picked up another pebble. A piece of flawed jade, carved into a fern spiral. He looked round him. All the pebbles were carved. He stared along the sweep of the beach, his hand stroking the spiralled jade. So many pebbles. He tried to imagine the labour they represented, but he might as well attempt to count the stars in a night sky.
A movement caught his eye. He straightened to see a man up the beach, frozen. As Carnelian clambered to his feet, the man yelped and fled. Carnelian attempted to run after him but his feet scooped pebbles as his robe held him back like chains. He gave up and watched the man lope up some steps and disappear into trees.
'Let them find me,' he muttered. He tucked the jade pebble into a pocket and stooped to remove his shoes. He gathered up his robe and wrung some of the water out of it. His feet looked very white. He worried that the water might have washed off their paint. He shrugged. What could he do if it had? He hoisted the train of his robe over one arm and sauntered up the beach feeling the pebbles' carvings with his toes. Something was whirring in the air. He turned his head slowly. A dragonfly was hovering in the blur of its wings, the size of a dagger but more exquisitely enamelled.
Voices across the beach wafted it away. A familiar clink of armour made him turn. Perhaps a dozen guardsmen were filing towards him. Carnelian almost cried out when he saw their chameleon tattoos. He dropped his robe to wait for them. They looked at him uncertainly, rounding their shoulders. He searched their faces, then cursed his stupidity at trying to find one he knew. Their commander plunged his knees into the pebbles and in threes and fours the others followed him.
Carnelian did not know what to say.
'Master, please take no offence,' the commander said without lifting his eyes, 'but our Masters've given us no warning of your visit. If you'd please go, Master, go' – he pointed – 'back to the quay and wait with your tyadra, someone appropriate'll come down to greet you… Master.'
Carnelian shook his head. There's no tyadra.' He lifted his arms from his sides. 'I'm here as you see me.'
'Of course it's not my place, but… the Master shouldn't be here.'
'Don't worry, I'm not trespassing… what's your name?'
The man looked up fearfully. 'M-Moal, if it please you, Master.'
'Well, Moal, I'm your Master's son returned.'
Others were sneaking looks at him. Moal chewed his lip. 'Our Master's son's well known to us.'
Carnelian had to think about that for a moment. 'No, not the Master you have here. I meant the Master of this House, who's long been away.'
Several of the guardsmen forgot themselves enough to stare, but quickly ducked their heads. Carnelian watched their hands fussing with their weapons.
'Is there someone I can talk to?'
'If it pleases you, Master, someone'll be here soon,' mumbled Moal.
So Carnelian waited, eventually turning his back on them because he did not want to see their grovelling. He reached down to squeeze more water out of his robe, all the time feeling their stares.
'Master?'
A woman's voice. He turned and instantly a weight of tears stiffened his face. It was Brin. He squeezed his eyes closed several times. He gritted his teeth. She was still there. His shoulders sagged; it was not Brin. This woman was younger, though she was very like his aunt.
The woman bowed. 'Master, why are you come to Coomb Suth?'
Carnelian squared his shoulders. 'It's my coomb. I'm Suth Carnelian.' The colour left her face where Carnelian saw his father's eyes. 'You're… Fey.'
The woman flinched, nodded. 'Yes, Master, steward of this House, Master. Please… I don't understand. Forgive my confusion, Master, please…'
Carnelian gazed at those eyes. It was almost as if this woman had stolen them from his father. He paused a moment, thinking, and then reached back to release his mask.
Fey threw her hands up in horror. 'Master, would you blind us all?'
'But we're all of one House… I'm Suth Carnelian.' He realized that the woman might find his face no proof at all. Suddenly he made a fist and cried, 'Look.' He thrust out his hand so that the woman could see the Ruling Ring on his hand.
Fey leaned forward, choked a cry and crumpled into the pebbles. 'Master,' she said from Carnelian's feet, 'oh, Master.'
Carnelian crouched down and putting his hands round Fey's shoulders lifted her gently. It was only then he saw the tears striping her face.
'Are you so happy, Fey?'
'Of course happy, Master, but also I grieve for our Master, your father.'
Carnelian shook the woman. 'When did the news come? When did it come?'
'News… news?' spluttered Fey. The ring, Master, the ring.'
Carnelian let her go. He looked at the Ruling Ring on his finger. Would that finger soon be its proper place? He held his head at his stupidity. There had been no time for any news. 'I'm a fool,' he said aloud.
Fey was dabbing tears from her eyes. The guardsmen looked miserable. These strangers were also his people. He was forgetting his duty to them.
'I'm sorry, Fey. You misunderstood me.' He removed the Ruling Ring. 'I don't have the right to wear it. It's a long story. My father was ill when I parted from him in the Valley of the Gate. The Wise'll heal him and then we'll have him back here with us.'
His confidence visibly cheered the guardsmen. Fey looked uncertain.
'I hope I didn't hurt you? When I shook you? I forgot myself…'
Fey stared.
Carnelian put his hands up to his mask. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to remove this thing.' 'Master, your will's our will.'
Carnelian removed the mask, rubbed at the grooves in his skin, smiling at Fey, allowing her to search his face. 'You see my father?'
Fey looked hard at him then nodded unconvincingly, giving a thin smile. 'Yes, Master.'
'I'd rather you cut that out, Fey. My name's Carnelian.'
Fey frowned, shook her head. 'It's forbidden me to soil a Master's name with my tongue.'
It was Carnelian's turn to frown. The thought of his next question made him grimmer still.
Fey spoke first. 'My Master, your robe's wet.'
'Never mind that. Where're the other Masters, my kin?'
'In the Eyries, Master.' Carnelian must have looked uncertain because Fey turned to point up the Sacred Wall.
Carnelian scanned the craggy heights. It took him a while before he saw what looked like scratches halfway up to the sky.
'More than fifty days ago our Masters went up there to avoid this heat. I'll make immediate preparations for you to join them, Master.'
Carnelian was still looking up. 'Perhaps tomorrow, Fey. Tonight I'd like to stay down here.'
Fey looked aghast. That's impossible, Master.'
'Why?'
These halls have become unsuitable for a Master. Workmen're everywhere… the Master must understand that we always carry out restoration work when the Masters go up to the Eyries… furniture's been stored away… Master, there's no accommodation suiting of your rank.'
'You'll find me easy to please, Fey.' He silenced any more of her protests with his hand and eventually, accepting that she was not going to change this strange young Master's mind, Fey led him off into the palace with the escort of the guardsmen, some of whom carried his soaking train.
Carnelian and the escort were a thread pulled by Fey's needle. There was a hall that was like a wood, its sultry air nuanced with odours. The day was only a glowing band in the distance. He felt more than saw the eyes in the mosaics. Murals had the colours of concealed jewels. Wisps of voices ribboned between the columns. A door closing seemed an echo still lingering from the day before. Floors rainbowed like oil on water. Sometimes he glimpsed courts whose colours were more vibrant than any dream. Awe infected him like a fever so that, when he
