Emissary (31 page)

He sighed because he knew what was coming, turned, as everyone else had, towards the great doors of the Throne Room that now opened. In floated the Grand Master Eunuch above his swathes of multicoloured silks. He was beaming; the cavernous gap in his teeth was filled now and then by a bright pink tongue that seemed to taste the air. Aloft he held a silken sheet that was smeared unmistakably with blood. Not much, but enough to tell its own tale.

The clapping began and it turned into a cheer and then a roar as a not so sheepish looking Zar entered the chamber. Lazar had anticipated a sense of embarrassment in him for this attention but Boaz was neither smiling nor serious, and he didn’t strike Lazar as triumphant or, by contrast, in any way reserved. Boaz simply looked regal. He carried himself tall, proud, and now, in everyone’s eyes, he could carry himself as a man. He had taken his first woman and the proof of that taking was on the pale sheet that Salmeo was rather gruesomely but delightedly showing around.

This show of the bedsheets was custom and, although it was normally reserved for between harem walls only, more for fun than anything else, Lazar could understand why today this somewhat vulgar posturing was necessary. The public presentation was not for anyone’s benefit but the Galinseans’. They would not know that the blood on the satin bed linen was likely false because the Grand Master Eunuch had already prepared each new wife-to-be in a manner that effectively took her virginity. Lazar shuddered. He hoped somehow that lack of time had granted Ana an escape from this vicious trauma at the hands of Salmeo. Whether the small bloodstain on the sheets was Ana’s, it mattered not. The Zar had taken a wife and their royal marriage was now consummated.

Ana may be travelling to the Galinsean capital as an emissary for the royal court of Percheron but she was so much more than a traditional
envoy. Percheron was sending one of its treasures, possibly its most precious of all jewels—the woman who would bear the first potential heir to the Percherese throne. The Galinseans, as barbaric as they were believed to be, would have to take this woman’s pleas seriously, for Percheron was risking its future by sending her.

That was the rationale and the Spur knew it would work. It was a clever idea to suggest the Zar marry Ana immediately, but as much as Lazar could pride himself on being the originator of the plan, he took no pleasure in his achievement. In fact he felt so empty at this moment he wasn’t even sure he could hide his sour look at the stained silken sheet.

The blood of a virgin.

Ana’s blood.

A virgin no more.

‘Zaradine Ana,’ he murmured and it rolled awkwardly, unhappily off his tongue. Now she could never be his.

The cheering was still going and Boaz was unsuccessfully trying to dampen the high spirits of those helping him celebrate not only the loss of his bride’s virginity but also his own. It was obvious to all—and their knowledge certainly didn’t seem to matter to Boaz—that he had just enjoyed his first experience with a mate.

‘Doesn’t look too flushed for someone who has just mounted his first filly,’ someone muttered softly to Lazar.

Lazar didn’t know anyone was standing so close to him and had to wonder how the Grand Vizier had managed to steal up without him realising it.

Maliz continued, answering his own query. ‘Ah well, he’s young…first time…probably all over in a blink.’ He smiled conspiratorially and laid a perfectly manicured hand on Lazar’s arm.

The Spur flinched as if scalded and hoped the grinding of his teeth didn’t sound as loud to the Grand Vizier as it did in his own head. ‘I can’t remember that far back, Tariq.’

It was obvious to Lazar that Maliz noticed his overreaction but the Grand Vizier’s voice betrayed nothing more than his recently acquired sardonic tone. ‘Oh come now, Spur Lazar. We all remember our first time.’

‘You can?’ It was meant to sound flippant but there was no tone of humour at all.

‘Of course, as though it were just moments ago. She was very young, very ripe. Delicious, as I recall…just like Ana.’

The confronting words sounded like a test. As though the man was waiting for him to make an error, admit something, reveal a secret. Lazar felt only revulsion. ‘Excuse me, Grand Vizier, I must offer my best to the Zar and go make preparations.’

‘Yes, of course,’ the Vizier replied and infuriated Lazar with a knowing wink.

