And then he was running. He knew precisely where he must go. Close to the palace was a home for mothers who lost their babies at birth. It had been set up by the previous Valide, who understood the pain of losing a child, having lost her first two sons. The home gave the mothers a place to convalesce and grieve in quiet. Food and accommodation were provided by the Crown and a small amount of money was sent to each woman’s family so that they could manage without her for the days it took for her to feel strong enough to return home. Although it was a place of interminable sorrow, it was also a place of peace. It was where young new mothers who had trouble feeding their newborns often came; here they would find a plentiful contingent of wet nurses, eager to have babies at their breasts.
An older woman greeted him at the door, recognizing him immediately, surprise in her voice. “Spur Lazar? How can I help you?” she asked, frowning at his obvious hurry. “Oh, my stars, you have a baby there?”
“Yes. He’s hungry, desperately in need of a feed.”
“His mother?” she asked, reaching for Luc.
“She died.”
The woman made a sound of sympathy. “Poor mite. And what are you doing with her?”
“Him,” he corrected. “His name is Luc. I am his father.”
She glanced up at him in fresh surprise, then pursed her lips, stopping whatever comment was about to rush from them. “I see. You need a wet nurse.”
“I do. Er, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Falip. Wait, let me find someone. Harras, where is that new girl who came in this morning?”
“She is resting.”
“Fetch her, would you? Hurry now.” On cue Luc began to squall. “You seem in a rush, Spur Lazar. I presume you are needed at the palace, considering what has gone on today.”
“And you seem terribly calm, Falip, considering what has gone on today.”
She smiled gently and shrugged. “Where could we flee to? Most of the women I care for are grieving. We took our chance, kept faith that all would be well.”
His eyes narrowed. She reminded him of Zafira. “You follow Lyana?”
“Not openly,” she admonished. “We respect the religion of the god. I simply choose to keep my faith with the Mother. She is, after all, what my vocation is about.”
“I, too, Falip. I love Lyana with all my heart,” he said, handing over his precious son with great relief into the old woman’s arms.
She beamed at him. “That pleases me, Spur. Ah, here she comes. Alzaria, this is Spur Lazar. He could use your help with this infant. Are you happy to feed the child? I know you’re tired but you are also heavy with milk. Perhaps—”
“Yes, I would like to,” the young woman replied. She looked at Lazar, her dark eyes wide and curious, but he could see how haggard she was.
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” He glanced at Falip to be sure.
“Alzaria delivered a stillborn son during the night. If you don’t mind, I think it would be very good for her state of mind if you would permit her to nurse Luc.”
“Of course.” Lazar shrugged, feeling the emptiness of Ana’s passing uncoil through him again.
Falip handed Luc to the young woman. “I shall be with you shortly.” She patted the woman, gave a glance to Harras. “Go with her. Don’t leave her alone with the baby for too long. She mustn’t get attached.” The aide nodded, bowed silently to Lazar, and left with Alzaria. “Can I offer you something to drink, Spur? You look rather disheveled.”
“No, but thank you. I see the immediate panic is passing here—now that we have our giants.” He smiled briefly, awkwardly. His frown returned to straighten it.
“How extraordinary it all is. I’m waiting for someone to explain it all to me.”
“I don’t think there is an explanation, Falip. Now I must go to the palace. I shall send for Luc very shortly, if that’s all right?”
“Of course. Alzaria will need a half bell, that’s all. He’s hungry, I imagine he’ll feed greedily and then sleep for many hours.”
He took both her hands. “Thank you,” he said, never meaning gratitude as deeply as he did at this moment.
“I won’t slit your throat, Your Majesty,” Falza said, loading the royal title with derision. “You deserve beheading. I shall sit that beautiful head of yours on the throne you so crave for your cowardly son to find when he deigns to return to the realm he is meant to be ruling.”
