The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  My gaze flicked unconsciously toward the darkness beneath the bed, then back toward her as the muscles in my shoulders stiffened defiantly.

  Lizbeth frowned in incomprehension, head turning, and then nodded. “Ah.” Her expression softened. “Not used to beds? Nor baths either, I expect.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in my hair, my face. She’d left me standing over a large tub of water the night before. I’d stared at the water a long time, thinking of the barrel of rainwater I’d used after fleeing the Dredge, wondering why this tub was so large. I’d dipped my arms into the water, shocked at how cold it was. After scrubbing at my arms, I’d discovered the steps on one side and realized I was supposed to climb into the water, like when I was six at Cobbler’s Fountain.

  “Looks like we’ll be needing another bath,” Lizbeth said at the door, more to herself than to me. “Apparently, all that murky water I drained away last night was only the surface dirt. At least today we’ve had time to haul in and heat the water.” She came farther into the room and set the clothes down on the bed, moving carefully. “William explained the situation last night, after I left you at the bath. He said I was to help you . . . adjust.”

  She turned toward me, the harshness I’d seen in her eyes the night before gone. Then she stepped forward, stopping a few paces away with an uncertain smile. “He said to be careful with you. That you might not understand how things are done around the manse, and that anything you wanted was to be provided. Is there anything you’d like this morning?”

  I didn’t answer. She held my gaze a moment, but then her eyes drifted to my clothes.

  “Nothing this morning? Well then, I brought you some new clothes, something better than those rags.” Her eyes returned to mine, narrowed shrewdly. “And I expect you’d like something to eat? Eggs perhaps? Maybe some bacon?”

  I shifted forward and my stomach growled, loudly enough for Lizbeth to hear. I frowned in annoyance, and Lizbeth smiled tightly, trying to control a grin.

  “I thought so. Let’s get you into a bath first, then try out these new clothes, and after that we’ll see what they have in the kitchen. How does that sound?”

  * * *

  Lizbeth led me to a hallway outside a large wooden door three hours later, my skin feeling raw from the bath Lizbeth had presided over, my new clothes scratchy, loose, and smelling of soap. I wore a brown shirt, brown breeches with a thin leather belt, and sandals. My hair hung damply around my face in tendrils, my head aching from how often my hair had been pulled by Lizbeth. She’d finally given up trying to untangle it and had cut most of the length away with a pair of scissors. It now hung down to my chin, rather than past my shoulders.

  I’d glared at her the entire time, but she’d ignored me. She’d ignored my grunting protests when she’d tried to dip my head underwater as well, simply placing her hand on the top of my head and pushing me under with surprising strength. She’d soaped up my hair before I’d stopped spluttering, talking the entire time about the manse and how it was run.

  Now, she rapped on the large wooden door and cast one last critical glance over me as I stuffed the last of the buttered bread into my mouth.

  “You’ll do,” she mumbled, then caught my gaze and added sternly, “for now. I’ll show you around the manse once Borund is done with you.” She eyed me carefully for a long moment, and then her eyes softened and she relaxed. Like the white-dusty man had relaxed when he’d seen me take the rolls.

  Something tightened at the base of my throat, hard and hot, making it difficult to swallow the last of the bread. I choked a little, turned away to cough as my eyes blurred with tears.

  When I turned back, she was already halfway down the hall.

  Then the door opened and instinctively I reached for the dagger and backed against the wall.

  I caught myself just as my hand touched steel, recognizing William.

  “Borund’s waiting,” he said, ignoring my sudden movement.

  I straightened and followed him as he turned away, moving into a huge room. I’d thought the bedroom had been large until Lizbeth had led me to the kitchen. But this room was twice the size of the kitchen. The walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of small statues, wooden boxes polished to a high sheen, cut stone, glass vases, candleholders, and plants. A large rug covered most of one wall, above a stone fireplace with no fire, but stained with soot. A large sword, three times the length of my dagger, rested in a sheath on a shelf above the fireplace. The wooden floor of the room was scattered with chairs and rugs and small tables. Most of the objects were obviously from Amenkor, but a few were too exotic, the patterns too strange. An intricately carved staff leaned against one corner, the dancing figures clearly Zorelli.

