The Bone Shard Daughter: The Drowning Empire Book One Page 4

  The witstone. I had to dump it. It was slowing us down.

  Even with death staring me in the face, my mind scrambled for other options. I clamped down. No. I wouldn’t be like those people still at the docks, still hoping the quake would end, that they’d be able to return to their homes. They were still there if they weren’t drowned already.

  “Alon, give me a hand with this, would you?”

  The boy unfroze when I gestured to the hatch door. People always responded better in a crisis when given something to do. He held the door up as I dug for the boxes and heaved them onto the deck. A wealth of witstone, illicitly acquired, but mine. Enough to pay my debt to the Ioph Carn.

  I reserved a handful for the brazier and then tossed the boxes overboard, one after another, before I could change my mind.

  Enough – now not enough. Island sinking or no, the Ioph Carn would find me and demand their payment. But for now I was alive, my boat skimming across the water, my heartbeat quick and strong.

  Alon crept back to the bow of the ship like a wounded animal. I’d pushed him hard, but I hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. He curled in on himself and began to keen. The opium was likely wearing off right about now too.

  “Your auntie might still have gotten out,” I said. I knew it wouldn’t help as soon as I said it. He was eight; he wasn’t stupid. Although he lived on a smaller island, he probably came to visit his auntie often; he probably knew this place like a second home. And it was gone, dissolving into the ocean, Danila with it too.

  He glanced at me, red-faced, from beneath his elbow. “They’re gone,” he wept. “The people are dead, the island is dead, the animals –” He lifted his head to look at the animals swimming alongside our boat. “They’re going to die too.”

  The island behind us shook once more, and that last rumble broke down the walls I’d built around my horror. What had caused this? In all the old stories – even the ones of the Alanga – there was no mention of islands sinking. Quaking, yes, but not this. Not an entire island destroying itself, taking everything with it. I did my best to bolster my feelings. It wouldn’t help me or the boy if I fell apart, no matter how badly I wanted to.

  I leaned over the side of the ship and saw a brown kitten, struggling in the waves. It had nowhere to go, but still it swam on. It scrabbled at the side of my boat, hoping for some purchase. I knew the feeling. Its brown eyes met mine, and I could feel its desperation.

  On an impulse, I took my net, reached over and scooped the creature from the sea. It didn’t move when I deposited it on deck; it crouched, bedraggled and shivering. “Look here,” I said to Alon. “This one won’t die if you can take care of it. Open up that bench over there. There’s some blankets on the left side and some dried fish buried beneath them. See if you can get this fellow cleaned up and eating.”

  Alon wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve and crept from the bow to the kitten. He cupped the little creature in his arms, and though he still sniffled, he stopped keening.

  One more life saved. It was a pittance, unutterably small against the scale of the lives lost. But it was there. And one life certainly made a difference to the one living it.

  4

  Lin

  Imperial Island

  I stared at Bayan, my throat tight, feeling my expression shift to shock and surprise. He’d scrubbed his hands and had removed the apron, all traces of blood washed away. I seized control of myself, wiping my expression clean, making sure that was all Bayan saw. He opened his mouth to ask me again what I was doing outside my father’s room. I spoke over him, my mind running just one step ahead of my mouth.

  “I was trying to get in, of course,” I said lightly. I reached out and rattled the doorknob.

  Bing Tai growled, the sound echoing up and down the empty hall.

  We both jumped back. I caught Bayan’s eye. For a moment we just regarded one another. His black eyes were wide, his lips parted, hands outstretched to ward off an attack. I wasn’t sure if he laughed first or if it was me, but for a brief moment our gazes locked and then we both laughed. The door was locked and we were safe. Relief and an odd, forbidden giddiness swept through me. I’d never shared a laugh with Bayan before. I’d laughed at him and him at me, but that was the nature of rivalry. He had seven keys and I had six, and though I was the natural-born heir and Bayan an outsider, he had his eye on the crown. We couldn’t be friends when we both yearned for the same thing.

