The Harbors of the Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Moon woke struggling to breathe, the stink of smoke overwhelming light and sound, nothing but dry grass and acrid metal and burning flesh. He had the bad feeling the flesh might be him; his skin felt like fire. He heard hushed voices, speaking some variation on Kedaic. Then footsteps, coming closer.

That penetrated the haze enough for him to realize the dirt and the scratch of grass was on his bare skin, that he was lying here in his groundling form, probably surrounded by dead Hians. Lavinat used a fire weapon on me, he remembered. He would have blood on his teeth, his hands. He knew what he had to do, pretend he was a groundling, come up with a story. He got his arms under him and tried to heave himself upright, but pain ran out of his chest like blood and water, and he slid down into burning darkness again.

The next time he woke slowly, drifting back up to an awareness of an unfamiliar place. He knew he had been almost awake before, that several dramatic things had happened while he was semi-conscious. He remembered flashes of intense searing pain between times of cool relief. Someone giving him water, and broth with just enough of a taste of meat to make him alternately sick and ravenous. He remembered trying to flex his hands and realizing his fingers were broken, held immobile by splints.

Now the skin of his chest felt tender and tight, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he remembered. He heard movement from another room, the sound bouncing off stone walls, and voices, none familiar. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes closed, and tasted the scent.

Sun-warmed air, incense caught in the folds of fabric, Kishan moss, though not nearby, strange groundling bodies, a trace of sweet oil, water running over stone and metal. And somewhere, the confusion of dust and sour/sweet scents that suggested a groundling city.

No Raksura. There was no scent of Fell, either. Kethel might have survived the fire weapons and the crash into the plain, but it wouldn’t have survived being found by groundlings. It was either dead in the ruin somewhere or escaped.

Now Moon just had to figure out where he was.

He managed to get his gummy eyes open to see a high domed ceiling of gray-white stone, embossed with half circles, all set with chips of glittering blue and green glass. Morning sunlight fell through stone-latticed windows just under the dome. Figured bronze lamps hung from the ceiling, and the walls had more embossed images, repeating square designs. The bed he lay on was a stone platform built against the wall, but it was made comfortable with cushions and drapes in soft fabrics.

Moon started to lever himself up and subsided with a gasp at the stab of pain in his chest. He squinted down at himself and saw a lot of patchy new bronze skin in between bandages and red healing burns; the muscles underneath ached with every movement. All the fingers on his right hand and three on the left had been broken and mostly healed straight. He moved his feet and added several toes to the total. He had a dim memory of digging his way out from under smothering debris, breaking his claws in the process. Nothing was broken or strained in his back; it didn’t hurt except for a dull ache. It meant his wing joins weren’t damaged, which was a relief.

Someone had taken care of him, obviously. Someone not a mentor. There was no scent of the simples that Merit or Lithe would have used, and he could tell he hadn’t been put in a healing sleep.

The door in the far wall was an open arch to another room. The groundlings he could hear were somewhere past it. He shifted to his scaled form.

Tried to shift. Nothing happened.

Moon tightened his throat against a snarl. They know what you are. He knew what being caught felt like. But it wasn’t Fell poison; there was no scale pattern on his skin. He tried again but it was like there was a wall between himself and whatever power he needed to shift, a wall he couldn’t break through. Kishan shamen, he thought. This had to be why the Fell were so wary of them.

He tried to sit up again and his arms trembled with the effort of pushing himself upright. There was no sign of whatever might have been left of his own clothes, or anything else he had been carrying with him.

Footsteps sounded from the other room and a small blue groundling appeared in the doorway. It squeaked with alarm at the sight of Moon awake and bolted out.

Moon waited, his heart pounding, but nothing drastic happened. There were agitated voices at a distance, then soft footsteps in the next room again. After a moment, the steps pattered hurriedly away, and it was quiet.

Moon climbed off the couch and stumbled, then lurched across the floor of polished stone tile toward the doorway. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, shocked at how weak he was.

This was room was larger, with stone-latticed windows taking up most of the far wall. A bench with cushions stood near the doorway, a drape of fine dark blue fabric across it. He picked it up and found it was a piece of clothing, a combination of a wrap skirt and pants. The idea of being trapped in groundling form and naked in front of strange people who were holding him prisoner was unnerving, so he got it on and tied at the waist. Then he headed for the windows.

