A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 2 – Chapter 30

White Peak Hall was grand as a palace, situated in the outskirts of Antuma. Like so many things in the capital, it belonged to the River Lord. It was here that the yearly Night Banquet was held.

It took place under the open sky, on the banks of a stream that wound through the grounds. In a storm haven overlooking the water, Dumai sat with the rest of the imperial family.

As she ate, she watched the moon. Furtia had said she would return when it was full. The dragon wanted to take her north, to seek more of the sinister rocks they had seen in Mount Izaripwi.

The fire beneath grows too hot, too fast. The star has not returned to cool it. Dumai had gone over those words again and again, and they still confounded her. I have sensed more across the sea.

What the rocks were, why they troubled Furtia – she had no solid answers to these questions. According to accounts from before the Long Slumber, dragons had always been hard to understand. They were divine creatures, and humans often failed to grasp their meaning.

Dumai had told her father everything she had seen. He had encouraged her to go with Furtia. In the meantime, he would continue to lay his plans for a shadow court and comb his private archive for anything that might help cultivate her bond with the dragon.

Of course, before she could fly anywhere, she had to get through the Night Banquet.

‘My uncle has outdone himself this year,’ Empress Sipwo said. ‘How charming it all looks.’

Dumai had to concede that it did. Courtiers talked and laughed beneath the gnarled willows that lined the stream, which were all decked in golden leaves. Some of the guests played a game with painted shells, while others sipped from cups of sea-aged wine. Miniature wooden boats floated down the stream, each carrying a tiny lamp.

‘Indeed,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘Then again, autumn is already so beautiful. The River Lord could only enhance it.’

Empress Sipwo looked down at the fish collar in front of her. ‘It is a delightful season,’ she said. ‘Though you always did prefer winter.’

‘Not for some time.’ His smile was thin. ‘No. Autumn appeals tonight.’

The season of change, when fortunes rose or fell. Today, the court would shed its leaves.

The River Lord had spared no expense. The best musicians and dancers had been summoned from across Seiiki, as had the great clans. With every hour that passed, the merriment grew louder.

Dumai should have felt less stifled than usual. The air had a bite for the first time in months, and soon she would be free of court, but the smoking rocks lurked at the edge of her mind.

Others are laid. Many more. All will burn . . .

‘I understand you used to live here with your siblings, Empress Sipwo,’ Dumai said, to distract herself. ‘It must have been wonderful to grow up in such a beautiful place.’

‘It was. My uncle raised us all,’ Empress Sipwo said. ‘Every spring, my sister and I would sit by this stream and wait for blue blossoms, from the welkinwood grove where its waters rise. We thought the number of blossoms was the number of years until the gods woke.’

‘Now I have a sister, too,’ Suzumai said, nestling against Dumai. ‘She woke up Furtia.’

‘No, Suzu. No one has that power.’ Dumai touched her under the chin. ‘Eat your food.’

Kanifa was deep in conversation with his captain. As Dumai watched the scene, she knew she was being watched in turn. Ever since her arrival at court, she had been a curiosity, but now her strangeness had climbed to new heights. She was the first dragonrider in centuries.

Footsteps hooked her from her thoughts. The River Lord had entered the storm haven.

‘Your Majesties. Your Highnesses.’ He bowed. ‘I trust you are all enjoying the evening.’

Dumai took note of his fine garments, embellished all over with silver bells. As always, his beard tapered into a fishtail.

‘Yes, River Lord. Everything is perfect,’ Emperor Jorodu said. His eyes were bloodshot, hand tight around a silver cup. ‘I wonder if I could afford such extravagance myself.’

‘A splendid party, Uncle.’ Empress Sipwo smiled, sealing the cut before it could sting. ‘Your hospitality is unrivalled.’

‘Ah, the night has only just begun. I thought I would bring your next course,’ the River Lord added, beckoning a servant. ‘A prize from the hunt. I was grieved that you could not attend, Princess Dumai.’

Dumai hoped her smile was sufficiently apologetic. If there was one thing she never meant to do in her life, it was come within a hundred leagues of Kuposa pa Fotaja while he had a bow and quiver in his grasp.

Princess, how the loss of your company pains me, he would sigh as she bled to death. I shall commemorate this moment with a poem.

‘Your dedication to your schooling is commendable,’ he said in a warm tone, ‘as is your pure love for my grandniece. It comforts me to know that when Suzumai is empress, she will have her loyal big sister at her side. A sister who studies hard to support her.’

‘Dumai is the best sister in the world,’ Suzumai told him with a gap-toothed smile.

