Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (27 page)

"The messengers said Captain Ysdra sent soldiers to Meekin," Razem recalled. "Do they know—"

"No." Marsede's voice was harsh. "And they must not. She travels alone, Razem, with no protection, no—" He broke off, breathing hard. "My daughter is more capable of protecting herself than I had ever dreamed, but she must not be exposed. She will be a target. As much as you are a target." He smiled faintly. "My heir."

"Father—" Razem protested, but Marsede was shaking his head.

"I am dying, son. The healers have told me the truth, though they hide it from all the world else." He coughed. "Truly, I did not need them to tell me. I can feel the poison creeping through my body. I could not feel my toes the night after the attack. A week after, I could not feel below my knees. Last week I started pissing myself because I could not even feel my manhood." His lips twisted bitterly, then his expression smoothed out and he laughed. "The gods have a strange sense of humor, even as they sleep. Very well, then. If it is meet that a king should die pissing and mewling like a babe, so be it."

He looked up at Razem, his good eye flashing with defiance—or was that triumph? "I have my son to carry on. I have my daughter alive and well in the world. And I have faith that you will carry on my work well."

Razem took his father's hand in his, cupping it gently. "Can you feel my hand?" he whispered.

"Aye, I have that yet." Marsede smiled. "The healers expect I have some days before the poison reaches my brain. They expect it will kill me then."

Razem swallowed hard to fight back a sudden scream. It was so unfair! But then life had always been unfair. It always would. And the gods slept on, unknowing or uncaring of what happened.

"Read Tanvel's papers," Marsede mumbled. "Gendo saved them."

Razem nodded. "Do you want something for the pain, father?" His head was throbbing powerfully again, and his stomach had begun spinning slowly. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to throw up or pass out. He needed his bed.

"Yes." Marsede's hand was trembling in Razem's. "And then...will you stay until I sleep?" He sounded very young.

"I promise, father. I will stay."

***

"What is this?" Arisanat asked, staring at the nondescript man rather than the folded and sealed paper the man had handed him.

He had specified their meeting place as an alley along the path from the palace to the Hallowed City. No one would be visiting the tombs right now; Razem was beside Marsede's deathbed, and there were very few others living who had passage to the Hallowed City. It had seemed a wise choice at the time, though Arisanat suddenly wished they had met at his home in the city, where he could control the situation more.

"I think you know what it is, Lord Burojan." The man's beard was thicker than it had been when they met in the north. He was dressed in light wool and cotton now, dyed a drab, light gray designed to fit in with the city. But Arisanat remembered the man well enough, and he did know what the paper was.

But damned if I will make this easy on him,
he thought grimly.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said.

The man bowed. "Frankly, Lord Burojan, your request has become too dangerous. My master carried out your contract, but at great cost. It has become clear there is something protecting the royal family. My people are not generally a superstitious one, but my master does not believe in willful ignorance." He inclined his head. "A portion of your payment will be refunded to you, although my master must insist on keeping a death fee for the man who was killed attempting your contract, as well as the portion specified for Marsede's death."

"Marsede is not dead."

"He will be within the week," the nondescript man replied. "The poison used on the blade has no antidote on this side of the world. It is slow-acting, but very soon it will kill him." He tipped his head to one side. "My master offers his most sincere apologies that we were unable to act against Prince Razem, but he is certain your lordship will find some other means of dealing with him."

"This is untenable." Arisanat kept his voice level. He was not an unreasonable man. He had not wished to begin on this course at all, but now that he had begun it, he would finish it. "I paid for your services, and I will have results."

The man bowed again. His unfailing politeness was irritating. "I understand you completely, my lord. However, I must point out that you
have
had results—only not as complete as you wish. My master is unwilling to risk anyone else in an attempt on the prince when security is so high. The contract, therefore, is cancelled."

Arisanat went still, studying the man. He had suspected before now that "my master" was merely a cover for the fact that this nondescript man in front of him was, rather than an in-between agent, the actual contractor known as the Problem Solver. It was tempting to draw his sword and threaten the man's life, but the Problem Solver billed himself as someone who could remove obstacles of physical, monetary, political, and human attribute; he was known primarily as a negotiator, but he would of necessity be a skilled fighter. Because he was a man who traded in treachery, he would have honed his reflexes well. Because he had come bearing bad news, he would be expecting Arisanat to react in anger, perhaps even in violence.

Violence, then, would not be the wisest reaction.

"It is most unfortunate that you feel this way," Arisanat said. He looked down at the folded paper. "I am afraid that you have disappointed me, Problem Solver."

