Emissary (35 page)

She kissed her husband one last time and, with the help of the mute known as Salazin, she stepped out of the karak, her traitorous eyes scanning the festive crowd and instantly picking out the betrayer himself.

He stood tall on a small rise that was slightly removed from the party. He was talking to Jumo and a few of his men. Beneath the soldiers horses shifted and neighed, eager to be gone from the torches and crowd of people. And then, as if he could sense her presence, he looked up and across the distance stared directly at her, into her eyes, into that perfidious soul of hers, which was no longer true to her but a slave to him. But something deeply sorrowful about the way he hung his head soon after he locked gazes with her told her something far more revealing.

Ana knew then and there that whatever inclinations she was fighting, he was fighting them harder.

Lazar didn’t need to know she had climbed out of the karak. He sensed her presence instantly and broke away from his conversation with Jumo. His friend, ever sensitive to the mood swings of his former master, quickly picked up the thread of conversation with the other men to cover Lazar’s sudden absence, even though he remained standing in the same position on the crest of the small rise.

The Spur’s gaze locked on hers, and even though she was far away, he knew that for all of her posturing and his careful distance, nothing had changed. And that was dangerous. He lowered his head almost immediately. He had secretly hoped Ana did hate him, would and could never forgive him for the deception of his apparent death, and even though it was not his doing, he would have accepted her hatred as the price he had to pay for her to be alive and not feeding the fish of the Faranel.

On the other side of the karak another figure, unmistakably the tall young ruler, alighted to win his attention and surprised Lazar by searching him out immediately. Lazar was dismayed to see the young man’s gaze flick immediately to Ana and then back to him. The Spur held his breath—surely, surely there was no suspicion? Despite the agony of his intense love for Ana, he knew he had never revealed it to anyone, not even her. How
could the Zar, of all people, have this thought in his mind, if he did have this thought at all?

He handed over the reins of his horse, muttered something to Jumo and strode down the hill, ignoring the questions and enquiries thrown at him by various people until he reached the Zar’s karak.

‘Zar Boaz. You grace us with your presence.’

Boaz smiled warmly and Lazar felt his shoulders relax slightly. ‘I thought it appropriate to see my wife off on this great journey, Lazar.’

‘Indeed, Highness.’ He looked over at Ana. ‘Zaradine Ana,’ and bowed his head slightly. ‘We have a sweet and docile filly for you to ride.’

She said nothing but inclined her head and straightaway turned to Elza, who had bustled up to take charge. Elza was clearly enjoying the sudden notoriety of being the new Zaradine’s personal slave, and the chance to escape the claustrophobia of the harem was also evident by her bright smile.

Lazar returned his attention to the Zar, all crisp efficiency. ‘We make for the foothills, Highness, and will camp for a few hours. My intention is that we journey in the cool of the latest hours of darkness and the early hours of dawn until the sun gets more fierce.’

‘This is Samazen season, if I’m not mistaken?’

‘Sadly you are not, my Zar. This is indeed the most dangerous time of the year to be anywhere near the desert.’

‘But it can’t be helped,’ Boaz qualified.

Lazar nodded. ‘We have no choice. The desert is the fastest route and I will take every precaution.’

‘When can I expect news?’

‘I will send Jumo ahead as soon as we know anything. I imagine you won’t hear much for a couple of moons, Majesty.’

Boaz nodded. ‘You take with you precious cargo, Lazar.’

‘I will keep the Valide, the Grand Vizier and Pez free from harm, Majesty—on this you have my word. As far as your wife goes, I will lay down my life for her as I would you, my Zar, for she is now an extension of you.’

At this Boaz fixed Lazar with an intense stare that the Spur met head-on and did not waver from. There was a test in that long, searching look, and Lazar felt pity for the young ruler who was truly rising to his station and yet was obviously fragile where Ana was concerned. Welcome to my world, Lazar thought, and found an uneasy smile. ‘I will bring her home to you safe and triumphant, my Zar.’

And he saw something relax in Boaz as he said, ‘I know you will, Lazar, and for this I am in your debt once again.’ He reached for the Spur and pulled him close. ‘Bring her home, protect her from those who don’t feel about her as you or I.’

