Lacuna - N.R. Walker Page 0,8

waving them off. “There’s more than enough for all of us.” He picked at some meat and fruit. “That bath is calling for me anyway,” he said. “You two can eat all you need.”

He could hear them bickering while he sank into the hot water, and with a deep breath, he closed his eyes and centred his mind. He was here for the most important task of his life. He needed to treat it as such.

When he was freshly washed and dressed, he went back out into the common room. “The invitation for dinner arrived,” Karasu said.

“Poor guy almost died of fright,” Kohaku said with a laugh. “Opened the door and almost had his throat cut by Karasu here, just to deliver a message.”

“He should have waited,” Karasu said with a sniff.

Tancho ignored them and read the invitation.

In honour of the presence of all rulers of the Great Lands, the Elders’ Consul invites you and your guest to the Grand Hall at sundown. An informal introductions meeting and meal before initiation tomorrow. Stately attire, no weapons.

Tancho’s belly tightened with anticipation and nerves. This was what he was waiting for. This was what he’d waited for his whole life. The Golden Eclipse was finally upon them; his time had come to honour his destiny. And he would finally meet the man called Crow.

The man, who had been no more than a name, would finally have a face. The mystery, the enigma, would finally be over. And perhaps that was what Tancho was nervous about. Would it make it easier? To see him as just a man? Or would it make it harder?

The birthmark on his wrist heated to the point of pain, so he closed his eyes and tried to lock the pain away.

“Tancho,” Karasu whispered, now beside him.

“I’m fine,” he replied in a whisper. “The bath is free,” he added, closing any hope of conversation. He went to the window and sat on the floor, cross-legged, his face in the sunshine. He closed his eyes, and with a deep breath, he quietened his mind. He put any discomfort, the pain and the anxiousness, into a box, closed the lid, and exhaled.

They looked elegant and formidable dressed in their official state attire. Black pants, shirt and jacket, covered with a white robe, the insides lined with silver brocade, a black koi emblem on the back, hoods raised to cover their hair.

Tancho filled with pride as they followed the messenger to the grand hall.

Karasu grumbled beside him. “I can’t believe we are forbidden to bring our blades.”

Kohaku snorted quietly on Tancho’s other side as they walked. “If this is a meal, my dear Karasu,” he murmured, “the silverware shall include a knife.”

Tancho withheld a sigh. “Karasu will not stab anyone with the silverware.”

Karasu bit back her smirk as they crossed a grand foyer and strode up a wide set of marble stairs to the largest set of wooden doors Tancho had ever seen. Tall, wide and smooth, and hinged with cast iron. Each must have weighed a sizeable sum, and he dared not guess at the age of the wood. They opened inward upon their arrival, without effort, like magick.

And before them lay the grand hall. Wide enough for forty men to stand abreast, three storeys tall, marble floors and carved stone pillars lined the walls, and a platform at the rear of the room. A huge compass pattern in the floor tiles marked the very centre of the room, a glass dome directly above it. But the most striking feature were the nine yellow-cloaked figures standing on the stage in a line formation.

Tancho had never seen all nine together.

He had, over the three times he’d visited the Aequi Kentron, only met a few of them.

“King of the Westlands,” the centre figure called. She was tall, wearing the official yellow cloak, the hood barely covering her wheat-coloured hair. She had high cheekbones and a knowing smile. Tancho wouldn’t dare guess her age. Sixty? Six hundred? The elders were a mysterious people. “Welcome.”

Tancho felt Kohaku stand a little taller beside him, but Karasu hissed, almost inaudibly, yet a sound of distaste, nonetheless. No, not distaste.

Distrust.

But Tancho strode forward as though he owned the grand hall and they were his guests, not the other way around.

“Queen of Eastlands,” the centre figure called this time, turning to a door from the south. “Welcome.”

And to Tancho’s left, three dark-umber red-cloaked figures entered. They appeared to almost glide across the floor, smooth and synchronised. Their hoods were