The First Binding, page 85
He wore an overcoat that hung to his calves. The outfit caught every bit of light around us to bring out the brightest of gold in it. A red lion pawing at a sun of the same color had been stitched into the fabric. His boots were the color of rust over clay.
Another prince, then? I’d learned long ago that the crest of a lion pawing at the sun belonged to the royal family.
Much like the efante I’d crossed paths with earlier, this gentleman wore a mask as well. It lacked any of the decorative nature of the previous prince’s, sitting more like silvery ivy woven together in a manner that just so happened to obscure his face. A longer look at the mask led me to believe it could have been fashioned from the precious metal, much like his clothing looked to be.
“May I?” The man gestured with his free hand toward the book.
My attention went to the shining crystalline orb in his other. A lamp cut in a perfect sphere without any source of light, but which radiated it nonetheless. Unlike binder’s lights, this contained all the intensity of the sun.
The man caught my stare and raised the tool. “It’s a bit too bright for nights, but I’ve come to enjoy the little marvel. It’s called a sun eater. Comes by way of your part of the world, I believe? An improvement over the binder’s lights that have passed our way over the years and trade along the Golden Road. I never did learn how to temper this thing’s fire, though.” The masked man’s lips pulled into a deep frown.
The fingers of one of my hands dug into my staff with enough force I would either crack my nails or bits of the wood. I passed the book over and resisted the urge to reach out for the sun eater.
Nonetheless, the man noticed my little gesture. “By all means, take a better look.” He placed it into my hand and, for a moment, I nearly flinched away at the oncoming miniature sun.
It landed safely in my palm without any noticeable heat transference. I expected as much, but it had been a long time since I’d seen one of these, and even longer still since I was the sort of man who found any comfort in holding fire. Even a false flame.
Fire now served the role of parlor tricks and enhancing my performance.
Except for when Eloine was in danger. I thought back to when the clergos had set on us and I’d been forced to remember a shadow of what I’d once been.
The sun eater rested carefully in place and my mind went to the folds, but not to conjure a binding. I went instead for a piece of memory.
My staff slid free of my grip and struck one of the shelves as it came to rest at an angle. One of my hands held the sun eater firm while the other pressed to its curve, slowly sliding around it in a gentle caress. Some of its light dimmed, almost as if I’d created an eclipse with my palm, and soon, the fire inside the orb lessened as well.
The man I suspected to be another prince exhaled almost in reverence. “Now that is a trick, Storyteller. How did you do that?”
“Sun eaters store sunlight within them rather than a paler glow like binder’s lights, but they’re operated by touch. There are directional symbols carved…” I trailed off as I realized how deep I’d gone into a piece of my history I’d forgotten, and all the while, the possible prince watched me with an interest far beyond mild curiosity. And his look told me he had little idea how sun eaters truly worked beyond kindling one to life and snuffing it out again.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “It’s just a small magic. Slide your hand one way to dim the light, then the other way to brighten it. It will keep them from burning out faster if you let them glow a little softer at times.”
The man nodded, gesturing for me to set it down.
Comfortable giving silent commands and just as used to expecting them to be followed. That, and he knew who I was. If he didn’t guess it at first from my appearance, then Prince Ateine could have told him. Meaning he converses with at least one prince.
“Which of the efante are you?”
The man gave me a lopsided smile that shifted the mask slightly. “Ateine said you were quick. Though, I suppose the clothing could have given it away, no?”
I nodded. “True, but you seem comfortable in the library in the dark. You knew the book at a glance and mentioned loving it as a child. That speaks of familiarity with it and this place. Then there’s the sun eater.”
The man frowned. “What about it?”
“They’re expensive.”
His expression deepened. “How much so?”
“Enough that any man would remember how much he’d paid for one unless he had a king’s wealth to spend on trinkets. Or, a prince’s purse.”
The prince finally smiled. “Ah, well, there is that. Though, I never much found a handful of gold to be that shocking a sum to spend on things like this.” He nudged the sun eater with a foot.
“Another point. Gold is expensive to nearly everyone but those who have it in abundance. And sun eaters cost a silver rose at best, depending on the seller.”
“Silver’s not a terrible sum for any man to pay for such a thing.”
My mouth pressed tight, but not so much I couldn’t voice my thoughts. “Do you think many men have silver to spare?”
That caught the prince off guard, and he knew enough to change the subject lest he look an ill-informed fool. He drummed his fingers against the cover of the book before opening it. “Tales of the Nine. At first I thought them like all other children’s tales. Entertaining. Wondrous. Delightful.” Though he’d stopped talking, the air thickened in the aftermath like he’d left something unsaid.
“But?”
“I grew older, started hearing stories sometimes from fringes of the kingdom of terrible things that had all the signs of The Nine.”
“Ashura.” The word left my mouth before I’d known I’d spoken it.
The prince’s head slowly rose from the book to stare at me. “What word did you say?” He pursed his lips and looked back down at the book, the lines of his jaw almost saying thoughtful as he read on. “I haven’t heard that before.”
“We have stories of nine monsters—demons, more like it—back in my homeland as well. Many call them the Ashura.”
