Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (32 page)

"And you were sent," Azmei went on, "because someone caught the Perslyns finally."

"My lady." Jacin looked unhappy, though whether he was unhappy about being caught out or unhappy about how much she knew, Azmei couldn't tell. He was working very hard not to reach for his sword hilt. After a moment, Azmei deliberately dropped her hand to her side. It worked to relax him somewhat. "I was not—I may not speak of it." He paused again.

Azmei fought her rising impatience. Why was he lying to her? Who was this man, who had been sent to investigate Meekin? She tried not to show her impatience, but she must have twitched. Jacin bowed his head.

"I am on an errand for the Crown, Aevver. I cannot say more than that."

The last piece clicked into place. "Oh gods, I'm an idiot!" Azmei exclaimed. She looked at Yarro's confused face and realized the Voices must not have told him everything. She looked back at Jacin. "Prince Razem must have sent you. You're Jacin Hawk—the Hawk. Commander Hawk." He had been with her brother. How long ago? Would he be able to tell her about Razem? But how could she ask? "And this is the welcome you get?" Her lips twisted wryly. Poor man. "Welcome to the peace process."

Hawk grew more tense the longer she spoke. Yes, she could see the warrior commander in him now that she knew. She'd not seen him more than a few times, and it had been another lifetime—for both of them, it seemed. She had been a spoiled princess of sixteen or seventeen, and he had been the Kreyden Commander, resplendent in armor and a scarlet cape, his stride confident, his stature strong, muscular, and authoritative. His years in captivity had changed him.
As my years in the peace god's service have changed me.

"I don't know how you know all this," he began, "but you know I cannot—"

Azmei smiled. How fate must laugh at them as they scrambled to make their own way. "Will it help if I tell you I have already dealt with the Perslyns? Yar's grandfather is dead." She flicked a glance at Yarro as she said it. He flinched, but then a reptilian smile flickered across his face. He licked his lips and ducked his head, not meeting her gaze.

Hawk stared at her, then turned to stare at the boy who was staring at the ground. "Yar's—"

"Yarro Perslyn," Azmei said. "He is the last worthy scion of that family." Yarro's head jerked up and he stared at her, his smile growing more human, more vulnerable. "His sister died a few years ago, and he finally got away from them after that." She sighed. "I promise, Hawk, your time would be better spent with us than in Meekin."

Yar's face was a joy to behold. It was as if no one had ever said nice things about him before. She couldn't understand—Orya had clearly been devoted to him, and he to Orya. She must have said nice things to him all the time. Then again, Orya had been gone more than three years. What kindness had he heard since then? Only the distant kindness of Tish and the intermittent kindness of Kesh. Neither of them had the strength that Orya had, and neither of them stood up to the Patriarch as Orya apparently had.

Hawk was shaking his head. "I cannot countermand the prince," he said quietly. He was looking at Azmei intently. She almost thought he was waiting for something from her. She knew what it was he wanted, and she knew what it would mean. If she did this, her life as Aevver Balearic was as good as over. But Yarro had told her to save Hawk, and Yarro had invited Hawk to join them, and Hawk had been with Razem. There was nothing for it.

"I can," she said quietly.

His gaze sharpened as he held hers. She let him hold her gaze, let him search it as Yarro had searched it only minutes before. But Hawk was seeking some other truth, and she knew he would find it. She hadn't changed so much that someone who had met her in that other life would fail to recognize her. Not when he had reason to suspect her true identity. She had recognized him, she had named him, and she had claimed the authority to alter the prince's orders. There could be only one woman in the world who had that authority.

She saw him understand. She saw the shock in his eyes as his mouth dropped open, the sudden shift in his stance as he prepared to bow. His gaze flickered down to the blade at her hip. She could tell he was registering the way she had fought, the fact that the princess of Tamnen had sewed his wound for him, had seen him shirtless, had touched his bare skin. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed. He began to bow.

"Princess Azmei—"

"Was killed by Orya Perslyn three years ago and more," she broke in, hoping her voice didn't sound as desperate as she felt. Couldn't it stay unspoken between them? Couldn't they just ignore this truth for now? She didn't want to go back to being the princess. She liked Aevver. She was a real person when she was Aevver. "Do you understand, Hawk?"

