The Quantum Rose

III. Pacal. Scattering Kernel

They rode for an hour, Lionstar sleeping while Kamoj sat in bored silence. Finally the coach rolled to a stop. Azander opened the door and took in the scene, Lionstar dozing, Kamoj holding the empty bottle. The stagman didn’t look surprised.

Leaning inside the coach, Azander shook Lionstar’s shoulder. “Prince Havyrl. We be home.”

Kamoj blinked at the archaic title. Prince? Of what?

Lionstar’s eyes opened, black on silver. “What?”

“Home,” Azander repeated. “You and your bride.”

“Bride?”

“Yes, sir. Your bride.”

“What bride?”

Azander tilted his head toward Kamoj. “The Governor of Argali.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Lionstar sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. “See to the stags.”

“Yes, sir.” Azander backed out of the coach.

Lionstar followed him out into the night, which was lit by a faint radiance. As Kamoj stepped down from the coach, he offered his hand. Taking it, she thought she felt callouses under his glove. That made no sense, though. A man of his power would hardly have the callouses of a farmer.

Then she turned around—and froze in astonishment.

They were in the courtyard of the Quartz Palace. Gone were the crumbled ruins covered by tangled vines, briars, and roses. Now the rose-quartz palace gleamed, restored to its full beauty and more. Long and narrow, with a terrace that stretched its length, it had nine evenly spaced entrances. A tower reached up at each end, topped by red turrets. Bird-shaped lamps hung in the windows and from the eaves, making the walls glow. Above it all, the aurora borealis shimmered in the sky, curtains of gold and pink luminance undulating across the heavens.

“Sweet Airys,” Kamoj whispered. “It’s lovely.”

“S’pretty,” Lionstar agreed.

He took her elbow and led her toward the steps that went up to the terrace. The double doors in the center swung open and more radiance spilled into the night, backlighting three people. She recognized two as villagers from Argali, a man and woman, each of normal height, both dressed in servant’s clothes.

The third person came out to meet them. Tall and gaunt, with a craggy face and short graying hair, the woman was like no one Kamoj had ever before seen. She wore a form-fitting gray suit made in one piece, with gray knee-boots. A patch on her shoulder showed an exploding star within a triangle.

She met them half-way down the steps. Lionstar nodded to her, and they all walked up the stairs together. Although the woman looked hale and fit, her breathing was growing labored, as if she had just run a race instead of walking only a few steps.

At the top of the stairs, Kamoj froze. A few paces away, a shimmer of light hung in the open doorway.

“‘S even nicer inside,” Lionstar said, mistaking her hesitation.

No one else seemed bothered by the curtain of light, and Kamoj didn’t want to look foolish. So she took a breath and walked with them through the shimmer. It clung to her like a soap bubble, sliding over her face, hair, and clothes.

The entrance foyer looked as she recalled, a small room with tiles on the floor enameled in Argali rose designs. Except now the tiles were whole and the walls smooth, each brick snug with its neighbors, none showing their former chinks and cracks.

Lionstar peeled off his mask and Kamoj tensed, afraid he would choke again. But no one else acted alarmed. In fact, she had never tasted such pure, rich air. It made her dizzy, almost euphoric.

The tall woman was breathing normally now. She asked Kamoj a question, but Kamoj had trouble with her heavy accent. The woman was speaking Bridge, Kamoj’s language, but she used the same odd dialect as Lionstar. Like Lionstar, she also mixed in words from Iotaca.

The woman tried again. “Are you all right, Governor Argali?”

Kamoj stood up straighter, trying not to feel intimidated by the woman’s unusual height. “Yes.”

“She’s fine.” Lionstar waved his arm at the two Argali servants. “Jus’ like them. Fine.”

The woman glanced at him, then at the bottle Kamoj still held. She spoke to Lionstar in another language, her voice tense. Lionstar answered with a scowl, then turned away and took Kamoj’s arm. He led her to an archway across the foyer, where another shimmer curtain hung. Kamoj held her breath as they walked through it, but nothing untoward happened.

The air in the Entrance Hall, on the other side, felt as pure as in the foyer. New panels of mellow sunglass wood covered the walls. She had never before seen the paintings Lionstar’s people had hung here, scenes of the Argali countryside. He must have commissioned them from the villagers, which meant he was supporting the Argali economy.

