The Quantum Rose

  They climbed three flights to a landing. Vyrl opened the door there and escorted her into a spare chamber only a few paces across, its stone walls polished but unadorned. Its inner door opened into a large, austere bedroom.

  Kamoj had last seen this suite with snow drifted across its broken floor. Now the floor was whole, a smooth expanse of stone with no rugs. The walls were also bare stone, except for two crossed swords over the bed. No fire burned in the hearth, yet the room felt warm. The tanglebirch furniture was new: a solid desk, chairs, and a wardrobe against the far wall, all made from wood with blue and green highlights in scale patterns. The bed on the dais to their left had always been there, but now its posters were repaired and varnished, its covers and canopy new. In the wall next to it, a door stood ajar, revealing a corner of the bathing room. Everything was clean, fresh, and devoid of ornamentation.

  One unexpected touch softened the decor; across the room, a curtain made from strings of sparkling beads hung in an archway.

  Vyrl squinted at the room. "’S not so good for a wedding night, is it? Solar told me this."

  "Solar?" Kamoj asked.

  "One of the housemaids." Vyrl led her to the beaded archway. "She said she’d prepare a place for you." He pulled back the beads, moving aside for her.

  Kamoj stopped, both charmed and awkward with his offer to let her enter first. Deciding it would be ruder to refuse his courtesy than to precede him, she walked into the small room.

  She saw the difference immediately. This room felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Tapestries softened the walls and the delicate sunglass furniture sparkled. The shutters across the room were open, revealing a stained glass window with a rose in its center. To her right, a comforter lay on the floor, and posts rose from each of its corners, totems like those on her bed at home. Kamoj wondered why they put the bedding on the ground. Then she remembered. This chamber had been a second bathing room. Vyrl’s people must have filled the small pool with mattresses for her bed.

  "This is all for me?" she asked.

  "Can’t be for me," Vyrl said. "I’d break those chairs if I sat in them."

  She almost laughed, but held back, unsure if he meant it as a joke. Jax never joked about himself, a subject he considered of great weight.

  Watching her, Vyrl smiled. It gentled his entire face, making him look like a farm boy. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace. "Ever since yesterday, I’ve been thinking about you. I still can’t believe you agreed to this." Then he bent his head to kiss her.

  Flustered again, Kamoj stood still while his pressed his lips against hers. The rum smell of his breath clogged her nose.

  Vyrl lifted his head. "Is it that bad?" Wincing, he said, "I am as rude as Dazza suggests, yes? I’ll go clean up." He tilted his head at a wardrobe against the wall. "Will it harm your dress to go there tonight? Tomorrow the housemaids can tend to it."

  The wardrobe, an antique called the rose cabinet, gleamed now. Someone had even redone its carvings, and a mirror bordered with frosted vines hung on one door.

  "Camber?" Vyrl asked.

  It took her a moment to realize he meant to say her name. "Kamoj," she said, too disconcerted to stop the correction before it came out of her mouth. Too late, she realized what she had done. Tensing, she started to raise her arms, to shield her face.

  But Vyrl didn’t hit her. Instead he reddened, as if embarrassed. "My sorry, water sprite. I’m terrible with names." Taking her shoulders, he kissed her again. "Don’t go away." Then he spun on his booted heel and strode out of the room. The bead curtain swung in his wake, clinking and sparkling.

  Kamoj blinked, even more unsettled now. She pushed her hand through her hair, mussing the vine of roses that hung around her neck. Then she went to the curtain and looked out. The main bedroom was empty, but she heard water running in the bathing room. She slipped off her shoes so she could walk without being heard. As she limped to the entrance, pain stabbed her heel. Crammed in her shoe, her foot had gone numb, but now that she had freed it, the wound began to hurt again.

  Under her push, the foyer door swung open as smooth as oil on glass. She crossed the entrance chamber and edged open the outer door.

  Guards.

  Two stagmen stood posted on the landing, Azander by the door and another man several paces away by the wall. She had seen the arrangement before, with Jax’s bodyguards outside his room when he stayed at Argali House.

