Chronicles of the Last Days Chapter 12

Chapter 11

E

very day, Myril went to the palace to visit with Darna but she never stayed long. It was strange to see her old friend as regent of Tiadun, and it meant that Darna would have to go back to Tiadun, which would mean only seeing her at Midsummer, if the land held. If it didn’t, there was no telling if they would even survive, let alone be able to see each other.

On the day before Midsummer Eve, Myril set out for the palace in the late morning. During the midday rest, the palace’s clamor was a little less intense, so she tried to go then. The streets were another matter. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, going to the market or the harbor, shouting to neighbors or scurrying past, wary of pickpockets, slavers, or both.

She was crossing the Pentangle when a man hailed her: Lerat again.

“My Lady,” he said, bending down to kiss Myril’s hand. “I would walk with you, but business calls me to my ship.”

“That’s all right. I’m accustomed to walking on my own.”

His smile faded. “Is it safe?”

“I don’t hear any threats to myself, or you, right now,” she said. “I haven’t heard of any outright kidnappings, though there’ve been attempts.”

Lerat looked over his shoulder, back toward the harbor. “I just arrived this morning, later than I hoped to, and I must set sail on the morning of Midsummer. Would you come to dine with me this midday?”

“I’m on my way to spend my midday at the palace,” Myril said. “I have a friend there.” She paused to listen. “Walk with me a little way. No one here is listening, but they might grow curious if we stand too long.”

Lerat nodded and fell into step beside her.

“I have a friend from my scrappling days who is at the palace now,” she said as they walked. “I don’t advise her in any official capacity, but I don’t want to lose her company any sooner than I have to. That’s who I plan to spend my midday with.”

“You may bring her to my ship then, to dine, if you like, and if you don’t mind her hearing about this man at the palace you were asking about before.”

Myril had almost forgotten that she’d mentioned Giri to Lerat. “My friend would be rather interested in that.” She paused. “Be warned, though, she does bring guardsmen with her, as a precaution.”

“Most interesting,” Lerat said. “I hope to see you both soon, then.”

He made his bow and hurried back to his ship, while Myril walked the rest of the way to the palace alone, wondering if he’d guessed that her friend was the new regent of Tiadun.

She found Darna in her apartment with only her young secretary, Kinner, attending her.

“Where is Gallia?” Myril asked as she went to embrace her friend. The older woman rarely left Darna’s side.

“Sleeping.” Darna said. “The nights have been late for her, and she rises early.”

Myril squeezed Darna’s hand as she turned pale. “Are the cramps worse?” she asked in a whisper.

“A bit,” Darna said. “But just now, I think that half of it is hunger. I woke too late to breakfast.”

“I will go to the kitchens for you, if you like, Your Highness?” Kinner said, getting up.

“I’d rather you not call me that,” Darna said.

Kinner looked nervously toward the room where Gallia was sleeping. “She insists,” Darna said, wearily.

“Go on, then. Come back and tell me if it’s ready yet,” she said, waving Kinner on his way.

As soon as Kinner had gone, Myril told Darna about Lerat’s invitation.

“I don’t know if I should go,” Darna said. “Ferrent’s sleeping and Forlan has gone out.”

“I’m not asleep,” came a gravelly voice from one of the inner chambers. There were creaking and clattering as Ferrent emerged, buckling on his sword. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

Darna explained that she wanted to go down to the harbor, to dine on a ship. Myril clarified that she trusted the captain, and that it was a Theranian ship.

“Still, not the safest place,” Ferrent commented. “We’ll stop to get Forlan on the way.”

Myril didn’t ask where, and she didn’t find out except that it was somewhere between the palace and the Pentangle. She and Darna waited on a nondescript side street while Ferrent disappeared for a very short amount of time, returning with his brother. The two of them together conveyed more strength than the governor’s guard force of half a dozen men. Darna wore the plainest tunic she’d been able to find, but she still looked more princely than the average guildswoman, especially with the two guardsmen flanking her. Voices hushed and people turned to stare as they passed the taverns and corner food stalls. After they’d gone by, excited whispers rose up.

