A Chorus of Fire Read online

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  To a man whose generosity and kindness is only surpassed by his dedication to family. We love you, “Buckshot.”

  1

  TOO MUCH GLAMOR

  With patience comes wisdom. Through wisdom, peace.

  Nivanian Proverb

  Hundreds of finger-thin, translucent yellow and blue ribbons frolicked around the edge of the dance floor, in cadence with the importunate thrumming of the orchestra, an elite group who frequently played for monarchs and nobles across Lamoria, brought in from Lytonia at tremendous expense. Silver-winged fairies in flowing white gowns, no more than an inch tall, flitted playfully among the elegantly attired dancers who spun about, joyous smiles on their lips as the magic of the décor gave the ballroom a dreamlike quality of some otherworldly place that could only exist in the realm of the imagination. Above shone a star-strewn sky, streaked with wisps of silver that glowed with a pale light before being carried swiftly away on a high wind. Below stretched the flat desert sands of the legendary Maldonian Expanse, every inch peppered with shimmering diamonds and bloodred rubies whose facets reflected the light in a delicate web of brilliance.

  “However do you do it?”

  Loria turned to an older, fair-haired woman in a deep blue gown and silver shawl. Lady Quintin was nearly as celebrated for her parties as Loria. Nearly. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Nothing? My dear, if I only knew the Thaumas who made this, I would never allow him out of my sight.”

  Loria smiled. “He is quite talented, to be sure. But I’m afraid a bit of a wanderer. Otherwise I would send him to you.”

  “Speaking of wandering,” she remarked casually, as if thinking of something trivial. But her attention to the group of six men standing on the far side of the chamber suggested that it was not the glamor that decorated the ballroom stoking her interest. “I could not help but notice several foreigners among your guests.”

  “Yes. A delegation from Nivania arrived a few days ago. The High Chancellor, poor dear, hasn’t the coin to put on a proper reception in his own home. So he asked that I invite them tonight.”

  The silk-clad Nivanians were watching the dancers with keen interest, clearly impressed by the glamor that decorated the hall. Their painted faces and long, curved knives kept in gold bejeweled scabbards at their sides drew numerous stares from the Ubanian nobility. Uncultured heathens, some whispered. Worshipers of the earth goddess Yulisar.

  Lady Quintin covered her mouth demurely to hide an amused grin. “How does the Chancellor manage? I would have assumed his wife’s family would afford him better.”

  “Some people have difficulty administering their finances, I’m afraid.” Loria leaned in close. “Just between us, I hear that he invited the Nivanians to Ubania to open trade in silks.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “If all goes well, he should make quite a hefty sum.”

  Quintin narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure? What about Ralmarstad? Surely King Hyrus would never allow it.”

  She had taken the bait. Though clever, nobles like Lady Quintin were easily manipulated; their lives revolved around the latest gossip, used to embarrass or gain leverage on their rivals—and just as frequently, their friends. “Only if he finds out. Gold can cloud one’s judgment.” Loria placed her hand lightly on Quintin’s. “I’m not certain of this, mind you. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m sure it’s nothing more than a rumor.”

  Lady Quintin was now searching the crowd for High Chancellor Zarish. “Yes. A rumor. Of course. It must be.” Spotting him near a table off to their left, she straightened her back and nodded politely. “Please excuse me, my dear. I see a friend I must speak with before she thinks I’m ignoring her. Must not offend, after all.”

  “Of course,” Loria replied. “Please enjoy yourself.”

  “Why do you do that?” came a voice from behind once Lady Quintin was out of earshot.

  Lord Landon Valmore was beaming, looking a bit flushed though still quite dashing in his red coat and gold-and-white shirt and trousers. The young lady with whom he’d been dancing was rejoining her father, who appeared none too pleased that his daughter’s eyes remained firmly set on the young lord.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Loria replied, placing a hand to her chest.

  “Of course you don’t,” Landon said with a lighthearted laugh. “You know as well as I that the Nivanians are here to sell bows to the Ralmarstad army.”

  “True. But how is it you know this?”

  “My ship has been commissioned to deliver them.” He waved over a servant carrying glasses of wine. “I don’t think the Nivanians even trade in silks. They import them from Syleria, unless I’m mistaken.”

  Loria could not suppress a tiny smile. “Yes. I know. But apparently Lady Quintin doesn’t.”

  He took a pair of glasses from the tray and handed one to Loria. “May I one day possess a keen enough mind to understand you.” After they both took a sip, he added: “I will need to be cautious until then.”

  “I always advise caution,” she replied.

  Loria and Landon had recently embarked on a joint venture, selling iron from the mines in Ralmarstad to Ur Minosa. It had taken no small measure of negotiation, bribes, and flattery to procure the contract, and even more to secure the rights to the iron from King Hyrus. It was quite the accomplishment, given the tough restrictions Ralmarstad had put on the iron trade.