“Ah. The Nuevellos here. The nine—nine of them.” He tapped the spot of the cover where the title had been worn away. “Tales of the Nine.”
So the book had been what I was looking for, or at least, it could hold a piece of what I wanted in its pages. “Funny thing, that. The full name of the demons I grew up hearing about is Naushura. Nine of them. Seems we share some themes in the stories of our countries.”
The prince grunted, flipping through the pages faster than any man who hoped to properly read them. “They turned to nightmares for me once I reached my tenth birthday. After that, persistent horrors every time my father got word of some unexplainable awfulness happening out in the far reaches of our world. Though, they were infrequent enough, Solus be praised.” The prince’s hand went to his breast, touching the sun over his heart before he moved the hand to the hollow of his throat.
I didn’t mirror the gesture, though common sense told me it would have been expected of others. But my mind was elsewhere. I almost reached out to take the book from the prince, knowing the action would draw his ire.
Nobility are not fond of people taking things from their hands. It usually goes the other way around.
“In truth, as much as I hoped to come here and perform for you and your brothers, I can’t deny that I hadn’t hoped to also have access to your family’s library.”
The prince gestured to all the shelves around us. “At your leisure, Storyteller.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you, Prince…?”
“Artenyo. I’m sure if you continue your wanderings, Storyteller, you’ll meet the rest of my brothers soon enough.” He snapped the book closed, moving to put it back where I’d found it.
“The story—the tales, I mean, do you remember anything of note?”
Prince Artenyo shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But, read it yourself and you might find the answer to your question.” He passed me the collection of tales.
“I’m afraid, and rather embarrassed to admit, that I can’t read much in the way of Etaynian. Though, I am very interested to learn of the stories inside. And to transcribe a version in the Trader’s Tongue, if that’s possible and with your permission, of course.”
The prince shrugged and placed the book into one of my hands. “I’ll have someone sent to your rooms tomorrow to walk you through translating Etaynian to Trader’s Tongue.” It wasn’t a question.
“That would be most kind of you.”
He waved me off. “Not so much a kindness as granting a favor, Storyteller.” The prince’s hand went into one of the pockets of his overcoat. He then produced a flower-pin. Its color was the blue late-night skies that refused to hold blackness in them. The color of sapphires. “A favor granted is one owed, and I’m very much looking toward what I can call on you for, Storyteller. I’ve heard tell of your tales, and having you in my pocket for even the shortest of times will be entertaining.” He placed the blue flower onto the cover of the book.
“Welcome to the game. You’re off to a terrible start, from what I hear. You should really consider a mask if you want to remain in our home and make it as far as your ambitions.” He tapped the side of his mask. “Good night.”
Prince Artenyo left me with the book, brooch, and the dimmed sun eater.
The man hadn’t outright acknowledged the existence of the Ashura, but he’d made it clear enough he still feared the thought of them.
Would a Tainted care? Was it a ruse? The seeds of paranoia promised to grow in the garden of worry I tilled, so I banished the thoughts for the moment. I’d only met two of the princes and would need to see them all before even having an idea of who to pursue further.
I placed the book under one arm and slipped the flower-pin into a pocket, not wanting to display it at all. I returned my staff to my hand and I’d nearly taken my first step to leave when I felt the late breeze filter in behind me. It rustled my cloak and brought a soothing chill to my back.
Only, the windows hadn’t been open when I’d arrived hours earlier in the library. And I hadn’t opened them since.
A smell struck me. One I hadn’t breathed in for ages, and it brought with it a memory of singing sands and shifting dunes. A place far from Etaynia. And long ago.
The scent was of pine, lavender, orange peel, and something that could have been considered a pungent musk.
I knew it, though the men and women carrying that kind of odor were a world away from this country. They resided closer to the heart of my own, if I had any place left to call home, that is.
I licked my lips and didn’t turn in case the source of the smell took me as a threat. “You’re a long way from home.”
“As are you, little lion.” His voice was smoke over sand. Rough, a graininess to it, and all the dryness of age.
“Azrim, is that you?” I kept my gaze focused ahead of me, not behind.
“Who better to find you, lion’s cub?”
My mouth dried, but I still found just enough moisture to ask the question I’d been holding in my heart after I’d first smelled him. “You’re here as a Rashin tonight. Who’s the target?” Dumb question, I realized. “One of the efante has already been killed. Were you the knife? And are you here for another?”
“Chch-chch, what’s happened to you? So slow. So dull. Where is the lion now?”
I exhaled, wondering if I could round on him quick enough to bring my staff down on his skull. “Gone. That man died a long time ago. Haven’t you heard the stories?”
“I was there for some, Ari. I think I still see a piece of the man that walked away from us, leaving his debts, and leaving many other things besides. You cannot hope to spurn a king and walk away without consequence. And you can do even less of that to a Rashin.”
That was that, then. “You’re not here for the efante and their succession. You’re here for me.”
“Ahlm. I’ve spent much-a-time looking for you. Always hearing whispers. Listening to all the twisty truths you’ve left behind, seeking after the new face you wear, and the name that goes with it. You learned well, little lion. You still make the same mistakes, though.”