Beheading scared Herezah more than anything. But even so, the fear of the blade crystallized to anger as she glanced again at Bin’s corpse. “Do your worst, Falza, and let the history books show that whilst your armies were fleeing from their Percherese pursuers, you brought—what is it, twelve men?—to murder an unarmed woman. How pathetic you are. A greater man would rise above his grief to lead his nation by example. That is why it is such a pity that your son, Lucien, who is more than twice the man you are, has walked away from his realm. As ruler, he would lead Galinsea into a proud era, not a prideful one. Like my son, he is neither coward nor aggressor. Hack my head off, kick it around the room if you will. I will not know and I do not care. I die knowing that Percheron never bowed down to the Galinsean barbarians, that we prevailed against all odds with a prince of Galinsea at our helm and a whore, as you put it, doing her best to hold her people strong.”
Falza had sheathed his sword but now he drew it. Its ring chilled Herezah. She begged herself to stay courageous to the last. She prayed that she would live up to her son’s hopes, and that somehow Lazar might hear of this, might know that at the end she had not disappointed him.
“I hope you’re muttering your prayers, whore,” Falza said, raising the sword behind Herezah.
“Move another muscle, Father, and I won’t be held responsible to my siblings for the number of pieces I shall cut you into after you’re dead.”
Everyone looked up to see Lazar and a line of archers with arrows trained on the King standing in the high balustrade windows. Taking advantage of the shocked silence, Lazar swung to the pale marble floor of the Grand Salon on a rope that the archers lowered. “It’s so very convenient to have giants on one’s side in wartime, don’t you think, Father? That’s how we all got up there, in case you’re wondering. And right now it will take just one word from me to have every one in your army squashed to a pulp. I’m sure you know I’m not lying, if your wrecked and torched fleet is anything to go by.” Lazar smiled and Herezah saw nothing but menace in it. She had never seen that expression on the Spur’s face before; clearly there was no love lost between the Galinsean King and his heir.
“May I?” Lazar said to his father, the politeness embarrassing suddenly. The King didn’t flinch as Lazar bent down to help Herezah to her feet. “Crown Valide, are you hurt?”
She looked into the face she loved, saw a terrible underlying sadness reflected there, but also fury. She had never loved him more than when he was being heroic for her benefit. She felt as though she’d lived a lifetime in the space of the days since he’d left. One of the archers who had scampered down the same rope had opened the main doors, allowing several Elim in. The Galinseans were being helped free of all their weapons.
Everyone waited for her response. She took her time, enjoying the extra moments of holding Lazar’s hand.
“A little bruised perhaps,” she said, touching a patch on her scalp that had been ripped clean of hair. “Nothing a Percherese slave can’t handle. Please, Lazar, ask the Elim to cover Bin’s body for me. He died horribly and unnecessarily trying to protect me from your father’s men.” Lazar nodded, sending a runner to fetch sheets. “He called me Majesty whilst your father calls me whore,” Herezah murmured as if to herself. “Thank you,” she added, lightly touching his chest but not lingering. “Once again you’ve saved my life.”
Lazar looked toward Falza. “Father, it would be appropriate now for you to apologize for the offense you have given to the Crown Valide. She was regent for Zar Boaz, was endowed with royal status, and must be treate
d accordingly. Even a Galinsean barbarian should know that much.” His tone was acid.
“I don’t apologize to murderers,” Falza spat.
“I’m sure you took the first aggressive action.”
“I don’t refer to our battle, Lucien. I refer to the person responsible for the murder of your mother.”
The chamber was suddenly deathly silent. Herezah forced herself to take a deep breath in order to prevent herself from babbling at Lazar as she denied the accusation. “King Falza, you know that is untrue. You were present when the Queen was assassinated.” She turned to Lazar, saw how his complexion had blanched at the news. “Forgive us that you hear such sorrowful tidings in this manner, Spur Lazar. Your mother and I met to parley on the Daramo. I made the mistake of taking Grand Master Salmeo. I needed someone I could trust—I realize my folly now but I had no one of status to rely on. Don’t look at me like that, Lazar, I give you my word, on the life of my son, that this is the truth. Salmeo tried to poison me. He was serving refreshment; he placed the goblets before us. I offered your mother to have hers tasted. She declined my offer but instead took my goblet and drank from it. She drank the poison Salmeo had intended for me. Your father can deny none of this, for he was present alongside Queen Angeline.”
