no one came near.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them run down her cheeks. “I just wanted…” Her voice gave up on her and she began to weep.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hadrian said. He came forward and knelt beside her. “You saved us. The Ghazel are gone.”
“Yeah,” Mauvin said. “Scariest thing I’ve ever seen. It was like-like what they said Esrahaddon could do, only he never did. It was-”
“It was what we needed,” Hadrian broke in over him. “If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead now, and trust me, it would have been a very unpleasant death. Thank you, Your Highness.”
She looked up at Hadrian. He appeared blurry through her watering eyes. He was smiling. She wiped her face and peered at him again carefully. She studied his eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
His hand reached out and brushed her cheeks dry. “What?” he asked again.
“I–I don’t want-” She hesitated and took a breath. “I just don’t want people to be afraid of me.”
“That arrow’s already flown,” Degan Gaunt said.
“Shut it, Gaunt,” Alric snapped.
“Look at me,” Hadrian told her, and putting his hand under her chin, he gently lifted it. He took her hands in his. “Do I look frightened?”
“No,” she said. “But… maybe you should be.”
“You’re tired.”
“I am-I’m really very tired.”
“We’re going to be drifting here for a bit, so why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I’m sure things will look better when you wake up.”
She nodded and her head felt like a boulder rocking on her shoulders.
“Com’on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. She wavered and he slipped an arm around her waist and escorted her back into the cabin, where Myron had the bed ready.
“Myron will watch over you,” Hadrian assured Arista as he tucked the blankets tightly around her. “Get some sleep.”
“Thank you.”
He brushed her wet hair from her eyes. “It’s the least I can do for my hero,” he said.
She walked swiftly up the Grand Mar, the broad avenue beautifully lined with flowering trees. The rose- colored petals flew and swirled, carpeting the ground, scenting the air, and creating a blizzard in spring.
It was festival day, and blue and green flags were everywhere. They flew over houses and waved in the hands of passersby. People clogged the streets. Wandering minstrels filled the air with music and song. Drums announced another parade, this one a procession of elephants followed by chariots, prancing horses, dancing women, and proud soldiers. Stall keepers called to the crowd, handing out cakes, nuts, confections, and fermented drinks called Trembles, made from the sweet blossoms of the trees. Young girls rushed from door to door, delivering small bouquets of flowers in the imperial colors. Noblemen on their chariots wore their bright-colored tunics; gold bracelets flashed in the afternoon sun. Older women stood on balconies, waving colored scarves and shouting words impossible to hear. Boys who dodged and slipped through the crowd carried baskets and sold trinkets. You could get three copper pins for three piths, or five for a keng. There was always a contest to collect the largest variety of pins before the day was out.
It was a beautiful day.
She hurried past the rivers of people into Imperial Square. To her right stood the stone rotunda of the Cenzarium and to the left the more brutish columned facade of the blocked Hall of Teshlor. Before her, at the terminus of the boulevard, rose the great golden-domed imperial palace-the seat of the emperor of the world. She walked past the Ulurium Fountain, across the Memorial Green, to the very steps of the palace-not a single guard was on duty. No one noticed. Everyone was too busy celebrating. That was part of the plan that Venlin had laid well.
She entered the marbled hall, so cool, so elegant, and scented with incense that made her think of tropical trees and mountaintops. The palace was a marvel, large, beautiful, and so sturdy it was hard to imagine what she knew was happening.
She reached the long gallery, the arcade of storied columns, each topped with three lions looking down from their noble perch at all who passed that way.
Yolric was waiting for her.
The old man leaned heavily on his staff. His long white beard was a matted mess. “So you have come,” he greeted her. “But I knew you would. I knew someone would. I could have guessed it would be you.”
“This is wrong. You of all people should see that!”
Yolric shook his head. “Wrong, right-these words have no meanings except in the minds of men. They are but illusions. There is only what is and what isn’t, what has been and what will be.”
“I am here to define that value for you.”
“I know you are. I could have predicted it. My suspicions, it would seem, have weight. This is the second time now. It has taken a long time to find, but there is a pattern to the world. Wobble it and it corrects, which should be impossible; chaos should beget chaos. Order should be only one possibility and drowned by all the other permutations. But if it corrects again, if order prevails, then there can be only one answer. There is another force at work-an invisible hand-and I think I know what that force is.”
“I don’t have time to discuss this theory of yours again.”
“Nor do I have need of you. As I said, I have finally worked it out. You see, the legends are true.”
She was irritated with him; he barred her path but did not attack. He merely babbled on about unimportant theories. This was no time for metaphysical debates about the nature of existence, chaos versus order, or the values of good and evil. She needed to get by him, but Yolric was the one person she could not hope to defeat. She could not take the chance of instigating a battle if it could be avoided. “Do you side with Venlin or not?”
“Side with the Bishop? No.”
She felt a massive sense of relief.
“Will you help me? Together we could stop him. Together we can save the emperor. Save the empire.”
“I wouldn’t need your help to do that.”
“So you will let it happen?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“I need the wobble. One does not a pattern make. I need to see if it will correct again and, perhaps, how. I must find the fingerprint, the tracks that I can trace to the source. The legends are true-I know that now, but I still want to see his face.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“I know you don’t. You couldn’t.”
“Are you going to try and stop me or not?”
“The wobble, my boy. I never touch it once I have it going. You go, do what you must. I am only here now to watch. To see if I can catch a glimpse at the face behind the invisible hand.”
She was confused, baffled by Yolric’s unconcerned attitude, but it did not matter; what did was that he would not interfere. Her greatest obstacle was gone. Now it was just between her and Venlin.
“Goodbye, then, old master, for I fear I shall never see you again.”
“No, you won’t. I would wish you luck, but I do not believe it exists. Still, I suspect you have better than mere luck on your side-you have the invisible hand.”
CHAPTER 14