“I heard that the prince of Tiadun is a woman now. D’you suppose that’s her?”

“Not a prince, a regent, but probably not. Not enough guards. Everyone has guardsmen these days, if they have the beads for it.”

Myril tried to block out the voices, but she couldn’t do it without also blocking out the sound of approaching threats, so she let herself listen a little more.

“Heard she was a priestess. Cereans won’t like that.”

“Or they will, when they capture her.”

Perhaps they should have stayed at the palace after all, but Darna was hurrying on, oblivious to the dangers around her as she savored the chance to walk the streets of Anamat again.

“The palace isn’t as bad as the temple,” she’d said, “but it’s stifling in its own way. I’m glad I won’t be there long.”

They soon reached the new edge of the harbor, right up against the merchants’ warehouses. In winter, the harbor was quiet, troubled only by noisy gulls swooping down to steal from the fishermen’s nets. Midsummer had always been busier, but now the enlarged harbor was so crowded with foreign ships that Myril could only spot one lone fishing boat hauled up on the banks of the East Canal. Its crew carried their baskets toward the market – now almost submerged at its lower end – while the gulls wheeled overhead, ignoring the foreign merchants who thronged the shore like vultures, their caps and turbans almost more numerous than the bare heads of the Theranians.

They’d rebuilt Merchants’ Wharf in only a few days after the waters rose. Sailors and merchantmen, with the help of a few laborers, had bolted and lashed new pilings on top of the old, and moved the wharf’s submerged planks up into the dry air. It was shoddy workmanship, but it would last the rest of the short trading season, and no one really expected the waters to stay where they were for another year. A pair of city watchmen stood at the end of the newly rebuilt wharf to keep scrapplings and any other casual marauders away. Lerat was waiting there for them and ushered them past the watchmen.

“My ladies,” Lerat said with a bow. “Gentlemen,” he nodded to the two guardsmen and looked them over quickly. “You may come onto my ship, but do not go belowdecks unless these ladies call for you. Is that agreed?”

Forlan and Ferrent waited for Darna’s nod before agreeing. Lerat squinted at Darna as they walked out toward the end of the dock, but did not ask her to introduce herself.

Lerat’s ship was second in size only to the Cerean king’s ship – or, rather, the ship of his merchant emissary. It was the very same ship that Darna had boarded so many years before, when she was a scrappling bent on stealing back the dragon’s stone she’d taken from the palace, hardly knowing what she was doing. Darna averted her eyes from it.

Lerat offered Myril a hand for balance as she stepped from the dock to the boat.

“I’ll be fine,” Myril said, shaking off his help as soon as she was aboard. The rocking of the boat was easier to manage than the self-consciousness she felt when Lerat looked at her. “My friend might need help, though.”

Before Lerat could offer his hand, Darna crossed onto the ship with a spring in her step. She looked up admiringly at the rigging above, her balance perfect. Myril still hadn’t gotten used to the change in her yet. She was herself, but she sounded and looked so different from before that she might have been almost unrecognizable, apart from her face, which was the same as ever.

“Would you like a tour of the rigging?” Lerat asked Darna.

“I would,” Darna said. “I’ve never been aboard such a big ship by daylight, and I’m fascinated, but…” Her gaze strayed to the Cerean ship with its bright-painted figurehead.

“It would be conspicuous, especially as you are wearing your realm’s colors, Regent. It’s subtle, but they could be looking for it,” Lerat said. Though Darna’s tunic was mostly plain, it had a bright trim of blue-and-orange ribbon, and her guards wore bright blue capes.

“Come into my cabin,” Lerat said. “I’ve sent for victuals from the Thirst of Conn, so the meal will be hot.” The Thirst of Conn was a tavern frequented by the city watch. It was not one Myril would have chosen, but only because she felt uneasy going there alone. Their cooking was among the best of the city’s taverns, or so she’d heard.

Near the center of the boat, Lerat lifted a hatch, revealing a ladder-like stair into the belly of the ship. “After you, ladies,” he said.

