Chapter Thirty-Two
The sun is setting, and desert dust turns the horizon a rich coral color. I’m disappointed that we did not hike high enough
into the royal quarter to see the Edge of the World. But it sounds like this particular inn may have immediate views.
“Do you think it’s a trap? Is she sending us there to get killed?”
Suddenly the old Titus is back—stiff jawed and taciturn, refusing to meet my gaze. I almost regret making him uncomfortable
with my question, but it needed to be asked.
He is silent a long moment.
I say, “I know it’s awful to think about, but—”
“Suratian politics are a nightmare to me,” he interrupts gruffly. “I’ve never understood them. But anything is possible. We’ll
have to be on guard.”
We cross a canal and return to the merchants’ quarter. The air is cooling. Candles and oil lamps begin to shimmer from windowsills.
“There’s another possibility,” Titus says.
“Oh?”
“She said to tell the innkeeper that she continues to hold him in high esteem.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s her way of demanding a favor.”
“Maybe it’s code to serve us rat stew. Or put ants in our beds.”
He nods. “It could also mean ‘Magic their hair bright orange while they’re sleeping’ or ‘Make them dance for their dinner.’ ”
I’m glad he’s willing to jest a little. “That makes perfect sense.”
“In all seriousness,” Titus says, “I think she means to help us. The legatat is a hard, practical woman and a consummate politician,
but she’s loyal to my foster mother and the household. She swore the vassal oath, just like you did.”
It’s a long walk through the city to the inn. The sun has disappeared by the time we arrive, but the two moons cast enough
light that it still seems like dusk. The canal water is gorgeous in the moongloam, but it reeks of sewage. Drunken laughter
lingers at every other corner. Someone nearby curls pipe smoke into the air. The smoke is both sweet and a touch moldy.
The Edge Jump Inn is an adobe building that seems to grow out of the city wall. It stretches three awkward stories high, as
though each story is made from a giant mismatched building block. The stable beside is little more than an overhang, also
jutting from the city wall, but each stall looks sturdy enough. Titus gives one of our last shills to a stable woman, who
oohs and aahs over Blackwind and promises to take good care of him. I stare after them as they head toward the stable. Seems to me a Thordin
stallion would make a tempting target in the thieves’ quarter, but Titus appears unworried, so I try to put it from my mind.
We step inside the Edge Jump Inn and find an arched entryway featuring a shrine to Sathrynos the Wise, the god of water and change.
He is half man, half fish, with an enormous muscled torso.
He brandishes a jeweled fishing spear high above his head in a gesture of triumph over the leviathan king, who lies coiled and dead at his feet.
I stare at it a long moment, a nebulous thought half forming in my mind.
My gut twists with something I don’t understand.
Titus pushes past the shrine, so I ignore the feeling and follow him. The common room is packed with bodies. It’s a quieter
place than most inns, though, filled more with hushed conversation than wild carousing. Everyone looks up from their tables
to stare at us.
We pretend to be oblivious as we make our way to the counter. A tall, barrel-bellied man is wiping the countertop with a rag.
His black hair is wild and free, like a charcoal cloud. He greets us with a dazzling smile.
“Welcome to the Edge Jump Inn,” he says. “Food, lodging, or both?”
Titus lays his hand on the counter, showing his household ring. After a moment’s hesitation, I do the same. Titus’s is a lot
finer than mine, with an actual diamond inset into a thick band instead of a diamond-shaped flake of abalone shell.
“The legatat of Diamond Household recommended this place to us,” Titus says. “She said to tell you she continues to hold you
in high esteem.”
The innkeeper’s smile quivers and fades. He stares at our rings, a muscle working in his jaw.
Then he turns toward the kitchen, clapping his paddle-sized hands.
“Kadis, Valen, we have special guests. Prepare the balcony suite. Fill the bath barrel. Jandry, size them up and find clean clothing from the stores.” To us, he says, “Our house specialty is braised lamb with saffron rice. Can I bring you a couple of plates while we ready your room?”
Titus and I exchange a nervous glance. We only have a few shills left. Titus says, “Do you have anything a little more . . .
affordable?”
The innkeeper squints, as though Titus has just addressed him in a foreign tongue. Then he drops his voice low and says, “No
need to worry about that. The Diamond Household has a running tab here.”
“Oh. In that case, yes, please.”
“Coming right up! Water, ale, or pomegranate wine?”
My mouth waters. I haven’t eaten a real meal in weeks. Hesitantly, I say, “Water and pomegranate wine?”