Halfway there, he stepped in water and staggered sideways. There was a shallow round pool with a mosaiced bottom, apparently just there to decorate the room, since it was barely a fingerwidth deep. That’s a stupid thing to have, Moon thought, reaching the windows. He leaned against the stone lattice, shaking the water off his foot.

The openings were easily wide enough to fit his head through. In his shifted form, he might have to dislocate a shoulder to get the rest of his body out, though it would be hard to force even his folded wings through. But he couldn’t shift, so the point was academic at the moment.

The city spread out below was massive, the buildings made of golden stone, their domed roofs covered with carvings and painted designs, colorful banners hanging from open galleries and balconies. Broad streets wove between them, though most of the foot traffic was on the bridges that criss-crossed between the upper levels. He blinked and realized the large bridge curving away between distant buildings was actually an aqueduct, small boats sailing along it. He could spot the tower of a flying boat dock not far past it.

He had never seen a groundling city this massive in the east. This was what a city looked like that had never been destroyed by Fell or other predators, that had never had to move and leave half itself behind.

Behind him, quiet steps approached. Whoever it was seemed much calmer than the last groundling. He said, “What city is this?” He spoke Kedaic, matching his accent to the way Callumkal and Kalam had spoken it.

There was a moment of startled silence. Then the answer, “This is Kish-Karad, the western principal city and Imperial seat.”

Moon turned, leaning on the windowsill to stay upright.

The groundling who stood there was short and round, with roughly-textured gray skin and a boney head crest like a crown across the skull, dark feathery hair sprouting behind it. The long sleeveless robe was shaped to indicate at least two breasts, so he assumed she was female. Her features were broad, her eyes large and dark, and she had that look that groundlings sometimes got, as if she hadn’t expected him to be able to speak, at least intelligibly. Or just not expected him to speak first. Experience suggested it was mostly the former. Moon said, “Did you find any others like me?”

“Not like you,” she said, obviously still regrouping.

They weren’t dead in the wreckage. Moon didn’t let his relief show, though he broke out in a sweat all over.

She watched him carefully. “You’re a Raksura, correct?”

“You should know, since you’re keeping me from shifting.” If the Kishan had thought he was a Fell, they would never have let him live, much less healed him.

A sideways motion of her head seemed to concede the point. “It’s a precaution. You were badly injured and not aware enough to be reasoned with.” She added, “So what were you doing in a burning ruin that fell unexpectedly from the sky?”

At the city where the sunsailer had come to port, Kalam had told the Kish about the Hians; there had been plenty of time for that information to be carried deep into Kish via flying boat. “I was with Kalam of Kedmar, and Captain Rorra, helping them look for Callumkal, Master Scholar of the Conclave of the Janderan. Callumkal, and Delin-Evranlindel, a scholar from the Golden Isles, and two Raksura were stolen by Hians. They attacked Callumkal’s ship and killed our friends.”

He thought she had registered recognition at both Callumkal’s and Kalam’s names. She said, “Why were you helping Jandera?”

It was an odd question to ask, unless you already knew at least some of what had happened. “Because Callumkal is my friend.”

She hesitated, the feathery hair on her brows lifting and expanding. “He lives, then?”

Moon wondered who had claimed that Callumkal was dead. “When I last saw him. He was sick. The Hians gave him poison.” They seemed to be trading answers, so he added, “How long have I been here?”

She stood silent for what felt like a long moment, considering what Moon had said. “We found you fourteen days ago.”

Moon managed not to twitch. Fourteen days. Long enough for the others to find him, if they were alive? They had to be alive; he couldn’t handle the thought that they weren’t. But were they here or trapped up on the cloudwall? And he knew he had done as much as he could to get this groundling to think of him as a person, getting her to answer his questions, referencing Jandera friends; it was time to ask the hard question. “Am I a prisoner?”

Her brows moved again, in what Moon thought was uncertainty. “You are too injured to leave here, and there are others who have questions. I am Ceilinel, Chief Arcanist of the Imperial Conclave. Will you tell me your name?”

Not the most encouraging answer, or lack of answer. He had been right about her being a shaman, at least. “I’m Moon of Opal Night, consort to Jade, sister queen of the Court of Indigo Cloud.” He had to see if he could get a message to someone. He didn’t know where the others were and he couldn’t ask for a message to be carried to the Reaches, which might be under attack by Fell. He struggled to remember every groundling he knew who might owe him a favor and was still alive. Kalam had sent the survivors of his father’s expedition back to Kedmar to get help, and it would surely be easiest to reach them. “Can I send a message to—” Then the world slid sideways and his vision narrowed to a dark tunnel.

