Читать книгу The Deathless - Peter Newman, Peter Newman - Страница 8

It was as Pari feared. The majority of the castle’s guard had taken up posts outside the Rebirthing Chamber, protecting the two doorways into the room. Traditionally, one was used by the Bringers of Endless Order as they escorted the vessel in, one was for the High Lord, if he or she wished to attend. There was a third way into the room but this was used only as an exit should the ritual fail.

Pari had never witnessed a ritual go wrong but she had heard rumours of bodies inhabited by infernal spirits and turned into tragic, destructive creatures. Some believed, if the proper rites were not observed, a demon could push aside the waiting soul and enter the world in its place. Pari had little time for such notions, sure that the pain and confusion of a botched rebirth would be more than enough to explain away the rage of the poor wretches.

Whether due to madness or demonic possession, the results of a failed ritual were too dangerous to be allowed to live, and the third exit was a means of dealing with them: a beautifully designed portal covering a chute that was nothing more than a glorified hole in the underside of Rochant Sapphire’s floating castle. Anyone unfortunate enough to use it was ejected directly above the gaping chasm, far beneath.

Unguarded, and unknown to most of the castle’s inhabitants, it was arguably the ideal route for someone trying to sneak in without being seen. However, the only way to reach it was by scaling the outer walls, and even if she’d had time, such feats were beyond her in this lifecycle.

Pari studied the faces of the three guards stood to attention outside the first entrance. The Bringers of Endless Order must have already gone inside. She didn’t like what she saw. Nothing was obviously wrong but she didn’t recognize any of the guards, and as her eyes swept over them, a word screamed into her mind: killers.

Quickly, she moved to the second entrance. It was similarly guarded, but one of the men was familiar.

She tried to think where she had seen him before. A wispy beard covered his chin and cheeks, but beneath it was a face she knew. Older and harder but not entirely unfriendly. The picture of a young boy came to mind, shy, with watchful eyes, who blushed at the slightest praise.

She approached him, so bold that it took them all a moment to react.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded, one hand going to the Sliver Pistol at his side. The man and the woman flanking him followed suit, reaching for well-worn hilts.

She ignored the impulse to run and focused on the man she knew. ‘Shush now, Dil, I need you to listen.’ Then she noticed the extra bands of colour around his right arm. A captain now, she thought. And he was such a quiet boy.

The man spluttered in surprise at the use of his name but something in her tone and manner disarmed him and he came forward. ‘Do I know you?’ He frowned. ‘No! It can’t be! Lady Pari Tanzanite?’ Despite himself, Dil bowed.

She couldn’t help but smile at his naked amazement. ‘Your eyes are sharp as ever.’

And there it was, the sudden colouring of his cheeks. ‘But …’

‘There’s no time to explain, Dil. Lord Rochant is in danger. Assassins are in the castle dressed in House Sapphire uniform. You must find them. And you must let me inside the chamber. I’ll protect him.’

‘What? That’s … No.’

‘No? You don’t believe me?’

‘I believe you.’ A little sweat formed on his top lip. ‘Has anyone already been killed?’

‘Mohit and Dhruti.’ She let it sink in. ‘At least one of your people died defending them. One assassin tried for Satyendra but I managed to save him …’

She sighed inwardly as Dil’s hand slipped from the Sliver Pistol, his frown deepening. ‘Who else knows?’

‘Just you, me, and Chandni.’

‘Good. Where are Chandni and Satyendra now?’

‘Safe.’

‘Are they in their room?’

‘They’re safe, don’t worry.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Later. We don’t know who else might be listening.’

He turned away with a scowl. ‘Of course.’

She stepped past him to find the other two guards had drawn blades and were levelling them at her chest.

‘Stand down,’ commanded Dil and they reluctantly sheathed their weapons. ‘Open the doors.’ As they complied he turned to Pari and added. ‘If you do anything to disrupt the rebirthing …’

‘I’ll be quiet as a Flykin,’ she replied, ‘I promise.’

