Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (37 page)

“
I seek a kinsman of mine, tall and pale-haired, with a scar on his left cheek.”

One of the Byzantines twisted halfway round, supporting himself on the counter. A smile quirked the side of his mouth as he looked at the Norseman with a bleary eye.

“There are many of your pale-haired kinsmen in the city,
all
with scars of some description.” He laughed and gulped down a mouthful of drink.

The Norseman hardened his gaze over the man.
“This one you would remember. His hair is white as snow, and he travels with a beautiful woman.”

“
I know of such a man.”

The Norseman pivoted toward the voice and found a thickset man, sitting at a small table with two women draped over him, one on either side, obviously street whores. The man wore a black coat and wide red sash about his expansive middle. His jet-black hair and beard were carefully curled and oiled. A Syrian.

The Norseman moved to stand before him.

“
And the woman?”

“
If the beauty is crowned with dark-red tresses.”

The Norseman nodded darkly.

“You have business with your pale-haired kinsman?” the Syrian probed, though his tone held nothing but idle curiosity.

“
Business at the end of my blade,” the Norseman stated tersely.

Satisfaction suffused the Syrian
’s eyes. “The man you seek is with the Varangians. Not those who serve with the armies, mind you, but with the Palace Guard.”

The Norseman
downed the contents of his cup, then cast his attention down the Mesê in the direction of the palace.

“
What is his crime’?” the Syrian asked with intense curiosity.

“
He erred,” the Norseman replied. “He left me alive. Now he shall pay most dearly and return all that is mine.”

Lyting emerged from the Varangian barracks with Thord, into the freshening airs of early morn, and headed toward the
gynaekeion
, engaged in light conversation. His thoughts ran ahead, heartening at the prospect of seeing Ailinn.

As they
approached the central grounds of the complex, they found them to be in an uproar, with guards and ladies-in-waiting rushing about. Several called out in their direction.

Thord chuckled, cracking a smile.
“They wish us to join them. ‘Twould seem our little emperor has disappeared once more. This time he has vanished with Ailinn and the girl, Ariana.”

Lyting shot him a look.
“Vanished? By will or abduction?”

Thord
’s gaze locked with Lyting’s, the dread possibility dawning in his eyes. Together, they hastened to join the others, forestalling and questioning those they encountered.

The three had been
sighted earlier at the menagerie. Someone else glimpsed them a short time later at the Imperial stables. Word next flew that they had been spotted entering the Magnaura Palace, which overlooked the harbor.

Lyting and Thord hastened down the wooded slope, Thord in the lead. As they
converged on the building, they glimpsed the empress as she disappeared inside, followed by the Domesticus, the Drungarius, and a bevy of guards and noblewomen, including the lady Xenia.

Moments later Lyting and Thord bolted through the grand
entrance doors and into the palace, trailing them. A great racket of noise drew their attention to where a pair of silver doors stood ajar, the growly roar of lions and twitterings of birdsong issuing forth.

“
This way,” Thord urged, calling behind. “Should have guessed it. He has taken her to see the ‘Throne of Solomon.’ “

Before Lyting could respond, Thord quickened his pace and passed through the silver doors. Lyting heeled after him, catching up in the next instance.

Entering the throne room, the roars and chirpings assailed Lyting’s ears, much increased in volume. With the exception of Zoë, all those within lay prostrate upon the floor before six gleaming white marble steps that led to a bare platform. To either side stood trees of gilded bronze, aglitter with jewels. Mechanical birds filled their branches, each bird singing a melody specific to its type.

Beside the trees, guarding the vacant space, were two gilded lions. Their tails flogged the ground as they roared with open mouths and exposed their shivering tongues.

Lyting followed the gaze of those who lay prone, for they all looked upward toward the ceiling. Then he, too, gasped and fell prostrate upon the floor. Having made his obeisance, he raised upward and again looked to the ceiling. Hovering there, far above, was a gilded throne — the Throne of Solomon. On its wide seat, with legs dangling down, sat the Emperor Constantine, fingering the Irish harp in his arms, and beside him, Ailinn and Ariana.

Lyting
’s breath caught in his chest at the incredible sight. Slowly he regained his feet, praying the three wouldn’t plummet to the ground in the next instant.

The Drungarius called up to the emperor, urging him in a forceful voice to return the throne to its proper place on the marbled platform. Instead, Constantine gave his attention to the harp and plucked its strings.

