The God of Assassins (Wine of the Gods Book 11)

by Pam Uphoff

  Flare nodded. "My dad hates coming here any more, he says the whole World tries to turn him into a teenage sex pot. Poor Ring World, though. Mercenaries and now these . . . Lovers? That sounds stupid. Oh, and Lily popped back in." She handed over an official envelope.

  "That's what they call themselves. Everybody else calls them perverts." Xen ripped the envelope and scanned his new orders.

  Harry stumped in shaking his head. "I'm glad that lot is gone. I just talked to your Dad, Xen. Just before she showed up here, Mercy traveled to Ash and accused Answer of hiding Grace from her. It very nearly came to blows. The Triads were formed up and ready to smack down a goddess. Gisele and Wolf stood up with the witches and told her that they didn't have Grace, but if she came, they damn well would give her sanctuary. She left, and came back here. Seriously pissed, as you no doubt noticed. I have no idea where she might be now, so watch yourselves. She may be back, yet again, and feeling grudgy."

  "Yeah. The boss has ordered me to stay here, in disguise and keep an eye out for either Mercy or Art, so I'll be around if you need help." His fingers touched the paper in his pocket. And I really hope they don't show up, because Janic gave me leave to end any possible threat, however I needed to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Winter 1393, day 9

  Karista, Kingdom of the West

  Indigo took every bit of advice and turned it on its head. She jumped down stairs, rode her poor horse hard and fast, pulled up power and did things without channeling, but despite the monumental headache it was as useless as all the herbal teas she ought to be avoiding.

  The Prince was to be buried in a fancy, partly public, ceremony, in three weeks.

  There was no rush, the freezing weather was holding on. Not that they couldn't get a hole dug if they really wanted to. But the royal tradition of returning to the earth, rather than erecting elaborate above ground mausoleums was reason enough for delay. Some people said it was to give Prince Staven time to recover. Others that they wanted to catch the murderer, and put the suspicions to rest with the prince.

  Closed coffin. She'd heard that they'd killed and cut open every lizard for miles around the Inn, to find all the pieces.

  The last balls of the Winter Season had been cancelled.

  She stood in line to parade past the closed coffin with the rest of the family, paying her respects. Such as they were.

  Dusty had been staying with her, and they had been practicing with Mihaela . . . Indigo had dragged the rest of her triad to the viewing. As she walked in, several of the Members of the Council stomped out of a back room and opened the Crown Prince's coffin.

  "Some of us need to know." The Councilor looked down and paled. "Lizards killed him? Lizards?"

  "They are reported to be very large lizards, sir."

  "Who would believe such a thing?"

  Indigo averted her eyes and shuffled past, Lord Hell's arm went around her shoulder and he kept himself between her and the coffin. Mihaela was the only one who cried. What a softy.

  Back outside, Nik spotted them and brought up the carriage. Tir jumped down and opened the doors and Lord Hell handed her in first, then Dusty, and then Trump. Then the other sisters.

  Hell was very quiet through the rest of the ride, and when they returned to the Temple Grounds where their corridor home was placed, insisted that she and Dusty needed to see Lady Gisele.

  Trump was frowning at him. "Whatever for?"

  "Everyone was looking at them. The crowds outside, the people in line. We need to find out."

  He swung up to the driver's bench, and Nik steered the carriage toward the spot on the marble wall that Lord Hell pointed at. The mares trotted smartly through, onto the rough ground around the grange barn. They swung onto the road and drove down to the new inn. Indigo had grown up on the island, but visited here so often . . . Lady Gisele's herb garden was fragrant even in winter. It smelled like home.

  She was young and beautiful today, and looked thoughtfully at the two girls. "Trump, you need to start steering your girls away from these orgies. I think one man, one time should be your rule." She placed her delicate hands on Indigo's belly. "Twins, boys. That's going to make for an interesting problem." She turned to Dusty, and shook her head. "Dear, one man once, should you ever be so brave again. You haven't ovulated yet, so nothing is certain, other than the rather large number of follicles developing."

  "Large number?" Dusty whimpered a bit. "How many is large?"