The Rebirthing Chamber was not much to look at, smooth stone walls that curved to make a circle, and a stone floor, equally smooth, grey, featureless. A spiral of pillars started by the first entrance and slowly wound their way towards the centre. Though the pillars were as dull to look at as the walls, each one was double her girth, giving Pari plenty of places to hide.

The soft light in the room came from the Bringers of Endless Order: stored sunslight released slow and muted through cloudy diamonds atop their wands of gold. As tradition dictated, seven Bringers were present, dressed in robes of black and white, their faces covered in plain masks divided down the middle, white on the left, black on the right.

Pari wasn’t convinced that any of them were required for the rebirthing to work but she was grateful for their sing-song murmurs as they masked the sound of her tiptoeing from one pillar to another.

She could see a young man, naked, strapped down on a slab set at the centre of the room: Kareem Sapphire, living the last moments of his life before his soul made way for Rochant’s to return. In typical Sapphire fashion, the young man was stoic about his fate, neither railing against it nor revelling in the honour his body was about to receive.

She took some time to appreciate the new form her lover was to assume. Lean but not too thin, with a pleasing firmness to biceps and buttocks that she looked forward to exploring further. She was also pleased to see Kareem had cut his hair short against the fashion. Not only was this good for Rochant, who had proven himself immune to the fashions of court, it was also good for her. Long hair was fine to look at, but it tended to get in the way. Pari was already imagining what those lips might feel like against hers.

One of the Bringers took out a needle, raising it theatrically in the seven directions: up, then down, to the left and right making a cross, then three times more, across the left shoulder, then the right, and finally down at a forty five degree angle from the right hip.

The sight of the needle made the breath catch in her throat. Could one of the assassins have hidden themselves within the Bringers? But no, this needle was different to the other two she’d seen, a more elaborate tool. She watched as the Bringer switched it on, and a concealed pouch began to beat within their robes, like a second heart jutting from the small of their back. Shimmering liquid was pumped from the pouch through a tiny corkscrew tube that ran within the Bringer’s sleeve, and into the back of the needle. The other six were humming but she could hear the needle humming too, like a living tongue, sharp, now tipped with golden spittle and ready for its task. The Bringer raised the needle to Kareem’s unblemished flesh, and set to work.

Kareem’s head was worked on first, a jagged line of gold drawn from forehead to cheek, narrowly missing the eye. At the bottom the line forked and forked again, forming a lattice that spread back towards the ear: this was to symbolize Rochant’s first death, when his head had been split open defending his lord during the Battle of Bloodied Backs.

Next, the Bringer worked on his chest, inscribing tiny rows of text across his heart. Rochant’s second death had come when his body was ancient, and was caused by heart failure, which in turn was caused by the arrival of an unexpected message, the contents of which remained a mystery to Pari, much to her irritation.

Not all of his deaths would be represented, only the ones of significance. With bated breath, she watched as they added marks to his right hand and his cock. Neither of these were familiar to her and there was little of Rochant’s body she had not seen. Another puzzle. If only she could examine them more closely, she might be able to discern clues as to why they’d been added but if the Bringers found her here, there would be consequences even she feared to face.

Pari took a moment to appreciate Kareem’s strength of character. Though the young man gripped the edges of the slab and his body was locked rigid, he did not cry out at any time, enduring the stab-stab of the needle with barely a grunt. Even from a distance, it made Pari’s eyes water.

This is why he was chosen. Not for those cheek bones, that’s a common enough Sapphire feature. For his self-discipline. Rochant is a stickler for it.

Eventually, the needle went quiet, vanishing into the cavernous sleeves of the Bringer’s robes. More whispering followed, the Bringers reciting history and lineage, recounting a life that skipped across generations before surfacing to influence the Sapphire line, then vanishing again.

The whispers were just loud enough to sound enticing and, for the second time, Pari wished she could get closer. She also wished there was somewhere to sit down. Her feet were throbbing, and one of her knees was starting to tremble.

The Sapphires can have their self-discipline and suffering, she thought, right now I’d trade all of my dignity for a cushioned seat and a footrest.

