Chapter 60
60
K ANTHE HOBBLED UNDER the cold gaze of a giant glass swordsman who protected the grounds of the Augury’s palacio. There was no sneaking past this sentinel. The prisoners clanked and rattled their way along. The heavy iron chains cut into Kanthe’s wrists and ankles. He reminded himself never to complain about the thin silvery links that joined the imri to their chaaen-bound.
As they crossed through a garden, escorted by a cordon of guardsmen, Kanthe appreciated the cool breezes off the sea. The winds swept up the bluff in fierce gusts but were tamed by the surrounding walls. The scent of lilywraiths and poppies carried to him. Fountains burbled and gold-scaled karp flashed through still ponds. He would’ve liked to tarry longer, to spend a leisurely day within this lush oasis, but that was not to be.
He and the others were marched quickly, and if they slowed, the poke of a spear encouraged them to move faster. Jester bore the worst of those assaults, doing his best to hop along on his good leg, leaning on his brother for support.
They reached the Augury’s main villa. It rose three times the height of any of the other structures and wings. The sun glared from the salt crystals of its upper levels and blinded off the white slate roof. Its tall double doors, gilded in gold, stood open to the gardens. Soft music lilted gently out to them, the harmony promising tranquility and peace, replete with the promise of the wisdom of the gods.
It all fell on Kanthe’s deaf ears.
Beyond the threshold, marble floors stretched across a vast atrium. Even here, orchids draped from the ceiling in long falls of bright blossoms, as if the gardens had swept inside on petaled wings. Lanterns shone in a thousand colors, casting their glows through tinted glass. Golden urns burbled with more fountains.
Kanthe searched around.
If I were a god, I would happily make this my home.
Jester made a drier assessment. “Plainly, soothsaying sucks a lot of coin out of purses.”
This earned the man another poke of a spear.
Guardsmen drove them through the atrium to another set of gilded doors that were etched with the thirty-three Klashean gods. Apparently, there was no getting away from the lot of them. Kanthe flashed to the pleasure barge drifting across the Bay of the Blessed, sailing among this same pantheon. Now that felt like another’s life, not his own.
The doors opened ahead of them without anyone knocking. Either everyone in the palacio was prescient or the rattle of chains had announced their approach. They were pushed through the doors and into the Augury’s grand audience chamber.
The same marble stretched ahead. Only the lanterns here glowed more dimly, all shining in a single dark color. The lenses appeared to be made of the same glass that sculpted the Giants outside—or the walls of their prison. The dim lighting cast pools of shadows along the walls to either side, likely to enhance the feeling of the chamber’s sanctity.
For Kanthe, it only felt threatening. Then again, maybe that was the intent, too—to unnerve supplicants who dared approach the Augury.
It’s certainly working.
To either side, high up the walls, small clerestory windows flowed with light, which made the upper arch of the room glow as if the gods were hovering above.
On the chamber’s far side, two lower windows illuminated a golden dais, its shine beckoning them forward. Not that Kanthe felt like drawing any nearer, especially considering who awaited them there.
The emperor, crowned by a circlet of gems that reflected the light, sat atop a throne. Even from across the long hall, Makar’s eyes flashed with black fury. He came regally dressed in embroidered white, a counterpoint to the figure who towered at his right shoulder.
That had to be the illustrious Augury, displaced from his usual seat by Emperor Makar. The oracle was dressed more somberly in shades of black, from his polished boots to the small cap atop his head. His clothing looked to be a single cloth wrapped around his tall form and belted in gold. The only adornments were his boot’s gold toes, crafted into two all-seeing eyes.
Perfect for peering up a woman’s skirt, Kanthe imagined sourly.
Still, the Augury captured Kanthe’s attention. There was something about the man. His features, a rich ebony of the Klasheans, were undeniably striking, as regal as any king or emperor. But it was his eyes that captivated. By now, Kanthe knew violet was considered rare and valued among the people here. Only the Augury’s eyes were so rich in hue that they looked like pools of indigo.
No wonder the Augury commanded such attention and respect.
Even I’d believe anything that man said.
