Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “And what good will that do any of us, Valide? If he dies we have no Zar and the fabric of our society is destroyed. As long as Boaz lives, as long as there is a threat that he can sire more heirs of the royal bloodline, Galinsea will not prevail.”

  Herezah was shocked by Tariq’s attitude; she had always assumed him to be a coward. And it surprised her even more that she could appreciate the sense of what the Grand Vizier was promoting. She had expected the exchange of favor to be something of a far more personal nature–riches, land, perhaps even use of her body for his own relief. But certainly not a maneuver that protected Percheron’s Crown. “What do you suggest?”

  “I had made arrangements for us to go upstream into the foothills but he ridiculed that suggestion.”

  “He would see it as cowardly. To be honest, I thought you were protecting yourself, but now I realize that’s not your intention, is it?” When he gravely shook his head, Herezah believed he could have no other agenda. “You have spent enough time in the company of my son to know how seriously he takes his position as ruler. On his very deathbed, his father impressed upon the boy his role–how he had been chosen because no one else was better suited to rule than Boaz. He is still so young. His head is filled with idealistic notions of being a grand, wise, and much-beloved Zar.”

  “I’m approaching this the wrong way–is that what you’re saying, Valide?”

  “Precisely. You need to come up with a plan that plays to his sense of the heroic. Boaz has been such a studious, serious boy all his life. He reveres Lazar, most likely because of the Spur’s devil-may-care attitude. Did you see how the tale of how Lazar fought all those attackers fired Boaz’s imagination when he heard it?”

  Tariq considered the Valide. She could all but see his mind working, accepting that what she was advising was true. “Have you any advice on how we might encourage the Zar to place himself in safety, then? Perhaps even where he may agree to go?”

  Herezah paused. Suddenly a new thought occurred to her, a notion that was so neat in the way it dovetailed into her own plans, she nearly hugged herself.

  “Valide? You are smiling,” Tariq said. “Have you an idea?”

  “I do, Grand Vizier. And it’s perfect. I shall suggest to my son–and you will support this suggestion with vigor–that he accompany Lazar on his quest to secure the heir. In all truth, Boaz is safer with Lazar than anyone else. And the Spur would never put him in danger, so I imagine he will find ways to leave Boaz behind once he knows where Ana is. Boaz has never been out of the palace grounds, save for one or two trips to the bazaar when he was quite young. That’s probably why Ana intrigued him so much; she was so daring. He will relish the opportunity to travel alongside the Spur into the desert and on the hunt for his wife. It has the right balance of the romantic and the heroic to appeal to him.”

  “Valide, that is a masterful plan. I think he might actually go along with that.”

  “Then you keep your promise to me, Grand Vizier, and I shall do the same for you.”

  “Just one more thing.”

  “Yes?” She had been turning to leave.

  “I intend to go with the Zar.”

  “What? I can’t make that happen.”

  “But you will try.”

  “Why, Tariq? Why would you want to go back into that place?”

  “I am no use here without a word of Galinsean to my name, Valide, and should Lazar leave Boaz behind, the Zar will need someone at his side. I can’t protect him physically with a weapon but I can protect him through wisdom. We will, of course, have to take some of the Mute Guard.”

  Herezah nodded. It was of no consequence to her where the Grand Vizier went and in fact this played even more to her advantage. “You speak to him today, Tariq, and clear this business of my union with Lazar. Then I will attempt what you ask.”

  He bowed. She acknowledged his obeisance with a nod, relishing the idea that she would not only be the highest-ranking royal left behind in the city, but that without the Grand Vizier, her role might be even more critical. She watched Tariq make to leave. She would force herself not to be scared of the Galinseans. They didn’t seem to be keen to raid the city yet. Perhaps diplomacy would prevail. She shivered with delight, suddenly remembered Boaz’s news, and said to the Grand Vizier’s back, “By the way, Tariq, have you heard that the dwarf has turned up?”

