Emissary (30 page)

And from Lazar’s forlorn appearance Herezah drew her ultimate comfort, for this day that had gone so badly wrong for her. He was suffering and it pleased her. That her son was marrying the girl she wanted dead was a severe injury but it was a balm that the impenetrable facade that Lazar had built around himself was being smashed, burned to rubble before her eyes.

She smiled at the Spur and both understood what it conveyed. He looked away, disgusted that she could read him as well as she had.

Into the hush, Salmeo spoke the traditional words. ‘Zar Boaz, King of Kings, Mightiest of the Mighty, may I present your First Chosen. The harem approves the marriage and we give you Odalisque Ana to be a sparkling jewel, a treasured possession. May she please you, my Zar, and bring you fine, healthy heirs. Brothers!’ His final word was the signal for everyone to offer their good wishes to the Zar and his bride. Specially crafted lightweight wooden eggs were rolled towards the couple as Ana was lifted from the floor and then guided to stand directly before her husband. The wooden eggs were symbolic, to offer blessings for a fertile marriage, and in Percherese homes the custom was for the children of the two families being brought together to paint the eggs, bought at the market. In the imperial palace it was also the custom but
the eggs were studded with tiny gems for the bride to collect as a keepsake. Some women, but always First Chosen, swallowed one of the eggs as the ultimate acknowledgement of their power to bestow fertility.

Ana had already been primed by Salmeo and she did so now, choosing a tiny egg encrusted with palest sapphires that seemed to reflect the colour of the sea that she favoured. It wasn’t easy to swallow, of course, but when she opened her mouth as instructed to prove it was empty of the egg, applause exploded into the room. The only person not clapping was Lazar.

Pez was pulling at his hair with pretend joy and manoeuvred himself to be close to the Spur. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Not thrilled.’

‘It shows. Applaud.’ The dwarf began skipping around the room beaming but with a vacant look as though he didn’t know what all the joy was about.

Boaz cleared his throat and the room became silent. ‘Thank you, brothers. I accept this woman to be my wife, my First Chosen and Absolute Favourite, which is how she is to be known from now on. We cast away Odalisque. She is now to be addressed as Zaradine Ana.’ He held out his hand and Ana, well schooled by Salmeo, stepped up one stair only so she momentarily stood above all except the Zar himself before he lowered his head and kissed her hand. From a pocket he drew
a box. The box was carved, inlaid with pearl. It was too big for jewels and once again Herezah was struck that her son was breaking from custom even at the most traditional point of his wedding ceremony, when the Zar bestows a magnificent piece of jewellery on his First Chosen.

‘This is for you,’ Boaz said and couldn’t stop the smile from stretching widely across his face. This gift had been crafted long before that moment of tension when he’d prematurely announced his intention to summon Ana as First Chosen. He had planned this moment for so long but still he felt a tinge of hesitation and indeed disbelief that he was actually giving it to her already. ‘Open it, Zaradine Ana.’

With shaking hands she took the heavy box and did as she was asked, withdrawing exquisite miniatures, perfectly rendered in stone, of her favourite statues from Percheron: Beloch and Ezram—the twin giants; Crendel and Darso—the winged lions; Iridor—the owl; and Shakar—the feared dragon.

Expecting jewellery and berating herself for thinking so little of Boaz’s sensitivity, Ana could not maintain her icy composure. She opened her mouth in unfeigned delight. Whispers around the room from those who could see the gift were puzzled. Surely replicas of statues were meaningless to a beautiful woman who traditionally thrived on jewels to mark her own stature?

‘Do you like them?’ Boaz whispered.

‘I adore them, Zar Boaz,’ she replied and no-one could mistake her pleasure.

‘Let the feast begin!’ Boaz announced, his own delight evident.

There was more bemused clapping and smiles before Salmeo called order for the final announcement. ‘Brothers, our esteemed Valide will now retire to the harem. We ask you to follow the torches out into the courtyard where the feast will be held. Our Zar and his new Zaradine will now consummate their marriage and we will provide proof shortly.’ His voice took on a conspiratorial tone and the men laughed. Even Marius and Lorto seemed to understand without needing anything translated.