Hawk was silent, watching her. She wasn't certain if he did understand, but she could see he was trying to. He tipped his head to one side, almost looking like his namesake for a moment, an ember flaring in his charcoal eyes. His mouth was a straight line, giving her no hints as to his thoughts. After a long moment, he dropped his gaze, his lips turning down. What was he thinking?

"Princess Azmei?" Yarro's voice was small. When she looked at him, the boy was tapping his fingers against his thumb as he stared at her. His expression was as open as Hawk's was closed. He was shocked, he was hurt... He was angry.

Azmei held very still. She didn't want this. She had come to care for Yarro over the course of their travels. She knew she couldn't take his sister's place, but she had hoped she could be
like
a sister to him. She had wanted to believe in him, to show him that life didn't have to be like it had been in the Perslyn House. He had just begun to trust her, to smile at her and meet her gaze and tell her things. And now—

"
You're
Princess Azmei!" He was standing with fists clenched in front of his stomach. She couldn't tell whether he wanted to hit her or be sick. "You told me your name is Aevver! You
lied
to me! You were the reason my sister died!"

His face twisted with rage and his eyes glinted orange. Azmei's throat tightened. She had never tested the extent of what he could do. What powers did those visions give him? What if those Voices were demons, slowly taking control of his mind? Could they take control of his body as well?

You know they can
, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.
Remember the bodies of those two thieves in Meekin.

She tensed, hoping she wouldn't have to run from him.

"You killed my sister! You—You—" He threw his head back and screamed. "I'll kill you!" Then he dropped to his knees, staring at her, tears running openly down his face. The orange glint had faded from his eyes, the rage twisted into fright and fear.

Azmei looked sadly back at him. "Darling, I'm already dead."

Chapter 23

Razem rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night, and the coming of dawn had made him no happier. He poured himself another cup of coffee and watched dully as the stream dried up before the cup was full. Damn.

"We're out of coffee," he told Kho.

The lord-general looked up. There were dark smudges under his eyes, but he looked alert. Two hours ago, he'd left and returned with a tray of meat pies and pastries, along with a fresh-brewed pot of coffee. They'd brewed another pot of it since.

After a moment, Kho sighed. "Majesty, I know you don't want to hear this—"

"Then don't say it!" Razem snapped. The general's expression didn't change, but shame washed over Razem. "No, I'm sorry, Emran. Go on."

Kho nodded. "The more we learn about the assassinations, the clearer this becomes." He sat forward in his chair, setting aside the documents in his lap. "I know the Nine are your cousins, but I cannot overlook this if I am to protect you."

Razem rubbed his face again. "Not Ilzi," he murmured.

"No." The quiet, certain dismissal comforted Razem. Kho wouldn't deny her involvement unless he were sure. He was more a strategist than Razem, and he wouldn't be blinded by love.

"You think you know who it is," Razem said. It wasn't a question.

Kho was silent. His brows were drawn together as he looked at Razem, but his lips were pressed together as if he were judging what to say.

"Emran, you've earned the right to speak freely to me. I promise not to snap at you again."

Kho shook his head. "Majesty. You know it must be Burojan." His voice was quiet.

Razem wasn't ready to hear it. But then, when would anyone be ready to hear that a man he grew up with was prepared to kill him—had already killed his father and tried to kill his sister? How could any man prepare for such news?

He dropped his head into his hands. Kho didn't speak. Razem thought of the way Venra had always looked at his brother, like Arisanat had all the answers, like he could do anything. It was the way Azmei had looked at Razem for so many years. Arisanat had changed after losing Venra, there was no denying that. Had he changed enough to try to kill people? Who could say?

I've changed since losing Azmei,
he admitted to himself.
What would I be capable of, if I had the person I blamed in front of me?

But no, Razem had never resorted to assassination. It was not the way things were done. War was terrible, but it was the proper way of settling things, once diplomacy had failed.
And diplomacy failed us the moment Azmei pretended to die.

Finally, Razem lifted his head. "You know we need proof, Emran."

Kho hummed an agreement. "Captain Ysdra has been investigating the attack on Lord Burojan."

"That wasn't someone trying to get to me," Razem said. "It was a decoy. Aris and I look enough alike that no one would question it, and it gave him the perfect alibi."

Kho nodded. "While Ysdra's investigation has probably been in vain, he has made some interesting observations. I confess that, in the absence of other instructions, he has been artificially prolonging his investigation to give him reason to revisit Burojan's home."