  Borund sat behind a large desk in the center of the room, papers spread out before him in every direction. William took a seat to Borund’s left behind the desk and pulled a set of neater pages toward himself. He dipped what looked like a stick into a small black bottle and scratched at the pages.

  I halted at the door, wary of the size of the room, then forced myself to move toward the desk.

  Borund sighed in disgust as I approached. “Put half in the warehouse and send the rest on. Send all of the spice to Marlett.”

  “They don’t want the spice,” William said as he made more scratches. “They want the wheat.”

  “Well, they can’t have it. Not at that price. And they won’t be willing to accept the price I would take for it, so they’ll have to choke on the spice.”

  “What if they won’t take it?”

  “Then it will have to rot in our warehouse in Marlett rather than here. We don’t have enough room here.”

  “We don’t have enough room in Marlett either. Not for spice.”

  “Then let it rot on the ship!”

  William stared at Borund with a frown and said distinctly, “Very well.”

  Borund drew in a deep breath, face darkening, then blew out the air in a rush, raising a hand to his forehead. He massaged his temple, then removed the curved wire from his face. This close, in the light streaming in through the windows to one side, I could see glass inside the wires and suddenly realized why they had flashed in the sunlight on the docks. I hadn’t seen the glass in the tavern, nor on the streets outside. It had always been too dark, or I’d been too far away.

  “Apologies, William. I think the attack yesterday has affected me more than I want to admit.”

  “You’ve been working all morning. You should take a rest.”

  Borund grunted. “If only I could. But it’s become so much harder. It’s already midsummer. Winter is approaching fast and we haven’t half of what we need in the warehouses.” He shifted all the papers to one side in a disorderly stack and turned his attention to me.

  His eyes widened in slight surprise. “I see that Lizbeth has been at work. You look . . . like an entirely different person.” He paused and I shifted my stance, weight settling slightly forward, arms spread farther away from my body. My eyes narrowed, face hardened.

  “Ah,” he mumbled. “There’s the Varis I know.”

  My shoulder muscles tensed. “You never told me what you wanted me to do.”

  He smiled, leaned back in his chair. William had set his papers aside and was now organizing Borund’s stack.

  “I want you to protect me. It’s as simple as that. Just as you did last night at the tavern. I want you to accompany me whenever I leave the manse, follow me, like a shadow. Warn me of any dangers, protect me if you need to. But I expect you to warn me first. Is that acceptable?”

  I thought suddenly of Mari, saw Bloodmark kneeling over her, his knife cutting down sharply and deeply, heard her screaming. I saw her trying to push herself upward after Erick had knocked Bloodmark aside, saw her watching me.

  And then, abruptly, I saw the white-dusty man’s face, saw the blood splattered on his forehead and cheeks from the Skewe
d Throne symbol that had been carved into his chest.

  I hadn’t been able to protect them. But I hadn’t realized they needed protection, especially by someone like me. I’d always assumed they could protect themselves.

  I stared into Borund’s eyes—a dark brown, like mud—then drew myself upward and said, “I can protect you.”

  For a moment, I felt a faint curl of the Fire deep inside me rise up, sending a cold shiver through my gut. But then it died.

  “Good,” Borund said, then rose from his seat. William rose as well, putting the neat sheaf of papers to one side. Borund reached for a small pouch on the corner of the desk, lifted it, and held it out for me.

  I frowned, hesitated, then took a step forward to take the pouch.

  It held coins. More coins than I’d seen my entire time on the Dredge.

  Gutterscum didn’t deal in coins.

  I turned a confused glance toward Borund, then William.