  “I haven’t seen Mariyah tonight,” he remarked, a touch too eagerly. “She is not ill, I hope?”

  “Mariyah is entertaining the Nivanian women,” Loria said.

  He nodded. “That’s right. The women detest men.”

  Loria gave him a reprimanding frown. “They most certainly do not. You of all people should know better than to listen to gossip.”

  “Then why do you never see them together?” he pointed out, clearly teasing her.

  “If you were not late, you would have seen them tonight. Most Nivanian women prefer not to socialize with men if they can avoid it. It’s said they find their company boorish and crude. Which is why I had Mariyah keep them company instead.”

  “Her company would be preferable,” he remarked with a smirk, over the lip of his glass. “Is it true they do not marry?”

  Now he was just being deliberately irritating. “I’m beginning to understand their point. But to answer your question: They do. Though the children are raised collectively.”

  Landon raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? No parents?” He shook his head. “It’s difficult to imagine.”

  “Why should it be? Nivanian children are cared for by the entire community. Though I don’t know the details of
the practice.”

  “It would explain why they are so fiercely loyal to one another.”

  Loria knew that Landon was feigning ignorance. His high level of education would have certainly acquainted him with Nivanian customs. But coaxing someone to speak more than they typically would was a fine way to gather information. Sooner or later, something unintentional would slip out.

  “So how went your trip to Gothmora?” she asked.

  Landon grinned, realizing she was turning the tables. “Profitable.” He glanced over to the young lady, who was still watching his every move with undisguised desire. “I think I will have another dance.” He bowed low. “My lady.”

  Loria returned the gesture. Landon was definitely intelligent and shrewd. Thus far he had given no indication that Belkar’s followers had turned him to their cause. But that was the danger in dealing with such a person. They tended to be adept at concealing their motives … until they were ready to strike.

  * * *

  Mariyah was doing her level best to look interested as Ju Malay, Priestess of Yulisar and wife of Hur Zoreeb the chief Nivanian delegate, explained how to properly fletch an arrow. Her black and gold silks flowed loosely, and her dark eyes peeked out from a thin veil attached to her headscarf with jewel-encrusted gold pins. Formal attire, Loria had explained upon their arrival: the veil to mask expression should one become offended by a host or guest, and the loose fit of the gown to enable weapons to be easily concealed.

  Nivanians were often said to have a pragmatic view of life. Slow to trust, but intensely loyal once you earned their friendship, they seemed to choose a minimalist existence, preferring small villages to large cities. Many were nomadic, following wild game throughout the dense jungles of the Nivanian interior. They had no ruling monarch, or even a council of elders as in Vylari. And yet there was no record of internal conflict throughout their history.

  The other four women who had accompanied her had excused themselves to wander the gardens at their leisure. Mariyah was grateful. One conversation at a time was more than enough tonight. Ju Malay’s thick rolling r’s and s’s and long vowels were a challenge to decipher at times. Speaking with the entire group would have ensured the night ended with a pounding headache.

  “I see you have little interest in the crafting of weapons,” Ju Malay said, her veil lifting at the edges from an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. But my husband only ever talks of trade and finance. And my companions”—she looked to the corner of the garden, where the others were currently exploring—“have only interest in wild things that grow.”

  “It is I who should apologize, sulta shar,” Mariyah said, using Ju Malay’s official title as Priestess of Yulisar while attempting to conceal the fatigue in her smile. “I did not mean to be rude. Please—go on.”

  Ju Malay reached up and unfastened her veil. She was young—not much older than Mariyah—with ebony skin and full lips. Unlike the men, she did not mark her face with the symbols of her family. “There is no need to use my title. My friends call me Malay. I would be honored if you would as well.”

  “Thank you, Malay.”

  She reached over and took Mariyah’s hand as they strolled down a row of lilacs. “Tell me: Are you a … servant is not the right word. Indenture?”

  “I was,” Mariyah replied. “But Lady Camdon released me.”

  “Why would she do that? I thought such servants were highly prized by Ubanians.”

  “I saved her life,” she explained. Despite best efforts, word had eventually spread about the attempt on Lady Camdon’s life, and she had used it as pretense to officially grant Mariyah’s freedom.

  “I see,” Malay mused, eyes downturned. “And yet you stay?” When Mariyah didn’t respond, she gave a reserved smile. “I hope I am not being impolite to ask. But the idea of one keeping another against their will is difficult for me to understand. Such a thing would never be allowed in Nivania.”

  “So you don’t have criminals?”

  “Yes. But exile or compensation is the typical form of restitution. Murder is rare. And when it occurs, death is the only penance allowed.”

  Mariyah was aware that Nivanian children were raised communally; it made her wonder if that were one reason. But then murder was also rare in Vylari. “I stay because I cannot go home.”

  “That is sad. I would not know what to do if I could not see my home again.”

  “How long are you to be in Ubania?” Mariyah asked, changing the subject.