  Azander looked down at her. "Be there a problem, Gov’ner?" Although his accent wasn’t as thick as an Ironbridge dialect, it wasn’t pure Argali either.

  "Nothing, thank you." She closed the door, uncertain herself what she had wanted. Why did they guard Vyrl in his own bedroom? To ensure she did him no harm? That seemed rather silly, given his size and strength compared to hers, especially now that he didn’t need his mask. Besides, they were outside and she was in here. Perhaps they were there to keep her from leaving.

  She returned to her room and undid her dress, letting it fall in a heap of satin around her feet. It left her standing in her wedding silks, a translucent pink underdress that came to her knees and pink stockings held up by lace garters. Lyode had claimed such underclothes would evoke pleasant reactions from her groom. Kamoj didn’t see why, but she had figured it was worth a try.

  She scooped up her dress–and nearly passed out when she stood up. Black spots floated in her vision. The air was too thick, so rich it made her giddy. She swayed, waiting until her head cleared. Then she put away her clothes in the rose cabinet.

  Feeling self-conscious, she sat on the bed and sank into its billowy comforter. It it was hard to keep her eyes open. She lay down and let them close, just for a moment.

  IV

  Stained Glass Moons

  Eigenstate Interactions

  A crash woke Kamoj. She sat bolt upright, trying to fathom her surroundings. As she came more fully awake, she remembered. She was at the Quartz Palace.

  Groggy from sleep, she got up, went to the window, and pushed open the stained glass panes, hoping the night air would clear her head. Outside, the East Sky Mountains slumbered under their carpet of trees.

  Three of Balumil’s six moons were visible. The Elder Brother shone high in the sky, almost full, casting blue light over the world. The Wild Stag made a ragged green shape just above the trees, lagging behind his brother. For every four times the Elder Brother crossed the heavens, the Wild Stag only managed three. The Brother always presented a serene face to Balumil, passing with regular precision through his phases. The Wild Stag knew no such civilized behavior. Chaotic and unpredictable, he changed both shape and size as he tumbled through the heavens, varying from an uneven disk to a squashed sausage.

  The auroras were quiescent, making it one of the rare times Balumil’s faint ring showed in the sky. Kamoj could just make out the gold thread curving up from the horizon in the southeast and back down in the southwest. The gibbous disk of the Shepherd Moon glistened pink above the ring. From the positions of the moons, she guessed she had slept seven hours. Dawn was still a long time away: in mid-autumn the days split evenly, thirty hours of darkness and thirty of light. During this season, she usually slept twice at night, once during the hours after sunset and then again in the hours before dawn.

  A puffbug flew against the shimmer curtain in the window and stuck. With a frenzied beating of its scaled wings, it freed itself and trilled off into the night, its golden puff vibrating as it sang. Curious, Kamoj pushed her hand through the shimmer. The curtain stretched along her arm like a film. When she pulled her arm back inside, the shimmer clung to her skin, returning to its original shape.

  Kamoj closed the window. So odd. For all the beauty Vyrl had restored to her ancestral home, he also brought these strange changes.

  Where was Vyrl? The fountain still gurgled in the bathroom. What if he had passed out and fallen in the water? Azander already suspected her of foul play against her husband, and many people knew she
had dreaded this merger. If something happened to Vyrl, she was the obvious suspect.

  Kamoj limped into the main bedroom and went to the bathing room. The door stood ajar, but no one answered her knock. She nudged it all the way open, revealing a chamber larger than hers, though still smaller than the main bedroom. A pool filled most of it, tiled in pale blue squares enameled with roses. In its center, the sculpture of a rose opened to the ceiling. She remembered crawling into that bowl as a child and playing with dried leaf-scales that had drifted into it. Now water surged out of the fountain and cascaded down its sides.

  A larger-than-human statue stood at the corner of the pool, the figure of a quetzal, that bird named for a mythical creature on a mythical world no one had ever seen. This statue was actually a great stone chair, its scaled head raised high, its back designed from its feathered wings, its upper legs as armrests, its middle legs encircling the seat, and its lower legs as the base of the statue, along with its glorious feathered tail.

  Sprawled in the chair, a naked Vyrl was sound asleep.

