Midnight on the Dragon Tower II

The gardens at dusk were a different country. Lanterns had not yet been lit. The hibiscus bled from scarlet to black between one step and the next. Somewhere beyond a low wall, two servants were arguing in low voices about a laundry basket.

Tonight might be the night. She kept her pace even. A girl walking back to her quarters after devotions, maybe. A girl with nothing to hide beneath the fold of her skirt.

Suddenly, she thought of the sailor in the alley, the stupid, surprised face, and forced herself to put the thought away, as if it was a letter she was not ready to answer. She had been folding a great many of them lately.

The meeting point was a stone bench set into a niche where three paths crossed, screened on one side by a tangle of night-blooming jasmine already opening. She slowed, listening. A cicada. The distant scrape of a rake on gravel. Then, behind her, a voice.

“You’re early, my lady.”

Tahar stepped out from the jasmine without rustling a leaf. He had traded silk for plain brown linen.

“You’re earlier,” she said.

“Ideed.” His mouth quirked. “How is Lady Maziane this evening?”

“Suspicious as always. She gave me until nine bells and a look.”

“The look, I know. The one that would flay a man from his own skeleton.”

“She also sent her regards.”

“Liar.”

“Fair.”

Over his shoulder, at the far end of the path she had just come down, a lamplighter was making his way along a row of iron brackets. He had the right trimmings and the right pole and he was not lighting any of the lamps. She let her gaze drift past him without catching. A week ago she would not have registered him.

“My shadow for tonight.” Tahar murmured. He offered his arm, half-ironic. She took it. His fingers, warm, brushed the inside of her wrist before settling.

“Imran?”

“Waiting. He sent me to fetch you because he claimed he had to be seen praying until the last possible moment. I suspect he simply wanted a quarter-hour alone with his books.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Of course. I am a great supporter of princely piety.” His thumb moved, once, across her pulse. Deliberate. Brief. “And I wanted to see you before he did.”

She answered with an exaggerated sigh. He walked her past a row of lemon trees, and she watched the bracelet hidden under his sleeve rather than his face, because his face was no longer a safe place for her eyes.

“You’re still there,” she whispered.

“Yes.” He did not glance down. “Need some planning. Besides, I have to get used to not see you again. This is worse than a drunkard leaving his bottle.”

They passed under an archway where bougainvillea had gone to seed, and he steered them left onto a narrower path. The hedges here were less manicured, the gravel thinner over the earth.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you haven’t been. Somewhere neither of us has been, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It wouldn’t. You are far too sensible for my good.”

A figure detached itself from a darker patch of wall ahead and came towards them at an unhurried walk. She felt Tahar’s arm tighten, a fraction, before she recognized the silhouette. Imran wore the plain uniform of the House Guard again.

“Lady Yrilée.” His smile could have melt iron. “You honor us.”

“The honor is mine, Your Highness.”

He went to her other side, so that for a moment she stood between them, each with her arms loosely held, and she thought absurdly of a child being walked by two older brothers. It lasted half a breath.

“You’re quiet,” Imran said.

“I’m listening.”

“To what?”

“Everything.” She let herself smile at him, a small real one. “It’s a habit I’m acquiring. Where are we going tonight?”

“To the Dragon Tower.” He set the pace a little faster than the stroll she and Tahar had been keeping, not fast enough to seem furtive. They crossed the kitchen garden, between rows of turmeric, chilies, and okra, then through what must have been the medicinal garden with chinchona trees. The last of the beds gave way to an orchard with old fig, old pomegranate, and beyond that a low wall.

“Service wall,” Imran said, catching her glance. “There’s a gate.”

“You have a key, of course.”

“I have better. I have a grandfather who, forty years ago, ordered this part of the grounds closed for repairs and then forgot about it. No one has thought about this wall since.”

“Did you find it when you were little?”

“I was six. Back then, Uncle Thadros was still on the throne and the imperial children had a bit of freedom.”

“Really? How was it?”

There was a pause, as if he was gathering his memories.

“It was better of course. People didn’t watch their mouth the way they do now. Even I can feel the difference. I remember some kitchen girls whispering um… Uncle Thadros was sleeping with men… I didn’t know what it meant back then. But I’m sure they would have been hanged for such talks nowadays.”

Yolanthe was grateful for the darkness hiding her face.

“That’s… Um… gross. Why did they say that?”

Imran shrugged. “That was true apparently. He had no known mistress. He refused to marry… and he was very friendly with a scholar at the Academy.”

“All enough for the Guides to be outraged, of course,” Tahar said from the other side.

Yolanthe filed it for further reflexion.

The gate, when they reached it, was hung so crookedly on its hinges that it had settled into the earth. Imran lifted it rather than opening it — a short practiced heave — and held it for them. Beyond, lay another orchard, semi-wild, where mango and jackfruit trees grew unchecked. Fallen fruits were fermenting on the ground, gathering birds and insects. Imran worked his way through a sprawling banyan and reached an old storage shed of bleached wood. She could just make out the shape of it in the last of the light: a tiled roof sagging in the middle, a single door banded with iron. Inside lie broken tools, coils of rope, rusty lanterns and empty crates marked with the seal of past emperors. She raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was some elaborate prank.

“Just wait,” Imran said, grinning at her skeptical expression. He moved to a bare section of wall, and pressed his palm against the rough stone. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, to her amazement, the wall began to shimmer, as if viewed through a heat haze. The solid stone seemed to melt away, revealing a dark passage beyond.

