Then Lionstar passed her to one of his stagmen, who handed her up into the roaring lion. Its interior was somber, panelled in black moonglass wood and upholstered in dark leather. A window showed in the wall by her seat. Turning to watch Lionstar enter, she saw another window in the door behind him. Yet from outside, no windows had shown at all.
As a stagman closed the door, Lionstar sat next to her, his long legs filling the car. His cloak fell open, revealing ceremonial dress much like Maxard’s, except in darker colors. The coach rolled forward, and Kamoj looked out the window, to catch a final glimpse of her home. But the "glass" was fading into a blank expanse of wood. Alarmed, she turned to look out Lionstar’s window, only to find it had gone away as well.
With such a dark interior and no lamps, it should have been pitch black in the coach. But light still filled it. She bit her lip, wondering where the luminance came from.
"Here." Lionstar tapped the ceiling. His voice had a blurred quality to it.
Puzzled, she looked up. A glowing white strip bordered the roof of the coach. It resembled a light panel, but made as thin as a finger and flexible enough to bend.
"That’s what you were looking for, wasn’t it?" he said. "The light?"
How had he known? "Yes."
He nodded, then reached into his cloak and brought out a bottle. Shaped like a curved square, it was made from dark blue glass with a gold top. He unscrewed the top, lifted the bottle into his cowl, and tilted back his head. After a moment he lowered the bottle and wiped his hand across whatever he had for a face. Then he returned the bottle to his cloak.
Kamoj blinked, catching a whiff of rum. Then Lionstar turned and slid his arms around her. With one black-gloved hand, he rubbed the lace on her sleeve, rolling it between his fingers. Then he folded his hand around her breast, under the vine of roses, and pressed his lips against the top of her head while he caressed her.
Embarrassed and flustered, Kamoj sat utterly still. But his hand soon stopped moving. In fact, after a few moments, it slipped off her breast and fell into her lap. His whole body was leaning on her now, making it hard to sit up straight. She squinted up at him, wondering what to do. While she pondered, he gave a snore.
Her new husband, it seemed, had gone to sleep.
She gave him a nudge. When he made no objection, she pushed him into an upright position. He lay his head back against the seat, his mail-covered chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. Just as she started to feel grateful for this unexpected reprieve to absorb her situation, he tried to lie down again. The coach didn’t have enough room for his legs, so he stretched out on the seat with his feet on the ground and his head in her lap. Then he went back to snoring.
Kamoj scratched her chin. Of all the possible scenarios she had imagined for their ride to the palace, this wasn’t one of them. She stared at his cowled head in her lap, the hood lying across his face. Was he truly as hideous as everyone claimed?
For a while she resisted her curiosity. The longer he slept, though, the more the thought nagged at her. How would he even know if she looked?
Finally she could take it no more. She tugged on his cowl. When he made no protest and showed no sign of waking, she pulled more. Still no response from Lionstar. Emboldened, she brushed the hood back from his head–and nearly screamed.
He had no face.
No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just metal. His head was man-shaped, with the contours of a face, but instead of skin and human features, he had only silver scales.
"Hai," she whispered. She drew in a shakey breath. So. Now she knew.
As her pulse calmed, she took in more of his appearance. He had human hair. No, not human. It too had a metallic cast. Thick glossy curls spilled to his shoulders, a mixture of gold, bronze, and copper, with silver at the temples. It was glorious. She had never seen those colors, though. Some farmers in Ironbridge had yellow hair, but nothing like this multi-hued mane.
In fact, it fit his name almost too well. A remarkable coincidence, that someone named Lionstar happened to have such a leonine mane, like the skylions of the upper mountains, with their six-legged scaled bodies and feathered manes. Then again, maybe his ancestors adopted the name because such hair ran in his line. People had done stranger. She was named for a plant, after all, and the Current only knew what Quanta meant.
Kamoj brushed a finger over his curls. He kept on sleeping. At least she thought he was sleeping. How did one tell when a person had no eyes? In any case, he gave no evidence he disliked her touch. She slid her hand deeper into his curls. Hai. They felt as good as they looked.