She watched Lazar grind his jaw. “And Salmeo is incarcerated? Or is the worst part of this story yet to be told?”
Herezah nodded, glanced at Falza. “Salmeo escaped. I couldn’t send anyone to give chase because your father had declared war. He gave us days to prepare—at least he did that much. Lazar, I am sorry for your mother’s death, I truly am. I have already conveyed my deepest regrets to your father. I can’t imagine why he’d think I would provoke war when our parley to prevent that very event was under way.”
“And with that few days’ grace you still chose to stay.”
She nodded.
“You knew he would kill you.”
“I couldn’t run, Lazar.”
Lazar turned to the King. “An eye for an eye, Father?”
“Precisely,” Falza replied.
“Except you are the first to call our Crown Valide a slave, a whore, not a queen.”
“It’s what she masquerades as.”
“No, I must correct you there. She masquerades as nothing. The Valide knows her place. Until recently she was the mother of the Zar, that is all. The position of Crown Valide was bestowed upon her by her son while he hunted down the man who had stolen his wife and Absolute Favorite. And now, my lord, she is nothing but former Absolute Favorite of Zar Joreb.”
Falza frowned. Herezah kept her peace, although a question leaped to her lips. It seemed Falza had the same question, however, and asked it for her.
“She is Crown Valide still, if I’m not mistaken, Lucien?”
Lazar ignored him, turning instead to Herezah. The Crown Valide suddenly no longer wished that question had been posed. “Herezah, forgive me for bringing this harsh news so fast on the heels of everything else you’ve endured these past days, but Boaz didn’t survive.”
She stared at Lazar, waiting for him to finish that sentence. “What do you mean?”
“Boaz is dead.”
Murmuring erupted among the Elim and the intently listening archers. Even Falza looked stunned.
“He was killed trying to save Ana. I am deeply sorry.”
She understood the words but her mind kept rejecting them. “No. No, this can’t be right. He was simply going along for the journey. You were meant to keep him from danger. You were—”
“Boaz was a man possessed, Herezah. It is a long story but we were all taken prisoner. The Zar died with courage—as you would imagine—against impossible odds.”
“And Ana?” she asked, her voice taut with the despair she was barely controlling.
“She is dead, also.”
His tone was flat but she had already seen the sadness in his eyes.
“The child?”
“Alive. A son.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe. I shall send for him now. There is something I need to explain to both of you, but especially to my father.” Lazar called over one of the Elim, gave instructions to bring the woman Alzaria from the hospice. “Let us all wait until she arrives. I will explain then.”
35
Alzaria cradled the infant under Harras’s watchful gaze. “He is beautiful,” she said, stroking the boy’s downy, golden hair.
“Doesn’t look like he could be the son of our Zar with that coloring,” Harras admitted.
“He’s not. It’s my understanding this is the Spur’s son with the Zar’s new wife and Absolute Favorite.”
Harras’s eyes widened. “What blasphemy is this? Hush your mouth, woman.”
“It is true. You can see it yourself. You know this child is no product of the Zar.”
Harras flounced to her feet as someone called to her through the open door. “Hurry, clothe yourself. He is done.” She left to talk with the person just outside in the hall.
Maliz looked down upon the baby, knowing it was time to leave. Alzaria’s role was finished with here. “You are not Lyana after all, are you, Luc? You are merely mortal. An illegitimate spawn of the lusty Spur. I could kill you now, snap your neck, throttle you, and they would be none the wiser. But I rather like that you are a delicious thorn amongst the flowers, proof of the Spur’s betrayal. So you are very lucky. I’m going to let you go back to your rightful father and I will now disappear. I have a Goddess to hunt.”
“You are wanted up at the palace by the Spur,” Harras said, returning to the small chamber.
