Celia Friedman - When True Night Falls

They passed between two crystal spires, into a space whose faceted walls reflected the soldiers’ lamplight in flashes of molten gold. It was hard for her to see where she was going, and more than once Damien stumbled; the reflected light, constantly shifting, made it seem like walls existed that weren’t really there, and once or twice a real wall was so shadowed that she nearly walked into it. The soldiers seemed to do well enough, but of course they were used to it; there was no doubt in her mind that a stranger would be trapped in this place like an insect in a spider’s web, unable to move more than ten feet without walking into something.

And then they were going downward. Down past the crystal, down into the earth, on stairs that had been crudely carved from the black rock itself. It was hard going even for her, and she could feel the tension in Damien’s body as he fought the length of chain about his ankles, struggling to descend safely. They seemed to go down forever, and only because she kept count of the lamps that the rakh captain lit as they passed did she have any idea of how far it was. Ten lamps, she counted. Probably ten turns on the rough stone staircase. Far enough that she didn’t look forward to climbing back up.

At the bottom was a large chamber with lamps along the nearer side. The rakh lit those also as Damien struggled to catch his breath. Was that the drug weakening him, or had he gotten sick from being cold and wet for so long? She hoped it was the drug. Hadn’t the rakh said that it would wear off soon?

Separating the two halves of the chamber was a wall of iron bars, the spaces between them narrow enough that not even Jenseny could squeeze through. With sudden panic she realized that they were going to lock them up down here and leave them. For how long? She would have begged them for an answer if she thought they would give her one. As it was, she had no choice but to allow herself to be maneuvered through the narrow gate, Damien right behind her. They unbound his hands, at least. Wasn’t there some comfort in that?

“His Highness has instructed me to apologize for the nature of your accommodations,” the rakh said to Damien. The heavy iron gate was being swung closed again, and its lock fastened securely shut. Jenseny felt panic rising up inside her; she struggled not to let it show. “But as a sorcerer yourself you understand the necessity for such an arrangement. We can hardly allow you free access to the earth-fae.”

With drug-dulled eyes Damien took in the details of their prison. Smooth floor, roughly carved walls, not much else. He seemed about to say something, but the words couldn’t make it past his lips. At last Jenseny, sensing his intentions, whispered, “We need water.”

There was silence. A long silence. Then, slowly, the rakh captain nodded. “I’ll have it brought.”

“And food,” she dared. “We need that, too.”

A couple of the soldiers seemed to stiffen at her audacity, but the rakh was unperturbed. “And food,” the rakh agreed.

“And blankets. We need blankets. And maybe . . . if you have some kind of clothing. Anything dry. He needs it,” she said defiantly.

The green eyes were fixed on her—searching, weighing, warning. “Is that all?” he asked coldly.

“No,” she said. A little scared by her own defiance—but what choice did she have? She had to be brave enough for both of them now. “We need something to . . . to go in,” she said clumsily. And then she added, to clarify, “Unless you want us to pee on the floor.”

For a minute the rakh said nothing. An expression, ever so minimal, softened the harsh lines of his face. It might have been a smile.

“No,” he said quietly. “We don’t want you to pee on the floor, do we? I’ll have something brought.”

He ushered the soldiers from the room. It seemed to Jenseny that they were less than thrilled about the prospect of climbing up all those stairs, but none of them complained. When the last of them had left the chamber, the rakh turned to Jenseny again, and nodded toward Damien. “When the drug wears off, you may tell him that the Prince will deal with him tomorrow night. As soon as he has met with his other guest.”

He left them then, alone with the lamps and the bars and the chill of the underearth. Damien had collapsed onto the smooth stone floor and she knelt down by his side, wishing she knew how to help him. He was breathing heavily, hoarsely, and his forehead was flushed. There was a little bit of light in the chamber, so she could see just how bad he looked.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. Her small hand trembled as she stroked back his hair from his face, just like Hesseth used to do with her. “We’ll be okay. We will. I promise.”

Sunset. Slabs of crimson light flashing across crystal spires, deep purple clouds drifting like wraiths down glassy walls, stars reflected a thousand times over as the night unsheathed their brilliance. The Core’s light, only half-swallowed by the distant mountains, adding the gold of fire to the tips of the towers, like a thousand glass candles all set alight in an instant. And with each moment, change. Darkness where there was brilliance. Blood-red light where there was shadow. The light of the heavens reflected, refracted, filtered, divided. A symphony of fire, now dying as night’s embrace beckoned.

Tarrant watched it for a long time, though the sunlight made his eyes burn. How odd, that even after sunset it might still affect him so. There must be some special property to the crystal that enabled the solar fae to cling to its substance long after its carrier, mere light, had faded. How curious. He had never experimented with crystal himself, prefering the storage capacity of ice and silver and finely honed steel, but he knew there were those who swore by it. Even Erna’s settlers had used tiny crystals in connection with their power sources . . . or so it was said. Who knew for sure?

When the last of the gold had faded, when there was nothing reflecting from the glistening towers but stars and a single sliver of moonlight, the Neocount of Merentha moved toward the citadel. Though there were no signs to direct him, nor servants to guide him, he had no trouble picking his way through the forest of false walls and faceted illusions that hid the entranceway to the Prince’s palace. He saw by the light of the earth-fae, and that power did not cling to illusion; therefore the false walls were no more than ghosts, and the columns and spires that might otherwise cause him to be distracted were dismissed with no more attention than one might give to an errant wraith. At one point he even considered Banishing them just for the exercise, but that seemed poor etiquette for a guest of his stature, and so he let them stand.

Inside the citadel itself there were guards, but they let him pass without word. There were servants also, and perhaps they would have attended him had he required them to, but he chose instead to wrap himself in a Distracting so that they were not even aware of his passage. Voices shivered in the crystalline halls, reflecting down the labyrinthine hallways, and occasionally the sound of human laughter accompanied them, but he met no other people in the maze-like corridors. Whether in response to his will or that of the Prince—or both—the illusory walls proved more than efficient in isolating him from the inhabitants of the strange citadel.

Alone, unannounced, he at last reached what he presumed to be an audience chamber. Vast, multifaceted, it glimmered with falsehoods and illusions in an ever-changing array, ghostly columns winking in and out of sight as he gazed about its walls. There were rugs cast down on the floor, and they lent that surface a stability rare in this place; as he walked to the edge of the nearest, he noted threads of gold and silver and half a dozen other fine metals worked into its surface, along with a dusting of what might well be gemstones. Or were there crystal threads as well, nature’s bounty drawn out and made flexible so that a man might walk upon them? As he set down his foot upon its thick pile, the nearest illusions faded, and a room took shape before him. Furniture in dark wood inlaid with gold, ivory fastenings, scarlet tassels. Silken cushions in the colors of the sunset. Gold silk spilled across a table, with polished silver goblets on its surface.