It was an odd choice of words but, despite the clumsy expression, Lazar understood perfectly
what had passed between them. ‘As I stand here, Zar Boaz, you have my oath that come what may Ana will live on to bear you an heir.’ He was stunned himself by his equally inept answer that smacked of something far deeper than either of them understood…and yet it seemed the right thing to say, it seemed to convey that Boaz’s fears would not come to fruition. Lazar couldn’t explain it but it was as though he didn’t choose the words, they chose themselves. Whatever or whyever, they seemed to satisfy Boaz, who now grinned broadly and hugged him again.

‘Perhaps she already has my heir in her belly. Go about your duties, Spur Lazar, I don’t mean to hold you from them.’

Lazar bowed, still baffled by what had passed between him and his Zar, and removed himself from the crowd of people as another karak began arriving, probably that of the Valide. He resisted the urge to cast a glance Ana’s way and instead steadfastly fixed his eyes on Jumo and his mind on their departure, which would take place just as soon as they could get the women comfortable on the horses and settled within their various escorts he’d set up.

The Samazen, he decided, as he strode back up the rise, knowing she was watching him, was going to be the least of his problems.

At Jumo’s wise suggestion Lazar guided the party into the foothills but in a north-westerly direction
so that Ana would not feel the nearness of her family. Their small dwelling was close but not close enough that she would necessarily recognise the terrain as anything but familiar to the foothills rather than to the region she grew up in. He had doggedly resisted all contact with Ana on the slow climb into the hills, preferring instead to send Jumo on both occasions that he felt inclined to check with the royal party that all was well with their horses, the pace, their comfort.

Jumo returned now with the message he had anticipated an hour previous at least.

‘The Valide wishes to speak with you.’

‘And did she ask politely?’

‘Something about not being of a mind to discuss her comfort with the Spur’s slave.’ Jumo cleared his throat as if ridding himself of something distasteful.

‘Gods rot that woman!’ Lazar muttered. ‘I’m sorry, Jumo—’

‘Don’t be sorry. Her words, not yours, and I was glad to run the errand. It meant I could see Ana.’

‘More luck you,’ Lazar said.

‘And save you the pain of it,’ Jumo qualified. ‘You know, Master…’

‘Call me by my name in front of the Valide. Do not give her any ammunition. Let her see our familiarity.’

‘All right. I was going to say, where Ana is concerned, I’m afraid your face, legend for its blankness, is in fact rather easy to read.’

‘That bad?’

Jumo nodded. ‘If you don’t want to give the Valide a weapon, don’t even look at the girl.’

‘I haven’t looked at her in thirteen moons!’ he growled.

‘And none of the heat has dissipated between the two of you.’

‘That’s ridiculous, I—’

‘What is? That you both go out of your way to be so uncommunicative that it’s obvious you’re doing your utmost to look as though you have nothing to say to one another?’

‘We don’t. Not any more.’ He scowled.

‘Now I know that’s a lie and so does the Valide. You’ve saved Ana’s life twice now, Lazar. And knowing you as I do, I understand this is not being done just out of duty. Whether or not the Valide appreciates this is irrelevant. You both clearly have plenty to say to one another. Just act more naturally.’

‘Act naturally?’ It was snarled with a mixture of incredulity and sarcasm.

Jumo ignored him and continued earnestly. This was important if they were all to survive. ‘Address her. Give her eye contact. Offer a few words—encouragement, enquiry, anything. Don’t be afraid to be friendly. It’s what they would anticipate…even though you’re not friendly to most.’ He gave a soft smile to lighten the awkward yet necessary lecture, but Lazar had never looked more grim.

‘That’s just the point, I am afraid to be friendly.’

‘Why, Lazar?’ Jumo pleaded. It seemed so simple to him, and Ana was so easy to get along with that surely the Spur could make it go lighter on all of them if he tried a bit harder. Jumo was startled when the sorrowful answer came.

‘Because it will undo me, my friend. She is married now. She is Zaradine…more untouchable than she ever was.’