The five of them were forced at spearpoint to the foot of the dais and driven to their knees. On the other side of the emperor, two figures stood side by side. They were both as resplendent in white. Rami wore loose pants topped by a surcoat embroidered with the swords of the Klashean Arms at its center. Aalia wore a matching gown, with a light veil, woven with diamonds, over the fall of her dark hair.
Kanthe caught Rami’s eyes, searching for any indication that the prince was able to sway his father to their well-intentioned, but misguided, efforts.
Rami gave the smallest shake of his head, confirming the worst. Not that the chains weren’t answer enough already.
As to Aalia, she refused to look Kanthe’s way, her gaze disdainfully up. She must be furious after she was unceremoniously dumped out of the wingketch. Kanthe could only imagine her terror, considering what floated out there in Malgard’s steamy air.
Rami turned to the emperor. “Father, I beseech you. At least, hear them out. Despite all that has happened, Prince Kanthe meant no harm. A great doom approaches, and they only seek a means to thwart it.”
The prince glanced to his sister for support, but Aalia refused to look her brother’s way or acknowledge his words.
The same could not be said of their father. Though furious, Emperor Makar tempered his words. “Son, you are young. Easily duped by such trickery. They’ve abused your good graces to malicious ends. That alone warrants a harsh punishment.”
“Please, listen to what they know about the moon—”
Rami was cut off as the Augury cleared his throat. The oracle stepped forward, his head bowing ever so slightly in apology. “Prince Rami, I’ve communed countless times with Fryth, the goddess of the silvery moon. If there were any danger, She would have told me.”
Makar motioned a palm in the Augury’s direction. “See? Do we need any further guidance than that, my son? It is such wisdom you should be heeding, not the treacherous tongues of these Hálendiians.”
Rami took a step forward.
This earned a hard scowl and a flash of fire from his father, driving Rami back to his proper place next to Aalia. The only reaction from his sister was the slight narrowing of her eyes.
Makar motioned again to the Augury. “If it wasn’t for his godly sight, we would never have recovered you both. I sought his esteemed counsel after coming here, entreating him to beg the gods for their wisdom. He graciously obliged. He inhaled Malgard’s fumes, swooned into the gods’ embrace, and woke with your location, marking it on a map.”
Kanthe glanced at Frell. Could that be true? Kanthe remembered how Frell had studied centuries of Qazen prophecies. The alchymist claimed to have found them strangely accurate, down to exacting detail in many cases.
“Upon the Augury’s urging, I quickly dispatched a barge to Malgard,” Makar continued, his voice growing with exaltation. He pressed three fingers to his forehead. “Where, thank all the gods, you were found.”
The Augury bowed deeply. “It is not I who saved them. The gods forever smile upon the Haeshan dynasty. This we all know.”
Kanthe fought not to scowl, to raise the obvious.
Apparently, those smiles never reached Prince Paktan.
Rami tried one last time to help them. “Father, all I ask is that you listen to them. After that—”
“Enough!” Makar boomed, making everyone jump—except the Augury, who must have been forewarned about this outburst. “I will hear no more. I have a son to mourn.” He twisted hard to Rami and Aalia. “And you, a dear brother. We will head for Kysalimri before the day’s end.”
The emperor faced the five thrown in front of him and lifted an arm. “But first, there is a matter to settle.”
Upon his signal, a towering figure stepped from a doorway to the right of the dais. Kanthe gaped at the man’s sheer size: his thick thighs, the breadth of his chest, the hillocks of bulging muscle. Black leather strained to hold it all in. It was as if that glass Giant out front had come to life. And like that ancient statue, the hulking figure hauled a curved sword with him. It stretched longer than Kanthe’s height.
To the left, another giant appeared. In his gloved fists, he carried a glowing iron cauldron, from which an iron brand poked out. His ebony features shone with a sheen of sweat, reflecting the ruddy light of the coals.
Makar leaned forward from his seat. “Before we pay in kind the damage done to my family, we’ll let Prince Kanthe watch the others fall first. But their deaths will not be quick. Limb by limb, we’ll take them apart before his eyes. Burning each stump to stave off the end for as long as possible. The screams will stretch all the way to Hálendii. King Toranth will know the grief he has sowed, and the punishment it has wrought.”
Rami closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
Mead leaned toward his brother. “Those sodding lycheens out in Malgard don’t seem so bad now, do they?”