The Final Forgery

I see an impossibly high tower, built of stone blocks, rising to very near the clouds, and a clear view of earthy colors far, far below. It is dusk on the ground but from this tower the last wedge of sun is still visible retreating below the curving world. The hall is enormous and empty, the ceiling high enough that a person changing out the candles in the chandelier would almost certainly die from the fall. Nobody is up there now. The candles are unlit.

They once expected riders on dragonback to enter through this window, which is sixty yards wide and half that in height. Something--most likely a warding spell engraved around the aperture--prevents the wind from whistling in with bone-chilling cold. The air drifts lazily in and out, warm and placid. There are no dragons in the sky, and nobody in the hall but me.

I watch the last blinding fragment of sun go down, then watch the clouds go through their emberlike phases--flaring, glowing, relinquishing fire, at last going dim, blue-gray, black with night. It's so quiet up here, yet I know a city bustles on the sprawling levels below. The pinprick brilliance of a candle's flame catches my attention. A robed and hooded figure enters one of the grand archways at the end of the room.

She walks to me slowly, setting the candle on the wide ledge, and I reach out to take down her hood. Melsali, who I have called by her official title of Mask these past nine days, throws her arms around my neck and sweeps me into a kiss. And I know by the passion in it that she has fulfilled her mission, the king is dead. I climb onto the ledge and reach down to help her up, and together we gaze out at the opening stars. We are moments away from the jump. I reach into my pocket and take out the small, golden pipe, carved into the shape of a dragonfly with wings folded. She smiles grimly and I blow a single, clear note into the darkness.

We count aloud in her native tongue, a language banned from this nation for generations. Her hand grips mine tighter. I wonder if she heard the slight chink of metal-upon-metal as I dropped the pipe back into my pocket. Now we fly.