CHAPTER EIGHT

The Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard

I shbel. Every evening I go to the River Lhyl to bathe. Will you join me on this occasion?” Isaiah gave a small smile. “I have a legend to relate to you.”

Ishbel looked at Isaiah standing in the door of her chamber, a bevy of servants and attendants standing behind him carrying towels and unguents and perfumes and whatever else it might be that a tyrant needed for his evening ablutions. He looked so calm, so normal, it was strange to think that earlier today they’d been standing amid the malevolent darkness of Dark-Glass Mountain.

Ishbel stood a moment, thinking, then decided that there was nothing to decide.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll just fetch—”

“I have everything you need,” Isaiah said very quietly.

Ishbel went very still for a moment; then she simply nodded, and took Isaiah’s proffered arm.

Isaiah led her to a stone-paved area on the riverbank that was screened by reeds and a silken pavilion.

The area was so enclosed that not only did it offer its occupants complete privacy, but also screened them from the outside world. Once Ishbel stepped into this area and Isaiah waved away all the attendants after they had deposited their loads, she felt as if she were enclosed in an entire world. She could see nothing of Aqhat, nor of DarkGlass Mountain (for which she was most grateful), and could hear only the gentle murmuring of the river, the breeze as it filtered through the reed banks, and the opening notes of the dusk chorus of the frogs. A lamp set to one side sent out muted scarves of light that wove their soft way about the reeds and water.

The stone platform sloped down to the water, where, just visible under the rippling water, it descended further in a series of broad steps.

“This is a special place to me,” Isaiah said, picking up some towels from a pile and scattering them on the dry stone just above the river’s edge. “The river is the land’s lifeblood, its very soul.”

“I know how special this must be to you, Isaiah,” she said. “It is beautiful. So serene.”

He gave her a soft smile at that. “Yes. Now, come, bathe.”

He stripped off his linen hipwrap, kicked off his sandals, and stepped into the water, sitting down on one of the submerged steps so that the water came to his waist. He had a floating jar of soap with him, and he tipped some out and lathered up his face, chest, and arms.

Ishbel hesitated, then discarded her own robe and sandals, shook out her long hair, and joined Isaiah on the submerged step. She did not mind her nakedness with him, but hated her distended body—feeling a wash of guilt for that dislike—and breathed a sigh of relief as she sank into the warm water. The stone step was very smooth and, as the water took much of her weight, Ishbel relaxed, feeling more comfortable than she had in many days.

Isaiah pushed the floating dish of soap toward her. “Tell me what happened when you were a child, Ishbel.”

Ishbel had reached for the dish of soap, but stilled as Isaiah spoke. “You said you knew what happened.”

“Yes, but I would like to hear what you think happened. Somehow, I think that my understanding and yours differ markedly.”

Ishbel soaped up her hands, then rubbed them slowly up and down her upper arms—not so much washing as forming a protective barrier between her and the outside world.

“When I was eight a plague came suddenly to my parents’ house,” she said, not looking at Isaiah, who had finished washing and was now leaning back on the steps, watching her. “Everyone within the house, the extended family and all servants, died within a day and a night. Everyone save me. Does that marry with your understanding, then?”

“Yes. That marries with my understanding. Go on.”

“The city folk would not allow me to escape, fearing that I might carry the plague out into their number, so they blocked all doors and windows and remained outside, waiting for me to die so they could burn down the house. Does that marry with your understanding, Isaiah of Isembaard?”

“Not quite. Here is where I think our tales might begin to diverge. But continue, Ishbel, please.”

“I wanted to die. You can hardly imagine what it was like in that house, Isaiah…or are you about to tell me that you can—”

“No,” he said, very quietly, “I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like for you. I can only try to understand. Ishbel, continue, please.”

Ishbel dashed a tear from her eye, wincing a little as the soap stung.

“I tried to die. I rolled in the pus draining from my mother’s body. I…” Ishbel had to stop and take a deep breath. “Then, one day…oh gods…my mother’s corpse began to speak to me, and then the corpses of everyone else in the—”

“Stop, Ishbel. This is where I cannot allow you to continue. You have lived with this horror all these years, and it has turned you in upon yourself as you shut out the world. But it is a lie. Their bodies did not—”

She rounded on him, distraught. “How can you say that! You were not there! You can have no idea what—”

“Ishbel—”

“—happened to me! How can you tell me that—”

“It was not the bodies of your parents and loved ones who spoke to you, Ishbel. It was their jewelry.”

She froze, staring at him.

“That is why,” he said, so softly, “you have spent your subsequent life avoiding jewelry of any kind and why, most particularly, you do not wear Maximilian Persimius’ ring.”

She remained silent, still staring at him, stricken.

Isaiah pushed himself over to her, ignoring her start as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Duck your head underwater a moment,” he said, “and wet your hair. Then, as I wash it for you, I shall tell you the tale of Elcho Falling, of DarkGlass Mountain, and how both of these connect with your family. Hold your breath a moment…ah, good, now push me that dish of soap.”