  As if he’d remembered that at the same time I did, his face sobered.

  “And besides,” I said, “what are you doing outside my father’s room? I’ve more reason to be here than you.”

  “Is that so?” Bayan’s hand went to the keys around his neck. “I’m the one with more access to the palace than you. I was on my way to the library – the secret one.”

  “The secret library,” I said flatly. “It’s not a secret if you’ve told me about it.”

  He put a finger to his chin. He had to know the gesture only emphasized his firm jawline. “What should I call it then? The magic library? The construct library? The library forbidden to Lin because she just can’t remember?”

  My insides boiled like a pot ready to accept a feast of crabs. I breathed out the heat of it and kept my face cool. “If you’re seeking a name that descriptive, might I suggest the library primarily utilized by the pompous boy of no station?”

  Bayan clucked his tongue. “The Emperor’s daughter should have better manners. I am his foster-son – that’s no small station. He wanted me to look up the correct command for my deer construct, and I finished my nightly meditations so I’m off to do some research.”

  He said it nonchalantly, and it fed my envy. What I would give to find myself in that library, to run my hands over the books, to smell their pages. To learn everything they had to offer. It was my birthright, not his. “You think so highly of yourself. Knowledge can only be wielded by those who dive into its depths and know the shape of it. Reading—”

  “—without true understanding is only wading in the shallows without a care for the monsters that lurk beneath,” Bayan finished. “I’m familiar with Ningsu’s Proverbs.”

  I hated him; I hated my inability to remember; I hated locks and the keys I needed to open them. What would be worse? My father casting me out and elevating Bayan in my place, or elevating Bayan and leaving me here in the palace to serve him?

  Bayan might not have been any good at reading expressions, but he softened regardless. “You spend a lot of time skulking around the palace and playing around with the constructs.”

  “I’m not playing,” I said, though I sounded petulant even to my own ears. “I’m studying them.”

  “Whatever it is you’re doing –” He lifted his hands, palms to me. “I’ve seen you doing it. The Emperor has seen it. I’ve recovered many of my memories, and it wasn’t by speaking to constructs. I meditated and spent some time on my own. Perhaps if you did the same – if you went to the courtyard or the pond or even just sat in your room and meditated on yourself as you are – you might get your memories back.”

  “So simple?” I couldn’t put the bite into it I wanted to. I studied Bayan’s expression – his steady gaze, his thick black brows raised, entreating, his full lips closed but not pressed together – and I realized he did not hate me. He should have hated me. When I had more keys in my possession, after I’d stolen more of them, I’d set up an easy way to frame him, just in case Father caught me. I didn’t have much choice. Bayan wouldn’t be a good Emperor. He was too much like my father, too concerned with secret places and experimental magics.

  The Constructs of Bureaucracy, Trade, War and Spies were higher-level constructs that helped Father rule, but it seemed more and more that he hid behind their base competence while he worked on his own mysterious projects.

  “Perhaps I will try that,” I said, and Bayan actually smiled at me. I frowned, waiting for the trick, the insult.

  “Bayan. Lin.” Father’s voice echoed down th
e corridor. He coughed into his sleeve but kept limping toward us.

  A flush worked its way up my chest, making the air around my neck feel like a furnace. I was an idiot. I’d stood here, trading barbs with Bayan while my father had been finishing his nightly routine. I should have been long gone instead of letting Bayan waylay me. Had he done it on purpose?

  But he looked as surprised as I did.

  Father’s phoenix-headed cane rapped against the floor as he approached; his slippered feet were silent. One of my earliest memories once I’d awoken from my sickness was seeing my father’s foot, bloodied and bandaged, and asking him what had happened. “An accident,” he’d said gruffly. He’d said it in a way that brooked no more questions.

  Father stopped in front of us. “What are you doing outside my room?”

