A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 3 – Chapter 50

Dumai woke to the deep chill of flight. She raised her head, the base of her neck sore in a way that was familiar now.

Dawn had broken like a cup of molten gold, limning tufts of cloud while leaving all the land in shadow. This was the Empire of the Twelve Lakes, the largest country in the East.

At present, this was a realm divided. The territories north of the River Daprang had been captured by a large Hüran tribe, the Bertak, while the rest still belonged to the ancient House of Lakseng. The Treaty of Shim had ended hostilities, with the Bertak ruling from the city of Hinitun, and an exchange of Lacustrine and Hüran heirs to ensure peace.

Dumai had no intention of involving herself in politics. She was here to speak to the alchemist Kiprun, to see if she knew what was tormenting the deep earth, and what had caused a wyrm to emerge. In the meantime, she willed her father to remain strong at court.

He managed without you for years, she told herself. He can manage while you try to stop Seiiki burning.

She glanced back at Nikeya, pale and shivering against Kanifa, still asleep. Dangerous as she was, she was still human. A small threat compared to the glistening beast in Sepul.

Furtia flew in silence. Red stained the snow below, which spread white and untouched as far as the eye could see. Though Dumai ached for her old life, she would not have missed this sight for anything – the world from dragonback.

It was almost midday by the time the southern capital appeared. In the summer, the Lakseng moved to the coast, but for now, the Munificent Empress ruled from the City of the Thousand Flowers.

A thousand thousands would have been closer, according to legend. In spring, blossoms flared on every street, on peach and apricot and plum trees, scenting the air like sweet pastry.

Dumai tried to absorb it, this city that went on and on. She had studied paintings and accounts before leaving Seiiki, but nothing could have prepared her for the width of the street called White Blossom Way, or the myriad districts that fanned out from it, separated by frozen canals.

She glimpsed the famous water-driven clock tower, the ironworks and quarries, the windpiercers and merchant ships on the River Shim. The Moonbow swept across its narrowest point – a great arched bridge without middle supports – and the Lakra Mountains rose in the distance.

As Furtia descended, Dumai could see the houses more clearly. Most were made of worked stone or rammed earth. Good, she thought. Stone does not burn.

People started to call out to the dragon. Furtia landed in front of Black Lake Palace, which was still under construction to the south – a city tucked within a city, its secrets hidden by high walls. Its many roofs were carved of petrified wood, and a celestial globe crowned its starwatch, which was said to be the tallest in the known world.

So far, it had taken eleven years to build, and no wonder. Golden crows flew on the ridge of each roof, a stone relief was carved above its doors – two dragons circling a full moon – and the doors themselves showed five constellations, large silver bosses marking the position of each star. Dumai recognised the Deathless Queen and the Doorway.

As she dismounted, those black doors were wound open to let a small procession through. From the stars on their robes, they were imperial officials, though some looked hastily dressed and heavy-eyed, as if they had just woken up. All stared in wonder at Furtia Stormcaller.

Kanifa helped a clammy Nikeya from the saddle. Unknotting their rope, Dumai turned to the Lacustrine, interlocking three fingers of each hand before her, thumbs tucked against her palms.

‘The Crown Princess of Seiiki requests your hospitality,’ she called. ‘I am Noziken pa Dumai, daughter of Emperor Jorodu.’ She wished she looked less unkempt after a flight. ‘Please forgive my sudden arrival. I seek an urgent audience with the Munificent Empress.’

She used the court dialect of Lacustrine she had learned from her grandmother. A tall woman with thick grey hair came forward, her gaze shadowed with both interest and caution.

‘Princess Dumai.’ She returned the salute, using all but her thumbs, echoing the four claws of most Lacustrine dragons. ‘Welcome to the Empire of the Twelve Lakes. I am the Minister of Ceremony. What a delight to have guests from Seiiki – its future empress, no less.’

‘We had almost forgotten you,’ a tiny wizened man said cheerfully. ‘What have you been doing all these centuries?’

‘Waiting for the gods to wake,’ Dumai said, with a rueful smile. ‘I regret that we have not been closer. The sea is never kind to ships – but I need no ship to reach you now. This is Furtia Stormcaller.’

