The Grass King’s Concubine (65 page)

Marcellan.

The bees swirled backward toward the book, hovering over it, weaving their looping patterns. Their wings whispered, high-pitched soft sounds like the scratch of Marcellan’s pen on his papers. The pattern twisted, shimmered for
an instant into the image of birds and back again into randomness.

The twins came to a halt beside their book, surrounded by this cloud of their man. He caressed them and stroked them, and they stretched and rolled, aimed gentle pats.

From the hall behind them came a clash of steel. The bees scattered upward, winging their way inside. Julana bounded after them. Yelena hesitated, shivering into her human shape. She bent and gathered up the book, then ran after her sister and the bees.

“Hold.”

Jehan did not dare take his eyes from the man who had been attacking him—attacking Aude. He rose carefully to a crouch over his wife’s prone form, trying to position himself so that he could see both. He had dropped his sword when he dived. It lay a few feet away, just out of reach. The floor slipped and shook beneath him. His aggressor swayed, clutching at the ferret twin; she hung on to his throat, raking his hands with her back feet. Her sister belabored him about the sides and shoulders with their book. Flakes of leather rained from it, and loose pages shook free and floated down to the floor. The bees were everywhere, darting here and there, some rushing in to sting, others holding back. A handful—ten, maybe—hovered nearer, brushing against Aude. She lay gasping, one hand clutched to her stomach. If she had been injured…If these creatures had harmed her in some way…The fear choked him. He had found her. He would not lose her again.

“Hold.” The voice—it was Shirai, whom he so yearned to trust—was calmer now, and the floor stilled. Jehan reached for his sword, found it just out of reach of his arm. A number of the bees had settled upon it. When he leaned out farther, they buzzed at him warningly. He stopped, let his hand fall. His attacker wrenched again at the ferret twin, and she let go. Blood stained her mask and chest, dripped from his attacker’s hands. Jehan tensed. But the
man merely sank back upon his heels and sat, chest heaving. The human twin raised the book one more time, then hesitated and lowered it to her side.

Shirai strode past Jehan and halted partway between him and the fallen aggressor. On the dais, the doughy mound bubbled a little, shifted, leaned toward Shirai. The human twin let out a small squeak. At Jehan’s feet, Aude wriggled and tried to push herself up to sit. Jehan moved back, and she rose, leaning against him. He put an arm around her, felt the shiver that ran through her. She pressed herself to him, face nuzzling into his neck. He bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head.

He said, “It’s all right now, I’m here.” And then, looking up at the Cadre, “What the hell were you doing to my wife?” His sword was still out of reach, but he had a knife in his boot. With his free hand, he began to reach for it. Bees drifted around him.

The fallen Cadre—who must be that Sujien Qiaqia had been so anxious to avoid—said indistinctly, “She has to go to the Grass King.” Blood gurgled in his voice. The bees buzzed angrily.

“We do not know that.” Shirai’s voice was soft, now, yet the edge of earthquake still trailed through it. On the dais, the yeast lump shuddered. Aude reached up and took hold of Jehan’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. He squeezed her fingers.

Shirai continued, “We have never known that, Jien-kai.”

“What else can she do? She’s failed to return our water or heal Tsai, whatever freedoms we gave her. So she has to replace Tsai.” Sujien glared toward Aude. “I’d almost convinced her. But something went wrong. She fought me.”

Aude released Jehan’s hand. Slowly, carefully, she stepped forward, still clutching her stomach. Jehan followed, prepared to steady her should she waver. In a voice that sounded sore, she said, “I didn’t want to, but he made me, somehow…It hurt. It still hurts.”

Sujien ignored her. He said, “Why wouldn’t it work?”

Shirai spoke over him. “That’s not how we are made. It
can’t be done that way.” The bees parted for him as he crossed to his colleague. The twins watched with round eyes, the ferret now crouching at her sister’s feet.

“It’s how Qiaqia was made.” Sujien said.

Qiaqia had not followed Jehan in his headlong flight from the workshop. He had not even thought to notice that until now. He looked around and saw only shadows and bone piles, the dais with its fetid burden. At his side, Aude was calmer, though tears streaked her dusty face.

Shirai said, “Qiaqia leads the Darkness Banner, not that of water. And even if you had done what you intended, this woman couldn’t have replaced Tsai. She is not of us.” He looked back over his shoulder at Aude. “The palace has claimed no part of her.”

“She found the cistern and the clock. She found one of Tsai’s earrings. And I…” Sujien fell silent.

Aude pulled off the scarf that bound her hair, one hand going to an ear. Jehan had never seen the earrings she wore before, one a pretty thing like a frozen bronze wave, the other a great dark pearl. She touched the bronze one and said, “It was in a drain. I thought it might do as a lock pick, but it was too soft. Liyan mended it and gave it to me.”

Something changed in Sujien’s face. His shoulders dropped. To the floor, he said, “Then I have no more ideas. There’s no solution, unless shedding your blood could help.” He reached into his sleeve.

Jehan reached again for his knife. Shirai held up a hand. “Wait.” Swallowing, Jehan held still as Sujien withdrew a small knot of something and dropped it to the floor. A tiny twist of hair, dark brown, medium length. Aude’s hair. She made a small sound, like a whimper, and Jehan put his arm about her again. She leaned into him. He said, “You’re safe. They won’t hurt you. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Shirai said, “That is so.” His face softened for an instant, and he looked at Aude. “She has stood strong against us in your absence. Be proud of her.” Jehan tightened his hold on her. Shirai looked back to Sujien. He said, “Blood is a human solution, Jien-kai. This woman can’t heal us. She is
too tightly bound to WorldAbove. And her body holds a new life.” Aude put a hand once more to her stomach, her face wondering. Jehan swallowed. Somehow, in all their travels, neither of them had ever even considered that possibility. He dropped another kiss onto her hair, and she pressed her cheek against him.

