“What did she want?” Jezzel asked.
In as few words as possible, Nelay told her. Jezzel listened without interruption, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher. Nelay considered telling her friend about Rycus, but wanted to save that conversation for a happier time.
When she had finished, they stood quietly for a moment before she asked, “Do you believe Suka?”
“No,” Jezzel answered softly. “If for no other reason than the ridiculousness of the Goddess of Fire freely giving up her lands to her mortal enemy.”
Relieved, Nelay felt herself relax.
“In a couple days, they’ll have us surrounded,” Jezzel said matter-of-factly, but inside Nelay knew she was angry and terrified.
Nelay covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to keep her emotions from spilling out.
“They’re setting up their siege engines now. They’ll attack tonight.”
“And will we hold them?” Nelay asked in a small voice.
Jezzel didn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t know.”
Nelay sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. At first she feared Zatal was somewhere in her rooms, but then she heard the distant crashes. She pushed her way through the lake of blankets on her bed, stumbling when one refused to let go of her leg, and ran to the balcony. She got there just in time to hear the distant sound of a boulder slamming into the wall.
From her vantage point, she could see hundreds of torches along the balustrades, and tiny figures running to and fro along the wall. She rested her hands on the top of the banister. Another round hit the wall. Though Nelay could not see where it struck, she could guess, for the torches shook and men scrambled along that portion of the wall.
Idaran soldiers let loose their arrows. Nelay lost the shafts in the dark, but she imagined them striking the Clansmen. Above all of this was the moon, blood-red from the rising smoke. Remembering what Rycus had said about the moon being the soul of a woman, she couldn’t help but think that woman must be weeping now.
“You can stop this—your people dying.”
Nelay jumped and turned her head, coming face to face with Tix, who hung upside down from an invisible thread of spider web. “As if I would trust anything you say,” Nelay replied. She’d had more time to process what had happened in the garden and was even surer she was right about the fairies.
Tix chuckled darkly. “It isn’t about trust. It’s about what you must do and what you must not do.”
“Do you think I’m a fool? You would have me end this war only to start another with the Goddess of Winter—one that would consume every kingdom and land the world over. How many would die in that war?”
“You can choose not to fight.”
Nelay crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t turn me over to Zatal when I was in Dalarta. Why?”
The fairy sniffed. “Zatal is an extraneous part of our plan.”
Which meant Panar really had turned Nelay over. She shot the fairy a haughty glare. “My mother said whenever goddesses and mortals mix, mortals always lose. I’m not a fool. You’re asking for more than my taking a goddess’s life. I’ll lose mine as well, won’t I?”
“Very clever,” Tix responded after a while.
“I’ve had time to process.”
“Yes. As queen, your soul will burn and you will arise from the ashes reborn.”
“One thing I don’t understand. Why did you marry me off to the king?”
“That was Suka’s condition. The queens who are bound to a consort are protective of them, and by extension, the people that consort loves. The consorts also help them regain their humanity.”
“Even when I hate my consort?” Nelay huffed.
“Ilyenna hated her consort too. My spies heard her say it. Yet because of him she retained a measure of her humanity.” The fairy flicked her wings in annoyance. “Personally, I like the wars.”
Nelay ground her teeth. “That’s because you cannot die.”
“I can die,” the fairy reminded her.
Nelay threw up her hands in exasperation. “Only to be immediately reborn.”
“Well, it is painful. Especially when one is stabbed and then burned to a crisp.”
Nelay wasn’t sorry. “And what makes you think I won’t turn on you the moment I’m made a goddess?”
The fairy’s wings stiffened. “You will need allies. You won’t remain our queen long if you kill all of them.”
Nelay knew, deep in her heart, that if she accepted this, she would change beyond recognition, and not for the better. The wars that would follow, with two goddesses with armies of fairies bent on killing each other—how many thousands would die? “Thanjavar will stand—and we will stand without your interference.” Her voice shook as she said it, but she could not trust the fairies. Of that she was absolutely certain.
Tix watched her with an unreadable expression. “The web has already been spun, Nelay Arel Mandana ShaBejan. Every spider worth its eyes knows to stay out of sight while we wait for you to fly into that web.”
Nelay’s brows went up. “So you’re going to leave me alone.”
“We have never really left you alone. Yet you did not know it.”
Furious, Nelay stepped forward and blew hard on Tix, sending her spinning over the balcony. She snapped her wings out, catching herself, and glared at Nelay with her eight eyes. In response, Nelay slammed her balcony doors. She stepped to her wardrobe and fumbled about in the dark for her boots.
Maran must have heard her rummaging around, for she shuffled into sight, a terracotta lamp in hand and her robes twisted awry. “May I be of assistance, my queen?”
“Just bring the light closer.” Nelay pulled on a pair of silk bell-shaped trousers, tied the drawstring at her waist, and added a long tunic with slits up the side for movement. All the while, she was aware of Maran watching her. “I’m—I’m glad you’re here, Maran. I need friends about me.”
Maran set the lamp down and helped her strap on her scabbards—Nelay’s back was still stiff and it was difficult to lift her arm over her head. “I’m just grateful you got Concon and me out of Dalarta before it fell.”
