Regin halted, his jaw clenched. Raw hatred blazed in his eyes, but it was not directed at me. Alendor’s betrayal had cut Regin deeply. He wanted more than just Alendor’s downfall. He wanted Alendor dead.
I drew back from Regin’s gaze, glanced quickly at Borund and Yvan, saw the same rage in their eyes, then turned to Avrell.
“Is there anything else that can be done?”
“Outside of the city?” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “You, as Mistress of Amenkor, can contact the rulers of the surrounding cities and warn them of Alendor and his cohorts, ask them to use their own guard to watch for him and—if he is found—send him back to Amenkor for punishment. Those that we have good relations with at the moment—Venitte, Merrell, some others—will agree, and if they find him, return him to us.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “You can also send the Seekers.”
I straightened where I sat, but before I could say anything, he halted me with a frown.
“There is a risk in sending the Seekers after targets beyond the city of Amenkor. The rulers of the surrounding cities do not take kindly to having Amenkor assassins roaming their streets in search of citizens.”
“Even for known criminals?”
“Even for known criminals. Sending the Seekers beyond Amenkor should only be done in an extreme situation. Since we don’t even know in which direction Alendor may have run . . .”
He let the thought trail off and I grimaced.
“I want him found,” I said, and heard more emotion in my own voice than I had intended. I could still hear Alendor’s voice ordering Borund’s death, could hear the cold, businesslike finality in it.
“He will be found,” Avrell answered. “My contacts in all of the ports will keep their eyes open. He cannot hide forever.”
Not completely satisfied, I turned to Regin. “What about the other ports? Have you sent word to them, warned them?”
Borund cleared his throat. “Our main form of communication with the guilds in other cities is through our ships. Since the harbor has been closed to trade . . .” He shrugged.
Regin picked up the thread. “We sent word overland, but that takes time. Now that the harbor is open again, the word will spread more quickly. The merchants’ guild will keep its eyes open for Alendor as well.”
I nodded. “And what of Alendor’s—and the other merchants’—resources?”
“They couldn’t have loaded everything up and left, at least not by ship,” Avrell said. “The harbor had been blockaded by then. And taking everything by wagon or cart would have attracted too much notice. They must have left something behind. But I have no idea where they may have stored goods besides the warehouse district. That’s a guild matter.”
Regin stirred. “I believe we can search the guild records to see what property each of the members of the consortium owned. Then, perhaps, with the city guard’s help, any stores left behind could be seized by the guild and allocated to the remaining guild members—”
“How?” Yvan interrupted. His voice was like stone grating against stone, rumbling from his chest as if from the bottom of an empty barrel.
“I don’t understand—” Regin began, but Yvan cut him off.
“How are you going to allocate it to the remaining guild members? Evenly? By percentage of the share in the guild? By status? Does Borund gain more from the seizure simply because he owns more property than I do?”
“I’m certain that the guild can come up with a fair method of distributing what we seize.” Regin’s voice was laced with heat and an undertone of warning.
Unconsciously I slid beneath the river and almost recoiled at the blatant hostility I found seething on the currents. Hostility toward each other that had not shown in the merchants’ faces a few moments before.
Yvan shifted forward, the motion requiring some effort. His voice was laced with suspicion. “Perhaps we should discuss that among the guild members before we attempt to seize any abandoned property.”
“That,” Regin declared, going rigid, “would be a waste of time.”
The two locked gazes, both bristling, like two mongrel dogs on the Dredge preparing to fight over a rotting fish head. Yvan leaned farther forward, ready to respond. . . .
And another voice intervened, sliding smoothly along the currents of the river.
Take it. Take it all.
I tensed, my forehead creasing as I frowned. The soft, sibilant voice was barely more than a whisper, and with it came the heady scent of oak and wine. I breathed in the scent deeply, then halted.
The voice had come from the river, had come from the throne.
Pushing the argument between Regin and Yvan into the background rush of the wind, I dove deep, caught the scent again and followed it, down and down, until I came up to the edge of the spherical Fire at my core that kept the voices of the Skewed Throne in check. Through the white blaze I could sense a woman, the smell of oak and wine strong, constant. An older woman, her essence solid and consistent, removed from the rest of the maelstrom of the other voices. I could feel her holding herself together, resisting the pull of the rest of the throne.
Who are you? I demanded, but she ignored me.
Look at them. Her voice shook with contempt, with the effort to hold herself together against the chaos. Look at them bickering. How petty.
I turned back, saw Regin and Yvan arguing, Borund breaking in now and then, trying to calm them down. Both men seethed with aggression, both trying to gain the upper hand.
I felt a bubble of contempt well up inside me, acid with anger.
They’re fighting over food, Varis. Over food that belongs to the city. Food that the city needs to survive. We won’t last through the winter if they control everything. They’ll hoard it, ration it, give themselves more and give the people of the Dredge less. They don’t care about the gutterscum. They’d rather the gutterscum die.
