Emissary Page 4

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  The Brînian Citadel couldn’t be more different from Elena’s spare, light-sucking Bastion at Auwaer or the sprawling grey palace straddling the Sevenfel Cliffs over Sister Bay in Monoea. He wondered if he’d ever get used to striding directly into the circular Great Hall right from the brightly planted courtyard. The Brînian throne sat at one end on a dais, gaudy even amid the splash of bright tiles and gold-leafed pillars. Artists had been touching up the murals inside the dome, but they’d obviously been shuffled out for Khel Szi’s esteemed guests. What people did remain: some of the Seneschal’s staff, szi nêre posted at the three doors, and slaves seeing to the refreshments table, shot wary looks at the Moonlings waiting to see him.

  Draken had ridden as quickly as he could back to the Citadel, but no one in the Moonling war party—impossible to think of them any other way—smiled when he strode into the Great Hall. For a breath he considered sitting on his throne, but he was filthy and a deep frown already creased Lady Oklai’s dappled face. Instead he approached and knelt as a courtesy, to be on level with her. His szi nêre took up position on either side of the dais.

  “My lady. It is my great honor to greet you.”

  She held off answering for a long moment, and when she did, her tone was acerbic. “Indeed, it is mine for your taking the time.” A beat. “It’s been rather a busy morning.”

  “Too busy to bathe after battle, I see.” Her wide nostrils flared and her lip curled.

  Were the Moonlings that fastidious they could not stand the presence of battle grime? Truth, he knew few of them. Oklai was clean, the pale leather strips that formed her long skirt were spotless even at her heels. The ribbons on her spear, though, were stiff with old, brown blood. The blade at its tip looked to have a keen edge.

  He suppressed an annoyed sigh, rose, and slung himself in his throne anyway, an arm hooked over the back. Hang the mess it would cause, and hang Oklai’s offense. “I was already late for the audience, my lady,” he said with pointed irritation. “How may I help you?”

  Her contingent, a group of a dozen small warriors better suited to the Norvern Wildes of Monoea than the bustling city of Brîn, stepped into formation. The ribboned butts of their spears made a sharp crack against the floor. Every ribbon was also stained dark and stiff with old blood.

  Draken blinked and rose his brows a heartbeat too late for wry regard.

  “Once my people did you a good turn.” The fur Oklai wore over her shoulder rippled like a live thing as she eased closer on silent feet clad in woven sandals.

  He dipped his chin, trying to hide his silent, deep breath. “As I once did yours.”

  “You spared one of my people from slavery.”

  Or a more sinister purpose, to judge by the Mance who took her. Draken let his free hand run along the armrest of the throne, examining the smooth wood, blackened from the touch of his ancestors. The great halls of the great nations seemed to share the habit of excrutiatingly slow conversation.

  “I had considered the debts between us settled,” he said, because she surely was here to ask for something. “Perhaps you think differently.”

  “Debts? No. Not between us. Between you and the gods.”

  Draken couldn’t hold back a snort but did manage to not say something very rude.

  Oklai glided closer. “Your actions are a portent.”

  He narrowed his eyes, striving for the brashness of his father. But his throat was too dry. “Actions.”

  “Sparing a Moonling of a life of slavery.”

  He let that sink in, catching a glimmer of her purpose. His tone was careful, noncommittal, though the topic rankled. He’d perfected his smooth speech in the previous few moonturns dealing with powerful merchants looking for tariff exemptions. “I’ve made no secret that I abhor slavery.”

  “And yet you keep them.” Her gaze followed a pretty house slave as she brought another pitcher of wine for their guests.

  “I’ve reduced the duties of every slave in the Citadel. They are each given proper meals and enough sleep time.” The slave was sundry, curved in all the right places, meek as a sleepy kitten, and a favorite of the szi nêre. “They’ve also protection from those outside the Citadel, as well as those within.” The nêre and House free staff hadn’t been best pleased with him, and he knew he couldn’t fight the leanings of a whole culture. But inside his house no one gave of themselves what they didn’t freely offer.

