XXXVII. At the Table of the Pearl Lord
When the boys find you, you're digging through your luggage.
"I know I packed it somewhere," you growl to yourself. "Where is it, where is it?"
"Where is what?" Amigere asks cautiously. You don't know what he has to be cautious about. And you're going to be very irked at him if he isn't useful!
"I packed a nice gown just in case I had to do this kind of thing!" you declare, throwing your hands in the air out of sheer exasperation at the world and the beings in it. "And I can't find it! Has some fucking
bastard stolen my dress? I'll kill them!"
"Lady, we are here - in all ways - to help you," Blue says. "I know not what adversity has afflicted you, but you need only tell me tell us and I will slay whoever stands in your way!"
You flop over your bags. "It's pointless! There's no use! The local lordling has invited me to dinner! If I don't go, he'll start interfering - he might even take it as an insult! And I can't find my dark green robe! I packed it just for this!" You whirl on them, hands helplessly twisted into claws. "And if I go there looking like this, these damn
provincials will judge me! I can't have that! But I've said I'll go!" This is one of the great problems of being a dragon-child. You can't just say you have a stomach bug to avoid going somewhere you don't want to be.
To your shame, your eyes are wet. But you're tired and hungry and aching and sober and you're dusty and you haven't had a chance to clean yourself and… and it's just too much. You just… you just need to relax. But you can't. Because this fuck has decided that you don't even get
one day to enjoy the comforts of civilisation. Such as it is here. No one asked you if you wanted to be invited and forced to choose in the moment - because a delay would be a sign of weakness.
Well, sometimes you want to get to be weak! It's shameful, of course it is, but at moments like this, you don't
want to be a shining example of the prowess of the dragons. You just want to go to bed and sleep for a few days because you're getting weepy over the fact you can't find a fucking dress. Gods and spirits, why did you come to this reeking, too-hot, thirsty city? You nearly ran to An Teng. You would have liked it in An Teng. There would have been plants there. How are you meant to put down any roots here when even the grass is straw-yellow?
Blue pulls you into his hug, and you snuffle into his shoulder. He smells of cardamom and a hint of cumin. Your shoulders shake as you cling to him, holding him tightly. He leads you back to the bed, and sits you down.
"You feel as tense as a warrior before a duel," he tells you.
It's not that. "I just… I'm exhausted. I wanted a day to rest properly. To sleep when it's dark. To have some time to sit around and read. My feet are hurting and… and I just can't face a dinner with people I don't know." You slide down his body, lying your head in his lap. "I'll be better tomorrow," you mumble. "But I don't have until tomorrow. I'm
dirty. And I need to go to a formal dinner and I can't find my gown and…"
"Isn't it in one of the heavy chests?" Amigere asks.
"What."
"You know, because you were worried that someone would steal it. So that's over in the camp."
"I didn't put it there."
"Yes, but you said it needed to be kept safe so…" Amigere looks from you to Blue, back again. He sighs, heaving his shoulders. The cheek of the man. As if he's the one being cruelly afflicted. "I'll go get it."
Blue beams at him. "Thank you, cutie." Amigere's neck pinkens at that, but he waves it off and steps out. You're left alone in lap of a sexy prince of chaos, who's running his fingers through your hair. You don't want him to. He might look down on you for how dirty you are. How dirty you feel.
He smiles down at you. As if he can't feel that you haven't washed properly in days. Like it doesn't matter to him. It's all a lie, but it's what you need.
"You're looking very pretty."
You wriggle against him. His eyes are a rich orange, and beautiful beyond description. They remind you of the light of a sunset. You just want to spread yourself out and bask in them. He holds you in his arms, with simple affection, and it's a wonderful sensation. The wobbly feeling that you're just not
clean starts to fade, replaced by a wavering joy. "You're just saying that. I'm a mess."
"It just makes you look wild. Untamed. Like the lion-women of the sands."
"You know of such things?"
Blue's hands stroke your hair, his long black fingers massaging your scalp - and despite yourself, all your stress and worry seeps away. "Of course I do. I have walked through the burning sands, flown over them. Down in the sands there are lionesses who have learned to take on the shape of a human. And to become other stranger things. They run through the sands, feeding on the luxuries of the lower mountains. Past the red wall, there are principalities ruled over by mighty champions who ride steeds which never thirst and never tire. I have taken lovers from among them, and known nights of passion within their scale-skinned tents. But these princely men and fierce women fear the lionesses who can walk among them in human form, and you, you my lady, have something of the fierceness of these lionesses in you right now."