  9

  Maliz was fuming. He slammed the door behind him as he entered his official chambers in the palace. Pez back! How could that be? How could the dwarf have survived alone in the desert, when three people of sound mind barely returned in one piece? He had hoped they were well rid of the freak, who seemed to have a curiously strong friendship with the Zar, the Spur, and the Zaradine, even though he spoke such gibberish all the time.

  Maliz had been suspicious of the dwarf for a long time now but he had watched him carefully for more than a year and not once had Pez given him any reason to believe that he was involved with Lyana’s rising. At first he’d thought the dwarf might be Iridor, and certainly Iridor had come into being again or Maliz would not have been called from his slumbers, but the dwarf was too stupid, too frustrating with his moods and idiocy, to have anything on his mind except his own lunatic thoughts. No, Iridor was wily and cunning. Lyana’s messenger paved the way for her arrival, discovering ally and foe alike, passing on messages to other disciples of the Goddess, and warning them of their enemies. Pez did nothing except drool, make bodily odors and noises, and apparently amuse most, although he certainly didn’t amuse the Grand Vizier. Who was Iridor? The old priestess at Lyana’s temple had claimed that Salmeo was Iridor! She had clung to her loyalty to the last–a brave woman indeed. And although Maliz laughed at the suggestion, he had also taken precaution, made sure he “accidentally” touched the great eunuch on several occasions to reassure himself that no magic flowed through the head of the harem. Boaz had flitted through his mind as a possible candidate but the same “inadvertent” touches had revealed that no magic ran through the Zar. Salazin, all the Mutes, in fact, and great numbers of the Elim had been checked using the same ploy. No luck. Iridor evaded him. The demigod was always male; so Maliz didn’t have to concern himself that it could be Herezah or Ana or indeed any of the women of the harem, or the palace servants. He had even taken to roaming the streets in a jamoosh, brushing past countless unsuspecting Percherese, in the vague hope that he might stumble upon Iridor, but so far his travels had brought him no closer to his goal.

  He had kicked himself upon realizing that Kett, the young eunuch who had niggled in his mind seventeen moons ago, had been the one called the Raven, the bird of omens. He wondered what message the blackbird had brought. If only he had listened to his instincts as he normally did, he might have had the opportunity to interrogate the black servant. But he had been so distracted by events that he had not paid attention to Kett until it was too late. That had been a costly mistake. But it was no use crying over it. None of it explained Iridor.

  Again he was brought back to the dwarf and all of his supporters. Ana he had touched–she had no magic that he could feel or sense. Lyana couldn’t have risen anyway because Maliz had not felt anything akin to the usual surge of power. He was sure of that. Apart from that moment in the desert when he had been awoken and felt a muted response to something magical, anything that might have prompted him to have the stirrings of Lyana’s awakening amounted to nothing but confusion. As for Lazar, the Galinsean Prince had not permitted himself to be touched; that made him a suspect but it didn’t fit, not with all the sickness and heroics.

  Maliz frowned in frustraton. Iridor and Lyana’s magics were not closed to him. He was connected to them; they had never been able to hide from him, but this time, although he sensed their presence, he could not lock his focus onto anyone in particular. He would need to go back over everything. Surely he had missed some crucial clue. But his immediate focus now was to keep Boaz’s body safe. The Zar’s harem was to be the demon’s playground and no Galins
ean war was going to stop Maliz having what he wanted.

  Regarding the Valide’s problem, he was baffled by Herezah’s claims of being in love with Lazar. That the Valide had finally followed through on the yearning that was transparent to all was not so much of a shock, but that the Spur had not only welcomed such attention but actively sought it didn’t fit the picture that Maliz had of Lazar. Tariq’s memories told him only of the traditional rancor between the head of security and Joreb’s Absolute Favorite. It didn’t make sense, but then the relationships between mortals rarely did. They were a contrary bunch, prone to unexpected divergences from original pathways regarding their desires.

  Ah, how this strange plot thickens, he said to himself. He would go along with the Valide’s needs because it suited him. He didn’t relish another trip into the desert with all of its inherent dangers, especially as he was still vulnerable in Tariq’s body until Lyana’s rising brought forth his full powers–and immortality. But Galinsean invasion posed a far greater threat to himself and the Zar whose body and status he wanted too badly to waste.