As she stroked his hair, her fingertips scraped his face. The metal felt smooth under her skin. She ran her finger down to his jaw and pushed the scales.
His face slipped.
Kamoj jerked away her hand. When he still showed no sign of waking, she leaned over and peered at the metal. It had indeed moved. She pushed it again–and it crumpled, uncovering a stretch of skin.
A mask. He was wearing a mask. She almost laughed in her relief. She hadn’t married a man with no face after all.
Sliding her finger along the mask, she peeled it away from his head. It came off like a flexible skin, revealing a face that was unusual, but human. He was nowhere near as old as rumor claimed, only about forty, perhaps a bit more. His features were handsome, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. His lashes lay long against his cheeks, in a lush gold fringe, real metal, soft enough so they probably didn’t irritate his eyes, but still unlike human hair. His skin had a gold tinge. When she touched his face, though, the skin felt warm. Human. His lips were full. Sensual. She ran her finger along the lower one and it yielded under her touch.
His breathing sounded strained, and dark circles of fatigue showed under his eyes. She also smelled the rum more. The mask had helped hide the odor on his breath before, but now it filled the coach, mixing with the scent of the scale dust.
As his breathing grew more labored, Kamoj became alarmed. She spread the mask back over his face, but no matter how she placed it against his skin, she couldn’t get it to stay.
Suddenly he moved, rolling onto his back to look up at her. He croaked words in a language she didn’t understand and clawed at the mask. Dismayed, she pushed it into his hand. Before he could put it on, his entire body went rigid and he began to choke, his fingers clenched around the crumpled metal skin.
A siren pierced the air, coming from nowhere Kamoj could see. Frantic now, she pried the mask out of his fist and pressed it against his face again. Still it wouldn’t stay.
The coach lurched to a stop so fast it threw both she and Lionstar onto the floor. The door slammed open and two stagmen jumped inside. One pulled Kamoj back out of the way while the other knelt by Lionstar. The second stagman had another mask in his hand, this one firmer, and translucent, with a tube connected to a metal cylinder. He set the mask over Lionstar’s face and a hissing noise filled the coach.
Kamoj tried to pull away from the stagman holding her, but he wouldn’t let go. She looked up and saw him staring at the mask she held. Then he called her a name, one she had never thought anyone would say to her. A stagmen behind them opened his mouth to chastise the man who insulted her. Then he saw the mask she held and whatever he had meant to say died on his lips.
A groan came from the floor. Turning back, she saw Lionstar breathing from the new mask. The stagman gripping her arm relaxed, though not enough to let her pull away.
Lionstar sat up, holding the mask in place. When his man tried to offer assistance, the governor shook his head. So the stagman withdrew, stepping out of the coach. Lionstar stood up, one hand braced against the wall, bending his head so it didn’t hit the roof.
He moved his mask aside and spoke to the man holding Kamoj. "Let her go, Azander."
"Sir, she took your breathing skin off," Azander said.
Lionstar waved the mask. "Curiosity’s nay murder. Go’n. Drive us home."
"Yes, sir." As Azander backed out of the coach, he gave Kam
oj a hard look. She recognized the warning. If she hurt Lionstar, Azander would see that she paid for it.
Within moments they were rumbling along the road again. Seated next to Kamoj, Lionstar leaned back and closed his eyes, holding the new mask over his face, with the metal cylinder at his side. She wondered if he really believed she had taken off his other mask out of curiosity, or if he suspected what Azander almost said, that his new bride had tried to murder him.
Sitting up again, Lionstar took out his bottle and fumbled with it, trying to open it one-handed. Finally he dropped the mask in his lap and used both hands to open the bottle. He drank deeply from it, his throat working as he swallowed.
When he finished, he handed Kamoj the empty bottle. "Put top back’n." Then he put his mask over his face again, holding it with one hand.
Kamoj replaced the top, wondering if he always drank this much. Maybe that was why he didn’t care that he lived in the ruins of a palace.
