Chapter 82
82
K ANTHE STROLLED TH ROUGH the gardens and pools of X’or. A soft morning breeze off the Bay of the Blessed stirred the flowering trees, disturbing pink and white petals. They floated in the air all around him. Small crystal chimes, hanging from those same branches, rang in notes so quiet it felt like a lover’s whisper in the ear.
“It’s all so beautiful,” Frell noted.
The governess of these baths, Abbess Shayr, smiled and offered a small nod of thanks. Of the imri class, she wore a handsome white robe, but there was no embellishment. Still, the purity of that whiteness was as resplendent as the finest gown. The only blemishes were the few pink petals clinging to it, which added a humble charm.
Her features were unlined, but her hair, bound in braids about her head, was as white as her robe. She looked ageless, as if she had always been here.
She lifted an arm to encompass the grove. “The baths of X’or have been a place of healing and succor for over two millennia. The Talniss trees around us were here long before the town was ever established.”
Kanthe gaped at the bower overhead as it dappled the sunlight. The overlapping layers of canopies looked as if they never stopped climbing into the sky. Easily, it would take ten men with outstretched arms to encircle a single Talniss trunk.
Rami strode beside him. Like the three of them, he wore sandals and a simple gray shift that fell to the knees and was belted in crimson. “It’s said the very air of X’or has curative properties.”
Kanthe inhaled deeply, appreciating the spicy fragrance from the trees.
Curative or not, he did feel far calmer, especially after the days of terror and bloodshed. They had arrived in the arrowsprite from Qazen yesterday as the last of the latterday bells were ringing. Aalia had received word from the council that they would be arriving this morning to visit the emperor and to discuss her claim as future empress. They had wanted to come last night, but she had told them that her father was exhausted and needed to rest.
Still, after the attack in Qazen, the council had dispatched two centuries of guardsmen to secure the emperor’s private palacio. Overhead, a dozen swyftships patrolled the skies. And X’or itself was insulated and well protected. The impenetrable Nysee Bog, with its sucking mud and viper-infested waters, spread to the north, while the rest of the shoreline was tall unscalable cliffs.
In some ways, Kanthe and the others had delivered themselves into a sweet-scented prison.
As if highlighting this fact, Abbess Shayr led them past a seaside overlook. The land fell away in a scrabble of high cliffs. The view opened across the bay to the towering spread of the Stone Gods. The tiny islands, carved into all thirty-three of the Klashean deities, marched off across the waters. The sails of a few ships and pleasure barges wended their way through that pantheon.
Kanthe remembered his own journey among them.
It’s like I’ve come full circle from where I started.
Rami pointed to one of the sculpted atolls. It was a robed woman whose arms lofted high a stone bowl, holding it toward shore. Rainwater glinted from its basin, as if it were another bath.
“The Goddess X’or,” Rami introduced, confirming a connection between the goddess and this town. “She who heals the sick and comforts those heavy of heart.”
The group continued onward, climbing over an arched stone bridge, one of dozens. It forded a silvery brook that spilled over the cliff’s edge in a long waterfall. A glance upstream revealed a chain of pools, some bubbling and steaming, which climbed in a series of cascades throughout X’or.
The nearest pool showed a half dozen bathers. From the frolicking and moans and unabashed flashes of skin, apparently there were all definitions of healing and succor to be found among these baths.
He turned away, but Rami nudged him with an elbow and nodded with a raised brow toward the pool.
Kanthe pointed ahead and reminded his friend, “We came to see how others are healing.”
Rami shrugged, glancing back. “We should take time to do some exploring together.”
Kanthe imagined he wasn’t just talking about testing the variety of baths.
Ahead of them, Abbess Shayr motioned to the next bridge. “The blood baths are up ahead.”
They followed her to a stream that ran crimson. She diverted them away from the cliffs and up a path that led through the trees and followed those dark waters. As they traveled, the trees grew ever larger.
“This is the most ancient of our Talniss groves,” Abbess Shayr informed them. “It protects our sacred baths.”
A short distance later, the stream split off in seven directions to wide black pools steaming with crimson waters, the famous wellsprings of the blood baths. A few were open to the bower, their surfaces covered in petals. Others were enclosed and hidden within marble temples, from simple to ornate.
Abbess Shayr led them to a temple that was just slabs of marble, crusted with layers of moss and lichen. It looked to be the oldest of them all.
She ducked under the lintel of the doorway. The three of them followed. It was steamy and warm inside, but the air felt oddly light versus moist and heavy. The spicy perfume in the air was sharper, strong enough to be tasted on the tongue.
The pool inside was shored in marble, dropping in steps into the dark waters, where a lone supplicant of the Goddess X’or soaked. Another visitor was already in attendance, seated at the edge, feet dangling in the water.
“Ack!” Mead gulped and slid his nakedness into the water. “Give some warnin’ when a lady’s comin’ in.”
In the bath, Jester grinned, though it looked strained. “Don’t mind ’im. My brother was hopin’ for some young lass to traipse in and catch him perched there, showing off his wares like a shopkeep.”
Mead sank farther, looking willing to drown.
“How’s the leg?” Kanthe asked.
“See for yourself.”
Jester lifted his stump. The end was covered with some sort of fine net. A wiggling leech, striped black and crimson, dropped back into the water.
“Keep your limb submerged,” Abbess Shayr warned with a scolding frown. “Let the vulnus do their work.”
“If I soak my arse cheeks much longer, they’ll be as wrinkled as two hairy—”
“Four more days,” the woman said firmly. “If you want to keep the rest of your leg attached to that arse.”