Furtia puffed cloud through her nostrils, and the officials bowed again.

‘And these are my travelling companions – my sworn guard, Kanifa of Ipyeda, and Lady Nikeya of Clan Kuposa,’ Dumai said. ‘My father would have sent word ahead, but there was no time.’

‘No need to explain, Princess Dumai,’ the Minister of Ceremony said. ‘The King of Sepul told us of your coming.’

‘I see.’ Dumai released her breath. ‘King Padar has already warned you of the threat, then.’

‘Yes.’ She beckoned them. ‘Please, come out of the cold. Her Imperial Majesty – she who is bestarred and moonlit, rightful Empress of the Twelve Lakes – is pleased to welcome you into her palace. Alas, she is unable to receive you at this time. Consort Jekhen will see you as soon as possible. Until then, you must rest and refresh yourselves, after such a journey.’

Dumai nodded. The Munificent Empress was known to rely on her formidable consort.

‘King Padar may have told you that I wish to consult the court alchemist,’ Dumai said, following the Minister of Ceremony. ‘Given the urgency of the situation, I wondered if Mistress Kiprun might be able to see me today.’

‘The alchemist is now known as Master Kiprun. He has been away, but should return within a few days.’

‘Very well.’

Beyond the constellated doors, a set of steps led to a courtyard so large it made even Furtia appear small. Dumai walked at her side. From what her father and tutors had told her, Black Lake Palace had been built to reflect the world of the gods – which they believed was in the sky – as perfectly as still water.

Servants in dark quilted coats dug footpaths, shovelling new snow into the river that coursed like blood between the buildings, the Inner Shim. Otherwise, the enormous space was deserted, save a giant statue of a Lacustrine dragon, a human bestriding its back. They held a lantern filled with a smokeless glow, which billowed slow and calm, like a white banner.

‘The Lightbearer,’ the Minister of Ceremony said as they walked under it. ‘The first dragonrider, who founded the first great Lacustrine civilisation at Pagamin. The light is from the Imperial Dragon, reminding us that she is always present, even as she sleeps.’ She motioned to the nearest guards. ‘Furtia Stormcaller may stay in the Hidden Lake.’

Nodding, Dumai placed a hand on Furtia. The guards will take you to water, she told her. Furtia hummed her approval. I will try to find the one who knows the secrets of the earth, so we can try to stop the fire from rising any more.

No child of earth could ever stop it. Only fallen night can stop it.

Dumai frowned.

What do you mean, great one?

With a cantankerous snort of fog, Furtia drifted after the guards, leaving Dumai to stare after her.

****

The apartments they were offered had belonged to the last Seiikinese ambassador. Dumai could rest on dragonback, but as soon as she had tucked herself into a chamber bed, fresh from a hot bath, she stepped over the cusp of sleep, and found she wanted company.

Are you there?

A stirring. Yes, came the reply, as the figure smoked into being. I thought you had gone.

Dumai pressed her fingertips into the bed. Between dreams and the waking realm, this place seems to float untethered. Hard to find and hold. Her other form walked to the stream. This is an interstice, and we, two wandering stars.

She knelt beside the water, seeing only shadow where her body ought to be.

Stop, the figure warned, just as their surroundings darkened. I think that trying to cross will break it. Tell me why you speak to me.

I know not what I am to you. Only that you and I are bound. Dumai stood. Strange things are afoot, I fear. There are forces at work I do not understand – but we can meet here, to comfort each other. Perhaps that is the reason we were called to this place, to be sisters.

I would like that. There was a long quiet, and she felt a heaviness on the other side. I have lost the people I love most, the ones who guided me. Now I have no idea where to turn, except to you. Yours is the voice that steadies me.

As yours steadies me. Dumai breathed in, eyes flickering beneath her lashes. The connexion was already waning. You must be on your guard. Wherever you are in the world, I warn you: they are coming.

What is coming?

A beast of the earth. A wyrm, Dumai told her. Their interstice quaked, and she focused once more, making her temples hurt. Whatever I learn, I will tell you. Be careful, my sister, my mirror. Be ready.

‘Mai?’

Dumai lurched awake. Kanifa sat beside her, his face lit by an oil lamp.

‘Kan.’ She tasted salt. ‘What is it?’