Though she couldn’t hear the words, it became clear to her that the Bringers weren’t addressing Kareem, rather their masked faces were tilted towards a small box that had appeared on the upturned palm of the lead Bringer. Fine lines were brushed into the sides of the box, each movement making ghost-shapes along its surface. The lid was open. She could see the contents nestled snugly within: a platinum sphere, about the size of a human eye. From this distance it appeared flawless, but she knew in the right circumstances clever mechanisms within would rotate, cracking open to allow vapours to pass through the outer shell.

Nobody knew exactly where the soul went between rebirths but there was a good chance that it was there, right now, in the box, in the Godpiece, waiting to begin its next life.

For a rebirth to be attempted, a noble house would have to entreat the Bringers of Endless Order to attempt a ritual. This was normally a formality but one which had to be observed, and paid for.

Assuming this went well, the family would have to produce the relevant Godpiece: a relic of the immortals that once ruled the world, and the only thing capable of anchoring a soul once it had left the body.

Each Godpiece was attuned to a different member of the crystal dynasties; each one was unique, irreplaceable. Its allocation was a thing of incredible potency, and the singular right of the Crystal High Lords.

Most of the houses, her own included, had already allocated all of their Godpieces, meaning that any new immortals could only be made by removing one of the old, again a power held by the Crystal High Lords. It was also why Pari was always polite to High Lord Tanzanite, no matter how annoying she could be at times, and why Pari kept her affair with Rochant a secret.

It was one thing to break a taboo, quite another to get caught doing it.

The third requirement of the ritual was its location, ideally the correct family stronghold, though Pari and Rochant had debated whether any of the dynasties’ floating castles would suffice.

The fourth was time, the Bringers scheduling the ceremony to take place at the same moment of the day, and with the same alignment of the suns, as the immortal’s original birthday. This was why everyone, even the least fortunate, took careful note of the sky when a child was born.

Finally, a suitable host was required. They had to come from the immortal’s line, with stronger blood ties preferable. Each house endeavoured to groom potential hosts to have skills and interests similar to the immortal, to make the rebirth easier, however this was not always possible, and some immortals had lived lives in the opposite gender, and in bodies of a variety of shapes and sizes.

For Rochant, the signs were good, better than good, and yet Pari could not help but worry as the ritual drew to a close. The thought of having to wait another generation to be with her love was painful, the thought that she might never see him again, unbearable.

Somewhere nearby, Rochant’s enemies were moving, preparing to act. Pari doubted they’d dare try anything while the Bringers were present, but as soon as they had gone, Rochant would be easy pickings for any that could get past his guard.

And if they do, they’ll find me waiting, thought Pari, but the bravado sounded hollow, even in her own mind. She was tired already, and scared. What if I’m not good enough? What then?

One of the Bringers produced a mesh of wires and solemnly approached Kareem. Another stepped up to the side of the young man and placed their hands either side of his head. Kareem did not resist, though she thought she saw him flinch as he caught sight of the device. The lump in Kareem’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then the young man opened his mouth.

The mesh was placed inside, flattening down Kareem’s tongue and jacking open his jaws. There was a click, loud, and the device locked into place, whereupon the lead Bringer stepped forward, took the Godpiece from its box to place it carefully, ritualistically, into Kareem’s mouth, into the mesh.

The others closed in, making a loose circle around Kareem, wands pointing inward, much of their light blocked from Pari. Their murmurings became louder, not quite a song, but a series of harsh lyrical whispers, ends and beginnings brushing over one another. Planes of light could only escape in the gaps where the Bringers’ robes were not touching and in the space above their heads. A tableau of shadow danced on the ceiling, and to Pari, it looked at times as if the shapes were wrong, the Bringers seeming to have too many limbs, and extra protrusions defying the human form.

She looked away but the noise still reached her. The strange words, and beneath them, muffled by the mesh, Kareem, making a sound she could not name but was born of suffering.

Until now she had never really thought about the ones that gave up their lives so that she and those like her might live again. It was always spoken of as an honour, and of course, those that took that honour for her, Pari had never met. But she found herself thinking about it now, that curious part of her brain forced to consider that Kareem did not sound like a man experiencing a great honour, and to wonder what would happen to his soul once Rochant’s took up residence.

