A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

The longest day of summer was called the godsbane in Seiiki. In years past, it had scorched the leaves and left even Antuma dry. Now, for the first time in centuries, there was a chance it would rain on that day.

There was hope in the rain. It dripped from the eaves. The gods might be weak, but at last, they were trying to water the island. Perhaps that also meant they would be strong enough to fight for it.

Dumai followed Epabo through the palace, sweating in her grey silks. Since her return in the spring, she had been left to grieve and mend, but now the emperor summoned her.

Her memory of the mountain was vague. She knew Furtia had carried her away from Brhazat, stopping when Nikeya spied Master Kiprun and Princess Irebül riding south, so Dumai could whisper what she had seen. After that, she remembered her bed at Antuma Palace.

And Nikeya. She remembered Nikeya – holding her close, talking to her, keeping her warm, all that way.

Epabo led her towards the Water Pavilion. Despite the lateness of the hour, courtiers lingered on the walkways, admiring the rain. They muttered in her wake. She was the princess who had come from nowhere, then flown away – not once, but twice – and now her face was proof of it. While she slept on the edge of death, Unora had cut a sliver of skin from her forehead, where freezeburn had set in, shaped like the blade of a sickle.

Dumai made no attempt to hide it. It was how she would remember Kanifa, how she would carry him with her. He had told her to see the comet. She meant to grant his final wish.

Her parents waited in the gloom. Unora had returned to court not long after Dumai, to help her heal from Brhazat. She patted the cushion, and Dumai knelt close beside her.

‘Daughter,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘I am glad to see you. I hope your health is still improving.’

‘I feel much better. Thank you, Father.’

‘I am sorry you were confined for so long. The River Lord insisted on it, given this burning sickness.’

For now, the disease had not come to Seiikinese shores – the sea was a formidable defence – but the East was aflame, and fire always spread.

‘Your grief will always stay with you,’ her father told her, ‘but you will grow stronger to bear it. I know this from experience, Dumai.’

Dumai could not bring herself to answer, though she nodded. She had not felt strong since Kanifa had cut the rope. Unora looked weary, she who had loved Kanifa like a son.

And Osipa, loyal to the end. She had died in her sleep of her age in the spring. Just as Dumai swallowed the taste of one loss, a new cup of grief had been forced to her lips. Court had never felt so empty, nor so friendless. It would be hard to bear it when her mother left.

‘It is time for you to return to your duties as my heir,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘First, I would like you to lead a ceremony to thank the gods for this summer rain. The streams flow swift because of you, and your people must remember it. Let them see your bond with them.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Before that, I have news.’ He nodded to Unora. ‘Your mother and grandmother may have identified the stone you took from Brhazat. If so, you have found a treasure we had long thought lost.’

Unora took a layer of cloth from the middle of the table, revealing the oily blue stone.

‘Empress Mokwo wrote of a stone that could command the waters and the winds. Even the gods heeded its call,’ she said. ‘It was said to resemble a moon, so the Grand Empress did expect it to be pale.’

Dumai watched her face. It had been a long time since she had seen her mother look nervous.

‘The moon has been known to turn blue.’ Emperor Jorodu wore a strange expression of his own. ‘Mokwo claimed a human could use this stone, but that only a chosen few could wake it – that for others, it would turn to dead rock. It will not answer to my touch or my wish, but I wonder if it will to yours, Dumai.’

Dumai reached out to set a single fingertip on its surface. A gentle thrum answered.

‘I feel the power churning in it . . . but I don’t know how to draw it,’ she said with a small frown, trying to articulate the feeling as it came. ‘As if I had the hook and bait, and the water boils with life, but no fish come to me.’ She released the stone. ‘Why not go to Furtia for counsel, Father?’

‘You must not.’ Unora spoke very softly. ‘The woman who last possessed this is dead. For all we know, it could have killed her. No human should wield the gods’ power.’

‘Yet we must keep it, else it could be stolen again. If the Kuposa found it—’ Emperor Jorodu paused. ‘Dumai, does the Lady of Faces know of it?’

‘Perhaps, if she looked in my pouch.’

Nikeya had saved her. She remembered a white glow shining from her hand, arms around her, the desperate pleas. Furtia had followed her light, but Nikeya had pulled her into the saddle.

‘I would not have lived without her,’ Dumai said. ‘She could have abandoned me to Brhazat.’

‘And now you are indebted to her,’ Emperor Jorodu said grimly. ‘That has always been their way. The River Lord will try to take advantage of it, to move her into a higher position. We must act quickly now.’ Unora covered the stone. ‘Dumai, your mother will protect this relic on Mount Ipyeda. In the meantime, you must be enthroned.’

Dumai glanced at her mother in silent confusion. Unora seemed unable to meet her gaze.

‘Father,’ she said, ‘there is no time for that. Surely we should concentrate on bolstering our defences.’ Seeing his expression, she stopped, heart catching. ‘What is it?’

‘I have faced stiff resistance on the matter from the Council of State. They remain suspicious of your motives for ringing the Queen Bell.’ He always looked tired, but she saw both his age and his pain, in that moment. ‘They cannot truly fear what they have not yet seen, Dumai. I think they are reluctant to send the provinces into upheaval.’

‘What do they imagine wyrmfire will do there?’

‘I know. That is why we must conclude our plans soon. This stone is yet another sign that you are meant to save our house. If you are right – if a comet will stop this – then you must be empress when it does. I plan to abdicate in the autumn, at the usual time for new appointments. As your grandmother and I have planned, I will continue to hold authority from retirement. By splitting our power, we will break theirs.’

He paused to glance regretfully at Unora, who had set her jaw, eyes downcast. Dumai waited.

‘I also hope to betroth you soon,’ he said. ‘To ensure we eclipse the Kuposa for good, it is important that we foster closer ties with the other clans. We must not leave your sister as the only heir.’

It took Dumai almost more strength than she had to keep her face steady. ‘Yes, Father,’ she said. ‘As you command.’

****

Later, she sat on the porch, watching dawn thread the horizon with scarlet, trying not to think of what would come after the comet. It might bring the wyrms down, but she would be left with the task of saving the House of Noziken. For the first time, she grasped what that meant.

She had thought she could fly her way through this new life. In the end, she would have to lengthen the rainbow.

Sweat pricked at her brow. She looked towards Mount Ipyeda, and imagined Kanifa looking back – a ghost of him, always present, like the worn strand of rope she kept at her wrist. She thought of Nikeya, always somewhere in her mind, tucked there like a splinter.

And she knew it would rip her apart, in the end – this yearning that pulled at the seams of her being, and the duty that sewed her tighter by the day, into the robes of the Empress of Seiiki.