Then she saw the other additions to the hall. Light panels—light panels!—glowed near the ceiling.

Lionstar was watching her face. “‘S good, yes?”

“Yes.” She had never expected this generosity. He didn’t even own this building he had refurbished. Then it occurred to her that perhaps it wasn’t such generosity after all. He did own the palace now, as well as everything else that had belonged to her family. Including her.

They walked down the Entrance Hall, accompanied by the two servants and the tall woman. The hall ended at a gleaming ballroom that stretched to their right and left. Radiance from its chandeliers reflected off the walls and parquetry floor, yet she saw no candles within the chandeliers, only shimmers of light.

They crossed the width of the ballroom to another archway that opened into the Long Hall, which ran the length of the palace perpendicular to the Entrance Hall. Moonglass paneled its walls and a dark carpet covered the floor. Lamps set in rose-shaped molds glowed at intervals along the walls.

Lionstar set off down the hall, still holding Kamoj’s arm. The tall woman easily matched his stride, but Kamoj and the servants almost had to run to keep up.

Lionstar didn’t stop until they reached a door at the east end. Then he turned to the others. “You can go. I’ll take her up.”

The tall woman spoke. “Perhaps Kamoj would like to meet the staff. Look at the palace. Have dinner.” Dryly she said, “Catch her breath.”

“Who?” Lionstar asked.

“Kamoj,” the woman said.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

This isn’t happening, Kamoj thought.

The woman stared at him. “Your wife.”

Lionstar turned to her. “Kamoj? Is that your name?”

“Yes,” Kamoj said.

“‘S pretty,” he said. “Like you.”

“She hasn’t even had a chance to unpack,” the woman said.

“Unpack what?” he asked.

“Her suitcases. Trunks. I don’t know.” The woman looked at the two servants. “Whatever her belongings came in.”

“She donnee have any, Colonel Pacal,” the plump woman said.

The tall woman looked startled. Turning back to Lionstar, she said, “Saints above, Vyrl. Didn’t you arrange for her things to be brought up?”

“If it hasn’t been done,” he growled, “then do it.”

The woman blinked at him. Then she turned to Kamoj and spoke gently, as if Kamoj were a child instead of a grown woman. “Do you have things you would like? We can send someone down to Argali House in the morning.”

Kamoj nodded. “Thank you. Lyode will know what to send.”

“Lyode?” the woman asked. “Is that a person?”

Lionstar scowled. “Dazza, stop interrogating her.”

Kamoj wished they would decide what to call one another. Was the tall woman Dazza or Colonel Pacal? Was Lionstar a governor or a prince? The tall woman had called him Vyrl. A shortened version of Havyrl, probably. Perhaps if she thought of him by a nickname, it would make all this seem less intimidating.

Vyrl dismissed the servants and Dazza again, and this time he glared until they left. Then he pushed open the door. The staircase beyond spiraled up inside the tower at this end of the palace. Although the steps had been repaired, the rough stone was otherwise untouched. The only windows were slits high on the walls. No glass showed in them, just the light curtains.

They climbed three flights to a landing. Vyrl opened the door there and escorted her into a spare chamber only a few paces across, its stone walls polished but unadorned. Its inner door opened into a large, austere bedroom.

Kamoj had last seen this suite with snow drifted across its broken floor. Now the floor was whole, a smooth expanse of stone with no rugs. The walls were also bare stone, except for two crossed swords over the bed. No fire burned in the hearth, yet the room felt warm. The tanglebirch furniture was new: a solid desk, chairs, and a wardrobe against the far wall, all made from wood with blue and green highlights in scale patterns. The bed on the dais to their left had always been there, but now its posters were repaired and varnished, its covers and canopy new. In the wall next to it, a door stood ajar, revealing a corner of the bathing room. Everything was clean, fresh, and devoid of ornamentation.

One unexpected touch softened the decor; across the room, a curtain made from strings of sparkling beads hung in an archway.

Vyrl squinted at the room. “‘S not so good for a wedding night, is it? Solar told me this.”

