Page 79 of All the Wandering Light

I stared at the door for a moment, angry and uncertain. I was reminded of all the times Lusha had challenged me in the Ashes—she had thought herself in charge then, and she still did here, hundreds of miles away. She had formed her own plan, and then she had rushed off without allowing me a word in edgewise.

And was it the right plan? Was it wise to wait for the emperor, rather than entrusting the star to his shamans, hapless as some of them might be? Muttering to myself, I stood. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care. I was most certainly not going to stay where I was and wait for Lusha.

I slipped on the shoes the servants had left me—they were as flimsy as slippers and instantly made me ill at ease. I couldn’t run in these, or climb, or do anything useful. I reminded myself that I was in the palace, and was unlikely to be called upon to do more than walk down polished corridors, but the disquiet remained. I missed my boots.

I slipped out the door. Tem’s room, to my disappointment, was empty—the corridor was empty too, apart from a bored-looking guard stationed at either end.

I strode down the corridor, trying to look as if I had come this way a hundred times. The guard didn’t even look up. He seemed to be cleaning his nails.

The guards of the Three Cities, on the whole, seemed to be a complacent sort.

I froze. A door had appeared on my right that I didn’t recall passing before. It was tall and forbidding, made of a strange black wood that set it apart from the other doors in the corridor. Something about it was familiar.

I reached out, but the door shattered beneath my fingers as if it were made of fog. I leaped back. Behind the door was another narrow, ordinary corridor leading to a flight of stairs.

Was it some form of shamanic magic? If so, what purpose did it serve? I glanced down the corridor at the guard, to see if he had noticed, but he wasn’t looking at me.

Uneasy, I continued on my way, pausing outside the ornate doors that led to River’s rooms. I wondered if he had sealed them, to prevent anyone seeing the damage from Tem’s magic, then I remembered what he had said about the palace staff being afraid of him. I pushed on the door. Sure enough, it opened.

The room was in slightly less disarray than when I had last seen it. The roots had burrowed back through the palace foundations into the hillside. The broken windows had been shuttered, the burned furniture removed, and several new rugs had appeared, but these were inadequate to cover the enormous crack in the floor or the scorch marks everywhere. One of the dragons had returned—it lay on its back on one of the perches, tail dangling over the side.

I gazed around the room. It had been sparsely furnished before, and while clearly intended for nobility, had an unlived-in feel. I tried to imagine River spending any amount of time in this place, and couldn’t. But then, River had always seemed more at home in the wilderness than anywhere constrained by walls.

Behind the door at the far end of the receiving room was a dark hall lined with tapestries, and several more doors. My curiosity flared. River’s life as a courtier was unfathomable.

I paused, listening guiltily for sounds of approaching footsteps. I would only take a quick look around, I told myself.

Each of the doors opened onto a different, empty room, clean in a neglected sort of way, as if the only activity the room saw was when someone visited to sweep out the dust. Except the one at the end.

That door opened onto a room much larger than the others, which was furnished simply with a bed, a painted cabinet, and a small shrine that was empty of the usual spirit statues. River seemed to have very few possessions. The bed was piled with woven blankets and seemed freshly made. I wondered if the servants changed it every day, even when River wasn’t there, in case he returned unexpectedly.

It was almost disappointingly ordinary. I didn’t know what I had been anticipating—I knew River slept, after all, and it wasn’t as if he’d decorate the place with spiders and human bones. The room had a familiar scent, faint but unmistakable—smoke and wildflowers. I hesitated, considering turning back, but something made me wander past the threshold.

I went to the window. The view of the Three Cities was breathtaking, almost too much to comprehend. The place was alive, streets filled with the bustle of figures too small to discern. The lake was a distant pool of silver that seemed to melt into the clouded sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I jumped. River was leaning against the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is your—I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.” A smile flickered. “This isn’t really mine. At least, I never thought so.”

I swallowed, regretting the whim that had driven me to explore River’s rooms. He seemed at ease with my presence, however, strolling over to the cabinet and opening a drawer, as if having girls simply wander into his bedroom was a commonplace occurrence.

I flushed, wishing I hadn’t had that thought.

“The emperor wants to meet you,” River said, his back turned. “He’s holding a banquet this evening.”

“A banquet?” I felt a moment of panic. “I’m not attending a royal banquet.”

“It’s not exactly optional,” River said apologetically. “The emperor has extended you an invitation. He will be . . . upset if you refuse.”

This didn’t help matters. “Why is the emperor holding a banquet when the Empire is under attack?”

“He’s been absent from court for over a fortnight. That always puts him in a terrible mood. None of his advisors will have his ear until he’s had some wine, listened to a few songs, and flirted with a courtier or two.”

I made a scornful sound. “Is he the emperor or a child?”