  “But you still call them slaves. Some of them with Moonling blood?”

  “Sundry, only.” Damn her, that was Akrasian prejudice against mixed-bloods, not his. He was no hypocrite, being sundry himself.

  Her lips tightened and her spear moved in her hand as she adjusted her grip. His szi nêre tensed on either side of him.

  It was a thin victory. She might hate sundry better than most Akrasians but she still expected … whatever it was she bloody well expected. Fools all. He didn’t have time for this.

  He lowered his arm from the back of the throne and leaned forward, settling his forearms on his knees. His tired muscles strained against his armor. He had to beat down the frantic urge to escape the suffocating mail and plates and straps. “As you see, I’ve many duties to attend. How may I be of assistance to you, Lady Oklai?”

  The Moonling drew herself up. “In my blood runs the direct lineage of Queens, as yours does kings.”

  Draken’s eyes narrowed. “There is only one person in Akrasia I call Queen.”

  “We are in Brîn, are we not?”

  “Which is a principality of Akrasia. This you know.”

  “And Elena is a newcomer here, compared to my people.”

  “I have neither time nor inclination to debate—”

  “This is no debate. It’s simple fact. Elena is not the only Queen in Akrasia, nor the rightful one.”

  He sighed. Weariness prickled the insides of his eyelids. It had been a long day yet and the sun had just passed its zenith. “Lady Oklai, that is treasonous talk. Do not force me to arrest you. We are friends, or at least I thought we were. I don’t—”

  “Are we? Friends? And yet your Queen enslaves my people. You keep slaves in this very house.”

  “Slavery was established long before I sat the throne of Brîn.”

  “But you do sit the throne. Your actions condone slavery, Khel Szi.”

  His jaw tensed. A hard silence, broken by his soft voice. “You know I do not.”

  “And yet you’ve done nothing to free them since you arrived.”

  Arrived? Did she mean to Brîn or on the continent of Akrasia? She had intimated she knew something of his personal history when they’d first met. He couldn’t take the risk of his guards and others overhearing if she made a point of using it against him. He rose and stepped off the dais. He made no pretense of hiding his height advantage, drawing himself up. “Have you seen the gardens, my lady?”

  She frowned but accompanied him out to the courtyard and the grounds inside the walled Citadel. City noises filtering through the gates faded as they walked among the trees. They had grown stout and tall, protected by the Citadel from the sea. Great ribbons of moss draped the limbs and the everpresent sea breezes rustled the leaves. The skies overhead were still mostly blue but grey edged it—the thick ocean mists drifting in. They probably entirely concealed the Monoean ships by now. He tried to let the fresh scents and cooling breeze settle him. Difficult while still crusted in the blood of his old countrymen.

  “You were a slave once in Monoea,” she said at last. “You know what you must do.”

  He walked quietly for long moments until he could be certain the alarm singing in his veins wouldn’t reach his voice. “Here, I am a slave to politics and economics. I have duties beyond your people.”

  “You have a duty to the gods’ will.”

  Again and again, someone tripped him up with the gods. “Those same gods who gave me this sword and told me kill my Queen with it. Who are you to claim to know their will?”

  “You
killed a Queen and averted war.”

  “I killed the woman who loves me, who now carries my child. The gods wanted me to leave her dead, but I could not. Since then, ruddy silence from the lot of them. So don’t harp on me about the gods. They already proved they will force me when they wish my service. Until then, I decide.” Eidola claim his soul, he would decide anyway.

  “I see you will take more persuasion.” The last was more hiss than word.

  He bit down on a retort, refusing to rise to her bait. “I want to help. I would see all the slaves freed. But I can’t, not right now.”

  “When, then, Khel Szi? Time does go on. Princes always have pressing duties. So when will freeing the Moonlings become yours?”

  He stopped walking, fists clenched, shoulders painfully tight under his armor. Again, it felt as if his breath was constricted. “Fools all! Do you see I am still bloody from battle and preparing to drown my dead? Queen Elena barely escaped the attack with her life, much less that of our child. There are more lives at stake right now than a few slaves. I’m trying to stave off a war we cannot win.”