Sujien said. “A human started this. The captive and his books and plans. Those vermin—” and he flung a hand toward the twins—“with their meddling. Liyan and his need to fiddle with things.” He shook his head. “I want it back, Shirai-kai. I want Tsai. I want the Grass King.” His face was drawn and sad. Aude made a soft noise in her throat and started to step toward him. Jehan shook his head at her, held onto her shoulders.

“Tsai is back,” Shirai said. “Or part of her. That’s what I came to tell you.”

“What?” Sujien staggered to his feet. “How?”

“This man brought her,” and Shirai bowed to Jehan. Aude turned toward him, astonished.

Jehan opened his mouth to deny all knowledge, but Shirai cut him off. “This man, and these two,” and he indicated the twins, “have done what we did not think to do. They looked to the oldest places.”

Sujien rubbed his hands on this thighs, smearing blood. Then he, too, bowed. “Then I wronged you. Your pardon.” His voice was brusque; he did not meet Jehan’s eyes.

The human twin shifted from foot to foot, looking from one to the other. Then she said, “Forget Tsai. We want our man.”

Shirai smiled. “That also can happen.” He turned back to Sujien. “You should not have broken the clock.”

“It was stealing Tsai. She flowed into it, and it kept her,” Sujien said, and stopped. Then, in another tone, he added, “But I didn’t break it. Just that other thing. The printing press. I don’t know who destroyed the clock.”

“I did.” And there, at last was Qiaqia, stepping out from the shadows, in the loose white robes of the dead. On the dais, the mound shifted again. A ripple ran through it, and
for a moment it held the shadow of a broad, stern face. Qiaqia continued, “Your pardon, Shirai-kai.”

None of it meant anything to Jehan. He turned to Aude and said, softly, “What did I tell you about wandering off by yourself?”

She began to laugh, choked on a sob, and buried her face in his chest.

Broken Toys

H
IS JUDGMENT DELIVERED, the Grass King’s anger faded. The Rice Palace returned to its old, old ways, minus the twins, minus the disruptions of Marcellan.

In Liyan’s courtyard, the clepsydra stood squat and silent. At its base, the reservoir stagnated; the channel that fed it began to clog, day by day, with leaves and silt. Nothing Liyan did could mend it, though he took apart the gear chains, replaced cogs, refined and oiled and rebalanced the inner works. Its silence covered the Rice Palace, as heavy now as the gongs and bells of the clock had briefly been. The courtiers and servants, clerks and scribes and officers were listless, going about their duties with heavy eyes and blank faces. Nothing was as it had been before the Grass King’s anger and his new proclamations. The ice was gone; the staff were once more at their posts. But everything was different, duller. Across the painted walls, through the weave of the tapestries and the threads of embroidered robes, strange marks spread, in black and red, crossing and overlaying, crowding and shadowing the pictures of birds and fruits, grains and animals.

Tsai drifted from room to room, greeting no one, her long hair hanging dull and lank. She no longer went to the Grass King’s chambers, nor did she attend to her banner. They mirrored her, wandering here and there with empty eyes and neglecting their duties. All across the palace, the
fountains fell silent. The Air Banner twitched and paced, deserting their posts to hunt in remote corners, to patrol neglected roofs and forgotten storerooms. Liyan’s Fire Banner retreated to the armories, running their hands over blades and shields, then letting them fall as the metal resisted their touch. The Earth Banner held to their routine, but their tread was dulled, their gazes glazed and careless. Only the Darkness Banner was as before, silent and aloof in their shadows and nooks.

“This is all your doing,” Sujien raged, pacing the Courtyard of the Cadre and glaring at Liyan. “You meddled. You
had
to experiment. And look what it accomplished. Everything is out of balance. Human ideas infect us. Tsai is fading. The Grass King should have punished you.”

“
You
broke my clock.” There was equal anger in Liyan’s voice. “All was well before that.”

“I didn’t touch your clock. But it was damaging Tsai.”

“Tsai is crazy. She’s always been crazy.”

“She’s one of us.”

“She chose to help me.”

It was the same argument, over and over, acted out each evening when the Cadre—the functional Cadre—gathered in their rooms, never resolved, never quite coming to blows, never, either, coming up with any solution. Night after night Sujien stormed into his private quarters muttering, and Liyan retreated to his workshop to worry over the components of his clock. Shirai spoke to each of them separately, garnering complaints and conditional promises. Qiaqia kept her own counsel, drilling with her banner or walking for hours through the back corridors of the palace. In his throne room, the Grass King heard petitioners, read reports, spoke with his councillors and wives. Tsai’s name was not spoken to him, nor did her wanderings take her into his path.

Marcellan’s courtyard lay empty and silent. He was gone, swept away by the Grass King’s magic. Perhaps Shirai, out of everyone, knew what had became of him, but it was never spoken of.

In their new quarters in the Stone House, the twins fretted and snarled, bickered and slept and plotted. Human settlements grew up nearby, telling tales of the witches who wove curses and magics in their midst. The twins ignored or taunted them as the whim took them, although they had found that they could go no more than a few feet from the Stone House itself. “Snakes and mice in the grasses,” mourned Julana, watching from the windows. “Meat to steal from kitchens. Grains to chew.” Sometimes the more anxious of the humans brought offerings to lay on the step of the house. The twins ate as much as was edible and played with the rest. It was a dull life compared with what they had known in the Rice Palace.