he suspected what Azander almost said, that his new bride had tried to murder him.
Sitting up again, Lionstar took out his bottle and fumbled with it, trying to open it one-handed.
Finally he dropped the mask in his lap and used both hands to open the bottle. He drank deeply from it, his throat working as he swallowed.
When he finished, he handed Kamoj the empty bottle. "Put top back'n." Then he put his mask over his face again, holding it with one hand.
Kamoj replaced the top, wondering if he always drank this much. Maybe that was why he didn't care that he lived in the ruins of a palace.
The new mask covered only his mouth and nose, giving her a view of his eyes. They were large, and a remarkable color, dark violet. Red and violet, actually; they would have been beautiful if they hadn't been so bloodshot. Even stranger, though, were the pupils. Rather than vertical slits, his were round. Although odd, the effect wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it had a sense of "rightness"
that puzzled Kamoj, an inexplicable familiarity.
Right now those unusual eyes were watching her. Lionstar pulled aside his mask. "Why'd do it?"
She knew what he meant. "I wondered what you looked like."
"You could have just asked."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it would hurt you."
He nodded. Then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. After a moment the mask fell out of his hand and into his lap.
"Governor Lionstar." Kamoj shook his shoulder. "Your breathing skin." When he opened his eyes, blinking at her, she gave him the silver mask. He tried pressing it into place, with no more success than she had managed earlier. He squinted at it, then flipped the metal skin over and tried again. This time it stayed in place, leaving his face a smooth sheen of silver, with black ovals for eyes.
"'S better," he mumbled. He laid his head back and the ovals closed, taking away that last vestige of humanity.
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.
Sitting up again, Lionstar took out his bottle and fumbled with it, trying to open it one-handed.
Finally he dropped the mask in his lap and used both hands to open the bottle. He drank deeply from it, his throat working as he swallowed.
When he finished, he handed Kamoj the empty bottle. "Put top back'n." Then he put his mask over his face again, holding it with one hand.
Kamoj replaced the top, wondering if he always drank this much. Maybe that was why he didn't care that he lived in the ruins of a palace.
The new mask covered only his mouth and nose, giving her a view of his eyes. They were large, and a remarkable color, dark violet. Red and violet, actually; they would have been beautiful if they hadn't been so bloodshot. Even stranger, though, were the pupils. Rather than vertical slits, his were round. Although odd, the effect wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it had a sense of "rightness"
that puzzled Kamoj, an inexplicable familiarity.
Right now those unusual eyes were watching her. Lionstar pulled aside his mask. "Why'd do it?"
She knew what he meant. "I wondered what you looked like."
"You could have just asked."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it would hurt you."
He nodded. Then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. After a moment the mask fell out of his hand and into his lap.
"Governor Lionstar." Kamoj shook his shoulder. "Your breathing skin." When he opened his eyes, blinking at her, she gave him the silver mask. He tried pressing it into place, with no more success than she had managed earlier. He squinted at it, then flipped the metal skin over and tried again. This time it stayed in place, leaving his face a smooth sheen of silver, with black ovals for eyes.
"'S better," he mumbled. He laid his head back and the ovals closed, taking away that last vestige of humanity.
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.
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