The new mask covered only his mouth and nose, giving her a view of his eyes. They were large, and a remarkable color, dark violet. Red and violet, actually; they would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been so bloodshot. Even stranger, though, were the pupils. Rather than vertical slits, his were round. Although odd, the effect wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it had a sense of "rightness" that puzzled Kamoj, an inexplicable familiarity.
Right now those unusual eyes were watching her. Lionstar pulled aside his mask. "Why’d do it?"
She knew what he meant. "I wondered what you looked like."
"You could have just asked."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt you."
He nodded. Then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. After a moment the mask fell out of his hand and into his lap.
"Governor Lionstar." Kamoj shook his shoulder. "Your breathing skin." When he opened his eyes, blinking at her, she gave him the silver mask. He tried pressing it into place, with no more success than she had managed earlier. He squinted at it, then flipped the metal skin over and tried again. This time it stayed in place, leaving his face a smooth sheen of silver, with black ovals for eyes.
"’S better," he mumbled. He laid his head back and the ovals closed, taking away that last vestige of humanity.
III
Pacal
Scattering Kernel
They rode for an hour, Lionstar sleeping while Kamoj sat in bored silence. Finally the coach rolled to a stop. Azander opened the door and took in the scene, Lionstar dozing, Kamoj holding the empty bottle. The stagman didn’t look surprised.
Leaning inside the coach, Azander shook Lionstar’s shoulder. "Prince Havyrl. We be home."
Kamoj blinked at the archaic title. Prince? Of what?
Lionstar’s eyes opened, black on silver. "What?"
"Home," Azander repeated. "You and your bride."
"Bride?"
"Yes, sir. Your bride."
"What bride?"
Azander tilted his head toward Kamoj. "The Governor of Argali."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Lionstar sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. "See to the stags."
"Yes, sir." Azander backed out of the coach.
Lionstar followed him out into the night, which was lit by a faint radiance. As Kamoj stepped down from the coach, he offered his hand. Taking it, she thought she felt callouses under his glove. That made no sense, though. A man of his power would hardly have the callouses of a farmer.
Then she turned around–and froze in astonishment.
They were in the courtyard of the Quartz Palace. Gone were the crumbled ruins covered by tangled vines, briars, and roses. Now the rose-quartz palace gleamed, restored to its full beauty and more. Long and narrow, with a terrace that stretched its length, it had nine evenly spaced entrances. A tower reached up at each end, topped by red turrets. Bird-shaped lamps hung in the windows and from the eaves, making the walls glow. Above it all, the aurora borealis shimmered in the sky, curtains of gold and pink luminance undulating across the heavens.
"Sweet Airys," Kamoj whispered. "It’s lovely."
"S’pretty," Lionstar agreed.
He took her elbow and led her toward the steps that went up to the terrace. The double doors in the center swung open and more radiance spilled into the night, backlighting three people. She recognized two as villagers from Argali, a man and woman, each of normal height, both dressed in servant’s clothes.
The third person came out to meet them. Tall and gaunt, with a craggy face and short graying hair, the woman was like no one Kamoj had ever before seen. She wore a form-fitting gray suit made in one piece, with gray knee-boots. A patch on her shoulder showed an exploding star within a triangle.
She met them half-way down the steps. Lionstar nodded to her, and they all walked up the stairs together. Although the woman looked hale and fit, her breathing was growing labored, as if she had just run a race instead of walking only a few steps.
At the top of the stairs, Kamoj froze. A few paces away, a shimmer of light hung in the open doorway.
"’S even nicer inside," Lionstar said, mistaking her hesitation.
No one else seemed bothered by the curtain of light, and Kamoj didn’t want to look foolish. So she took a breath and walked with them through the shimmer. It clung to her like a soap bubble, sliding over her face, hair, and clothes.
The entrance foyer looked as she recalled, a small room with tiles on the floor enameled in Argali rose designs. Except now the tiles were whole and the walls smooth, each brick snug with its neighbors, none showing their former chinks and cracks.
Lionstar peeled off his mask and Kamoj tensed, afraid he would choke again. But no one else acted alarmed. In fact, she had never tasted such pure, rich air. It made her dizzy, almost euphoric.
