Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (28 page)

“You don’t have enough information,” said Kylon.

“Something that’s starting me right in the face,” said Caina. 

He caught her elbow, and she looked up at him, blue eyes wide. 

“Let’s go to the House of Agabyzus,” said Kylon, “and see if we can find more of that information.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” she said, and she smiled. “It would be grimly amusing if we survived Pyramid Isle and Rumarah only to get mugged in an alley in the Anshani Quarter.” 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Kylon. 

She smiled again, and they left the alley and headed for the Cyrican Quarter.

###

Caina looked around the Cyrican Bazaar. 

The first time she had come here had been over two years ago, just after she had been banished from the Empire. She had been in near despair, and had nearly drank herself to death the first night in Istarinmul. Then the Master Slaver Ulvan had taken Damla’s sons, setting Caina on the path that had led her to Silent Ash Temple and the Inferno, to Pyramid Isle and that room in the Corsair’s Rest at Rumarah. 

She shivered a little at the memory of the Huntress’s sword.

But that path had also led her to Kylon, just as his path of pain and loss had brought him to her. Out of grief they had found each other. Maybe that was a hopeful thought. 

“Maybe,” said Caina aloud, “I am thinking too much.” 

“What?” said Kylon. 

She smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “Let’s visit Damla. We’ll find some information, or at least some of her excellent coffee. I’ve wanted a cup of her coffee since about four hours after we left Istarinmul.”

Kylon laughed. “If I had known you would take to coffee so thoroughly, I might have taken you to a tea house in Catekharon instead.” 

“Coffee was a better choice,” said Caina. “There aren’t any tea houses in Istarinmul.” 

They threaded their way through the crowds of the Cyrican Bazaar. The bazaar was not as large as the Anshani Bazaar, but with the lack of trade to the city it was more crowded, with merchants selling their wares from their booths and stalls, lamps and carpets and knives and pans and a thousand other things. She saw many Istarish soldiers in chain mail and their distinctive spiked helms, scimitars upon their belts and steel-studded shields upon their backs. Some had the plumed helms and ornamented cloaks of khalmirs, of officers, and scowled at everything in sight. Caina made sure to stay away from them. They would have been sworn to the Grand Wazir, and if they knew who she was, they would arrest or kill her on the spot.

Of course, the Balarigar was supposed to be dead. 

The House of Agabyzus stood on one side of the Bazaar, three stories of whitewashed stone with a flat roof. Rented rooms occupied the top two floors of the coffee house, and the common room itself and the kitchens filled the bottom floor. Tall windows rose on the ground floor, the shutters thrown open to admit the air and sunlight. 

Caina stopped at the front door. There were a number of notices and proclamations nailed to the door, including several bounty notices for the Balarigar and the sorceress falsely claiming to be a loremaster of lost Iramis. Over them all she saw a poster adorned the winged skull seal of the Umbarian Order, proclaiming that the woman known as Caina Amalas had been brought to justice by Cassander Nilas, and that the Umbarian ambassador would soon call upon the Grand Wazir for his reward. 

A chill went through her. That reward might lead to the Umbarian fleet sailing to Malarae and the Umbarian army destroying the Empire. 

“I suppose it’s true,” said Kylon, tapping the Umbarian notice with a finger.

“What’s that?” said Caina, shaking off her dark thoughts. 

“You really can’t believe everything you read.”

Caina laughed at the absurdity of reading about her own death. “I do believe you are right.”

She pushed open the door and stepped into the House of Agabyzus. At mid-morning, there was still a good crowd, with merchants lingering over their breakfasts at the low round tables, sitting cross-legged upon cushions in the Istarish style, while others sat in the booths ringing the walls. Serving maids carried out trays of coffee and cakes for the patrons, moving back and forth from the kitchen. Once Damla had owned slaves, like every other merchant in Istarinmul, but after her ill-fated encounter with Ulvan’s Collectors, she had released her slaves and hired freeborn maids instead. Most of the freed slaves had elected to work for Damla, which in Caina’s opinion spoke volumes about her. 

Damla herself hurried over as they entered, a fit woman in her middle thirties, clad in a widow’s black headscarf and dress. “Welcome, welcome, to the House of Agabyzus. Please, sit and take your ease, and…”

She froze, her dark eyes widening. 

“Damla,” said Caina. “I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again.” 

Damla let out a startled little cry, hurried forward, and caught Caina in a hug. 

