City of Death (13 page)

Stuffed, the dragon had retired to her bedroom after dinner to think, dismissing the team of four maids who tended to her wants.

Despite the chancellor's accusations, or perhaps because of them, the princess had made a point of giving the dragon the largest chamber. Though the original human bed was large enough to accommodate a family of four, it was laughably small for Bayang in her preferred size. So a divan was knocked together quickly by the carpenters on her staff and then covered with silk cushions and quilts.

No, no one could doubt where the princess's sympathies lay, and Bayang was grateful to see such kindness and respect.

In the lamps dangling from the ceiling, the fire imps drowsed in a half-slumber, so they cast a dim light that was soothing for eyes used to the twilit regions of the ocean. There were even candles that gave off a rich bouquet of sea kelp and a hint of sea brine, making her feel at home.

She felt a twinge remembering she would probably never see her real home again. She had turned her back on her own clan because she believed they were wrong when they thought Leech was the reincarnation of a bloodthirsty monster.

Had she made a mistake? Had the killer been slumbering inside the boy after all? If Lee No Cha was awake, that would explain why sometimes Leech was so polished at flying and fighting and other times as clumsy as an amateur.

Badik and Roland were still the greater threat to her clan, and fighting them one more time might easily end in Bayang and Leech's deaths, but they had beaten long odds to get this far. Perhaps with the help of Scirye's goddess they might beat those odds again.

If that miracle happened, she would have to decide what to do about a newly awakened Lee. So far, he'd directed those murderous impulses against their enemies. But how long would it be before he turned his gaze upon Bayang and her kind?

She rested her muzzle upon her forepaws as she sprawled across the divan.

What should I do?
Bayang puzzled.
I love him so I can't kill him, and yet I can't let a monster like Lee No Cha free to go on a rampage.

Someone knocked at the door that moment and a cheery voice said, “Her Highness thought you might like some refreshment, my lady.”

“Come in,” Bayang called.

The door opened and Momo bustled in with a tray with a silver teapot and cup.

Bayang caught a whiff of an aroma that made her mouth water. “Kelp tea,” she said in delight.

“Yep, boiled especially for you.” Setting the tray down, Momo poured a cup and handed it to Bayang.

Bayang held it beneath her nostrils, savoring the rich smell. “I haven't had this since my last time at home.” She again felt a small, quick pang of regret, but she shook it off.

The important thing was to enjoy moments like these and she sipped it appreciatively. “Wonderful,” she sighed.

“I'll tell the chef you liked it.” Momo grinned.

When the badger lingered, as if reluctant to leave, Bayang asked, “Yes? Is there something you want?”

The badger grew strangely shy. “I was just wondering if Koko liked anyone?”

Bayang almost said,
Only himself.
But she held her tongue. It might do the self-centered Koko some good if he could fall in love. “No, he has no serious attachments to anyone else.”

The badger became her usual chatty self, asking more questions about Koko. And Bayang answered as best she could without shaving the truth too much.

But suddenly the room began to spin and the fire imps grew dimmer. “I feel … dizzy.”

The cup fell from her paw with a clink on the floor.

As darkness closed over her, she heard Momo sigh. “Sorry, hon, but it's a wicked world out there and a girl's got to earn a living.”

 

22

Scirye

Scirye woke to the sounds of a city she had not heard in years, and though she had been born here, they seemed exotic. Yes, there was the rumble of trucks and cars as in San Francisco, but they mixed with the braying of donkeys and the protesting cries of camels and the trumpeting of elephants. Just a few feet away, she heard the cooing of doves nesting within the carved decorations on the walls. And from inside she heard the industrious servants' brooms whisking the hallways.

From the princess's kitchen came the mouthwatering aroma of bread baking fresh in the ovens mixing with the scent of incense burning in the princess's private shrine at first prayers, reminding her that the cooks and chaplains would have been up before dawn performing their duties.

She stretched within the coverlets, reveling in the sensation of silken sheets and a comfortable bed—as well as a clean nightdress. She had become so used to sleeping in her clothes on the flying wing with the straw tickling her cheek, or within the furs in a frozen igloo, that a normal bed now seemed strange.

