Chapter XVII

  An Audience with the King -- Part 1

  Only one bell tolled for First Cycle, but Alia was already up and about. She left her quarters when her watch revealed the hour of sunrise in Elamis. While she was not surprised the night sister standing guard at her door attempted to stop her, she remained firm.

  “I am a priestess of the Huntress and I will say my dawn prayers to Her,” Alia informed the machine. “If your people share my piety you may accompany me. Otherwise, take me to the highest place where I can see the sunrise.”

  Several scenarios had run through her mind regarding the barrier over the Royal Ward. The first one was that it did dim on occasion, to allow the inhabitants to fulfill their obligations to the gods. Solstice, equinox, sunrise, sunset, heliacal rises, the moon—these must be observed for different holy days and festivals. If the Conservationists were indifferent to this … memory of the shadow cults plaguing Ebon Cove tugged at her. And those cults were a hidden minority, working in secret. What would they do if they had an entire city to themselves?

  But she must not borrow trouble. The Conservationists might have accounted for their holy obligations and found an alternate method. What it might be she couldn’t guess, but she must gather as much information as possible.

  Her words were apparently a surprise to her night sister, Simin, who swiveled her head from Alia to the other night sisters standing watch in the corridor. As one they echoed Simin’s movements, turning to each other as if they, too, were trying to comprehend Alia’s request.

  But Alia did not pause. Continuing past Simin, she started down the corridor towards the direction where they had come from the throne room.

  They would not harm her. Of all the people in her group, the king and queen had addressed her, as if they had some respect or reverence for her. Likely not for herself personally, but because they believed her to be from the kingdom of Ta-Seti.

  Furthermore, if the Conservationists were truly dedicated to the gods and upholding their laws, they might have passed along such piety to their descendants. This Alia was less certain of, but she felt sure the king and queen would not want her harmed without first knowing if she were part of a larger, more formidable power than they were prepared to deal with.

  Simin hurried after her. To Alia’s surprise, the construct’s bare feet sounded no heavier on the marble floor than a woman’s would be.

  “We don’t have this dawn! I know not of what you speak. I cannot please you in this regard, O Holy One!”

  Without turning back, Alia held up her pocket watch, which she’d opened so the face was visible.

  “Nevertheless, I observe dawn as it is in Elamis. This dawn I do know. The heights, Simin: where can I go that is tallest in this palace?”

  In three heartbeats Simin stood before her, forcing Alia to halt her steps. Ahh, the machine women were given exceptional speed. And strength? Yes, may as well suppose that, too. But Alia kept still, outwardly unperturbed.

  “Yes? Will you assist me, or does doing so go against your beliefs?”

  Simin started to reach out to Alia’s hand, where she still held the pocket watch. Then at once the construct stopped, and pointed instead.

  “What is this device?”

  “Oh, this?” Alia casually flicked her wrist, swinging the watch chain so that the watch’s face was now oriented towards Simin. “It’s called a pocket watch. Used to keep time. A gift to me, from a beloved wise man. I’ve tuned it to the time in Elamis, where I came from recently.”

  The tilt of Simin’s head suggested interest. Curious, how lifelike she seemed. In some stories, automatons were divinely imbued with a soul, that they might feel emotions and have an intellect. That Simin could converse suggested she might have a soul, but who gave her one? It was one thing for the gods to have animachina, like the ones the Huntress employed to forge Her knives from the light of the lunar rainbow.

  But human-made automata? These Alia trusted little, tolerating only the ones that had the safeguard of being created for a fixed purpose: guard this door, protect this personage. If Simin possessed a soul she would not be so readily held in check.

  But that was a matter for later.

  “Simin? The high points? Can you take me there, or should I find another to conduct me?”

  “You should see the king regarding your device,” Simin said.

  Possibly the gesture was wasted on Simin, but Alia smiled anyway. Young Bessa had foreseen it true, that the Zanbellians would have an interest in modern devices — and might furthermore covet them. “I will see the king at his pleasure, when the time comes for him to receive myself and my companions for an audience. Were you not there when the queen said to count ourselves as guests? I am a guest and a priestess, attend me please in this matter.”

  At once Simin clapped her hands together and bowed. “Come this way please, O Holy One.”

  Heart pounding, Alia followed.

  To Zanbil we go, had she not said it?