His words are lulling you, and you're just so
tired from days of travel that you're half-asleep as you gaze up into those sunset eyes. His fingers tangle in your hair, so cool against your scalp. "Roar," you say to him weakly.
He smiles, and his teeth are a white crescent moon. You're no longer in his lap, and you're not sure when that happened. Now you're standing in the centre of the room, and something whose shape changes from moment to moment is holding a bowl of water.
"Let me take care of you," he murmurs into your ear, like a sand-laden wind across the dunes. His hands are wet, and so carefully he runs those black fingers through your hair. He does not wash your hair like a servant does, not like what's-her-name back in Zorpondam. No, each lulling sweep of his fingers takes away a little bit of dirt, a little bit of the sand and the dust from the road. It's like you've seen with the greatest swordsmiths of Cherak; the ones who hone the keenest edges of their blades on silk.
And when your hair is clean, he draws his blade and with oil and the edge he strips the dirt from you. It runs against your skin, and the hair on the back of your arms rises up, only to be sliced away along with the dirt. Ah, such a sweet frisson, to know that your prince could so easily slip and cut you with that glamour-blade - but he will not. No matter where the blade darts, even as he cuts away your clothing too and leaves you standing there naked. Bared to the eyes of the beautiful figures who watch from behind smoked glass.
It's all a dream. None of it is real. But fantasy is so pleasant sometimes. And when you slip from the sleeping chains he wrapped around your mind, you are sitting in a chair as he washes your hair with a bowl of water.
But that truth is so much more boring, so you succumb again.
The gown is found, and between the two of them - and your own indomitable efforts - you manage to get into a presentable state. You wouldn't pass muster at one of the fine balls of the rest of the Ferem, or even at the party at the Kinzira estate, but this place is so rustic you just hope and pray that things will be fine.
They'll have to be, without your boys. You're not taking Blue, not until you know whether there is anyone here who might recognise him for what he is. And Amigere is a birdman and the Cahzori can be so… close-minded sometimes. It's not something you want to risk. Not when the ulinke of this place knows why you're here. So you take a pair of your soldiers as an escort - and make sure they're women, for the sake of appearances if they care about such things here - and so set off.
At night, Zorpearl is different. The hanging washing lines are dark shapes against the sky and seem to twist and curl oddly as you walk through torch-lit streets. The chalk drawings of the children's games have too many legs; the time-worn bronze statues on buildings lurk in gloomy alcoves.
Feathery filigree fronds float through the air, the fluffy seeds of the drying bushes that bloom in the night. They must hide from the sun in the day, but here, where there is a little water, they come out at night. Insects flitter and flutter around the bushes, feeding from the night flowers. Dark moths haunt the gloom. And where there are insects, one always finds the things that feed from them; bats, hopping mice, spiders. These little islands of life in among the parched ruins are always surrounded by predators.
The fortress of the ulinke is what you thought when you saw it from afar; a four-story apartment building of ancient years turned into a citadel. Low buildings with no windows facing the exterior have been built around it, forming an outer wall which forces anyone who approaches it to enter through tarnished metal doors which clearly were dragged elsewhere from the ruins. Once they were decorated with the faces of mighty figures, but they have been scratched off.
The doors open before you. You are expected, and watched for. This man is either showing off, or concerningly good at making sure his people are always alert. And that's not a good sign. Not when you're planning to plunder his land and enter a forbidden temple of banned gods. The ulinke is waiting for you.
He is a strangely handsome creature, a man whose age is not worn on his features. No mortal in his late sixties should look like that. You would put him in his late thirties at most - but ah, something about his features reminds you of the silent dancers of your homeland. He is tanned, but not to leather like your guides. His choice of clothing is an imported silk suit of a distinctly modern cut compared to the ancient styles of Cahzor, violet with black spiderweb patterns. His strong hands are hidden behind black leather gloves, embroidered with needlework hibiscuses. His hair is stiff and bristly, and bleached; he has beaded it with onyx and they click together when he turns his head, sounding like tapping fingernails. When he smiles, a diamond tipped incisor stands out among white, square teeth.
This is Ulinke Fahd ah-Hakim, the lord of Zorpearl; a most singular man.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he says, with an almost mocking bow, standing among plundered splendour in his grand hallway. His voice is very soft, rolling out of his lips, and the accent is not quite Cahzori. Or, at least, not quite the same as the jansi who are most of the Cahzori you have spoken to. And he is a liar; this abode is far from humble. Old well-stained wood is everywhere, and black-and-white tiles set in the floor lay out a map of the valley that takes up the entrance. "We see so few travellers, and you, Lady Meira of the family of Sayu, have clearly come far."
