City of Fire (City Trilogy (Mass Market)) Read Online Free Page A

sewn together with gold thread. Gold inlays of Nanaia the Peaceful adorned each piece of jade. A mask, carved from a large matching piece of jade into the likeness of a beautiful woman, had been set aside to reveal the head of the owner of the armor.
    Her body had been preserved remarkably well by the desertlike climate where she usually lay in her mausoleum, so it was possible to see that her face at one time had matched the mask. Ropes of braided hair still showed some of their original fiery red tint, which might have matched Scirye’s.
    Camera bulbs popped and flashed, but the photographers seemed more interested in Nishke and the Pippalanta guards than in Lady Tabiti herself.
    “We should take our posts, too,” Lady Sudarshane said, and led her daughter and Kles to a seat in the roped-off area to the right of the podium.
    The cloak slipped down yet again so that Scirye tripped and nearly fell on her face. Scowling, she tugged the obnoxious piece of clothing back in place and then slumped in a chair until her mother tapped her shoulder. “Don’t slouch, dear. You look like you have a hump.” As her daughter sat up straight, Lady Sudarshane fussed with Scirye’s clothing. “Nishke should be teaching you how to sit properly in a chair rather than how to fight.”
    Scirye shot a guilty look at her mother. “What do you mean?” she asked, fearing the worst.
    Her mother pursed her lips in amusement. “I know what you two are really doing when you tell me you’re going out shopping,” her mother said. “You might at least have the decency to come back with a package or two to keep up the pretense.”
    Scirye desperately tried to concoct an alibi. “We were window shopping.”
    Her mother tapped her lightly on the head. “No, you’re going to the gym where she’s teaching you Tumarg. And I might add that fibbing to your mother is
not
Tumarg.”
    Tumarg was the Way of Light, the Way that Purifies. It embodied not only the martial arts of the Pippalanta but their code of honor, as well.
    Scirye’s cloak had fallen off her shoulder once more and she pulled it back up as she shot an accusing look at Kles. “Did you tell my mother?”
    When the griffin ruffled both his fur and feathers, he was the picture of indignation. “I am your retainer. I would never tell your secrets.”
    “Yes, shame on you for doubting Klestetstse’s loyalty,” her mother scolded mildly. “The accounting office asked me about the receipts from the gym so it was easy to put one and one together and get a pair of rebellious daughters.”
    “Sorry, Kles,” Scirye mumbled contritely.
    By then, the museum docent had managed to gather up the photographers again so she could continue her performance. “Behold, the most venerated relic of the Kushan Empire.” She waved her hand grandly. “The Jade Lady!”
    A reporter shoved his hat back with a whistle. “That crazy outfit must be worth a bundle.”
    The docent did a half-pirouette as she faced the reporters again. “And deservedly so. Lady Tabiti was a princess from far Sarmatia in the Russian steppes who led her tribe of women warriors down to the Kushan Empire and saved it from a Persian invasion. The grateful Kushans nicknamed their fierce saviors the Pippalanta after a fiery pepper plant and hailed Lady Tabiti as Nanaia reborn. When she died, the Empire of the Moon—as the Kushan Empire is often called—buried her like an empress.”
    The Lady Sudarshane gave a snort at the exaggeration, and the Pippalanta suddenly seemed to have developed a bad case of the giggles.
    “What’s wrong?” Scirye whispered. Despite Kles’s lessons, Scirye still felt as if Kushan’s long history was a dense thicket she would never penetrate.
    “Well, she came from Sarmatia, but she never claimed to be of royal blood let alone divine ichor,” the Lady Sudarshane murmured. “Our friend, the docent, is… um… embroidering the story quite a bit.”
    Unaware of how she was amusing the Kushan,