Ishbel could hardly breathe as his strong fingers began, very slowly, to massage soap into her scalp.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice soothing and rhythmical, “as I tell you the tale of Elcho Falling. It begins with a man named Avaldamon who lived in the Northern Kingdoms. Avaldamon was the younger brother of a man named Fledge. Fledge was an extraordinary man, a powerful mage, and he was also the Lord of Elcho Falling.”

Isaiah felt Ishbel tense a little, but he continued on, his voice calm and soothing.

“But this is the tale of Avaldamon, not of Fledge. Avaldamon was also a powerful mage, although he could not match the power of his brother. He, as Fledge, were Elementals. Elementals, my love, are those who can hear the elements that comprise glass and metals and gems.”

“Oh,” Ishbel murmured, and she felt Isaiah lean forward very slightly, just enough to kiss the top of her head.

“And, yes, Ishbel,” he said, “you are an Elemental, too. Elementals can not only hear the elements, they can often manipulate them. It was your family’s jewels that spoke to you, not their corpses.

“Anyway, Avaldamon, a powerful Elemental mage, traveled very far south into this land, then called Ashdod. He married a princess, but soon after their marriage he was killed by a great water lizard. The princess gave birth to a son, Boaz, also a powerful Elemental mage, although he denied it for many years.

Boaz became one of the Magi who built Dark-Glass Mountain, and it was Boaz who opened it into Infinity and created the burgeoning disaster we have now: when Boaz opened DarkGlass Mountain to Infinity, then so was the crack opened to Kanubai, who you saw earlier.

“But Boaz was also the one who eventually managed to quell the pyramid’s power, and to have it dismantled. Boaz loved a woman called Tirzah, once a slave who had aided in the construction of that beautiful golden chamber we stood in earlier. Like Boaz, Tirzah was a powerful Elemental. It was she who carved the Goblet of the Frogs, and it was she who persuaded Boaz to accept his Elemental heritage. DarkGlass Mountain hates Elementals, because it was two powerful Elementals, Boaz and Tirzah, who caused its destruction.”

“No wonder it hates me.”

“No wonder. Now, duck your head under, that I might rinse this lather from your hair.”

Ishbel held her breath as Isaiah pushed her under the water with gentle hands, using his fingers to rinse and comb out the soap from her long hair. When she emerged again, spluttering a little, he wrung out her hair, then put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her back against his body as he continued to speak.

Ishbel felt very much at peace, even though Isaiah related a tale that would normally have made her uncomfortable. This was due entirely to Isaiah’s presence, to his soothing touch, to the depth of compassion that shone from his eyes, and due to that instantaneous bond they’d formed that first time they’d communicated atop Serpent’s Nest. She felt very close to him, and at ease, and she could not, at any point previously in her life, have imagined feeling this close to anyone.

Not even with Maximilian, Ishbel?

“Oh no, Isaiah,” she murmured, hardly even aware of either question or answer. “He makes me too uncomfortable.”

I am not surprised.

“But where does my family fit into all of this?” Ishbel said.

“Boaz and Tirzah had three children. Their eldest was a girl, and in her adult life she traveled north, to what are the Outlands—but which then were called something entirely different—and she married a man called Imreen Brunelle.”

“Oh!”

“Aye, Ishbel, you are descended from the line of Boaz and Tirzah and, like them, you are an Elemental.

You are also, through Avaldamon, Boaz’s father, of the line of the Lords of Elcho Falling, who are powerful mages, and powerful Elementals. DarkGlass Mountain hates you for two reasons, Ishbel. You are not only an Elemental, but you are directly descended from the two people who caused its dismantling thousands of years ago.”

“May I ask a question?” Ishbel said.

“Of course,” Isaiah said.

“Maximilian can also hear the elements. He talked to me about the rings.” She gave a soft laugh devoid of humor. “I didn’t want to listen.”

“Then he must also be an Elemental, Ishbel.” Gods, he thought privately, don’t you yet realize, Ishbel?

How can you be so blind? “The ability to hear the elements was not confined to one family, nor even to one race. It appears in many families of this continent.”

“You are an Elemental, besides being a river god?”

He laughed. “Yes. I am truly multitalented.”

She smiled, and Isaiah almost cursed Ishbel for her easy manner in moving so smoothly past Maximilian in their conversation.

“Why do I sense such foreboding and loss whenever I think of the Lord of Elcho Falling?” Ishbel asked.

“I dream of him constantly, and my dreams always terrify me. I had thought that he was a lord of despair, but from what you say…not?”

“Most definitely not, Ishbel. He is a mage of such power that the very stars themselves would bend knees before him, if they met. He is a man who, once he assumes his full power, shall command me, and even your Great Serpent. DarkGlass Mountain loathes him because he is the most powerful Elemental in existence, and thus is capable of destroying it. Kanubai hates him…well, because a very long time ago the Lord of Elcho Falling was partly responsible for his imprisonment. As to your vision of foreboding and loss…well, it is not for me to explain that.”