Jester grumbled but dropped his limb back down.
The abbess turned to them. “As you can see, one of our patients is irritable but faring well. The vulnus and these waters will help him heal cleanly. It shortens the mending of such wounds in half.”
“Amazing,” Frell said. “How does that work?”
“Only the goddess knows. The vulnus and these waters have been here longer than the Klashe. But alchymists have studied both. The vulnus remove vulgar tissue, hence their name, allowing healthy growth. It’s believed the waters and secretions of the leeches further encourage tissues to mend.”
“And what of my father?” Rami asked, his earlier airy tone now weighted with worry.
Abbess Shayr took a deep breath. “Some wounds even the vulnus can’t reach and our waters can’t heal. I will take you to him.”
She led them back out. Kanthe shared a worried look with Frell. Tykhan had tried to assure Rami that Makar’s bridling would leave no lasting damage. Still, the Klashean prince was not willing to take Tykhan’s word, especially from a figure that had fabricated his presence for centuries.
Even Kanthe had his doubts.
The abbess took them along another path to the most ornate of the temples. It was sculpted with gods and goddesses, adorned with crowns of gold. The marble had been scrubbed to a pristine sheen. In the shadows of the ancient grove, it nearly glowed.
The paths and surrounding woods also shone with the armor of scores of imperial patrols. Accompanied by Prince Rami, their group was allowed to pass unchallenged.
They crossed to tall gold doors where two Paladins opened the way before them.
Kanthe kept his face lowered, picturing the fate of the royal Paladins at the Augury’s villa.
Abbess Shayr bowed them inside, allowing Rami privacy with his father.
Frell returned that bow. “Thank you, Abbess. We should be able to return to the emperor’s palacio on our own.” He nodded to the guards. “As it is, we have plenty of escorts.”
She smiled, though it turned a touch sad as she glanced inside. “I wish we could do more.”
Guilt flared through Kanthe. The abbess and her sisters had been nothing but kind, and their group had returned such compassion with lies.
Kanthe hurried after Frell and Rami.
The chamber inside was gilded and pristine. Lanterns glowed along the walls. The emperor sat waist-deep in the crimson basin. His remaining nakedness was hidden under a cloak that draped into the water and across the neighboring marble. Still, it failed to add any majesty to the patient. Makar’s chin rested on his collarbone. Twin ropes of drool ran from his lips. His hair was soaked by the steam and clung to his skull.
A single nonne—the sister assigned to the emperor—knelt beside the crimson basin. She waved a small silver thurible, in the shape of a tiny boat, smoking with a curative incense.
Kanthe knew her efforts would prove futile. The source of the emperor’s malaise stood behind Makar. Tykhan kept vigil, tweaking his bridling as needed to keep the emperor subdued and under his crude control. Tykhan nodded to them as they entered.
Pratik stood next to him, looking grim.
Rami crossed and dropped to his knees. He wet his hand and gently cleaned the drapes of saliva from his father’s lips.
Tykhan whispered solemnly to the nonne, “Sister Lassan, if you could give Rami some privacy. I will let you know if we need your assistance.”
She rose with her thurible, bowed to the prince, and quietly left the temple, closing the heavy doors behind her.
Once alone, Rami scowled at Tykhan. “How much longer must we maintain this ruse? You said yourself that it took five decades to achieve this bridling. You can’t possibly know with any certainty what damage it is causing or what possible ramifications might follow from such abuse.”
Frell scowled—but not at Rami’s accusation. “The walls are thick marble, and this pool drains deep before joining the stream outside, but we should keep our voices low. ”
Tykhan, his eyes wounded, addressed Rami. “Your father is not the first that I’ve bridled. I promise, despite how it appears, I’ve been as gentle as possible. Still, I cannot fully discount your words. Bridling always carries some risk. I’m sorry.”
Rami closed his eyes, clearly struggling to accept the necessity of this act.
Tykhan moved on from this tender subject. “We have a hard path ahead of us. It is not only the emperor who risks suffering. For any hope to mitigate the war to come—to keep the Crown from tearing itself apart—we must return to the path that my calculations originally pointed to that offered the best possible outcome.”
“Which is what?” Kanthe asked. “We’re trying to get Aalia seated on the imperial throne. What more can we do?”
“That wasn’t my full plan,” Tykhan snapped, clearly still irked that his carefully orchestrated manipulations had gone awry due to a certain Prince in the Cupboard.
“Then what was?” Frell pressed him.
Tykhan looked at Kanthe. “As I tried to arrange before, Empress Aalia and Prince Kanthe must be married.”
Kanthe shook his head. “But why? Why is that so important?”
“The kingdom and empire must be united, or all may come to ruin. All forecasts dictate this is the only path forward.”
“Then imbibe more of those Malgardian fumes,” Kanthe said. “I can’t see how that’s important or why my marriage to Aalia would make any difference.”
“It will.” Tykhan’s eyes glowed through the lenses that had turned his eyes to a rich indigo. “You are critical to all of it.”
The third bell of the morning rang out, heard only as distant muffled chiming through the thick marble.
Frell frowned. “Talk of such unions can wait. We must get Emperor Makar ready for the visit by the imperial council. We fail with them, and none of this matters.”
Tykhan nodded. “Fear not, with time, all will become clear.”
Kanthe frowned at those words, spoken with the vague execrable mystery of all oracles. Still, one thing remained clear.
It’s too late to turn back now .