‘So she is, Suzumai. See how tirelessly she educates herself, so you will one day have a reliable advisor?’ the River Lord said spryly. ‘Why, when you are empress, you will never have to lift a finger.’

Dumai had to break his gaze. She drew her little sister close and kissed her soft hair.

He had guessed what she meant to do to Suzumai, and he was going to make every gain hurt. Even as she tried to put roots down at court, he planted weeds around her, to strangle her before she bloomed.

The servant set an iron pot on the table. ‘Your kill, Sipwo?’ Emperor Jorodu said, eyeing the stew of mushroom and wild boar. ‘You always did know how to aim for the heart.’

Dumai had lost count of the cups of wine he had drunk. Empress Sipwo finished her salmon.

‘No,’ she said. ‘These days, the heart eludes my eye.’

Emperor Jorodu looked at his consort, his expression flickering.

‘While you enjoy the prize,’ the River Lord said, after a polite silence, ‘I wondered if Princess Dumai would care to join us by the water. A game is about to begin, and everyone is eager to see if their princess is as accomplished at poetry as she is at every other art.’

Dumai rose. ‘As always, River Lord, you are too kind. I would be happy to join you.’

‘Wonderful.’

She followed him down the steps. ‘I am glad to have caught you alone, Princess Dumai,’ the River Lord said as they walked along the edge of the stream. ‘I trust you are finding court comfortable.’

‘Thank you. I am settled.’

‘No doubt, with a god at your beck and call. Did you learn the art of taming dragons as a godsinger?’

At this, Dumai stopped.

‘My lord, a god cannot be tamed,’ she said quietly. ‘I am of the House of Noziken. My ancestor saved the great Kwiriki. They were bound by salt and blood, by milk and brine. It is that affinity, and that alone, that called the great Furtia to my side.’

The words swelled from the depths of her. The River Lord looked her up and down, fresh interest in his gaze.

‘Of course,’ he said, his smile brief. ‘Let us hope she will remain there, Princess Dumai. Dragons, after all, are of the sea. And the sea holds loyalty to no one.’

He walked on. Dumai shadowed him, wishing she could wrest the final word for once.

Her handmaidens were beside the stream. Dumai knelt among them, and a table was brought to her, set with an inkstone and stick, a fine brush, a dish of water, and fresh paper.

‘The rules are simple,’ the River Lord told her. ‘These little boats have borne food all night. Now they will carry poems.’ He pointed them out. ‘On the other side of the bridge, someone has been chosen to write to you. The challenge is to work out their identity. You will receive three poems, and send two in return. Once you have your clues, you can try to find your opponent.’

Dumai nodded. ‘Will you be playing, my lord?’

‘Alas, since I fashioned the game, I can only watch.’ He bowed. ‘Best of luck, Princess.’

When he had gone, a servant brought a dish of cooked milk. ‘Is this not the most wonderful party?’ Juri sighed happily, taking a slice of it. ‘Such a pity Lady Osipa was too tired.’

Yapara snorted her disagreement. Dumai still wished Osipa had been in the mood to attend.

The general chatter loudened as the boats came back down the stream, each carrying a scroll. Dumai watched until she saw one with her name painted on it.

‘That one,’ she said to Juri, who lifted it from the water, soaking her sleeves. Taking the scroll from its prow, Dumai read the poem.

To whom shall I tell it, this news that delights me?

A secret unspoken shines brighter than silver –

revealed it will tarnish, and yet the heart whispers.

With a reluctant smile, Dumai ground her block of ink and dipped her brush. It had been a long time since she had indulged in poetry. She wrote:

A whispering heart seeks an ear in seclusion.

Tell me, why forge the silver and not let it gleam?

Clouds drawn by the wind never tarnished the moonlight.

She rolled and secured the poem, then placed it into the boat, which Juri sent into the dark with the others. Servants must be waiting to carry them all back to the start.

Across the stream, a young noble made a drunken lunge and crashed headfirst into the water, raising gusts of laughter. Kanifa waded to his rescue, hauling him out just in time to avoid the second procession of boats. Dumai opened the next poem with quick fingers.

How versatile silver is – bell, blade or moonbeam.

Come, share in its shine. I hear tell that the guard by

the water might freeze it, coming from the mountain.

She read the words again. The guard by the water.

Kanifa. Heart stumbling, she leaned out over the stream, searching the gloom. It had to be her.

Lady Nikeya.

She did remember Kanifa.

Clan Kuposa might not be able to move against a princess without arousing suspicion, but they could hurt a guard. Dumai reached for her brush again, smoothed the paper, and tried to steady her hand as she wrote.