“Of course.” He indicates a small round table where we should sit and hurries away.
“What just happened?” I whisper to Titus as we settle into opposing chairs.
“I’m not sure. I think the legatat is taking care of us.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes and no. If she wanted to extend hospitality to us so badly . . .”
“She would have just welcomed us into the palace.”
“Exactly. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t. Or at least she couldn’t appear to help us. Something is very wrong.”
The Edge Jump Inn seemed decent enough from the outside, clean and well kept, but nothing fancy or luxurious. The common room did not change my impression, though the food was uncommonly good. But this suite? It’s fit for a queen.
I gape at the giant canopy bed swathed in purple velvet, the small but bright adobe fireplace, the cozy bath area with a folding
privacy screen painted with scenes from Sathrynos’s battle with the leviathan king. Steam rises from tiny copper pots hanging
from delicate chains in front of the fireplace, filling the air with the scents of orange peel and tuberose. My feet sink
into the diamond-patterned rug, and I can hardly wait to kick off my shoes and scrunch my toes into its softness.
But all of that falls away, and my whole world shrinks to a tiny point of perspective: the brass handle of the windowed balcony
door.
“I’ll let you get settled,” the innkeeper says, startling me. I had forgotten he was there. “In two hours, I’ll send someone
to check on you, bank your fire, turn down your sheets.”
“Thank you,” Titus says.
The innkeeper’s “my lord” in response barely registers, because I’m already heading toward the balcony.
I turn the handle and open the door. Cool, moist air coats my face. I did not expect moisture.
The balcony looks out over nothing. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing, as far as my eyes can perceive. The moons are bright
enough that if anything were out there, anything at all, I would be able to see it. It’s like I’m standing on the precipice
of the sky itself.
I look down, and the balcony seems to tilt beneath my feet. Maybe it’s the two cups of pomegranate wine I drank at dinner.
Or maybe it’s the fact that the inn is built on the very Edge; when I crane my neck to peer over the stone railing, I can make out foundational struts angling from the thick city wall,
and a rough and rocky cliff face plunging downward into nothingness.
But the balcony itself reaches over the Edge. I feel weightless. Like I’m standing on a cloud.
“It’s even more spectacular during the day,” Titus says at my shoulder. “You can see birds flying through the clouds below
you. They nest in the cliff face.”
My heart is racing. Just one railing stands between me and forever.
“This inn used to be called the World’s Edge Inn, but so many people jumped to their deaths from this place that they changed
the name.”
I turn to him, aghast. “That’s terrible! Why would anyone want to stay here knowing how the inn got its name?”
“You’d be surprised. So many people find death and tragedy exciting.”
I dare to look over the railing again. Wind eddies up from the abyss, lifting hair from my face. “Maybe they’re not dead,”
I say. “Maybe they’re still falling.”
“Maybe.”
“Does anyone know what’s down there?”
“No,” Titus says. “But not for lack of trying. We’ve built contraptions, endless ropes. But anyone who gets too far disappears
completely. Ropes go slack. Ladders crumble. There are forces of magic or nature down there that defy exploration.”
I stare into the infinite gloom.
“I suspect someone from the palace will contact us shortly,” Titus says. “We should bathe and change while we have a chance.”
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’m not done staring.”
“I’ll be fast,” he says, “so the water is still hot for you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. My hands grip the stone rail so hard that my fingertips hurt, and I force myself to relax them. I’m not
going to fall over the Edge by just standing here.
The amount of magic and engineering it took to create this marvel is unfathomable. All to defy the power of a god gone mad.
I wish Anja were here to share this with. She’d flush red with excitement, squeal and clap her hands. She’d reach over the
railing as far as she dared, just to put my teeth on edge. Actually, she’d probably climb up and try to balance on it. I see
her clear as day, arms out for balance, grinning ear to ear while I scream at her to get down.
I’m not sure how long I’m here, soaking in the moist breeze, wondering at the vastness of true infinity and the finality of
death, when I sense Titus at my shoulder again. His skin is a normal, healthy flesh color, and his hair is loose from its
tie, falling in damp waves across his shoulders. He’s wearing a thick bathrobe tied at the waist by a red silk sash. “Your
turn,” he says. “They left new clothes folded on the bed for us. I draped yours over the bath screen.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I left the bathwater in poor shape, but I filled the rinse bucket before I dirtied it, so at least you’ll have
that.”
“It will be perfect.”