  “We leave in two days,” Malay replied. “Once my husband receives payment and the bows are loaded onto the ship, we begin the long journey home.”

  “Do you always travel with your husband?”

  Malay laughed. “Spirits, no. My duties at the temple keep me quite occupied. And I do not enjoy riding in a carriage. I only came so I could speak with Lady Camdon.”

  Mariyah cocked her head. Loria had not mentioned that she knew Malay. “About what?”

  Malay nodded to a nearby bench. “That’s better,” she said once they were seated, looking much relieved. “These shoes are too tight.”

  Mariyah regarded her feet. “We look to be the same size. I could get you something more comfortable if you like.”

  “That is quite all right. It would upset my husband. They were a gift purchased with tonight in mind.” She removed one of the black leather shoes and began bending it repeatedly. “Like new friends, they often take work before they are a good fit. As for my reason for speaking to Lady Camdon, I think you know the answer to this. Unless she was exaggerating as to your role.”

  “I am her assistant,” Mariyah said.

  “Yes. But you are much more, am I right?” When Mariyah did not respond, she added: “I understand your reluctance to talk openly. Belkar is not a subject to take lightly.”

  Mariyah stiffened at the mention of this name. Why would a Nivanian priestess come to see Lady Camdon about Belkar?

  Noticing Mariyah’s reaction, Malay lowered her voice. “We have been aware of him for some time. Lady Camdon has been helpful in providing us information as to the advancement of his influence in Ralmarstad.”

  “And how do you feel about him?”

  The priestess took a long breath and then slipped her shoe back on, wiggling her toes, smiling at the better fit, then began to repeat the process with the other shoe. “A curious question. I feel nothing. He is a danger that must be resisted. The king and the Archbishop would see us fall as it is. For now they are not so foolish as to attack us. It is important I know if this changes.”

  Though her knowledge of Nivania was rather limited, Mariyah had read about past campaigns waged against them by Ralmarstad. The rare combination of mountainous terrain along their border and the dense jungles of the interior made it exceedingly difficult for an invading army to gain a foothold. None had succeeded in recent or ancient history so far as she knew.

  “With Belkar’s power behind them,” Malay continued, “our defenses would quickly crumble.”

  “Then why are you selling them weapons?”

  “A shipment of bows will not turn the tide,” she answered. “And it makes them believe us ignorant to the events unfolding.”

  “So what do you intend to do?”

  “We do not look for answers in war and violence,” she replied. “Not like people in Ralmarstad. There is little we can do beyond offer a safe haven for friends in need. Though when Belkar comes, not even our mountains will keep us safe.”

  Mariyah could make out the fear concealed in her tone. It was a fear she recognized too well. It was not for her own life she was concerned, but the lives of her people. “We will stop him before he reaches Nivania.”

  “A kind thing to say.”

  They could hear two of the women approaching from the east garden.

  Malay put her other shoe back on then reattached her veil and stood. “We should perhaps rejoin the party,” she said. “Though the thought of listening to the men prattle on is making me wish this night
was over.”

  Mariyah laughed. “They’re not all so bad.”

  Malay took Mariyah’s arm as they walked to the west entrance, three of Malay’s four companions coming up from behind. The last arrived a moment later, launching into a discussion about the numerous varieties of flora they had discovered along the garden paths.

  Back in the ballroom, Mariyah excused herself and in short order found Loria speaking to a trio of young lords who were failing miserably at being charming. The Nivanians were now gathered near to the exit, Malay whispering into the ear of her husband.

  “I think I’ll retire early tonight,” Mariyah said. Creating the glamor for the event had taken more of a toll than she’d anticipated. “Unless you object.”

  “No,” Loria replied, in the typical hard tone she used when speaking to servants in view of the public. “Go right ahead.” She leaned in closer. “Do try to be discreet.”

  It was unusual for Mariyah to leave early, though not so out of the ordinary as to be worthy of much attention. Now that it was known she was free, it was expected that restrictions would be relaxed. The story they told was that Kylandra had caught a fever and went violently mad; Mariyah had saved Lady Camdon’s life by smashing a vase over her head. Sadly, the blow had killed the poor ailing woman. As intended, the unfortunate event was quickly dismissed and forgotten, with only themselves—and, of course, the followers of Belkar—knowing the truth.

  Decorum still needed to be maintained, and Mariyah did not speak in a familiar way to Loria in public, but her freedom being known had made life far more convenient. She could now enter Ubania proper without an escort and was not required to register an agenda each time she passed through the city gates. Of course, Loria had insisted on at a minimum Bram accompanying her, often sending a few additional guards. Mariyah did not think their enemies would move against her openly, and thought that this had as much to do with the possibility that Lem had not given up and was waiting for an opportunity to steal away with her. This was the likely reason anytime either of them left the manor grounds a blinding charm was required to black out the carriage windows. But Loria had never said so directly, rather citing excess caution over carelessness.