The bubble of contempt rose higher. I could taste it now, the anger like ash in the back of my throat.
Behind the Fire, I felt the presence of the woman ease forward, closer to the white flames. They reacted, the wall of the sphere thickening, pulsing, but the woman didn’t waver, didn’t back off.
You’re the Mistress, Varis, she whispered softly. The city and everything in it is yours.
The Fire thickened even more. Regin and Yvan were close together now, faces barely inches apart, eyes locked, both hard and unrelenting. Avrell sat back silently, watching, his eyes intent, calculating. Borund sat nervously, uncertain whether he should interfere more than he already had.
You can simply take everything, the woman said, voice low and reasonable, and so close now I could almost feel it, like a breath against my neck, cold and vibrant. Let me help you, Varis. Let me out . . . so I can help.
I snapped around.
“No!”
I forced the Fire toward her, eyes blazing, and the woman jerked back with a cry of fear and hatred. I’d startled her out of her carefully held control, and with a shriek of triumph the maelstrom of the throne took her, dragging her down as she cursed and screamed.
Within moments she was lost, trapped again by the throne, her scent mingling with all the others.
I turned back, a sheen of sweat touching my forehead, the palms of my hands. Avrell, Borund, and the two merchants were watching me, startled, and I suddenly realized I’d shouted out loud. And that the bubble of contempt and anger remained.
I glared at both Regin and Yvan. Regin drew breath to speak, but he never got the chance.
“Enough,” I spat. The raw edge in my voice silenced everyone, forced Yvan to lean back in shock. I was breathing hard, almost shaking. But the woman, whoever she had been, was right. I was the Mistress.
“The guild will get none of the resources left behind by the consortium.” Regin and Yvan instantly shifted forward to protest, but I cut them off.
“Everything will be seized by the Skewed Throne, stored by the palace wherever I see fit, and protected by the city guard. That can be done?”
I glanced at Avrell for confirmation, suddenly uncertain, and he nodded once, abruptly, as shocked as the merchants. But Avrell was recovering already. I could see it in his eyes, along with approval.
“You,” I said, turning back to Regin, “will provide the guard with a list of all of the properties owned by Alendor and the consortium, as well as lists of all the food you and the remaining merchants have stored in the city.”
“But,” Regin interposed, “the trade of the city has always been carried out by the merchants’ guild.”
“Not this winter.”
“Mistress,” Yvan began, voice as slick and reasonable as the woman from the Fire’s had been, and just as false.
“No,” I growled. “This winter the merchants will work with me so that everyone gets fed and survives to the spring harvest. Everyone.” I switched my attention back to Regin. “Don’t force me to seize more than just the consortium’s property, Master Regin.”
Regin halted, his eyes hooded with anger at the threat, but he backed off. Yvan did the same, reluctantly, with a low, dangerous grumble.
There was a moment of tense silence, then everyone turned at a clink of glass, movements sharp. Marielle stood uncertainly in the entryway, holding a large platter of food and drink. She bowed slightly, balancing the weight of the platter.
“I thought some food and wine would be appreciated,” she said, glancing in my direction, eyes questioning.
I nodded.
As she went about setting up the food at the various tables, the tension in the room eased. No one spoke, Regin and Yvan watching me carefully, Borund glancing back and forth between them and Avrell. Avrell was subdued, hands folded neatly in his lap, his eyes hooded, deep in thought.
When Marielle came forward offering drinks, Borund coughed. “Mistress, I’ve brought the lists of my own resources within the city, as well as those I have stored in other cities that there is still time to reach before winter. As you requested.”
He passed the papers to me, script neat and orderly on every page. But it was completely meaningless because I couldn’t read.
I hesitated, staring down at the pages in my hand blankly. All of the confidence I’d felt a moment before fled, replaced by a sudden sense of inadequacy. A shudder ran through me, and I became aware of how Regin and Yvan must see me: a fraud. Gutterscum risen above her station. A street player, mimicking the Mistress.
The awkward silence in the room shifted. Both Regin and Yvan sat back uncomfortably. Borund suddenly realized his mistake and began to color.
Before the full horror could set in, I felt a hand against my arm. I jumped.
Avrell had leaned forward to take the papers. “Allow me, Mistress?”
I nodded and he took the papers, sat back, and glanced through each page, lips thinning.
After a long moment, he looked toward Regin and Yvan. “And your own reports?”
Both Regin and Yvan straightened where they sat, but said nothing.
“The Mistress did request that you bring a report with you today, did she not?”
“Yes, but—”
“I see.”
Regin bristled. “It was not possible to get a full accounting in such a short amount of time.”
Avrell blinked. “Are you telling me that one of the most powerful merchants—no, now that Alendor is gone, you are the most powerful merchant in Amenkor, are you not?”
