Enemy Page 11

  Khisson’s eyes narrowed. “So that you can strike him unaware.”

  “No. So I can travel through Akrasia unhindered.”

  “Akrasia is rampant with Ashen. Akrasia is lost. Our efforts are better spent here.” Khisson hadn’t actually risen from his chair yet. Bruche was very stiff and still inside Draken. Both their attention locked on the islander.

  “I will use Akrasia to save Brîn. A sevennight, my lord. It’s all I’m asking. Then you return to the Dragonstars a richer man with no one looking over your shoulder.”

  “If I agree, do I get to keep the Szirin?”

  “Truth? You don’t want her. She can be …” He tried to think of a charitable way to put it and gave up. “Annoying. But she can act as liaison between us.”

  Tyrolean eased forward. “Or I can.”

  Khisson looked at him. “Isn’t that treachery?”

  “I answer to the Night Lord. He outranks Ilumat.”

  “I understand your rank has been stripped.”

  This was news. “By Ilumat? Even my daughter outranks him. He has no calling nor right to strip me of my rank.”

  “And yet it’s Kheinian servii guarding the Citadel now, is it not?”

  Damn Ilumat. Draken’s own fortress of servii was at Khein, gifted to him on the occasion of his rising to Night Lord, and brought here by lies, doubtless. But Commander Geffen Bodlean was loyal to Draken, had been since the war at Auwaer. “We both know where we stand and I’ve made my intentions plain. What I don’t have is an answer from you. Rest assured, there are many other bloodlords who are happy to take Ilumat’s coin and will cause me far less trouble.”

  “As you say. It makes a man wonder why you approached me.”

  “Ilumat is young. He is not stupid. He knows he won’t be accepted easily by the Brînians. He knows of the resentment here against Akrasia. He knows despite my heritage most Brînians will rally behind me rather than a pureblood Akrasian. I have saved this city twice now, as well as Auwaer.”

  “The Palisade has fallen, rumors claim the city is worse than Reschan for crime, and you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “If some bloodlord previously loyal to me brings him evidence of my assassination, doubt will fester. But you have a vendetta against me, one that is known to my House, to many Brînians. A ready few can advise Ilumat of your hatred for me. He will fair believe I’m dead if you’re the one who tells him you killed me.”

  “And if you don’t achieve the throne? If you fail?”

  “Then I will be dead and you will have your reward in satisfaction.”

  Khisson searched his face. “You aren’t quite the man I expected you to be.”

  “You aren’t the first to say it. Are you in?”

  A beat. Two. Then a nod. “Aye. I’m in. How shall we start?”

  Behind Khisson, Trul’s mouth stretched into a feral, broken grin. Draken wasn’t sure whether to be pleased with the ghost’s approval or wary of it. “With a deal of blood. Await my word.”

  Khisson inclined his head. “As you wish, Khel Szi.”

  * * *

  Aarinnaie’s mean little bolt-hole was thick with Khissons, stinking of ale and sweat and damp leather. Khisson himself leaned by the door, hand resting on his sword. His presence was welcome as it seemed to keep the others subdued.

  “That didn’t take long,” Draken said.

  Khisson gave a slight bow of his head. “You are dealing with professionals.”

  Aarinnaie leaned opposite and apart from the others, arms crossed over her chest, weapons in plain view, her face guarded. The Khissons avoided her. She pushed off the wall to stand upright when Draken entered.

  I don’t like them knowing where you’re staying.

  So we find another place. Draken strode through them. They parted, giving him a path to the prisoner.

  An escort was bound and wedged into the corner by the fireplace. Her greying hair hung over her face but she dragged her head up to look at the newcomer with bleary, bruised eyes. A thick gag bound her mouth, stretching it wide. She blinked rapidly up at him and worked her jaw.

  Professionals indeed. As asked, they had brought him Commander Bodlean, of Khein fortress. A woman who answered directly to him. Or had, before Ilumat had stolen her.

  Draken swore softly. “Geffen.”

  “She gave some resistance, Khel Szi.” Khisson drew up to his elbow. “But she’s sound.”

  “If a bit drunk,” said one of Khisson’s men. He had scratches on his face and neck. The others chuckled and nudged him.

