Though it was midafternoon, Naobi’s face cratered the sky through one of the pore-like windows.
“Moon’s greeting.” She smiled faintly.
The Pplarian wore a red kash. He approached and extended both of his usable hands. Sena paused what she was doing and allowed him to press his fingers and thumbs into her palms and wrists, a ceremonial two-handed exchange that she accepted without question.
“The temple has been closed,” he said. “The colligation is complete.”
She had already seen it with her eyes, the gates being pulled shut, the sign being installed, the chain taking its padlock in the dark and snowy cold.
Nevertheless she thanked him and her words were sincere. Knowing what the Pplarians had done for her only enhanced her sense of gratitude. The Pplarians owed her nothing, yet they had performed this service with strange munificence. Where they would go, what they would try to do on their own and whether they would succeed or be destroyed like the rest of the world was a mystery that remained beyond Sena’s knowledge. The Pebella of the Pplar was powerful and her ambit kept the fate of her people hidden.
Sena adjusted her skin over one of the trays’ thick wax bottoms. She placed an additional pin, then looked back at Yul. “Thank you for coming this far. I get lonely.”
Yul smacked his lips and craned his long neck to port like an albino tortoise without a shell. He peered through one of the windows at the Odalisque with his fuchsia eyes as if trying to see the High King. Finally he said, “I am sure your math is correct. Have you set the course?”
“Yes.” She looked through the intervening walls—unlike Yul—across the sky to where she could actually see Caliph talking with Taelin.
Yul inclined his head slightly in calm obeisance. He seemed calm. But she saw through the tight kash. His vestigial hands groped from caterpillar-sized arms and cupped his nipples. He pinched himself anxiously.
“You should go,” she told him.
He bowed, grinned brokenly and excused himself. As he neared the exit the muscular valve-like flap of the door opened and trembled around him. Yul squeezed his papillae fiercely and said, “The Pebella is never wrong.”
Sena offered him a thoughtful scowl and nodded her head. Then he was gone and the valve snicked shut behind him.
CHAPTER
30
“How did you know I was reading?” Caliph asked.
Taelin didn’t like the way his eyes scoured her face. Like he was searching for a lie.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I felt sick. And … I just knew. I know that sounds crazy but I feel like I’m inside your head. I want it to go away.”
The High King’s eyes panned nervously. “I uhm … are you sure you’re all right? Does Dr. Baufent know you’re up?”
“Of course,” Taelin lied.
Caliph smiled uncomfortably. “Okay. Well then, why don’t we go get something eat?”
She said yes with her hand.
Her father was dead. That was what kept going through her head as she followed Caliph Howl toward the starboard deck. He held the door for her, which made her angry for hard-to-pin-down reasons.
Walking through the doorway, out of the controlled atmosphere, was like walking into another world. A familiar, warm-scented world full of wormwood and spider flower and the smell of tea trees on the wind. Taelin realized that they had left Sandren far behind. She remembered raiding the medical chest but it was almost like a dream. Dreams were dreams. She didn’t bring it up.
Miles away, she could see the three lichen-colored hills, staggered in a perfect row. They formed the backdrop of her hometown of Kub Ish.
Was the plague there too?
She tried not to think about it and looked briefly at the silt flats: another unmistakable feature of the landscape, as if a giant pail full of mud had been thrown to the south.
Strangely, she didn’t feel like running elatedly to the railing for a better view. She wasn’t homesick.
“Do you want to sit down?” Caliph asked.
She smiled thinly and pulled up one of the deck chairs. It was warm wood, set bowed in a light metal frame, supported with springs that adjusted comfortably beneath her. It was the kind of chair she imagined she could sit in all night. She pulled her feet up off the floor.
Caliph Howl started with a resolved but quiet, almost apologetic tone. “Look. I know I already apologized back in Sandren for everything that’s happened. But then … even more things happened.
“I feel responsible for you because you’re the only one here that … (damn right you’re responsible—my father is dead!) and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way … but you’re the only one that doesn’t belong here. (I hate you, King Howl. You are an evil deluded man at the head of an evil and deluded nation. I wish you were dead.)
“You belong somewhere other than entangled in the political mess of this ship.” (Is that some kind of veiled insult?)
Taelin felt a hot-cool mixture of emotions as his words flowed around her.
“So you want to apologize?” she asked. “But you don’t want to tell me about what you were reading?” She smelled a freshly lit cigarette from the direction of the kitchen. When she glanced toward the source she saw Specks floating in the shadow of the door. For a moment it appalled her. She thought that Specks was smoking. Then she realized it was steam rising from a cup in his hand. The smell of smoke must have come from someone else. Specks’ eyes looked at her curiously, a kind of placid infatuation. He was not embarrassed that she had caught him staring.
“I was reading some books that Sena gave me,” Caliph said.
Taelin looked back at the High King. “So this is related to my grandfather—”
“Apparently yes. But please. Let’s talk about you for a minute.”
“You want to get rid of me?”
His eyes begged for understanding. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just don’t think you belong on this ship. So far I haven’t guessed a single thing right and I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. But if something bad happens to us, I don’t want you to be here.”
“I see.”
Caliph cleared his throat. “I have it from a reliable source that you’re from around here.” He swept his arm at the landscape beyond the railing. “I’d like to take you home. From there you can either return to your mission home in Isca or stay in the south and let Stonehold fix its own problems. What do you say?”
“I don’t want to go home.” She could feel the cool clammy possibilities of evening rain. Wild, colorful clouds smutched the sky like brushfire smoke. The smell from the kitchen had woken a hunger inside her. She wanted a cigarette.
Caliph scowled at her faintly. “Why don’t you want to go home?”
“My father is dead.” She felt her face flush but pushed back against it, trying to focus on the cool wind and the tinkling sounds above her head.
“You’re sure he was on the Pandragonian ship in Sandren?”
“Yes.” She was on the edge of sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I … (You’re not sorry. I hate you. I hate you and you should die.) If he was, I mean if he was on that ship, then your family’s going to need you.”
“No they’re not! They loathe me. I’m a huge disappointment!” Why she told him this truth was beyond her. It fell out of her mouth, an admission jarred loose by the emotional tremor going through her; it seemed to shatter on the floor.
The string of colored lights above the table lit up. While their soft tinkling was pleasant, she found their bright colors at odds with her mood. In a double punch, the food arrived, smelling delicious. Specks had gone into the kitchen for the tray. He served them with an ill-hidden smile of self-satisfaction. “I brought your dinner,” he said.