The Serpent Sea - By Martha Wells Page 0,42

little.”

There was a brief glint in the other consort’s eyes, possibly amusement, but it was hard to tell. He let Moon go and stepped back. “But you’re taken?”

Consorts couldn’t tell, couldn’t scent the marker that queens left on the consorts they took for their own. Moon said, “By Jade, sister queen of Indigo Cloud. I’m Moon.”

“She must be brave.” He considered a moment, watching Moon intently. “Will you come sit with me?”

It might be a bad mistake. This was a game Moon didn’t understand and he had already made a serious error, just sitting here. But he didn’t want this man to walk away without him. “Yes.”

The warriors exchanged glances, worried and confused, as if they would like to object but knew better. Chime stared urgently at Balm, and she stepped forward and said, “What do we tell his queen when she asks where he is?”

“Say he is with Shadow, first consort to Ice, the reigning queen.” Shadow shifted and leapt straight up to cling to the wall high above. Moon shifted and leapt after him.

They climbed all the way up to the fourth level, then Shadow slung himself up onto a balcony and shifted back to groundling. Moon followed, shifting as they started down the passage. Unlike the Indigo Cloud tree, the walls here weren’t solid wood, but were made of dark brown vines, woven together. It left gaps for air to pass through, and Moon could catch glimpses of the rooms and passages to either side.

He could also hear movement, the slight rustling of wings and spines, pacing them. There was a faint chance Shadow could be walking him into an ambush, but if so, the ambushers weren’t doing a good job of concealing their presence.

As they walked, Shadow asked, “Why did you leave your birthcourt?” That was an easy question, at least. “I didn’t. They all died, when I was too young to remember.”

Shadow’s brow creased in a wince, but he didn’t offer sympathy. “How did you survive at that age?”

“There were others at first, a female warrior and four younger Arbora.

Later they were killed, too.” He didn’t add that he had thought the warrior was his mother and the others his siblings, until Stone had told him that was impossible.

The passage wound around, then opened into a larger hall. It was an irregular shape, with sections curving off out of sight, lit by more of the spelled flowers. It took Moon a moment to realize those were bowers suspended from the ceiling, formed of large globes or half-shells of woven vines. They dripped rich fabrics in jewel-like colors, reds, golds, shimmering in the light. Seating cushions and furs were scattered on the floor below them. The place smelled of jasmine and Moon heard water running, somewhere out of sight.

A dark shape climbed across the ceiling, then clung with its claws to the vines and hung upside down to watch them pass: another consort. Faces peered out of some of the bowers, some of them shifted to Raksura before climbing out. The back of Moon’s neck itched with nerves. Everyone he saw was male, and when they shifted they had black scales. All consorts, and from the movement he could hear, there were a lot of them.

Moon had felt self-conscious plenty of times, but these were Raksura. They would be able to smell the sweat breaking out all over his body.

Shadow led the way through the confusing space toward the outer wall of the trunk, ignoring the curious stares. A doorway there let in greentinted sunlight, and they went through and out to a broad open balcony.

It was protected by the arch of thorn vines and partly enclosed by the spreading canopies of smaller trees growing in the big branch just below. In a shallow pool lined with polished stone, tiny water-lizards skittered across and away at their approach.

Dark gray furs were spread near the pool. Shadow gestured for Moon to sit and settled across from him. Moon sat on the fur, trying to look calm, or at least neutral. From here he had a good view of the sculpture above the pool, where the whole side of the trunk had been turned into an elaborate carving. It was made up of small figures of Raksura, Aeriat and Arbora. They were all different, all picked out in delicate detail. Beneath the figures were rows of twisty writing, the same language he had seen in the mentors’ books.

Watching him, Shadow said, “You have never seen this design before?”

“No.

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