“And Sedun . . .” What Nelay really wanted to ask was why Maran would ever go back to that selfish coward. But she hesitated, not wanting to start another fight.
Maran didn’t answer for a moment. “He made it out before the city was overrun. He’s in Thanjavar now.”
Lovely, Nelay thought.
“And Rycus?” Maran said, her eyes downcast. “Did . . . did the king let him go?”
Nelay froze, her longing temporarily robbing her of strength. She started moving again slowly. “He’s alive.”
“Are you going to escape and go to him?”
Nelay gave her a small smile. Of course she would. As soon as she could manage it. But secrets are only secrets if you keep silent, even with those you trust.
When Nelay didn’t answer, Maran said, “Do . . . do you really think I’m timid?”
Nelay sighed. “Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to make you feel better?”
Maran looked away. “It’s not fair for you to judge me. You haven’t been through what I have.”
Nelay laced her boots. “I suppose that’s true. But Maran, what do you think? Do you like who you are? Because if not, start changing it.”
The girl wouldn’t look at her. “I don’t know how.”
Nelay stood. “If you want to change who you are, surround yourself with people who make you better. Then work on yourself one day at a time.” Taking the lamp, she started out the door. “Go back to bed. I’m sure Concon will keep you up enough for the both of us.”
Nelay stepped into the halls. The pair of guards at her door snapped to attention. Both were about the same age, both bearing the scars of war. One had an ear that was grossly deformed and twice the size of its mate—it was a common enough malady in soldiers. And he was ugly. Very, very ugly.
The other had a nose that appeared t
o have been broken so many times it had given up any hope of keeping its shape and had flattened to a lumpy mass. She wondered if Zatal had chosen these men so as not to tempt her, or simply for their skills. Knowing her husband, probably both.
Jezzel was nowhere to be seen—she was probably asleep.
Ignoring the soldiers, Nelay held her lamp out before her. It only lit about five steps on all sides. She moved through the corridor toward the stairs, dismayed when the guards followed five paces behind. A sense of loss washed over her. A maid and now guards. Not to mention her new husband. How was she ever going to slip away from all of them and go to Rycus?
Nelay stood at the banister and rested her hands on the cool marble as she looked down at the throne room, the phoenix gleaming darkly below her. Before her, the suspended bridge led to the public balcony. Every few steps there were four marble pillars bracing up an intricate almost lacy arch. The banister beneath her hands was a fine miniature of the larger pillars and their decorative arches. All the cool beauty seemed at odds with the explosions she could hear, and the pitched battle she could not. Idarans were dying.
Nelay turned toward her guards, acknowledging them for the first time since she’d left her rooms. “What are your names?”
The men seemed taken back that she could even speak. “Hazar,” said the uglier of the two, the one with the bloated ear.
The other didn’t reply at first. “Ahzem,” he finally said grudgingly, his voice sounding every bit as nasally as Nelay imagined.
“Where are the king’s rooms?”
Ahzem hesitated. “My queen . . .”
“Show me.”
Hazar made a sound low in his throat, but then he tipped his head to the left. “That way.”
She hesitated, uncertain in the dark. “Can’t you just show me?”
“We are not allowed to proceed you except in your defense, my queen,” Ahzem said.
“Oh.” What a stupid rule. She strode forward until she could see a corridor. She cast a glance back at Hazar, who gave a slight nod. She turned to enter the hallway, but froze at the sight of a hunched form scrambling over something, a lamp sitting to one side.
Nelay first thought was of assassins and thieves and any number of nasty things. Her guards started past her, but she held out her hand as realization washed over her. The shape was too small. No bigger than a child. This was one of Zatal’s children—who else could it be?
She forced her wooden legs to stir and came upon a girl scraping the last of a scattering of sweets into a basket. She turned as she heard them, the light from her lamp casting harsh shadows across her face. Nelay saw her husband in the child’s jaw, her nose, the spark of intelligence in her deep-set eyes.
The girl’s face darkened. Nelay knelt beside her, picked up the last pastry, and set it carefully in the basket. “You don’t deserve to be queen!” the child blurted.
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t want to be.”
The little girl stood, the basket slung over her arm. “It should be Mother—he loves her, not you.”
“Yes,” Nelay said simply.
The child deflated and then took off at a run, abandoning the lamp where it lay. Nelay watched her stop at a door and push it open. The sounds of a child crying emerged from within. Nelay wondered how many children Zatal had.
“I brought the treats,” the girl said, then shut the door behind her.
If listening to the distant sounds of battle frightened Nelay, she couldn’t imagine how terrified the children where. The girl must have been sent to the kitchens for something to keep the younger ones happy. These people—these strangers—loved each other.
Nelay closed her eyes, missing Rycus so much in that moment and wishing he was there with her. He would tell her a story or tease her. And she would forget her fears and worries, at least for a moment.
She cast a pleading look back at the guards. Hazar pointed to the door across the hall from the one the girl had just entered. “There.”