  The piece of wood I’d used to hold the door open lay heavy in my pocket. The tips of my ears burned. Be like ice, I willed them. Like the ice at the tops of the tallest mountains. I avoided his gaze and waited for Bayan to answer first. My father would see it on my face if I looked him in the eye. He would study my face and know exactly what I’d done.

  Bayan said nothing, and the silence stretched – too long.

  “Bayan said he’d show me the secret library.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

  Both Bayan and my father took in a breath at the same time, both ready to speak.

  A soft tapping came from the window at the end of the hall and we all looked to the source of the sound. A hand appeared on the windowsill, and then two, and then four. Ilith, the Construct of Spies crept through the window, one leg at a time.

  I wasn’t sure on which of the floating islands Father had found the abomination that made up the bulk of the Construct of Spies. But I knew I never wanted to visit. The construct looked like nothing so much as a giant spider, dark brown and glistening, as tall as my chest when it stood to attention. Human hands were attached to the end of each of its spindly legs, and an old woman’s face adorned the abdomen. I wanted to look away from the creature but always, inevitably, found my gaze tracking its every movement even as my spine prickled. There was a strange beauty in its grotesqueness. “Your eminence,” the Construct of Spies said. Its voice was hazy, as though spoken through layers of cobwebs. It held a folded missive in one of its front arms. “I’ve received word from our fastest Imperial ships. There has been a disaster.”

  My father’s attention slipped from me and Bayan. He leaned on his cane and took the proffered parchment. “A disaster? Have the Shardless Few rebels attacked another island? A mine collapse?”

  “No, my master,” the Construct of Spies rasped. “It is Deerhead Island. It has sunk into the sea.”

  5

  Phalue

  Nephilanu Island

  Ranami had more than made a difference in Phalue’s life – she’d changed it irrevocably, much as Phalue didn’t want to admit it sometimes. Times like now, when she just couldn’t concentrate because of her.

  Sweat stuck Phalue’s hair to the back of her neck. The sword in her hand dipped, but she adjusted her grip and gritted her teeth. She’d dive into the Endless Sea before she’d lose a match to Tythus. They were of similar ages, heights and weights – her skill should win out, though. True, she was distracted. As if to prove that point, Tythus darted in, nearly scoring a hit on her pouldron. She batted the attack away just in time.

  “Ah, Phalue,” Tythus said, grinning with this near-victory, “you’re not yourself today. A lover’s quarrel perhaps?”

  Phalue grimaced. It was an old joke between them. A few years ago, she’d often come to their sparring sessions moody and out of sorts. And he had gently chided her for courting, as he liked to say, “half the island”. He hadn’t been far off, if she were being honest with herself. She’d been an incorrigible flirt, taking up with women both highborn and low. But then she’d met Ranami, and the hot-cold passion had cooled to something more comfortable, more livable.

  Lately, though, yes – they’d fought.

  Tythus broke through her guard and struck her on the leg. She jumped back, too late, and hissed in pain. That would leave a bruise. She tore off her helmet and sucked in the air. It was still moist with rain from earlier in the morning, making her feel a little like she was drowning on dry land. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to dive into the Endless Sea just yet.

  Tythus’ expression sobered, and he lowered his sword. “Really? Something is bothering you. Don’t tell me you’ve broken things off with Ranami. She’s the best thing that’s happened to you.”

  Phalue hobbled across the stones of the courtyard, walking off the pain. “No, we’re still together. I just . . . don’t understand women sometimes.”

  He crowed with laughter. “Oh, that’s richer than my auntie’s seafood stew.”

  She scowled. “I don’t understand other women.” Or perhaps it was just Ranami she didn’t understand. Ranami reminded Phalue of a spotted dove – all soft and brown, quiet and elegant, with round black eyes that evoked gentleness. But there was a thing of sharp edges beneath the feathers, and sometimes Phalue could feel herself brushing up against it if she dug too deep. She walked past the fountain at the corner of the palace courtyard, glancing at it. It was one of the old remnants of the palace, one of the parts built by the Alanga. They’d taken their last stand against the Emperor’s ancestors here on Nephilanu. Her father’s palace was one of the few buildings that had remained mostly intact.

