Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

He flashed me a side-long look. “Revala, the Hercynian nation? The eastern neighbor of Ilia?”

“Oh.” Right: THAT Revala.

Another fifteen minutes later, we rolled up to the doors of the Scarlet Chamber, where the rulers and dignitaries of the White Sail Alliance were doing typical rich people stuff: eating cheese, mingling over wine and canapes, discussing war and politics and the possible end of the world. The butler had sourced me a basic eastern nobleman's outfit: a neat black tunic black, a long heavy embroidered coat in royal blue, a red sash, loose silk pants, and boots that reminded me of tooled cowboy boots with upturned toes and bright silver toe-caps. Suri had taken one of only three dresses they had, a corseted gown roughly the size of a small circus tent and richly embroidered with gold - not that anyone would notice much about the dress, because the front of the bodice elevated The Girls to spectacular effect.

“I feel fucking ridiculous in this,” Suri fumed. The skirt of the dress was hoop-framed, so when she accidentally rammed it against the edge of a table, the whole thing wobbled like a plate of jello. “It's pinching my waist so hard it feels like I'm gonna throw my guts up on the face of the first person I talk to here.”

“I think as long as you don't puke on Ignas, we'll be fine,” I said, taking her by the elbow and scanning the room for Ignas and Rutha. I was anxious to find both of them, for different reasons. The Ilian sorceress was nowhere to be seen - but there was a particularly flamboyant Dakhari man staring at the four of us, dressed like a peacock in brilliant indigo and turquoise silk. When we came properly into view and he saw Suri, he got the kind of expression most people would have gotten if they'd seen a rat scurrying away with one of the Volod's fancy crustless sandwiches. “How about that guy over there? He looks like he could use some hot corn chowder.”

“Don't make me laugh in this corset, or I'm going to squeeze my liver out my arsehole.” Suri gripped my arm for balance as she took as deep a breath as she was able to. “This thing comes with a fatigue penalty, Hector. Name me one item of men's clothing that comes with a fatigue penalty.”

“Chastity belt,” I blurted.

She paused. “Fair enough.”

The Volod was up the front of the hall, leaning back against a table with his arms folded as he listened to the man currently speaking with him. I arched my eyebrows when I recognized elements of Korean traditional dress. He was speaking softly and urgently, while Ignas listened and nodded now and then. The king of Vlachia - tall, wiry, with a face as narrow and noble as a greyhound's - glanced past him to me and minutely jerked his chin up in acknowledgement.

“I beg pardon, enlightened emissary, but I'm afraid we cannot wait for Revala any longer. We must continue this conversation after Lady Rutha has presented her evidence to the council,” he said crisply. “I would be pleased to open my home to you and offer hospitality in the aftermath so we can continue?”

“Indeed, this one would be delighted to accept your invitation, illustrious highness.” The man - he had to be from the Jeun Empire - had a clear, pleasant voice. His Vlachian was flawless, without a trace of accent. Ignas nodded, and the Jeun man bowed deeply from the waist in the East Asian style. Then he straightened and brushed past me, lifting a fan to obscure his features. Ignas let out a tense breath, then motioned me forward.

“Give it all to the Black God,” he muttered. “I'd forgotten what it was like to have to play this part of being a king. Wining and dining people when we are here to discuss an emergency, as if the violins will keep playing while Hyland’s armies rage across our land. It was easier in the underworld, you know. Everyone was eager to get to business and be around each other as little as possible. We would have our meeting, eat some pie, then return to our lairs and brood. None of this poncing and prancing and strutting.”

“Starting to have some regrets, hey?” Suri's golden eyes danced as we came to a stop in front of him.

“Not a single one, my lady. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Though, speaking of strutting, you are ravishing as always.” He reached out his hand. Suri took it, as if to shake, only to blush when the man lifted her knuckles to his lips and planted a polite, chaste kiss on them. I was about to jokingly ask for the same treatment when he flung an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a hug. He kissed me on the cheek, thumped my back, and let me go.

“It is good to see you both again,” he said, his white-gray eyes flicking from Suri's face to mine. “The tales of your success in Myszno have spanned the country. Both of you are being featured in songs and tavern gossip, and your success has enriched and cemented my authority in Taltos. I could not be more pleased.”

“... Songs?” I felt the muscle near my eye twitch.

“Well, of course. ‘The Black Rider’, ‘Demon Slayer Dragon Queen’, ‘The Fire and the Darkness’… all good songs, by the way. How do you think news gets around a country this size?” The Volod finally smiled, showing the edge of one gold tooth. He had several, testament to five rough years of exile in the underground world of illegal bloodsports. “At least the Jeun emissary was polite. I was expecting a frosty conversation, but talks are going well. Unfortunately, my betrothed has since been married off. I'm glad we'll be able to salvage some kind of relationship with the Empire, but Khors' balls, they are so relentlessly, unironically formal.”

“You know