Myril might have hesitated, but the guards were right behind them and would come to their rescue at any sign of trouble, which she truly didn’t expect. Darna was already on the stair down. Lerat told one of the sailors to prop up another hatch a little farther toward the bow of the ship. As the hatch was opened, Darna gasped with delight.

“It’s marvelous,” she said as Myril climbed down after her. To Myril’s eye, it was only a small, dark room, cramped but clean and well enough appointed. It would be almost airless when the hatches were closed.

Lerat waited while she made her way down. “I’m glad that at least one of you likes it,” he said. “Your Highness?” he ventured, addressing Darna.

“I believe that the correct form of address is ‘Your Ladyship,’” Darna said, “though everyone seems to find ‘Your Highness’ easier to remember. That, or they’re just trying to curry my favor.”

“Be that as it may, Your Ladyship, Regent of Tiadun. I am pleased to make your acquaintance so soon. Welcome to my ship.”

“It really is beautiful,” Darna said, “So many drawers and nooks. The craftsmanship is exquisite, but it doesn’t look like Anamat work, at least not all of it.”

Myril wished that she could borrow some of Darna’s sudden ease in the cramped space. Above, on the deck, she could hear Forlan and Ferrent chatting companionably with the sailors and refusing an offered jar of ale.

“I had the bones of the boat made here, but some of this is from Calandria,” Lerat said, indicating the cabinets. “The most successful merchants from Cerea and Ganat have their ships outfitted there.”

Darna nodded. “I hear it’s the largest city in the world.”

“It’s the largest I’ve seen, but there are rumors of even larger cities, deep in the continent. Enomae is part of a broad land, far bigger that anything we Theranians can imagine.” Lerat turned to Myril, who was still standing awkwardly at the foot of the ladder-stair. “Please sit, make yourself comfortable. My steward will bring the wine.”

Myril shook her head. “Tea for me, if anything,” she said. She was dizzy enough already from the motion of the ship on the harbor’s small swells.

“I’ll send for that, too, then.” Lerat went back to the hatch and signaled to one of his men. There were two bunks on either side of the room, and he reached up to let down a narrow table between them as he took his seat.

The steward soon arrived with a fruity, heady wine. Myril could almost feel its effects from the smell alone. It had a little juniper scenting it, and apricots. Darna accepted a small cup and Lerat took one for himself, regarding her carefully.

“I’ve never been aboard such a ship in daylight,” she said.

“Not in daylight?” Lerat asked, amused. “They say that this new regent of Tiadun was a guildswoman and a priestess, but in those days, the ladies of Ara’s Landing never went visiting sailors on their ships, as far as I knew.”

Darna laughed. “Nothing like that. It was before those days.” She paused before she went on. “It was a long time ago. I had to recover something which should not have been sold.”

Lerat was silent in thought for a moment. “That? Some ten years ago, or is it eleven or twelve?”

“Eleven, I think,” Darna said. “This cabin is as intricate as the one on that Cerean ship was, maybe even more so. I only saw it by snatches of moonlight.”

“I haven’t been belowdecks over there, so I wouldn’t know,” Lerat said. “They’re as wary of us as we are of them; most of them are, at least. Now I see why you wanted to know more about Girizit. I’d be curious what information you have to add, Your Ladyship.”

“You may ask anything,” Darna said, “and I’ll consider whether or not to answer it.” She was blushing. It took Myril a moment to realize that Lerat had been flirting with her, though very subtly and without serious intent. They seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.

The steward returned, carrying a covered platter, which he set on the table. He laid out dishes and cutlery, then removed the lid before going out again to bring Myril her pot of tea. After that was delivered, he bowed and left.

The food on the platter was not at all what Myril had expected. The usual tavern fare was stew and bread, with few variations. Here, Lerat presented a roasted duck carved into bite-sized morsels and served on a bed of steamed greens, with a rich purple sauce made of mountain berries to one side and a loaf of white bread. Without asking what anyone wanted, he apportioned some to each of his guests, then took a sip of wine and leaned back, looking at Myril.