A moment later the boy emperor leaned forward, giving everyone below a start. He fixed his gaze on the Drungarius. Lyting strained to understand as he began to speak.

‘
Tis my thought to ask the fair Ailinn to be my consort,” he announced in a youthful but imperious voice. “When I come of age, of course.”

Romanus
’s color darkened and his jaw hardened. Lyting’s heart did a little flip-over as he comprehended the young emperor’s words. Before Lyting could respond himself, the Domesticus stepped forward to cajole the emperor into lowering the throne. Still, Constantine hovered above the room with Ailinn and Ariana and picked out a run of notes.

Zoë
stepped forth, her spine stiffening as she moved apart from the others and called to her son. Her voice carried clearly, stern and unyielding, instructing him to bring the throne down to its proper place and at once.

Constantine pressed his lips to a thin pout but complied, touching something unseen on the arm of the throne. Slowly the immense chair began to descend. The lions and birds quieted as the throne
poised above the steps.

Constantine
’s smile returned. “
Mitera,
Mother, we visited the cheetahs. Ailinn was greatly surprised that we use them to hunt bears. But she was most surprised of all by our giraffes from Affrike. I think they frightened her.”

“
Very well, Constantine. Mayhap you will wish to escort Ailinn further about the palace grounds, but later. And
with
a guard,” Zoë added gently but firmly. “Now, ‘tis time to take our meal in the Pearl Palace, as you requested earlier.”

Constantine brightened and turned to Ailinn.
“You will enjoy the Pearl Palace. ‘Tis one of the most beauti — ”

He broke off his words at the sight of the Eparch, Sergius Bardanes, hastening into the throne room.

After prostrating himself the required times, the Eparch rose and turned to the empress, Zoë, and to the Domesticus and the Drungarius who flanked her.

“
Majesty, I bear news of the greatest urgency.” He turned and leveled a finger directly at Lyting. “There be evidence that this Atlison is a thief and a liar and not to be trusted. He speaks of scorpions and spiders, yet ‘tis he, himself, who is a threat to the crown. I challenge whether he is even the man whom he claims to be.”

Zoë
’s gaze leapt to Lyting while the guards immediately surrounded him, training the points of their spears at his chest.

A small cry slipped from
Ailinn’s lips. She trusted them not at all and feared they would run Lyting through.

Lyting lifted his crystal-blue eyes to hers and with a slight shake of his head indicated for her not to move. At the same time Ariana interpreted for Ailinn the exchange that had taken place below.

Zoë’s coal-black eyes settled on the Eparch. “What evidence do you hold?” she asked, her voice cool and even.

“
Majesty, outside awaits Nikas Aristakes, our newly appointed Minister of Trade. He has long overseen the city’s silk production and dealt with the Norse traders who seek its export. One such trader has come forth this season to press a complaint. ‘Twould seem he sailed from the West in the company of a certain man, a man who robbed him of his goods and slave and left him to die.”

The Eparch turned and targeted his game.

“The man he names is Lyting Atlison.”

Hushed gasps and utterances sounded among the ladies-in-waiting and guardsmen, while the Eparch signaled the guard at the door. He, in turn, gestured to someone without. Two men entered immediately, one following the other. First came a corpulent man, dressed in jewels and
fine silks, bald but full-bearded and having a nervous tick at the corner of one eye. Behind him strode Hakon.

Ailinn gasped audibly from her perch, drawing the attention of both men to herself. She shrank back against the throne as their eyes fastened on her.

Just as quickly their gazes dropped away, and the men sank to the floor in accordance with court formalities. Hakon followed the minister’s lead as they prostrated themselves. After the third time they rose once more.

Nikas
’s gaze returned to Ailinn, swiftly measuring her, while Hakon’s eyes slashed boldly over Lyting, his look triumphant. Hakon’s gaze then shifted toward the great Throne of Solomon which still hovered a man’s height above its marble platform.

Studying Nikas, Lyting guessed him to be the man with whom Skallagrim had conducted his dealings in the silk trade
— the man with the collection of concubines and for whom Ailinn had been originally destined. His ire rose at the thought of this man’s hands — or any man’s hands — moving over Ailinn.