He lies; you have seen other traders in this town - and you notice how he does not say your assumed name in the way many of the jansi do. But from the way he presents himself, he is not one of the jansi. "I didn't expect to find such a gentleman in these ruins," you say as you offer him your hand.
Fahd ah-Hakim smiles at that, dipping low to press his lips to the back of your hand. "I am pleased to surprise you, my lady," he says.
"I do enjoy surprises; I hope this will be a pleasant one."
And ah, the stain of purple lotuses makes itself known on his lips and his fingers. The flowers are particularly prominent on his gloves. A man, you suspect, who has made many rich sacrifices to the gods to extend his youth. You don't need such things, but lesser people do what they can.
"I will do what I can. Believe me - if you've been dealing with the inbred jansi of this place, I hope I can be a breath of fresh air."
"You've travelled."
"Quite extensively. I've spent time in Gem, and then I went exploring in the land of the Coaxti. Down by the Crimson Wall, in fact."
"Oh?" You're interested. Such a coincidence that Blue mentioned such things today. "I've heard rumours of that. It's right at the edge of the world."
"That's what Pangasutri teaches. But beyond that, there are the Ashen principalities. Past the red jade wall of the ancients upon which chaos breaks its storms."
What an intruiging man. You beam at him. "We must talk of such things later. Oh, but where are my manners? Thank you for inviting me to your fortress, my lord," you say, sweeping low into a graceful curtsey that takes full advantage of both your remarkable flexibility and your low-cut-dress. "I truly appreciate it."
The first test. As the beast walks into the trap baited with such fine meat, do his eyes linger? And indeed they do. Excellent.
"Well, my lady, I am always intrigued when such a beautiful woman comes to my lands." He pauses. "Especially when she comes at the head of an army."
"Merely protection from the beasts of the ruins and savage bandits," you murmur. "And this is hardly an army."
"By Cahzori standards? It is more of one than you might think." He smiles at you brightly, a movement of his face where only the corners of his mouth move. There's no creasing of his eyes; no crinkling of his brow. "Often it is more polite to send a warning."
"Oh!" You give an empty giggle. "I am sorry! It's just I was told that the dangers of Cahzor meant that you needed a good many men!"
You're pretty sure he doesn't believe a word. Oh well. Not all men can be as gullible and adorable as Blue. "Mmm," he says. "Tomorrow, you and I will have a talk to agree on terms for exploring my land. And I dare say they will be better terms than that dried-up woman in Zorpondam will give you. But," and he spreads his hands, smiling a wicked smile that might as well belong to the lips of one of your princes, "tonight you are my guest! Let us drink, eat, and make merry while you regale us poor isolated folks with stories of the lights and the affairs of our oh-so-superior cousins in high society! I have made sure that many luminaries of my humble town are here, eagerly awaiting your words. And oh, I have arranged entertainment that I enjoy greatly. I hope it will be to your liking."
You offer him your arm. "I do like to be the centre of attention, so this is most delightful of you."
With a chuckle, he takes your arm. "Everyone will love you. They will be so happy."
The guests are not happy.
Oh, they smile on seeing you. They smile like condemned men, lips parting and mouth drawn up into a mockery of happiness. But there is sick tension in the air. For once, on entering the room every eye is not on you. They are watching Fahd as he strolls in, his arm linked with yours, smiling genially.
"Ladies, gentlemen, I'm
so sorry for the delay," he says. "I was just speaking with my guest of honour, the lovely Meira as-Sayu, who has come to me with a simply
fascinating business proposition. And I must say, from what she's shown me already, it's very promising."
A black-robed woman narrows her eyes, a cadaverous man opens his mouth as if to protest but says not a word, and the woman at the right hand of the head of the table… well, she stares at you hatefully. Well, well. Either she has a problem with scavenger lords, or she has a problem with women who are more beautiful than she is arm-in-arm with the ulinke. And from her styles and the way she's dressed more expensively than the others here, you suspect it's the latter.
The fat man in water-blue is the first to speak. "Is… is she why we were all invited to this soiree?"
"Of course not, of course not. Am I the sort of man to do such a thing?" He turns to you. "Do you like my dining hall?"