  The palace kept a hanging garden, lush and beautiful, with thick green grasses that promised to caress her feet if she were to remove her boots. Ornamental grasses with feathery wisps of violet and pink tips lined the walkways, tickling against her thighs as she walked past. Beauty was not the garden’s sole virtue, which she realized as soon as she saw the plum trees in full flower. Blooming before their time—Lyrcanian time, at least.

  Gardeners tended the garden already, even though the bell had not yet tolled for the so-called First Cycle. They eyed Alia with open curiosity, but lowered their eyes in deference whenever she might have met their stares. Deliberately, she had chosen to wear her regalia as a huntress. If the king of Zanbil proved to be hostile, presenting herself as a priestess might check his hand. Kings usually recognized divine authorities as equal to their own. Usually …

  “We are here,” Simin said.

  Surprise slowed Alia’s steps, and stole away her voice.

  Here was a circular pool of silvery blue water, ringed with violet and blue lotus flowers. Silvery-blue water, she noted. This, then, was a moon pool. When the moon reached its zenith, the pool’s powers would be activated. In stories of old an automaton would be quickened, brought to life when their creator poured the waters of the moon pool in their veins. But this moon pool was necessarily inert, and Alia wondered why it was still maintained.

  But what she cared about was the “sun” shining high overhead. A bright glowing ball of light, bathing her in heat and radiant light.

  Off to the side of the moon pool stood an elegant white pergola. Yards of cloth-of-moonbow curtains offered privacy, on three sides of the structure. Silhouettes revealed two people inside the pergola. Through the drawn back curtains in the front, Alia spotted the king and queen of Zanbil, kneeling in prayer. With their heads bowed they did not see Alia intruding upon them. Nor would they, she decided. Instead she turned on her heel and began walking away.

  “This is not the sun,” she said, pitching her voice just above a whisper when she thought she’d gone far enough beyond the range of human hearing to distract the royals.

  Simin blinked. Matching Alia’s tone she asked, “How do you say this, when you see it here?”

  “I say it because I know that which is true and that which is not. I have seen the sun, Simin. The true sun that lights the world and is not contained in a house of glass. You know I am not from here; what do you think shines over the skies of my land if the sun is here? We stand in a viridarium. One of Zanbellian design I grant you, but a viridarium all the same. They always have an artificial sun. Would I guess right if I say this ball contains captured sunlight from the true sun? And at night this orb turns blue with captured moonlight?”

  To her knowledge the false suns of the viridaria required the true sun to renew it. Which renewed her hope the barrier dimmed on occasion.

  Or did it? The machine stared at her. Though her face was expressionless, Simin’s body language radiated uncertainty. Suspecting she was going beyond the limits of Simin’s writ, Alia declined to press the point. Serve the needs of the palace and its guests, yes of course, but Simin’s creators would not have equipped her to answer Alia’s questions about the workings of viridaria, or the heavens in particular. How could she, when the heavens were deliberately hidden by the king’s ancestors?

  To drive her point home, Alia accelerated her pace as she walked away. Moments later, Simin hurried after her. True to her demonstrated abilities, she caught up with Alia in an instant, and kept step with her.

  “Where do you go, O Holy One? Did I not fulfill your request?”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You did not,” Alia replied without looking at her. “But the fault is not yours. Were you a woman of flesh and blood I would tell you not to distress yourself over it. Do I err in believing you lack the capacity for emotion?”

  The automaton turned her face toward Alia in a three-quarter profile, the only hint she was seeking Alia’s full attention. Obliging her, Alia met her eyes, such as they were. The blue-green orbs in that silvery face fascinated and repelled her at once, but she forced herself not to let her prejudices impart a sinister aspect upon her interlocutor.

  “It is true that you cannot hurt my ‘feelings.’ But I strive to excel in my duties, and to better myself when I am lacking. Because I am assigned to you, I seek to serve you well, O Holy One.”

  Huh, so that was how the pseudo-women worked. Perhaps Simin might do more than act as a tour guide. Perhaps she might even serve as Alia’s eyes and ears …

  “As it stands, my own ignorance is to blame for my lack of precision in making my request. Therefore it was not possible for you to ‘fulfill’ it properly. The fault, as I said, is not yours. What I need from you is this: a high place to see beyond the bounds of this palace. To see the city entire. Is that doable?”

  This was how Alia found herself in a dragonfly—a canopied sky-boat — piloted by one of the king’s guard no less. This surprised her, for she had assumed their sole purpose would be to guard the king, and by extension the royal family and palace. Not ferry her about to satisfy her whims. But when Simin brought her to the landing for the royal dragonfly, she referred to Alia as “a holy woman who requires this service to carry out her duties.”