So, despite the urgency, part of her welcomed the brief rest. After the days of stomach-twisting worry and fear, it was nice to leave the decisions to someone else for a while. Perhaps this is what they should have done from the first—assuming they could have gotten anyone to believe their charges against Roland.

Scirye twisted her head to find Kles. He'd already abandoned his silver perch for the windowsill, drinking in the sights of his beloved Bactra.

Some hardy songbird had endured the harsh winter night and had trilled a joyful hymn in praise of the sun. Kles listened for a moment and then lifted his beak from the glass panes of the wooden window frame carved in the shape of acanthus leaves and lotus flowers. With a flutter of wings, he tried to respond to the singer, but his singing sounded more like gargling.

Hiding her smile, Scirye rolled onto her back. Overhead, the ceiling had been painted with a scene of Oesho, the wind god, creating his beloved griffins from the clouds. Too bad he hadn't given them the gift of sweet music along with grace and strength and speed. But even if the griffin was off-key, she had rarely seen her friend so happy, and so she did not complain.

“Come in,” she said. She had been expecting Chin, but it was her mother, dressed in a plain white robe over fawn-colored slacks. Her hair had been sensibly coiled and braided behind her head and she wore only lipstick. Her only jewelry was a traditional chain of small gold flowers and garnets that dangled from her hair. And yet an empress in gold robes and diamond tiara could not have looked more elegant or lovely.

Immediately Kles stopped singing as she entered. “We brought you some breakfast,” she said and motioned for Scirye to get back in bed. “Let us spoil you this morning.”

Her father followed her mother into the room in the bow-legged walk of a griffin rider, for good riders guided their mounts with the strength of their legs as well as their voice and the reins.

He'd given up his normal leather chaps and thick woolen shirt for a simple blue robe over brown trousers. But his old leather riding gloves had been thrust into his belt where they flapped as he moved. He might have looked like some stablehand dressed in his Sunday best except for the gold winged circlet of office around his head.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in his deep voice.

Scirye flopped her hands onto her lap. “It's wonderful to be home.”

“It's good to be a family again,” her father said.

Behind them came Chin with a lap tray that she set over Scirye's legs. It was heaped with slices of newly baked date rolls in the shape of flowers, fresh butter, her favorite jam, Sogdian plums, and basilisk eggs cooked just the way she liked them.

Her father stood with his thumbs hooked through his belt, but her mother sat on the bed, careful not to tip over the tray. “Let's enjoy your first day home. We thought we'd take you for a stroll and enjoy the morning.”

“Am I allowed to leave Her Highness's palace?” Scirye asked, not wanting to get the princess or her parents into trouble.

“As long as you're with us,” her mother said. “We already have permission.”

Scirye knew what she would most like to see. “Then can we go to the imperial eyrie?”

Her father broke into a broad smile. “You haven't been there since you were a tiny thing. And bossy even then. You ordered the hands around so much they used to call you Little Duchess.”

Scirye vaguely remembered the nickname as she spread her arms. “Then I order you to share my breakfast. There's more than enough for the four of us.”

“Your wish is our command,” her father said with a dignified bow.

As Scirye scooted over to make room, she pulled the tray into the middle of the bed so they could all sit around it. Since there was only goldware for one, they had to make do with their fingers. Even her mother, who could be quite fastidious about table manners, used her hands.

“We haven't eaten together for two years.” Her mother buttered a flower-shaped roll and added jam before handing it to Scirye.

As Scirye ate it, she decided there was nothing as light and tasty as a sweet roll still warm from the oven.

“Not since my last visit to San Francisco. Right, Susu?” her father asked as he took a roll for himself. Susu was his pet name for her mother.

When they had finished breakfast, Scirye dressed in a sky blue wool robe with gold embroidery and lavender trousers and blue boots. It was strange to wear clean clothes again. And she stepped outside with a spring in her legs.

It was cold but sunny out. The wrinkles about her father's eyes crinkled. “It's the kind of morning when you could see for miles and miles on the steppes.”