“I have also had a vision of handing to the Lord of Elcho Falling the Goblet of the Frogs. Is that because he is such a powerful Elemental mage?”

“Yes. It truly belongs with him. In the right hands it might become a weapon.” And sometimes, Ishbel, you need to open your eyes, and your ears, and your damn heart, and just accept.

This thought also he kept from her, and Isaiah sighed, and gathered Ishbel a little closer. She and Maximilian clearly had caused a rift in their relationship, and Isaiah wondered if they’d be able to close that rift by themselves.

Sometimes lovers needed a little help.

Sometimes they needed to be shown just what they had lost.

And sometimes hopeful lovers, Isaiah thought ruefully, thought up any reason they could to justify their own actions. He was more than a little in love with Ishbel himself, and most assuredly attracted to her.

Sitting here so close together had set his entire body afire.

Maximilian might tear apart the earth for her, but he wasn’t here now.

“I have no real idea why Ba’al’uz sent you to me,” Isaiah said, “but the excuse he gave me was that you would make me a good wife. A wife stolen from a northern king makes a good trophy. Such a wife would consolidate my position as tyrant, Ishbel. My generals mutter, and my throne is often not as secure as I would like. Water god I may be, but when I am incarnate in flesh I am as vulnerable as any man, and the swords of my generals beckon. If you became my wife, then my position would be strengthened. You would be a help to me. It can be whatever manner of marriage you wish—a true marriage or a pretense, I do not care. Either way you will help consolidate my position.”

“I do not want a husband, pretend or otherwise, who will invade my homeland,” she said. “I still do not understand why you do that. It is not like the being I know you are.”

He gave another small shrug. “I have my reasons, Ishbel, and for the moment I cannot share them with you.”

“And this baby?” she said.

There was regret in her voice, and confusion and pain, and Isaiah was glad to hear it.

“Perhaps we can give it back to Maximilian when it is born, yes?”

That was a suggestion so close to the pact that she and Maximilian had made between them that it left Ishbel wordless.

“We shall make a marriage soon, then. I shall arrange a Spectacle, which is a somewhat grand and pretentious word for holding a high court, very formal, and announce to all and sundry—making sure my generals are present—that we were married, um, shall we say, in the heart of DarkGlass Mountain? Yes?

That will give the marriage so much more importance. So much more mystery.”

Ishbel smiled, partly at his words, partly at his teasing tone.

“I do not know that I want another husband,” she said.

Isaiah laughed, very soft and low, and one of his hands strayed to her breast. “Maximilian had his serpent bride, and lost her. Now, perhaps, I shall take what has slipped through his fingers.”

Ishbel sat up and moved away from him, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“I understand you have wives already. I do not wish to be your…what? eighty-fifth? eighty-sixth? That is no honor.”

“I shall set aside my other wives, for they have never interested me. You shall be my only wife. My Favored Wife.”

Ishbel sat in the gentle, warm waters of the Lhyl, and listened to the growing chorus of the frogs in the evening.

“We can marry now,” Isaiah said to her, his eyes black in the gloom, “and, should you wish to, consummate our marriage only after the child is born.”

“Why are you so afraid of your generals?”

“Because I failed badly once, and cannot afford to again. Help me, Ishbel.”

“Put aside your lust for war, I beg you.”

“I cannot, for otherwise we all die. Marry me, Ishbel.”

“I am already married.”

“You would not wear your husband’s ring, and he lost you. Marry me, yes?”

Ishbel sat, the water lapping away all her doubts, the song of the frogs soothing her wariness, and thought about how easy and comfortable she had felt with Isaiah, and how easy and comfortable he made her feel about something that had only ever frightened her with Maximilian.

“I am not a good wife,” she said, “and I am an even worse woman.”

“I am a good teacher,” he said, and for some reason that made sense to Ishbel, and clarified her path for her.

“Very well,” she said, and hoped that the seductive touch of both Isaiah and the River Lhyl had not deprived her of all common sense. She glanced toward where she knew DarkGlass Mountain rose.

“Isaiah, are we in danger from DarkGlass Mountain, and what lurks beneath it?”

“Not just yet. We have some time.”

“When can we leave here?”

“Soon, my darling. Soon.”

They eventually walked back to the palace, the servants and attendants falling in behind them as they left the riverbank, and no one among them, not even Isaiah, saw the ugly brindle dog crouched down within the reed beds.

It watched the procession all the way back to the palace, but it had eyes for nothing but Ishbel’s belly.

There lay power and, finally, finally, life and breath.

And revenge.

At DarkGlass Mountain, unseen by any living eye, shadows started to move under the glass that plated the entire pyramid as, deep in the abyss, Kanubai moved toward wakefulness, hand over hand, up the knotted rope of souls.

North, Ba’al’uz stumbled through the ruins of Setkoth, bumping and bruising his way through the tumbled masonry.

He no longer had much of a mind left, but what there was of it concentrated on one matter only.

Ishbel, her baby, and the rewards of final union with Kanubai.