Gradually, the whispers faded, each of the Bringers falling quiet in order, like waves receding from the shore. When they were done, they took a step back, widening the circle.

She risked a glance, and saw that Kareem’s eyes were closed. Or were they Rochant’s now? She had to know if he had survived the ritual and edged out from behind her pillar, sliding rather than stepping, until she managed to align herself with a gap in the ring of Bringers.

His chest. Is it moving? Yes. It moved! She felt joy that he was alive, tempered with fear. The body lived, true, but it was not yet certain what dwelled inside it.

Together, the Bringers raised their golden wands, touching them one to the other, so that the seven diamonds clinked softly.

The man on the slab groaned, then opened his eyes.

‘One man is welcome here,’ the lead Bringer said. ‘Are you that man?’

Pari saw the muscles in his arm flex against the straps that held him fast. He worked his jaw slowly, as if testing it for damage. The motion was so considered, so calm, that her heart leapt. It was Rochant, it had to be! The Bringers may not know it yet, but she was already certain.

‘I am Lord Rochant Sapphire,’ he said. And again, Pari rejoiced, she knew that intonation better than her own.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome,’ replied the Bringer, ‘if you are he.’

‘If,’ hissed the others.

‘If you are he,’ continued the lead Bringer, ‘you will prove your humanity. Examine yourself, and tell us what you find.’

This was to be the test then. Pari had undergone several herself. Each time was different, a means to be sure that the immortal had truly returned, rather than a demon.

‘I feel the marks on my skull. The scars of my first life.’

The Bringers said nothing, none of them moved, though each seemed poised to act.

‘I see the marks on my heart, and remember my second life.’

Again, the Bringers said nothing, and Rochant turned his attention to his hand. There was a long pause. She saw the flicker of concern on Rochant’s face.

Something’s wrong.

The silence was stretching too long. If Rochant didn’t answer correctly, and soon, the Bringers would become suspicious. He might even fail the test.

‘What is this on my hand?’ Rochant asked.

The lead Bringer matched the pause, and Pari felt her heart clench. Then said ominously, ‘You do not know?’

Rochant only frowned.

Perhaps this is it. What if the assassin is among the Bringers, or if the Bringers themselves want him dead. If they put a mark on him that should not be there, then he cannot identify it, and he cannot pass. They will kill him and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Rochant licked his lips to moisten them. ‘I know nothing of it.’

‘It is a mark of shame.’ The other Bringers made a soft chorus of the word ‘shame’ as the lead Bringer continued. ‘When you were killed for raising your hand in disagreement with your High Lord.’

‘Then, this cannot be my hand,’ replied Rochant. ‘For it, like me, has always been loyal.’

There was another long pause before the lead Bringer stepped in close. Pari’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a sweep of the robed arm, too fast for her to intervene.

When the Bringer stepped back, the marks on Rochant’s hand were gone and the straps that had held him in place hung loose on the sides of the slab.

‘Lord Rochant Sapphire is welcome.’

‘Welcome,’ agreed the others.

Their work complete, the Bringers bowed, but before they could leave, Rochant spoke again. ‘Wait, there is another mark I do not know.’

The Bringers paused, and the sense of them being poised to act, to strike, returned.

Shut up! Pari urged silently. You’ve passed the test you idiot. Just let them leave.

‘The one in silver ink rather than gold –’ Rochant allowed a delicate pause ‘– below. Can you explain it to me?’

A look passed between the Bringers. If Pari did not know better she’d have said there was some gentle humour being shared.

‘It is a warning from your High Lord. Of an end for this life if you do not heed it.’

Rochant didn’t reply but she saw his jaw clench and his eyes close.

He’s being told to stay away from me! She consoled herself that High Lord Sapphire could only suspect. If he’d learned the truth about their relationship, Rochant’s rebirth would have ended much more abruptly. We’ll have to be even more careful from now on.

The Bringers turned from him, processing outward, single file, following the spiral of pillars towards the first doorway.

For a moment, she was sure one of them was looking at her, and she caught a glimpse of peridot eyes that seemed to glow with their own soft light.

Pari pressed herself back against the pillar and held her breath.