  Kamoj blushed. She didn’t know whether to stay or leave. She saw what had caused the crash that woke her. Blueglass shards from a shattered bottle lay scattered around the base of the quetzal. The bottle must have slid out of Vyrl’s hand, probably resting on an edge of the statue, gradually slipping, until it fell. His legs were braced against a ridge in its base, his muscles tense even in sleep. It was apparently all that kept him from sliding into the pool.

  Picking her way through the glass, Kamoj went to Vyrl. She couldn’t stop staring at him, at his broad shoulders and chest, his narrow hips, his long legs, all well-muscled, his skin flushed with health, his magnificent hair tousled around his handsome face. The lamp light made his metal lashes glitter. For all her attempts to imagine his appearance, it had never occurred to her that he might be beautiful.

  But did he always drink this way? She thought of Korl Plowsbane in the village, old before his time, wandering with his bottle. Kamoj balked at believing the same of Vyrl. Even if he was like Korl, he couldn’t have been drinking that heavily for long. He seemed too healthy. Perhaps he had simply been edgy today over the impending merger.

  Still, what she had so far seen didn’t look auspicious. She inhaled, letting her nostrils widen so their membranes captured every stray scent under the odor of rum. She caught traces of trees and ferns, a hint of sun on scale-leather, even a lingering trace of Vyrl’s disk mail. It all mixed with a strong soap smell and another scent harder to define, a masculine smell she liked. Drawn by Vyrl’s scent, she stopped closer and rubbed her fingers along the knuckles of his hand where it lay on his thigh.

  "Higher," he said drowsily.

  Kamoj snatched back her hand. He was smiling at her, his eyes half open.

  She flushed. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

  He sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes. "How long have I been in here?"

  "A few hours."

  "Ah." His gaze wandered over her body. Mortified, Kamoj realized she was wearing nothing but stockings and a translucent underdress. Then again, given his "clothes," she was overdressed.

  Vyrl grinned. "You look beautiful." He slid out of his chair, and she jumped back, losing her balance as she put her weight on her injured foot. Teetering on the edge of the pool, she flailed her arms.

  With unexpected grace, Vyrl slid out of the chair and caught her around the waist. Holding her bent over his arm, he leaned down to kiss her. Startled, Kamoj just stared up at him.

  He stopped, then straightened up, bringing her with him. "Don’t you ever smile?"

  "Well–yes. Of course."

  Vyrl stepped away from the pool. "Maybe we should–ah!" He lifted his foot and pulled a shard of glass out of his heel. Blood welled up from the cut. With a grimace, he stuck his foot in the water and swirled it around until the blood washed away. His graceful way of moving made her think of a greenglass stag.

  He smiled. "Either that’s a compliment to me or an insult to the greenglass, I’m not sure which."

  "How do you do that?" she asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Know my thoughts."

  "I don’t." He took her hand. "Come on. Let’s go somewhere with less glass."

  They picked their way through the shards and went into the main bedroom. Although he walked reasonably well, several times he put one foot down on the other and stumbled. When they reached the dais with his bed, he stopped, said, "We should do this right," and hefted her up into his arms.

  Hai! The last thing Kamoj wanted was a half-drunk man carrying her up stairs. "It’s all right," she said. "I can walk."

  He started up the dais. "You hardly weigh anything."

  They made it to the top with no mishaps, but then he tripped. He took a huge step forward, lunging for the bed, and tossed her across it as he lost his balance. She hit the mattress with a thud, pillows tumbling around her head, and Vyrl landed on top her. Her breath wumped out with a muffled "oomph."

  "Ai," Vyrl muttered, rolling off her. "My sorry, Chamois."

  This time she was too flustered even to think of correcting the name. When he pulled her into his arms, she stuttered, "Maybe you should, uh, call a healer." She knew she was talking too fast, but she couldn’t stop. "For your–for your, you know. Your foot."

  "My foot?" He smiled at her. "Why?"

  "It’s just, mine swelled–Vyrl! What are you doing?"

  "Looking at my beautiful wife." As his hands moved, he slid lower along her body. Then he closed his mouth around her breast and suckled her through the glimsilk of her underdress.