The man neither denied nor confirmed the title Arisanat gave him. He merely watched Arisanat, muddy-colored eyes keen on his face. Arisanat's temper was bubbling up in him. That always made the gold flecks in his eyes spark. Members of the royal family—even to the cousins in the First Family—had difficulty masking their temper because of those eyes. It was inconvenient, but it could be used to your advantage, if you thought ahead.

"What do you propose to do about the fact that you have disappointed me?" he asked, drawing himself subtly up to his full height. The nondescript man stood barely as tall as Arisanat's broad shoulders. The physical threat was only implied, but it was very real.

The nondescript man looked into his face and shrugged. "Nothing, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Lord Burojan. We will do nothing to prevent you from succeeding, but neither will we aid you. Your monies will be partially refunded. Anonymously, of course. Good day."

He bowed and walked away. Arisanat stared at his back, mouth dropping open. Before he knew what he was doing, his sword was in his hand. He lunged, half expecting the man to sense him and twist to avoid the blow. Instead, the man stumbled forward as Arisanat's blade punched through his torso. He cried out, the last note garbled with liquid. Arisanat stared down at his brown fingers, clenched tightly around the ornate but serviceable hilt of his sword. The nondescript man coughed and blood sprayed through the air.

"I don't want my money," Arisanat said.

The man turned his head, staring up at Arisanat, the whites of his eyes showing around those muddy pupils. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He opened his mouth wide but said nothing.

Arisanat shoved him to his knees, facing the dingy wall of the shadowed alley. The man coughed again and blood spattered against the wall, making it filthier.

"What I want," Arisanat continued, "is the prince dead. What I want is the king dead. What I want is to take my place as the proper ruler of Tamnen." He couldn't stop staring at the red coating the corner of the man's lips. It bubbled with each of the last frantic breaths the man took. "What I want is justice."

The man actually laughed, though it came out as a choked cough. "Too—late—" he gasped. And then his head slumped down to his chest. He tilted slowly, so slowly, to one side, then crashed to the dirt like a felled tree.

Arisanat slid his sword from the man's body. "Yes," he murmured, wiping it on the man's sleeve. "Far too late."

Chapter 19

Arisanat walked up to the front entrance of his city home, taking care to stumble as he approached. One of his guards stepped forward to meet him.

"Lord Burojan, there you are. Captain Ysdra has been—sleeping gods, what happened?"

Arisanat glanced reflexively down at his blood-stained tunic and pitched forward, bracing himself for impact if the guard were too slow. But the guard—Kadan, he thought—leapt forward, his polearm falling with a clatter to the flagstone as he dropped it to reach out for Arisanat.

"Edrono, you idiot, go for help!" he snapped at his companion, who bolted inside. "Lord Burojan, are you badly injured? Where are you hurt?"

Arisanat shook his head and then winced. "Only superficial," he said, lifting a hand to his temple to belie the words. "But I must report—I hardly know what to report." He slumped against the guard, who faltered and then bore up under his weight.

"Here, let's get you inside, my lord. We'll worry about reporting to the palace once the healers have seen you."

"I...I killed a man," Arisanat mumbled, sounding dazed. "I... Ah! My ribs..."

The guard had put an arm around his waist, trying to support him, but he jumped back when Arisanat cried out. Arisanat reached down to show where his shirt was sliced open. A shallow cut along his ribs had blood sheeting down from it.

"My lord!" the guard gasped. "I am so sorry!"

It had hurt less than Arisanat had expected to give himself the cut on his ribs. Smacking his head against the stone wall of the alley had left him with a pounding headache and slightly blurred vision, but the sword he carried was so sharp he hadn't felt the cut right away. He'd sliced longer than he'd meant to as a result, but the effect was more convincing that way, he decided. Because it hurt less than expected, he'd given himself one more cut, on the underside of his forearm, so it would look like he'd raised his arm in self-defense.

He'd waited until it was nearly dark to come stumbling back home. It gave them time to realize he was missing. When he'd planned the meeting with the Problem Solver, he'd chosen the middle of the afternoon heat so there would be fewer witnesses and everyone would think he was resting in the cool of his room.

Footsteps heralded the arrival of Edrono the guard, leading Captain Ysdra and the household healer. His chamberlain followed on their heels.

"Lord Burojan, what has happened?" the chamberlain asked. He stopped several paces away, letting the healer begin fussing over Arisanat.

"I was beset by a man wielding a sword," Arisanat mumbled. He remembered how muddled Venra had sounded once when he'd fallen from his horse and raised a huge knot on his head. He had complained of headaches for a week after, and had dizzy spells and periods of confusion for two days. For all that Arisanat was attempting to mimic that behavior, he wasn't entirely certain he hadn't inflicted the same malady on himself by accident. He had hoped for the appearance of a concussion without the symptoms, but he had been growing more unsteady all the way back from his secluded meeting spot.