‘Consort Jekhen has requested your presence at midnight. It seems the Lacustrine court wakes at dusk and sleeps at dawn.’ He held up a tray. ‘The messenger came with a meal.’

‘Now we know why it was so quiet when we arrived.’ Dumai rubbed the grit from her eyes. ‘How long do I have?’

‘Two hours. She sent new clothes for you, since the servants took yours to be cleaned.’

‘I haven’t worn most of them.’

‘I did tell her.’ As she drew the tray on to her lap, he said, ‘Are you all right?’

She took the lid off a cup, letting out the scent of ginger. ‘Kwiriki has been sending me strange dreams for some time.’

‘What is it you see?’

‘A figure in the dark. She says she is from an island.’

Kanifa considered, brows down. ‘I don’t claim to know much of dreams, but it sounds like she is your reflection. A way for you to clear your thoughts, by talking to yourself.’

‘I thought the same. The person I need to become, mingled with the person I am. Yet she feels separate from me – as if she has her own spirit, not mine.’ Dumai shook her head. ‘Never mind. This alchemist is the most pressing matter. Will you bring Nikeya here?’

‘Really?’

‘She has her uses. A future empress should know her limits.’ Dumai glanced at him. ‘Call her once I’ve finished eating.’

By the light of the lamp, she finished the meal: steamed crab served in a hollow orange, chestnut cake and plums and sliced peaches, and a strange honey wine that gave her a headache. Her new garments were richest blue and trimmed with gold, the colours of the Seiikinese crest. Dumai put on the shirt and a darker skirt that came over her chest.

‘You summoned me, Princess?’

She glanced over her shoulder. Lady Nikeya was in the doorway, looking better for a bath and sleep. ‘I am granting your request,’ Dumai informed her. ‘You may comb my hair.’

‘Kanifa has a fine set of hands. Should I be flattered that you asked for mine?’

‘You were right in Sepul.’ Dumai offered a comb. ‘Do as you will.’

With a smile that could have been victorious or simply pleased, Nikeya took it. ‘Sit, then.’

Dumai perched on a drum stool in front of a mirror. Nikeya stood behind her and tilted her head, holding her by the jaw.

From the first touch, her body answered. Each fingertip sowed a seed of sensation, budding into warmth, blossoming with shivers. Her hair was still damp from the bath, hopelessly tangled from days in the wind. She let her eyes close as cool fingers ghosted over it.

‘I should trim it a little,’ Nikeya said. ‘My clan makes excellent shears.’

‘If you suppose I will ever let you hold any blade near my throat, you will be waiting some time.’

‘It pains me that you still believe I want to hurt you, Princess.’

‘Prove me wrong.’ Dumai watched her in the mirror. ‘For now, tell me what you know of Consort Jekhen.’

Nikeya smoothed both hands over her scalp before parting her hair down the middle.

‘Jekhen was an orphan. She came to the palace with only her wits, and charmed her way inside.’ She spoke in soft and calming tones. ‘One night, the Crown Princess overheard a chambermaid telling stories to the other servants. She hid behind a screen to listen.’

Dumai felt a little drowsy. The comb glided through her hair, sleaving it into layers.

‘The Crown Princess was a sheltered girl. She had never been outside the palace; never heard such marvellous tales, let alone heard them told with such flair. They freed her mind from the stifling confines of duty. From then on, each time the chambermaid told one of her tales, the princess was listening behind a screen. That chambermaid was Jekhen.’

Deft fingers slid up her nape, warm and fleet, to loosen a knot in the place she always missed. It should have hurt. Instead, there was a sweet tension that built with every touch.

‘One day, Jekhen caught the princess. Some say she always knew she was there.’ A tug, and long nails on her scalp. ‘She said there was no need to hide. Her Imperial Highness was welcome to listen . . . or she could always tell her tales in her own chamber.’

Nikeya reached for the comb again. Dumai held still as it grazed to the blunt ends of her hair, catching her bare shoulder.

‘I imagine Consort Jekhen takes unkindly to any acknowledgement of her roots, romantic though the story is.’ Nikeya gave her a smile in the mirror. ‘Let’s keep it as our secret.’

