The Deepest Blue(31)
HE FINISHED THE RUNES A FEW HOURS BEFORE THE SLENDER SHIP reached Yena and had ample time to observe the approach to the glorious capital city of Belene. And it was indeed as glorious as all the songs, stories, and poems claimed:
Built on the back of a turtle shell that was more enormous than could be imagined, the upper levels of the city were carved into the rib cage of a leviathan on top of the shell. Palm trees crested each rib in neat rows, and beautifully delicate homes were suspended beneath the ribs—these marvels were where the wealthy lived. But the rest of the citizenry lived in just as much splendor. Below the ribs, the lower city, on the shell of the turtle itself, was sheathed in mother-of-pearl. And to the west of the dock, at the base of the tallest tower, was a standing circle of vertical ribs, encircling the famed coronation grove.
“I heard the city streets are all nacre,” Kelo said to the sailor from Yellowfin.
“Indeed they are,” she said with a snort. “Damn impractical too. You aren’t allowed any carts or anything with wheels. Hooved animals are right out. Can’t risk damaging the mother-of-pearl. I’ve heard that Yenites spend half their income on repairs.”
Surely the queen of a city that values such beauty will listen to an artist’s plea, right? he thought. “Do you know where I go for an audience with the queen?”
“I doubt they’ll let you waltz up to the palace and say hello, but if you want to try”—she pointed toward a tower that looked like a spiral shell—“that’s it there.”
He thanked the sailor, then the captain as he disembarked with the other passengers, mostly wealthy folk come to visit the city that was the jewel of the islands. He hadn’t spoken with any of them, and they, seeing that he was employed with carving the rune, hadn’t tried to interrupt him, which was fine with him—he wasn’t here to make friends.
Shouldering his pack—and wincing as it bounced against his bandaged wounds—he made his way through the city.
The streets, as promised, were paved with mother-of-pearl. All the buildings too were covered in it. And while he appreciated the effort, now that he was seeing it up close . . . it was overkill. Maybe if the pristine shell could have been maintained—in other words, if no people whatsoever lived in the city, walked through the city, or did anything but gaze from a distance—then it would have been a beautiful sight. But as it was . . . Up close, the city looked sad. Half the shells were broken or missing, giving the buildings the appearance of having been in a fight. And of having lost, he decided.
As for the famous streets . . . The sailor was right. Paving city streets with delicate shell mosaics was not practical. Kelo appreciated the vision, though. The original city planners certainly had style.
He weaved between the other pedestrians—everyone was on foot, many carrying loads. Poles were laid across shoulders, with crates or barrels hanging from either end. People also carried pots on their heads, cushioned by a nest of fabric. And everyone, young or old, working or playing, wore thick, stiff sandals. Even the children didn’t dare run barefoot through the street. The broken shells would rip their feet to shreds. He wondered why they didn’t change the streets. Use the nacre to create some other kind of beautiful art piece, one that didn’t need to be walked on.
Musing over this proved a nice distraction from worrying about what to say to the queen, and before he knew it, Kelo was at the palace.
It was only when he stood in front of the palace that he at last acknowledged the massive flaw in his plan: Who am I to speak to the queen?
As that question rippled through his mind, he admired the queen’s seat of power. The palace was curved like a shell and had a semicircle of spires, each taller than the next, that ringed its heart. Iridescent, its walls looked like a rippling rainbow as the sun played over the mother-of-pearl. As near as Kelo could tell, there was a single entrance: an ornate bridge carved in the shape of a wave. It was the only bit of the palace not covered in the luminous shell. Instead it was carved of a translucent blue stone that was like nothing Kelo had ever seen.
He joined the stream of pedestrians on the blue wave bridge, feeling out of place between the courtiers and palace workers. At the gate—an intricately shaped iron gate that mimicked coral—he was stopped by a guard in a pristine white uniform.
“State your business.”
“I must speak with the queen,” Kelo said. He was acutely aware of how ridiculous his demand must sound. All the islanders probably wanted to speak to the queen at some point in their lives. What gave him the right to do so?
“Do you have an invitation from Her Majesty?”
“Um, no. But it’s a matter of importance. It concerns the spirit sisters being sent to the Island of Testing. I must speak with her before they arrive at Akena Island.”
“And the matter of importance?”
“My wife is among them. I wish to speak to the queen—”
The soldier’s face softened, and he laid a hand on Kelo’s shoulder. “You’re not the first to come on such a mission. You won’t be the last. Know that if she falls, your wife’s sacrifice will be honored, and if she succeeds, all of Belene—indeed all of Renthia—will be the safer for it.”
“She can’t go! She’s my wife, and we—”
“You love her. I know. I’ve heard it all, believe me. She has elderly parents. Or a baby. Or ten children, all of whom will starve without her. She’s sick or injured. Or you are.” The soldier nodded at Kelo’s bandages. “Perhaps you want to claim she doesn’t truly have powers. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last to lose a loved one to our way of life. But it is because of the test that we are able to have a way of life at all. I know. I lost a daughter to the island. You think I didn’t try to see the queen? You think I didn’t plead for her? Even tried to bribe the Silent Ones, and when that didn’t work, I tried to rescue her.”