The Godspeaker Trilogy (209 page)

A sharp nod. “ Zho .”

“But why, if you're obeying it by being here, by stopping Mijak? Zandakar, what happened ?”

He stopped his slow hotas . His eyes wide, his face unmasked to her, he breathed out hard. “Scorpion sting. Pain.” She saw the memory of it shudder through him, and his fingers clenched tight. “I feel chalava, zho ? Hot. Angry.” His fist beat his chest. “ Hate . Then I feel cool, I hear voice.” Now his fingers spread lightly above his heart. “Na'ha'leima voice, zho ? Gentle. Kind. Wei pain. I live.”

She closed her fingers on his arm. “And I'm glad you did. Whose voice was it?”

He shrugged. “In Na'ha'leima I thought chalava .”

“But in Jatharuj chalava tried to kill you. Whoever you heard, it can't have been chalava . Zandakar, I think it was God. In Jatharuj, and in Na'ha'leima. The God of Ethrea doesn't want you to kill. God wants you to live, and help me save the world from Mijak.”

Hotas forgotten, blade dangling from his fingers, Zandakar stared at her. “You trust Zandakar to help? I kill thousands. Much blood. Sinning man, zho ?”

“The past is past. I care for what you will do, not what you've done.” She released his arm. “Zandakar…who is Vortka? Why should I trust him the way I trust you?”

Abruptly, as though his legs were suddenly too weak to bear his full weight, Zandakar dropped to a crouch. She sheathed her blade and crouched with him, fingertips resting lightly on his knee. He looked at her, in the tiltyard's torchlight his eyes hauntingly blue. His hair blue, so unnatural, and yet such a part of him.

“Vortka is father.”

Rhian heard herself gasp. “ Your father?”

“Zho.”

He'd told her his father was the ruler of Mijak, a man who died when he was a boy. The day his brother Dmitrak was born.

“Rhian,” he said, seeing her sudden doubt. “Before Jatharuj I wei know.”

Believing him, doubt faded…but that still left her with anger. Selfish bastard. Selfish bastard . The fury of last night was returning, tenfold.

It's all the same, isn't it? Whether it's his long-lost father he's trying to save, or his mother, or his brother, he still put himself above everyone else. He's still risked countless Ethrean families, just to save his own.

But then she couldn't help wondering…

Would I sacrifice Papa? Ranald? Simon?

And couldn't answer the question.

“Rhian,” said Zandakar. His voice was gentle. Almost…nervous. “ Wei kill Vortka in Jatharuj. Vortka hear Ethrea God, zho ? He stop Yuma, stop Dmitrak. Stop Mijak.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Yes, I know that was your brilliant plan, but he didn't stop them, did he? Your mother murdered those ten thousand slaves and broke the witch-men's hold on the trade winds. Witch-men died too, Zandakar! Witch-men who could help us. And now your mother's coming to Ethrea, with your brother and her warriors. And for all I know your father will be cheering for them from the gallery!”

Zandakar stood, and turned away. “Vortka knows killing wrong, zho ? He knows chalava wrong. He is chalava-hagra , he will stop Mijak.” He turned back, his face fierce. “You trust me, Rhian? I trust Vortka. All my life, Vortka is gajka . If Zandakar is good man, you thank Vortka, zho ? I wei kill him. Wei for Ethrea. Wei for you.”

Slowly she stood, her gaze not leaving his face. “I understand that you love him. But Zandakar—”

He seized her shoulders in a painful grip. “Understand? Wei . Vortka kind to me. Kind to Dimmi. I love Yuma, zho ? But she is – she is—” One hand released her and clenched tight in a fist. “Hard.”

Hard . Was that the right word? Surely monstrous was a more fitting description for Hekat. And what could be made of the son who loved her? How could any decent man love a woman capable of all the dreadful things she'd done?

I don't understand him. Not even Helfred loved Marlan. Felt duty towards him, some cold familial feeling, but not love. Yet Zandakar loves his murderous mother.

“Zandakar.” Rhian cleared her throat. “You may be right. Vortka might stop Mijak in time. God knows, I hope he does. But if he doesn't …if Mijak comes to Ethrea…you must dance your hotas against Yuma and Dmitrak. Can you do that? If you can't, you have to tell me. You have to tell me now . I want to make you the leader of our army. I want you to be chotzu for Ethrea, zho ? But if you can't lead an army against your family…”

Oh, God. If he can't, we might as well cut our own throats now.

He nodded. “Zho, Rhian. I dance hotas against Yuma. Against Dimmi.”