  “Those are your wages,” Borund said quietly, his voice gruff, but undercut with a note of pleasure. “It’s what you’ll earn every month you’re in my service. I’ll provide room and board as well of course.” He smiled. “And as much butter as you want.”

  I held the pouch, not knowing what to do with it, until Borund cleared his throat.

  “I’ll have Lizbeth put that in your room for you,” he said, leaning across the desk to take the pouch back. “For now, let’s begin with a courteous visit to our dear friend Charls.”

  His voice was light and carefree, but tinged with darkness.

  We stepped out into sunlight through a polished wooden door twice my width, banded with iron. Three wide, curved, tiered steps led down to a white-cobbled path wider than the Dredge. It led straight through the garden I’d seen in the darkness last night to an open front gate. Trees rustled in the sunlight. Gerrold waited at the bottom of the steps with three horses and a young boy I didn’t know holding the three sets of reins. One of the horses stamped its foot and shook its head.

  My eyes narrowed as Borund and William moved toward the horses. I stayed on the rounded top of the stairs, by the door. On the Dredge, horses were to be avoided, unless they could be ducked under for a quick but dangerous escape. Most were larger than me, and definitely heavier.

  Borund was already seated before he realized I hadn’t moved. “I assume you haven’t ridden,” he said dryly.

  “No.”

  He frowned. “That will have to change. But not today. We’ll move slow enough you can follow.” He turned toward Gerrold. “Gerrold, you should have known she couldn’t ride.”

  The man ducked his head briefly. “My apologies. I didn’t think, sir.”

  Borund nudged the horse toward the gate.

  William mounted with smooth skill, then motioned the boy and the remaining horse along another path toward the back of the manse. He turned toward me. “The horse won’t bite,” he said. “Come and touch him.”

  Ahead, Borund had paused, had turned back in his saddle to watch, annoyed.

  I came down the steps reluctantly, halted just out of reach of the horse. He snorted, nosed forward as if trying to smell me, but William kept him in check with the reins and a soft clicking sound. The horse’s ears swiveled back at the noise, then forward as he lowered his head.

  I had to look up into his eyes, but I reached out tentatively with one hand, glancing toward William. William smiled and nodded his head, so I touched the horse on its neck.

  The horse remained still, not moving, a shudder running down the muscles in his neck. The short brown hair felt smooth and warm in the sunlight, taut with energy, ready for motion. I stroked the horse’s neck and the creature snorted again.

  I smiled and laughed, the sound strange and startling in the late morning stillness.

  When I looked up toward William, he was grinning, his face open, easy to read, his eyes bright. “I never would have thought to hear you laugh,” he said, and then he laughed himself, as if the statement were somehow absurd.

  He turned the horse, slowly, so the movement wouldn’t startle me. Farther down the path, Borund turned back to the gate. His annoyance had vanished, replaced by amused tolerance. I fell into step a few paces away from William and his horse, far enough to run if necessary, but close enough I could still smell the horse’s dark humid sweat.

  “The horse’s name is Fetlock,” William said as we caught up to Borund and entered the street, “and Borund’s mount is called Brindle, because Gart—the stableboy—thought the horse’s color was shit-brindle brown when we bought him. The name stuck.”

  Borund snorted and mumbled, “Bloody stupid name,” under his breath, shaking his head. But he was smiling. He reached forward and patted Brindle’s neck roughly, the horse nodding his head as if in agreement.

  The streets of Amenkor this close to the palace were practically empty and I gazed up at the sky as I had done on the Dredge, raising one hand to shade away the sun. There were no clouds today, the sky a pure blue. A steady breeze blew in from the harbor.

  I let my gaze drop to the water of the harbor. Borund’s manse was situated high enough up the slope that I could see down over the rooftops to the wharf, could see the masts of the ships tied at the docks. More ships sat in the harbor itself, appearing calm amid the slate gray of the waves.