Jumo had known Lazar for so long now, shared enough to know how his friend might react in any situation. But not this time. He had never heard Lazar sound so vulnerable and it was frightening. Frightening that a man who had always seemed impervious not just to the wiles of women but to any true friendship beyond their own, could now appear so fragile where this young woman, this forbidden woman, was concerned. He could only feel the deepest pity for his friend whom he now knew was on the most dangerous of paths. No-one, absolutely no-one, could lay a hand on a Zaradine. It was one thing to covet an odalisque, a possession of the Zar, but still merely a slave amidst a myriad of other slaves. But once elevated to wife, she instantly became something more precious, and to be Absolute Favourite and likely mother to the heir meant her face would almost certainly never be looked upon by another whole man again.

Ana had always done things differently and even though this was not by her design, here she was now on a journey, not just leaving the harem—something Herezah, for instance, had never considered possible—but representing her Zar, her nation, in a desperate bid to avert war. Suddenly she had been elevated into a new status altogether—no longer just Zaradine, no longer just Absolute Favourite, no longer just woman, but diplomatic negotiator, a strategist possibly, who might just fashion the peace that Percheron wanted, needed. From today many men—strangers, foreigners, enemies—might look upon her face if need called for it.

All of that acknowledged, the truth was that in principle nothing had actually changed…and Lazar knew it. For all the uniqueness of this situation, this was still a royal wife—the Favourite—and to covet this one was to invite cruel death.

Jumo understood what Lazar was battling. It was etched deep into his friend’s grief-stricken face. And Jumo wished, although he had suspected this forbidden love had deepened, that he hadn’t assumed it would somehow be diluted over time through their absence from one another.

He had convinced himself that in not seeing each other for so long, Lazar’s infatuation and what appeared a childish attachment to the Spur by Ana might have lost its potency. But Ana was
not a child. She was a young woman when they had discovered her but she had the composure of one far older and obviously the maturity to match. No, their compulsion towards each other was stronger than ever and both were fighting it hard.

Lazar’s inspired suggestion that Boaz marry Ana for the sake of the nation was not just a desperate bid to secure her life and indeed possibly save Percheron, but also his skewed method of putting Ana so far out of his own reach that he could never do more than love her from a distance. And Jumo could see the price his friend was paying for that decision—undeniably the only decision he could make under the circumstances—and he also understood the debt would never be paid. Lazar would continue funding her security with his own pain; suffering seemingly a bottomless purse for this man.

‘I will try,’ Lazar replied finally and the forlorn nature of his promise prompted Jumo to add something, anything of a positive nature, before his friend turned his horse around to drop back to the royal party.

‘I met your parents, Lazar. Perhaps you would like me to tell you about that meeting?’

It had the opposite effect to the one he’d hoped for. More darkness deepened into the shadows of the Spur’s face. ‘Perhaps,’ he replied, and Jumo understood he was simply being polite. After all, Lazar had not even asked after the King and Queen.

Jumo looked towards the small valley ahead of them. ‘That’s camp. The camels will be delivered in the next few hours. I’m glad you decided to bring fewer men than the Zar originally suggested.’

Lazar nodded, said no more as he nudged his horse around and trotted unhappily back down the line of slow-moving people on horseback to the main party and to the woman who awaited him.

Attired in a midnight blue gown from head to toe, the dark eyes of the Valide flashed pure pleasure as his horse drew up next to hers.

‘Valide, you wished to speak with me?’

‘I do, Lazar. Why do you not travel with Zaradine Ana and myself? Surely as our guide and our chaperone, your job is to stay close?’

He knew she was playing with him but he had promised himself he would not bite at any bait she dangled on this journey. He hoped his oath was not an empty one. ‘The danger, should it arise, Valide, is not here alongside you and Zaradine Ana but at the front of the column. You must forgive me but my job is actually to keep you safe by knowing precisely what is ahead of us.’

‘And what is ahead of us, Lazar? I see nothing but the dark shadows of thorny bushes and the black humps of dunes.’

‘And you would be right, Valide. But also, less than one league away is our stopping point for a few hours. Ahead is a small valley. Safe as a
resting place so we can take delivery of our camels and both of our esteemed women might take some sleep for a while.’ He looked across the Valide to where the silent Zaradine stared straight ahead into the night. He decided Jumo was right. At least he could try. ‘I imagine you must be fatigued, Zaradine Ana?’ His voice was gentle and he couldn’t care less what Herezah read into it.