Page 20 of A Dance of Shadows

The first locals are plunging into the water amid the glare of reflected sunlight. How far down will they need to swim to find the pieces of tolk coral? The stuff is apparently similar in consistency to wood, relatively lightweight but sturdy, but its sloughing off the nearby reefs is erratic and infrequent enough to make it impractical as a regular building material.

Not to mention the notoriously sharp ridges that cover much of its surface.

From what I remember of the fable, the difficulty was mostly expressed in terms of enduring the discomfort. But as we draw closer, the salty air filling my nose, I see swimmers surfacing empty-handed and gasping as if the coral sheddings are too far down for them to reach at all.

A few are already hauling slabs at least a couple of feet wide onto the sand. Trickles of scarlet streak across the pinkish gray material from the cuts on their hands.

My stomach lurches. I clamp my lips against the rush of nausea.

My husband really doesn’t care how much he tortures the people of his empire, does he? Especially those he sees as secondary citizens.

Some of the swimmers drop their chunks of tolk coral and dash back into the water. A few crouch in the sand, clutching their hands close to their chests or pressing on longer scrapes across their forearms or legs. One woman muffles a whimper against her shoulder.

More of the city folk rush to pitch in on the land. They grab the retrieved slabs and bring them together, using what simple blades they have on hand to carve the material.

Before I can study their progress for very long, a shout goes up across the water. A figure on one of the fishing boats bobbing at the mouth of the bay jabs a spear into the water, but it looks like a miss.

“Barama!” several voices call in a chorus of warning.

The blood-seeking fish have already arrived. A moment later, a dark, slick back with a ridge of fin cuts through the water’s surface. My stomach bubbles with more nausea.

The creature looks as large as a man. How are the swimmers supposed to fend those off if the people in the boats can’t spear them in time?

Taking the whole scene in, Linus laughs in apparent delight. I catch my hand on the verge of balling into a fist I’d like to ram into his arrogant face.

“Keep it moving; keep it moving!” he calls out in a jovial tone, as if this is all in good fun.

Well, I supposehe’shaving fun, even if the rest of us aren’t.

Another fin slices through the lapping waves. The barama veers toward a swimmer who’s just surfaced with a coral slab clutched in his hands.

The man sees the fish coming and flails out with his cargo. The chunk of coral slashes against the barama’s scales. Its sinewy body whips back and forth—and then it dives straight at his belly.

His strangled cry reverberates across the water. I have to look away from his sagging form, from the crimson billowing through the turquoise water, or I’m afraid I’ll give in to my urge to vomit.

Linus lets out an encouraging whoop. I’d like to think he’s celebrating the boat that speeds through the water to get the hunters in position, but he’s just as likely egging on the deadly fish.

A woman drives her spear into the water, and more blood billows in its wake. With a scowl and the help of one of her companions, she hauls the twitching barama into the slim craft.

More spears flash as other hunters stab at the water, but I can make out at least six different fish beneath the surface, flitting deeper into the bay. The breath squeezes from my lungs.

Queen Anahi breaks from our delegation to hurry toward the docks. “We all serve Emperor Marclinus!” she calls out in Darium. “We royals will help deliver his feast.”

As she marches toward one of the boats, her husband and daughter and several other figures in fancy court dress hustle after her. Lorenzo stiffens and then spins toward Linus. He makes a hasty gesture toward his family in silent explanation before sprinting after them.

The nobles leap into boats, brandishing spears of their own. Lorenzo did tell me that spearfishing is a common pastime in every level of Rionian society. I suppose the local court must be decently sure of their abilities.

Queen Anahi hollers more remarks in her native tongue, directing the hunters already on the water. She commands the oar-men steering her craft into the middle of the bay and plunges her spear straight into a passing barama.

She’s clearly earned her confidence. Although I assume her demonstration of “loyalty” is more about protecting her own people than honoring her emperor.

Every nerve in my body is clamoring to take some kind of action myself while more swimmers slump on the beach amid their own blood, while another disappears beneath the waves to the vicious teeth of a barama. The builders have already constructed part of a hull by fitting the carved slabs together in an interlocking pattern, but I can see there’s a lot more boat to go.

As I grapple with my anguish, Linus slides his arm around my shoulders. He grins down at me and then at the panicked scene before us. “Look at how they leap to please us, wife. Isn’t this a grand spectacle worthy of me and my heir?”

“To be sure,” I say, and swallow down another swell of nausea. The locals who haven’t been able to help—young children and those particularly elderly or infirm—are glancing over at us from the remaining crowd.

They’re seeing me tied to him, the two of us together as one unit. As if this mad scheme is as much my idea as his. As if I enjoy it.

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