Read Online Cinnabar Shadows by Lynn Abbey - Free Book Online Page A

with the
fast-striding woman. They wound up in a smaller room where the only furnishings were another table,
another chair, and shelf upon shelf of identical chests, each with a green-glowing lock. On the wall behind
the table someone had painted a fresco-portrait of Lord Hamanu. The Lion-King glowered at Mahtra
through gemstone eyes while the august emerita snipped a corner off a fresh sheet of parchment and
covered it with bold, red lines of ink.
    Two more human slaves, neither of whom was Benin but who were like him in all other ways—lithe,
tanned, and lightly scarred—joined them. Mahtra guessed that one of them was the blue rope while the
other was the black-and-gold, but she had no way of knowing for certain, and the august emerita did not
address them by name.
    "You will accompany Mahtra to the palace. Show this to the sergeant at the gate, and the instigator,
too—but don't give it to them, and don't let Mahtra out of your sight until you reach the golden doors. Stay
with her. Show my words to anyone who challenges you."
    She folded the parchment, struck a tinder stick with flint and steel, and then lit a shiny black candle.
She sealed the parchment with a glistening blob of wax. One of the two slaves took the candle from her
hand and extinguished it. The other handed her a stone rod as long as her forearm and topped with the
carving of a skull. Black wax and a skull. The symbols and their meanings were inescapable: the august
emerita was—or had been—a deadheart, a necromancer at the very least; but considering the way this
necromancer plucked the thoughts of the living, more likely, an interrogator, like Lord Escrissar himself, and
one of the Lion's cubs.
    Mahtra cried out when the august emerita hammered the rod against the wax. She felt foolish
immediately, but these two slaves were not the laughing, teasing sort that Bettin was. Or perhaps they, like
her, were overwhelmed by the old woman's intentions.
    "This should be sufficient." She handed the sealed parchment to the slave who'd held the rod. "It
shouldn't be opened at all until you reach the golden doors. But if it is, remember the face well. Remember
all their faces, their masks, their names, if you hear them."
    No one had dared tamper with Kakzim. Not even the august emerita.
    * * *
    Sobered and chastened, Mahtra accompanied the two slaves from the templar quarter and through the
wide-open gates of Hamanu's palace. The courtyard was as vast as the cavern, but open to the sky and
dazzling in the midday sun. Here and there clots of templars, nobles, and wealthy merchants conducted their
business. She recognized some of them. They recognized her by pretending not to. And though the air was
dead still and the heat oppressive, Mahtra hid herself within her shawl.
    They were hailed at the inner gate by a war bureau sergeant and a civil bureau instigator, each in a
yellow robe with the distinctive and appropriate sleeve banding. The war bureau sergeant wanted to carry
the message himself to the next post. He told the two slaves that they were dismissed, but he withdrew his
order when the taller slave said:
    "I will remember your face."
    After that they traveled through a smaller courtyard where trees grew and fountains squandered their
water. Threads of gold and copper were woven in the sleeves of the templars they encountered next, and
more metal still in the sleeves of the third pair who stood at the mighty doors of the palace proper. Mighty
doors, but not golden ones— Mahtra and her two companions were passed to a fourth and finally a fifth
pair of templars—high templars, with masks and other-colored robes—before they came to a closed but
unguarded pair of golden doors.
    "You've done well," one of the masked templars said to the slaves. "Remember us to the august
emerita. We wish her continued peace." He took the black-sealed parchment, then opened one of the
golden doors. "Wait in here," he said, and as quickly as