Luto was at her side in a blink. “Angeline!” he cried. “What occurs, my love?” The granitelike expression on his face was gone. Suddenly he was all tenderness and concern.
Herezah was shocked that the Galinsean guard spoke to his queen with such familiarity. She realized instantly that queen and servant were lovers; suddenly the lofty Angeline was not as superior as she behaved but prone to the same base instincts of any mere mortal. But there was no time to dwell on this. Herezah could see the Queen was in desperate trouble. Angeline had begun grasping at the fabric of her robe in an attempt to pull away her clothes, vainly believing it would bring more air into her lungs. Her eyes stared wildly, bulging, begging her lover to help her.
“What is happening?” Herezah whispered, kneeling at the Queen’s side opposite Luto and trying to calm Angeline. But to no avail. The Queen began to thrash uncontrollably as her lips turned blue. Spittle escaped those lips and ran freely down her perfect chin. The once immaculate hair looked as though it belonged to a crazed woman, falling around her ears in wild, sweaty strands.
Herezah could see they were losing her. She must be choking but she had eaten nothing. In her helplessness, Herezah stood up and screamed for the Elim. In seconds men came running from all directions, but by the time the first man had leaped aboard the barge, she could see the light dying from those once intensely gray eyes, now glassy with fright and bloodshot from her exertions.
Herezah noticed the white-knuckled grip of the Queen’s manicured hand around Luto’s great fists, and as a tear leaked from Angeline’s eyes–the only way, it seemed, that she could communicate a farewell to her beloved–she watched the fight for life go out of the woman. Angeline gave one last mighty gasping spasm and died before them, her legs kicked out at an odd angle, her body slumped backward, the sightless eyes staring upward.
“Zarab save us!” Herezah exclaimed, distraught at what she’d witnessed.
Several moments of frigid silence ensued before Luto finally moved. He gravely unwrapped the Queen’s fingers from his own and kissed her hand gently as he tenderly closed her eyes and placed her limp hand in her lap. Then he stood and faced the Crown Valide. “Calling on Zarab is pointless, woman. Your aimless god will not save you or your people from our wrath, slave,” he said imperiously in Percherese.
Slave? Herezah felt herself repeat it silently, mouthing the word as if testing it.
“I would slay you here and now if you were worthy. But never let it be said that a Galinsean king cut down an unarmed woman, a Percherese whore at that.”
“King?” Herezah stammered. “But–” Her mind felt addled by all the shocks.
“I am King Falza. I wish you and the slave son you bore, who dares to call himself royal, dead.”
A unanimous ringing sound was heard on the barge and along the riverbank as two dozen Elim drew their vicious, curved blades.
Herezah looked around wildly. This was not how the meeting was supposed to go. This was not how her daydream had unfolded. “Wait!” she commanded the Elim, turning in full circle so all could hear her. “Stay your weapons.” Herezah moved to face Luto again. “You are truly King Falza?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.”
“She…Queen Angeline called you Luto.”
“A private pet name.”
“I need proof.”
“You demand nothing of me, whore. That I grant you life alone to breathe before me is a wonder to me. You have slain my queen.”
“I did no such thing!” Herezah whispered, terrified for her life now. “Why would I? What in Zarab’s name could I gain from it?”
“Then why? How is she dead?”
Herezah held her face in her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t…was she ailing?”
“Did she look unwell to you?”
Herezah shook her head. “She looked magnificent; she looked to be at the very peak of health,” she answered dolefully as her mind raced to achieve some comprehension of what was unfolding here. “All she has drunk is some wine.”
“You offered me a sip, slut! You tried to kill me!”
Herezah believed she was addressing the much-feared King Falza of Galinsea. “King Falza, as far as I knew, you were Luto the faithful servant. I offered you a taste of the Queen’s wine in an honest demonstration that I meant her no harm. I wanted to prove to her that we wished only to broker a peace. She ate nothing, drank only her wine…” Again Herezah’s voice trailed off as she tried desperately to make sense of the situation. “King Falza, if I wanted you dead, I could order my Elim right now to dispatch you. I could have done that to the Queen at any time,” she said, building her argument as she went along. The truth was, she didn’t believe the Elim had ever meant to show themselves, nor could she command them to kill.
“You barely touched your wine. Did you even sip it?”
There was nothing for it. She grabbed her wine and inelegantly drank the entire contents of her goblet, the ruby liquid spilling down the side of her mouth and staining the bright cream silk of her gown. Herezah slammed the vessel down, not bothering to wipe her mouth. Her heart pounded as she frantically awaited any telltale signs of poisoning. “There, King Falza,” she said, her chest heaving with the effort of controlling her fright. “Have you already forgotten that Queen Angeline chose the cup she drank from? She deliberately took my goblet and left hers for me to sip from.” And as the words were spoken, realization hit as hard as if someone had stepped up behind her and clubbed her with something hard and blunt.