“Are you sure ? Because after tonight, there's no going back.”

“I am sure,” he said. She could see the heartbreak in his eyes. “ Chalava wrong. Vortka knows. I know. Blood must stop. Killing must stop. Rhian, Zandakar is chotzu for Ethrea. Zho .”

Rhian felt herself shiver, even though the early night was still warm. The last of her anger faded. “I was so afraid, when you disappeared. I thought I was alone.”

“ Wei ,” said Zandaka softly. “Rhian hushla wei alone.”

Swamped with sudden fear, she barely heard him. “Oh, sweet Rollin save me,” she said, appalled. “Mijak is coming. And now I have to convince the world's greatest rulers to surrender their sovereignty to Ethrea, and trust Tzhung-tzhungchai. Trust in powers none of us understand. How can I hope to convince them, Zandakar? Why should they believe me ? Why should they even listen? My accession's been little more than street theatre to them.”

“They will listen,” said Zandakar. “You are Rhian hushla . You are Queen of Ethrea. God sees you. God sees you .”

She feasted her eyes upon his severe face, her soul on the conviction in his voice.

He believes in me. He believes. With all he has seen, with all he has done. With the power that's in him, to call blue fire from a blade…Zandakar believes in me.

“It would help them to believe me if you were there, too,” she said, when she could trust her voice. “Will you come with me to Arbenia and Harbisland? Will you show them Mijak in your scorpion knife? Will you help me convince them the danger is real?”

“ Zho ,” he said, without hesitation. “You command, I obey, Rhian hushla .” And then he smiled, all heartbreak banished, and lightly smacked the side of her head. “Talk, talk, talk. Tcha . We come to dance hotas . Dance hotas now, zho ?”

She laughed, feeling more cheerful than she had a right to, surely. And then she danced.

An hour later it was past time to stop. Soaked in sweat, purged – for good, she hoped – of self-doubt and fear, her blade sheathed again, Rhian pressed her fist to her heart in a gesture of thanks, pupil to teacher.

“The council meets tomorrow morning, Zandakar. You will be there. You are one of my councillors now, as chotzu of Ethrea. Zho ?”

He nodded. “ Zho , Rhian hushla .”

“What?” she said, seeing something in his eyes. Please, God, don't let him be having second thoughts . “Is something the matter?”

“I want—” He frowned. “I think you say favour .”

She considered him, wary. “Yes?”

“ Wei speak of Vortka, Rhian. To council. To Alasdair king.” His hand touched his heart, as though it hurt him. “Secret, zho ? Me. You. Dexterity. Secret.”

In silence she stared at him. What would it hurt? What difference would it make, if no-one else knew the Mijaki priest Vortka was Zandakar's father?

None, I'm sure. Others knowing is more likely to cause me trouble.

But did she want to keep secrets from Alasdair?

If Ludo told him something in confidence, he'd keep that secret. This is no different. This is me helping a friend.

“I can do that,” Rhian said. “You have my word.”

Zandakar nodded. It was almost a bow. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She pulled a face. “Now I must bathe, and eat, and plan our strategy for wooing Arbenia and Harbisland. Just in case your scorpion knife fails to impress.”

They turned to leave the tiltyard…and she saw Alasdair, leaning over a railing, watching them. She felt her heart leap. He was close enough for her to see his face, but not so close that he could have heard her conversation with Zandakar. Thank God. In the torchlight he seemed calm. Composed. He didn't look angry, or jealous, or resentful.

“Go,” she said to Zandakar, in an undertone. “I'll see you here again at first light, for hotas . Zho ?”

“ Zho ,” he replied, and withdrew swiftly. A nod to Alasdair, in passing. A nod in return, no words exchanged.

She joined her husband. “I didn't realise you were there.”

“I know,” he said. “You get so lost in your hotas .” He smiled, just a little. Affection tinged with awe…and regret. “Every time I see you dance them, it seems you're faster. Fiercer. A little further away.”

“Not so far,” she said, framed his face with her hands and kissed him, hard. “Never too far.”

His hands came up to cover hers. “My love…” He grimaced. “You stink.”

“Such a gallant king I have!” she said, pretending hurt feelings. Then she lowered her hands, sliding her fingers to grasp his. “My heart is quite o'erthrown.”

He smiled again, but his amusement swiftly faded. “You know you've missed yet another of Helfred's public Litanies? He's bound to be peeved with you.”

“Well, since I'm already peeved with him that'll make us equal, won't it?” She bit her lip. “If he dares not support me in supporting Tzhung-tzhungchai…”

“He'll support you.”