  She nodded at the fountain. “Did it open its eyes again?”

  Tythus shifted uncomfortably. “No. They were open for five days, but haven’t been open since. Gives me the shivers, honestly.”

  A figure stood in the fountain, a bowl in her hands from which the water flowed. The palace had been in an uproar when the statue’s eyes had opened a few months ago, sightless. Her father had been about to order it destroyed when the eyes had closed again. Nothing had happened. No trumpets, no rumblings, no sudden appearance of people who had old magics. There were whispers in the streets that this meant the Alanga would return and take back rule of the islands, and that it would happen first at Nephilanu. But even frightening stories lost their bite sun-bright day after sun-bright day. “If they did come back, they’d go to Imperial first,” Phalue said.

  Tythus frowned. “It’s bad luck to speak of the Alanga coming back.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re that superstitious.”

  He only pressed his lips together.

  Phalue shook out the leg and sighed, her mind turning back as it always did to Ranami. “I asked her to marry me. Ranami,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she was confessing this to Tythus, except that he had always listened when she’d had a problem.

  He sheathed his sword. “Well, I certainly didn’t think you meant the fountain. And?” He read her face. “Ah. She didn’t accept.”

  Phalue brushed sweat and hair from her forehead. “I’ve asked before. It’s not the first time. But she keeps telling me she doesn’t want to be a governor’s wife. What am I supposed to do with that? Abdicate? I’m not fond of my father’s policies either, but if she were my wife and I inherited, she could help me shape them.”

  Tythus only shrugged. He was one of the palace guards; he wasn’t going to speak ill of her father, no matter how freely she might.

  “She hates that he ships all the caro nuts away to Imperial. She hates the way the farmers are treated. She thinks it’s not fair. Then what is she doing with me? I’m the governor’s heir. If she’s truly not interested in improving her station, shouldn’t she be courting someone whose station doesn’t repel her? Am I a joke to her? A passing fancy? I took her to the docks where we first met, had set floating lanterns in the water, and she wanted to talk about my father’s taxes! I should have known she would say no.” Phalue was pacing the length of the courtyard. She stopped, took a few deep breaths.

  “Phalue,” Tythus said. “I’ve been married for five years now, and I’ve two children. I’m no governor�
�s child. I’m no governor. Beyond that and most importantly, I am not Ranami. You should probably ask her.”

  “I don’t know how to talk to her,” Phalue said, and hated the edge of a whine in her voice. She’d tried to explain to Ranami that her father was urging her to marry, that she would give Ranami free rein to change things once she was installed as governor, that they’d been together for long enough. She’d even once thrown a fit and had walked away, resolving to leave her and court someone else. But she could no sooner leave Ranami than the world could leave the sun. So she’d crawled back into orbit, begging forgiveness – which Ranami had granted with a lingering hug and a kiss to the cheek. No one could ever claim she was not magnanimous.

  “Perhaps,” Tythus said, his head tilted and thick eyebrows raised, “you could try listening?”

  “You think I don’t listen,” Phalue said flatly.

  Tythus lifted his hands in a half-shrug. “Listening is an art. It’s not so much sometimes in letting the other person speak as in asking them the right questions.”

  “What are the right questions?”

  “I’m just your sparring partner,” he said lightly. “Remember?”

  A door on the second floor opened briefly to the balcony, spilling the sounds of music and murmuring voices into the courtyard. Phalue eyed the palace with distaste. “Still going, is it?”

  “Your father likes his parties.” Again, his voice was perfectly neutral. “He might enjoy it if you stopped in.”

  Stopped in? It would be like a crow trying to roost among songbirds. Phalue’s mother and father had dissolved their marriage when she’d been young, and though her mother had sent her to live at the palace, she never felt like she quite fit in. Her excesses were not drinking and dancing. She shook her head. “Tythus, I would no sooner stop in than you would. You know that.”