The Chosen

'Beware the father,' she whispered in Quya and then stepped down.

Carnelian thought to ask her what she meant but he saw the servants all around them. Thank you,' he rumbled and they all fell flat upon the floor.

Fey ordered a door to be opened in the alabaster wall. Beyond Carnelian could see only gloom. His skin felt as if it were being pricked with needles. He lurched into movement. The robes were heavier than armour. He had to breathe slow and hard to lift them with his chest. After a few steps he steeled himself but the tug of the cloaks never came. He turned his head as far as he could and glimpsed some of the children carrying his train. He looked back to the lamp-striped corridor and putting one foot before the other began to journey along it.

At first Carnelian thought they were a guard of diamond men, but as he drew closer he saw they were ice blocks. It seemed strange that such vestiges of winter should be found in this land where it was always summer. He passed through their cordon into cooler air, then through another of lamps and saw the two towers of sculptured silk awaiting him. Slabs of samite stiff with jewels joined by barrelling brocade. High in these structures, surrounded by coronas of quetzal plumes, was the gold of their disdainful faces.

As he stopped, he felt the mass of his robes settling round him. The green coronas inclined. He returned the bow. Sweat was soaking into his robes.

Facets flashed as one of the creatures began to move. A long white hand gleamed into being. Shall we be alone?

Carnelian lifted his arm against the weight of his sleeves and made a gesture of affirmation.

The other's fingers shaped a sign of dismissal. There was an impression of movement in the shadows. Carnelian felt something pull at his shoulders, looked round and saw the children arranging his train in folds over the floor.

'We have come to see if you are indeed who you claim to be, my Lord,' said one of the Masters. The voice was so deep it seemed to come rumbling down the avenues of columns.

'I am Suth Carnelian.'

'So you say,' said a different voice.

Carnelian was stung to anger but calmed himself. It was natural that they should seek proof. It occurred to him that he might show them his father's ring, but that was as lost beneath the layers of his robe as if it had been cast into the sea.

'My blood-ring,' he said.

He steepled his hands together and took it off. As he moved forward his cloak's drag made him feel as if he were yoked to a cart. If that inconvenience had been the Masters' intention in sending away the children, Carnelian was not going to allow them the satisfaction of acknowledging it. When he was close enough, he held out the ring. One of the Masters took it and held it up to the light. His gold face regarded it for a while, then gave it back. The Master reached down the slopes of his robe. His hands took hold of some brocade and pulled on it like handles. The robes billowed up like a wave. Behind this his jewelled torso began sinking. The silk subsided sighing as Carnelian realized the Master was kneeling.

'House Suth rejoices in your return, my Lord,' the deep voice said.

The other Master looked down at his companion, his hands fidgeting over his robe, but then he too knelt. When they removed their masks, their faces were snow reflecting a winter dawn. Carnelian unmasked as they were rising. Their beauty was much alike and bore no resemblance to his father's.

'I am Suth Spinel,' said the elder of the two in his deep voice. Carnelian recalled Fey's warning as Spinel's hand arced elegantly towards the other Master. This is my son, Opalid.'

Carnelian bowed.

'And what of the Ruling Lord, cousin?' asked Spinel. 'He has gone to the Halls of Thunder.' 'As He-who-goes-before?' said Opalid. Carnelian answered with his hand.

Opalid shook the green dazzle of his head. 'We never believed he would-'

His father slashed him silent with his hand. 'When is the Ruling Lord intending to return to the embrace of his family?'

'You are likely to know that better than I, my Lord.' 'Cousin, I become confused.' 'Surely you know why we have returned?' Spinel regarded him with cold eyes. To take back what is yours.'

Carnelian was surprised. That is far from being our prime concern. We have returned because of the election.'

'So, the Lord Aurum has yet again outmanoeuvred his enemies.' Spinel's tone was conversational but his eyes were sharp.

That remains to be seen,' said Carnelian, 'although my Lord might recall that my father has always been of independent mind.'

Opalid flickered a frown.

Spinel fixed Carnelian with his eyes. 'This delay in his return, though regrettable, does give us time to make all the required preparations.'

'You will quit those first lineage halls that you now occupy?'

Spinel's face became a cake of salt. 'Yes, my Lord, though you will appreciate this is something that cannot be effected in a moment.'

Carnelian nodded.

'In the meantime, perhaps, my Lord would condescend…'

Carnelian gave the Master an expectant look. '… to occupy the halls of the third lineage in the Eyries?'

'For the moment.'

'In less than a month we shall make the journey to the Halls of Thunder to vote in the election.'

'Am I to understand that my grandmother is up in the Eyries?'

Spinel gave him an enquiring look and a slow nod. 'I intend to meet her today.'

Spinel shaped a barrier gesture with his hands. The Lady is old now and frail and receives no visitors… the shock of this sudden appearance… not to mention-'

'My grandmother already knows that I am here.'

Spinel frowned. 'How could you know this, my Lord?'

'I have a letter from her.'

'A letter? I see.' Spinel put on a jovial smile. 'It seems then there is no problem whatsoever.'

Climbing into the palanquin, Carnelian felt like a jewelled doll being put into an oven. His train was fed in after him, the door slid closed and then he was hoisted into the air. The swell of the carrying poles damped away to stillness, then, with a sway, they were off. He breathed his hot, humid perfume slowly and tried to loosen some of his robes. He found a grille that he could open to let in some air. Walls and gilded pillars, glimpses of courts, manicured trees, all slid past in bewildering procession. He slumped back and fidgeted with his blood-ring, watching the play of light the grille freckled over the satin wall. He tried to ignore the heat, to think about his grandmother. His guts churned. What was he going to tell her about her son?

At some point the palanquin angled up and the pressure of its wall slid up to his back. He could hear a watery tumble and hiss. A mossy smell greened the air. He drowsed during the long climb up the Sacred Wall, as he was cooled and heated in alternating rhythms.

It was the palanquin settling to the ground that woke him. Carnelian sat up and put on his mask. He listened but could hear nothing. He slid back the door. Guardsmen knelt in a half-circle. They helped him climb out into their midst. When he straightened, he saw a columned hall running deep into the rock. Hugging the cliff, a wide stair with many landings wound down from where he stood, past galleries and colonnades, under balconies, round gargoyled buttresses. The whole cliff seemed to have been carved like a piece of wood. His eyes strayed to the stair's open side and he reeled. He gripped the balustrade that was all that lay between him and an infinite realm of air. The Skymere below might have been a sea seen from the clouds. The rim of the Yden traced its circle into vague distance, barely containing its emerald world that was all atremble with slivers of sun. In all that melting world the only solidity was the Pillar of Heaven. Carnelian leaned over the balustrade. The rock plunged down and further down until he saw the roofs and courts of the Lower Palace like a border of ivory plaques sewn into the Skymere's edge.