The tunnel was smaller than Chandni had expected it to be. Why go to all the trouble of making a secret passage that’s almost impossible to use? she thought to herself. What were the architects thinking?

She hated being in this undignified position, squeezing herself and Satyendra through the tiny space between floor and ceiling. It made her feel like a stubborn lump of food stuck in the throat.

But most of all she hated Lady Pari. Bad enough that the Tanzanite had broken into her chambers, she’d started giving orders in a Sapphire castle. Even worse, she knew more about the castle’s secrets than Chandni herself. It hinted at the true depths of the friendship between Pari and Lord Rochant.

She stopped.

If it is just a friendship.

No. Such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, against the rules that governed the Deathless.

She shook her head, forcing herself to carry on. It was not her place to question her lord. She was just in shock, that was all. Whatever was happening, there would be a true and proper explanation that would be given to her if it was deemed appropriate.

She still hated Pari though.

Most of the stress in Chandni’s life had been the kind one could prepare for. From difficult guests from other houses who needed to be handled with care, to complicated negotiations over rights, to pregnancy. All were managed with meticulous planning and Chandni was proud of how smoothly she’d navigated through.

To the outside eye, it appeared that she never broke sweat or struggled, and that was just how she liked it. Exactly as a true Sapphire should be.

Yet again, her head knocked against the top of the tunnel, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Satyendra jolted in her arms but did not cry. His tiny fingers splayed in surprise, then settled again, gathering the front of her nightgown in two tight bunches.

Pride for her son’s stoicism overwhelmed the throbbing on the back of her skull and she paused to kiss his forehead. He’d always been calm in spectacular circumstances, including those surrounding his birth. For Satyendra was born on the same day as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and under the same alignment of the suns. Upon hearing this, the High Lord had come in person to inspect the baby, and was so taken with him, he decreed they should share a name of equal length, an honour normally reserved for the other heads of the Crystal Dynasties.

Beneath her, the castle was surprisingly quiet.

Surely Pari should have raised the alarm by now? But even as she thought that, Chandni knew there were many reasons for Pari to fail. Perhaps the assassins had caught her, or perhaps the real guards had arrested her. Perhaps she was still hobbling along in that ancient body. She’s probably fallen asleep!

The image made Chandni start to giggle until she realized she was being hysterical, at which point she started to cry.

It was cold and dark in the tunnel. Her knees were raw from crawling, and she had to shuffle one-handed so that she could hold Satyendra in the other. As babies went, hers was small and light, like her, but over time that little weight seemed to increase, until it was like hefting a sweet, huggable boulder.

A tear fell onto Satyendra’s head and she heard the tiniest intake of breath.

Then, summoning the inner voice of her mother, Chandni berated herself until the tears stopped falling. This is not how a child of the Sapphire behaves! It simply will not do! Your face should be inscrutable, a puzzle for your enemies to fret over and your allies to admire. It should be held still, a weapon, only moving when it serves your purpose. It should not wobble and blush like a spanked bottom!

Chandni nodded, shaking, but herself again. Thank you, Mother.

She forged on, gritting her teeth as the skin of her knees ground against the stone.

Just as she began to despair that the tunnel was endless, her head connected with the exit, causing her to curse Pari, the assassins, the castle’s architects, and her own stupidity.

A panel slid away, admitting her into the main entrance hall behind the feet of an ancient statue from a time long-forgotten. The crystal had been grown through several floors of the castle and carved in sections, so that the head emerged in the feast hall and the feet straddled the entrance. There was an old belief that the great sapphire giant held the castle together, and kept it in the sky. Chandni had always liked the statue and thought it sad they did not have a name for it. The man depicted had a kind face and was the only crystal-forged smile to be found in Lord Rochant’s home.

Mohit had said the hollows where the eyes should have been were creepy, but she disagreed. She felt the dark spaces gave the statue a sense of intelligence that the others lacked.

Mohit, my poor, poor, Mohit. He had been kind, respectful. And though not the best of lovers, he had endeavoured to follow her instructions to the best of his ability. What he had lacked in initiative, he’d made up for in determination. In fact, by the end of their time together, she’d hardly been bored by him at all.