He didn’t need to tell me what they were. I knew it already. “The clergos. Somehow word spread of what I did there.”
“Chch. Chch. It’s one thing for many tricksters to make a little magic with fire, Ari. But for one to breathe it and be called a devil? I’ve only seen one man play with fire so. But I haven’t heard of you doing it since, and now I am wondering why?”
Ah. Curiosity. “Like I said, Azrim. I’m not the man I once was. I … haven’t performed the bindings like of old in a long time. What happened there was.” I stopped short, not even letting the promise of more words hang in the air. I tried to find others, but couldn’t. “It was.” Another stop. “There was a woman, and in the moment, I didn’t have a choice but to hope to remember.” I shrugged.
“Same mistakes, lion. Chch. Chch.”
His little chastising sounds grated my ears. They were like fishhooks set into my skull, dragging and pulling at more than just the meat of me, but they brought memories to the surface. My fingers flexed against the staff, and for nearly a moment, I considered it a binder’s cane again.
“Some habits die hard, I suppose. Who sent you, then? Was it Karum? No. He wouldn’t care after so long.” I had almost wondered if Lord Umbrasio had decided to make good on the silent threat from the pin. But Azrim had let it slip that he’d been following me longer than that. “Or is this just personal?”
“Look at me, then we can talk on this, Ahlm?”
I blew a breath out through my nostrils, nodding to myself before I turned.
Azrim, like any Rashin in the middle of their work, wore all the colors of night. Which is to say, he dressed in a swath of blues so varied and dark you couldn’t tell where one shade ended and another began. It was all of twilight darkness in a soft cloth that could make the wearer invisible under moonlight or cloudy late skies. Only his eyes were visible through a finger-wide slit in the mask hiding his face.
“You look good. Well, as much as one can when all I can see are the wrinkles beneath your eyes. They don’t look like they’ve worsened over the years.” I couldn’t manage a thin smile as I made the joke.
“Ah, you’re scared. I taught you better, little cub.”
“You did. And I am. Only a fool’s not afraid when facing a Rashin, and for all the kinds of fool I am and have been, I’m not that kind.”
“The stories say otherwise, Ari.”
Now my smile turned to uneven and cutting. “They say all the things people have made them say. And as you mentioned, you were there for some of them.” I swallowed before speaking my next words. “So you know what happens when people try to kill me.”
Azrim produced the dagger with a fluidity and skill that made any sleight of hand I could manage seem childish. It simply appeared in his grip and its edge caught all the glint from the sun eater’s light. “Look me in the eyes, cub.”
I did.
Another light shone then, just barely. I caught it in the beads of water along his eyelids.
Tears.
“It brings me no pleasure to do this, cub. No pleasure at all.”
“So don’t.” I raised one of my hands in what I hoped he’d see as a calming gesture.
“I must. You broke araf. There is no coming back from that.”
I nodded, not accepting my death, but understanding that he couldn’t walk away from trying to make it happen. Or, that he wouldn’t. “I’ve broken more than that, Azrim—worse.” I met his gaze again, and when I did, he blinked.
“I see so little of you even in your own face.”
I said nothing.
“Just a Storyteller, then? All you are now.”
“When I have to be, which is more often than not. But I haven’t stopped my search, Azrim. I won’t. You know what I’m looking for.” The staff creaked in my grip and I knew my knuckles had gone white against it. “And if you try to stop me in that…” Some of the old fire from an Ari long forgotten filled my voice again.
“You’ll kill me, little cub?”
“Worse. I’ll remember. And that Ari is not the one you want to fight. Because that’s the same child you once taught, and he remembers those things, even if buried now. And that’s the child you once feared. Don’t make me go looking for him, because if I do, I’ll find him.”
The knife never shook in Azrim’s hand, but he lowered it and put it back in its place. “I taught you to veil yourself before doing things you never wanted to stain your eyes and heart. Maybe I taught you too well. I don’t see that boy anymore, only the mask. But just now, I saw a piece of him. When you find him again, send him looking for me. Then we’ll take the air together and we will dance.” He snapped his hand and something flicked toward the ground.
It cracked against the floor, breaking with a violent flash like lightning in a dark room.
I shut my eyes against it out of instinct. When I opened them, smoke filled the space between us. I didn’t wait for it to clear before collecting my things and leaving.
Azrim was already gone.
And he wouldn’t be back until I’d removed the mask I’d grown accustomed to wearing.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
INTERMISSION—INVITATIONS
My encounter with Azrim kept me from a sound night’s sleep. So the hours slipped by with fits of fretful turning and thoughts of daggers in the dark. They never came, of course, but the images persisted.
I managed a few winks of rest, broken up by all the things that could weigh on a man’s mind, and morning arrived too soon for me to hope for anything more. The comfort of bed begged me to stay and make up for what sleep I’d lost, but I knew I couldn’t afford it.
With all the princes in one place, whether for their game, or to hurry along with the succession to king, I at least had access to them all. And they, each other.
What better way to remove your rivals?
