Moth (24 page)

Back down, old man,
he thought.
Back down and watch me feast, or prove your worth.

The meat touched his teeth. Okado paused, not chewing, staring, waiting. The challenge had been made; Yorashi would face it . . . or cower and forever lose his title.

For an instant, the alpha only stared back, his face reddening. His eyes blazed. His face twisted into a mask of bloodlust. At his side, his wolf snapped his teeth at Okado. Then both man and beast, alpha rider and his mount, tossed back their heads and howled to the moon.

Okado sank his teeth into the meat. The juices filled his mouth, fatty and rich and intoxicating.

With a roar, Yorashi swiped his hand, knocking the slab out of Okado's grip. The meat sailed through the air and thumped onto the ground, spraying juices.

Okado barked a laugh. "You still have some fight in you, old man."

The alpha grunted, grabbed Okado, and shoved him aside. Okado snapped his teeth but stepped back willingly, allowing his alpha access to the roasting meat.

But I will not forever stand aside,
he thought, staring as his alpha settled down at the carcass to feast.
Next hunt, perhaps I will leave you only bones and skin.

This hunt, his alpha had stared him down, had shoved him aside, had risked a fight to regain his title. But every year, the alpha grew weaker and Okado grew stronger.

My time to rule draws near.
Okado grinned, licked his lips, and watched the old man feast. The poor fisherman's son would rise. The scrawny youth who had fled his village would lead the pack.

Finally Yorashi had eaten his share and returned, lips bloodied, to his tent. With his wolf, Okado settled down to eat. Their teeth sank into the meat. The meal tasted of blood and dominion.

 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
THE GREEN GEODE

Koyee stood, barefoot and gray with grime, playing her flute. Her hair hung around her face, caked with dirt. Her fur tunic lay in tatters across her. She felt too thin, too weak to play—she had not eaten or slept in an hourglass turn—and yet she played on.

I will not give up,
she thought, playing "Sailing Alone" over and over, the only music she knew.
I will keep making music for Eloria. For my home.

A good crowd walked here this session. A young couple, their faces glowing with new love, tossed her a coin each. Koyee gazed at them, envying their clean skin, fine silk clothes, and companionship, but only smiled in gratitude. A young girl ran from her mother, gave Koyee two copper coins, then blushed and ran off. Many other people walked by. The night was warm, the moon was full, and coins gathered around Koyee's feet.

Yet will I only lose them again next time I sleep?
she wondered.
Will more urchins steal them, or will Snaggletooth return?

She did not know how long she'd been lingering here, a filthy busker. Sometimes she worried this would be her life.

As her fingers moved across her flute, she noticed that one man had been watching her for a long time. Most folk paused for a moment, tossed a coin, and walked on. This man had been standing still, arms folded, simply staring.

Flute in mouth, she stared back, narrowing her eyes. The man seemed about fifty years old. He wore flowing green silks lined with fur, the fabric embroidered with silver snakes. A string of sapphires hung around his neck, and his fingernails were painted blue. His mustache was long and drooping, and he wore a small golden cap upon a bald head. He seemed wealthy to Koyee, but in a garish way like some foppish sorcerer.

She kept playing, and people kept walking by, and the man still stared—not humming along, not paying a coin, and never removing his eyes from her. Finally, after what seemed an hourglass turn, Koyee lowered her flute. Trying to ignore the strange man, she began walking down the street, heading toward the Fat Philosopher for a bowl of mushroom stew.

"Girl."

The voice was soft and smooth, the sound of silk rustling against silk. And yet it floated across the street and into her ears, rising above all other sounds. She turned and saw the colorful man staring at her.

"Girl," he repeated. "You play well."

She paused, her body still facing the tavern, her head looking over her shoulder at him.

"I'm
awful
," she said. "But I'm also hungry, so I play."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. When he reached her, he thrust his face close and tilted his head.

"You have scars on your face," he said.

She looked away. His words cut her and her eyes burned. Fire seemed to fill her throat. She did not mind her scars—she had never cared for beauty—but how dare he so casually mention them?

"What concern of yours is my face?" she said and began walking away. "Farewell, stranger."

