The messenger faced the God-King, knelt once more, and touched his forehead to the floor. Those who had come with him had not budged from their positions in all that time. “My glorious master has ordered his humble servant to give all obedience to the God-King of Gyongxe,” he replied.
“I suppose that means yes,” Briar heard Rosethorn murmur to Dokyi now that the messenger wasn’t looking at her.
Briar let a sigh of relief escape him. She was her usual mocking, hardheaded self. It was understandable that she would be excited by the chance to see the emperor’s famous, personal, gardens, but after the God-King’s remarks and all of the rumors and stories about the emperor that Briar had heard over the last four months, Briar wanted Rosethorn at her most hardheaded. With Rosethorn and Evvy both to look after, Briar wanted all of the good sense he could find, buy, or steal.
OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF DOHAN
WINTER CAPITAL OF THE YANJING EMPIRE
FIVE WEEKS LATER, THE SECOND WEEK OF SEED MOON
Evumeimei Dingzai was very unhappy. First of all, she was hot. Once they had come down from the heights of the Drimbakang Sharlog, they had found themselves in wet, sunny lands that were already warm despite it barely being spring. Today was even warmer than usual. To add to her discomfort, she and Rosethorn were traveling in the most elegant of palanquins, on their way to the first part of Emperor Weishu’s birthday celebration. Bearers carried them along one of the many roads of the Winter Palace, a skull-thumping “honor” Evvy would have happily done without. The curtains of the palanquin were drawn, they had been told by their servant-guardians, to keep the emperor’s favored guests from being stared at by the vulgar, and to keep dust from their clothes. It meant they bounced along in an airless silk-wrapped box.
Only the thought of Rosethorn’s grip on her ear if she voiced her feelings kept her silent. Surely even Rosethorn could understand how a girl in three layers of silk robes, with her hair oiled, braided, and secured by jeweled pins, might want to say something, even if she only muttered it. Still, Rosethorn so often held strange views about the behavior she expected of her traveling companions that it was really better for Evvy to keep any complaints behind her teeth. That was, at least, if she wanted her ear to stay in its normal position on her head.
It wasn’t fair, Evvy wanted to say. Court etiquette only required Rosethorn, a dedicate of an established religion, to wear garments like those she wore in service to her gods. Of course, the emperor required that those garments be silk: a white shift and the pine-green habit worn by Earth dedicates of the western Living Circle. Rosethorn wore no collar. Evvy had three, all of which framed more of Evvy’s bare skin than she thought was right. She tried to tug a layer over her upper chest and failed.
“Stop fussing,” Rosethorn ordered. She lay back against the cushions, waving a fan to cool herself. “The clothes will be easier to wear if you forget you’re wearing them. You don’t see Briar tugging and squirming.”
“I don’t see Briar,” Evvy grumbled, trying to slouch. “He got to ride a horse.”
“If we wore clothes suitable to horseback riding, I’m sure we would have been allowed to do the same.”
The palanquin tilted suddenly; Evvy tumbled among the cushions. The slaves who carried the chair with its box-like compartment were climbing. Evvy wriggled back to a sitting position and risked a peek through the curtains. “Stairs,” she told Rosethorn. “Big flat stone ones, like in that old temple back on the Sea of Grass.” She let her magic drip down into the polished surfaces below their palanquin. The stone steps were old, quiet, and sleepy. She had woken them up to ask them questions. “There’s dips worn into them by people coming and going, but they say they don’t mind.” She let the ancient voices roll through her bones. “They say humans tell them they are white marble from Sishan. They’ve been here for more wet seasons than they can count, if they could count.” She leaned back, letting the curtains shut. “They’re going back to sleep.” She sighed, feeling better. Carefully she smoothed one of her sleeves, then confessed in a tiny voice, “I wouldn’t fuss so, only I’m scared.”
“I had noticed,” Rosethorn said quietly. “We are guests, Evvy. The emperor made promises to the God-King and First Dedicate Dokyi that we would be safe. We have to trust that he’s telling the truth. We have heard how much pride he takes in his gardens. From his letter to me, he believes I am a gardener of great renown. He wants to show off. Perhaps he would even like me to do a little work with some plants of his.”
Evvy bit her lip. Until she was four, her parents had taught her that the emperor could do anything he wished. When she lived in her burrow in the rock in Chammur, the old Yanjingyi woman Qinling had told her stories of home. In them, the emperor had figured as being one step below the gods. Evvy had survived on her own for years by avoiding powerful people. This trip to the imperial court went against every survival instinct she possessed.
Their palanquin bearers slowed to a stop, but when Evvy tried to get out, a frowning eunuch appeared in the opening of her curtain. He shook a finger at her and closed the curtain with a yank.
“We’re hot!” Evvy snapped in Chammuri, vexed.
Rosethorn slapped her arm lightly. “Manners,” she warned. “We aren’t in Gyongxe.”
“I can’t breathe,” Evvy whined. She felt cramped and suffocated in this cushion-stuffed silk box.
Suddenly someone thrust a tray with two bowl-like cups through the curtains. Rosethorn frowned, then chose a bowl. Evvy took the other. It was chilly on the outside. There was no spoon, so the contents must be drinkable. She took the tiniest of sips. The taste was as refreshing as cold water, but with a slight, unfamiliar, fruit-like taste that cleared her head. She drank eagerly.