Page 70 of All the Wandering Light

The Three Cities were no longer three—they had, at one time, been separate, gleaming entities, with their tiered temples and palaces of whitewashed stone, nestled among the low hills that surrounded Dawa Lake. Over the centuries, though, the cities had overflowed, with buildings established outside their walls, lining new roads cut into the fertile soil of the hills. As the Empire’s prosperity grew, even the wealthiest nobles built their palaces here, as the old walls no longer seemed like a necessary protection against anything. What did the Three Cities have to fear? The witches had been defeated, and the emperor’s mighty armies were more than a match for any barbarian tribe. The walls remained, but sections were torn down to make way for new thoroughfares. Though they were still manned by soldiers, the gates were now little more than decorative relics. The Empire’s strength was no longer expressed by its walls, but by its armies and shamans.

As we drew deeper into the city’s heart, more guards appeared, posted at corners and in squares. We slowed when we approached them, but they stared at us anyway. It was the middle of the night, and there weren’t enough people around to make our presence inconspicuous. Surely that was all it was. I met the gaze of a burly guard, who narrowed his eyes at the three of us.

When we rounded a corner, and the palace came into view, I wasn’t ready for it.

The emperor’s seat was perched on the tallest hill in the Three Cities, nestled against the peak with the earth pressing into its back. It was whiter than bone, its star-silvered windows and splashes of green or blue dragonlight the only contrasts to the purity of the façade. A series of staircases zigzagged their way up the hill on three sides, also made of whitewashed stone, and patrolled by guards visible only by the dragons that strolled at their sides. Yet they seemed tiny—insect-like specks against the enormity of the gleaming palace complex.

River would have climbed those stairs countless times. I swallowed. I had been trying not to think of River. I shouldn’t be haunted by the memory of him hunched over the snow, given all that he had done. But the grief wouldn’t lift. I would never have the chance to reconcile the River I had glimpsed in my visions—the boy desperate for his brother’s approval, the teenager willing to sacrifice his soul to lift the curse on his family—with the witch who had left me on Raksha’s summit.

“How are we going to get inside?” Tem said.

Lusha was frowning. “We should find somewhere to stay for the night. In the morning, we’ll send word to Amvar, one of the emperor’s seers. He should be able to get us an audience with the emperor. I met him during my visit with Father—I think he’ll remember me.”

“You think?” I repeated. “Lusha, we have to take the star to the emperor now. He has to recast the binding spell—”

“We can’t just stroll into the palace.” Lusha glowered at me. “The guards won’t let us near the emperor. To them, we’re no one. Do you have a better plan?”

I didn’t. Lusha turned right at the next square. We paused outside an inn lit by so many lanterns it illuminated the entire street. I thought yearningly of the baths and hearty meals within those walls that awaited travelers with sufficient coin.

“So many guards,” Lusha muttered. “There weren’t nearly this many when I came here with Father.”

This struck me as ominous. “With all the attacks on the villages, the emperor must have put the city on alert.”

And indeed, when I thought about it, the city did seem on edge. The few residents we passed eyed us furtively, as if suspicious of our presence but not wanting us to know it. Many of the shops boasted gates wrought of iron that gleamed with newness.

Tem touched my arm. “Kamzin.”

I turned. Two men were coming toward us. I recognized one as the burly guard I had briefly locked eyes with. That had been blocks ago. His companion had his sword unsheathed.

I felt a chill. What was going on? We had done nothing but walk through the city.

“This way,” Lusha said, motioning us down a narrow lane. Once we were out of sight of the guards, we broke into a run.

“I don’t understand,” Tem said. “They followed us—why?”

Lusha shook her head once, sharply. The guards had rounded the corner behind us—and now they were running too.

Lusha turned down another street. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep going on so little food and sleep. But she led us to the first doors that presented themselves, framed with a golden awning. The enormous handles were hung with long, beaded tassels.

“Lusha, this is—”

“Open them,” she said to Tem.

Tem was so exhausted it seemed to take his eyes a moment to focus. He lifted one of the kinnika, pressing his hand against the wood.

The door cracked in half.

“Tem!” I cried.

“I don’t know how to unlock doors, Kamzin,” he said wearily.

“Never mind that.” Lusha pressed against one half of the broken door until it opened wide enough to squeeze through. She shoved the two of us through, then followed quickly after, pressing the door shut.

Inside, it was dark and perfectly silent. The smell of juniper incense was overwhelming—I had to suppress a sneeze. Thick wooden pillars supported a shadowy ceiling painted in vivid, geometric patterns. At the far end of the long room was a shrine, empty now, on which could be placed statues of different spirits. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting ancient heroes and emperors, who could also be prayed to by visitors kneeling on the stone floor. The only illumination came from a few candles burning on low tables along the walls.

We had just broken into a temple.

“Now what?” My voice echoed through the large, empty space. “Not only do we have no way into the palace, but the emperor’s guards seem to think we’re criminals.”