The panel closed behind her, softly, bringing her back to the present. It was a short walk from here to the main doors of the castle. Unfortunately, they were closed and barred, and from her hiding place, she could see several alert looking guards in place.

Even from a distance, she could tell they weren’t her people. Chandni made it her business to know every member of staff at the castle. She didn’t tell them of course, saving the knowledge for when it could be employed to maximum advantage.

These are the assassins. Not just one more as Pari believed, but a group, possibly a whole unit.

The castle kept only a small team of defenders but they were highly trained, at least she had always considered them so. It troubled her that they had been dealt with so easily.

There was no way she could leave by the main entrance, but there was more than one path in and out of the castle. Using the statue as cover and keeping out of sight of the gates as best she could, she made her way towards the kitchens.

She had almost reached the stairwell off the main corridor when she heard a woman’s voice behind her. ‘Hold there!’ It was coming from the other end of the entrance hall. She was not surprised that the speaker was unfamiliar.

Pretending not to hear, she walked a little faster, giving Satyendra a calming smile, and making sure her body blocked him from sight.

‘Hold there, I say!’

She turned into the stairwell and, as soon as she was out of view, took the steps three at a time, her feet skidding off the end of one, straight onto the other, threatening to fly out in front, as her long hair flew out behind.

Satyendra’s eyes grew wide and his hold on her tightened, but the baby kept his peace, just as his mother did.

Like a thing tossed from a storm, she burst into the kitchens, her feet bruised, her nightdress filthy, her knees swollen.

‘Ooooh!’ crowed the old cook, who moments ago had been asleep but was now most definitely awake.

Chandni straightened, and raised an imperious finger, cutting off the questions forming on the cook’s lips. She’d served the Sapphires all her long life and was talented but slow, and liked the sound of her own voice far too much for Chandni’s liking. ‘Open the outer door. Tell no one that I’ve been here. You have not seen me or Satyendra, do you understand?’

‘Of course, Honoured Mother. But what—’

‘—Immediately, dear Roh.’

The cook beamed at the use of her name, then went the wrong way, snatching up a bag and stuffing it with food.

Chandni channelled her mother again as she admonished the cook. ‘Were you not listening? Or is this an act of deliberate insubordination?’

‘But you’ll be wanting something for the baby, and a cloak for your shoulders. Wouldn’t do for you to be seen out there in your nightwear, I’d never forgive myself. And what about your poor feet?’

Behind her, Chandni felt rather than heard someone enter the room. She went to step away but a hand caught her arm.

She turned to find a woman dressed in House Sapphire uniform – but most definitely not House Sapphire – looking at her. The absolute lack of respect in the assassin’s eyes was chilling. She was about to say something when the assassin pulled out, not a sword, but a long, thin needle coated in something that glistened in the gemlight.

Chandni made to pull away but the assassin simply stepped with her, keeping close, the needle arcing down towards Satyendra’s neck.

Instinct took over, and in the next moment she felt something bite into her palm, briefly painful, and then suddenly, worryingly numb.

The point of the needle protruded from the back of Chandni’s hand, quivering inches away from her baby’s skin. Blood rather than poison coated it now.

Chandni exchanged a helpless look with Satyendra, whose little eyebrows raised questioningly, as if asking if this was an appropriate time to cry.

Yes, she thought. This is the perfect time to cry.

If the Bringers saw Pari, they made no comment as they passed out of the chamber, keeping to their ritual path. She listened intently as their robes whispered their way to the door, paused, then came the measured sweep of the door opening and them passing through, one by one, taking the light with them. The door closed with a heavy thud, plunging them into darkness. She heard Rochant sigh.

‘You can come out now.’

Pari used the pillars to navigate through the darkness, letting each one brush cool against her fingertips. ‘How did you know I was here?’

His voice was tired but not without warmth. ‘I didn’t, I just hoped.’

She reached out for him, finding the line of his shoulder in the dark. ‘Ah, there you are.’

‘Yes.’

She wiggled onto the side of the slab, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against her, and leaned down so that her lips hovered just above his. ‘And here I am.’