Zatal’s rooms were right next to his mistress’s, while Nelay was in a separate corridor. She didn’t want him as her husband, so why did that sting so much? She stood, her knees popping, and approached the door, her limbs heavy and hopeless. She forced herself to knock. But there was no sound from inside. She rested her forehead against the richly carved wood.
“My queen?” Hazar said. “He’s probably with his war council.”
“Where?”
The two guards shifted their feet but didn’t speak.
Nelay raised an eyebrow. “Did the king forbid me?”
“No,” Hazar finally said.
She a hard smile slipped over her face and tipped her head to the side so her tattoos showed. “I am not just a woman. I am a priestess of fire.” And if Suka had her way, she’d be murdering the woman they worshiped. “And I am a queen.”
Nelay stared her guards down, waiting for one of them to crack.
“The observation dome is the highest tower.” Hazar blurted. Ahzem shot him a dark look.
After blowing out the lamp left by the child, Nelay hurried downstairs to a corridor behind the throne room. There were doors all along it, but she instinctively headed for the heavy one at the end. She pushed it open and came into a wide, round room.
In the center was an enormous, circular table surrounded by chairs and cluttered with maps and scrolls. Men looked up at her as she entered, their faces registering shock. The king was not here, but there were two more doors. “Which one?” Nelay asked her guards under her breath.
Hazar tipped his head to the door on the left. With shoulders thrown back, Nelay marched through the open door and was met by a set of spiraling stairs that went on and on above her. Taking a deep breath, she started up them. They spiraled tighter the higher she went. Her thighs ached and sweat beaded her brow, but she refused to slow down.
At the top of the stairs, she emerged onto the highest tower. There were no walls, only four wide columns to hold up the gold-plated dome roof. In the center of the space sat a huge marble brazier filled with burning embers. Nelay could only assume it was there to ward of the nightly chill. Immortals were everywhere, all wearing scale armor at their chests and leather armor skirts. Their helmets bore the embossed designs that mirrored their scalp tattoos.
Nearest the stairs, she passed nearly a dozen wiry boys, each wearing a simple tunic and a messenger tube. As she walked into the tower, conversations stilled one at a time. She moved to one of the framed arches and felt the heat of the flames as she stared out over the city.
The city’s outer walls were thick and high—easily ten stories. Inside were homes and shops, growing in size and grandeur as they neared the palace’s walls, with the temple nestled inside.
If the city wall fell, the only retreat was within the palace. And those walls were scarcely five stories tall, made to keep citizens out more than an army, though someone with forethought had built in seize engines. Still, they wouldn’t hold long.
Nelay prowled the perimeter of the tower, realizing with dismay that the Clansmen had the city completely surrounded. Their armies extended for as far as she could see. There had to be at least five hundred thousand of them to Thanjavar’s one hundred thousand. Even if she had an opportunity to escape Zatal, there was no way she could move past those armies.
The king suddenly appeared at her side. “What are you doing here?”
She spared him a quick glance. “Did you know about Suka’s plan?”
He glanced around and stepped closer. One little push, and he could send her toppling past the railing and into oblivion. “Why do you think I agreed to marry you in the first place?”
She looked up at him. “Why not tell me?” He leaned closer, and she couldn’t help but compare him to his daughter.
“Because they are always listening,” he said, his words full of meaning.
Nelay sucked in a breath. Thinking of Tix, she knew he was right.
“I don’t have time for this now, Nela
y. Get—”
“King Zatal!” shouted an older man with a neatly trimmed beard. The tattoos on his helmet marked him as the high commander, leader of all Idara’s fighting forces. He pointed toward the west wall.
Zatal hurried toward him, raising his telescope. “What is it, Nashur?”
Forgotten, Nelay followed close behind. Passing a small table with more telescopes, she snatched one. She extended it and brought it to her eye as she stepped even with the men, one step from falling into the dark night. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but when she did, she understood the men’s reaction. One of the city gates had fallen. Clansmen fought hand to hand with Immortals, their bodies highlighted bizarrely by flashes of torchlight.
So quickly? It hadn’t even been an hour. Nelay’s thoughts went to Suka’s warning, the fairies’ predictions, but she quickly pushed them out of her head.
“They’re going to be overrun,” Zatal said as if to himself, then ordered loudly, “Send in the reserves—Dubha’s division!”
A man standing at attention to the side of the brazier scooped a cup of luminash from one of a dozen or so bowls on the table and scattered the contents across the embers. Blue-green flames shot up, washing everything in a strange glow. The man lifted the ram’s horn he wore around his neck and blew a long, trilling note that rounded out at the end. Then he paused and blew the same note again.
Nelay peered through the telescope again. Reserves had been strategically positioned between each gate. One group was marching double time, their torch flames nearly horizontal for their speed. “How do they know where to go?” she asked.
Nashur, the man who’d called for the king, was scanning with his telescope. “Ever heard of a color wheel?”
“Like a rainbow but in a circle?” She couldn’t see what that had to do with anything.
“Each division has a melody the horn calls out,” he said without looking at her. “Each compass point has a color—north, yellow; east, red-orange; south, purple; west, blue-green. The quadrants between them are gradients of those colors. Twelve colors in all. The melody calls up a division, the color tells them where to go.”