  Not too drunk, then.

  “Be off. I’ll seek you tomorrow,” Draken said.

  “You know where to find me?” Khisson asked.

  “Lanehouse on Sea Road. Red door.”

  Khisson dipped his chin. “You have been watching me, Khel Szi. I am honored to have earned your attention.”

  Geffen’s eyes widened. Not too drunk at all, then. She knew how dangerous it was for her to have heard that, for her to have her recognition of Draken confirmed.

  “Your lodgings are not subtle and it is not for your honor I watch you.” Half-drunk himself, he’d lost what little patience he had for false pleasantries. Khisson grunted but didn’t make anything of it. Truth, with his sort there might be a payback later, but he could deal with it then. He waited until they all filed out before adding,

  “Unbind her, Aarin, and let’s see what she has to say. And light a fire, would you? Cold as a slaver’s hold in here.”

  Tyrolean had scrounged a couple of benches from the pile of furniture to put on either side of the lopsided table. It rocked and thumped when Draken leaned his arm on it. Draken looked about, pried a bit of rock from the fireplace, and wedged it under the offending leg. He turned to find Geffen kneeling at the other side of the table.

  He sat down across from her, easing down, not hiding his aches. Besides his knee, now his hip was stiff and sore. “Rise and join me at table. I’m sorry I’ve no wine to offer you.”

  She lifted her chin and studied him. One eye watered from the beating she’d taken; the whites were bruised and bloodshot, the black tattooed liner torn and crusted in blood. She lifted her hand, slow as if to indicate no bad intent, to wipe away the tears. She winced as her glove hit the tender skin. “You don’t look the same as before, Your Highness.”

  “I don’t imagine I do. How did you come to be here, Commander?”

  “They captured me on my way to my lodging after—”

  “I mean in Brîn.”

  “I was on patrol at Auwaer after the battle with the Ashen, and—”

  “With a third of my Kheinians, if I recall.”

  “Aye, Your Highness. We were culled from cohorts at the front to come here.”

  “And the other two-thirds?”

  “Some hundreds are at Khein. Baywatch, my lord. And in the Moonling woods … at the front.” She hesitated.

  “This is an interrogation, Commander,” he reminded her. “You may speed things up by speaking freely.”

  “Odd goings there, rumors tell. Rumor has it Moonlings are afoot. Ready to join the war.”

  Oh. That was all. Right now Moonlings were the least of his worries. “Doubtless. How detailed were your recent orders?”

  Her shoulders slipped down a notch, her darting gaze gave way to a regular pattern of blinking. “At first, only march out. Speculation all over the ranks, my lord. But Il … Lord Ilumat’s Escorts didn’t give us much. We marched hard to Crossroads, or where it had been. I thought it must be an Ashen attack.”

  Draken tensed. The Crossroads Inn had burned under his watch. Good people had died that day.

  Not knowing why they marched is damned convenient.

  Draken grunted his agreement with Bruche. Geffen took it as permission to continue. “Lord Ilumat met us then, talked to us himself. He said you’re sundry, Your Highness.”

  A long pause. “Did he now.” There wasn’t enough air behind his words. Surely she noticed.


  “He said you stole Brîn by trickery and banes, that you seduced the Queen and killed her. That you brought the Ashen here when you went to Monoea.”

  “So I’m a traitor.” That was something not making the tavern rounds.

  Softer: “Worse, Your Highness. An impostor.”

  “And what is the general consensus among your servii who came to Brîn?”

  “Orders is orders, Your Highness.”

  “Not what I’m asking.”

  Her nostrils flared as she drew in a breath. “None like the Queen’s seal and Khellian’s sword in the hands of a sundry, my lord. Some never liked them in the hands of the Brînian Prince anyway. Ilumat and your heritage makes it fair convenient to discount you entirely, my lord. It’s easier to hate someone when the powerful give you permission.”

  My lord. She was falling into her habitual form of more friendly address. A promising sign. “Any servii dare to argue with Ilumat?”

  Her gaze dropped. “Two deserters.”

  “What happened to them?” Tyrolean asked.