  "Seven, but they won't all actually produce an ova. Come back in a week, and we'll get together with Rustle and see what we can do. No, let me call her now . . . Sit down child, and wait . . . or pace, if that is what you want." Gisele smiled over at the older couple. "So, Trump, are people worshiping the new goddess of fertility yet?"

  Lady Trump tossed her head. "They keep throwing flowers at the corridor on the Temple Grounds, and they drive their wedding carriages past. Old Gods! It's ridiculous."

  Gisele chuckled evilly. "We old gods got our brains scrambled, but it still took time for the Archetypes to sink in and get a grip on us. I think all of you young powerful magic users are vulnerable to being taken, eh, Dark Lady?" She smiled as the door opened again.

  "I hope not. It's not fun getting teleported halfway around the world and into the middle of a crisis when someone prays." Rustle Neverdaut looked as young as Trump, even though they were both forty-two. She listened to the whole story, and then pulled out a spell for Lady Gisele to examine. "Xen's creation. It will kill haploid cells, and not harm diploid cells. So it will kill the sperm. But what about the forming ova? Will it hurt the ovaries if it . . . "

  Gisele smiled, "No. The sites of ova formation are only active once, then die. The rest of the ovarian tissue will be fine." She turned to Dusty. "Dusty, do you want us to use this? It will probably prevent any pregnancy, now. It will probably not harm you."

  "Yes. Please. Quickly. Before something awful happens, and please Lord Hell?"

  Lord Hell stepped back and they could hear his footsteps retreating.

  Gisele chuckled, and made a slight gesture. Indigo thought it ought to have been full of sparkle and grim death. Instead of a casual wave of the hand.

  "I didn't feel anything." Dusty looked worried. Both Rustle and Gisele touched her again.

  "Oh, very nice." Rustle nodded.

  "I'll bet you wish you'd had that back when we were sixteen." Trump smiled toothily at Rustle.

  No! Not the old feud, now!

  "No. Because I'd have used it, and Xen wouldn't exist."

  Trump blinked and looked thoughtful. "Yes. Hmm."

  Indigo trembled on the brink of asking, then ducked her head in shame. To kill two innocent babies with magic would be . . . corrupting. Even when the babies were just pinpoints that would require a microscope to see. But through long experience, witches had learned that the dangers of long term corruption outweighed nearly any short term benefit. She wouldn't ask, nor would she attempt anything else, herself. She caught Lady Gisele's eye, and nod of approval.

  The others filed out of the hut . . . Indigo turned back to the Goddess.

  "I don't understand why Ricardo tried to . . . I don't know . . . Kidnap me?"

  Gisele frowned and touched her again. "Oh. How . . . interesting. It looks like Ricardo has been learning genetic engineering. Oh, nothing strange . . . beyond substituting whole chromosomes. It appears that both your boys will have Rebo's odd Y chromosome, and Ricardo's X chromosome with the wizard gene. Let's see, you're both Blissful's line, your fathers must have been related as well . . . well, with the small founder population, and the comet fall a thousand years ago, we're all pretty inbred. He substituted two others as well."

  Indigo eyed the Goddess. "What other ones did he . . . all of them that were actually different? So essentially I'm going to have Ricardo and Rebo's babies? That's, that's . . . obscene! I swear, I will never ever go to another orgy. Never."

  Trump looked up as Indigo stomped out to join them. "Come alon
g girls. I think we're done here."

  Indigo caught people stopping and looking at her, just in the few steps from corridor to corridor.

  She hustled into the big house. "They are bastards. They can't have anything to do with the succession. They can't. And why am I having boys!"

  Heliotrope was reading in the front room, one foot rocking a large cradle holding her seven month old daughter. She shook her head. "The wizards and such in Rip Crossing have added stuff to the wine. I know they've suppressed the witch immune response, and there have been rumors about them trying to select for blond hair, and tallness and nonsense like that."

  Indigo shook her head at her tall blonde friend and practically foster sister. "Nonsense? You collect twice as many honey bees as the rest of us flowers. Anyway, I'm pregnant with the late Prince Rebo's twin sons." She left out the other part. It was going to require some thought. They ought to be beautiful little boys. I just hope they don't take after their . . . genetic parents' perversions.