"Tell me what happened," Ysdra demanded.

"I—There was a man..." Arisanat said. Venra had never been able to tell him why he fell off the horse. Arisanat, riding a spear's throw behind, had seen the horse misstep and jolt to the side. Venra had never remembered the event. He had only known he fell because he found himself on the ground.

"Yes, a man," Ysdra repeated. "With a sword, you said."

Arisanat nodded and then regretted it. "A sword. He shouted something, I think. But I—" He lifted his off hand, pretending not to realize his arm was bleeding. "I stopped—I—I
killed
him."

It had been shockingly easy. Perhaps the man had not been the Problem Solver after all. But even so, the idea of killing
any
man would not have occurred to the Arisanat of five years ago. Something had changed in him. Perhaps he was becoming a monster.

"You defended yourself," Ysdra said, and Arisanat felt a flash of triumph. He looked down, hoping he had hidden it well enough. By pretending to feel guilty over the man's death, he had set Ysdra up to defend him—and Ysdra had taken the bait perfectly.

"I...I suppose. But if only I had been..." He trailed off, trying to sound confused.

"Do you know what direction you just came from?" Ysdra asked. "Guards, did you see which way he came?"

Arisanat suppressed his instinctive irritation. A moment later he was glad he had, as the healer retorted, "Give him space, captain. Have you never had a concussion? He probably can't remember anything."

"Begging your pardon, Captain Ysdra," said Edrono, "but we saw him approach from the south, but where he'd been before that was anyone's guess."

Ysdra sighed. "I suppose so. All the same, I must send squads of guards out to patrol. We must make certain there are no other attackers lingering in the shadows."

"Do you remember if he said anything when he attacked, my lord?" the chamberlain asked.

Arisanat flinched. One of the healers had prodded his ribs, which woke an answering pain. "I—I—no, I'm afraid not. I am so sorry."

"Never mind," the chamberlain said. "It may not signify."

"Or it might tell us why Lord Burojan was attacked," Ysdra said. "Why would anyone wish to harm him? Are there more assassination plots afoot? There has already been one attack on the king."

Arisanat shook his head and then winced again, playing up the expression. "I...I don't understand. I have no enemies that I know of."

"Perhaps someone mistook my lord for someone else," the first guard said.

"It could be," Ysdra said dubiously.

"I...well, I have been told my cousin and I resemble one another," Arisanat said. This was the part of his plan he was least certain of. Would they believe the scenario he was trying to convince them of? "Perhaps...Does everyone know the prince has returned?"

Ysdra's head snapped up. "You think the attack on the king was part of a two-pronged strategy? It's possible. There was no secret that the prince was returning." He cupped a hand against his chin, musing aloud. "Yes. It seems entirely plausible the attack could have been meant for the prince." He looked deeply unhappy at this thought. "I must warn General Kho to have more soldiers to protect Prince Razem. Even now he could—" He broke off and shook his head. "I must return to the palace. In the meantime, we must keep Lord Burojan in the mansion, under guard, until we are certain he is safe."

Arisanat's eyes flew open. Ysdra had just turned this into a house arrest! And all without accusing Arisanat of anything—or indeed, even suspecting him, as far as Arisanat could tell. "What? Why?" he spat. He could hardly protest measures taken for his own safety, but it rankled to think of being cooped up at home. And yet...perhaps he could turn this to his advantage.

"I swore an oath, Lord Burojan." Ysdra's voice was mild, his eyes gentle as he looked at Arisanat. Arisanat blinked, watching his vision fuzz out of focus and wishing he could read the other man's expression better. "To protect every citizen of Tamnen from harm, as best I am able, lowborn or high. I can hardly fail to keep that oath when it is the king's cousin who is in danger."

Arisanat closed his eyes. "Perhaps you are right. I...I must..."

"You must rest," the healer broke in. "That's quite enough of your interrogation, captain. You see to your duties and let me see to mine."

"Very well." Ysdra didn't sound happy. "I will be back on the morrow, Lord Burojan."

Arisanat ignored him.

***

Captain Ysdra did return the next day, bearing well wishes from Prince Razem. Arisanat had carefully remembered a few additional details for Ysdra, but he remained frustratingly vague about the most important details. He was biting back a smirk by the time Ysdra left. The captain asked competent questions, but since Arisanat had no answers, he was no further in solving the mystery of the attack when he left.