  Kamoj flushed, blinked, said, "Oh, my," cleared her throat, and coughed. Then she sighed and put her hands in his hair, tangling her fingers in his curls.

  Some time later she murmured, "You’re different than I expected."

  He came back up, cradling her in his arms. "How is that?"

  Too late, she realized how her answer would sound: I thought you would be cruel. She tried to hide the thought, imagining a blanket to cover it. "You’re younger."

  Vyrl grinned. "Such sweet words." He fingered the garter that held up her stocking. Then he sat up and tugged the lacy ring off her leg. Setting it on his palm, he squinted at it as if it were another life form. "It’s pretty," he said. "But who’d ever think to make such a thing?"

  "I don’t know," Kamoj admitted. Lyode had given it to her.

  Vyrl set the garter on the bed. Then he touched her thigh where the garter had held up her stocking. "So soft . . ." Taking her stocking by the toe, he pulled it off through the gold circlet around her ankle. "And soft here–saints almighty, what is that?"

  She wished he would go back to showing her what was soft. "What?"

  Vyrl peered at the sole of her foot. "This is serious." He lay on his back and stretched out next to her, reaching his arm out to a tanglebirch stand by the bed. He so distracted Kamoj, she barely noticed him press a panel on the nightstand.

  A drowsy voice came out of the air. "Colonel Pacal here."

  "Hai!" Kamoj sat bolt upright and clamped her arms over her breasts, looking around for the owner of the voice.

  "I need you up here," Vyrl said to the air.

  The woman suddenly sounded awake. "On my way."

  "For flaming sakes," Vyrl said. "Don’t say it like that."

  "Like what?" the woman asked.

  "Like ‘What has he done to that poor girl?’"

  "Is she all right?"

  "Her foot is hurt."

  "I’ll be right there."

  "All right. Out." Vyrl pushed the panel again.

  After the room remained silent for several moments, Kamoj’s pulse calmed. "Who was that?" she asked.

  "Dazza." Vyrl drew her back down next to him. "My doctor."

  "What is a doctor?"

  He tugged apart her arms and pulled them around his waist so she was hugging him. "Healer."

  "But where is she? We’re the only ones here."

  Kissing her, he murmure
d, "She’s coming."

  After several moments of discovering that she liked kissing Vyrl far more than she had ever liked kissing Jax, Kamoj moved her lips to his ear and spoke shyly. "If someone is coming up here, shouldn’t we get dressed?"

  "Ai . . . " He sighed. "I guess so."

  While Kamoj sat up, pulling her dress into place, Vyrl went to the wardrobe across the room and took out a blue glimsilk robe with iridescent green and gold highlights. As he was putting it on, a knock came from the entrance foyer. Tying his sash, he crossed the room and opened the door.

  Dazza stood outside in rumpled trousers and a shirt, her hair tousled as if she had just pulled herself out of bed. She had something in her hand, Kamoj wasn’t sure what. A large black book? As the doctor entered the suite, she glanced at Kamoj, at the stocking on the bed, and at Vyrl. Then she reddened. It didn’t surprise Kamoj that the colonel looked like she wished she were someplace else.

  "It’s her left foot," Vyrl said.

  While Vyrl leaned against the bedpost with his arms crossed, Dazza sat on the bed and lifted Kamoj’s foot. Her awkwardness vanished as she focused on the problem. "Did you treat this cut?" she asked Kamoj.

  "I soaked it in water," Kamoj said.

  Dazza looked up at her. "Right away?" When Kamoj shook her head, the doctor said, "If you ever get a cut like this again, clean it as soon as you can." She set down Kamoj’s foot and opened her "book." Its top lifted like a box, revealing tubes and squares. When Dazza touched a small square, ghost pictures appeared above the box, rotating in the air, each with a different view of a woman’s body. Red and blue lines veined one, another showed a skeleton, and a third internal organs. Kamoj had heard tales of how the ancients made ghosts dance this way, but until now she had never believed them.

  Dazza studied symbols flickering on the rectangles on her box. "You’re a healthy young woman." She snapped a featherless black quill off her book and bent over Kamoj’s heel as if she were going to write on it.