He was suddenly on the floor, doubled over, struggling to breathe.

Ceilinel stepped forward, demanding, “What is it? The burns?”

Moon took a deep breath and the cramp subsided. He managed to sit up. His voice came out as a harsh croak. “It’s been too long since I had food.” From bitter experience, he knew he could go without solid food for some time, but the cramps and spasms would become less sporadic and far more painful.

Ceilinel asked, “What do you eat?”

Moon snorted a bitter laugh at the idea that it might be a trick question. “The same things Kishan eat.”

Ceilinel’s steps moved rapidly away. Moon eased himself into a sitting position and leaned his head back against the cool stone of the wall. Returning footsteps and the scent of cooked meat startled him awake; he had slid into a light doze, still sitting up.

Ceilinel returned with three more groundlings. One carried a low table and the other two had trays of food. Ceilinel gestured to them to put it near Moon, who faked another cramp just to hide his relief. They could have refused him food to get what they wanted, though he had no idea what that was.

One of the groundlings set a cushion beside the table and backed away. Moon slid over to it, his legs shaking, and got his first good look at the food.

The trays held a bowl with clear broth and cut roots and cooked fish pieces, and plates with fried balls of a yellow grain with red specks, little round cakes, puffy square bread things with a sweet paste, and cooked meat pieces in a dark sauce. A lot of it was wrapped in big leaves and sprinkled with little white flowers, and it was scented of a dozen different spices. A cylindrical pot emitted the smoky fragrance of Kishan tea and there was a flask of plain water.

At the moment Moon didn’t care if it was all stuffed with Fell poison. He had been in the outer edges of Kish territory before, and some of this was familiar; the grain had been a staple for the Jandera on the expedition. He drank the tea first, then started on the food. He made himself eat slowly and use his best groundlings-are-watching-youeat manners, so he wouldn’t make himself sick or terrify the Kishan. Except for Ceilinel, they had retreated to the archway, watching with wary curiosity. Two were the same species as Ceilinel, but smaller, and one was the blue one, who had a curly mass of silvery hair on its head and very large, expressive eyes. They seemed to have every expectation that Moon would do something terrible, and it was a relief when Ceilinel gestured them out of the room.

She gave him time to eat half the food, then said, “Would you tell me how you came to be in the wreckage of that ruin, or great machine, whatever it was?”

He still wasn’t certain how much she knew, if she was testing him. But calling it a “great machine” rather than just a strange stone-metal thing that had inexplicably fallen from the sky meant she knew more than she had implied. “The Hians stole an old weapon from the foundation builder city that Callumkal wanted to explore. They wanted to use it to kill Fell, but it also killed Jandera and Raksura. And Hians. They knew that, and didn’t care. They put it in an old forerunner ruin to make it work. We tried to stop them.” He kept the explanation short. Ceilinel might be trying to confirm someone else’s story, or maybe catch Moon in a lie. He wanted to ask about Niran’s wind-ship, but he didn’t want to betray its existence if the Kish didn’t already know about it. “Do Kalam and Rorra, or Delin, know I’m here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But the Jandera who speak for Kedmar in the Imperial councils do.” She watched him for another moment. “I’ve been told consorts never leave Raksuran colonies.”

She had used the correct Kedaic word for colony, not “hive” or anything else Moon had heard. It fed that spark of hope. She had spoken to somebody who knew about Raksura; it didn’t necessarily mean it was Delin or Rorra or Kalam, it could have been some Kishan scholar Moon had never met. He said, “Not often. But consorts travel with their queens as . . .” He wasn’t sure about the multiple meanings of the word he wanted in Kedaic, so settled for Altanic. “ . . . envoys.” The food was already making him feel less weak, making it easier to think. It wasn’t a good idea to lie, since he had no idea how much Ceilinel knew. Which was a problem since Moon was much better at lying than telling the truth. “I was raised outside a colony, so I’ve traveled more than most consorts.” Putting it that way sounded better than saying he had been what a Raksuran court would call a feral solitary for most of his life.

“What makes consorts so . . . in need of protection? Is it because you’re male?”

Moon looked up at her. Two turns ago he wouldn’t have been able to answer this question. “Because we carry the court’s bloodline.”

Ceilinel said nothing, though Moon could feel her watching as he cleared the last plate of little cakes. She said, “Is that enough food?”

