Jay Lake - Endurance

Wealth or not, they had started their day early. Back in Kalimpura, the court would not even accept a letter much before the noon hour. Let alone admit callers. Either the Prince disliked this northern clime overmuch and wished to hurry through his business, or they were poised for action.

“Green,” the protocol master said warmly in accented Petraean, though I knew we’d never met. “And Councilor Kohlmann.” Credit to him for recognizing the local powers-that-were on sight. “Greetings from our humble house. With the Prince of the City in residence, you have here returned to the grace of Kalimpura. May you be welcomed home again.”

Those words stopped me. Kohlmann pulled up short alongside at the foot of the steps, so we were both looking up into the protocol master’s nostrils. I had studied much of diplomatic niceties and court practices in the Factor’s house, and knew well enough what the protocol master was telling me.

“I was banished from Kalimpura under pain of death,” I said, also in Petraean for Kohlmann’s benefit. “By order of the Temple of the Silver Lily, for whom you do not speak. If I am indeed back within the city’s purview, Mother Argai at the gate behind us would be protected by the Death Right should she strike me down from behind in this moment. I will not be welcomed within at the cost of my life.”

Kohlmann stirred, but I touched his arm. He knew well enough we were on my ground now. Literally so, as this place was for the nonce by twist of law part of Kalimpura.

“I do not speak for the Temple of the Silver Lily, as you say.” The protocol master took trouble to appear pained, a deliberate rebuke to my gracelessness. “But I do speak for the Prince of the City. You are under his protection in this place.”

My next words were chosen very deliberately. “Do not bandy foolishness with me. The Prince of the City is a fop with no real powers save a title to impress the foreigners. Someone else is behind this embassy, and I believe I have already seen her face here in Copper Downs. Should the Bittern Court seek my life, I do not know what the Prince’s protection might be worth, beyond a pretty speech at my funeral. I prefer to remain under my own protection, and that of the city of Copper Downs.” I turned to face Kohlmann, giving the councilor his cue.

The big man’s expression promised more questions of me later, but he played into his part like a temple catamite on feast day. “As a representative of this city’s duly constituted government, I assure Lady Green our full protection.” He divided his attention between me and the protocol master.

Whatever “full protection” meant. No good ever came of trusting the Interim Council, but the statement ought to give the protocol master and his superiors pause. If nothing else, at some point these people needed to be able to make their way safely back to the docks and take ship. Precisely the sort of thing that even this Interim Council could manage to prevent, however hapless they might be in the face of larger pressures.

“Then we shall consider your exile in abeyance,” the protocol master said smoothly, as though he had not moments before claimed quite correctly not to speak for the Temple of the Silver Lily. Ah, the forms of protocol. Like combat, without the pleasantries.

We stepped within.

The front hall boasted that same high-ceilinged architecture so beloved of the important and the self-important everywhere in Copper Downs. The house smelled musty, as if it had been long closed, though an overlay of Selistani spice was working to combat that scent of neglect with the warm, familiar sting of curry and red pepper. I blinked away the particolored sunlight streaming in the stained-glass windows above and looked to see who awaited me here.

All of them, I realized in rapidly dawning horror.

The Prince of the City was poised on a throne in the center of the hall, where by the usual traditions of Haito architecture there ought to be an ornamental pool. Behind him were arrayed a selection of the men and women of his court standing tall, their bird-bright silks gleaming oddly in the streaming morning light. To his right stood the Bittern Court woman with a glare of triumph on her face. To his left was poised Mother Vajpai-senior trainer of the Lily Blades and my longtime mentor, before I was ejected from Kalimpura by her order. Though not, I later came to understand, by her will.

As I understood matters then, these two women were the agents of my banishment. My free hand brushed the hilt of my long knife where it protruded from the bundle of my leathers. On my best day I could barely score a touch on Mother Vajpai. Pregnant, tired after a drunken night’s half-sleep, and dressed in these ridiculous robes, I could scarcely claim even that much skill this morning.

“The girl Green,” said the protocol master loudly in Seliu. “With a councilor of this city, Loren Kohlmann.”

Kohlmann bowed at the sound of his name filtered into our tongue, with its differing inflections of case. I remained alert, tightly drawn for a battle I could not hope to win.

The Prince of the City rose to his feet. “Welcome,” he said warmly in Petraean, focusing his attention on Kohlmann. “We have been awaiting your presence. Would you take some fine southern wine with us?”

Kohlmann bowed. I whispered, “Don’t fall for it,” but he ignored me. Standing straight again, he smiled. “I am blessed by your house,” he said in bad Seliu. Then, in Petraean, “I would be pleased to take wine with you, great Prince.”

Mother Vajpai stepped forward. In a voice straining with memorization, she said in Petraean I knew she did not speak, “I would see my old student.” Someone behind her hissed. She added, “Awhile.”

I turned toward the front door. Kohlmann caught at my arm, nearly earning a deep stab for his troubles. “This is my game,” he growled quietly. “Play it my way. They will not kill you while I am present. And I will not leave without you.”

Though I desperately wanted to ask the man what he would do if my old mistress simply refused to release me, I held my tongue. Unless the Rectifier was in the city, no one in Copper Downs could take down Mother Vajpai in a straight fight. I knew this because no one in this place but the Rectifier could take me down in a straight fight, and I was afraid of Mother Vajpai.

“We will speak of this later,” I said, matching his growl with my own. Stepping forward, I let a smile slip on to my face. It was not entirely a lie-I had always respected Mother Vajpai, and liked her even, while never finding reason to believe the affection was not mutual. I understood even then that my banishment had not been engineered for petty personal reasons. The opposite, in truth, given the pressure for arranging my death or turning me out to the dubious justice of the Bittern Court.

And that smarmy bitch gave me a sweet, gleeful smile over Mother Vajpai’s shoulder as my old teacher swept me into a hug. This raised my hackles as surely as a bared blade would have done. She’d never hugged me before in my life. “Have a care, Green,” Mother Vajpai whispered. She took me by the hand and led me toward a side chamber, away from the entrance, away from Loren Kohlmann, away from all the freedom and independence of my exile.

I almost balked again, except a door ahead of me swung open and Samma stepped forth to usher me onward.

Samma.

I stopped, heart pounding. My mouth ran dry. My hands shook.

Samma. Dark-haired, doe-eyed, sharp-faced, and as always slightly contrary of expression. My very first lover, ever. Closest to my heart for the better part of a year in the Temple of the Silver Lily. Fellow aspirant, and now a Blade, or so I presumed.

Doubting every step, I turned toward her, and allowed myself to be taken away from the man who’d promised to guarantee my safety here among the leaders of my own people.