  “I fear it is much too late for that, Draken.” Her words fell flat against the live sounds all around them and she turned away.

  He stood a long time, watching her tiny body walk back to the great domed Citadel, the palace of his people, until the wind turned the whispers of leaves to menacing jeers and damp, sticky mist closed in all around.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Elena was still within her chambers with her healers. The maids in the outer sitting chamber eyed Draken with open shock and dismay at his soiled appearance.

  “You’ll not want to upset Her Majesty, Khel Szi,” one of them gathered the courage to say.

  She was paler than some slaves in the household, and delicate-featured. Dozens of tiny braids crossed her head and dangled over her shoulders. She must be from Septonshir, the Seven Lakes region over the grasslands. Born a sundry slave, and her mother stoned to death for the crime of mixing blood, likely. He’d heard ‘Meres were fanatically intolerant of sundry. She dropped her gaze demurely when his attention settled on her.

  “Inform my Queen and the healers I’ll be back when I’m more presentable.”

  “Aye, Khel Szi.”

  Light shining through the sheer drapes in his chambers cast jagged, sword-like shadows from the balcony railing across the tiled floors. Incense burned, filling the rooms with its familiar sultry scent. Draken felt as if he sullied the clean space as he stripped his blood-encrusted armor and clothing. Kai put it in a basket for cleaning.

  Draken frowned. Someone had sheared the boy’s locks this morning. Since Kai had helped him arm for the battle.

  “What happened, Kai?”

  Kai kept his head down as he knelt to remove Draken’s leg armor and unbind the sandal straps. “Hina Shain caught me with Lunae, Khel Szi.”

  Another slave. But it was odd he found trouble with it—especially from the Seneschal. Brînians were free enough with sex and affection, in marriage and out. Slaves weren’t allowed to marry, but coupling was encouraged among them to keep stock up. “If she pleases you, and you please her, then carry on.”

  Kai’s gaze flicked up to his face in surprise, then he ducked his head again. “Master Hina sold her to an island bloodlord. Delivery next sevennight.”

  “Hmm. Shall I buy her back?”

  A silence. Then, low: “The bloodlord fancies her, Khel Szi.” “Does she fancy you?”

  Kai looked up again, then set his armor aside carefully. Blood flaked off it. A bare whisper: “Aye.”

  “Carry a message to the bloodlord that he should rethink his purchase.”

  Kai gaped at him. “The bloodlord—”

  “Answers to me, does he not?”

  The boy blinked rapidly. “Aye, Khel Szi.”

  “Thom?”

  The Gadye looked up.

  “See to this business, will you?”

  “Aye, Khel Szi.” His mask made him stoic. Gadye were firm believers that sundry were a blight and slavery was too good for them. Draken decided to not give a hang whether Thom approved or not.

  #

  Draken had given Elena the nicest rooms in the private apartments. They had been his father’s and security was better since they were deep within the Citadel. Draken preferred his smaller chambers with the balconies and view over the courtyard, though it was still odd to sleep alone most nights. The way of royals, but he didn’t much like it.

  “She is resting quietly, but there was some bleeding.” The healer looked grim, standing in the dim antechamber of Elena’s apartments. Dark circles underscored her lined eyes. “I fear the battle proved too much for the child.”

  Draken stared at her, stunned. “It is lost, then?”

  “No, Khel Szi. Not yet. But she must be kept quiet and calm.”

  “She is very far gone on. Seven moonturns at least. The baby might survive.”

  “I don’t like the chances. The baby would be better born in two more moonturns.” A slight, weary smile. “If anyone can get her to stay quiet, it would be you.”

  Right, then. He eased a breath into his tight chest, his hand on the door, before pushing inside. Elena lay on her side on the bed. A great headboard inlaid with an iridescent shell mosaic shadowed her and gauzy hangings shifted in the light breeze. She smiled when she saw him. It looked stiff. His smile felt the same.