He looked up at her. “That depends on how long you’re keeping me.”

“At least until you’re well enough to travel. And food will be provided whenever you wish.” She glanced at the empty plates. “Is there anything else you want now?”

“Do you have books in Altanic?” Moon asked on impulse. It was partly strategic; he had to keep her thinking of him as a person and not a dangerous if wounded animal. But if he was going to be stuck here for a while with no idea what had happened to the others, a distraction would help him keep his sanity.

Her brows moved in a way that made him think she was trying to conceal unflattering surprise. “I’m sure some can be found.” She hesitated. “Anything else?”

“Why is there a pool of water in the middle of the room?”

“To cool the air,” she said, and walked out.

Moon took the opportunity to lick the plates, then tried to stand. He had to haul himself up on the window sill and once upright, he swayed, shaky and sick. He didn’t think they had drugged him. There just weren’t that many drugs that affected Raksura that weren’t Fell poison, and this didn’t feel like it. It was more likely that his battered body had reached its limit for the moment. He barely made it back to the couch in the other room, climbed into it and burrowed down into the blankets, sliding back into sleep.

Jade and Rorra crossed a bridge beside an elevated canal, heading toward a clump of domed stone structures like small mountains. Below them, more ordinary paths, paved with flat river stones, wound through a garden and a grove of trees, linking more modest buildings of white limestone. There were groundlings and their draughtbeasts and carts everywhere. It wasn’t as noisy as the section of the city near the trade portal or any of the markets, but it was still enough to get on what was left of Jade’s abraded nerves.

Jade was in her Arbora form, wearing a set of Kalam’s clothes, an open Janderan jacket, pants, and sandals on her feet. It was uncomfortable and just felt odd, especially the sandals, but it would keep anyone from suspecting she was a Raksura.

“Is that it?” Jade jerked her chin toward the biggest structure. “I need to stop so I can try to catch the scent.”

“All right, I’ll pretend to be tired.” Rorra leaned on the parapet looking into the canal. A small boat was sailing by, and Rorra flicked her blunt claws in the water.

“Are you sure you’re pretending?” Jade leaned on the rail beside her. There were canal boats and wagons driven by the Kishan moss that offered transport around the city, but they were enclosed and made it nearly impossible to scent anything.

Rorra’s expression was wry. “A little. Kedmar isn’t nearly this large. Kalam was surprised, too.”

Jade knew how much gratitude she owed to both of them, for leaving Callumkal to the care of Golden Islanders and Raksura, for coming here to help search for Moon. Considering the reception Kalam had gotten in isl-Maharat, Kalam and Rorra had decided not to appeal to any officials of Kish, not until they had help. Their plan was to search for Moon on their own until Niran and Diar arrived with reinforcements from Kedmar.

Their knowledge of Kishan cities was invaluable, and they also gave Jade someone to talk to, since Stone was barely speaking to her.

Jade hadn’t wanted to bring Rorra and Kalam at first, and it had added to the coldness between her and Stone when he insisted on it. As soon as she had seen the city, she had known she was wrong, and her effort to conquer that irritation had made things even worse.

This place made the port city they had stopped at on the way to the sel-Selatra look like an outpost. Even with Stone, Jade wouldn’t have had any idea how to find Moon. Rorra and Kalam had never visited here before but they seemed to know exactly how everything worked. Rorra had found a caravanserai and Kalam had paid for it with the little tokens the Kish used for barter. His supply came from Kedmar, originally brought along on the expedition by Callumkal, and he was able to buy food and anything else they needed. The only problem was that Rorra had to keep her fire weapons carefully hidden, since they weren’t permitted inside the city.

When they had first arrived, Rorra had explained that there was a place called the trade portal where all the boats had to go before they could navigate freely within the perimeter of the city walls. While they waited at the caravanserai, she had gone there to get word of any survivors from the forerunner docks.

“We should search the cadashah, depending on what Rorra discovers in the trade portal,” Kalam had said while they waited for her to return. It was a Kish word Jade didn’t know, and he had explained, “That’s a place with physicians where anyone can go at any time, for treatment or medicine or to stay, if they’re very ill and it takes time to cure them. If the people who found Moon didn’t realize he was a Raksura, they may have taken him to one. The cadashah don’t ask for payment, or anything, so it would make sense to take an injured, unknown traveler there for help. If it’s the same way here that it is in Kedmar, the problem will be that everyone who doesn’t have a private physician uses cadashah, so they’re all over the city.”