“By the Living Flame,” said Damla. “By the fires of the Living Flame. I thought you were dead. I was certain you were dead. All those awful proclamations all over the city…”

“Well,” said Caina, grinning. “You really can’t believe everything you read.”

“Yes,” said Damla, dabbing at her eyes. She pulled herself together, looking around as if fearing that she had made a scene. “Of course. And you, Master Exile. It is good to see you as well. Come, sit, sit. You can tell me of your journeys.”

“I will,” said Caina, “but I need to talk to Agabyzus as soon as possible.”

“Then fortune smiles upon you,” said Damla, “for he spent the night here.” She lowered her voice. “He is in great agitation. Something is happening in the city, though he had not told me of the details.”

Caina thought of Cassander, of the demands he would make of Erghulan. “I can imagine.” 

“The city is…well, Agabyzus can tell you more,” said Damla, ushering them to an empty booth in the corner. “Bayram!” Damla’s eldest son, a sturdy-looking lad of about eighteen, emerged from the kitchen. He wore a leather apron and a studious, sober expression on his face, his fingers dusted with flour. 

“Mother?” said Bayram. He looked at Caina, and his eyes widened a little. He hadn’t seen Caina’s face during his liberation from Ulvan’s cells, but the boy wasn’t stupid, and Caina suspected that he had figured out who she really was. 

“Go upstairs to the guest room and fetch our visitor,” said Damla. “Tell him who has returned.”

“You had better go with him,” said Caina to Kylon. “He will be suspicious. If I turn up when I’m supposed to be dead, he will suspect a trap.” 

“Oh,” said Damla. “I had not even thought of that. You aren’t an impostor, are you?”

“If she is,” said Kylon, “she has fooled even me.” He walked to Bayram. “Come on, lad.” The two of them disappeared up the stairs, and Caina and Damla sat in the booth. One of the maids returned with a tray of coffee, and Caina took a clay cup.

“Thank you,” said Caina, and she took a sip, sighed, and closed her eyes with contentment. “You have no idea how much I have missed this.” 

“I am glad you are here,” said Damla. “We have keenly missed your guidance.”

“I was gone…a bit longer than I had hoped,” said Caina. She took another sip. “But I’m back now.”

“Did you fake your death?” said Damla. “To escape from Cassander?”

“No,” said Caina, her fingers coiling around the warm clay of her cup. “It’s a long and unpleasant story. Suffice it to say that Cassander Nilas had every reason to believe that I was dead.” Her fingers tightened against the cup. “I had every reason to believe that I was dead. I should have been dead.”

“How did you escape?” said Damla.

“I didn’t,” said Caina. “The Exile saved me.”

“Ah,” said Damla. “He would, wouldn’t he? Given how that he is obviously in love with you.”

“Yes,” said Caina in a quiet voice, smiling into her coffee.  

“Oh.” Damla grinned. “Good. I am glad for you.” 

“Tell me,” said Caina, “do Istarish women enjoy matchmaking as a pastime? You all but told me to seduce him.”

“I didn’t ‘all but’ tell you to seduce him,” said Damla. “I flat-out told you to seduce him.” Caina laughed. “And I am very pleased you heeded my counsel. I want you to have some joy in your life. Why should you not? You have done so much for my family.” She lowered her voice. “That writ of exemption from conscript you made for us?”

“Forged, technically,” said Caina. 

“I had to use it,” said Damla. “One of the Grand Wazir’s officers came to the House of Agabyzus and thought to draft Bayram and Bahad to fill his quota. Fortunately, I had the writ, and that convinced him to depart. We have had no trouble since.” She shook her head. “Even from afar, you watched over my sons.” 

“I’m glad,” said Caina. “I’m very glad.”

“Besides,” said Damla, “the Exile is good for you, I think. Someone like you…you don’t need a merchant or a scholar or a priest at your side, nor do you need a wealthy man to take care of you. No. You need a warrior.” 

Caina raised an eyebrow. “Someone like me? Dare I ask what that means?” 

“The Balarigar,” said Damla, “the demonslayer, like the Szalds say.” 

“There’s no such thing,” said Caina. She’d had this conversation with Damla before. 

“Maybe not,” said Damla, “but if there were, you could convince me.” 

Caina had no answer to that, so she took another sip. It was excellent coffee.

Bayram returned, Kylon following him. Behind Kylon came a gaunt middle-aged man in the ornamented robes and turban of a minor magistrate in the Padishah’s government, a leather satchel for legal documents slung over his shoulder. He looked a great deal healthier than when Caina had first met him locked in a cell in the Widow’s Tower, but she suspected the ordeal would leave Agabyzus looking a bit sickly for the rest of his life.