“I saw them when we were coming here,” Scirye said. “It was just one big giant bowl of whipped cream with mounds and folds and all.”

Her father nodded, glad to have something to share with his daughter. “Just so.”

As they crossed the citadel, Scirye let the sunshine wash away the frightening memories and the even more terrifying prospects in the future. Below, the encircling city was busy with its own affairs. Here an elephant might be helping to lift roof beams up onto a warehouse being built. There, a car dodged around a string of camels. The smoke from kitchens rose like thousands of fine pale flowers from the rooftops of homes. But this high up, it seemed to have little to do with her. It was as if she were floating on a cloud.

After the uproar of yesterday, the citadel itself had lapsed into its usual routine. Lap griffins flew here and there, too busy with their errands to do more than nod to Kles. The sun flashed off the gold-inlay designs on their beaks, perhaps the latest fashion among their circle. Some of them were worse than peacocks with dyed fur and ostrich plumes to supplement their own feathers.

Channels intersected the citadel top in intricate geometric designs. In the summer, water chuckled through them to cool the hot air, but in the winter, they were unnecessary and lay dry as a platoon of fussy kobolds checked them for cracks and patched the chipped edges. But they stood up as one and bowed to them as Scirye and her parents passed.

A gnome, polishing a brass plaque on the pedestal of a granite statue of the Jade Lady, did the same thing.

Scirye dipped her head in acknowledgment to the gnome's courtesy and then gazed up at the Jade Lady's stern face. Yi's ring had been passed on through the centuries but the Jade Lady had been the last of its owners to be considered worthy.

“I'll get it back,” Scirye murmured to the lady and added truthfully, “I hope.”

Her mother set her hands on Scirye's shoulders and steered away. “We're supposed to enjoy the morning, not think about quests.”

As they strolled on, Scirye was sorry that the water had been turned off in the fountains. Silvery naiads were busy scrubbing the basins with brushes and soap. And in the surrounding trees, dryads with green hair tied in ropelike braids stood upon ladders, shaping the branches. But both work crews also paused in their work to greet Scirye and her parents.

Scirye whispered to her mother, “I was so small when I left that I never noticed how much the citadel respects you and father.”

Her mother took her arm and leaned her head in close to whisper, “Not us, darling. They're honoring you, my dear.”

“Me?” Scirye asked, surprised.

On her shoulder, Kles puffed himself up. “And why not? Your exploits are worthy of a saga at least.”

“Yes, I hear there are several poets already eagerly drafting epics already.” Her mother playfully tugged a strand of hair. “With a little luck, they might even spell your name right.”

Scirye was still digesting that fact as her father led them into an arbor. Thick, ancient grape vines entwined the lattice panels that formed the walls and roof. In the spring and summer, the grape leaves would provide a rustling green canopy and in autumn it would be a blaze of reds and oranges. But in winter, the leafless vines looked like twisted wire cables.

At the end of the arbor was a set of double doors that let light down a flight of steps to the first level of the eyrie.

The aroma of sweaty griffin mixed with their feed, hay, and leather, and Scirye realized why she had felt so at home at the Tarkär Eyrie. The odors there were the same as the imperial eyrie, the smell of her father when he came home from work, scents as familiar to her as her mother's perfume. She'd forgotten all about them, but her memories were awakening now and she felt as if she were three years old again—the age when she had left Bactra with her mother.

“Kles, will you do me the honor?” Her father had taken one of his leather gauntlets from his belt and pulled it on. He held out his left forearm now as a perch.

The little griffin hopped over onto it. Perhaps the large griffins teased the lap griffins here as much as they did at the Tarkär Eyrie. If that was the case, they would not dare mock a guest of the griffin master. And Scirye was grateful for her father's thoughtfulness.

She retained little memory of her life in the court, but she often dreamed about walking through the huge chambers where her father held sway. The stalls seemed so much smaller now. But, of course, she was much taller. Even so, the rooms were spacious enough for twenty griffins. Almost every place in the eyrie had some memory from her childhood. Until this moment, she hadn't realized just how much time she had spent here.