I hear tell of a lady of many faces.

Has she many hearts, too, that I must entreat now

to give up her share in this hoard of bright silver?

Wisdom told her not to send it. It would betray her fear. She should wear a new face of her own – pretend she had no idea what it meant – but Nikeya seemed far too sharp to deceive.

Before she could stop herself, Dumai passed the poem to Juri. She could not take her eyes off Kanifa, who wrinkled his brow in question. When the boat returned, she almost knocked Juri into the water in her haste to grab it.

The heart takes its time to decide on its wishes.

Remember that knowledge shines brighter than silver;

it may take more earth yet to silence my whisper.

‘Your time is up,’ the River Lord declared at last. ‘If you believe you have identified your partner, come, speak to them! If your instinct is right, they will give you a gift.’

Almost tripping on the hem of her robe, Dumai got straight to her feet and marched towards the bridge, past the delighted guests, who were drifting upstream to seek their partners.

‘In the meantime’ – the River Lord was a disembodied voice in the dark – ‘we will watch a performance by the shining Lord Kordia, and my own beloved daughter, Lady Nikeya.’

Dumai stopped. A head rose from among the guests, and a shadow moved towards the nearest braziers.

Lady Nikeya wore white over grey, evoking snow on stone. Pearls frosted her hair. When a bearded young man joined her, garbed in shades of blue, they bowed to one another.

A reed flute pierced the silence first, drums pounding to meet it. Dumai recognised the opening of ‘Snow and Sea’ – an ancient composition, celebrating the romance between Snow Maiden and her consort, Dancing Prince, who Kwiriki had breathed to life. Their son had been born with the sea in his veins, for ever salting their bloodline.

The dance was slow, building to the faster cadences. From the first, Nikeya brought a liveliness to it – in the birdlike tilts of her head, her deft hand movements. Lady of Faces indeed.

Captivating though it was, Dumai saw the arrogance of this performance. Nikeya dared to play the first dragonrider, the first Queen of Seiiki. As the thought came, Nikeya cut a glance in her direction.

That was when Dumai knew she was no spirit. She only smiled with one side of her mouth.

Dumai closed her eyes. She was duelling with scraps of paper and whispers, and a woman who seemed to embody them both. How could she leave her father alone at court now?

You must, she thought. The gods are calling.

At last, the musicians stopped, and Nikeya and Lord Kordia went to their knees, heads bowed to the emperor, who stood and faced them all. It was time for the appointments.

Osipa had told Dumai all about this. For months, minor officials had been scampering through Antuma Palace, imploring those of higher rank to speak well of them to the emperor – or the empress, who some considered to be the more powerful. The majority would be disappointed. Clan Kuposa had an iron hold on the most important positions.

‘Thank you,’ Emperor Jorodu said. The wine had fettled his voice, so the words rolled into one another. ‘River Lord, your daughter has many talents. How proud you must be.’

‘Exceptionally, Your Majesty,’ the River Lord said, eyes reflecting the firelight. ‘Nikeya is the pearl of my world.’

‘As my daughters are the pearls of mine. And the first of my appointments tonight – the most important – pertains to my eldest child, Princess Dumai.’

Hushed voices filled the night. Dumai watched her father, her heart kicking in her throat.

‘It has become apparent,’ he said, ‘that Princess Dumai is remarkable. She is the first to fly with a god since before the Long Slumber. Now we have a dragonrider, we can renew our bonds with the world, removing the need for dangerous voyages. When the moon is full, she will go to the Queendom of Sepul with Furtia Stormcaller, to form a new alliance with the House of Kozol.’

More intrigued murmurs. Dumai released her breath. He was announcing her departure, nothing more. That was the story they had agreed to tell the court.

And then he said the words that changed everything:

‘When she returns, she will be Crown Princess of Seiiki.’

Now Dumai stared at him, cold to her bones. So did everyone else.

Father, what are you doing?

‘I am fortunate to have found this perfect daughter – praised by her tutors, beloved of gods. There could be no better successor,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘Princess Suzumai, as the younger child, will be her loyal helper in all things. Once I have abdicated in her favour, I know Empress Dumai will reign over a new age of prosperity and peace.’

The River Lord wore a carven smile, while Empress Sipwo had turned even paler. Suzumai looked at her mother, confused. As every eye fixed on her, Dumai had the sudden and unsettling sense of being naked.

‘Now,’ Emperor Jorodu said, with the barest hint of satisfaction, ‘the remaining appointments.’

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