He walked alongside her, hands folded into his flowing sleeves. "I beg your pardon, young woman. Please forgive me. Allow me to buy you a meal. I would very much like to speak with you."

She snorted. "I am scarred, I am filthy, and I am thinner than a rail. If you seek a female friend, I suggest you go uptown where they wear silks and jewels."

He kept walking alongside her, nodding. "Would you like to play uptown? You too could wear silks and jewels."

She stopped and spun toward him. "What do you want? Who are you?"

He bowed his head. "My name is Nukari. I am a purveyor of beauty. I seek beauty in song and in form."

"Then keep walking, Nukari, for my playing is awful and my face is worse."

He smiled, revealing very small and sharp-looking teeth. "Both can be improved, my child. Your technique is clumsy, but your soul shines. Your face is scarred, but it's still fair, young, and fresh, and your eyes are large and bright."

She rolled those eyes. "Thank you for your compliments, Master. Goodbye."

She left him there, entered the Fat Philosopher, and sat at her table. Nukari followed her inside and sat at a table of his own. Glowering, Koyee ordered a bowl of reishi mushrooms and ate silently, ignoring him.

"Don't look at him, Eelani," she muttered between mouthfuls. "That man is no good. I don't trust his snakelike voice."

Delicious scents filled her nostrils, and the cook approached, carrying a tray with a small feast. He began to place dishes down on Koyee's table—a bowl of fried fish, a goblet of gravy, a slab of fowl, and a pile of steamed clams. She stared at him, frowning.

"What are these?" she asked. "You know I cannot pay for more than stew."

The cook gestured at the far table. "The master in green ordered them you, Koyee Mai. Enjoy them."

She glanced across the room and saw Nukari there. He was busy sipping from a laquerware bowl, not looking her way. Koyee pushed the plates aside.

"I don't—" she began, but the cook had already left.

Koyee glanced at the food. She didn't want this gift. Not from this strange man. But her belly growled, her mouth watered, and before she could stop herself, she was feasting. Fish crunched in her mouth, juices ran down her chin, and warmth spread through her belly. She had needed this—badly. She didn't even pause from eating when Nukari approached, pulled back a chair, and sat across from her.

"The Fat Philosopher," he said, looking around. "The walls are humble clay. There is no music to entertain the guests. The cook is fat and slovenly. This is no place for folk to eat."

Koyee scarfed down a clam. "The food is cheap here, and it's hot and filling."

He lifted a greasy mushroom then placed it down, lips curling in disgust. "There is more to life than that, my child. Life is about beauty. About savoring every note, every flavor, every smile of a pretty woman. I own an establishment myself, but not a humble tavern like this. Do you know what a pleasure den is?"

She swallowed, wiped the back of her mouth, and glared across her plate.

"So you sell
hintan
to its addicts," she said. She remembered Snaggletooth—frail, mad, with but a single tooth left—and shuddered. "I've seen the spicers on the streets, their teeth purple, their eyes wild. How many of them did you create?"

He leaned back and smiled. "Ah, but the sweet pipe spice is only one pleasure I sell. I own the Green Geode, a place of fine food, fine companionship, and fine entertainment. Do you know who the yezyani are?"

She gulped wine, holding the mug with both hands, then slammed it down onto the table.

"I've seen their painted faces," she said. "They look like dolls to me. Nothing but painted clay dolls."

He nodded. "And I pull their strings. They dance for my guests. They sing. They flirt and laugh and tell tales of long ago. And they live a life of comfort. I give them silks and jewels and warm beds. Young child, come with me to my Green Geode. I will bathe you, clothe you in finery, and give you a room and a bed and hot meals. Play your flute for my guests. Be one of my yezyani."

She snorted and reached for a fried fish. "Did you not hear me play? Did you not say I was ugly and scarred?"

He reached for a fish himself. While Koyee bolted down hers, he only nibbled.

"I am as a gemcutter. I seek gems in the rough. And I polish them. You sit here, covered in dirt, skinny and clad in rags. But I see your shine. I want to polish you. I want to make you my jewel. Become my yezyana, and you will eat fine, warm meals—meals more lavish and delectable than this place serves."

Koyee finished the last clam, raised the plate to her mouth, and began licking the sauce.

"I'm not going to dance for anyone like a doll," she said between licks. "And I'm not serving spice to anyone. And I'm not singing."