You consider it. It's certainly unusual, and not at all like the Kinzira one. One wall is a fresco, but the colours are so old and so faded they only give the impression of shadowy creatures. As the candle flames flicker, the lairs of aged paint seem to dance. Another looks out over Zorpearl, gazing down one of its streets to a square where three bodies hang by their necks. Another; treasures that can only be from some dragon-child's tomb. You have seen those styles of coffins before. Four of them stand upright, dragon-faced deathmasks gazing out over the diners. It is... unusual decoration for an eating-hall.
And the final wall is nothing but glass. And beyond that is an aquarium. Such a wealth of water in Cahzor!
There is something moving behind the glass. Something big. Something crocodilian. Something which leaves water lilies in its wake.
You smile at him, reading this man. "A trapped elemental? Now I've seen everything." You lean in, looking at him from below hooded eyes, calling the scent of northern pine to fill his nostrils. "I hope I get to see it feed. I've heard such things about the beasts of southern rivers and their… hungers."
He is amused - and pleased. "Finally! Someone who appreciates my pet! These people don't. Khair, for example, pissed himself when I tried to show it to him a little more intimately. And that tub of lard over there, Harun, he goes on and on about how it's 'blasphemy' to trap a crocodile lord of the waters. Tssk tssk. Could you do that, Meria?"
You glance over that the aquarium, at the dark shape moving inside. "I am afraid not, Fahd." You smile at him. "You have me outmatched. I am certainly no elementalist."
Fahd relaxes slightly at that, letting go of a subtle tension you hadn't noticed, and with that, the room relaxes too. He directs you to a seat. "Sit, please," he says, as he takes his own seat. The oil lambs sitting on the table light everyone's faces from below, the flames flickering and dancing in their bowls. "I hope everyone here has a very pleasant evening."
Their names go by in a flash. Joelle aw-Wardiyy-Kuri, a slip of a priestess lost behind her black robes and her painted face. Harun am-Ma-Kuri, a priest who you can't tell whether is male or female, but also a water trader of sorts and who looks far more like a merchant-prince than a holy person. The bone-thin, cadaverous Haldun Farran, a scholar and scavenger lord from the university-town. And then there are the representatives from local jansi; Soha aq-Qard who looks like she's just bitten into a lemon, weak-chinned Lara am-Muskila and her brother Khair, and Reem ak-Kaslan. She is the best dressed of all the guests but wears the same non-Cahzori-styles as the ulinke.
He has placed you opposite to her, on his other side, and he smiles at that, looking between the two of you with his chin on his hand. Her lips are a thin line, despite her attempts to smile that leave her looking even more sickly than the others.
The first course is poppy-seed dusted bread, with a thick, eggy white sauce, and a thin soup that tastes very floral.
"So you're a scavenger lord," Haldun asks immediately, as he tears his bread apart into tiny fragments without eating it. His red eyes meet yours. This wiry man with many old scars on his too-thin body wishes you were not here. And you don't want a rival scavenger lord in the area. It's hate at first sight. "I'd love to hear stories of your exploits."
"I wouldn't say I'm only that. I have many skills," you say. Hmm. This sauce is surprisingly good. Very rich, but after days of hard travel, you appreciate it. "But I have experience with such things in my homeland."
"In the Realm?"
"No, no, I'm from further north than that. Though I have spent some time on the Blessed Isle. I heard of stories of Cahzor when I was a girl, though."
"Further north?" He seems surprised. "You have travelled far. What are you looking for?"
"Adventure and to broaden my horizons," you say mildly. And then you smile. "And wealth, of course. I might as well ask you what you are looking for?"
He tenses his jawline. "I serve the scholars of Zoruni. My masters bid me to honour the ancients." Oh, he didn't like the wealth comment. Not one bit.
"I hope you will make your masters pleased with you," you say, with just a little
twist so he understands that you speak of him as a pet dog. He flushes, even if your remark slips past everyone in the room. "And with luck, they will speak well of you."
Good boy.
"Do you mock me?" he demands, one hand slamming on the table.
"Mock you?" you ask, playing the ignorant foreigner for all it is worth. "Please forgive me if I have said anything that means something different in Firetongue. It is not my first tongue, you see." You smile at the ulinke, at the head of the table. "Fahd, I am sorry if I caused offence at your dinner. I did not think I did, but please, correct me if I say something wrong."
He pauses, mid-way through dipping his bread. "What's got into you, Haldun? You don't have first claim on my land. And you better not act like you do. Or I'll feed you to Jhodi. You'd like that, wouldn't you? A noble burial in the digestive tract of a sobeksis. Almost an honourable way to go, no?"