But when Rorra returned, it was with rumors of survivors found in the burning ruin and taken to conclave leaders. “They’ll want to question them,” she had said. “Obviously. Giant things don’t just fall out of the sky every day.”

So they had divided up the sections of the city that had public buildings for the conclave’s use, and were checking the cadashah near them as well. Apparently the conclave had dwellings on top of structures used as libraries and meeting places, which made it easier for Jade and Stone to get close enough to try to pick up Moon’s scent. Kalam was out with Stone today; he and Rorra switched between their two Raksuran companions in an effort to keep anyone from noticing and marking their movements. They met at the caravanserai every night and crossed off sections on Rorra’s maps.

Now Jade tasted the air deeply, sorting out Rorra’s scent, and the blended scents of all these busy groundlings. It helped that this city was almost as clean as a colony tree, with relatively few scents of rot or sewage. But no scent of Raksura, either. “Nothing. I’ll try again once we’re closer.” Rorra was also asking questions of the people who took care of the buildings, telling them she was searching for word of a missing Jandera flying boat that she feared had been destroyed in the strange ruin’s collapse.

Rorra pushed away from the parapet and they started down the curving walkway toward the domed building. “How long are you and Stone going to be angry at each other?”

Jade suppressed a jolt of irritation, feeling her spines press against her coat. It was followed immediately by a jolt of guilt; Rorra helped search for Moon with the dedication of a favored warrior and it couldn’t be easy for her to walk all over this city, no matter what she said. “I didn’t think it was obvious.” It had to be obvious. She and Stone could barely look at each other.

Rorra glanced at her. “It probably wouldn’t be, if I hadn’t been living in your laps for so long.”

Jade shook her head. “I’m angry at him because he’s angry at me. When we find Moon—” She cut herself off, forcing the bubble of fear down. “—we’ll talk.” No, we won’t. Because I’ve come as close to killing my consort as if I snapped his neck myself, and Stone hates me for it, and I hate him for not stopping me. Even if—when they found Moon alive, that wouldn’t change. “It’ll be all right.”

“I hope so,” Rorra’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. As they drew near the smaller walkway that curved off toward the first building, she straightened her shoulders. “All right, remember, you’re my friend the mineral hunter from the port of Ked-kalabesh.”

When Moon woke next it was night, and the bronze lamps above had lit the room with a warm light that came from the Kishan moss. He struggled out of bed and went to the other room to look out the windows at the city. It blossomed with light from the open terraces, windows, from hanging lamps along the bridges and walkways. Snatches of voices were carried on the wind, with threads of music and drums. He tasted the air. Again, no hint of other Raksura nearby, though that didn’t necessarily prove anything. They got away, he told himself. That’s why they aren’t here. Even if they had been trapped in the docks somewhere, they would have escaped when the structure had started to come apart.

At least he felt more awake than he had earlier, his head clear. He was weak, but the deep ache of abused muscle under the burns was less, and his newly growing skin itched. He tried to shift again, just in case Ceilinel had decided to trust him, but he could still feel a barrier keeping him in his groundling form.

Someone had been here, taken the dishes away, and left more water and tea, and more of the little cakes, and he hadn’t even woken. There were new garments lying on the bench, another skirt-pants and a knee-length shirt of dark material with a soft brocade across the shoulders. A second low table had been carried in, and it held several Kishan-style books. Wincing, Moon sank into an awkward crouch on the floor to examine them. All were in Altanic, though one had Altanic text on one side of the page and Kedaic on the other. It was a history of Kish, and he set it aside to read first. While he was down there, he crawled over to the other table and ate the rest of the cakes.

He shoved to his feet and took the fresh clothes. Across the room was a door to a smaller space, the scents coming from it suggesting it was a bathing room. It was, with the basins for washing and elimination similar to the ones on Callumkal’s flying boat, just larger and of richer materials. He used both, careful of all his burned patches and the bandages, then dressed again and continued to explore.

There was a door over the next arch, carved wood heavily reinforced with chased metal, but it was standing open. He slipped through into a curved hallway with one wall open to the chamber below. Everything was richly polished stone, sometimes carved but more often just showing off the natural colors of the different minerals. He followed the waist-high stone balustrade, tasting the air, looking for the source of the strong draft.