The tall woman was breathing normally now. She asked Kamoj a question, but Kamoj had trouble with her heavy accent. The woman was speaking Bridge, Kamoj’s language, but she used the same odd dialect as Lionstar. Like Lionstar, she also mixed in words from Iotaca.
The woman tried again. "Are you all right, Governor Argali?"
Kamoj stood up straighter, trying not to feel intimidated by the woman’s unusual height. "Yes."
"She’s fine." Lionstar waved his arm at the two Argali servants. "Jus’ like them. Fine."
The woman glanced at him, then at the bottle Kamoj still held. She spoke to Lionstar in another language, her voice tense. Lionstar answered with a scowl, then turned away and took Kamoj’s arm. He led her to an archway across the foyer, where another shimmer curtain hung. Kamoj held her breath as they walked through it, but nothing untoward happened.
The air in the Entrance Hall, on the other side, felt as pure as in the foyer. New panels of mellow sunglass wood covered the walls. She had never before seen the paintings Lionstar’s people had hung here, scenes of the Argali countryside. He must have commissioned them from the villagers, which meant he was supporting the Argali economy.
Then she saw the other additions to the hall. Light panels–light panels!–glowed near the ceiling.
Lionstar was watching her face. "’S good, yes?"
"Yes." She had never expected this generosity. He didn’t even own this building he had refurbished. Then it occurred to her that perhaps it wasn’t such generosity after all. He did own the palace now, as well as everything else that had belonged to her family. Including her.
They walked down the Entrance Hall, accompanied by the two servants and the tall woman. The hall ended at a gleaming ballroom that stretched to their right and left. Radiance from its chandeliers reflected off the walls and parquetry floor, yet she saw no candles within the chandeliers, only shimmers of light.
They crossed the width of the ballroom to another archway that opened into the Long Hall, which ran the length of the palace perpendicular to the Entrance Hall. Moonglass paneled its walls and a dark carpet covered the floor. Lamps set in rose-shaped molds glowed at intervals along the walls.
Lionstar set off down the hall, still hold
ing Kamoj’s arm. The tall woman easily matched his stride, but Kamoj and the servants almost had to run to keep up.
Lionstar didn’t stop until they reached a door at the east end. Then he turned to the others. "You can go. I’ll take her up."
The tall woman spoke. "Perhaps Kamoj would like to meet the staff. Look at the palace. Have dinner." Dryly she said, "Catch her breath."
"Who?" Lionstar asked.
"Kamoj," the woman said.
"Who’s that?" he asked.
This isn’t happening, Kamoj thought.
The woman stared at him. "Your wife."
Lionstar turned to her. "Kamoj? Is that your name?"
"Yes," Kamoj said.
"’S pretty," he said. "Like you."
"She hasn’t even had a chance to unpack," the woman said.
"Unpack what?" he asked.
"Her suitcases. Trunks. I don’t know." The woman looked at the two servants. "Whatever her belongings came in."
"She donnee have any, Colonel Pacal," the plump woman said.
The tall woman looked startled. Turning back to Lionstar, she said, "Saints above, Vyrl. Didn’t you arrange for her things to be brought up?"
"If it hasn’t been done," he growled, "then do it."
The woman blinked at him. Then she turned to Kamoj and spoke gently, as if Kamoj were a child instead of a grown woman. "Do you have things you would like? We can send someone down to Argali House in the morning."
Kamoj nodded. "Thank you. Lyode will know what to send."
"Lyode?" the woman asked. "Is that a person?"
Lionstar scowled. "Dazza, stop interrogating her."
Kamoj wished they would decide what to call one another. Was the tall woman Dazza or Colonel Pacal? Was Lionstar a governor or a prince? The tall woman had called him Vyrl. A shortened version of Havyrl, probably. Perhaps if she thought of him by a nickname, it would make all this seem less intimidating.
Vyrl dismissed the servants and Dazza again, and this time he glared until they left. Then he pushed open the door. The staircase beyond spiraled up inside the tower at this end of the palace. Although the steps had been repaired, the rough stone was otherwise untouched. The only windows were slits high on the walls. No glass showed in them, just the light curtains.