Nikas assessed Ailinn with hungry, greedy eyes as though he expected to have her still. Obviously, Hakon had revealed Ailinn to be the maid Skallagrim intended for him and promised her still for Nikas
’s intervention.

But Hakon. would never release Ailinn, Lyting knew.
‘Twas assuredly a ruse, baiting the minister to gain the necessary audience and make his accusations. To that end, Hakon’s intent would be to see Lyting arrested and to reclaim Ailinn. Lyting wondered what plans Hakon harbored for Nikas once the deed was done.

Nikas turned on Lyting then, his animosity manifest.

“Is it not true that you encountered the chieftain, Skallagrim, in Hedeby and also first saw there his beautiful slave and sought her purchase?”

“
Já
,” Lyting responded, his inner defenses rising.

“
And is it not also true that you subsequently arranged passage with the chieftain and his nephew, to sail in their company and that of the girl, eastward to Constantinople?”

“
Satt
. True. But his was the only vessel departing — ”

“
Is it not the custom of those merchants who sail together in convoy, in the same ship, to also share equally in the profit of the goods they transport and protect?”

“
Já
.”

“
Yet, you brought no goods. Indeed, you paid for the privilege of transport, traveling as an emissary, and did not rightfully have claim to any of their goods.”

Lyting did not respond, a muscle leaping along his jaw.

“Mayhap you would recount for us the perils your convoy endured in the land of the Rus,” Nikas said with overweening confidence. “Tell us of the attack of the tribesmen — those lost in battle, and those purposely left behind to perish.”

Romanus vented an impatient breath.
“What is your point, Nikas?”

The minister impaled Lyting with his dark, gleaming eyes.
“When the chieftain, Skallagrim, was killed in the clash of arms, Hakon rightfully inherited all that was his uncle’s. But Atlison preyed upon him, desiring the wealth of furs and coveting the girl for himself. He would have us believe he is to be trusted, yet Atlison left this man, Hakon, to die in the Steppes and proceeded to steal his goods, including Hakon’s sole remaining slave.”

Nikas gestured to Ailinn where she sat, her ear bent to Ariana as the girl interpreted the minister
’s accusations. Ailinn paled with each new pronouncement. Frantically, her gaze sought Lyting’s.

Hakon stepped forth then, and with Nikas
’s aid in translation, corroborated all that had been said, imparting the tale of the attack of the tribesmen which left his uncle dead and himself to claim right to all that was the chieftain’s. He then twisted the facts surrounding the encounter in the rapids. Now he asked retribution — Lyting’s imprisonment and the restoration of all that was his, most especially the slavewoman Ailinn.

“
As you can see for yourself, she is a great beauty and would bring a considerable price,” Nikas concluded.

“
From men like you?” Leo Phocas challenged, arching a brow in obvious distaste for the minister of trade, apparently knowing something of him.

“
And you, Domesticus,” Nikas returned smoothly, bringing a narrow look from Zoë. “But it remains, the maid is a slave and rightfully belongs to Hakon.”

All eyes turned to Ailinn, where she sat with Constantine and Ariana. The young emperor, not liking any of what he heard and fearing they would try to take Ailinn from him, pressed on the arm of the chair. Immediately it rose, ascending toward the ceiling. The lions began to roar and the birds issued a cacophony of sounds. Constantine looked down on them, presenting his most imperious mien.

Nikas gazed anxiously after them, seeing his prize lift out of reach. Hakon’s eyes grew hard, calculating, as he studied the throne, as though he would find the source of its magic and disassemble its secrets to reach Ailinn.

Hastily the minister of trade appealed to the empress and her advisers once more, pressing Hakon
’s claim and sullying Lyting’s name.

“
What do we know of him?” Nikas gestured openhanded to Lyting. “If he would abandon a kinsmen and steal his goods for greed and lust, then how can we trust his word or anything he tells us? Certainly, we cannot in matters that concern the safety of our emperor.”

Zoë
turned to Lyting, her great black eyes searching the depths of his.

“
Do you respond to these charges?” she asked, the tone of her voice unreadable.

Lyting cast a long, sharp glance at both his accusers, then returned his gaze to
Zoë.

“
I am who I claim to be, brother to Rurik Atlison. I bore you his token — the cloth of purple and coin of gold.”

“
Mayhap he stole that, too!” Nikas interjected bringing scowls from Zoë’s general and admiral.