“How...” she breathed.

His smile widened, clearly pleased by her reaction. “Magic. Old magic, from a time when the emperors needed more than just guards to keep them safe. These passages, just like the ancient machines, answer only to us.”

Indeed, whispered a voice in her mind. She shoved it away.

He picked up an old lantern hidden among the crates, put a candle inside, lit it and stepped into the passage, holding out his hand in invitation. She hesitated for just a moment before taking it, and allowing him to guide her into the cool darkness. Tahar followed.

The walls of the passage were smooth, unlike any stonework she’d ever encountered. They seemed to glow faintly, providing just enough light to navigate by.

“Just how many secret doors does this place have?” she asked, half-joking.

“More than I’ve found, I’m sure. I read about this one in an old book in the library,” his voice echoed slightly in the confined space. “About four centuries ago, when the emperors still lived in the old palace around the Dragon Tower, there was an administrative building in the place of the shed. Emperor Othon was... let’s say, not particularly beloved by his court.”

She nodded, remembering fragments of hasty history lessons with Hilarion. “There were a lot of intrigues during his reign, weren’t there?”

“Exactly,” he said, sounding impressed. “He was paranoid… with good reason, as it turned out. So, he had his mages build this secret passage. A way to escape if a revolution or a plot ever trapped him outside the palace.”

They continued down the stone corridor. The air grew cooler and damper.

“Of course, the old palace has changed a lot since then,” Imran continued. “Now only the Dragon Tower and its immediate surroundings remain as they were. This passage exit is in what’s now a disused stable.”

“Does anyone else know about this?” Tahar asked.

“I don’t think so. The book I found was practically crumbling. I doubt anyone’s opened it in centuries.”

They walked in silence for two dozen steps. Tahar, for once kept his mouth shut. Yolanthe estimated they were now under the palace main courtyard. Imran briefly turned his head towards her and cleared his throat. “How fares your training with the esteemed Mistress of Ceremonies?”

“Well, I’m now expert in rice cooking, fire lighting, mat folding—all essential qualities in a future empress, I’m sure.”

“Ah yes.” Tahar drawled. “Nothing says ‘imperial majesty’ quite like perfectly squared corners on a sleeping mat.”

“Some of the girls are very enthusiastic about those sleeping mats. Particularly when discussing who might be sharing them.”

Color crept up Imran’s neck, visible even in the blue-green glow. “Way preserve me. The expectations are...” He ran fingers through his curls. “Rather daunting.”

“Poor prince.” Tahar chuckled. “Such hardship, having beautiful women fight over your royal person.”

“Absolutely,” she added. “Arabel... Let’s just say she’s made her feelings about competition quite clear.”

“Ah. The little empress-to-be doesn’t want to share her favorite toy?”

“I am not,” Imran’s words cracked against stone walls, “a toy.”

He stopped. Silence fell.

“I have heard I can technically marry you,” Yolanthe said casually. “Is it why you have been so interested in my humble person? To escape Arabel’s clutches?”

He turned. For a few seconds, he stood as if thunderstruck. Then, he exhaled slowly. Tahar opened his mouth, for some witty comment, no doubt, but Imran said slowly, in a vibrant voice. “I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of me. Well, I guess everyone has, anyway. I would not deny that marrying you is a much more interesting prospect than marrying Arabel. But, that would be painting a target on your back. And to be honest… I don’t feel ready for marriage. To anyone. I’ll find a way to escape this one.”

Tahar’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Really,” he drawled, “I heard she has already ordered her wedding robes.”

“Arabel’s own coming of age is in seven months,” Imran muttered, his jaw set. “We cannot legally be married before. I know her father has tried to make a special case with the Guides, but they refused. A prince is expected to set the right example, they said. Luckily, he has not bought all of them.”

This was the time to gather information. Yolanthe shifted weight. “Isn’t he the true power behind the throne?”

Imran’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, he would certainly like to think so. Since my uncle fell ill, he has been given free reign, filling every post with his sycophants, his fingers in every corner….”

“Not quite every corner,” Tahar interjected. “The army still favors Asmand, does it not?”

A shadow passed over Imran’s face. “For now. But generals can be bought, like anyone else. Once my uncle passes...” He trailed off.

“The minister and Asmand might be at each other’s throats,” Yolanthe finished.

Imran nodded. “It’ll be a bloodbath, unless someone steps in.”

“What about the Guides?” Tahar asked.

“I don’t know. They are busy with their own squabbles. There are two new factions, eager to review all their dogma. One claims that there was a mistake in the interpretation on Holy Melz original writings. The other has been banned by the Council of Guides. I have heard it was leaning towards some Meralese ideas.”

She leaned forward. “And you, what do you plan to do, Your Highness?”

A slow smile spread across Imran’s face, transforming him from a carefree young noble to something altogether more dangerous. “Let’s just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Tahar chuckled. “You?”

“Yes, me. The bumbling idiot.”

“Then, careful, my friend. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“We all are.”

“And where do we fit into these plans of yours?”

His gaze swept over them both, lingering on Yolanthe. “That depends,” he said slowly. “How far are you willing to go to reshape an empire?”

The question hung in the air for a few heartbeats, then he raised his hand. “Questions for another time. Now, lets just go on a tour of dusty old artefacts. This way.”