“It is always pleasure to see you,” he said. Myril blushed. “You are always as beautiful as I remember, but of course, beauty is too fragile to trade on for long. Texts are fragile, too.”

“This is delicious,” Darna said, in a belated effort to turn the conversation. “Better than what they have at the palace, though not quite as good as what the temple kitchens can do at their best.”

“You’ve said that you would help me in any way that you could. I’ve been charged with finding a way to save the Chronicles of Anamat, in case our city falls into the sea as Slaradun did. It is more than I can do by my usual means,” Myril explained, worried that Darna might spend the whole time talking of food and old times.

“If we fall as Slaradun did, I don’t think there will be much saved at all, only what we can carry,” Darna said. “Even that may not survive.” She took another drink, closing her eyes to savor the wine.

“Texts are too fragile to carry on the sea unless they are very well boxed, while gold and gems travel well and are always eagerly sought in the markets of Calandria,” Lerat said. “I have learned that there are some libraries in Ganat and Enomae, but they are small and remote, and may not welcome texts in a language they cannot understand. Your histories are, I am sorry to say, useless without those who can interpret them.”

“Would you really send the Chronicles across the sea?” Darna asked Myril.

“It’s better than having them lost forever, but Lerat’s right; they’re useless without someone who understands them.” Myril toyed with the greens at the edge of her plate as the other two ate and drank in silence.

“People have been leaving,” she said after a little while. “A few priestesses have been among them. Can you think of any safe haven for both the texts and the priestesses?”

Lerat frowned and scratched his chin. “Not immediately. The Cereans don’t travel far inland, so those cities deep in the continent might provide some safe haven. There are other possibilities, farther away. If I were to seek such a place, I would need a priestess to go with me to see if it would be suitable for the others, and perhaps to negotiate with the people there. Our priestesses are skilled healers, and no land ever has enough of those.”

“I can’t go,” Myril said.

Lerat sighed. “I know, but it need not be you. I would rather you came, but…” He turned to Darna.

“I have to return to Tiadun,” Darna said. Then she took a piece of bread and began to eat it with obvious enjoyment.

“The priestesses would be safest staying here, as long as anything is safe here,” Lerat said. “There’s no other place like this, not that I’ve heard of. Do you also think that Anamat will fall into the sea?” he asked Darna. “Will it be worse than it is now?”

Darna put down the morsel she’d been about to eat and licked her fingers. Lerat poured her another cup of wine.

“I was there when Salara shook his land into the sea,” she said. “Salara was angry, and not as weak as Tiada had become. Anara isn’t weak either. She may choose to drown her city. In Slaradun, the Ganateans were trying to take the jewels and take over the province for themselves. They –” Darna stopped and shook her head. “It was far too easy for them to overwhelm the prince. I don’t think that the other princes are much stronger, at least not in their force of guardsmen. Theranis is precious, but we have no armies of any size.”

Lerat nodded. “The armies of Cerea and Ganat are formidable.”

“This rising water is only the beginning,” Darna said. “I’m not a priestess anymore, though, and I haven’t heard Anara say so or had any prophecies, so it’s only a thought.”

Myril kicked her under the table. “Only the ambassadress speaks to Anara like that. You are a priestess.”

Lerat frowned. “Never mind about the ambassadress for now,” he said. “What happened to those Ganateans in Slaradun?”

Darna shrugged. “Some of them died by the swords of…of the bandits. Others must have drowned or been taken down by landslides in the mountains. The earth shook for some time, and when it had stilled, most of Slaradun keep was under the waves. I could see it from the mountains. Some people could have reached the high ground, especially the fishermen with their boats, and the Ganateans had boats, too.”

Lerat nodded. “Rumor suggests that some did escape and sail home. In Ganat now, it’s said that the land of Theranis is gone, or disappearing in a storm of earth. I don’t know whether the people who hear those rumors will come to steal what they can or whether they’ll stay away out of fear for their lives, as so many here seem to be doing.”

“Anamat is well built, but much of it rests on Anara’s power and the powers of her dragonlets. If she withdraws those…” Darna spread her hands and shrugged.

