“Just relax, let the saijin do its work.” Mace carried him toward the bank of windows standing open to let out the construction dust.
Oilcan buckled in Mace’s hold even as the edges of his vision went shimmering white with the drug.
“Go to sleep,” Iron Mace growled. “That way you won’t feel anything.”
Oilcan struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t move. He felt like he was sinking into warm, bright quicksand. Even Oilcan’s fear was slow, seeping through him. Was this how Amaranth really died? Drugged to helplessness and then murdered in a way to look like she had killed herself? Had Mace dropped her from a window, too?
Forge’s voice came thundering from a great distance. “What are you doing? Put him down! Get away from him!”
The world was washed in brightness as Mace laid him on the floor, the flower kissing his face. Oilcan struggled to roll his head, but Mace was holding him still. Mace hovered above, a darkness in the shimmering light. “You didn’t do anything to save my sister. I told you that she was driving herself insane with all that digging through the moors for his body. I told you that you had to take her away from that place, take her somewhere not haunted by his ghost. You didn’t listen. You did nothing, and she slipped through your fingers.”
Forge’s voice lost its thunder. “I didn’t think she would — I didn’t think—”
Oilcan tried to shout his fear, and it came out a moan. No, no, don’t listen to him!
“If you do nothing, we’re going to lose all we have left of her!” Iron Mace raged, sounding like a grief-stricken older brother — but then, he’d had centuries to perfect the act. “The Wind Clan already took one of our little ones. She’s gone to us. Are you going to let him slip through your fingers, too?”
“I’ve done what I can.” Forge finally eclipsed Oilcan’s view of the ceiling. He gazed down at Oilcan with eyes dark and luminous with tears. “You can’t—”
“Save him!” Mace shouted. “Or are you going to let him die, too?”
“You can’t just drug him and change him.” Forge reached for the flower.
Iron Mace caught Forge’s hand. “He’s twenty-two years old, Forge. Twenty-two! What does he know about life and death? He’s still a baby. The law says a parent can act for the good of their child.”
Oilcan’s eyes closed against his will, and he sank down into the light.
“He — he’s not a baby.” Forge’s voice was full of despair. “He’s good and kind and patient. . ”
The light was dimming, fading to black. Tooloo had warned Oilcan to be careful, that the Stone Clan would twist him around and then murder him in his sleep.
“And he’ll be gone soon if we don’t save him,” Mace thundered in the darkness. “Don’t fail him like you failed Amaranth.”
The last thing Oilcan heard was Forge groan and whisper softly, “Oh, child, forgive me, but he’s right.”
And then Oilcan was lost in the darkness.
38: UNCLEAN BLOOD
Lemonseed was Windwolf’s major domo. She was patient and unmovable as a mountain. She looked no older than Lain, her face only lightly touched by time. Small wrinkles gathered at the corners of her Lady Madonna smile. She had two locks of pure white hair that she wove like silk ribbons through her Wind Clan glossy black hair. She was, however, the oldest member of Windwolf’s household and well over nine thousand years old. She had been born when humans were just wrapping their brains around the idea of keeping animals as pets and planting seeds into the ground to create farms. She had lived through thousands of years of Skin Clan rule before the clans won their freedom.
Most importantly, she was Windwolf’s Beholden. She could be trusted not to talk to the Wyverns about anything damning Tinker let slip.
They cornered her in the kitchen garden among the laundered sheets hung out to dry on strands of steel-spinner silk. The walls of damp white cotton gave them privacy without making it obvious that they were trying to hide.
“What do you know about the naelinsanota?” Tinker asked.
“Oh, that is not a term I’ve heard for nae hou,” Lemonseed said. “It is not something I would tell you lightly. Do you really need to know?”
Tinker nodded. “Please. Everything that you can tell me.”
Lemonseed laughed and smiled and cupped Tinker’s face in her hands. “Oh, sweetness, it would take years to tell you all that I know.” A measure of her Hand’s trust of the old female, neither Pony or Stormsong moved as Lemonseed touched her. “Judging on the last few months, we do not have years for you to hear it all.”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m not sure if I even have days or hours.”
“Ah, the unclean ones?” Lemonseed tilted her head to consider the clouds passing over their narrow cloth hallway. “I was born slave to King Boar Bristle of the Eastern Steppes. He had been born the second son of King War Axe, but he had murdered his father and older brother for his title and was quite determined not to spawn any children that could wrestle away his power. We lived in a great jewellike palace built over a lake that was stocked with the most heavenly smelling water lilies, and glow fish so beautiful it would take your breath away. And yet there wasn’t a moment of the day where you were totally safe. To the king, we were cattle, there to be used and slaughtered. To his favorites, he gave free rein to take their pleasures however they wished. Half of the people that lived in the palace were loyal to the Skin Clan, but the rest of us were secretly Wind Clan. It was my mother who was wet nurse to Quick Blade, Windwolf’s great-grandfather, the king’s bastard who he had ordered drowned in the lake at birth. My older half-brother was drowned in his stead.”
Tinker wondered when Lemonseed would get to her point; and the tengu thought that dragons were long-winded. “So, the unclean ones?”
“That was how it was,” Lemonseed said. “The Skin Clan had great palaces scattered across the known world where we lived like frightened mice as they moved like gods among us, taking pleasure and killing where they desired. But every century, we were growing stronger and bolder. The Soulless One lived on the Inner Sea, half a world away, where Winter Court lies now.”
Obviously there was a huge hole in Tinker’s knowledge, as Lemonseed had said the name as if Tinker should recognize the person. “Who?”
“The emperor of the Skin Clan, Heaven’s Blessing. We called him the Soulless One because he was an albino.”
“Albinos are born without a soul.” Pony sounded like he believed it totally.
“Fortunately, albinos are almost unheard of among elves,” Stormsong added. “Mostly because it was ruthlessly eliminated from the main breed stock shortly after Heaven’s Blessing was born.”
“He was brilliant and ruthless. He sensed the coming years of resistance where we would fight open battles against our masters. The greatest at spell-working, he chose to create his ultimate weapons. Of that, we of the Wind Clan only know the rumors.”
In other words — much fewer words: I wasn’t there, I’m not sure how much of this is true. The reason for the disclaimer became obvious with Lemonseed’s next sentence.
“It is said,” Lemonseed whispered, “that the emperor captured a god. He distilled down its essence and used it to create new castes. The first that he made were the naelinsanota. They were flawed because of his impatience. The second he made were the intanyai seyosa. They looked upon their maker and saw his wickedness. They saw too that he was about to create his own downfall, so they kept their silence. It was with the god’s holy perfection that he made the sekasha.”