discovery.”
Marek knew that the dragon didn’t necessarily believe the denizens of the little lake would really be the last discovery, but still the black firedrakes were being born, were feeding on things other than themselves, and only a handful had been lost in those last hundred and thirteen days. At least the bulk of their work had been done.
“The Land of One Hundred and Thirteen,” the black dragon repeated. “I like the sound of it.”
Marek smiled and stood with his friend for a while longer before once again crossing the endless space between the Land of One Hundred and Thirteen and the hard reality of Innarlith.
3Q
5 Ches, the Year of the Helm (1362 DR) Second Quarter, Innarlith
Meykhati and his wife looked ridiculous.
They wore matching robes that Willem supposed were terribly expensive. Both of them droned on and on all evening about how the garments were imported from Shou Lung and “the Celestials” wore them at their most sacred rites and observances. None of their guests inquired as to the details of those rites. No one asked them what they meant by calling people from Shou Lung “Celestials”and Willem could hear the capital C in the twist of their lips when they said it. No one mentioned that they were far, far away from Shou Lung and the Celestials’ mysterious rites and observances and so they looked foolish and out of place in their own home. No one said any of that because to do so would have been rude, and to be rude to Meykhati and his wife would have been social suicide.
All that being the case, Willem said to Meykhati’s wife, “The embroidery is astonishing. Such workmanship…”
The woman beamed as if she had embroidered the thing herself and said, “Isn’t it? Isn’t it really? Can you just imagine the delicate little elfish fingers of those tiny Celestial women stitching away? Stitching and stitching. Could they even imagine, I wonder, that their exquisite handiwork would be enjoyed by people so far away?”
“Yes,” Willem said, though he’d stopped listening at the word “elfish,” which was a twisted bit of usage the woman had obviously invented on the spot.
Meykhati’s wife smiled at him, waiting for more.
“Your taste is impeccable as always,” he obliged and was relieved to see that that was good enough.
“Ah,” Meykhati himself cut in, “the Master Builder of Innarlith.”
Willem watched Inthelph approach, smiling and nodding through all the tired greetings and pointless niceties. Not listening to Inthelph’s vapid comments on the host couple’s Shou robes, Willem let his eyes and his mind wander through the crowded parlor. Though he tried not to, he occasionally made eye contact with one of the other guests.
There was Kurtsson, a well-known wizard from Vaasa. Meykhati had collected the exotic mage the way he collected exotic embroidered silk robes, exotic Shou vases, exotic engineers from Cormyr, and so on. Kurtsson’s toadying manner was well-suited to Meykhati and his wife’s little salon.
In the corner, trying to appreciate a Impilturan etching, was Horemkensi, a charismatic enough man, native to Innarlith, arid the eighteenth to hold the senate seat his old money family had purchased long, long ago. Willem wondered if Horemkensi really existed outside the circle of Meykhati and his wife’s pointless salon.
Sitre was there tooand why wouldn’t she be there? Her hair was getting longer and she talked about ithow she cared for it, how long she’d been growing itincessantly. A harsh and angry woman, Willem had barely spoken to her though he’d seen her time and again at Meykhati and his wife’s depressing salon.
“Isn’t that right, Willem?”
He looked down at the rug and saw the straight line around the border that revealed it as a fake. Meykhati told everyoneover and over again, in factthat it was hand-carried from Zakhara on the back of an elephant, though it was probably made in a sweatshop in the Third Quarter, or maybe as far away as Arrabar.
“Willem?”
Even the fire in the fireplace looked false. Willem couldn’t feel any heat from it. He held out a hand toward it. Someone touched him on the shoulder.
“Willem…”
“Of course,” he found himself saying.
Inthelph smiled at him, and so did Meykhati and his wife. They expected him to say something more.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been…”
“He’s been working very hard,” Inthelph provided for him, to the vacant amusement of Meykhati and his wife.
“It’s hardly work when you enjoy it as much as I do, Master Builder,” Willem said, then intentionally turned away before he could see Inthelph’s standard reaction.
“So, Master Builder,” Meykhati’s wife said as she slid closer to Inthelph with a rustle of Shou silk, “please tell me you convinced her to come.”
Willem smelled her first: something he couldn’t immediately put his finger on. Or was it even a smell? The air changed when she walked in. The atmosphere took on an effervescence, and the feeling scared him as much as it excited him.
He staggered back one step when he saw her. Though young she was the kind of woman who took the wind out of a room only to fill it her own particular aether. Willem knew in an instant that she would be in control of the gathering for the rest of the evening, or at least as long as she wanted to be.
Her physical form was easy enough to encompass in a glance and fine enough to remember forever with that one blinkdark hair, black really, and eyes to match but eyes that caught the light. Big eyes, round, perfect eyes, cheekbones high and symmetrical and a chin that no sculptor could have dared create from clay, and she had a neck so long it alone was worthy of worship. Any beggar on the street would call her a goddess, but it would take a genius to see the goddess in every inch of her. Her breasts, perfect. Her waist, perfect. The line of her back, her hips, and her long legs, perfect.
Her open contempt of the gathering of sycophants and dilettantes, perfect.
“Such a beautiful young woman,” Meykhati’s wife said. If she was trying to mask the crippling jealousy in her voice she failed miserably. “And only seventeen summers.”
That number penetrated Willem’s consciousness only with great difficulty. Young, but already old in so many ways, and he had asked Halina to marry him. Why would that matter just then anyway?
Willem closed his eyes and the room began to spin, or was that just his knees failing him?
“It wasn’t the easiest thing to get her here,” Inthelph said, his voice tired and thick with the effort of being the father of a creature of perfect beauty.
Gods, Willem thought, who had the master builder married to produce a child like that? She looks nothing like him.
“Is that your daughter?” Willem asked.
“Phyrea,” Inthelph answered. “You two finally meet.”
“Finally,” Willem said.
Phyrea, he repeated in his mind. Phyrea.
She looked at the people in the room and didn’t mind that everyone could tell she didn’t like what she saw. Her eyes played over his for the space of a heartbeat and that was all the notice Willem felt he deserved from her.
I’m going to marry Halina, he told himself.
He didn’t believe it.
“I hope you’ll have a chance to speak with her, Willem,” the master builder said.
Willem nodded because all of a sudden he couldn’t speak.
“What a lovely couple they would make,” Meykhati’s wife said.
Willem wondered what she meant by that. But he’d never brought Halina to any of their salons.
“Lovely, yes,” Meykhati agreed and Willem didn’t think for a second that they really meant he and