  Maliz knew he needed a plan. He must find the dwarf and satisfy himself once and for all over Pez’s madness.

  Pez was with Lazar at the Spur’s house. They were sharing a kerrosh that Pez had brewed as the soldier readied himself for travel.

  “Are you going to tell me what else is on your mind, other than racing off into the desert to find Ana?”

  “Apart from war, you mean? Or on top of the fact that the father I haven’t seen in almost two decades might be leading that war? Or–here’s a good one–how about the fact that Percheron may well be decimated on account of me!”

  “Stop it! I don’t mean any of that. I mean, what has made you so angry this morning?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Lazar said, stuffing a few items into a sack.

  “I’ve known you long enough. You’re the most irritable person who stomps this realm and yet I can see genuine angst written on your expression.”

  “Don’t pry, Pez.”

  “Why not? What secret could you have from me when you shared the deepest held secret of all?”

  “And you didn’t hold on to that one at all well.”

  Pez glared at him. “I held it for those two decades you speak of. I divulged it to the one person you personally sanctioned to have the knowledge upon your death. You alone chose to tell the next person.”

  Lazar put a hand in the air to stop the dwarf ’s tirade. “All right. I’m sorry.”

  Pez rubbed his hands, reached for the cup with the dregs of his drink. “Ooh, not like you to apologize over anything, Lazar. Something has pricked you. Tell me.”

  The Spur sighed. “Herezah made her move,” he said baldly.

  The kerrosh Pez had sipped spluttered back out of his mouth in shock at Lazar’s claim. “How bad was it?”

  “About as bad as it could get. She wasn’t taking no for an answer and I was cornered and in no fit state to do much about her advances. Worse, I felt sad for her.”

  “Sad? Herezah?” Pez queried, aghast. “I don’t usually put that sentiment together with that woman.”

  “She has taken very good care of me. Without her efforts and determination I might have taken a lot longer to recover.”

  “True.”

  Lazar ran his hands through his hair with frustration, growling as he did so. “It was so humiliating. I can fully understand how Joreb fell under her spell, Pez, that’s the truth of it. I was helpless not just because of my condition but simply because I’m a man. That close to such generous invitation, my resistance broke.”

  “You’ve managed to resist for so many years,” Pez commented, an overlay of disgust in his tone.

  “I’ve never been at her mercy as I was this morning.”

  Pez blinked slowly. “How far did it go?”

  “Far enough.”

  “And the mortification happened why?” Pez asked, frowning.

  “Salmeo walked in on us.”

  Pez’s eyes widened. “I understand now,” he finally said. “How was it handled?”

  “I have to say the Valide was magnificent in her temper but I don’t believe it was anger at being discovered so much as being interrupted,” Lazar admitted wryly.

  “And you?”

  “Sheer relief, if I’m honest. I was a lamb to the slaughter and the blade was poised. It’s not as though I can thank the man. I hate him with all my heart. But he saved us a worse misery. He had come to tell us that Boaz was on his way.”

  Pez made a whistling sound. “So it was going to be bad either way.” Lazar nodded. “But whereas Boaz might be shocked or dismayed, Salmeo will simply use the knowledge.”

  “Of course he will. Salmeo’s whole power base revolves around knowledge and disinformation about others. He will make Herezah pay, certainly, but how he plans to use this against me remains to be seen.”

  “Herezah gets all she deserves, Lazar. I can’t feel a moment of pity for that woman. Don’t tell me you do?”

  Lazar shrugged. “Not pity so much as I realize how magnificent she could be if she were a real queen.”

  “Like your mother?”

  “Yes. She reminds me of her, but Herezah has to use cunning to survive. Her shaky throne extends only around the harem. My mother commands real power from a real throne and over all her subjects. She’s terrifying,” Lazar said ruefully.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. We face much bigger trials and tribulations than Boaz worrying about who his mother lies with. I’m ready. Stay out of sight of the palace. We don’t want anything getting in the way of your coming with me, especially the Grand Vizier. We’ll meet tonight at the rendezvous point.”