‘If it’s a secret, how do you know it?’

‘Our world floats on secrets, Princess. I make it my business to know as many as I can.’

After that, there was a hush. Footsteps passed outside, and birds sang, but all Dumai could hear was Nikeya: the rustle of her clothes, her breath. Each draw and glide of the comb raised a chill.

When it was done, Nikeya stroked her scalp once more, slow as falling asleep, before placing the gold headpiece.

‘There.’

It took Dumai a moment to come back to herself. She had gone into a waking trance.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘The coat, if you please.’

Nikeya held it out. Dumai eased her arms into the broad sleeves, and Nikeya planed the shoulders before she came around to knot the long ties at the waist.

Suddenly she folded. Dumai caught her by the elbows. ‘Nikeya,’ she said, softer. ‘What is it?’

‘I feel somewhat faint.’

‘Is this one of your games?’

Nikeya laughed a little. ‘Showing weakness would be a poor tactic.’

Dumai could see the bright scrap of bait, but swallowed it whole, fish that she was, as soon as Nikeya trembled against her. Now Dumai could see the darkness of her lips, from spending too long in the sky. She guided her straight to the bed, knowing her fear was justified when Nikeya failed to make a coy remark.

Nikeya curled into the quilts. Dumai checked her brow for sweat, her fingertips for the grey tint. She skimmed a thumb under her sleeve, finding her pulse a weak flicker.

‘Breathe slowly,’ Dumai said. ‘It’s mountain sickness.’ She picked up the cup. ‘Here. Ginger.’

‘My mother used to fuss over me.’ Nikeya took a tiny sip. ‘Whenever I took fever.’

‘I never asked who she was.’

‘Nadama pa Tirfosi, the poet.’

‘I know her work. A great talent.’ Dumai nodded to her tunic. ‘Did she give you that brooch?’

Nikeya often wore it, close to her heart. It was shaped like a mulberry fruit with delicate gold leaves. Each berry was a drop of blood amber, such a deep red it was almost black.

‘No,’ Nikeya said, touching it. ‘This is an heirloom from my father.’ She made a tired stab at a flirtatious smile. ‘That’s the second time you’ve enquired about my trinkets, Princess. I’ve heard people only start to notice such trifling details when they fall in love.’

Dumai moved away. ‘You go too far.’

‘I must, else I would never go anywhere.’

‘I don’t want you to go anywhere.’ When her smile widened, Dumai added, flushing, ‘I mean that you should stay here, in the apartments, while I speak to Consort Jekhen.’

‘Very well. I will take a night in your bed instead, Princess.’

‘Good for you. I will not be in it.’

****

Just before midnight, Dumai and Kanifa were sculled along the Inner Shim. Night had woken the palace, set it glittering with chatter and candles. Owls hooted from the willows that overhung the river, and fish with their own tiny lanterns chased after the boat.

All was calm, yet at any moment, something could swoop from the sky to shatter it.

The rowboat stopped at a bridge. On the other side, in the depths of the Black Lake Palace, courtiers had gathered on the roofed walkways around a pool, watching a water opera unfold. The performers sang and danced on floating platforms, dryshod and graceful, their footwork demanding perfect control.

It was easy to find Consort Jekhen, alone in a pavilion. She was a large woman in all ways, from her frame to her features to the height of her crown – a tower of delicate silver, gemstones and freshwater pearls, beaded along the band.

‘The princess. Or is it the priestess?’ she said, once Dumai had been presented. Her voice was slow and deep. ‘Sit at my side, Noziken pa Dumai. I dislike needless formalities.’

‘Thank you, Consort Jekhen.’

Kanifa stood back in the shadows. Once Dumai was settled, a servant offered her a cup.

‘Ice wine, from beyond the Abyss.’ Consort Jekhen drank some of her own. ‘I realised I know almost as much of the people who made this wine as I do of the Seiikinese. A curious thought. We have puzzled over your island, gone silent for so long.’

‘I understand the last ambassy was several centuries ago.’

‘Before the gods slept. It has passed into myth for some Lacustrine – mysterious, faraway Seiiki. Utter dramatics, of course. Some Seiikinese ships and merchants have reached us here, and some of ours have gone to you. I am partial to your pearls, myself.’ She wore a flake of silver leaf on either side of her mouth, so even the smallest of her smiles glinted. ‘So you will be Empress of Seiiki. I know some of your story from King Padar.’

