Page 17

On the evening of the day of Emperor Selim’s death rites, a woman came to Xan’s rooms. A beauty, he is sure, by Azurian standards. Her skin milk pale, her hair long and golden. She said something to him in Artemian and unfastened the waist tie of her silken gown. It fell from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Beneath it she wore only a very small jewelled hip cloth of some gauzy fabric that hid nothing of her sex.

Xan had smiled at her, tried to indicate that she should dress again with gestures and pointing. When that failed to yield results, he had picked up her gown himself and draped it over her shoulders, smoothing it down and reknotting the waist tie, while fending off attempts to kiss him as he did so. After that he had tried to steer her, with as much gentleness as possible, towards the door. She had resisted this more than the gown and so, as she seemed quite unwilling to leave, Xan had found a deck of arca cards and played demon bane with her until she’d won eight dal from him. Which he had considered a large enough loss for one evening.

Her name, he discovered through more gesturing, was Pia.

When he wakes the next morning snow is falling wetly outside. He gets up from the bed, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect from the chill in the air, despite the fires being lit. He goes over to the window and watches for a while. Great soft flakes of white falling from a sky like beaten lead. Xan has never seen such a thing before, although he has heard of it.

As the snow begins to lay, dirty-white on the ground below his window, he thinks of Atticul’s strange statement about making him king of Pluma.

His men wait on their boat. He ought to send them a message soon letting them know they must bide their time until the ascension when he will have secured Trysta’s release from the dungeons. He will need to send a message to the Mortingale forces too. Until then he must play his role, for Trysta’s sake.

He was rash the previous day. He must not mock Azuria, or all his plans will unravel and his sister will die. No matter how it delights him to pry shocked reactions from that marble statue of a priest. Baraboo, he thinks with a smile. It would be interesting to learn what is below that veil.

Whoever came to light his fires earlier that morning has left a bowl of warm water on a tall dresser in the corner. The silent servants of the Rose Palace. Like magic.

A page knocks on his door as he finishes dressing, in his jerkin, breeches, cloak and boots. The page is followed by the veiled translator who announces in his slow but serviceable Plumian. “I am here to bring you to your meeting with Emperor Atticul.”

“How kind of you, my own acolyte of Zai as escort.”

The veiled face seems to gaze back at him. “It is no kindness. I am your translator. I was asked to come here.”

Xan smiles broadly at the priest. He is sure he is getting better at interpreting the expressions that are hidden behind that veil. It is not completely opaque. In certain lights, at certain angles, if he stands close enough, he can see hints of the features beneath. In this moment he is sure he can determine the priest’s glittering eyes moving over his body. He already seems flustered under that veil. Perhaps he is secretly wanton and the veil is there to protect the world from his seductive gazes. This thought amuses Xan, but he does not voice it. Perhaps he will do so later, after this meeting.

Instead he says the plainest thing he can think of. “This weather is strange. It does not snow on Pluma.”

“It does not snow in Attar. Or it has not before. Not like this. It is very unusual. I have heard that there are Priams in the streets preaching that it means the end of days is coming.”

Xan nods. He knows much of the Priams. He knows much of all people who wish to destroy Azuria. “The Priams think everything is the end of days. The sun comes up, end of days, sun goes down, end of days.”

Jemel makes a sound behind his veil that could be a small laugh. “You have Priams on Pluma-Ferris?” he says.

“On Pluma,” Xan says curtly. “You speak Plumian. In Plumian the name of my home is Pluma. Pluma-Ferris is an Azurian creation.”

Jemel sighs. But says, “Very well. On Pluma. You have Priams on Pluma?”

“A few. Priams are everywhere. Preaching their lunacy. After the ritual I saw yesterday perhaps you will soon have one sitting on your high table.”

“I know you joke, but who can say? Atticul’s pronouncement about faith has already meant that Priams may speak freely in the squares of Attar without interference from the enforcers. Even the demon cults are permitted.”

“Where does that leave you, my priest? The most devout man in Attar?”

“I am not that,” the priest says as they turn a corner into a wide corridor with an open terrace. Xan sees the white stone covered square and the temple covered in flowers, now both are dusted with snow..

They walk in silence for some moments, before Xan says, “Last night a whore was sent to my room whose name was Pia. Perhaps she was a Priam.”

“It’s a common enough name,” the priest says lightly. “Probably a coincidence. I do not think there are Priam whores.”

“She did not warm my bed, if it concerns you, Baraboo.”

“Why would it concern me?”

Xan shrugs, after a beat he says, “I have told you I only bed men.”

“And I have told you that you should not speak of that in the Rose Palace.”

“Why? Do you think there are no sly men in this palace? In Attar? In Azuria?”

“Of course there are,” the priest snaps back. “And when they are discovered they are burnt in the punishment square.”