Then the show is over. The animal handlers come to shut the snakes in wooden crates. I can’t help but wonder what will become of them.
The noblemen leave and the wives file out until there is only the king, and the boy, who stands there and shakes. The king slaps him, hard, across the face. The boy bows his head, hands clenched into fists.
“Don’t question me again, Ballast,” says the king.
The boy nods, staring at his feet. “I’m sorry, Father.”
The king stalks from the hall without another word, and the boy collapses to the floor. He weeps, for a while, though his tears are soundless even in this vast, echoing room. Then he slips away. This is how I learn that the only difference between Ballast and the rest of us is he doesn’t sleep in a cage at night.
But he is every bit a part of his father’s Collection, all the same.
Chapter Three
Year4200, Month of the Bronze God
Skaanda/Daeros—the Saadone River
We’re two weeks on the road before we reach Saadone, the city built on the banks of the great river that shares its name. We’ve passed scattered villages and acres of sprawling farmland on our way, more of Vil’s housing abandoned half built beside the fields. Already the sun sinks a little earlier each night, and if the crops aren’t harvested before Gods’ Fall, they’ll be left to rot. The housing will have to wait, much to Vil’s dismay.
I’ve been keeping my distance from Vil since that first night. I don’t know how to untangle the snarl of my own emotions, and I can’t allow myself to get close to him before I’ve sorted them out. It wouldn’t be fair to him—or to me—and the nearer we get to Tenebris, the less certain I am about anything: Vil. Me. Our mission. It’s all confusion and uncertainty and dread.
So I put space between us, as much as is possible in our little company of six.
It’s midafternoon when we ride into Saadone City, the stink of the river thick in the air, the sudden press of people jarring and overloud after the long quiet of the road.
“With any luck we should be able to catch the last ferry,” Vil calls from the front of our group. “Then we won’t have to wait till the morning.”
I glance back at Saga, who twists her fingers in her horse’s mane. The Saadone marks the border between Skaanda and Daeros. Once we cross, we’ll be in constant danger—and close to the site of the disastrous skirmish that left her at Kallias’s mercy.
“I’m fine,” says Saga brightly.
Indridi and I exchange a knowing glance.
“Why don’t we stop early today?” I say to Vil. “Stay at an inn, sleep in a real bed.” I give a little sigh at the thought. A year and a half in a royal Skaandan feather bed has made me soft—I haven’t slept well since we left Staltoria City.
“As much as I would like that,” says Vil, with a pointed look at me that makes me flush at my accidental implication, “we can’t afford the time. Besides, the inns are sure to be full on account of the holiday.”
It takes me a minute to remember what holiday he’s talking about: the Bronze God’s feast day, a celebration of the harvest. But the feast has more to do with the time of year than it does with the god of minds.
I shift uncomfortably in my saddle. I’ve never liked the Bronze God’s story. There’s certainly nothingcelebratoryabout it. But like anyone, I suppose, Skaandans skew religion to fit their desires, instead of the other way around. If pressed, a priest might explain that it’s a commemoration of the Bronze God’s banishment and the return of people’s free will. Although ifthat’sthe case, it would make more sense to honor the Prism Goddess—she’s the one who banished him, after all. But maybe the Prism Goddess has too many feast days already. And the most religious among us are proud if they can afford clothing in every color of the pantheon—when would they wear bronze, if not now?
“If I may, Your Highness,” says Pala.
Vil nods his permission.
“I would suggest having a meal in a public house while I secure us passage on the ferry.”
“We won’t miss it?” Vil asks.
“Not if you’re at the docks in an hour.”
“I’m happy to go to secure passage,” Indridi says quickly.
Pala frowns at her for speaking out of turn but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge her offer. “An hour, Your Highness.” She salutes Vil and nudges her mount down one of the twisting, clay-tiled streets, and quickly disappears from view.
Vil leads the rest of us through the milling crowd to a three-storied building made of earthen brick. The hanging wooden sign carved with the symbol of a woman and a blooming rose, both painted bright green, marks it as belonging to the Green Goddess. There are hundreds of such public houses scattered across Skaanda—this one is hardly unique. It hits me anew how such a pious people as us Skaandans can dedicate temples and drinking places to the same deity and not be struck down for blasphemy.
A pair of half-grown boys trot around from the back to take our horses, and then we file into the public house, Vil and Leifur leading, with me and Saga in the middle and Indridi bringing up the rear.
