Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) by Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta Page A

comprehensible to me,” Sharif snapped, “and
I
am not an outsider.”
    Jabir shook his head. “No, you cannot afford to be, Prince. You must be one of us now, completely. The people of Irrakesh do not yet know that the Sultan is poisoned. We cannot afford panic or dismay. When he consumes the antidote, he is strong enough to perform his court functions . . . for a time. You must be crowned before the people can fear that they will be left without a Sultan.”
    Before the young prince could argue, loud bells rang outside. Men shouted from atop the tallest towers and minarets. Others banged gongs. The streets became a flurry of activity and Gwen rushed to the open balcony of the Sultan’s bedchamber.
    Vic hurried to her side. “What now, Doc? Are we under attack?”
    “Sounds like an alarm to me,” she said.
    In the crowded streets below, the people were pulling out awnings, uncovering cisterns. Families and children rushed about, setting out broad pans in the streets. The food vendors and merchants worked to tie down the fabrics of their awnings, covering their wares, their grills. Tiaret and Lyssandra joined them, but Sharif barely seemed to notice the commotion. “It is just a cloud. We are about to go into a cloud.”
    The bright blue sky suddenly became clumped with dark cottony mist. Irrakesh drifted toward a billowing cumulonimbus mass, and soon the city was wreathed in grayish fog. As they traveled deeper into the cloud, flashes of lightning appeared all around them.
    Then the downpour began. Sheets of sudden rain dumped out of the cloud, washing the paved streets, running down in gutters, filling up cisterns and pans and pots, everything the families had set out.
    “That is how we gather our water,” Sharif said.
    The dusty streets quickly became clean. Children ran about laughing in the rain, their loose clothes drenched. Droplets blew back from the balcony, spraying the loosely hung curtains. Gwen drew a deep breath of the fresh-smelling air. She could hear the staccato pattering of heavy raindrops across all the tiled roofs, splashing in puddles in the streets, running in rivulets from statues and pointed turrets.
    In only a few minutes, as swiftly as it had begun, the rain stopped, fading away into thick fog. Then Irrakesh burst out of the cloud and into dazzling warm sunlight. Within moments steam began to curl up from the fresh water on the streets. Brilliant sunlight reflected from stained-glass windows. There was a lull in the conversation and background noise outside, but the activity gradually picked up as vendors reopened their stalls. People emerged from doorways and shelters to continue their business.
    Gwen found it amazing, but the people of Irrakesh took it entirely in stride.
    The Sultan coughed again, demanding Sharif’s attention. “I do not have long, perhaps as much as a month, perhaps less. You are my only son now, Ali. My beloved Hashim is dead. Murdered by Azric . . . but you survived.”
    Piri flitted in the air, flashing between an agitated orange and the electric green of worry.
    To Gwen, the Sultan’s words sounded like an accusation, as if Sharif had greatly disappointed his father by not dying in his brother’s stead. “Therefore I need to rely on you. We must prepare you for your vital role. There is no more time for dalliances on Elantya, or praktiks in subjects that have no bearing on ruling Irrakesh. Your whole life now belongs to our city. That is why you were born.”
    Sharif stiffened, struggling to find an argument. “That is why
Hashim
was born. I never expected —” The old Sultan’s face turned ruddy with anger, but before his father could shout at him, the young man raised his hand. “I know, I know, Father. Do not upset yourself.” He sounded deeply sad. “We came here to ask for help for Elantya, but now I must suddenly become an expert in statecraft and court bureaucracy.”
    “We’ll help,” Gwen said.
    Lyssandra, Tiaret, and Vic all stood close to