  “Hunted, hung, and bled out. They made us watch them ’til they died. Took half a day. Then we were marched hard to Brîn to make up the time.”

  Time? Draken frowned. What was a day or two? He hadn’t had any plans himself that would affect the attack. Unless they thought runners would warn Brîn. Or someone else.

  Aarinnaie had the same curiosity. “Trying to beat the worst of Frostfall? Some Gadye tell them a storm is coming?”

  Geffen’s eyes rolled toward her. “No, we were meeting a company here.”

  Draken shook his head. “The slaves who attacked the Citadel.”

  “Aye. We had more weapons for them.”

  He stared at her, leaned forward, blew out the candle on the table, and pulled his mask down. “What else? Did you see anything? Hear anything? You’re commander at Khein. You ought to know something.”

  “Nothing, Your Highness.”

  He liked to think she was being forthright, which proved her potential loyalty to him. But with Aarinnaie in plain view with her knives and Tyrolean leaning against the hearth, he couldn’t give her that much credit without her proving herself. He tipped his head toward Ty. “Do you remember who he is?”

  She straightened, gave Tyrolean a nod. “First Captain Tyrolean, Royal Escorts.”

  Tyrolean spoke quietly. “Ilumat hasn’t titled himself King?”

  “Regent, my lord. Until things are settled, whatever that means. Heard it from his own self. Keeping tight discipline on us in the meantime.”

  That much was truth. Aarinnaie had been watching. The taverns should have been full of rowdy Akrasian servii fresh off the warfront, and maybe newly freed slaves, but they weren’t. The new occupiers patrolled constantly, causing little mischief beyond helping themselves to lodging and food, and the Citadel was locked up tighter than a pirate akhanar’s ale cask. Not that anyone would want to cross the mess of heads on the wall. “You got leave this night.”

  “I was disciplining a servii. Stopped for a drink after.” A slight smile, a hint of Geffen’s typical wryness. “Shouldn’t have done.”

  “What are Ilumat’s plans? Servii gossip. Rumors. Confirmed or not. I want it all.”

  She looked down at her lap.

  “Geffen, I don’t believe you’ve been formerly introduced to my sister, Aarinnaie Szirin. She has a fondness for quick knife work, which suits my needs as I am not a patient man.”

  Geffen’s head turned with a twitch. Her throat moved with a hard swallow. Aarinnaie took a step forward, though she made no move toward her knives.

  “You say Ilumat marched you from the front and now calls himself regent. You say he meant to meet a company of slaves here. Those actions have come to pass,” Tyrolean reminded her calmly. “What else has he done? Is going to do?”

  Her lips tightened. “He’s holding a triumph processional.”

  Right. Again, nothing he hadn’t heard or deduced. “When?”

  “Khellian’s full night.”

  Two nights hence. That didn’t give them a great deal of time. He decided to test her. “There’s no announcements, no criers, nothing posted.”

  “I think.” She swallowed. Her eyes darted between them. “I think he’s trying to head off trouble. Tomorrow the tale-tellers will be told. Scrolls pinned ’round. Some few nobles will be invited to the Citadel to feast.”

  Right. Keeping it quiet so the Brînians don’t realize the Monoeans are going to take the city. They’d do a controlled announcement that left no time to dodge the axe aimed at Brîn’s neck. With Ilumat the Regent on the dais, sitting in Draken’s throne. Or maybe by then some Monoean would sit it. Not the priest. Another, important Landed perhaps. What he wouldn’t have given to have killed all the Ashen when he was in Monoea, but the warships had already sailed. A burning itch crawled up his spine. The nearly insurmountable urge to move and fight roared through him—

  Draken. You aren’t finished here.

  Truls emerged from the shadows to peer sightlessly at him, head tipped. Geffen’s face paled, enough maybe she could feel his chill. Or maybe it was Draken’s scowl.

  He cleared his throat, eyeing the ghost and then Geffen. “And after the procession. After Ilumat officially ‘takes the city.’ What then?”

  Geffen shrank back. “Your daughter. Is she living, Your Highness?”

  Draken fell very still. “What about her?”