Regin nodded.
“Are you telling me, then, that the most powerful merchant in Amenkor does not know what his own assets are on a day’s notice? I find that impossible to believe, Master Regin. Most impossible.” Avrell’s eyes darkened, his voice tinged with anger.
Regin fidgeted where he sat, then exhaled. “A report will be sent immediately.”
Avrell turned his stare on Yvan, who grumbled, “From my house as well.”
“Good.” Avrell shot a questioning glance toward me, but I had not quite recovered and motioned for him to continue. “Then we can turn to the real question: do we have enough to survive the winter? Taking into account all of the combined merchant houses and their resources, sparing nothing.”
“And the fact that we must feed the entire city,” I interjected, shooting a hard look at Regin. “All of it. Those on the Dredge included.”
Regin frowned, glancing toward Borund and Yvan before turning back to me.
I read the answer in his eyes before he spoke.
“No.”
There was a collective, drawn-out silence. No one reached for their drinks, or the small plates of food Marielle had set beside each one of us as we spoke. Marielle herself stood silently beside the tray of food, her fingers drumming lightly against the side of the bottle of wine. Her eyes caught mine, wide and fearful. She bit her lip before turning away.
“How bad is it?” Avrell finally asked.
Borund stirred. “Right now, there’s enough that the entire city won’t starve, but not enough to feed everyone. I’d say we can feed half the population for the winter with what we have already stored in the city, making certain assumptions about what portion of Alendor’s supplies remain. Some of what was lost can be replaced if we bring in whatever the fishing boats can catch over the next month, before the water becomes too hazardous to fish.”
“What about the ships that have already left?” I asked.
Regin shook his head. “They’re trading mainly for land goods—fruits, vegetables, salted meats, and grains. If all of them find trade goods it’s possible that they will return with enough food to supplement what we have and last through to the early spring harvest, but we aren’t the only city facing starvation this season. The autumn harvest was not good anywhere on the Frigean coast—too much rain in some parts, not enough in others—and the trade routes to Kandish across the mountains and to the other eastern countries were cut off.”
“Why?”
“Heavy snowfall in the passes would account for some of it, but not all,” Avrell said. He seemed as troubled as the merchants. “Something more serious has happened to the east, but we have had no word yet on what that might have been. None of our envoys have returned, and I’ve received no messages from any of my diplomatic sources. There was a certain amount of political unrest in the area in the last few years, especially regarding the aging emperor and his succession. It’s possible that he has died and there is a succession war going on that has closed down the communication lines. But this is purely speculation.”
Avrell’s report was followed by silence. I knew nothing of the eastern cities.
Regin cleared his throat. “The ships we sent should return with some food, since each of us had some stored in other cities—”
“If the rulers of those cities haven’t seized it yet,” Yvan rumbled.
Regin frowned but continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “However, I’m not certain how many new resources they will be able to find and purchase.”
“Hopefully, it will be enough,” Borund said, his voice low.
“When will we know?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Regin answered. “The earliest the ships will return is sometime next week. We can expect them to arrive any time after that for about two weeks, but a month from now we can’t expect any more to return. The seas will be too rough for safe passage. That’s why it was imperative that the harbor be reopened now. It will take a month for some of the ships to reach their intended ports and then return.”
Another moment of silence.
“Then send out the fishing fleets,” I said abruptly. “Bring in as much fish and crab as you can. We’ll determine how to distribute what we have later, once we have a full accounting from everyone, and once the ships have returned. In the meantime,
I suggest we start rationing now.”
Regin and Yvan took this as a dismissal, downing their glasses of wine quickly before exiting with perfunctory bows. Borund followed more slowly.
As he stepped to the outer corridor, he paused to give a respectful bow. “It is good to see you well, Va—” He caught himself with a self-deprecating smile. “Mistress.”
Then he left. I watched his departing back and realized that things had changed irrevocably between us. I was no longer his bodyguard, no longer took his orders. But there was still an intangible connection between us. We’d always been uncertain of how to treat each other.
But his absence didn’t hurt as much as Erick’s.
Avrell sipped at his wine, set it aside slowly before turning to me. “You cannot read, can you?”
I felt myself harden defensively. “There’s no need to read on the Dredge, and Borund never found the time to teach me.”
“I see.” Avrell reached down to collect the loose pages of Borund’s report, not reacting to my anger. “We shall have to find someone to teach you. Perhaps Marielle?”
Marielle stilled at the mention of her name, a thread of fear coursing through the river. A fear associated with Avrell. But it was fleeting. Without a word, she turned back to picking up the plates and glasses the merchants had left behind.
“In the meantime,” Avrell continued, “I can keep track of all of the reports and papers that you need.”
I frowned. I didn’t know how much I trusted Avrell—didn’t know how much I trusted anyone yet, besides Erick and Borund. But there was no one else.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 36