‘Yes.’ He lifted his head so that the word brought their mouths brushing together.

Pari longed to stay like that but neither her conscience nor her back would allow it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, breathlessly. ‘But we have to talk, you and yours are under threat.’

‘Something’s happened?’

She told him quickly of the assassins, of the recent deaths in his line and the attempt against baby Satyendra that she’d foiled. He didn’t argue or interrupt until she’d finished.

‘Who would do this to me?’

Pari considered. ‘High Lord Sapphire could have done it, the Bringers implied he was angry with you.’

‘You heard them? By the Thrice Blessed Suns, is nothing sacred?’

‘No, and you should be grateful. Without me things would be much worse.’

Rochant found her hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re right about me but wrong about my High Lord. If he had wanted me removed it would be done publicly, as an example to others. He would never stoop to knives in the dark.’

‘Perhaps that was true once but I hear rumours that High Lord Sapphire is not the man he was.’

She felt Rochant turn his head away. ‘I tell you it is not his way.’

‘Who then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Even someone as charming as you must have enemies.’

‘Whoever it is has planned well. They’ve taken full advantage of the disruption the ceremony causes.’ She could hear the interest in his voice. Despite the threat, he was intrigued by the puzzle. ‘The assassin you confronted, you said he was in Sapphire uniform?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did it fit?’

Pari thought for a moment. ‘Yes, like it was made for him, in fact.’

‘So that means either he had been working here for some time, or he’d had the uniform made specially.’

Pari shook her head, then realized Rochant wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. ‘Or he found a guard of similar size and stole his.’

‘In any case,’ Rochant continued, ‘this is something that has been planned well in advance.’

‘I agree but how does that help us here?’

‘Motivation. Someone wants this done but is willing to wait to achieve it.’

‘But why? Revenge? Ambition?’

‘That’s the next thing we have to understand.’

‘No,’ said Pari. ‘The next thing we have to do is get you out of here.’

‘Wait, I’m not ready to move just yet.’ Though his new body was exhausted, his mind seemed agile as ever. ‘There are two obvious reasons to remove my line. One, because the person or persons behind this desire my death. Two, the person or persons behind this stand to gain from my death. If I and all of my descendants were gone—’

Pari nodded, ‘—then High Lord Sapphire would be able to raise a new member into the Crystal Dynasties. Who would he have in mind? We need to find out …’

‘And I need to think about the past, cases I have presided over, decrees I’ve made, anything that could have seeded resentment.’

‘While you’re doing that, I’ll go and make sure Chandni is coping with Satyendra. I fear life outside the castle is going to be a bit of a shock for her.’

‘Quite.’

Though she couldn’t see it, she could imagine Rochant’s expression. His face rarely gave much away, but there was a whole language kept in the crinkles around his eyes. She resisted the urge to touch his face, seeking them. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

He took breath to reply but the second door to the chamber opened suddenly, interrupting him.

Pari slid from the slab, darting behind the nearest pillar.

She just had time to tuck herself out of sight before a pair of boots could be heard marching on the stone, and then Dil’s voice, oddly cold, ‘My lord.’

‘Dil? Is that you?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Ah, the mantle of adulthood suits you, captain.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

Something in Dil’s manner seemed off, but it was hard to read the man by sound alone. Unable to help herself, Pari peeked round the pillar. With the second entrance wide open and light flooding the chamber, she was able to see, not just Dil, but two other guards alongside him.

But I only heard one pair of boots!

She had to hold her hands together to stop them shaking. The assassins were here, and Dil was oblivious. She prepared herself to act. Perhaps between them, they could hold off the killers long enough for help to arrive.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ said Dil, ‘but you are about to be attacked by an assassin sent by the Tanzanites.’

The comment was so ridiculous, so unexpected, that she nearly came out of her hiding spot to argue.

Luckily Rochant seemed happy to do it for her. ‘Explain yourself, captain. The last I heard, our accords were strong with all the crystal dynasties.’

‘They are, my lord. But after we’ve killed you, that’s what we’re going to tell everyone, and I suspect the accords won’t matter then.’