“Solar?” Kamoj asked.

“One of the housemaids.” Vyrl led her to the beaded archway. “She said she’d prepare a place for you.” He pulled back the beads, moving aside for her.

Kamoj stopped, both charmed and awkward with his offer to let her enter first. Deciding it would be ruder to refuse his courtesy than to precede him, she walked into the small room.

She saw the difference immediately. This room felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Tapestries softened the walls and the delicate sunglass furniture sparkled. The shutters across the room were open, revealing a stained glass window with a rose in its center. To her right, a comforter lay on the floor, and posts rose from each of its corners, totems like those on her bed at home. Kamoj wondered why they put the bedding on the ground. Then she remembered. This chamber had been a second bathing room. Vyrl’s people must have filled the small pool with mattresses for her bed.

“This is all for me?” she asked.

“Can’t be for me,” Vyrl said. “I’d break those chairs if I sat in them.”

She almost laughed, but held back, unsure if he meant it as a joke. Jax never joked about himself, a subject he considered of great weight.

Watching her, Vyrl smiled. It gentled his entire face, making him look like a farm boy. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace. “Ever since yesterday, I’ve been thinking about you. I still can’t believe you agreed to this.” Then he bent his head to kiss her.

Flustered again, Kamoj stood still while his pressed his lips against hers. The rum smell of his breath clogged her nose.

Vyrl lifted his head. “Is it that bad?” Wincing, he said, “I am as rude as Dazza suggests, yes? I’ll go clean up.” He tilted his head at a wardrobe against the wall. “Will it harm your dress to go there tonight? Tomorrow the housemaids can tend to it.”

The wardrobe, an antique called the rose cabinet, gleamed now. Someone had even redone its carvings, and a mirror bordered with frosted vines hung on one door.

“Camber?” Vyrl asked.

It took her a moment to realize he meant to say her name. “Kamoj,” she said, too disconcerted to stop the correction before it came out of her mouth. Too late, she realized what she had done. Tensing, she started to raise her arms, to shield her face.

But Vyrl didn’t hit her. Instead he reddened, as if embarrassed. “My sorry, water sprite. I’m terrible with names.” Taking her shoulders, he kissed her again. “Don’t go away.” Then he spun on his booted heel and strode out of the room. The bead curtain swung in his wake, clinking and sparkling.

Kamoj blinked, even more unsettled now. She pushed her hand through her hair, mussing the vine of roses that hung around her neck. Then she went to the curtain and looked out. The main bedroom was empty, but she heard water running in the bathing room. She slipped off her shoes so she could walk without being heard. As she limped to the entrance, pain stabbed her heel. Crammed in her shoe, her foot had gone numb, but now that she had freed it, the wound began to hurt again.

Under her push, the foyer door swung open as smooth as oil on glass. She crossed the entrance chamber and edged open the outer door.

Guards.

Two stagmen stood posted on the landing, Azander by the door and another man several paces away by the wall. She had seen the arrangement before, with Jax’s bodyguards outside his room when he stayed at Argali House.

Azander looked down at her. “Be there a problem, Gov’ner?” Although his accent wasn’t as thick as an Ironbridge dialect, it wasn’t pure Argali either.

“Nothing, thank you.” She closed the door, uncertain herself what she had wanted. Why did they guard Vyrl in his own bedroom? To ensure she did him no harm? That seemed rather silly, given his size and strength compared to hers, especially now that he didn’t need his mask. Besides, they were outside and she was in here. Perhaps they were there to keep her from leaving.

She returned to her room and undid her dress, letting it fall in a heap of satin around her feet. It left her standing in her wedding silks, a translucent pink underdress that came to her knees and pink stockings held up by lace garters. Lyode had claimed such underclothes would evoke pleasant reactions from her groom. Kamoj didn’t see why, but she had figured it was worth a try.

She scooped up her dress—and nearly passed out when she stood up. Black spots floated in her vision. The air was too thick, so rich it made her giddy. She swayed, waiting until her head cleared. Then she put away her clothes in the rose cabinet.

Feeling self-conscious, she sat on the bed and sank into its billowy comforter. It… it was hard to keep her eyes open. She lay down and let them close, just for a moment.