  The chief guard on duty immediately ordered one of the men to escort Alia wherever she wished. Simin openly expressed surprise when Alia indicated she should board the sky boat.

  “I do not leave the palace,” she said.

  “Don’t, or can’t?”

  Cocking her head, Simin appeared to consider the question. Then she promptly climbed in after Alia.

  The seats on the dragonfly were upholstered in dragon leather, a vivid iridescent green. A luxury suited for kings, of course, and perhaps easy to come by for the king of a floating city. Idly, Alia wondered if the king of Zanbil personally slew a dragon for his adulthood rite, as she had been obliged to do. By what means did he prove himself fit to serve as protector and ruler of his people? Or did he not have to prove himself at all, and merely exercised the privileges of having been born to the royal family?

  But this question she did not ask aloud. Instead, she listened as the pilot told her of the buildings and streets below. Seated as she was next to the pilot, Alia enjoyed an excellent view. The buzz and flutter of the dragonfly wings did not overwhelm their hearing as she feared it might, so they could speak to each other without shouting.

  “And the Aerie? Where I live, that’s what we call temples to the Huntress.”

  “We name it such here as well, holy mistress,” said the pilot. Pointing with his chin, he indicated a grand edifice, four stories tall and faced with honey-colored marble.

  Flanking the door, two colossal statues of the Huntress stood sentry. Each wore the Eagle Crown—a headdress with a crown fashioned as the beak of a golden eagle, with upright feathers fanned out at the back of her head, and a feather dangling as a sidelock in front of each of her ears.

  On the left, the long-knife in the statue’s upraised right arm crossed blades with the upright left arm of the right-standing statue. The crossed blades formed an arch over the door. The forbidding expression on the face of the goddess, and the aggressive pose might have meant to deter the impious. But with their free hands the statues appeared to beckon the oncoming visitors into the temple.

  Golden-feathered eagles perched at strategic points along the roofline drew Alia’s attention. They were so finely carved they appeared life-like, and inwardly she saluted the sculptor—they moved. Involuntarily she gasped, not expecting to encounter automatons of such incredible size.

  The giant birds turned and focused their eagle eyes on the dragonfly boat, tracking their movements as the pilot flew closer.

  “As you can see, holy mistress, the temple of the Huntress is secure,” the pilot said casually, as if he thought nothing strange about her reaction.

  “That is as it should be …” Alia murmured.

  The pilot flew over the rooftop. From inside the temple one would enter the roof through a pair of burnished bronze doors. A central path led from those doors to the center of the roof, where an altar to the Huntress provided a space to make offerings. But branching off from the path, tall, conical cypress trees formed mazes in the four corners of the rooftop. From the sky the mazes were revealed to have a meander key shape. In their centers stood white gazebos with glass roofs, each with an oculus open to the air.

  Alia leaned forward for a better view. Did the Zanbellians use the private gazebos for quiet reflection and prayers? The oculus in each roof suggested the architects might have originally intended for the user to be aligned with the sun, or moon, or stars. A use the barrier over the Royal Ward now made impossible.

  “Set us down. I have business in this temple,” she said.

  The pilot landed, but not on the roof; however, but rather at the bottom of the steps of the temple’s forecourt.

  Once again Simin kept pace with Alia, stride for stride as she climbed the steps. As they ascended Alia debated within herself if she would allow Simin to witness what happened next. Though she served Alia for now, her ultimate mistress would be the queen—and her master, the king. Any order Alia gave her could be countermanded by the royals. The time to test Simin would come—but later.

  Before they made it halfway up the stairs, a woman came striding out of the temple. Magnificently robed in green silk edged with cloth-of-gold, she wore a head dress that matched the statues of the Huntress looming over them. In her right hand she carried the Eagle Staff—a staff carved of precious agarwood, topped with a moonbow stone.

  “Hail, Chrysopteron,” Alia greeted.

  The high priestess of the Huntress eyed her openly with interest. “Who speaks with Mereri, servant of the Exalted Eagle?”

  Without missing a step Alia smiled gamely and answered, “Alia Ironwing, most humble servant of the Exalted Eagle, seeks the clasping of hands with you, O High Blessed One.”

  When Alia reached the top step the chrysopteron extended a hand to her. Alia took it and clasped it between her own palms, and bowed low.

  “May the Huntress bless you, Chrystopteron,” she said.