Haldun pales. "My… m-my lord, I do not…"
"Do not what? Speak up, man? I can't hear over the sound of my stomach rumbling…" He pauses. "Oh wait. That's not my stomach."
That's enough to have the scavenger shrinking back, with muttered apologies to you - which of course you accept with good grace - and the topic of conversation shifts to the wyldstorm and the damage it has done to the area. Everyone else is desperately trying to speak of other things. You can see the two weak-chinned siblings beading with sweat.
"How was your travel from… Zorpondam?" asks sour-faced Soha. "You're the first traveller from that direction since the storm."
You nod. "Could have been worse, I suppose. But there was a decidedly harrowing moment. The bridge over the Riba Sari Canyon was out, and rather than risk the bridge of the warlord Qirmiz, we had to traverse the canyon."
Somehow, her face twists further. "Awful. You mean the people at Zorthirbank weren't working on it?"
"I told them it was out when we stopped there, but they said they couldn't fix it." You gesture at her with bread. "Too wide. Though some of my people seemed to think they could have managed it, given plenty of time. And no small amount of money."
"They're probably wanting someone else to do it," she says, sneering.
"It might be needed," boyish Khair says. "Without the trade routes…" he glances at the water-priest. "Am-Ma-Kuri, revered one, surely your order has some interest in this."
Harun steeples their fingers together. "It is not so easy, young one. As the lady as-Sayu said, ach, it would be a great undertaking."
"But surely the Holy Temple of Ma has the funds, and with the bridge over the Riba Sari out, it can't be good for your water trade."
"It is not our duty." They spread their hands. "Why not the am-Muskila?"
"Y-y-you know we are not as prosperous as we once were," his sister interjects quickly.
"Yes, how dare you try to pin this responsibility on us!" he blusters. He half-faces the sour-faced woman. "Surely aq-Qard would be better if you were looking for partners."
"We of aq-Qard will not throw away our money. You, Khair, you are 'not as prosperous'," her tone is mocking, "because you do not know the value of money. Of course, if you would like to extend your loans…"
The young man protests, and then Reem ak-Kaslan interjects, and it degenerates into bickering. You say little of value, only mentioning things you have seen, and use the chance to watch Reem. She looks familiar; there is something of… ah, hmm.
"Excuse me," you say, raising your voice as you look at her. "I am, I am afraid, a foreigner and not fully aware of the ancient and venerable lineages of the jansi." You pitch your voice just so, as you learned long ago, and Fahd gets your other meaning; the mockery of their babbling and irresponsibility. "But ak-Kaslan - pray, tell me, does that make you a relative of the ak-Kas jansi? The names are similar, you see, and…"
"A branch family," Reem says, irritably wetting her fingers in one of the little bowls of water.
You nod. "I am sorry for your loss," you tell her, just to see her eyes boggle.
"What do you mean?"
"Hasn't word spread here?" You tilt your head, in falsely innocent confusion, before something seems to occur to you. "Oh, no, sorry, of course, I would have thought - but the bridge! Of course you wouldn't have heard the news from Zorpondam!"
Fahd leans forwards, grabbing another piece of bread. "What news?" You have him hooked.
You smile. "A story… of murder," you purr.
How does Rena tell the story?
[ ] Mostly accurately. The truth has its own power, especially given it was pretty dramatic. Murder, duels, a lover's revenge… let's be honest, it's entertaining enough as it is. Though she won't mention Blue.
[ ] Downplay her involvement. Oh, she was there, but Hilmi just murdered Haitham because of their grudges coming to bear. She wasn't responsible - sort of - for the events that happened. And she didn't sleep with Haitham.
[ ] Exaggerate wildly. Why yes, she was Haitham's fiancée, and the duel was not just in the temples, but it was on the rooftops. In the changerain. As she chased down the cowardly fleeing Hilmi, who spat curses at her.
And What Entertainment has Fahd Organised for Dinner?
[ ] Two gladiators, fighting for your amusement. His eyes are alight with bloodlust as he watches.
[ ] A public execution, of one of his rivals. This is a man who takes great pleasure in tearing down those who think themselves his betters.
[ ] A play, the air thick with stupefying drugs. He breathes so deeply of the hallucinatory fumes, his chest heaving.
[ ] Salacious half-snake dancers, to thin piping music. Oh, how he stares at their sinuous motions.
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