On the other side of the dome he found a gallery in the outside wall with floor to ceiling stone latticed windows, open to another view of the city. The breeze flowing along it was strong, and it had a better view of the aqueduct and a four-level building supported on multiple bridges, with open walls and walkways. It was brightly lit, and from the stalls he could glimpse and the groundlings moving around inside, it might be a market.

Moon carefully tore off a piece of bandage, then went to the gallery’s far corner and found a place where he could knot it around the support for a stone drainage pipe just outside the lattice. The effort left him a little weak and he went back to lean against the wide doorway, the warm wind ruffling his hair. It would be better to put something on the opposite side of the building too, in case the wind changed. He refused to think about the fact that there was no one left, no one looking for him.

He pushed away from the wall and followed the hall around to a curved, serpentine stair that reminded him a little of the colony tree. Downstairs he wandered the lower floor and found two hallways blocked by locked metal gates. One had a draft that carried the faint scents of oil and spices, and he could hear distant voices occasionally. It probably led to the kitchens and the area where the groundlings who took care of the house lived. The other hall was quiet and he suspected it might lead to the stairwell down to the lower parts of the structure. It was confirmation that he was a prisoner, though a pampered one.

When he wandered back into the main stairwell hall, the little blue groundling walked out of a wide doorway, saw him, and let out a squawk of alarm. Before it could panic further, Moon said, “Where’s Ceilinel?”

It took a breath, steadied itself, and said, “This way.”

It led him back through the doorway, through a couple of ante-chambers, and out into another large domed room. Pillars of a gleaming jewel green surrounded a seating area with curved stone benches with thick cushions. A carved stream of water wound its way across the floor, decorated with bronze and gold insets of water plants, insects, and frogs. Ceilinel sat on one bench, facing two other groundlings. One was of a similar species to Ceilinel, with gray skin and a headcrest, but larger, more heavily built, and its hair was light-colored. The other was slim, smaller, its head of an oddly triangular shape, the rest of it mostly concealed by the silky drapes wrapped around its body.

Moon’s unwilling guide went to Ceilinel and said, “He’s awake again.”

Ceilinel glanced up and spotted Moon. “That’s all right, Vata.”

Vata retreated hastily out another doorway.

The other groundlings faced away from Moon, and hadn’t looked around. The big gray one said, “Surely you realize how dangerous it is keeping that creature here.”

Ceilinel’s brows lifted and spread. “I’m not sure why you seem so certain of that, Gathin. The Raksura are a relatively unknown species, but the Jandera seem to find them peaceful enough.”

Gathin made a noise Moon could only interpret as skeptical. The other strange groundling said, “The Jandera who seemed to find them so are all missing or dead.” Its voice was low and deeper than Moon had been expecting.

Ceilinel regarded it. “That’s inaccurate, according to the messages we’ve received from the coast.”

“But none of them are here to speak for themselves,” Gathin said.

Since there was apparently no objection to his presence, Moon went in, his bare feet silent on the cool tiles. He stopped at the first bend of the carved stream, tempted to put his toes in the shallow water.

The slender groundling said, “The only difference between these creatures and Fell is that we know less about them.” It leaned over. “You are putting yourself and your retainers in danger by allowing one of those things, no matter how injured, to remain in this house. You should release it from the conclave’s custody so it can be contained.”

Moon let out a silent hiss of derision. Ceilinel clearly wanted him to hear this, though he already understood just how precarious his situation was. He waited for Ceilinel to indicate that the creature was in the room, but she said, “I don’t feel that I or anyone else is in danger. Should we not take this opportunity to find out more?”

Gathin said, “We don’t have the leisure for that kind of inquiry.”

Moon couldn’t tell what Ceilinel’s game was, but he didn’t want to participate. He said, “Why not?”

Gathin twisted to look at him, surprised. It said, “Who is this?” The other turned more slowly. Its eyes were huge blue circles above a small nose and a thin-lipped mouth. Something about it reminded Moon of that brief glimpse of the carved face in the foundation builder city.

Ceilinel said calmly, “This is Moon of Opal Night, consort to Jade, sister queen of the Indigo Cloud court.” She added to Moon, “This is Gathin, she is the speaker of the Imperial Boundaries, and Utreya-cal Doyen, who has taken on the duty as speaker for Hia Iserae.”

Gathin stared. Her expression seemed to be conveying both horror and chagrin. It was always chancy reading the expressions of unknown species, but Moon thought this was a pretty safe guess. Doyen blinked slowly, the lids coming from the side of its eyes. Ceilinel said, “Moon, please sit down. You aren’t recovered yet.”