  “Bless you, servant of the Exalted One,” the high priestess replied, validating at once Alia’s decision to wear her priestly clothing.

  They stood eye to eye, and took each other’s measure. In Mereri, Alia saw a woman guarded and prudent. The Zanbellian took in her chrysoprase medallion with a nod of approval, which gave Alia hope that the high priestess cared if she were a devoted servant of the Huntress.

  “You are aware I come from without, High Blessed One?” Alia asked.

  Surely the news of arrival of the ‘Zanbellian Expeditionary Force” had spread throughout the city already, and thus Alia had gambled that sheer novelty would win her an audience with the chrysopteron.

  “I am aware.”

  “Within the precincts of Zanbil, is the business of the Exalted Eagle still given precedence?” She must approach the matter delicately, acutely aware that yet again she treaded uncertain ground.

  Long, long stare from the high priestess. Nothing in her face betrayed her, but Alia detected the spark in her eyes. “In this temple it is.”

  But she side-stepped the question she knew the chrystopteron was expecting. “There is no dawn here, but in the house of the Huntress I will make my prayers all the same. Have I interrupted yours?”

  Laugh lines around Mereri’s mouth suggested she was a woman of good humor, and she proved it so with a gracious smile. “Not at all. The bell has only just struck. First Cycle has begun, and so begins our prayers, servant of the Huntress.”

  Without a word she offered Alia her arm. Slipping her arm in the crook of Mereri’s, Alia walked beside her. Simin fell back, trailing at a respectful distance as the high priestess ushered them inside the temple.

  Cool air refreshed them, and reminded Alia of how sultry the air had been inside the dome of the gate fortress. The unrelenting false-light of the dome of the Royal Ward was accompanied by a similar heat, but she noted the inhabitants retained access to cooling elements: water and foliage.

  By now she was used to seeing displays of staggering wealth in Zanbil, but even so Alia’s heart fluttered at the beauty of the temple. From floor to ceiling shimmering cloth-of-moonbow adorned the windows of the temple, which struck her as fitting. Yet all the more did she appreciate the value of living high in a floating city. What took great effort to acquire on land was almost effortlessly gathered up in the sky. In days of old, Zanbil’s moon spinners were famed for their knowledge of capturing the lights of the heavens, and turning them to cloth or metal.

  Under the dome; however, they would have lost their skills. Every day visitors came to the temple, they would be reminded of what was once commonplace to their ancestors, but foreign to themselves now. Bessa’s “three-pronged strategy” would find purchase here, but advancing that particular cause was not on Alia’s mind at the moment.

  The high priestess brought her to a kind of viridarium, this one with a stately ash tree at its center. The tall, grey-barked tree bloomed before its time, displaying creamy white flowers on its branches.

  Oh, thank the Huntress the tree remained intact! As a child Samara told her of the tree. And its purpose.

  Kyra herself gave the seedling that became that tree, Samara had said. The elder dryad did not lightly bestow her seedlings on mortals.

  The high priestess must have read something in Alia’s face, for she beamed with pride when she saw her studying the tree.

  “Even now we maintain the sacred manna. Let us make our prayers here,” she suggested.

  On a small altar before the tree they burned incense in a vessel shaped like an ash-tree leaf.

  Alia began her prayers, using the holy language she learned at her mother’s knee. This Mereri took in stride, her expression polite in a way that suggested she did not know what Alia was saying. How had Mereri been anointed, if she had not been initiated into the mysteries of the Huntress? Immediately Alia chided herself; the Huntress would have initiated the woman Herself if She were moved to.

  As for the chrysopteron, she uttered her prayers in the tongue of Athyr-ai. None of it did Alia understand, but Mereri’s chosen language emphasized that no dryad had anointed her into the priesthood.

  When they finished their prayers the chrysopteron let loose a volley of questions.

  “What news from without? Have you brought word from the Exalted Eagle? Do you bring tidings of blessings, or curses?”

  Again Alia sidestepped her. Kyra’s tree flourished, which gave her hope.

  Heroism, pride, or profit.

  With these arrows Bessa hoped to strike the hearts and minds of the Zanbellians. But Alia kept another in her quiver: faith.

  “Do you know, High Blessed One, the story of this tree? How it came to be in your city, and the duty for which you maintain it?”

  Eyes wide, the chrysopteron sucked in a breath. Yes, Alia translated. Good, if the high priestess knew the story then the lorekeepers did their jobs at least.

  “I come to you from the Land of the Radiant Gate. Let us speak then, of blessings and curses.”