Lazar stalked away, confused by his own internal battle over Ana, and unnerved by the
Vizier’s scrutiny. Knowing that beneath the newly charismatic facade lurked a demon added weightily to his discomfort. It occurred to him, as he walked towards his Zar, that perhaps Maliz suspected that he knew something about who was controlling Tariq now. But why would he jump to this conclusion? They had had little to do with one another over the years. And how would Maliz imagine Lazar was even involved in this strange struggle between gods? Not even Lazar was convinced by the claim. Since Pez had first shared his thoughts, Lazar had told himself that his involvement was purely coincidence. He was a bystander, helplessly drawn into the conflict because he happened to be friends with the person who was Iridor incarnate, and with Ana, whom Pez was so convinced would show herself to be the Goddess. But then if she was, why hadn’t Maliz already tried to destroy her?

‘Ah, Lazar,’ Boaz said, the warmth of his smile doing nothing to penetrate the iciness of his Spur’s feelings right now.

‘Congratulations, my Zar.’

‘Thank you. I’m not sure how to feel,’ he admitted quietly between them. ‘I’m married—sounds very serious and grown-up, don’t you think?’ He was striving to make light of his new status.

‘You are a Zar. The Mightiest of the Mighty…that is serious enough for any man of any age.’

Boaz nodded his appreciation of Lazar’s supportive words. ‘And she is so lovely,’ he added, a little wistfully for Lazar’s jangling nerves.

‘Indeed. Certainly nicer than bloating at the bottom of the river, fodder for the palace fish, Highness.’

The Zar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you all right, Lazar?’

He reined in his bitterness. ‘I am, Majesty. Forgive me. None of us have had any sleep and I think I must pay attention to my recovery. I look robust, I know, but the poison took a heavy toll and I can get quite weary.’

Both knew that although the words were probably truthful, they were a barrier to distance himself from what he had actually meant. The real truth had been glimpsed but had quickly hidden itself. Lazar was now able to add severe irritation with himself to his list of grievances.

Boaz became rigidly serious. ‘I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted since you returned, Lazar…was it only just hours ago?’ He stepped down from his dais and embraced the Spur. ‘I need you.’

‘I know,’ Lazar replied, somewhat shocked by the public gesture that no-one in the chamber had missed, and unsure of what to say.

‘And I need you to keep Ana safe,’ Boaz added with a fresh intensity, his dark eyes glittering.

‘Of course, my Zar, she is your wife, your—’
Lazar began but was cut off by Boaz shaking his head.

‘She is so much more to me. I will make special sacrifices for her. I couldn’t offer her protection when she was the sole property of the harem. Now I can offer her all the protection in the world because she belongs to me…totally.’

The words cut like a blade through flesh and muscle, through sinew and bone, straight to Lazar’s soul. He took a steadying breath and replied solemnly. ‘I understand, Highness,’ although he had no idea what Boaz meant by saying he would make sacrifices. What sacrifice did any Zar make for any woman, wife or otherwise?

Boaz wasn’t finished; determined to press his point, he moved closer still to his Spur. ‘I love her,’ he repeated. ‘There may have to be other women in my life but there will
never
be anyone who shares my heart other than Zaradine Ana. Her son, when she gives me one—and she will…her womb possibly already quickening with my seed…is the only heir to this throne.’ The words were said with fire burning around them. The intensity in Boaz’s stare was almost unbearable.

Lazar had known Boaz since he was born, had always liked him as a child and had liked him even more as the boy turned into a young man. He had pledged his faith to Boaz when Zar Joreb had revealed during a private conversation that
none of his other sons came close to Boaz’s suitability as a leader. Lazar agreed and it was easy to give his oath to the ruler that he would lay down his life for Boaz if it was asked. He knew this boy-turned-man to be passionate, to also take all his endeavours seriously. Obviously getting married was no casual event and even though it might save them from a dire situation, Lazar suspected now that Boaz might not have agreed had he not been so smitten by the bride.

This realisation came as a shock, as though someone had punched him hard in the belly without warning—no time to brace, just a breathless wave of pain through the body. He knew all of almost everything there was to know about Boaz but he had never realised—how could he?—that the new Zar was as in love with Ana as he himself was. He had not been around the city this last year and even though Pez had tried to warn him on several occasions that the Zar was quite close to Odalisque Ana, it had never resonated fully. He was too remote from palace life to know how honest Pez had been in trying to shore up Lazar’s defences for the full realisation when it came…when he was finally confronted, as he was now, with Boaz’s infatuation with Ana.

