Or an external one with Roidan.
The Rainbow Belfry itself was a thing of wonder. An artifact that existed before Kash’s first brick was laid, a tower made up of a spiral of white, red, blue, purple, green, orange, and yellow stones that were all melded together to form a sold whole. Every hour, the tower resonated a loud note that chimed across the city. It could often be heard out in Dualayn’s manor.
The houses inside the curtain wall were older, often made of stone with their walls painted in white colors and with scrollwork patterns along the trim. The first floors were given over to shops where goods were sold or workshops where common goods, or exquisite ones for those with coin, were produced. The second, third, and sometimes fourth floors housed residences. Some were single-family homes, the shop beneath owned for generations; others were tenements where three or four families dwelled. Public houses lay on every third or fourth block, serving their neighborhoods. In alleys, she spotted the occasional ruffian. Though she was in the more prosperous part of Kash, the gangs had their presence.
The entire city was divided a hundred different ways. Most gangs were Lothonian, but the Onderian laborers, Roidanese migrants, and Tethyrian vagrants had their own thugs, all warring and battling over a few blocks. Some were allied with the Brotherhood, others the Rangers. It was said the gangs could switch sides at any time as new leaders rose and fell in their vicious, pack-like hierarchy.
The sooner she and Ōbhin could extract Dualayn from the Brotherhood’s grasp, the better. Maybe his Demochian friend could assist, she wondered as she passed St. Jettay’s Square and the Temple of the Seven Colours. A group of people prayed in the center of the large plaza. Should I suggest it to Dualayn?
It did disturb her how easily Dualayn agreed to work with the Brotherhood and their patron, the enigmatic White Lady.
Past the temple, she came to the Grand Course north. The wide boulevard led to the Houses of Parliament. The legislative body of her country, who should be a check against the king’s abusive powers instead of enabling them, lay before her. It was built along the southern bank of the Ustern, rising five floors tall with windows set at regular intervals. The exterior stones were Homphrial marble, characterized by its blue and red veins. The windowsills and frames were gilded gold and stylized to resemble antlers meeting to form a box. As she neared Rower’s Square where the street terminated, the shape of the long building became more and more apparent. It was really three separate structures connected by two narrow wings. Each was one of the three Houses.
The central one was the House of the Serfs, representing the interests of the common men and women of Lothon. Any who owned land could vote for its members or run for the seat. To the right lay the House of the Peerage; its members were nobles who inherited their seats from their ancient bloodlines. The left held the House of the Clerics, the refractors and priests appointed by the high refractor to represent the church. A law had to pass two of the three houses with a greater majority, though each also held their own area of responsibility.
Right now, the House of the Peerage and the Serfs were enabling King Anglon to levy new taxes.
Rower’s Square, a large plaza, lay before Parliament. In the center rested the fountain of Lovineth the Rower, who’d famously rescued members of Parliament from King Loshen Briflon’s wrath three hundred years ago. Lovineth had used his rowboat to ferry them to safety. They’d commissioned a statue of him standing on the prow of a boat surrounded by maidens pouring water into the fountain to keep his vessel afloat with the love and hope of Lothon. Above him billowed the nation’s flag, the white stag on a field of blue and green divided horizontally.
A crowd milled in the square, men wearing the green and white cloths, some holding signs written with charcoal on scraps of lumber, begging Parliament to give relief to the taxes. Some held oars, a show of support to Parliament against the Crown. Rivermen, they’d call themselves, inspired by the actions of Lovineth. Avena threaded through them without any fear, and not because of the line of city guards at the base of the steps up to Parliament’s entrance. The protesters glanced at her, rough men, some with gaunt eyes and shoulders bowed by unseen forces.
Pity stirred through her. These were her people. She was a farmer’s daughter. She would never forget her roots. What King Anglon was doing wasn’t right. He should care more for his people than his ambition. She’d heard the rumors buzzing through the house of war with Roidan, their neighbor to the east. Ondere might take advantage of such a conflict to reclaim the Colonies, their land lost to Lothon years ago.
Another triple war. The last time the three nations who shared the large island had fought, it had led to chaos and suffering.
But what can I do to stop it? she wondered as she approached the guards. They glanced at her clothing and parted for her without a word.
She held her skirts as she climbed the steps. Her satchel swung on her hip from her shoulder. It held an earthen gauntlet and binder. If another riot broke out, she wouldn’t be defenseless. If I fight my way out of chaos, will that prove to Ōbhin I’m not a liability?
She swept inside the building and spoke with a young man sitting at a desk. He wore a well-tailored jacket of bright blue with silver trimming, his cheeks covered in rouge as was the current fashion among the young nobility. He was some lord’s son serving as a page to Parliament for the prestige.
He gave her directions
