The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [219]
Except, as they went, Grace began to think it wasn’t simply their disguise that let them pass without notice. Lirith was right. The people of Tarras seemed dazed and distracted. Many of them wore looks of open confusion, standing in the middle of the street, holding a bucket or a child or a basket of goods, as if they had absolutely no idea what they were supposed to be doing next. Then there were the people slumped against walls, flies crawling over their purple-stained lips, empty cups in their hands. Yet it didn’t make sense—Lirith had said there was nothing magic in this so-called Elixir of the Past.
It’s the demon, Grace. That thing is the source of everything that’s changing in this city. But how is it entangling Melia and the gods in the past, along with the people close to them?
Grace didn’t know. And while she had been a world away from Melia and the other gods, every day the remains of the past seemed more real to her, and the present more like a parade of ghosts.
They reached the Second Circle of the city. From what Grace had gleaned, this was the holy district. She had never believed in gods on Earth, and even here on Eldh, where the gods were real and present, she was still not certain what she thought of them. They were at once weaker and more dangerous than she would have imagined. All the same, there was a grandeur to the temples of white stone she could not deny. Above them rose a great blue dome. That must be the Etherion that Melia had mentioned.
When they reached the gate to the First Circle, they found its gilded doors tightly shut. It seemed the emperor had not had a change of heart.
Melia adjusted the veil that concealed her face, then glided toward a smaller red door set into the wall near the gate. She knocked on the red door once, twice, then a third time. She started to thrust both hands before her, and Grace had the feeling she was about to blast the door to pieces when the top half of it swung open to reveal a thick-necked soldier in a bronze breastplate.
“Please inform the Minister of Gates that I require his presence,” Melia said pleasantly.
“The Minister is seeing no one without an appointment today.”
“Forgive me.” Melia laid her hand on the soldier’s arm. “I can see you’re quite stupid, so let me put it in simple words. I will speak with the Minister.”
The soldier blinked. “Of course, Your Holiness. As I said, I will fetch the Minister at once.”
The door shut. Grace was about to ask Melia exactly what she had done—was it something that might be reproduced with the Touch?—when the door flew open again. The Minister of Gates was a strikingly handsome and opulently attired man of an age with Grace or Travis. His beard shone with oil, and gems glittered on his fingers. He took one look at Melia and the rest of them, then frowned, the expression stealing all the beauty from his face.
“I know not why thieves and vagabonds are tolerated in this city,” he said in a voice rich with disdain. “But I know they are certainly not welcome in the shadow of the emperor’s palace.”
Melia folded back the veil, revealing her face. “It is true I am something of a wanderer, Minister. However, this city has been my home for nearly two thousand years. I do not think it is your place to tell me I am not welcome here.”
The Minister’s eyes went wide—then quickly narrowed again. “Lady Melindora. Forgive my rudeness. I did not recognize you in such … rustic attire. However, I must inform you that the emperor has not changed his mind regarding your petition. If you would let me know where I might send a message, then I will inform you the moment the emperor ends his mourning period.”
“No, Minister,” Melia said, voice cool, “you will open these gates at once and see us to the emperor.” She made a subtle motion with her hand.
The blood drained from the Minister’s face. “Do not dare play