  Heliotrope put her book down. "Are you certain?"

  "Xen hypnotized me and took me through the orgy step by step. They were doing illusions and stupid games, but every man I, umm, despite his face had the same birthmark and moles, and that matched the Prince."

  "Ooo, way to go, Indigo!" One of the triplets ducked out of sight. Most likely Will. Phillip and Peter tended toward action over words. Geeze, she should have bit the bullet and seduced one of them. Yuk. But less so than Rebo.

  Hell paced a bit, and his dogs collected at his heels. Bad Sign. "I don't know if there's ever been a bastard that took the throne. Fossi of course is fine as a war leader. But a bastard king? This is going to be a bit messy. Or at least noisy."

  "I hate the collective subconscious." Trump said. "Although losing it would certainly crimp your style, Handsome."

  Hell snorted. "It's something I've learned to not fight. And I suppose the Kingdom and high society can deal with a simple . . . bastard with a witch gene . . . Indigo, do you know who your father is?" He looked around and spotted Zenith.

  Zenith scowled. "It's not decent for a girl to know who . . . " she skittered away as Red lifted his leg. "All right, all right. We, Cost and I, tried to corner Havi again. He was quite nasty about it. I was bruised."

  Hell shook his head. "Witch rapists, armed with wine no doubt."

  "I settled for Weg. Smart fellow, but boring."

  "And he's not a wizard or mage. So the kids might have the witch X, in addition to the royal family's charisma. I hope the Kingdom is up to some magical twins in the two top spots."

  ***

  Garit circulated a bit, then resumed his position in the official mourners corner. His elderly female relatives had taken control and were rotating family members out every few hours. Unfortunately, he was stuck with the company of his oldest sister and Lord Granby, a, umm, first cousin once removed. At fifty-eight the man was already tottering. Or maybe he'd had the good sense to get drunk before he showed up.

  The big airy rotunda was a freestanding structure, out on the palace grounds. More often used for formal garden parties, this was not the first time it had served for public viewing of deceased royals. Hasty modifications to the fences allowed the public to traipse through without totally disrupting the security of the palace. The line of people snaked through one large open arch, past the bier and out another.

  The boredom was only slightly relieved by the Councilmen's insistence on viewing the body. The mortician had done his best, but only so much can be done with teeth marks across a face and a broken nose, and no doubt digestive juices . . . Garit wrenched his imagination away from that memory and went back to crowd watching.

  He spotted Lord Hell shielding his chicks from the sight. One witch, Staven's friend, took one look and burst into tears. Damn it, girl, don't you dare hurt Staven with gossip about you preferring his brother! At least she was reasonably quiet about it, and Lord Hell shepherded them out without stopping to extend condolences.

  The Councilmen departed, two guards stepped up and closed the coffin, garnering about equal parts relief and disappointment from the people trooping through. Sorry folks. Show's over . . .

  The God of Art shoved through the door.

  "Oh. Hell." Garit managed to keep it to a whisper. He looked at the nearest page. "Go find Lieutenant Xen Wolfson, and tell him that Matthew Gallery is here. Be quick." It's been years since Fossi showed me how to shield my thoughts . . . hope I'm remembering it right.

  A babble of protests and belligerent challenges fell silent as Gallery waved a hand back at the entrance. People's hands went to their throats, as their mouths kept working but no sounds emerged. The belligerency faded, and the line started moving in reverse as people decided to leave the interloper to the guards.

  Garit caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A running man, one hand flattening his nose while the other stroked hair that was turning reddish . . . The man slowed to a walk as he walked in the exit and stepped to the side. He looked like a poor, and poorly dressed, citizen who'd wandered by to pay his respects, or at any rate be entertained by a public spectacle. The page must have caught him off duty.

  Garit stepped up and fell in with the other guards as they approached the man.

  The spectators fell back as Gallery reached the coffin, and heaved the lid up. He took a good long look, then let it fall with an irritated growl. "Damn kids just won't do as they're told."

