ve heard from our ambassadors. Until then, keep working on the solution, not the problem. I find it rather unamusing that the brightest stars in the kingdom have come up with nothing but creative ways to insult one another.”
As his most educated subjects file out of the throne room, Tarik turns to Rashidi. “I am not impressed with my collection of intellectuals.”
“You were very wise to put an end to their petty quibbling.”
“And what of my idea to send caravans to the outer kingdoms?”
Rashidi sighs. “It is better to do something than nothing, Highness. What have you in mind to trade the Serubelan king?”
“If this plague persists? Anything he wants.”
11
SEPORA
Chut takes another bite of snake as if out of habit, as if it were his duty to take bite after bite of a thing he despises. He’d complained already that he hated snake, that he’d much rather try the Parani. But Rolan wouldn’t hear of it. “Parani must dry out first, before you can eat them,” he’d explained. “Gives their fins more of a flaky texture that you’ll adore. Give it a day or two, my friend. Then we’ll dine like the Falcon King himself.” The Falcon King? The last I’d heard, he was the Falcon Prince. Had his father, the Warrior King Knosi, turned the reins over to him at such a young age? Why would he do such a thing? In Serubel, only death moves the crown of royalty. I can’t help but think how grave a mistake it would be to entrust the kingdom of Theoria to a mere boy king—especially with all the plans my father has for it.
Chut sighs. “Move that Parani closer to the fire. That ought to dry her out faster.” The first astute observation I’ve seen him make.
Even Rolan is surprised,
chuckling around a yawn. “You know, you’re quite brilliant when you’re hungry.” He lies down on his fur mat, tucking his arm under his head as a pillow. “Move her closer if you wish.”
“It’s my survival instinct,” Chut says proudly, tapping his finger to his forehead. He stands and walks to where the Parani is bound and bent on her side in awkward angles. I’ve watched her deteriorate all evening. If she is to survive, I must help her soon. Even now, she pants, her breaths coming in quick short rushes.
Chut grabs her fin and drags her unceremoniously to the fire’s edge. Anyone would be hot sitting that close to the flames. By now the fire is a bulking thing that licks high at the night sky. From where I sit, I see the heat radiate from it like the hot stoves in the kitchens of my castle back home. The Parani tries to roll away, loosing an eerie, high-pitched squeal.
Chut seizes her again and drags her back. “Should she still be this feisty, you think, Rolan?”
“You nearly threw her into the fire,” Rolan says, appearing bored. “I suppose anyone would show some feistiness in that case.”
Chut purses his lips. “I’ll dig a pit here so she can’t roll away.” Chut really is brilliant when he’s hungry. He sets to kicking at the sand, moving enough of it to form a small trench just deep enough to fit the Parani.