As Ana turned to follow Salmeo and her Zar, her gaze fell upon the Spur. There was no sense of triumph as she thought there might be within herself and she saw only deep sorrow in the look he returned. He dipped his head to her in a crisp bow and took his leave. She was sure he would not be joining the festive celebrations over food. Her mind was a whirl and it was hard to know what to think, how to think. All she knew right at this moment was intense pain—for Kett mostly but also for herself at being denied death, and for discovering that Lazar had lied. That he was alive and now she would be travelling with him. Worst of all, she knew, despite all her intentions, that she loved him harder at this
painful moment than she thought possible. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to Lyana either. It was an ironic turn of events. Lyana had granted her greatest prayer that Lazar somehow survive, even though death seemed so certain, and in return she had given her oath to the Goddess that she would not seek his affections. Lyana had been true and Ana intended to honour her pact with the Goddess. She hoped it would make it easier to keep her promise now that she had anger coursing through her veins but it was matched equally by the familiar pain of desire. She would have to let them go to war within and pray that anger won out. Right now the Zar would expect her to join him in his bed. She had not allowed herself to think about it until this moment and as much as she liked Boaz, it revolted her. She had never seen him as a lover, more as a brother, but she had no choice. To keep those she loved safe—and she helplessly included Lazar in this small group—she had to see this through and be a dutiful Zaradine.

The signal was given and Ana followed behind the men, carrying her box of statues, more precious than any jewels.

No-one noticed the stillness of the Grand Vizier, who was still trying to understand the meaning of the Zar’s gift to his Zaradine. Maliz was utterly convinced now that, although Ana was not the Goddess, she was his guide to whom Lyana was. How Boaz could be involved intrigued
him—or was it just pure coincidence? Stranger things had happened in his lifetime but he had learned to pay attention to everything, treat all potential clues as leads to the pathway he sought.

Ana and her box of statues—renditions of the very same creatures Maliz had personally turned to stone all those centuries ago—would lead him to that path.

Lazar did not join the festivities; instead he tried to put distance between himself and the Zar’s private chambers, convincing himself that if he was physically removed it might also remove the thought of Ana and Boaz. He found himself in a lonely orange grove on the fringe of the palace complex, mercifully empty of workers or servants. He was alone with the sounds of the sea and his turbulent thoughts. His head hurt from lack of sleep, but his heart hurt far more.

Pez found him brooding.

‘You didn’t hide it very well.’

Lazar looked up from the ground where he had been studying an ant’s labours. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Ana.’

‘That obvious?’

‘Not to Boaz, thankfully.’

‘I thought I could handle it, Pez. I thought I was bigger, stronger, tougher.’

‘Than what?’

‘Than love,’ he replied wistfully.

Pez hefted himself onto the small stone bench seat next to Lazar. He was silent for a few moments. And then he sighed. ‘I hadn’t realised how painful this is for you.’

‘If I didn’t have to keep seeing her it might ultimately be easier.’

‘This is true, but you have no choice now. Not now war is coming. It seems she’s our only hope. How do you think your parents will react to her?’

‘I haven’t known my parents in so many years it’s hard to judge but I can’t think of a better candidate.’

‘Other than yourself, of course. Are you sure Ana has to go through this?’

‘I would spare her it, Pez, I hope you know that. But there is no guarantee that they would necessarily forgive if I argued Percheron’s case. Ana has as much chance as I do and they will spare her life—they have to, she is a diplomatic emissary. But with me, they could just throw me into a dungeon, kill me, do whatever they want. Except I’m no help to Boaz and Percheron in a stinking cell. I need to be able to fight this war if it’s coming. I know how the Galinsean mind works.’

Pez nodded. ‘Well, we shall all be there to give her confidence.’

‘You’ve heard, then?’

The dwarf grimaced. ‘Yes. But in a way, I’d rather keep my enemy close.’

‘It seems all my enemies are along for the ride.’

‘Herezah will certainly make it an interesting journey. I think we can count in days when she might make her move.’

Lazar groaned.

‘It’s probably a good thing. Keeps your mind off Ana.’

‘I would not touch the wife of the Zar.’

Pez shrugged. ‘That’s good, then. Perhaps you can do us all a favour and keep his mother happy.’

Lazar ignored the comment. ‘What about the Vizier? He’s been goading me most of the afternoon.’

‘What do you think he knows?’

‘I have no idea. He was certainly probing, trying to make connections.’

‘That’s what Maliz is about. His whole reason for being is to find the clues that lead him to Lyana. He takes nothing for granted, leaves no stone unturned. There is no thread too weak for him to pull on. He will always follow each to their end.’

‘And I’m one of them?’

‘Of course you are, but he doesn’t know that. You are simply another person to be watched or discounted as having no potential, no clues to Lyana’s reality.’

‘What are the clues?’

‘Some have already presented themselves. Kett, for instance—he may or may not have made the connection.’

‘Who was Kett?’

‘I’m sorry, Lazar, I know this is all moving fast. I haven’t told you this. Kett named himself the Raven a long time ago to me. He was in the haze of pain surrounding his emasculation, so the helpers would have thought he was simply ranting if they’d heard what he said. I don’t think they did.’

‘And who is the Raven?’

‘The bird of sorrows. He lives a life of sadness, brings grave news, and if my memory serves me true, then he makes a prediction.’

‘That serves what purpose?’