He reached over, lowered the plate, and smiled at her.

"You will only play your flute, I promise. Come with me. You will glow like a gem."

She wiped gravy off her chin, stared at him, and narrowed her eyes. He was serious. He truly wanted her to work for him.

Koyee swallowed and her insides trembled. She stared at her plate. After so long . . . so many miles walked, seeking work in smithies, butcher shops, smelters, and a hundred other workshops, she was offered a job?

We can have a roof over our heads, Eelani,
she thought, transferring the words silently to her friend. She knew Eelani could hear.
We can have a warm bed every night. And most importantly, we'll have safety. We'll have a place to store our coins without fearing the Dust Face Ghosts, Snaggletooth, or anyone else.

She looked back at Nukari.

"How much will you pay me?"

"How much do you earn now?" he asked pleasantly.

"Twenty copper coins every standard hourglass turn," she lied, doubling the true amount.

"Then I will pay you thirty," he said.

Koyee struggled not to gasp. Thirty copper coins a turn! It was a fortune. It was more money than she had ever imagined earning. It took all her will to keep her voice steady.

"And I want free room and board," she said. "Three meals a turn. A room of my own; no other yezyani sharing it."

He smiled thinly. "These things will be yours."

She nearly lost her breath. Her heart fluttered. She'd have enough coins by the new moon. She tilted her head, squinted, and examined Nukari. A small voice inside her cried out that this was too good to be true, that she couldn't trust this man with the painted nails and gaudy silks. Her weariness, homesickness, and the rancid smell of her old tunic drowned that voice.

"Take me to the Green Geode," she said, rising from her seat. "You have a new yezyana."

They left the tavern. They walked along the streets, a man wearing finery and a woman clad in rags and filth. They walked for a long time.

For moons now Koyee had lived in the squalor of Pahmey's lower streets, the hive of beggars, buskers, and bottom feeders that nestled against the city walls. For the first time since the elders had spurned her, Koyee found herself climbing the city's hill, heading into the wide streets of the wealthy.

No dirt covered the cobblestones of these boulevards. Poles lined them, bearing lanterns that cast green, golden, and blue lights. Houses were not built of opaque glass, but of crystals that shone, reflecting the city lights. Steeples soared toward the moon, chanting rose from temples, and gardens of mushrooms flourished on balconies. Just as many people walked the streets, but they were cleaner, better dressed, and better fed than the folk of the city dregs. Powder and paint covered their faces, not grime. Well-fed bellies pressed against their silks rather than ribs pressing against naked skin. They wandered the streets, laughed in crystal pleasure dens, and gossiped in public bathhouses. Music rose from a columned theater, and Koyee glimpsed dancers and acrobats before Nukari walked onward, leading her by the hand.

"Come quickly, child," he said.

Koyee dragged behind him, eyes wide. She wanted to gaze through so many windows—to see how the wealthy lived, how they laughed, bathed, applauded dancers and singers, how they lived with joy and cleanliness and full bellies. But Nukari kept pulling her along, allowing her only glimpses of each building they passed.

"Slow down!" she said. "Let go of my hand."

He only smiled and led her along faster. "You'll have time to explore these streets, child, but not like this. Not clad in rags and covered in filth. You do not wish to embarrass me, do you? First I will polish you. When you are a shining gem, you may accompany me—and other men—to all the dens, theaters, and bathhouses of these streets."

Koyee grumbled as they went along. Embarrass him? She looked down at her body. Sticking out from her tattered tunic, her legs were thin as sticks. Grime covered her feet, so thick it looked like shoes. She was used to her own smell now, but she imagined it wasn't too pleasant to those accustomed to soaps and perfumes. She sighed and walked on.

If Timandrians attack this city too, no fineries will matter,
she thought, gazing around at the wealth of Pahmey's hilltop.
If we cannot stop their threat, all the singers, jewels, and perfumes in Pahmey will fall into the fire.

They walked past a towering jewelry store, three stories tall, whose glass windows revealed dozens of people moving up and down coiling staircases, examining the jewels, each one worth more than all in Oshy. By a bronze statue of a dancer, Koyee saw a humble stone building. Nukari turned toward it.