It was clear from the level of conversation that more guests were expected. A few moments later several Haman entered, but Nazien í Hari was not one of them. These were all younger men, and it was Emiel í Moranthi who bowed in greeting to their host.
Alec’s lip curled at the sight of him, his distaste tempered only by the pleasure of observing the arrogant bastard unaware.
This must have completed the company, for Ulan stood to address them. Alec sank down and settled his back against the wall to listen.
“My friends, my opposition to the Skalan’s demands are no secret among you,” Ulan began. “I am frequently accused of acting out of self-interest. I do not deny this, nor do I apologize. I am a Virésse, and the khirnari of my clan. My first duty is to my people. There is no dishonor in this.”
He paused, perhaps to let his guests reflect on their own loyalties. “Until now my opposition has been based on my desire to preserve the prosperity of my clan. Like you, I had the greatest respect for Idrilain ä Elesthera. She was a Tírfaie of great atui and valor. Klia ä Idrilain is very like her mother and I hold her in equal esteem.
“But now Idrilain is dead, and it is not Klia who ascends that throne, but her half-sister, Phoria. I have called you here tonight not as a Virésse, or a khirnari, but as a fellow Aurënfaie who realizes that we must, in the affairs of the wider world, act as a single people. This new queen is not a woman of honor. Of this I have proof.”
Alec scrambled to his feet and peered out. Ulan was holding up a handful of documents, the largest of which bore a large wax seal Alec knew only too well.
O Illior! Memories of secrets he’d all but forgotten he knew settled over Alec like a pall. It was a Queen’s Warrant, no doubt the lost twin of a forged document used by Phoria five years earlier to reroute a shipment of gold destined for the Skalan treasury. On the surface it had been a foolish indiscretion, done to help protect a kinsman of the queen’s vicegerent, Lord Barien, who’d also been rumored to be Phoria’s lover. In fact, the whole business had been secretly engineered by enemies of the queen, a faction known as the Lerans. He and Seregil had uncovered the plot by accident during their investigation of that same forger. Only Nysander had been privy to the resulting confrontation between Idrilain and her daughter. All Alec knew was that Phoria had remained heir.
He gnawed his lip in frustration as Ulan fitted the facts into a far more damning picture, depicting Phoria as a weak woman, led by passion rather than honor.
Risking another glance out into the courtyard, Alec saw the gloating satisfaction of the Haman and Lhapnosans. The Gedre khirnari was whispering anxiously to Rhaish í Arlisandin, who’d gone pale. The Silmai elder merely stared down at his hands, as if lost in thought.
Ulan í Sathil continued on, evincing nothing but an earnest desire to inform. Nonetheless, Alec was certain he caught a triumphant gleam in the man’s eyes.
What a schemer you are, Alec thought, not knowing whether he should feel angry or awed.
Too restless for company, Seregil retired early and attempted to read by the fire, but one book followed another onto the untidy pile beside his chair. Soon he was up and pacing as he mulled various unhappy scenarios to account for Alec’s prolonged absence.
Alec’s foray into Torsin’s room aside, it had been months since either of them had done any outright burgling. As the stars marched toward midnight, he found himself worrying as if Alec were still his green protégé.
Perhaps he’d been caught. Seregil could imagine Klia’s reaction if Alec was brought home under Virésse guard, accused of spying. Or maybe he’d stumbled into the clutches of Seregil’s Haman friends.
No, he thought, rubbing at the fading bruises on one forearm, Alec was too clever for that. Maybe he’d just gotten lost.
Seregil had nearly talked himself into going out to look for him when Alec slipped in.
“Well?” Seregil demanded.
Alec was frowning. “You’re not going to like it. Ulan found out about Phoria and Barien: the whole business of the forged papers, the Leran gold, everything.”
“Bilairy’s stinking codpiece!”
“And he did a fine job of painting our new queen as an honorless Ilar,” Alec went on as he changed into his own clothing. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Seregil sighed. “Come on, let’s find Thero and get this over with.”