The same dawning comprehension had hit Falza. He stared at her now, his eyes glittering with hatred. “It was meant for you, slave!” he hissed. “Your own servant was trying to poison you! He didn’t imagine that my Angeline would be cunning enough to switch goblets.”
Herezah felt the blood drain from her face. Salmeo had meant to kill her today. He had served her a cup of poison and had been prepared to stand by and watch her die.
“That’s why he ran away,” she whispered. “There was no urgent message. He knew she was going to die.” Herezah felt as though her head were going to explode with rage. Instead she took three steps to the side of the barge and hurled up the contents of what little was in her stomach, hot acid burning her throat, anchoring her in the reality of what had just taken place. She retched again but it was a dry heave and she used the sleeve of her gown to shakily dab at her mouth, uncaring of the mess on her silks. Straightening slowly, the silence around her deafening, Herezah turned to once again confront the Queen’s body.
“Lay her out,” she whispered. The most senior Elim glanced at her, uncomprehending. “Lay her out, Zarab strike you! Don’t let her stiffen in that position,” she shrieked as the the tears came. Not a trickle but a flood of despair and grief, years of anguish over her helplessness in the harem, her fear for Boaz, her intrigues to keep them both alive, to help them achieve her dream of becoming Zar and Valide. Tears flowed for her hopeless obsession with Lazar, and over Ana, who had stolen both his heart and that of her son within a moon of meeting both, whilst she had struggled for years to win even their respect. And tears ran in chest-racking gasps for Queen Angeline, whom she had despised within just a few heartbeats of meeting but who, she now realized, was going to bring the realm of Percheron to its knees with her untimely death.
And behind it all–behind so much of her pain–no, all of it, for he had personally bought her from the market when she was just a few summers old and set her destiny as a whore slave–was Salmeo.
“You really had nothing to do with this, did you?”
Herezah realized she was on her knees, next to the prone corpse of Queen Angeline, holding the dead woman’s hand. King Falza was now crouching beside her, speaking to her in a new tone, one laced with disbelief. She looked him directly in his green eyes and for one of the rare times in her life wanted to be entirely honest. She didn’t care what happened anymore. Her life was now forfeit
.
“You had no idea about this,” he added, searching her tearstained face.
Herezah could only shake her head dumbly. “Kill me, Your Highness. Take one of these blades and strike me down. Pour all your rage into the blow, but use me. It is all I am good for now. Zar Boaz wanted only peace and I was arrogant enough to believe I could broker it for him, little realizing the enemy was not the Galinseans but a snake in our own courtyard. I beg you to forgive the Percherese. They are innocent of the Queen’s blood.”
He stared deeply into her eyes and she hoped he read the honesty. She would not have been surprised had he stood, grasped a knife, and smote her; she would even have begged the Elim to stay their own hands, to allow the King safe passage back to his ships after her death. Her death was the only bait she could throw at him to bargain for the security of Percheron.
“Very noble, Crown Valide. However, I need you alive. I want you to tell my son–whom I suspect, from what you didn’t say, you hold close to your heart–in whichever manner you can communicate, that he and the rest of the royals and their entourage have three days to leave Percheron. You might like to let your Zarab-loving son know that he is probably better off in the desert if he values his head. Be warned, Herezah, my warships will take control of your harbor as the sun goes down in three days. And at sunrise on the fourth day I will enter Percheron and sack it. Anyone who defies me will die. Any royal or any noble or dignatory connected to the palace will die, come what may. I suggest they flee now with their lives and not much else. As to your people, I shall spare no man, woman, or child who does not give fealty to Galinsea. Percheron will be an annex of our realm. And tell my son his mother’s body will be kept for him to pay his respects to and that his king awaits him.”
Without another word, Falza bent and effortlessly picked up the slim frame of his dead wife. He crossed the bridge to the barge and laid Angeline on the deck beneath the awning. Herezah wanted to believe she heard him stifle a sob but his grave countenance gave away nothing as he somberly untied the barge, turned his back on the Percherese and pushed off the bank. The barge rocked momentarily and then felt the pull of the river’s journey toward the Faranel and gave itself over to the smooth waters that would take them back to sea.
Elim helped her up from her knees but Herezah’s gaze didn’t leave King Falza’s back. She watched him steer the barge carrying his dead queen until the river was empty again. And then she wept.
22
Lazar had been following Iridor’s directions implicitly and they were on course for Arafanz’s fortress. As the night of the seventh day set in, the group had fallen into an almost constant but relatively comfortable silence as Lazar remembered what had happened on the previous journey. Ultimately everyone settled into the routine. The desert alone was in charge; all of them, royal or peasant, had to kneel to the might of the sands and its ferocious sun.
