Tong woman stepped forward.
“Because of her blood.”
And she pushed back the hood.
This time, I really felt my knees would buckle.
“Mother,” I said.
25. The Court of Sand
It was a bliss, part illusion, all veil, for suddenly, the courtyard was gone, rippling away like the creatures and the spear. There were no salt pines or shafts of light. There were no suns above, baking our skin. We were inside a dark temple with columns holding up a high ceiling. Incense pots burned from many stands, and tiny lizards scurried up the walls. The seven ironmages also rippled into reality. There were two harpiar, two fauns, one minotaur, and two homani. One of them was my mother.
She stood like a queen in robes of teal and red. Her hair was as black as night, adorned with rubies and bone. It was piled at the front and fell down her back to her thighs. Her eyes were deep and dark, distant as the stars, lethal as a stormy sea. She was always more beautiful than anyone, certainly more beautiful than me. She wore it like a crown. She wielded it like a weapon.
Those eyes flashed at the sight of me.
“Honor,” she said. It was not a greeting. “You cut your hair. You look like a boy.”
Of all the things she noticed. Of all the things she’d say.
“Still, you have found yourself an impressive commission,” she said. “I did not think you would leave the woolback farm in Stone.”
She turned to the captain.
“I am Magister Valor Renn,” she said. “This wayward creature is my daughter.”
Thanavar stepped between her and me, and I felt a rush of pride.
Pride kills, he had said. Sometimes, pride saved.
“The bargain is between the Court and me,” he said. “My crew is not for sale.”
“Then there is no deal,” said my mother.
“I can deal, sir,” I said. “I promised Dev.”
Thanavar’s jaw worked, his eyes dark with something I didn’t dare name. For a heartbeat I thought he might forbid me outright. Then his shoulders eased, just barely, as if he’d set down a weight he hated to carry. He would let me choose, even if it tore him apart.
“There is no deal at all if the prince dies,” said Thanavar.
A faun and the minotaur swept forward.
“I am Magister Song,” said the faun. She was the one with the flail, but now it was simply a runestaff. “These are Magisters Tekamorian, River, Elisski, Padamar, and Liskeel. Welcome to the Court of Sand.”
“Tell us about the prince of Oversea,” said the minotaur named Tekamorian.
“He was shot by a three-barreled flint pistol,” said Echo. “But there is something else at work, and I haven’t been able to stop it.”
“Valor?” asked Song, and my mother raised her glittering hand above the litter. Rune spun to life from her palms, filtered down toward Fahr, and hovered a moment over his chest. Pattern rippled, and I could see his skin, his ribs, his flesh, his heart spasming without rhythm or strength.
My mother frowned.
“Strange.” She looked up, cast her eyes to the shadows. “Take him to my greencellar.”
Other robed figures appeared from the shadows of the temple. They moved in like a wave to overwhelm him with shadow, and instinctively, I made a shield augmented with chimeric. The ironmages stepped back, but not in fear. They almost looked hungry, as if the chimeric whet an arcane appetite.
“Stand down, Aro’el,” said Thanavar, and he laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is why we are here.”