“Were you also a planner, then? I had heard that you were a guildswoman, but not which guild. Well, Your Ladyship or my Lady Planner, if you say that Anara can destroy this city, I believe you, but I see also that the men of Cerea or Ganat could ransack it in a day, or in a few days’ time at the most. We are besieged on all sides. We need not believe in Anara’s power to see that our fair city might come to its end.”

Myril shuddered. Better for Anara to take it, she thought. Lerat reached toward her but stopped short. “I can see why you think that the priestesses need to be saved,” he said. “I’ll go to the Aralel to find out what she can offer me for their safe passage if I can find some land where they will not be treated as they would be in Cerea.”

“Whatever happened to Nira?” Darna asked suddenly.

“Nira?” Lerat echoed.

“She was a scrappling of Anamat, a scavenger. She’d been on the streets for more than a season, which wasn’t so common in those days. Giri made a bad bargain with her and sent her to Cerea after she stole a statue from the temple courtyard for him.”

“One with a dragon stone in it?”

Darna nodded. “We got it back, though.”

“As for your friend, and Girizit, I was not in Cerea that season. I did hear that the king had a concubine from Anamat, but I never met her. She was sent to a castle he had in the mountains, a sort of a hunting lodge. She must have disappointed him.”

“But Giri did not?” Darna said.

“No, not at all. Girizit was a clever boy, as you seem to know, and his command of the Theranian language was good, or at least better than anyone else’s in the court there. He gained the king’s trust, and now here he is, insinuating his way into the governor’s palace, too. What involvement did he have in that theft which… Well, I heard of it at the time and have always been impressed that you managed to regain the stone.”

Darna shook her head. “It was foolish of me to steal it for him in the first place. I should have suspected something or at least wondered how he knew so exactly where to find it. No scrappling would ordinarily know so much about the palace, especially not a foreign one.”

“Foolish as the theft itself might have been, I don’t flatter you when I say that it would have been very difficult to get anything off that ship. Cerean merchants guard their cargo well. The king was disappointed at losing his prize, but I suppose that girl’s company might have slaked his anger at Girizit, even when he discovered that she wasn’t a priestess and that she had no special powers.” Lerat paused. “How is it that you recognize Girizit and the governor does not?”

“The governor didn’t spend a season scavenging with him,” Darna said. “I’d be surprised if he even saw Giri when he was here that season. But surely, he must have returned to Theranis since, if he still speaks so well?”

“I’m not sure about that,” Lerat said. “He may have had tutors in Cerea – there have been Theranians there over the years, besides myself.” Lerat looked at Darna again. “You do bear a family resemblance to Calar’s sons, though you are obviously far more intelligent than they are.”

“Were,” Darna said. “One of them may have died in Slaradun.”

“Oh?” Lerat said. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t pursue the question further. Instead, he turned to Myril. “If you do learn anything more about what’s happening with this rising water, I would most appreciate the knowledge, to help me forecast the tides.”

“I don’t mind doing that, but I hope that you can find a place for the Chroniclers’ texts,” she said.

“Where are those texts now?”

“I don’t know. The Chronicler said he’d found a place where they’ll be safe until Midwinter, provided the seas don’t rise over the whole city.”

Lerat reached to pour more wine but Darna turned her cup over, signaling that she was done.

“This is a fine meal but unusual,” Myril said. “You say it came from the Thirst of Conn?”

Lerat nodded. “It’s an imitation of what they serve to guests in Cerea. I developed a taste for their food when I was there. The woman who cooks at Conn’s is adept at serving meals to different tastes when you know what to ask for. I thought you might appreciate something you wouldn’t find elsewhere.”

“I do,” Myril said. “I’m surprised to find that there’s something to like about Cerea.”

“Not much, but they do cook well,” Lerat said.

“The sauce is delicious. I appreciate your concern, but…”

“I do enjoy your company. You remind me that there are mysteries in the world which I will never plumb.”

“That’s more flattery than praising me for a beauty.”

Lerat shrugged. “Tell me, then: how many priestesses do you think will flee Anamat?”