  “You look well enough.” He sat on the side of the bed and laid his hand on her swollen belly. Her dark hair was damp and braided.

  She tugged him down for a kiss. His lips lingered on hers for a long moment. They’d bathed her. She smelled of nightsong and sweetmilk. He wanted to feel her all over her skin, to reassure himself she was all right. He settled for running his fingers down her long, black braid and laying it over her shoulder.

  “I felt the baby move a little ago.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “Very good.”

  She took his hand and examined his broad fingers, his palm, the brand marring his knuckles. The slaves were right. He was glad he’d scrubbed away the blood. She lifted her fingers to his brow. “I think I remember a cut on your forehead. It was streaming blood.”

  “It must have been from someone else, from the battle.” Lies came easier every day. One day the gods surely would make him atone with the truth.

  She nodded and shifted to sit up against the cushions. He adjusted the covers over her lap as she reached for the bedside candle and lighted it with a flick of her fingers. Remenant magic from his exchanging a Mance King’s life for hers. “You saved my life. Again.”

  “I am your Night Lord.”

  She gave him a tentative smile and fingered her pendant hanging about his neck. “I didn’t expect to require your direct aid quite so often.”

  “I wish you didn’t. But I doubt the Monoeans thought they’d find my lady Queen with a sword. You held them off well.”

  “Not well enough. Melie …” Her fingers tightened on his, then loosened.

  “You are safe, Elena. That’s all that matters.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t care about her loss?”

  He stroked her arm and gazed at her face. Too pale, even her lips. The shadowing beneath her black-lined eyes betrayed her exhaustion. This close he could see every deeply toned facet of her dark irises. “I don’t mean to sound cold, but you mean everything to me and to Akrasia. This doesn’t mean I don’t understand what the attack cost you.”

  “I wanted to be brave, to be a Queen. If I hadn’t fought they might have just taken me hostage, but I couldn’t think …” Her words choked to a stop. “I was terrified.”

  His throat tightened. He pulled her up into his arms. “You were fair brave, Elena. You defended yourself and our child, and that is the same as defending Akrasia herself.”

  She stayed quiet, resting against him. “I sometimes wish I didn’t have to put the country before you.” She made a soft, amused noise. “No. If I’m honest, I wish you didn
’t have to put the country before me.”

  “Is that why you wanted me? Because you knew I would be Prince and you knew we would have that in common?” He was only joking. Mostly.

  “No. I wanted you because you are handsome and strong and honorable. Someone different, and yet the same.” Her voice was soft.

  “The same as what?”

  “As me. At the center of things, and yet alone as well.”

  “You aren’t alone. You won’t be alone again, I swear it.” He would drive every last Monoean from their shores if it came to it. He shifted to kiss her. Her arms slid around his neck and he felt his muscles relax into the familiar cadence of holding her, of her breath against his neck, her hands on his back. Desire rose, but now wasn’t the time. They stayed that way for a time and then he gently helped her to sit up against the cushions.

  “How many did we lose?” she asked.

  “Fifty-two Brînians dead, no count on Escorts yet. I expected no less taking on a Monoean phalanx.”

  “You crushed it.”

  “At great cost, aye. We lost most of the horses.”

  “And how many Monoeans died?”

  “We estimate three hundred with some twenty in chains at Seakeep.”

  “And their ships?”

  “Retreated to just outside the Bay. I sent a request to parley.”

  “Parley? I thought I told you to kill them all. Kill the prisoners and sink those ships.”

  Her sharp tone finally warned him off blurting something else without thinking. He took a breath, preferring to discuss the baby, her health, ways to keep her quiet, anything but the possible ramifications of this attack.

  “First, most of our ships are under repair, patrolling, or at trade. Second, the whole of Monoea’s army outnumbers ours easily ten-to-one. Its navy outnumbers our ships three-to-one. If we go on the offensive and destroy those ships, King Aissyth may send a fleet of ten next time. Or thirty.”