Razem nodded. "Bring him to me. I'll want to hear everything. And commend him for his initiative, I suppose." He paused, looking around the dusty office. He couldn't even remember whose office this had been. Perhaps Emran had been friends with the person who used it. The figurines of the desert foxes wouldn't have been left behind if the person had lived. Not unless... Hawk, he realized. They were meeting in Hawk's office, kept ready for him in case he ever returned from captivity. "I don't suppose there's been any word from Hawk."

"It's too early, Majesty." His gaze, too, was on the desert foxes.

"This was his office," Razem said.

Kho nodded.

"Of course." He stood. "Well. We'd better make this official. I'll go back to my apartments for the midday meal. You and Ysdra will join me. No one else."

Kho saluted and left.

Razem stared down at the figurines. They were carved stone, their faces rendered in loving detail, the tails and ears disproportionately large. It seemed odd that the man wouldn't have hawks. But perhaps these had been a gift from someone.

He sighed and turned away from the desk. He knew so little about Hawk, and instead of bringing him to the capital with him, he had sent him away. He had put him to use when he should have known the man needed more time to adjust to his freedom. What was he becoming? Was this how kings acted, or despots?

He rubbed his face and left the office, locking it carefully behind him. He encountered a few servants and minor courtiers in the passageways, but no one did more than bow and leave him alone. Thank the gods for that. He couldn't handle having to make small talk with anyone right now. The kingdom would run itself for a day.

Gendo was inclined to fuss when he reached his rooms. His manservant was neatly dressed but still managed to appear harried.

"My lo—majesty, you weren't here when they brought breakfast. I—"

"Don't worry, Gen. I ate breakfast with Lord-General Kho. In fact, I'll be eating lunch with him, as well. He and Captain Ysdra will be joining us here. I would like a full meal brought."

Gendo bowed, but before he could leave, Razem put a hand on his arm.

"Gen, I don't know if I've properly thanked you for all that you have done." He held Gendo's gaze, hoping his sincerity was obvious. "Your service to me, sitting with my father, saving Master Tanvel's work..." He shook his head. "There is no way I could ever repay you for that."

Gendo's gaze dropped to the floor. "My lord. I'm happy to serve."

Razem squeezed his arm and let go. "And I am grateful."

Gendo bowed again and left, his rapid steps cut off by the closing of the door to the main passage. Razem sighed and looked around his rooms. They had been his rooms since he left the children's nursery at eight, but they felt alien all of a sudden. He went to a cabinet and poured himself a generous glass of wine. He carried it out to his private balcony and stopped, gazing out across the city.

Tamnen City had dressed herself in mourning. Deep purple banners flew from the palace and all the royal buildings. The harbor was draped in mourning purple. The gates were hung in purple. The city would wear mourning clothes for a month, when Razem ascended to the throne.

He took a mouthful of wine and swished it around, relishing the bitter edge of it. He had planned to be a good king. In his childhood, whenever he thought of kingship, it had been a glory of wealth and valor. His childish mind had somehow ignored the notion that his father would have to die, so he had imagined himself as a glorious young king. His reign would be a prosperous time when young King Razem performed feats of strength and won renown.

That had been before the Strid war, of course. After the attack on the Kelischad Mines, which had come when he was six, his dreams of kingship had expanded to winning the war, and maybe conquering all of Strid. It had been years before he understood that conquest was not, at least for the Tamnese, an objective of that war.

He sighed and took another sip of wine. He had come to his kingship too young, but by all the sleeping gods, he felt old and tired. He turned his back on the city and slid down the balcony wall to sit on the stone bench there.

Until recently, his dreams for his kingship had included the defeat of Strid. Now that he knew they had not murdered his sister and father, he would settle for a cessation of hostilities in the Kreyden. But how to achieve that? Would he live long enough to see it?

He set the glass aside and buried his face in his hands. He wanted Azmei here. He missed her strength and even her unasked-for advice. They could share the throne if she would return. There was precedent. Some three hundred years ago, the sisters Sylene and Sala had ruled together, their children raised as siblings instead of cousins. The throne had passed peacefully to the eldest of Sylene's daughters. When she died heirless ten years later, Sala's son had inherited.

"We could have made it work," he whispered. Then he shook himself. "We can. There is still time." He reached for his glass and drained it. "Gods listen, let there be time."