‘Traditionally the outcome of the battle. That’s why we call him the bird of sorrows. It has never been good news. This time it may be different.’

‘Who does he tell?’

‘It varies.’

‘You think he gave his prediction to Ana?’

‘Possibly. They had opportunity before he died and perhaps that’s what Ellyana meant about this time being different.’

‘I don’t get you,’ Lazar said, frowning.

‘Well, to my knowledge he’s never had access to Lyana before. He usually has to tell one of her supporters.’

‘And you think he’s told Ana—’

‘Lyana.’

Lazar ignored the interruption. ‘You think he’s given her some important information.’

‘I’m guessing. I have only the past to go on, but as I keep telling you, this time is supposed to be different.’

Something struck Lazar. ‘What happens when Maliz comes into contact with the woman he hunts?’

‘Ah,’ Pez said conspiratorially. He paused a moment. ‘Forgive, I just had to check no-one was eavesdropping.’

‘The Lore?’

He nodded and continued. ‘Maliz hunts down anyone he suspects—either as the Goddess or one who can lead him to her.’

‘And?’

‘When he finally comes face to face with Lyana herself, he comes into his true power.’

‘And?’

‘Well, traditionally he destroys her,’ Pez said, irritably this time, frustrated a little by Lazar’s dullness, couldn’t understand why the Spur looked a fraction confused.

Lazar was frowning again. ‘He won’t waste any time. He’ll kill her on the spot?’

‘If he can, yes. I believe in some cycles he’s done just that. More often he has to struggle a little harder. She is evasive.’

‘But if he has access to her, that is to say, he comes face to face with her, he has the power to destroy her?’

Pez misunderstood. ‘History shows that blow for blow, yes, he is stronger, but this time—’

Lazar shook his head. ‘Then Ana is not who you think she is.’

Pez continued, talking over Lazar’s soft realisation, not registering what was said. ‘…this time, being different, I have no idea how it will go. What did you just say?’

‘I said, Ana is not the Goddess.’

It was Pez’s turn to look dull. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because it’s true, if what you’ve just told me holds good for all cycles.’

‘What do you mean, Lazar?’ The dwarf looked frightened—it was not something Lazar was used to.

‘Pez,’ he said gently, as if talking to a young child, ‘Boaz sent the Grand Vizier to fetch Ana from the harem only hours ago. They spent a considerable amount of time together because Boaz entrusted Tariq/Maliz, whatever you want to call him, to brief Ana on the plans regarding Galinsea. And what’s worse, I sense she sees the Vizier as an ally.’

Lazar watched his friend’s face blanch as he revealed the news. When he had finished, Pez couldn’t speak momentarily. His lips moved but no sound came out as he replayed in his mind what Lazar had just told him, how it could possibly have worked out this way. The Spur waited, knew it was a shock, understood that this news placed Pez in a situation of terrible limbo.

‘Did he touch her?’ the dwarf finally asked, his voice urgent.

‘What difference does that make?’

‘It’s her touch that quickens his magic!’

Lazar looked baffled. ‘I don’t know. I imagine he possibly did, considering how comfortable they seemed. There was ample time to take her arm or guide her, even. They spent a lot of time talking. I’m not suggesting they’re friends, but if you compare the body language of Ana and Salmeo to Ana and Tariq—’

‘Maliz!’ Pez spat.

Lazar nodded. ‘…it just seems more relaxed. If Ana was Lyana, she would be dead by your admission rather than pleasuring the Zar.’ The words came out choked, angry.

‘It can’t be. This cannot be!’

‘Hush, Pez,’ Lazar warned.

‘You don’t understand. Everything I’ve told you is right.’

‘I don’t doubt—’

‘No, listen! I felt her magic. It is not Lore. It is something else. It has to be of the Goddess and…’ He reached for other clues to convince his friend. ‘You’ve said it yourself! She knows too much about the ancients—she gave you the names of the giants, of the winged beasts, she can hear me over a mind-link, she too said this time it would be different.’

Lazar nodded but said nothing.

‘She told you herself that she is an old soul.
She has seen things in her dreams no goatherd’s daughter would know of. You told me once she described Percheron’s layout like the spread of a volcano’s lava…as if marble has spewed out and slid down the hills to the water.’

‘I did.’ Again he nodded, not wanting to crush Pez’s seemingly futile attempt to justify his claim.

‘She’s never been out of the foothills! How could she know what a volcano looks like? How can she know who Beloch and Ezram are? How come Zafira believed, as I do, and Zafira is now dead at the hands of Maliz? Don’t deny that Ellyana thought Ana special.’ Words were tumbling over one another.

Lazar hated to find holes in Pez’s determined plan. ‘Did she?’

‘Ellyana gave her the statue of Iridor,’ Pez replied, his anger barely contained.