“You’d get a better answer by asking the Aralel, if you plan to go see her,” Myril said, but Darna was already calculating.

“There are three dozen in the peresi’s court, maybe half that many novices now, between the hill temple and the Landing. There are twice as many elders of one kind or another. If more come in from the provinces, that could double their numbers, maybe more.”

“A hundred will fill my ships, but if the Aralel makes it worth my while, I’m sure I can find a way to carry more,” Lerat said.

“You won’t do it for the love of the dragons?” Myril asked.

“Not if Anara ruins her own city,” he said. He rose from his seat and gestured to his guests to rise too, ushering Darna out first.

“I had hoped to speak with you more,” he said quietly to Myril as Darna climbed up onto the deck. “I hope that we all live until Midwinter and meet again.”

“I hope so too,” Myril said, and was surprised at herself for feeling that she did want to see Lerat again. He still reminded her too much of that near-deadly trance on her initiation night, but he also promised that there was hope in the lands beyond Theranis. For the moment, that promise seemed more real than the oblivion of the dragons. The world stayed steady and solid around her as he helped her up the ladder. When they reached the shore, she looked back, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him before he sailed away with another priestess by his side.

#

Myril walked partway up the hill with Darna and her guardsmen, but the clamor drove her back, and she made her excuses, taking a side alley toward the eastern part of the town. Although the temple didn’t usually feel like a refuge, she went there next, grateful that the high, white walls blocked out so much of the noise from outside, foreigners and Theranians alike. She skirted past the elders’ courtyard to the peresi’s garden. She knew that she ought to look in on Iola, but she hadn’t taken the tea to block trance, and the ambassadress’s quarters dragged her down more than anywhere. It was bad enough with only the scent of roses and the bubbling fountain of the peresi’s courtyard.

Lenasa’s chamber was next to the passage to the kitchens, where the tea urn was kept on festival days. She was sitting on the bench beside it, her brow wrinkled as she studied a scroll. She was the younger daughter of the brother of the prince of Getedun and had been raised in the keep there. She’d arrived at the temple the image of a young princess, with curling coppery hair and a soft, shy gaze. She was still beautiful, but her hair no longer curled and her mien had grown sharper over the years. Once, her father had tried to match her with a village chieftain, but she’d chosen to remain in the peresi’s court. There, she had her own chamber and needed not to rely on any one man.

“What brings you here?” she asked as Myril approached. “Visiting Iola?”

Myril shook her head. “I’ve come looking for you, actually.”

“You have?” Lenasa scooted away from Myril, making room for her to sit. Once she sat and quieted herself, Myril could hear the priestesses and their petitioners in the chambers around the courtyard, chanting and arguing mixing with sounds of feigned ecstasy and pouring tea while wisps of perfume and incense floated out of the doorways.

Lenasa stared at her. Myril gathered her thoughts.

“The Aralel is afraid that we’re sinking.”

“She does a good job of hiding it, if she is. She tells us all not to worry, that it’s impossible, even though anyone can see it if they bother to walk out on the streets,” Lenasa said. “What does she think is happening?”

“She doesn’t know; no one does, not for sure.”

“So, the all-powerful Aralel is as ignorant as anyone? That’s reassuring,” Lenasa said bitterly.

“I’m trying to discover if there’s any place where we can go,” Myril said.

“Oh, there are places. Petitioners tell me about them all the time. First, there’s Cerea, where you can be bought and sold like a nanny goat and given about as much respect. Then there’s Ganat. A better place, if you don’t mind seeking one man’s protection, and only one man’s, for the rest of your life or as long as he’s willing to keep you. Then you’re on your own, and it’s no better than Cerea after that, maybe worse. If you’re lucky, they let women there scrub the floors when their skin begins to sag. So generous. That leaves Enomae.” She sighed and shook her head. “Some women there stay together, and any of our offering chests could buy a place to live in Calandria, walls and a roof, but no way of making a life for those of us who aren’t guild trained. I don’t know what to do.”

“If Anamat falls as Slaradun did, anyone who stays here will die.”

“Do you really think that Slaradun fell?” Lenasa asked.