Klia entered Thero’s room clad in a soft velvet robe, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders. She looked anything but sleepy, however, as she noted the three of them standing uneasily by the hearth. Thero closed the door and wove a spell, sealing the chamber off from prying eyes and ears.
Klia raised an eyebrow at him, then took a seat in the room’s only chair “Well, out with it.”
Seregil leaned an elbow on the mantel and launched into a tale he’d never intended to tell.
“It has to do with Phoria, and your mother’s late vicegerent.”
“Barien? The man’s two years dead, and by his own hand. What on earth could—?”
Seregil held up a placating hand. “This will take some explanation. You know that your sister and Barien were lovers?”
“I’d always suspected, though I never understood why they kept it such a secret. She was devastated when he died.”
“Were you aware of any new tension between your mother and Phoria after his death?”
“I suppose so, though neither of them would speak of the reason. Why are you dredging all that up now, and at this hour?”
Seregil sighed inwardly; so much for his hope that Idrilain had confided in her daughter before Klia’s departure for Aurënen. Who’d have guessed there’d ever be reason to?
“My lady, Phoria and the vicegerent unwittingly betrayed the queen. Barien had a nephew, Lord Teukros. Several years before Barien’s death, Teukros was duped into treason by the Lerans. This came out when we were tracking down the woman who nearly killed you and Alec.”
“Kassarie.” Klia touched the faded scars on her cheek, eyes darkening as angry disbelief set in. “Barien and Phoria were involved with her? With those filthy insurrectionists?”
“Unwittingly, I promise you.”
“What we must tell you now was known only to Nysander, Seregil, Alec, and myself,” Thero assured her. “Nysander had it from your mother and Phoria just after Barien died. He confided it to us because it directly impacted the work Seregil and Alec were carrying out for Nysander.”
“Seregil was in prison when Barien died,” said Klia.
Seregil gave her a sheepish grin, studiously not looking at Thero. “Not exactly. Thero here kindly gave me the loan of his body, and kept mine company while Alec and I looked into things—”
Klia held up a hand. “Just get on with it.”
“We found the forger who’d made documents that led to my arrest and the execution of other Skalan nobles whose blood was less than pure. We also stumbled onto evidence of a deeper plot to discredit your mother. Three years earlier, certain Leran sympathizers had lured that young fool Teukros into accruing massive debts, knowing that the vicegerent could be manipulated into protecting him. Barien turned in desperation to Phoria, who aided him in the rerouting of a treasury shipment to cover the debt. They used forged copies of Queen’s Warrants to do it, documents forged by the same man Alec and I tracked down. Neither Phoria nor Barien had any idea who was behind the plot, I assure you. Teukros had handled all that. The moneys were to be repaid as soon as possible and everyone thought they’d seen the end of it, never knowing that the misplaced gold had gone directly into the coffers of the Lerans. When Alec and I cornered this forger, it all came out. Barien couldn’t bear the shame and killed himself. Phoria confessed all to your mother and Nysander.”
Klia’s hands clenched on the arms of her chair. “And no one thought I might need to know of this?”
“In all honesty, no, my lady,” Seregil assured her. “The few of us who knew were sworn to secrecy by Idrilain and Nysande
r. We expected to take the story to our graves. What we hadn’t counted on was someone among the queen’s enemies knowing the secret.”
“That’s where I come in, my lady,” Alec said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I got word today that Ulan í Sathil was holding a secret parley at his house, and that certain khirnari who support you or seem like they’re leaning in that direction were the ones invited. Forgive me, but I disobeyed your orders and spied on them.”
“With my permission,” Seregil added quickly.
“Go on,” Klia sighed.
“Somehow Ulan í Sathil came into possession of one of these forged warrants, and the secret about Phoria’s involvement,” Alec continued. “I saw the documents myself. He had some other papers, too, but I was too far away to tell what they were. At any rate, he used them to put Phoria in the worst possible light—you know what store the ’faie set by honor and family. He made Phoria out to be untrustworthy, a traitor almost, and a threat to deal with. He also suggested that your mother had lacked judgment in not casting her out of the line of succession.”
