Bird of Chaos: Book One of the Harpy's Curse (28 page)

“I want to change all that.”

“I don’t believe you. And even if you did change Tibuta, once it’s all said and done people will slap you on the back and tell you how clever you were so how will you know you didn’t do it out of selfishness? For their congratulation? You’re all fakes.”

I am surprised by his earnestness and I lean forward. “What does it matter? Someone has to take responsibility and responsibility is a burden. Shouldn’t an individual be rewarded for carrying it? As long as their intentions are good. As long as others benefit from their hard work.”

“Yes but what makes
you
so special? Why is it
your
burden?”

“I…” I can’t think of anything to say. I look around the room: at the heavy mauve drapes, at the distant ceiling and the detailed mosaic at my feet. “Luck, I suppose. And hard work. I
was
chosen.”

“Why would the gods choose
you
? Why not me or Odell or even Hero?”

I finally understand his anger. “So you are angry because men aren’t allowed to rule?”

He laughs bitterly. “That’s not it.”

I know it is. “What then?”

“What I am talking about is the hypocrisy of this entire system. But you couldn’t possible understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“I am just as entitled to lead as you. So is the common house slave.”

“Not entirely. I don’t believe someone is
entitled
to anything. I believe a woman—or even a man—must prove themselves worthy.”

“Yes but we aren’t given the opportunity to prove ourselves. The rest of you, you hoard what you have while we…we covet what is out of reach. We live in fear.”

I lean back and interlace my fingers, contemplating my cousin. I choose each word the way a woman chooses what to wear, picking over each dress, each jewel because of its power to convey a message. “We are not so different you and I. We both see the inequality of the Tibutan way. We are both frustrated by it and want to change it.” I lower my voice. “I understand what you want. I really do. But, honestly Chase, what do you hope to prove by using your gift to spy on the very people who could grant you what you want?”

Chase’s eyes flare in anger.

“What am I supposed to think?”

He speaks to his feet. “I don’t care what you think.”

I extend the olive branch knowing he is within my grasp. “Chase, you have put me in a very difficult position. You already know too much. I can’t risk you running to my mother. I also can’t have you skulking around the palace spying on us.
Alive
, you are very dangerous.” I let the threat hang in the air. “Is there
nothing
I can offer to convince you to leave me and my friends alone?”

He contemplates this, turning it over and over. “There is something.”

I smile internally. I know what he wants but realise that to win him, he must articulate it himself. I raise my eyebrows as if to say, “Go on.”

“I’m not saying you’re right. Because you’re not. You’re all a bunch of posers. And I still think this is a joke. The whole system is…is unfair. But I have often wanted…You see, it isn’t right that I can’t inherit though there’s no one to contest me. Just because I am a man. I am as good as any woman. I know I am. So, after my mother’s death I want you to make me polemarch.”

I smile. Pure, unjustified hate
does not
exist. All emotions have their source. “All right Chase. Stop spying on me and my friends and instead report to me on my mother’s movements and I will name you the first male polemarch of Veraura and Minesend.”

He scowls.

“Betray me and there will be consequences.”

The morning of the ball to present Adelpha to the court dawns reluctant, a dark smear on my tormented thoughts. Though the weather is sticky and warm, an emotional coolness has descended over the palace. Tibuta groans under the weight of the preparations. Invitations have been sent and food has been shipped in from the outer islands: Tibutan vipers whose beating hearts will be served in clear liquid of fermented seaweed; artichokes and apricots; chickpeas and choco. Fleets have hauled whole whales over the Seawall, carrying them over their heads then butchering them in the Lower Ward, throwing scraps to the circling kylons. Barrels of honey mead and mulled wine have been brought up from the cellars. The bakers and fowlers and brewers have been working day in, day out since the ball was announced, all under Cook’s direction.

I have had only glimpses of my new sister. She has been more of a prisoner than a guest. Or a lion in a cage, waiting to pounce.

Days have passed and still I have had no word from Maud.

The grey canopy opens and I listen to the pounding of the rain against the slate roof.
Fitting for it to rain on a day like today
, I think. It is the first time it has rained in Tibuta in five years—the first rainfall since my twelfth year, when Callirhoe first appeared. It can only be a sign that Ballus sheds his water because Adelpha has disturbed the balance.

As the evening closes in, carts dig up the lawns to deliver candles for the tables, straw for the floor and wreaths of dry herbs and wild flowers to disguise the stench of our guests, who come from all over Tibuta: from Veraura, Bidwell Heights, Lete, Elea Bay, Lizard Island, Tibuta Minor, the Island of the Dead and even the lesser islands.

I laugh when, on sundown, the guests begin to arrive. A quagmire has formed outside the ballroom and the fleets have to carry the guests over it like babies in swaddling cloth, the mud sucking and slurping around their knees. The women’s dresses, so fine and so delicate, drag in the mud. Their headpieces of feathers and flowers are plastered to their faces.

We wait in the wing for the minstrel to announce us. My mother straightens her crown and flattens the folds in her heavy black silk peplos but says nothing to me. My father’s long hair is braided into a thick rope and he chews on the end like a nervous toddler. Adelpha is immaculate. Viscous light catches the gold dew in her hair, which cascades down her back in thick black ringlets. A striking figure in gold, she is taller than me and far more beautiful.

I glance down at my own plain dress, fringed in mud, and want to laugh. People like my sister take great pride in their appearance because they believe it sets them apart. What they fail to realise is that if they treat their bodies like canvases then they invite the world to judge them like pieces of art; their value becomes subjective. And yet despite this observation I envy my sister. And herein lies the dilemma. No woman wants to be ugly.