“Yes. I know people who saw it. Does anyone doubt it?”

Lenasa nodded. “Since the sea has stayed where it was after that day, some say that the rumors are only travelers’ tales, a ploy to keep us away while Ganateans ransack it or what’s left of it.”

Myril shook her head. “It’s not a ploy. Darna was there, in the mountains. She saw it for herself.”

“Darna saw it herself? Well, I’ve never known her to lie about anything important. Now she’s regent of Tiadun, they say, so maybe she’ll have to learn. How does that suit her?”

Myril laughed. “Not at all. She’d still rather cobble scrap together.”

“Better her than Calar. Now, what did you come here for? I have a petitioner coming as soon as this one’s done.” She indicated her doorway. “We’re two to a chamber now. It’s…busy.”

“I wouldn’t like it either,” Myril said. “I didn’t like it here even before all of this, but this is what I came to say. I’ll be sending you a petitioner later, my only petitioner, Lerat the Roper.”

“I won’t be able to surpass you, I don’t think,” Lenasa said. Lerat had praised Myril so much that she still hadn’t stopped hearing about it, even all these years later.

“I’ve asked him to try to find a place for us in case we need to leave Theranis,” she said. “I want you to go with him.”

“Me? Why don’t you go yourself?” She looked at Myril. “Do you have another lover here?”

“No, not for years,” Myril said. “But I have other things to do, and I thought that you might like to go, that you would be better able to understand what’s happening in other places than most of the rest of you. Besides, you’re not deceptive.”

“I won’t lie to you, but I don’t know anything about the world beyond these shores.”

“Lerat does, though, and you know what we need as priestesses. Together, maybe you can find a place.”

#

Myril saw Lenasa again the next morning. The gong rang, its sound a bright shiver through the soft morning air. The procession to the harbor was led by a priestess veiled in diaphanous red to match the fire of the dragons, but there was something different about the woman in the ambassadress’s robes. Her attendants crowded more closely around her. They, too, were veiled. Myril was fairly sure that one of the attendants was Darna and that another was Iola. That meant that someone else was taking the ambassadress’s place. She didn’t want to listen closely enough to be sure, or to know who was in Iola’s robes.

Myril felt the other world pressing in on her as she always did at crossing times, but not quite as much as she had in other years. She took Lenasa’s hand to steady herself and Lenasa squeezed it, as if to reassure her that she hadn’t misplaced her trust. Myril clung to that hand as they walked, dropping in and out of the chant. Chanting kept the world at bay, but that morning, Myril also wanted to hear what the people were saying around her, especially whether or not any of them saw the dragon or pretended to. She hadn’t seen Anara since early spring, herself, and then she’d been pale in the distance.

At the temple gates, a group of masked armsmen took the palanquin’s poles to carry it down to the shore. Every window and balcony was decked with garlands of flowers, just like any other Midsummer morning. The shore was closer, though, the walk shorter, and the tide rising. The long night’s vigil and carousing had been the same as any other year, and the people lining the streets and along the shore looked no more tired than usual. Myril could smell and hear the foreigners among them, and that was not the same as it always had been. Usually, they would have sailed away before the ambassadress flew.

As they rounded a bend in the processional way, the harbor came into sight.

“His ship is already cast off,” Myril said to Lenasa.

“One of the fishermen will carry me out to it,” she said. They resumed the chant and walked on. Girizit’s ship with its gilded prow was already on the horizon, with a fleet of smaller Cerean ships behind it, though Girizit was not on it. The Enomaeans were all aboard their ships but rested on their oars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dragon. Sailors were drawing up anchors and setting the rigging on the handful of Ganatean ships still in the harbor. A horse stamped aboard one of the Enomaean ships, making a dissonant drumbeat of its fear. Lerat’s ship sat just beyond the submerged breakwater, waiting with its sails at the ready.

Lenasa let go of Myril’s hand and stepped into an alley, where a gentle-looking young man waited for her with a plain brown cloak.

“Anara’s blessing go with you,” Myril said.

“If it can,” Lenasa said. “If she can.”

#