After Ysdra came Lady Talt of the Seventh Family. Arisanat had been scrupulous about avoiding Lady Talt, since she had two unmarried daughters she had been shopping around to every nobleman above the age of twelve. When the chamberlain announced Arisanat's visitor, he almost had the man turn Talt away despite his plot.

Remember the end goal
, he reminded himself.
Besides, the girls aren't so objectionable—just their mother. And Talt can't live forever.
He pasted on a vague smile and gestured for the chamberlain to show her in.

"Oh, Lord Burojan!" she exclaimed as she bustled in. "The gods should smite whoever had the nerve to attack you!"

He winced at the piercing quality of her voice—his headache was, unfortunately, still quite unfeigned—but quickly repaired the smile. "Lady Talt. What a kind soul you are. I should not wish to be indelicate, but..." He coughed faintly. "I fear I myself was the gods' instrument in smiting him."

"Were you indeed?" she cooed, settling down in the chair across from his. "How brave of you. You must tell me everything!"

"Alas, I bumped my head in the struggle." He tilted his head so she could more clearly see his bandaged temple. "I remember little of the actual attack. I know only that I was going to pay my respects to the memory of my dear cousins in the Hallowed City." He paused. "I remember him jumping at me with his blade drawn—" He shrugged, hoping his expression was modest rather than pleased. "—and nothing else until I realized I was standing over a dead man with my own sword blooded."

Talt gasped and leaned forward. "How thrilling! I am glad you were not worse hurt. But how dreadful that you were hurt at all. And how lonely you must be, that your wife is no longer here to care for you in your time of need."

And now they came to it. It had been at least a year since he saw the daughters. As far as he knew they were both still unmarried. If that were so, which of them would be preferable? Arisanat turned his lips down and bowed his head. "I confess that I have felt the lack keenly," he murmured. "Would it be unseemly, do you think, for me to consider remarrying?"

"Goodness, you've been faithful to her memory long enough," Talt said. "It must be...seven years since she died?"

"Six," Arisanat said. "Thank the gods for our boy, or I would not have had the luxury to mourn her so long. And yet..." He allowed himself to trail off.

"And yet you find you are lonely at times," Talt supplied. "Lonely for adult companionship, perhaps?"

"You understand me so well, Lady Talt."

She tittered. "Oh, Lord Burojan, I hope you aren't thinking of me! I am far too concerned with seeing my daughters settled happily."

Arisanat smiled to hide his revulsion. Talt was not a stupid woman, but she was not a pleasant one, either. He would let the Strid take him before he married Talt. "If you insist. But I am certain you must know some young woman who would be suitable. Someone who would not mind caring for my first-born and seeing him inherit rather than her own children."

Talt made a show of thinking, tipping her head to one side. "It is a hard thing to ask of a woman," she ventured. "You might want someone young, indeed. Someone with many more childbearing years ahead of her, so she could devote her attention first to raising the boy. How old is he?"

"Eight, and a clever lad," Arisanat said, letting his pride creep into his voice. "He takes after his mother in that respect, though I hope to leave him better off than I myself am."

"Do we not all hope to better our children's situations?" Talt said. "And yet you have much to offer a young lady of quality, First Family as you are."

Arisanat took in a deep breath. All pretense of concussion-induced vagueness had long since vanished. He hoped he had judged her correctly. She was desperate to marry her daughters. Having failed to catch a prince, perhaps she would settle for the man who killed said prince.

"Would that I could offer her a queenship," he lamented.

Lady Talt paused, staring at him. The silence dragged on between them. Arisanat could feel his heart thudding in his chest and wondered if she could hear it. Then Talt smiled, a small smile with teeth. "Oh, my Lord Arisanat, I am certain you can do just that."

When she left half an hour later, Arisanat had Talt's full support of his coup, including a promise to lend house guards to his own troops, provided he take the younger daughter Tarra to wife and raise her to queen beside him. It was a stretch, marrying a girl of the Seventh Family, but the last queen had been from the Fifth Family, after all, and Arisanat had bigger risks ahead of him than marrying low.

***

The king's bedchamber had become a sickroom. Razem's hair itched from nightmare sweat and travel dust. His chin prickled with a week of unshaven beard. Soon Gendo would come in and urge him to eat something, to try to rest. Razem would resist until Kho had reported, though. Last night he had agreed to rest until Kho arrived, then Gendo had refused to wake him. Razem had to know if Kho was getting anywhere with the information Azmei's assassin trainer had left behind. Marsede would ask the next time he woke, and Razem had nothing to tell him.

He raked his fingernails through his hair and bowed his head.