  I ignored the far side of the bay to my left, across the River, where the Dredge ran. Instead, I turned my gaze in the other direction, upward, toward the palace.

  In the sunlight, the walls seemed smooth, colored like brown eggshell, with only a few windows at the lower levels. There were three layers of walls, the palace offset from the center inside the third wall, a few towers rising into the empty sky. Flags and banners flapped in the wind, too far away to be heard, their colors bright against the light brown of the palace and the sky.

  “That’s where we’re headed,” William said beside me, nodding toward the palace and the walls. “The old city. It’s where we’re most likely to find Charls this time of day.”

  I stared at what I could see of the palace between the buildings and above the walls a long moment, then turned my attention to the street. We were moving from the mostly empty streets where Borund’s manse lay into more crowded areas, and almost without thought I slid beneath the river.

  It was just like the Dredge. Or the wharf. A world of gray and red, a wash of sound in the background.

  The tension in my shoulders and back shifted, from nervousness about the horses and William and Borund, to apprehension about protecting them from Charls. I could still feel the tavern, the desperation as I’d fought through the crowded tables, searching. I glanced up to William to see if he’d noticed, but he was watching the street intently, frowning, as focused as I was. He could still feel the tavern as well. I could see it in his eyes.

  So I turned back to the street and with a subtle push on the river felt it shift, new people emerging to the fore, those that were possible threats to Borund. Those that were threats to me—the guardsmen, men with visible weapons—mostly slid into the background, a bleached red.

  I settled in to watch.

  We emerged onto a wide, crowded street and turned into the general flow heading up toward the palace. The noise increased, people shouting, hawkers bellowing, men cursing. The crush of horses and men—many more horses than I was used to—forced me to walk closer to William and Fetlock, almost touching the horse’s side. Up ahead, I could see the first wall, an arched gateway standing open to the street. As we approached, the crush of bodies grew worse, as bad as the press of the tavern, tight and restrictive. The background noise beneath the river tripled and I felt my control beginning to slip, felt sweat break out on my back, in my armpits, felt my breathing increase.

  Then we were through the gate, past the wall, and the crowd fell back, loosened.

  I blew out a held breath, then steadied. Neither Borun
d nor William seemed to notice me or the crowds, continuing on up toward the second wall.

  I tried to calm myself, my heart still shuddering in my chest.

  “This is the outer circle,” William suddenly said, motioning toward the surrounding buildings, “or rather, outer oval. This is where most of the merchants live, along with a few of the highest-ranking Guard and sea captains. Those with some influence. Essentially it’s a residential area, close to the palace for when there’s a need for the merchants to speak with Avrell, the First of the Mistress—or, more rarely, the Mistress herself—about trade negotiations and how they might affect the city or our relations to the surrounding cities of the coast. It’s also close to the guild halls in the middle circle, and the wharf and the warehouse district below, on the harbor. Borund could live here if he wanted, but chose to live below, in the city. He always felt that living here would distance him from the everyday man. He was raised near the wharf, built his merchant house out of nothing but spit and hard work.” William had straightened in his saddle, watched the passing buildings with a strange hope in his eyes. Almost under his breath, he added, “I want to live here someday, though.”

  I glanced around and frowned. This close to the main street, the buildings were tight together, almost as tight as the Dredge, and each doorway had a painted sign over it, all with designs that had no meaning to me. Two crossed swords on one, a three-masted ship on another. One seemed to be three squiggled lines, like waves. Through the paned windows, I could see mostly empty rooms, the only furnishings desks and chairs and high countertops. Shelves lined the walls, packed with statues and plants like Borund’s room. A few had large sacks and barrels instead. Most had sheaves of papers scattered over the desks and on the walls. And then I noticed that here and there, almost lost among the rest of the shops, were a few empty buildings, doors closed, windows boarded up. The empty buildings sent a cold shudder across my shoulders, as if someone had just breathed against the nape of my neck.