“Good,” I said. “I am glad to have found such an amenablesolution to such a thorny issue. I wonder if you might have some time for me before dinner, King Vostop. As one foreigner who very recently married an imperial, I do have some advice.”
“As an observer of your happy union, I can only hope to learn from your experience,” Vostop said, his words finding the delicate balance of flattery and sincerity required in the Imperial Court.
“With your leave, my lord.” I caught Tallu’s eyes and glanced behind him, indicating Koque, who still stared at the wall behind Vostop.
He dipped his head once and I stood, leading Vostop to a nearby sitting room. A harried yellow-clad servant rushed in after us, asking if I wanted any refreshments. I waved her off. Dinner would come soon enough, and I had a feeling we would need to spend most of it eating in order to avoid awkward silences.
Naî trotted into the room behind the servant, patting at my knee like a helpless thing until I reached down and picked her up. We both knew it was a façade, like everything else here. I almost clucked my tongue at her but thought better of it.
The servant bowed and left, and when she opened the door, I saw Iradîo lingering in the hallway, a question in her eyes. I shook my head once.
Turning to Vostop, I glanced significantly at his three guards. “I am not sure how it is in Krustau, but conversations this intimate in nature are usually held in private in the north.”
Vostop turned to his men, speaking quickly in Krustavian, the language sounding as though it came from the back of his throat. Without a grumble, all three men left, shutting the door behind them so Vostop and I were left in silence. We had taken up two of the several couches arrayed around the room, imperial elegance mixed with the stone walls of Krustavian practicality.
I wondered if it was too obviously a metaphor for his new marriage with Koque. For a moment, we both waited in silence, but I heard no whispers of footsteps at the door, and Iradîo would have said something if there was someone lingering at the keyhole.
“I wanted to ask you some questions about Spider,” I said.
Vostop blinked and wet his lips, taking time to consider his answer. “Spider? I thought, perhaps—” He shook his head. When he refocused on me, his eyes were thoughtful, almost suspicious. “What would you want to know about Spider?”
“From the stories my mother tells, the animalia Spider lives in Tavornai. Yet so much of your culture is based on strictures that worry over the threads she weaves.” I waited, to see if Vostop would take the bait or if I would have to ask an explicit question.
Vostop nodded slowly. “Yes, it is true, we understand the threads that Spider weaves bind us to civilization. You know the story of how the first guild was formed?”
I shook my head.
Vostop brought his legs up to lean against the back of the sofa, one hand along the wooden arm, while the other rested on his stomach, a set of golden rings glinting in the light as he drummed his fingers.
“After the One Dragon dropped the mountains atop Centipede to trap him, dwarves began mining the mountains. They found them rich beyond imagining, and, as with all wealth, it made men greedy. It made men cruel. And soon, if you met a man in the tunnels, you would rather raise your hammer to kill him than raise your voice in greeting.” Vostop’s voice had the quality of a song, so different from the heartbeat thrum of my mother’s stories, yet familiar all the same. “And Spider saw this, as she sees the threads of fate, and she knew that the dwarves were weaving themselves a future where there were none of us left. We would die alone in our mountains, surrounded by a vast wealth that none of us dared spend, lest we lose the power it gave us. And Spider, who can be merciful, took the threads she saw and wove a different future for us. Then, she took the form of a woman and went deep into the tunnels of Krustau.
“Each dwarf she encountered, she bound in spider silk, bringing them deep into the heart of the mountains until she hadall of the dwarves that had left Forsaith to take up their homes in the mountains. When she had all of us, Spider showed us two tapestries.
“One displayed that terrible future where the dwarves became a lonely, greedy people. The other, a future where our loneliness was bound together, where we formed guilds that were as close as family, and our wealth was shared with each other. Of those men who lived in the mountains, she asked a simple question: which future did they want?
“No man wants to live alone. The heart is lonely in isolation. It cannot beat freely knowing there is no one who shares its affection. So the men chose the guilds.
“But Spider knew that such a promise needed to be signed in blood, so that no one ever forgot what happened. She bound the guilds in her spider silk. Should we break the promise of hospitality, should we break faith with our guild, we would be punished as one who attempts to break any of Spider’s threads.”
As he spoke, his face relaxed, the years melting off of it. He was a good storyteller, perhaps as good as my mother, although I would never say that to her face.
“Attempts to break Spider’s threads?” I asked. “You do not believe that a man can break the threads of fate?”
“I have seen what happens when one breaks Spider’s threads. That is what my cousin did, and he died for it.” Vostop shook his head. “I have not attempted it myself, but we have enough tales of men driven mad, men who feel a thousand cuts for breaking the rules of hospitality. There are reasons we kill those who do. It is one thing to commit a crime, but the madness they bring can infect those around them.”
I couldn’t feel fear at the thought. I couldn’t feel worry about unraveling the threads I’d seen with my own eyes when Naî and I had healed Hallu.
“Where did Spider go after?” I asked. “Did she stay in the mountains?”
“She returned to Tavornai.” Vostop looked at me intently. “Why do you have so many questions about Spider?”
“In the north, we mostly tell stories about Sea Serpent and the great northern bear. We have a few stories about the other animalia, but we would never claim to do anything because of advice from Spider,” I said. “In our stories she’s a tricky creature who rivals Fox for her cleverness. I wondered how she came to be so central for Krustau.”
Vostop inclined his head, although his sharp eyes watched me as though he didn’t believe me. “Would it be improper to admit I wasn’t hoping to tell old legends and instead hear what advice you have about marrying an imperial?”
“Learn patience,” I said. “Then again, that is advice I’m sure is passed down from every grandmother to every grandson, as it is universal. I know that Koque treasures your customs a great deal. She adopted the letter-writing style when you were visiting court, didn’t she?”
“She did,” Vostop agreed. “Although her imprisonment with Inor was unhappy due to her son’s illness, she adapted well to the city. I thought that, perhaps, under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed it more.”