Maliz had certainly left him alone but he was still puzzled by Boaz, who seemed sulky and uncharacteristically withdrawn. Ganya was animated, however, and was certainly exacting her price for helping him to stay in touch with Iridor. She had no shame and it would be no different tonight after his talk with Iridor. They awaited the owl now.
“The man you call Tariq observes you closely.”
“Do you think he wants my body?” Lazar asked playfully despite his mood. He enjoyed hearing her throaty laugh.
“I know I do,” she replied, rubbing herself against him. “I shall miss these nights of ours when this journey is done. But I suspect you won’t.” She laid a hand against his mouth when he opened it to speak. “No, don’t answer that. It needs no response. I understand our arrangement.”
He obeyed her request, remaining silent.
“Tariq means you harm,” she added.
“He always has.”
“Lazar, pay attention. I don’t mean with fists or blades—with those he is no match for you, and he knows it. But he will hurt you in other ways—by more sinister means.”
“What have you seen?”
“Not much. But he is a darkness in your life—he troubles you. In fact, he frightens you.”
Lazar looked down, knowing she was right, amazed that she saw so much. “He is not a good man,” was all he was prepared to say.
“He is worse. He is very much your enemy—and enemy to Iridor.”
“I know.”
“And still you allow him to travel with you.”
“There is a saying about keeping friends close but enemies closer still.”
She nodded. “I have heard it. And there is truth to it. But he is no help to you. It would be better for you to arrange his death—by accident, if necessary.”
Lazar sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Why is it not? Who here can trouble you? My father and I? A boy who dreams of being a soldier?”
“What do you see in the boy?”
“Goodness, but there is something troubling him—a darkness in his heart. He hides it.”
Lazar nodded.
“But answer me: why can’t you just kill Tariq?”
“It is more complex than you imagine.”
“Tell me.”
“No. It is dangerous for you to know.”
“Dangerous? I am not frightened of an old man. I want to know who he is and why you are so careful about him.”
“Don’t be fooled by appearances, Ganya, and stay clear of him.”
The owl arrived, preventing any further discussion. He flew without hesitation to land next to Ganya, who knelt and welcomed him, laying her hand gently on him. Lazar obediently knelt beside her and offered his own hand. They gave Ganya a few moments to find the silence within that she needed, her speed at moving into a trancelike state not failing to awe Lazar.
We are here, Iridor said without preamble.
Here! Lazar couldn’t hide his shock.
That’s why I told you to stop at this point for the night. I would say an hour’s ride north now and you’ll be able to see the fortress.
How is it guarded?
Lazar, I won’t lie to you. There are dozens and dozens of men. All of them prepared to go to their death to defend a personal honor that is somehow wrapped up with Lyana. I don’t understand it either, he said, acknowledging his friend’s deep frown of consternation.
Lyana?
Apparently. I know too little. From the brief time I watched them, I didn’t detect anything that told me they worshipped her. It was only when Arafanz ordered the death of his own men that day at the fortress, in front of Ana, that I realized they were shouting battle cries in honor of the Goddess. I can’t make sense of it.
Is that why they stole Ana?
Who knows. Arafanz is hardly an ally, though. Don’t be fooled. He intends to kill Boaz.
I don’t care about Arafanz, anyway. He can die on the end of my sword. I’m here only for Ana.
Well, you’re going to see her very soon. I flew ahead yesterday, tried to glean whatever fresh information I could.
And?
The baby must be due any day. I heard her talking about pain.
Lazar sighed. She’s early, then. We are approximately eight moons since she left Percheron. This adds a fresh complication. I thought it would be hard enough with her heavily pregnant but it’s going to be far more dangerous if the baby is born.
Or worse if she is laboring for it.
Lazar frowned more deeply still. We have no choice. I want her back!
To return her to Boaz, of course, Iridor finished gently.
Lazar glared at him. Of course.
Good.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Iridor sighed softly in his mind. You must let her go, Lazar.
I have! She’s married to the Zar. I have no hold over her.
That may be, but she has a hold over your heart. Don’t deny it. Once you rescue her from the rebel, you must—
The rebel?
That’s how he sees himself. Lazar, whatever happene
d between you and Ana is—
Enough! What else can you tell me about this “rebel”?
Iridor didn’t respond immediately.
Well, come on, time is short. What can you tell me that can help us?
Nothing. He sends out riders at random and in no set direction. Guards are everywhere. There is nothing I can tell you that can prepare you. I don’t even know how to suggest you access the fortress, other than to do so under cover of darkness. I will be your eyes.
Lazar nodded. I will die if I must to save her from the clutches of this “rebel.”
Iridor remained silent.
Lazar’s eyes narrowed. There’s more, isn’t there? There’s something you’re reluctant to say. Nothing you tell me can surprise me. Nothing can hurt me more than I’ve already been hurt.
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