  Pez nodded and Lazar locked hands with his friend in farewell.

  “I hear Pez is returned to us, Majesty,” Maliz said lightly. “You must be so relieved.”

  Boaz was signing parchments. “I can’t believe how the gods have smiled upon us in returning him to Percheron.”

  “How extraordinary that he survived the desert.” Maliz watched Bin slide another document before the Zar, whispering its contents.

  Boaz nodded, signed as he replied. “I don’t care how it came about, I’m just glad he lives. I’m not sure he’ll thank me when, through his haze of madness, he realizes I’m sending him back.”

  “Back?”

  “He’s going with Lazar on the hunt for Ana.”

  Maliz reined in his natural desire to take Boaz by the throat and shake him. Did the Zar know something about the dwarf that was eluding him? “How come, Majesty?” he asked, his tone nothing but polite.

  Boaz scrawled the final signature and handed the paper to his assistant. He stood. “He’s company for Lazar, he’s amusement, I hope, for anyone who comes across them–he may make a gift for this Arafanz, who knows. He’s another pair of eyes, however reliable or not they may be.” Boaz shrugged. “He’s dispensable, although I hate to admit that. So few can be spared from the city’s cause.”

  Maliz sensed the Zar was feeding him placations. There was something too neat about this. The dwarf, Lazar, Ana…the connections were too strong in mind. He could not probe further, though, at this stage, he decided; that would have to be done more covertly. “Excellent; if there’s anything I can do to help regarding this clandestine trip, just ask, Majesty. Now, there is something private I need to discuss with you.”

  “You can speak freely in front of Bin.”

  “Er, no, Majesty, I cannot. This is a delicate matter of a personal nature–not to you or me, Highness,” he assured, “but to someone close. I would rather you make your decision later about who might be made privy to the information.”

  “That will be all,” Boaz said to his assistant, who glowered at the Grand Vizier. Maliz couldn’t care less. He waited for the young man to be gone.

  “What is this about, Tariq?”

  “The Valide, Your Majesty.”

  “My mother…w
hat has she been up to now?” the Zar asked wearily.

  “Were you aware, Majesty, that the Valide and the Spur have struck up a sexual relationship?” There was no easy way to say what he needed to–Maliz knew it would be best to be blunt with the young royal.

  “Is this a jest, Tariq? Because–”

  “No jest, my Zar. I speak the plain truth. The Spur and your mother are lovers. They have been for a short while, since she has been caring for him.”

  “Lazar?” Boaz asked, choking back amusement. The older man nodded. “I cannot believe it. You’ve been in the palace all these years, Tariq, you surely appreciate the only barely controlled animosity between those two?”

  “Apparently not so hostile after all, Majesty. The ins and outs of it are irrelevant, my Zar. I’m telling you this for a completely separate reason and not for shock value or titillation. Who your mother spends her private hours with and shares her body with is of no concern to me, so long as it doesn’t spill into the realm’s business.”

  Boaz straightened his expression. “Quite right. And?”

  “Well, it seems they were disturbed in their…well, shall we say disturbed from their privacy earlier today.”

  “By whom were they discovered?”

  “The Grand Master Eunuch, my Zar.” Maliz watched the royal’s top lip all but curl into a sneer.

  “I see.”

  “Your mother, who has been discreet to date, and mindful of not wishing to offend your sensibilities, my Zar, is now extremely fearful that the head of the harem will use this information to either blackmail her or leak it to you in a manner that has serious ramifications.”

  “He is certainly an opportunist,” Boaz responded in a rare show of naked thought.

  Maliz kept his tone even. “I cannot agree with you more, my Zar.”

  “Did my mother ask you to speak with me, Tariq?”

  Maliz adopted a tone of indignation. “Of course not, Highness. She would probably howl for my punishment if she knew I was so much as breathing a word of it to you. But my role is to be your ears and eyes around the palace. It occurred to me this union would only really offend you if you happened upon the information by chance and were in some way embarrassed by it.”