‘But what does that confirm?’

Pez looked as if he was going to explode.

Lazar continued softly. ‘It doesn’t confirm or deny anything, my friend. Perhaps all who believe have been hoodwinked.’

‘Hoodwinked?’ His voice squeaked in his attempt to control his anguish at what Lazar was doing. Pez looked incredulous.

‘Poor choice of words, Pez, forgive me. I’m simply suggesting Ellyana, you, Zafira, have leapt onto Ana because she
is
so unique, she
does
have a curious background, she certainly shows an affinity for Lyana and…’

‘Stop! We can settle this by finding out if he touched her.’

‘If he did, she should be dead. If he did and she isn’t dead, then she can’t be the Goddess.’ Lazar looked at Pez with deep sympathy. ‘She’s not Lyana.’

‘He may not have touched her.’

‘You said he hunts down every clue. Surely he would have tried. There is too much focus on Ana for him not to have his interest at least piqued by her.’

Now Pez looked as though he might weep.

‘I’m sorry, Pez. Ana is simply a goatherd’s daughter. You have to move past her, see her as nothing more than the Zar’s wife.’

Lazar meant it kindly but Pez, in his sickening disappointment at the harsh truth of what his friend was saying, reacted as if stung. ‘Instead of lecturing me, perhaps you should take some of your own advice!’ He leapt from the seat and ran away on his short legs.

Lazar looked after him with sorrow, and understanding, not offended by Pez’s response. And of course, the dwarf was right. He, too, must move on from Ana. She was no longer a forbidden odalisque—she was now the untouchable Zaradine, First Chosen and Absolute Favourite of the Zar. Death to the outsider who looked at her with any desire.

Ana was now as good as dead to him, as Shara was. Shara his first and only other love.
After her he’d made a promise he would never open his heart to another woman. He would take his pleasure, enjoy the transient release that lying with a woman offered, but he would return himself to stone—just like the sculptures of Percheron he admired so much. No female would ever penetrate his facade again and get beneath his skin. He stood, renewing his promise to himself and to Lyana to relinquish Ana.

‘Ana is dead to me,’ he said softly, as if speaking it as a mantra sealed his oath.

A runner appeared, anxious and breathless. ‘Spur Lazar,’ he said, bowing.

‘Yes?’

‘I have been searching for you, Spur.’

‘What is it?’

‘The Grand Vizier. He has summoned everyone back to the Throne Room.’

Lazar knew why and felt his stomach twist in despair and hated anticipation. ‘Lead the way,’ he ordered, knowing full well he could not escape this, no matter how much he wanted to walk out of the palace and just keep walking.

Everyone he remembered from the wedding ceremony, save Herezah, had gathered in the Throne Room. He nodded at Marius, who smiled his response from across the room—obviously the feast had gone well and bridged the language divide. Salmeo was rocking on the balls of his
slippered feet, wearing a smug expression as though his was a job well done. At the gesture of one of the mutes, Salmeo quietly excused himself, presumably to return Ana to the harem and accompany the triumphant Zar back to his guests.

Lazar could barely disguise his contempt as he stared at the eunuch’s massive back. His thoughts moved sharply from Ana, from the pain of this ‘marriage’, to hatred for Salmeo. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew, in his marrow, that Salmeo was the one responsible for the attempt on his life. Lazar had long ago dismissed Horz’s involvement; he had not known the Elim well, but what he did know of him stood testimony. He had originally thought it must have been Tariq’s doing—the old Tariq—but his own security measures imposed within the palace would have prevented the Vizier having any access to the harem’s apothecary, or to the weapons room that only the Inflictors or the Spur’s most senior men were permitted to enter. All too difficult for the old, spineless Tariq. Then there was Herezah—she had all the reasons for being behind such an intrigue, but he could not see how she gained anything from his death, other than the satisfaction of separating him from Ana—but then the harem did that rather effectively. And for all of Herezah’s faults she was a pragmatist and would know how much Boaz would need to
rely on his Spur. He also grimaced privately at the Valide’s amorous interest in him—she preferred him alive. No, all of his suspicions this past year of convalescence rested firmly at the feet of the Grand Master Eunuch, who would have been incensed at the humiliation he received for Ana’s original escape, and vicious enough to order death to the person who so painfully pointed out his failure. Salmeo was worse than a scorned woman. He possessed the cruellest of streaks and, being in a position of power, he could have coerced any number of people below him to do his bidding. And Lazar was sure Salmeo would have covered his tracks very well, cowed each person in that line of dirty deeds with so much fear that no-one would speak the truth. There were some in the Inflictors department, though, who might prove useful to Lazar in the future, but his ruminations upon this were halted as a series of gongs sounded, pulling him back to the present.