Dil turned to the man and woman behind him. ‘Find the Tanzanite.’

They immediately drew weapons and split up.

Pari retreated further into the darkness on the opposite side of the chamber. After we’ve killed you! Who is this man? Dil had served Rochant his whole life. Where was the faithful, quiet child she remembered?

‘There’s no one here but us, captain,’ said Rochant, the epitome of calm.

‘That’s a lie,’ replied Dil, ‘but then you’ve always been good at lying, haven’t you?’

If the sudden change of tone surprised Rochant, again he gave no sign. ‘Ah. I see anger in your eyes and can only assume I am responsible. Whatever the problem is, let us solve it peaceably. You have always been reasonable, even as a boy. Negotiation is the only path, surely you can see that?’

Dil snarled and sprang across the gap.

Still weak from the ritual rebirth, Rochant was unable to defend himself and Dil clapped something over his mouth, hissing, ‘I don’t want to hear your voice ever again. But I want you to know that I was the one that ended your line. Me!’

Pari could see her lover struggling to breathe. Dil intended to kill him, wanted to, but something was holding him back. Perhaps he just wanted to make Rochant suffer first but that didn’t fit. The man seemed impatient, even desperate, to get revenge. Whatever the reason, she would not stand idly by as her lover was murdered. She edged into position, removing her remaining earring. The pin was too short to be very effective but if she could get it into one of his eyes, she might have a chance.

But, before she could make her move, another figure appeared at the door.

‘We’ve searched the castle. There’s no sign of the baby or the mother.’

‘Then search further,’ snapped Dil, releasing the pressure from Rochant’s face, ‘and keep searching until you find them.’

Without a word, the silhouette vanished as quickly as it came.

From nearby, startling Pari, the woman spoke, ‘What now?’ She’d been so absorbed in what was happening to Rochant, she hadn’t realized how close she’d come to being discovered.

‘Have you found the Tanzanite?’ Dil demanded.

‘You’d know if I had.’

Dil swore under his breath, then covered Rochant’s mouth again, and Pari tensed, the urge to protect her lover battling a strong instinct that she should wait, though it tore at her to stand by.

Dil maintained the pressure until Rochant stopped struggling and flopped on the slab, unconscious.

‘You, grab one end,’ he called out to the man, then to the woman, ‘you the other. We take him with us.’

‘They won’t like this,’ muttered the woman.

‘Piss on them! We can’t kill him yet and we can’t leave him here. Now do what I say.’

Pari stayed silent as the two assassins carried Rochant from the room, Dil following behind. Several times he checked over his shoulder, but each time, she ducked out of sight. She was just about to give chase when the door swung shut behind them, sealing her inside.

In the dark again, Pari fumbled her way forward until her palms pressed against stone, then the door they’d left through. She tried the handle but the door was locked. Frantically, she made her way round the outside of the chamber to the first door, the one the Bringers had used, but this too was locked. She let her forehead rest against the stone, trying not to panic as she thought about what to do next. About Rochant. About Chandni and the baby.

To be of any use she had to escape, and there was only one other way out of the Rebirthing Chamber.

Pari hugged herself tight, feeling the many complaints of her tired, aching body.

Come on! she urged herself and felt her way to the third exit. It was set into the floor directly beneath the slab of stone that Rochant had recently lain on; seven hinged triangles that could be released independently or all at once. This allowed the Bringers to jettison abominations, slab and all, without needing to untie them, and ensured they would fall fast and hard. She felt the edge of one of the triangles, marvelling at the intricate designs under her fingertips that would never be seen or appreciated by anyone save the Bringers, and pushed down. Unlike the other doors, this opened easily, and a cool breeze washed across her face. Pari climbed inside, settling her legs over the edge of the chute.

The other end would eject her from a hole at the base of the floating castle. If she failed to hold on, a long drop would follow to the chasm waiting below, and then another, into the bowels of the earth and beyond.

In order to avoid thinking about what could go wrong, she thought of Rochant, and she thought of Dil, of what she would do to the traitor when she caught up with him. And she thought of the mystery demanding to be solved.

And then she jumped.