  Geffen made a noise between a whimper and grunt. Her voice trembled. “Th-they must have found her, if they’re announcing the triumph tomorrow.”

  “Is she dead?” Tyrolean pushed from the wall and strode closer. By the ghost, though he didn’t seem to notice. How could the others not sense his crawling presence? “Is that what you’re not wanting to say? They’ve assassinated the Princess?”

  “No, Captain … Your Highness. Not that.” Her eyes darted and settled somewhere on the empty air beside Draken, empty but for the ghost she couldn’t see. “Ilumat is going to give her to the Monoeans. A trade for peace.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You aren’t being the least bit reasonable,” Aarinnaie said. “It’s not as if they can get to her.” At Eidola, she meant, though she was smart enough not to mention Sikyra nor the Mance city up the nearby mountains in front of Geffen.

  Draken didn’t pause his pacing to look at his sister, who sounded angry enough to stomp her foot. Or slap him on the backside with his own sword; he wasn’t sure which.

  “We don’t know that for certain.” He never should have given Sikyra over to Osias. “This is Ilumat’s doing, and his alone. No one else stands to gain from her death like he does. He’ll have to die.”

  “Getting to him will be difficult,” Geffen said. “Impossible.”

  “Tell me where he’ll be and when.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not privy to his plans. But he’s very well protected.”

  Draken snapped, his voice harsh, his hand on his sword. “You’re meant to tell me this, aren’t you? To use Sikyra as bait.”

  Paranoia will not serve you, Draken.

  It’s not paranoia if it’s truth.

  “No! You abducted me, remember?” Geffen shook her head violently. “Your Highness, you cannot go after Ilumat. You must not. They’ll capture you.”

  Draken considered her, eyes narrowed. “Do you know for certain they have her?”

  “I know he said he would have the triumph when he could turn her over to the Ashen, Your Highness. That I heard myself.”

  “Listen to the Commander, Drae,” Aarinnaie said. “You’ll never get close enough to kill him.”

  “And if he has Sikyra I’m supposed to sit back and do nothing?”

  Aarinnaie’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “I can’t do that. I won’t. Change of plan. We need to get to the triumph.”

  * * *

  Geffen told him all she knew, Draken was certain of it. Her good faith kept him from killing her outright and
made him burn with shame at leaving her bound and gagged in the mean little room. But they couldn’t spare someone to watch her. He certainly couldn’t tell her there was a chance they all would die this day and she would never be found and freed in that case, not before her body rotted and stank enough for some local to investigate when warmer weather came.

  “I’ll give one of Khisson’s men orders to free you by nightfall.”

  “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

  Draken tightened the cords around her wrist and tied her to the iron firewood grate. It was bolted to the stone and held her fast.

  “You know I’m loyal to you, Your Highness. I’ll swear again. Anything. Don’t leave me here. Please.”

  He gagged her, none too tightly, but enough to muffle her protests.

  “Gods willing we meet again, you can swear to me then.”

  Her breath whined around the gag and her hollow stare drilled holes in his back. But this was for the people. And his daughter, because she was the rightful Queen. None of which filled the gaping hole his baby daughter had left inside him, the terror gripping his heart that Ilumat had her already, or the guilt at leaving Geffen at risk of dying such an ignoble death.

  Brînian ways really have dug their claws into you. Bruche sounded impressed.

  I don’t know anyone of any race who finds starving to death, bound and helpless, a noble way to die.

  The storm wind on Draken’s cheeks filtered through his mask and made his eyes water, but the light was dim from the low-slung clouds and it felt oddly freeing to pass though Brîn without people staring at him because he was Khel Szi. Some few did look his way, but that might be his staff and pretended blindness. His likeness to his old self was changed enough to protect him from anything more than mild speculation.

  Aarinnaie kept to his side, sleek and treacherous as a horned panther, pretending to guide him. She had her hair and neck covered with a scarf against the cold. Her breath came in quick grey puffs the breeze whisked away.

  Tyrolean, swords on his belt and wrapped to conceal the distinctive hilts, moved in the same direction a little ahead and across the road. The Captain had taken orders to hold back from the attempt to kill Ilumat with his usual stoic obedience. They needed to hold him in reserve.