“That’s the least any khirnari would do, if not outright exile,” added Seregil. “Hereditary rule makes no sense to my people. This isn’t going to raise their opinion of it much.”
“Who was there?” Klia asked, pinning Alec with an unfathomable glare.
Alec listed off those he’d seen.
“And what was their response to this revelation of Ulan’s?”
“I couldn’t see everyone, but from what I heard, confusion. Silmai argued in your favor; the Haman sounded pleased.”
“Just what Ulan í Sathil intended, I’m sure,” said Thero.
Klia nodded. “How do you think he came by this information?”
“I’ve been considering that,” said Seregil. “There are several possibilities. He could have had it from the Plenimarans. They keep an ear or two among the Lerans. Perhaps someone involved in the Teukros debacle let something slip? Or Ulan may have known about this for years, and simply bided his time until he could make the best use of the information.”
“I can well imagine,” Klia said. “But you think there are other explanations?”
Seregil cast a quick glance at Alec, who nodded slightly and turned away.
“Lord Torsin, my lady—”
“Torsin?”
“Torsin met secretly with someone in Khatme tupa one night, about two weeks after our arrival,” said Seregil. “At least one person at that meeting was a Virésse. There’s evidence that Ulan summoned him to that meeting. It was only by chance that Alec discovered he’d gone out.”
Klia gave Alec a dubious look that made the younger man color guiltily. “When I ordered you two not to spy without my permission, that included spying on our own people.”
Seregil started to reply but she cut him off abruptly. “Hear me, both of you. You needn’t concern yourself with Torsin. Wherever Ulan may have gotten this damaging information against my sister, I assure you, it did not come from Torsin. I suggest you concentrate on learning where it did come from.”
She knows about her envoy’s midnight meetings, or thinks she does, thought Seregil, smarting under the unexpected reprimand. It hadn’t occurred to him that Klia might keep secrets from him. On the other hand, he was fairly certain Torsin knew nothing of his or Alec’s true talents. If that were so, then Klia was playing a more complex game than he’d guessed. He glanced at the wizard, wondering how much Thero knew. He didn’t appear much surprised by this exchange.
“If it came from Plenimar, then that might also explain those Plenimaran warships that ambushed us in the Ea’malies,” Thero mused. “Perhaps the honorable khirnari paid for information with information.”
Klia nodded slowly. “I’d very much like to know the truth of that. The negotiations have limped along too long. Every dispatch I get from Phoria is more impatient than the last. Today’s all but accuses me of purposefully stalling.”
“How could Phoria think that?” exclaimed Alec.
“Who can explain what my sister thinks these days, or why?” Klia rubbed wearily at her eyelids. “This business with Virésse might be just the thing to turn matters our way. Tell me, my Aurënfaie adviser, would it be safe to say that Ulan has acted dishonorably toward me?”
“An argument could be made,” said Seregil. “Of course, if we had to explain to the Iia’sidra how you found out about it, it would put Alec on chancy ground.”
“I’ll leave it up to you to keep us from having to explain anything to anyone. Two days from now, we and the Eleven are to be the guests of Ulan í Sathil.”
“Are you suggesting what I think, my lady?”
Klia gave an eloquent shrug. “What’s the use of bringing fine coursing hounds to the hunt if you never slip the lead? First thing tomorrow I’ll speak in private to Lord Torsin and Adzriel ä Illia of all you’ve told me tonight. My principal adviser and our best ally must not be taken by surprise, either.”
“Will you tell Torsin that I spied on him?” Alec asked nervously.
“No, but I want your word that you won’t do it again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Klia leveled a knowing look at Seregil. “That includes you, as well.”
“You have my word. What about Nyal? If it hadn’t been for him, we might have missed this altogether. He asked Alec to tell him what he learned.”
Klia sighed. “Ah, yes, Nyal. He’s served us well, and word is bound to spread, anyway, since that appears to be Ulan’s intent. Tell him only what Alec heard. Nothing more.”
