City of Fire (City Trilogy (Mass Market)) Read Online Free
Author: Laurence Yep
goal by the most direct path—whether it was an aerial polo trophy or an appointment to the Pippalanta. Smart and well-liked, she was being groomed for an officer’s commission one day.
Scirye, on the other hand, was a source of constant concern for her parents, for her mother often spoke long-distance with her father,who was His Imperial Highness’s very own Griffin Master. He carried out the traditional task of overseeing the imperial pride of riding griffins as well as the welfare of all lap griffins. However, in addition to his ancient responsibilities, he also carried out all the other duties that had become attached to the office through the centuries, including acting as the official liaison treaty negotiator between humans and griffins. Or as he put it, he smoothed out ruffled feathers, fur, hair, and toupees.
On the rare occasions when his obligations permitted, he visited them wherever they were posted. Though it was clear he loved Scirye and she looked forward to being with him, it was always painfully obvious that they did not have much in common. This man, so adept at calming a rampaging griffin, didn’t have a clue on what to say to a young girl in general, let alone reason with her about her bad behavior.
Even when Scirye was trying to imitate her sister, she always managed to warp it somehow. Where Nishke was cheerful, Scirye was sarcastic. Where the older girl was determined, the younger one was willful. Where Nishke always steered by some inner compass, Scirye wandered first in one direction and then another.
Lady Sudarshane kissed the cheek of her prodigal daughter. “If you can’t even wear a costume for one day, how are you going to handle the strict discipline that the Pippalanta demand?”
Scirye started to sputter in protest like the lid on a boiling tea kettle, but before she could explode, Kles joined in. “Lady Scirye, think of yourself as playing a role today, all right?” the griffin wheedled. “The point is to make the Kushan less mysterious to the Americans, and what better way than to show them what has made us a great nation?”
“Okay, but I don’t have to like it. I feel like I’m drowning in silk,” Scirye grumbled, accepting her fate with poor grace.
Lady Sudarshane gave Kles a grateful look. He always seemed to know the right thing to say to her daughter.
“Now, now, dear,” Lady Sudarshane soothed. “If this was good enough for our ancestors, it’s good enough for us. Tradition is meant to be distinctive, not comfortable.”
Scirye made an exasperated sound as she felt the cloak sagging from her shoulder again. “Argh! Why won’t this thing stay put? I could just bite the next person who says how quaint I look!” She started to pull off the cloak, ready to trample it, but Kles batted a wing against her cheek and she stopped at his cautionary touch.
“Well, if you do”—Nishke winked—”make sure it’s not someone important.”
Before Scirye could reply to her sister, they were nearly trampled by a large woman as she walked backward across the floor. She was gesturing with both hands for a group of newspeople to follow her.
Over her shoulder, she wore a sash proclaiming that she was a museum docent. From her affected voice and mannerisms, she was a frustrated actress. “And we’ve saved the best for last.”
“I’ll say,” a photographer said. He held up a big boxy camera. “Smile, honey.”
A half-dozen other photographers peeled away from the group to cluster about Nishke.
“Excuse me,” Nishke said to her mother and sister and then turned to the photographers. “I have to take up my post first.” She marched smartly to the center of the room and took her place by a corner of the case where the body of Lady Tabiti lay in honor upon a dais supported by elephants of lapis lazuli. A Pippal stood at each of the three other corners, as well.
Within the case Lady Tabiti rested in a suit of armor made from plaques of dark, apple green jade
Scirye, on the other hand, was a source of constant concern for her parents, for her mother often spoke long-distance with her father,who was His Imperial Highness’s very own Griffin Master. He carried out the traditional task of overseeing the imperial pride of riding griffins as well as the welfare of all lap griffins. However, in addition to his ancient responsibilities, he also carried out all the other duties that had become attached to the office through the centuries, including acting as the official liaison treaty negotiator between humans and griffins. Or as he put it, he smoothed out ruffled feathers, fur, hair, and toupees.
On the rare occasions when his obligations permitted, he visited them wherever they were posted. Though it was clear he loved Scirye and she looked forward to being with him, it was always painfully obvious that they did not have much in common. This man, so adept at calming a rampaging griffin, didn’t have a clue on what to say to a young girl in general, let alone reason with her about her bad behavior.
Even when Scirye was trying to imitate her sister, she always managed to warp it somehow. Where Nishke was cheerful, Scirye was sarcastic. Where the older girl was determined, the younger one was willful. Where Nishke always steered by some inner compass, Scirye wandered first in one direction and then another.
Lady Sudarshane kissed the cheek of her prodigal daughter. “If you can’t even wear a costume for one day, how are you going to handle the strict discipline that the Pippalanta demand?”
Scirye started to sputter in protest like the lid on a boiling tea kettle, but before she could explode, Kles joined in. “Lady Scirye, think of yourself as playing a role today, all right?” the griffin wheedled. “The point is to make the Kushan less mysterious to the Americans, and what better way than to show them what has made us a great nation?”
“Okay, but I don’t have to like it. I feel like I’m drowning in silk,” Scirye grumbled, accepting her fate with poor grace.
Lady Sudarshane gave Kles a grateful look. He always seemed to know the right thing to say to her daughter.
“Now, now, dear,” Lady Sudarshane soothed. “If this was good enough for our ancestors, it’s good enough for us. Tradition is meant to be distinctive, not comfortable.”
Scirye made an exasperated sound as she felt the cloak sagging from her shoulder again. “Argh! Why won’t this thing stay put? I could just bite the next person who says how quaint I look!” She started to pull off the cloak, ready to trample it, but Kles batted a wing against her cheek and she stopped at his cautionary touch.
“Well, if you do”—Nishke winked—”make sure it’s not someone important.”
Before Scirye could reply to her sister, they were nearly trampled by a large woman as she walked backward across the floor. She was gesturing with both hands for a group of newspeople to follow her.
Over her shoulder, she wore a sash proclaiming that she was a museum docent. From her affected voice and mannerisms, she was a frustrated actress. “And we’ve saved the best for last.”
“I’ll say,” a photographer said. He held up a big boxy camera. “Smile, honey.”
A half-dozen other photographers peeled away from the group to cluster about Nishke.
“Excuse me,” Nishke said to her mother and sister and then turned to the photographers. “I have to take up my post first.” She marched smartly to the center of the room and took her place by a corner of the case where the body of Lady Tabiti lay in honor upon a dais supported by elephants of lapis lazuli. A Pippal stood at each of the three other corners, as well.
Within the case Lady Tabiti rested in a suit of armor made from plaques of dark, apple green jade