I smooth down my hair. Through a slit in the curtain I watch the nobility take their seats. They whisper rumours of another princess, one with a mighty gift who could be the chosen one, their heads almost touching as they say, “Yes I know,” and “I heard the same thing.” The musicians silence the crowd with a flurry. We are announced. My mother and father lead the way. Adelpha and I follow.

Adelpha is poised, as if she was born to make grand entrances. A child runs forwards to offer her a bouquet of elder flowers, which she accepts graciously, patting the girl on the head. She steps confidently up the three steps to the high table.

The walls are Tibutan Gold Marble: the room glows. Enormous chandeliers hang low, swinging ever-so-slightly, and I imagine one of them falling, taking the ceiling with it like icing ripping from the top of a cake, the huge iron wheel pinning people to the earth. Flames rip along the floor to the tapestries that line the back wall and
woof
the whole place is burning. I blink and the image is gone.

I scan the crowd in search of Drayk with no luck.

We are seated in this order: my father, my mother, me then Adelpha.

My mother stands and addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow nobility of Tibuta, Thera Brunt of Lete and Bidwell Heights—” Thera is smiling smugly “—Gelesia of Veraura and Minesend—” the district leader stares at her hands “—honoured guests. We are gathered here today to welcome a daughter of Tibuta and what a glorious day it is. The heavens have opened and given us rain, proving that not all the prophecies are true. We give prayer in thanks to Ballus.” My mother nods at Adelpha. “I would like to present the cause of this blessing. She was lost to us many years ago. She left this palace under confused circumstances but by the grace of Ayfra she was found. I welcome my first daughter, Adelpha Golding.”

There is a clamour. “Is she the chosen one?” someone calls from the back of the room. “Does she have a gift? Does this mean the unusual weather has gone forever?”

“She is a true daughter of Tibuta and she has a powerful gift,” my mother says, ignoring their questions. “She is a loyal member of the Golding family and is committed to making Tibuta prosper.”

“Can you prove it?” someone calls from the side. “Show us your gift!” There is laughter. I search for the source of this challenge and my eyes fall on Piebald. He leans against the side wall with his arms crossed and I know, I simply
know
my mother has put him up to it.

Odell is on his feet saying, “I will prove it.” He interlaces his fingers and cracks his knuckles. He grins before raising his hand and pointing at Adelpha. A stream of ice shoots from his finger straights towards her. She reaches out with her hands as if throwing an invisible force. Nothing happens. The stream of ice keeps coming. She shakes her hands in confusion and tries again, with the same result.

I glance at my mother. Her eyes are locked on Adelpha. A single blood-tear oozes from her right eye. She is consuming my sister’s gift. Just before the ice strikes my sister in the face, I pick up my plate and intercept the stream. Ice and plate shatter onto the white tablecloth. The onlookers gasp.

“She did nothing, see? She has no gift,” Odell says. Others clap, but nervously.

“I do have a gift. She was taking it.” Adelpha points at my mother. “Let me try again. Go again and I will show you.”

“Enough!” my mother roars.

Thera sits with her arms crossed, furious. “If I may continue,” my mother booms. “I would like to raise a toast to my daughter.”

At first I think she is speaking about me.

“Will you raise your kylixes?” my mother says and people take hold of their cups, still muttering about what they have just seen. “To Adelpha. May Ayfra see to it that you feel at home here. This house is your house and—” lightning drowns out her words “—to her health!”

I grab a cup just in time to toast. There is a discordant noise of timber scraping over marble, people calling for mead, and dubious laughter.

“She set me up,” Adelpha mutters under her breath, tucking her dress beneath her as she sits.

“Get used to it,” I say and turn my attention to my food.

Guests lurch outside and vomit unceremoniously along the wall. The tables are pushed to the side and the music starts. A man plays an airy aulos while a woman keeps time with a tympanum held above her head, her hips swaying to the beat, the folds of her peplos so loose her breasts threaten to tumble from her gown.

I excuse myself and walk slowly down the steps, not wanting to seem overly eager in my search for Drayk. Vaguely aware of Bolt watching me, I weave in and out of the dancers towards the huge timber double doors opposite the high table. Someone reaches out and touches my arm. I stop abruptly, turning to face a woman familiar but out of context, almost hidden beneath a yellow shawl. She whispers, “Your highness, a word?”

I frown in puzzlement at her beautiful, angular face. “Ried?” I say, finally recognising the red priestess who walks like a dancer. I point my chin at the door, indicating that she should follow.

There are no stars in the sky. Water gushes through the drains, cascading over the awnings and splattering into the mud. A woman is pinned against the wall with her skirt around her waist and a man between her legs. A group pushes past us—Bolt fends them off—and staggers down the marble stairs only to get stuck in the mud in the courtyard below.

Bolt keeps watch near the ballroom entrance; Ried and I duck around the corner and huddle against the wall. “We spoke to Harryet. A nice girl. Brave to be travelling to the temple, considering,” she says.

“And lucky. Would you really have let her die if she had failed your test?”

“Not our test, the Shark’s Teeth’s. And probably not. Not if we’d realised who she was in time.”

“She said Maud would be in touch,” I say with a hint of impatience.

“In fact, she would like to speak to you now.” Before I can protest, Ried throws back her head. Her mouth opens and she writhes as if a serpent slithers inside her, her head thrashing from side to side. Her mahogany hair changes colour, starting at the roots, until it is pure white. Wrinkles appear on her skin like cracks in the parched earth. Her head snaps forwards and she peers at me with speckled eyes. Her transmogrification complete, Ried speaks with the high priestess’s gravelly voice: “Little bird.”

“Maud?” I say, taking hold of Ried’s hands and finding them withered.

“Child, I was so pleased to hear from you. It warms my heart to know we are fighting for the same cause. You are far braver than you realise.”

“Is that really you?”

“Of course it is, dear.”