26
WAR
The flush of victory made Phoria feel younger than her years. For two days they’d fought under driving spring rains, forcing the Plenimarans from a pass west of the river. The cost had been high on both sides, but Skala had regained a few precious acres.
A cheer went up across the camp as she rode in at the head of what remained of the Horse Guard regiment. Mingled with the accolades were the wails of camp followers as the missing were noted. There’d be a more somber welcome for the fallen, who followed in carts somewhere back down the road.
Her route through the camp led the new queen past the tents of the guilds, and she caught sight of a potter standing with her hands on her hips, no doubt making a rough count of empty saddles, estimating how many urns would be needed to hold the ashes of the dead for that last journey home.
Phoria dismissed the thought for now. Victories had been hard enough to come by this spring and she meant to savor this one.
At her pavilion, she was greeted by more cheers from the soldiers and servants massed there.
“You showed ’em today, General!” a grizzled veteran called out, waving a regimental banner in one hand. “Give us a chance tomorrow to do you proud!”
“You’ve done me proud every day you’ve been on the field, Sergeant,” Phoria called back, earning another roar of acclaim. The soldiers still addressed her by her military title, and for now, that was just how she wanted it.
Dismounting, she led her attending officers inside to the waiting meal. Not a banquet, perhaps, but reward enough for honest soldiers.
They were still at table when Captain Traneus appeared at the open flap of the tent. He was muddy to the knees and carried a pouch over his shoulder.
“What word from Rhíminee, Captain?” Phoria called.
“Word from Prince Korathan, my lady, and fresh dispatches from Aurënen,” he said, handing over the pouch.
Inside she found three documents. The first, from Korathan, robbed the day of its savor. Reading it through twice, she lowered it slowly and looked around at the expectant faces turned her way. “The Plenimarans have attacked Skala’s southern coast. They’ve burned three cities already: Kalis, Yalin, and Deep Trebolin.”
“Yalin?” General Arlis gasped. “That’s only fifty miles from Rhíminee!”
Pain flared behind Phoria’s eyes. She set her brother’s dispatch on the table before her, and
opened the parchment bearing Klia’s seal. It brought the same news as ever—progress was slowly being made. Now she thought perhaps the Haman clan was being swayed. But no concessions. No end in sight.
Closing her eyes, she massaged the bridge of her nose as the pain mounted to a throbbing ache. “Leave me.”
When the scrape of feet and creak of leather had died away, she looked up to find Traneus still there.
Only now did she reach for the third missive, this one sealed with a few drops of candle wax. Like the others that had come to her in the past weeks, it was careful in its phrasing. Klia was not lying, but putting a more hopeful cast on events.
“Our informant tells me that the Virésse have increased their influence,” she told Traneus. “The negotiations are at a standstill. She does not share my sister’s optimistic view of the outcome. There is even talk that Virésse may prefer the gold of Plenimar to our own.”
She handed the letter to Traneus, who locked it away in a nearby casket with the others already neatly stacked there.
“What message shall I take back, my lady?”
Phoria tugged at a ring on her left hand. Her fingers were swollen from the day’s battle, and she had to spit on it to work it loose. Wiping it on the hem of her tunic, she held it a moment, admiring the play of light over the dragon carved into the black stone. “Return this to my brother. I want it on his hand within two days. No one is to know of it but you. Go immediately.”
Traneus had only just come from Rhíminee, a hard journey of several days by land or sea. The task she’d just set him meant no rest, but the man’s face betrayed nothing but obedient devotion, just as she’d expected. If he survived this war, a ring of a different sort might just find its way onto his talented hand.
Alone in the great tent, Phoria sat back in her chair and smiled as she regarded the slightly lighter circle of skin where the ring had been.
Her headache was nearly gone.
27
MORE GHOSTS
Seregil woke before daybreak on the final day of mourning, once again trying to grasp a dream before it faded. It had started out with the same familiar images. This time, however, he seemed to recall the rhui’auros, Lhial, standing in the corner of the room, trying to tell him something very important in a voice too low to make out over the crackling of the flames.
Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3 Page 33