Just standing here before the Zar was hard enough, knowing that Boaz had just tasted Ana’s young, nubile body. Lazar, who loved her with every ounce of his being, had barely
touched her by comparison. They had held hands—or rather she had held his—their skins had touched briefly in the Choosing Room, he had held her tightly when he raised her from the riverbed and passionately tried to breathe life back into her as their mouths had touched, but there had been nothing lingering. Nothing had he given of himself to warn Ana that he worshipped the ground she stood upon, the very sunlight that glinted off her radiant golden hair. Jumo had touched Ana more than he—Jumo had hugged and kissed Ana. Lazar, through his own remote, often awkward manner, had deliberately avoided giving anything of himself, save his helpless heart…and she didn’t even know that he had handed it over to her in those foothills on that first night when she reached right to his core and claimed him as her own. He had given it with a sense of wonder, surprise, awe and a depth of feeling he never thought he might reach again.

Ana had become his touchstone in a matter of just a few days, his reason for living and his reason for not dying. She was his reason to be—to take a breath each day and then another and another. To go on fighting the disease that wanted him so badly and which would have been so easy to surrender to.

She had saved him because of his terrifying love for her. And here was another man claiming the same! It was impossible, it was repulsive, it
was killing him. He would die at this spot if he didn’t escape now. And this man had no empty claim. Not only did she belong to him as wife but she now belonged to him in body. Boaz had taken her, joined their bodies into one, might even have already sired a child on her if the gods were paying attention.

He felt dizzy. A surge of nausea overwhelmed him. The words,
there will
never
be anyone who shares my heart other than Zaradine Ana,
echoed around and around his mind, addled with angst, riddled with jealousy…the latter an emotion he had never experienced. He was the eldest in his family, the spoilt child, the boy who had never had to fear anyone or feel rivalled by anyone—the heir doted upon until he made his error, and even then it was his choice to leave Galinsea. Life had always been his to carve and he chose his own paths. In this timeless moment he knew he was being pushed from the chosen path. Another had the right of passage here and, save an act of high treason, there was absolutely nothing that Lazar could do to prevent his own fall by the wayside as Boaz pushed past.

There was nothing Lazar could do.

He bowed, a gesture symbolic of his acceptance of this situation. It helped cover his expression but did nothing to assist his dizziness. ‘You have my word, I will lay down my life for her to keep her safe,’ he managed to say.

When he looked up he was shocked again to
see Boaz was misty-eyed with emotion. ‘You already have once before. Thank you for offering again but this time to my wife, not a common slave.’

The words were very final—a warning. All he could do was nod before muttering his excuses to go prepare for the journey.

As he watched the retreating back of the Spur, the Grand Vizier stored away the memory of how Lazar had reacted when touched. It was as though he had been burned by a firebrand. What had startled him so? The Spur was certainly suspicious of him but Maliz believed that was because the Spur and Tariq had a historical disgust for one another. Maliz knew Tariq despised Lazar for his looks, his stature, his popularity, his disdain for the palace ways, all of which only seemed to make the old Zar, Joreb, hold the Spur in ever higher esteem—they’d been little short of blood brothers in the early years, and Tariq had burned with jealousy that the counsel that was rightly his was given by a soldier. And Maliz suspected that Lazar detested Tariq for his obsequiousness and constant desperation for acceptance and respect, to the point where he would do anything to win favour. But this overreaction to the Vizier’s presence, his touch, was something else entirely, Maliz believed. Lazar clearly didn’t like the Grand Vizier around him, seemed unnecessarily wary,
whereas before, Maliz knew the Spur couldn’t give a damn about Tariq, whether he was present or not. He simply didn’t rate the Vizier as being important enough for any attention. Maliz sensed that the Spur had revealed something unintentional just now. He would have to ponder this further and he would certainly have to talk with Salazin to put Lazar beneath his watchful gaze too. He roused himself from his private thoughts with the realisation that he, too, would be a member of the party that departed Percheron city at nightfall. He, too, had preparations to make.