‘He also spoke to Master Kiprun?’

‘Indeed. Our reclusive alchemist is suddenly in great demand,’ Consort Jekhen said drily. ‘He’s been in the Nhangto Mountains. King Padar flew to see him, but you need not – I’ve summoned him to save us from the idiot who occupies his tower at present.’

‘I may speak to Master Kiprun, then?’

‘If you wish. King Padar vouched for your conduct. I would usually not permit strange princesses to poke about the palace, but one has already been foisted on me. Why not another?’

Dumai had no idea who she meant.

‘Besides,’ Consort Jekhen said, ‘like me, and like King Padar, you were not reared for a throne – so I doubt you are here to spy on us, Princess Dumai, as I might otherwise suspect.’

‘I am grateful for your trust.’ Dumai watched one of the actors execute a perfect headstand, drawing applause. ‘I didn’t establish whether the Sepuli had a way to wake all their dragons.’

‘You wonder if we do.’ Consort Jekhen finished her wine. ‘Except for a few loners, most of our gods obey the Imperial Dragon. For now, she remains asleep. The empress and I have been debating whether we should try to wake her, or hope she returns of her own accord, which is the popular school of belief. King Padar made a persuasive case for the former option – but you were daring, to rouse all your dragons at once.’

‘I saw no other choice.’

‘This creature must have frightened you.’

‘It did,’ Dumai said. ‘I was raised on a mountain that ate at my strength, and even my flesh. There are few things I fear.’ She showed her shortened fingers. ‘But what I saw in Sepul – it terrified me, Consort Jekhen.’

Consort Jekhen took in her hand, then her face, her midnight gaze a little sharper.

‘I hear you enjoy stories,’ Dumai said, risking it. ‘Do you know the tale of the Nameless One?’

‘Loosely.’

‘I think there is some truth in it.’

‘Only one beast came, the first time. One,’ Consort Jekhen reminded her, ‘and it was soon defeated.’

‘But this is not the first time. And we don’t know how it was defeated.’

Consort Jekhen made a low sound in her throat, which Dumai took as a concession.

Just then, a tall white horse in feathered barding came galloping on to the bridge. The woman astride it had high cheekbones and brown skin, flushed from the cold. She dismounted and strode to the pavilion, removing her helm to show the braids looped under her ears.

‘Irebül, I have a guest. From a trade partner we have not seen in centuries.’ Consort Jekhen sighed. ‘Must you always make such an entrance?’

‘Swiftness was of the essence,’ the newcomer said, with a sharp accent. Her leather boots were crusted with snow. ‘I bring tidings from the North. The Munificent Empress will need to be roused.’

Dumai suddenly realised who this must be. The Hüran princess who had been exchanged for the Lacustrine heir.

‘If I am to wake Her Majesty, I will have to explain why she must leave the comfort of her bed, despite the threat of sickness, and her ailment,’ Consort Jekhen said icily. ‘May I have the honour of an explanation?’

Princess Irebül huffed out in a thick fog. ‘As you wish. You will all know soon,’ she declared loudly, so everyone could hear. The opera stopped. ‘The King of Hróth is dead!’

Dumai stiffened. All around her, murmurs broke out. ‘King Bardholt,’ Empress Jekhen said, eyebrows raised. ‘Dead?’

‘According to the North Hüran,’ Princess Irebül returned, cool and steady. ‘If the Hammer has fallen, there may be war.’ She folded her arms. ‘There is another matter. News closer to home. Someone joined me on my way back from Golümtan – one I did not expect.’

‘That ludicrous bird?’

‘No. Even better.’ Princess Irebül smiled for the first time, glancing upward. ‘Nayimathun of the Deep Snows.’

Cries of elation rose from the walkways. Dumai leaned out from the pavilion to see a dragon far larger than Furtia, claws dug into the wood of the rooftop, teeth gleaming white.

‘Well, Princess Dumai,’ Consort Jekhen said, unruffled. ‘It seems the Empire of the Twelve Lakes may be about to follow your lead.’

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