Moon stepped over the stream and went to the bench between Ceilinel and Gathin. His legs quivered at the last instant and the movement pulled at all his new and half-healed skin. He winced and settled on the cushion, trying to breathe slowly. Ceilinel took in Gathin’s expression with some impatience, then asked Moon, “Were the books to your liking?”

He wasn’t sure if she was testing him or showing off the extent of his civilized skills for Gathin and Doyen. Moon said, “The Natural History of the Kish Imperial Origin looks interesting.”

Gathin had managed to recover a little from the shock. She said, “You are the Raksura found in the ruin.” Doyen didn’t react in any way that Moon could see, but there was something about its gaze that he wanted to interpret as predatory, even though its slim hands and delicate fingers were as unthreatening as possible.

“Are there any other Raksura here?” Moon asked.

“I hope not,” Gathin said, sounding aghast at the idea.

It had the unmistakable sound of the truth. Moon hadn’t really kept a hope that Ceilinel was lying and the others were locked up here somewhere, but it didn’t hurt to be sure.

Doyen asked Ceilinel, “Will he cooperate with the conclave?”

“Let’s ask him.” Ceilinel turned to Moon. “A claim has been made by a group of Hians that Callumkal attacked their ship in a dispute over a valuable foundation builder artifact. They say this dispute was what made the ruin fall from the sky and that it caused the deaths.”

Moon didn’t understand. “The deaths? You mean the Hians who were in the ruin?”

“No. The ruin fell into the border area between Kish-Majora and Kish-Jandera, near the city of Kedmar. Though it fell in an empty plain, many Janderi and Janderan in nearby towns were struck ill, and at least fifty-three were reportedly killed outright. There were probably more. They are still attempting to ascertain the extent of the damage.”

Moon was frozen for a moment, too stricken to react. Two thoughts hit him simultaneously: did it get as far as the Reaches? and they meant to bring it down right on top of Kedmar. He managed to say, “Callumkal can tell you that’s a lie. So can Kalam and Rorra and the Jandera who were with him.”

“The Hians claim Callumkal is dead, killed by Raksura. A flying craft will be arriving tomorrow from Kedmar-Jandera and the speaker for Kedmar has asked the conclave to wait for its arrival before formally hearing the Hians. I’m hopeful Callumkal, or some other representative, is on the craft.” Ceilinel leaned forward, suddenly intent. “Whoever the craft brings, you will be asked to tell your story to the speakers in the conclave. Will you be able to do this?”

“Yes,” Moon said, because there was no choice. He was the worst possible person for this. Did the Hians making this accusation know who had accidentally brought the artifact out of the foundation builder city? And would anybody believe it was an accident?

“Why would Raksura attack Imperial Kish?” Gathin asked suddenly.

Moon managed not to hiss, though he could feel the muscles in his throat work. “Raksura wouldn’t, because they’re completely indifferent to its existence.”

Ceilinel’s brows quirked. Gathin glanced at Doyen, then asked Moon, “You don’t trade with other species?”

“Only some of the swamplings who live in the Reaches.”

Doyen turned to Ceilinel to ask, “And what did the Raksura gain from this encounter with the Hians?”

Moon answered, “Nothing. We were trying to keep ourselves and the groundlings with us alive. We didn’t completely succeed.” Song. Magrim and Kellimdar and the other Jandera. Kethel. Hopefully not Callumkal, since it sounded as if he was the only one whose word the Kish would take. Doyen clearly didn’t believe Moon.

“What do you want?” Gathin asked.

“I want to go back to my family.” Moon was getting tired of stupid questions. “Why do you care?”

Ceilinel said, “Gathin will be your speaker in the conclave.”

Moon stared at her. “You’re joking.”

Gathin looked offended. Ceilinel said, “She is pledged to uncover the truth for the conclave.”

It was funny that they thought he was naive enough to believe that. “Is anybody uncovering the truth from the Hians? Are they locked up somewhere?”

Ceilinel turned to Doyen, who looked away. Gathin lifted a hand and said, “No, but they are members of the Imperial Agreement.”

Moon didn’t know what that meant, except that no one was going to believe his side of the story, no matter how well a speaker told it. He got up to go back to his cell.

He had passed through the doorway, and Doyen clearly thought he was out of earshot, when it said, “He should be restrained, Ceilinel. If he kills you all, you will be to blame.”