Footsteps inside the apartments brought him to his feet, one hand dropping to the dagger at his belt. It was probably Gendo, but he shouldn't lower his guard. Not now, not when they knew someone—
Arisanat
—was trying to kill him.

It was Gendo. He stopped at the doorway to the balcony and bowed his head. "Majesty, General Kho and Captain Ysdra are here. I have spread lunch in your receiving room, where they await you. I took the liberty of serving them drinks."

Razem smiled wanly and held out his empty glass. "Good. Fetch me another, would you? I promise not to overindulge, but I needed something to counter all the coffee."

Gen gave him a reproving look, but took the glass and led the way back to the table.

Once the greetings were done, Razem and his guests settled at the table. Gen served the first course and withdrew. Razem weighed the idea of eating first, then decided against it.

"We know there is business to discuss. Well enough, let's get to it."

Kho nodded to Ysdra, who swallowed the bite he had been chewing. "Majesty, I have been much at Lord Burojan's home this week. He has had many guests. I confess, some of them have...surprised me."

Razem slowly lowered his spoon. "Is that so."

"I thought you should hear it, Majesty," Kho put in.

Razem nodded and gestured for Ysdra to go on. He continued eating as Ysdra spoke, but found his appetite waning as the list went on. Finally he shoved his bowl away and sat back. Gendo took that for his cue to appear with the main course. Razem waited until the plates of meat and bread were set out, then gripped Gendo's wrist.

"Stay and hear this. Ysdra, what are your thoughts on each of Arisanat's visitors?"

Ysdra cleared his throat. "Majesty, Lady Talt is too cordial. She is often, ah, overenthusiastic, but this goes beyond that. She has brought her younger daughter Tarra with her on more than one occasion. Lord Burojan is rather...familiar with the girl."

So Arisanat had finally decided to remarry, Razem thought. And he couldn't have picked more unwisely, in Razem's opinion. He nodded to Ysdra.

"Lord Birona has visited three times."

"Three?" Razem pushed down his sorrow at the words. He had respected Birona. He'd never been quite sure if he liked the man, but he knew him for a shrewd thinker, and Birona had a firm hand with the Council. He knew his father had liked Birona, though they clashed on the matter of the war.

"He does have legitimate cause to visit Lord Burojan, Majesty. Lord Birona may simply be settling Council business with him."

Razem nodded and gestured for Ysdra to continue.

"I have only seen Lord Belnat once, and that time he was unhappy. I could have missed him, of course—I cannot spend all day at Lord Burojan's home." He licked his lips. "Lady Riman has not called. Lady Tel has not called. I cannot say who Lord Burojan has visited while he is away from home. His movements here in the palace can be accounted for, but aside from that..."

He trailed off. The silence stretched. Gendo shifted on his feet and Razem lifted a hand to gesture that he could go. He would ask Gendo's thoughts later. His manservant was shy of speaking up in front of others, and Razem didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

What now?
he wondered as they ate in silence.
These are chancy reports, but Ysdra has been one man alone, making observations of his own initiative. And this is not proof. There is still no proof.
He almost didn't want to find proof. But a lack of proof wouldn't prevent Aris from plotting. He couldn't afford to ignore this.

"Very well," he said finally. "Ysdra, I want a watch on Arisanat. Who visits and how often. Where he goes. Everything. Detail a handful of your most trusted men. Tell them they're guarding Aris from further attack, if you think it will help. But leave nothing out." He sighed. "Birona, too. Let us not regret later the safeguards we failed to take."

Ysdra nodded.

"Do you have suggestions, either of you?" Razem looked from one to the other. Ysdra's thin, solemn face was thoughtful. Kho was studying his wine glass.

"We must prepare to defend the palace," Kho said finally.

There was a long silence. Razem thought of how it would look, if people saw the palace bristling with guards. Then he realized the palace guard postings had been doubled since he returned. Of course. People would merely think it a natural reaction to the assassination of King Marsede. He shook his head faintly, ashamed of his slow thinking.

"I don't like it. I don't like suspecting the worst from Aris. And I'm not sure there will be an attack on the palace, not the sort you're thinking."

Kho shrugged. "Better safeguards than regrets," he reminded Razem.

"Yes," he murmured. "But quietly, Emran. And for now, let the guard believe they are protecting against assassins. If they are watching for people creeping in the corners, they shouldn't be taken by surprise by the army that might march against the palace."