  Garit snorted. "I heard you tried to get them to elope to Verona for a public wedding that the Council couldn't refute."

  Gallery whipped around to eye Garit.

  "For that deliberate attempt to usurp the power of the king, you have been outlawed. But I do not want any violence at my nephew's rites. Please leave the city peacefully."

  The god's lip curled into a sneer. "Prince Garit. How nice to see you again. Do you know where my daughter is?"

  "Haven't seen her for years. Her reputation was rather tattered after the elopement veered off to Rip Crossing for an orgy."

  The man hissed. "Ungrateful little . . . " he disappeared.

  Garit looked over in time to see the redheaded fellow disappear as well.

  I wonder where they went?

  ***

  Xen caught the quick flick of a recognized location, so familiar to the god that it required no thought, and he caught a solid reading of the change in momentum, rotation, acceleration . . . and triggered the traveling spell. And warped light around himself.

  And looked around at the desolation.

  Somewhere out in the New Lands. I wonder how much I missed his coordinates by? Or did he leave already? Maybe he set up an intermediate point in case he was followed.

  He opened the eye slit in the warp wider and took a slow, detailed look around. A glimmer caught his attention. Not a distortion, like a light warp could cause, no, this was up in the air. A long broad patch of the sky that didn't quite match up with the high haze behind it. It's a reflection. From windows, maybe three floors up. The rest of the building must be bubbled. Apart from the doors . . . which ought to be at ground level right over there.

  Nothing there.

  Xen trotted closer. There was a pile of rubble . . . Angled blocks, very much like the sort of thing one got when excavating with slices. He closed his eyes and looked dimensionally . . . yes. There was a bubble. But why the excavation? Even if Gallery had a basement, with a bubble it would just overlap the rock, a physical hole wasn't needed. But with the excavation, Art could drop the outer bubble without adverse consequences.

  Xen coasted around the rubble pile. The far side had been stacked less randomly, and steps led up to the glass doors. Standing all alone, the outside of the building not actually there, in another dimension. Through the doors the interior was visible.

  So . . . what do I do now?

  Oh. Report to the boss and wait for orders.

  Drat.

  But maybe I'll hunker down, out of sight and wait to see if Art is actually here, fir
st. And follow him if he leaves, with or without his museum.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Winter 1393, day 11

  Karista, Kingdom of the West

  Staven looked up as Wacolm stuck his head in the office. Grinning fiercely. "Deena and Easterly are back. They bagged most of the assassins. Literally. They're all wrapped up in those dimensional bubble things. Rufi's trying to get some older, experienced wizards in to help with the . . . magical ones."

  Staven dropped his pen and hustled.

  Rufi waved him over. "Staven, this is Major Lebonift. Lefty, this is Prince Staven."

  "Captain Negue." Lebonift was looking him over . . .

  "Major Lebonift, the explorer?"

  "Yes, despite Rufi's continual attempts to make me stay home and be his tame wizard."

  Rufi just snickered and looked toward the door. "Ah, good, everyone is here. Staven, this is my daughter, Never, and her, umm, husband Dydit Twicecutt. The three of them are going to deal with the . . . magical parts of the first interrogation. We're going to all stand back here and not distract them."

  The woman was tall, thirtyish, with the strong jaw and bright blonde hair that so many of the royal family sported. Must be the youngest of his three witch daughters—although I probably ought not go by his tall tales. The man was tall and broad. Muscular. Brown hair, hazel eyes, his stance an interesting combination of wary, aggressive and arrogant. Where the hell is he from? They're both glowing . . . around shields like Fossi taught me how to make. I think I'm glad I don't know how bright they'd be without shields. He shook hands, awkwardly, left handed. "Dydit? I think Nil mentioned you?"

  "Don't tell me what he said, I have a tender ego."

  He didn't look tender. He looked alert and dangerous.

  The jail was stark and bare, this room was no exception. It was large; from the marks on the floor it was more commonly used for other things. Now it had a table screwed to the floor, and a ring on the table for shackles. Two chairs, likewise screwed into the floor. Colonel Kester had a table in the corner of the room. Pieces of paper with names or descriptions on them. Staven stepped over closer.