“You're sure of it?” she said, hopeful. “Have you been talking with Dexterity? Does he say Helfred—”

“He says Helfred is giving the question serious thought,” said Alasdair. “But truly, Rhian, how can our prolate not support you? After all he's witnessed, after all he's done to see you safely on the throne?”

“Trust me, Alasdair, Helfred is capable of anything. I'm the one who knows him best, remember?”

Alasdair released her hands, and rested his forearms along the top of the tiltyard railing separating them. “You were right, appointing Zandakar to lead Ethrea's army.”

“Truly? You understand?”

He nodded, not looking at her. “Yes. Of course. He's the only sensible choice.”

She searched his expression for signs he only placated her, but all she could see in him was resigned acceptance. She was relieved…yet somehow stricken. Would it be easier if he were angry? Had her choice somehow diminished him?

Please, God, let me not have diminished him. Let him not have become less than himself because he married me.

“Zandakar leads only in matters of training,” she said. “If it should fall out that Ethrea and Mijak must face each other on some single field of battle, then you'll ride out first as King of Ethrea.”

His gaze shifted. “And you'll not ride out at all? I have your word on that, Rhian?”

“Yes,” she said, reluctant. Resenting the question. Resenting the notion that she must be protected . “You have my word. Alasdair…do you still mistrust Zandakar?”

For a long time he stayed silent, his eyes shadowed. Nightbirds flew above them, their pinions creaking in the evening's hush. A scudding of clouds began to blot out the stars. There might be rain tonight, or perhaps tomorrow.

At last he shook his head. “No, I don't mistrust him. I believe he wishes Ethrea to survive.”

“You sound sad. Are you sad? Do I make you unhappy, Alasdair?”

Instead of looking into her eyes, he stared across the tiltyard, to the shadowed bulk of the castle stables. “No.”

“I think I do. I think—”

“No, you don't,” he said gently. “It's true I feel sad…but that's not your doing. Not precisely. And not on purpose, I do know that.”

She stepped back from the railing and folded her arms. “Tell me.”

He sighed. “I am your subject as well as your husband, Rhian. I might want to take the weight of this realm from your shoulders, but I can't. There are times when I can help you bear it, and I will, as best I can, but it's your burden. I understand that now.”

“You didn't, before?”

He picked at a splinter in the wooden railing, then smoothed it with the timber's grain. He was frowning, his eyes unfocused.

“My whole life I prepared to be Duke of Linfoi. Of all Ethrea's great nobles, the least. The most despised. Poor duchy Linfoi, with so little to recommend it.” He smiled. “But Linfoi was my birthright. I was proud, knowing one day I'd be its duke. And then I came to court, to represent my father on the privy council. I was befriended by Ranald…and bewitched by Ranald's sister. I knew she was, oh, so high above me, beyond dreaming, but that didn't stop me. Still, I dreamed of her. And to my astonished delight, she dreamed of me.”

“Alasdair, I—” Rhian began, then stopped as he pressed a finger to her lips.

“I dreamed I would make of a princess a duchess,” he continued. “I imagined her in the ducal manor of Linfoi, graciously presiding over my shabby dining table. Of bearing my children, a son first, of course. The next proud Duke of Linfoi. I saw her sparkling with wit and beauty, a magnificent ornament on my velvet arm at court. Duke Alasdair of Linfoi and his duchess, Rhian. A woman of education and intelligence, my helpmeet, fulfilling her duties as duchess while I, the duke, stood tall in my lowly, disregarded duchy.”

“I would happily have been that duchess,” Rhian whispered. “I never once looked down my nose at duchy Linfoi. How could I, when it's your home and you love it? It never mattered to me, that you lived a plain life. I've never been a frippery girl.” She looked down at herself, at her sweat-soaked huntsman's leathers. “I was always more than half a boy. I think Papa found it easier that way.”

“Ranald said as much. He didn't always understand you, but he was bursting proud of you. Simon, too.”

“I know. And I was proud of them, my handsome boys.”

He smoothed a strand of sweat-damp hair from her forehead. “I dreamed of making you my duchess, and instead you made of me your king. When you asked me to marry you, in Linfoi, I said yes because the thought of life without you was unbearable. But when I said yes…”

She smiled, her throat aching. “You had no inkling of what that truly meant. I know. I didn't either. I think I'm only just beginning to understand now.” She heard her voice break, felt the tightness of tears in her chest. “It's a lot more difficult than I'd ever thought it would be.”