Maliz shook Alzaria’s head. “No. I am not strong enough. You take him. Here,” he said, handing her the sleeping bundle. “I might rest a little.”
“If you’re sure?”
He could see the delight in the helper’s eyes. She was going to enjoy the responsibility not only of taking the child up to the palace, but of delivering him into the arms of the handsome, eligible Spur. Maliz smiled inwardly. Lazar would never be any the wiser that the demon had laid hands on his precious son…or should he leave a clue? It would be so much fun to leave the Spur with the thought that Maliz had been close enough to cradle the child. “I’m sure. I hope the baby thrives. Please tell the Spur.”
“He’ll want to compensate you, of course.”
“Yes. My real name is Garjan. Will you tell him that?” Maliz shrugged. “I used a different one because I was embarrassed. I’m not married.”
“I understand. Where will we find you?”
“I can collect anything from here if you leave it in my name. Garjan…you won’t forget, will you?”
“No. I must go. You rest,” Harras said, hardly able to contain her excitement.
As soon as the woman had left, Maliz climbed through the shutters and disappeared into the bazaar. They would never see Alzaria again. He’d found the stupid slut wandering the spice markets, begging for money, her newborn illegitimate son suckling beneath her worn robes. How could she resist the promise he’d given her, the pouch of money from the young Ashar, as long as she repeated the words he gave her and stuck a blade in him? He had drowned the squealing infant the moment he had become the woman and had made his way to the hospice to lie in wait. He had suspected Lazar would bring the child. Had taken the gamble that a wet nurse would be required. Except Lyana was not here.
She existed. His powers and the giants coming to life were testimony of that. The sight of Ezram standing guard had filled Maliz with dread and his fear had intensified when the giant had only briefly paused as he had cast his formerly potent spell. No turning to stone. Not even a flicker of pain.
Maliz couldn’t understand how the giants had been released or how they were resisting his spell-making but their protection was at once ancient and unfamiliar.
How could Lyana be incarnated and not visible? He had not imagined the rush of power; it had filled him with the usual thrill and anticipation of the battle ahead but now it was dwindli
ng. He didn’t understand. This was not meant to happen.
Maliz was painfully aware of the heaviness of Alzaria’s breasts. The boy had taken little—he had so much more milk to give. It was time to get rid of Alzaria. He needed a new body. He needed to think. He found himself walking the lanes that would lead him to the spice markets and, ultimately, the realm of Percheron’s undesirables. The ones Tariq had so long wanted to eradicate, the ones that Zar Boaz wanted to help. This was where he would find weak-willed bodies, eager to take up any offer he gave in exchange for money or food. He had plenty of money that he had stolen from the Grand Vizier’s house before he’d gone to the hospice, but it infuriated him that he was back among the slums. He had envisaged himself roaming the palace halls as a Zar by now, planning endless nights of orgy with his young concubines.
But now he would have to resign himself to moving in the body of someone infirm, someone who needed very little of himself. He needed to preserve his power, to return to that state of not being fully committed to a body. The more he walked, the weaker he felt. And it was not the woman’s body that was weakening. It was him. His powers were leaking out of him. He knew this feeling. This was the sensation he normally lived through after a battle, when he had defeated Lyana and was required to return to his dormant state.
That was it. He was becoming dormant. What was happening?
Maliz forced Alzaria’s legs to run. He did not want to go dormant in her guise, with milk running from her nipples and the likelihood that she would be raped each night when the lowlifes came looking for cheap sexual favors. Running breathlessly now past the eating house, Beloch’s Table, he burst through the red door that led into the backstreet slums of the bazaar and looked frantically for a potential donor.
There he was. Covered in sores. Starving, probably younger than he looked, but certainly not as strong as a man of his age should be. He would accept money. He would whimper joyously as he uttered the words Maliz gave him. He would stick a blade in his mother right now for a glass of the amber-colored vinco and a plate of stuffed vine leaves. Maliz did not want to be this man. But he had no choice. He realized with deep dismay and confusion as he regarded his next body that his powers had leached from him as though Lyana no longer existed on the land.
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