But then he spoke, and all of her concerns vanished.
“I wish to apologize for how all of that proceeded, Ofelia,” he said. “It was…not as I intended, or desired, to say the least. You have helped me greatly in the past years. I would have seen you better attended to than that.”
“Th-Thank you, My Prophet,” she said.
He lifted his face to the sky, his black mask shining in the dawning sun. “But it is good to be back. It’s good to persist in this world for another morning more, no matter what condition I might be in. And we have so many works to do.”
“Did…Did Gregor…Did he make it off the—”
“Oh, he survived,” he said. “He and Sancia both.” He cocked his head. “She is a very…resourceful thing. But she still has no idea what the construct will do to her—or what it’s already done to her. That may prove useful.” He looked at her. “He came to you? You saw him?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He threatened to kill me. I…I knew our struggle would ask much of us, My Prophet. But I admit…I never imagined my own child would threaten me with murder.”
“No…No, that is regrettable,” he said. “I promised you that I would return your son to you, Ofelia, in exchange for all your labors. And I do not break promises. But it is a regrettable thing that in order to fix a monstrous world, one must become a little monstrous in one’s own right.”
Together they looked out as the city came into view. The tremendous coastal batteries towered over the mouth of the bay, their massive shrieker arrays carefully tracking the progress of their caravel. Next they saw the campo walls, tall and smooth and white, and beyond them the spires and towers of the campos, all brightly lit with countless colors.
Ofelia had no mind for any of this—and she knew her guest did not either. Instead they both stared at the huge, black dome set in the far back center of the city, its crown cracked and crumbling, its walls graying with dust.
“The site is still not in our possession?” he asked.
“I thought it wisest to devote our resources toward your restoration, My Prophet,” she said.
“Well. I can’t fault you that, of course…And I doubt if ownership will be an issue. I’ve always found myself to be a very convincing negotiator.” He sighed slightly and looked around at the rambling skyline of Tevanne as they sailed into the harbor. “What a difficult thing it is, to change the world. One must have some powerful tools to go about doing it. And where you don’t have tools”—he turned back to the Mountain of the Candianos—“you have to improvise.”
II
THE VEILED KING
11
Sancia awoke to the sight of a giant purple jellyfish emerging from a Commons street.
She stared at it where she lay, blinking. It was early morning, the air was hot and steamy, and she was lying on her side on the wet earth. She even knew where she was—close to the Slopes, along the canal. And yet, what she was seeing was true: there was definitely a large, bright-purple jellyfish emerging from the Commons street. She wondered if she’d injured her head during the madness of last night, or gone mad, or maybe she was dreaming.
“What…” she croaked. “What exactly am I seeing right now?”
“It appears to be,” said a harsh voice nearby, “a big purple jellyfish lantern…thing. But I’ve no idea why.”
She sat up, looked around, and struggled to orient herself. She was in some kind of a camp in the Commons, one she didn’t immediately recognize. Nor did she recognize any of the people waking and milling around her, starting fires and boiling water.
Then she saw a brand on the arm of one—indicating he was the property of the Isle of Ontia—and she remembered.
“Oh,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. “Right. That’s right.”
“Yes,” said the harsh voice from nearby. Polina Carbonari was leaning up against a stack of crates, smoking a pipe and watching the giant purple jellyfish lantern rising into the sky. She turned her hard, iron-gray eyes on Sancia. “You are still my guests. At a very strange time, it seems.”
Sancia struggled to stand up, and slowly remembered the trip back to Tevanne. It had all been so surreal: trying to fight through her hysteria to tell Orso and Berenice what had happened aboard the galleon; peering through the night sky, convinced she’d spy Crasedes flitting after them like a blackfly; and then as they’d neared the shore, realizing that Foundryside would no longer be safe for any of them, since both Ofelia Dandolo and Crasedes Magnus knew exactly who they were, and where they slept.
Then Gregor had led them to the smugglers’ camp. “Polina owes me a favor,” he’d explained. “I told them where the Dandolos maintained a very large and very secret stash of weapons in the plantations. She still hasn’t quite paid me back for that one. She can shelter us for the night.”
All night long, Sancia had stayed up in the camp, sitting in the mud with Berenice next to her, rocking back and forth and waiting for…something. For Crasedes to arrive, for the apocalypse to begin, or for Valeria to manifest before her and tell her that she’d failed.
But nothing had happened. She must have passed out from sheer exhaustion. She couldn’t understand why they’d let her sleep.
“Feeling better?” asked Polina.
“No,” said Sancia. She cracked the lower vertebrae of her spine, groaning. I am getting too damn old, she thought, too damn fast. “Where the hell is Berenice? And Orso?”
“Off talking a lot,” said Polina with a sigh. “As seems his wont. If you would like to see them, they are this way.”
She led Sancia along the banks of the canal, back through the camp. It was wholly unrecognizable in the light of day. As they walked, Polina watched as another floating lantern joined the one that looked like a big purple jellyfish.
“So—this is carnival,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Sancia. She tried to remember what Polina had been told about last night. Had Gregor or Orso explained what the hell had happened aboard that galleon? And if so—had she believed it?
Polina studied the lantern with an expression like she was being presented with a dish she found utterly reprehensible. “Everyone makes big lanterns…for the monsoons?” she asked dubiously.
“Yeah,” said Sancia.
“Why?”
“Apparently one monsoon season, like, a hundred years ago, the rains washed out the entire city. So they have a big carnival before the monsoons now, drinking and eating all they want, because you could die when the storms hit. The lanterns are all reminders of what’s coming. Though I think the city is a lot more well built now.” She eyed one tottering rookery. “Or at least parts of it are.”