His eyes met hers, and he stopped in the middle of the common room, his hands falling to his sides.

That was the closest she had even seen to total shock from the crafty old spy. 

Then Agabyzus blinked, gathered himself together, and crossed the common room to sit next to his younger sister, his eyes still on Caina. Kylon sat next to her, facing Damla and Agabyzus.

“Thank you, Bayram,” said Damla. “I will join you in the kitchens shortly.”

Bayram looked back and forth between Caina and Agabyzus, nodded, and disappeared into the kitchens.

“If you are an impostor,” said Agabyzus at last, “you are a very good one.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. 

“But you might be an impostor,” said Agabyzus. “The Umbarians have Silent Hunters, able to turn themselves invisible. Why should they not have agents able to take the forms of the dead?”

“The very first day I met you,” said Caina, “was in a cell in the Widow’s Tower. I had taken shelter from Ricimer’s daevagoths in your cell, and I hadn’t expected to find you. You asked me to kill you.”

Damla blinked and looked at her brother. 

Agabyzus inclined his head. “How did you persuade me otherwise?” 

“I said that you wanted to know the secret,” said Caina. “You wanted to know what Callatas had hidden away in the Widow’s Tower. If we were going to die anyway, we might as well learn the truth before we perished.” 

“And then,” said Agabyzus, “you blew up the Widow’s Tower.”

“To be fair, I didn’t meant to do it,” said Caina. “I was just trying to set fire to Ricimer. Or to Ricimer’s corpse, since his nagataaru had possessed it and was coming to kill us. The fire got…somewhat out of hand.”

Agabyzus stared at her, and then let out a long breath.

“By the Living Flame,” he said. “It really is you. I had long since ceased believing that the gods cared enough about us to offer miracles…but how are you still alive?” He blinked several times, the lines sinking deeper into his face. “Could Cassander actually have been bold enough to lie to the Grand Wazir’s face?” 

“He thinks I’m dead,” said Caina. “I didn’t exactly fake my death, but…well, he has every reason to believe I am dead. And I believed that Cassander was dead. I was certain of it. I still don’t know how he survived.”

Agabyzus grunted. “Whatever you did to him, I think it almost killed him. He looked badly scarred when he approached the Grand Wazir.”

“Scarred?” said Caina. “Burned, you mean?”

“I did not see him myself,” said Agabyzus. “Some of the other Ghosts did, and they said it was as if Cassander had cut pieces from corpses and grafted them to himself to heal his injuries.”

Caina went cold, and shared a look with Kylon.

“Did his eyes happen to turn orange?” said Caina.

“Yes,” said Agabyzus. “His left one, I believe. How did you know?” 

“Sicarion,” said Kylon, his voice grim. “That’s how he survived. Just as Sicarion survived Marsis and Caer Magia.” 

“Sicarion?” said Damla. “Is that…not a High Nighmarian word?”

“He was an assassin and a necromancer,” said Caina, her voice hard as she remembered. Sicarion had murdered Halfdan in Marsis. “He had a spell that let him…harvest body parts from his victims. The first time we met, I saw him lose a hand, only to cut another hand from a corpse and use a necromantic spell to reattach it to his wrist.” 

“The Living Flame preserve us from such a ghastly creature,” said Damla. “He is here in the city now?”

“No,” said Caina. “Sicarion died on the day of the golden dead. A friend of mine cut his head off. He might have been able to recover from nearly anything, but he couldn’t heal from that.” 

“Few do,” said Agabyzus, his voice dry. 

“Cassander must know a similar form of necromancy,” said Kylon.

“It would not surprise me, Lord Exile,” said Agabyzus. “It seems the Umbarian Order preserved many secrets of forbidden arcane science thought lost by the Magisterium, secrets they now use as weapons against the Empire.” 

“Or to survive certain death,” said Kylon. Agabyzus inclined his head at that.

“What happened when Cassander returned to Istarinmul?” said Caina. “I know he posted that damned proclamation everywhere – I saw a dozen copies on my way here.”

“His behavior was…peculiar, to say the least,” said Agabyzus. “He demanded an audience with the Grand Wazir, and the Grand Master was there as well. Cassander requested that the Grand Wazir honor their agreement and open the Straits to the Umbarian fleet. Erghulan refused, claiming that since Cassander could not produce a body, there was no definitive proof that you were dead.”