Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  “Ana?” Boaz took charge as Lazar sat back, behind the young woman.

  She took a long time to focus, unaware of who sat behind her, his head hung with relief. “Zar Boaz? Where—”

  “Ana,” he began, then cleared his throat. “This is a terrible thing we have done to you.”

  “Is Kett alive?”

  “It doesn’t appear so, Ana. I imagine he committed himself to the river as courageously as you did.”

  “Then why am I here, Highness?” Her voice was filled with despair. “Surely this is not your idea of a jest?”

  He put his hands up in a warding gesture. “No! Ana, you were rescued because Percheron needs you.”

  Pez had sidled up and in a childish manner stroked her hair, humming a lullaby. Then he skipped away, glancing once at Lazar, who now silently pulled himself to his feet behind Ana.

  His movement attracted the attention of the Valide. Their eyes met and in those few moments of what was surely numbing stupor, Lazar could see that she recognized who was standing before her, even though her mind was likely telling her that her eyes were lying.

  “Lazar?” Herezah asked, bewilderment in her eyes now, reaching up to cover her open mouth behind her veil.

  Ana turned slowly. Her lips formed his name, repeating Herezah’s exclamation. This silent communication between them completely consumed him.

  “Mother,” Boaz began, but he was cut off by the Valide’s laughter.

  Lazar imagined her intensely agile mind must have crashed through a dozen scenarios as she tried to piece it together. “Every bit the Galinsean you tried to pretend you were not,” she said, her tone cynical and cutting. “Hair dye. How simple, Lazar, and how truly cunning.”

  “Mother, we shall discuss this shortly. You require an explanation regarding the revival of a supposed doomed criminal and will have it, but right now I need the physicians to look at Odalisque Ana. Elim, if you please…”

  Ana had not moved. Her body was rigid, her eyes filled with dread. Lazar had held her gaze, even though each moment it lingered it pierced his heart deeper until the wound seemed so great he felt sickened. There would be no speedy recovery from this injury. He knew exactly what she was thinking, understood her sense of betrayal, and whilst the Valide hurled her taunts, he had barely heard them. Even thought Ana was alive, he felt dead inside to see the pain of betrayal in her face. Lyana had granted him another sort of living death.

  The Elim helped Ana to her feet and it was Faraz who gently insisted he carry her. When she was gone, Boaz spoke quickly, urgently.

  “Mother, you should know that in the Throne Room, there impatiently await two Galinsean dignitaries who have the power to bring war on Percheron.” He let that notion sink in before he continued, watching her angry eyes become wary now behind her veil. He knew that not even at her most imaginative could his mother have guessed that this was the reason for the Zar interrupting an execution. “I have no intention of giving them even a spark for their tinder and right now appeasing the enemy is far more important to me than appeasing your anger.” As he paused she opened her mouth to speak, but Boaz shook his head, refusing her voice, continuing himself. “Lazar’s presence has been explained and that explanation was due to me alone. He is the Spur of my Shield, and, as you know, he is answerable to no one but the Zar. When we have solved our immediate dilemma, and at my convenience, I will sit down and take you through the strange set of circumstances that have brought about today’s excitement. Until then, Lazar and Ana are all I have between Percheron’s peace or Galinsean war. Please excuse us.”

  Lazar, watching Boaz, knew he had just borne witness to the young Zar finally accepting the full responsibility of his Crown. There was no doubting who sat on the throne of Percheron now.

  In another situation, Lazar might have applauded loudly. On this occasion he simply bowed his head in courtesy to the Valide and followed his Zar as he turned to leave. Pez hurried behind, accidentally treading on the Valide’s gown and her long veil, momentarily dragging back her head and ignoring her exclamation of outrage.

  Salmeo remained sensibly silent.

  20

  Boaz was pleased to see that Tariq had played his role as dignitary to perfection, despite the language problem. He had arranged for a table to be dressed in an anteroom connected to the Throne Room, and servants had set up an enticing feast for the visitors. Seated on exquisite embroidered cushions, arranged on the floor, the two men had capitulated to the Vizier’s urgings that they refresh themselves with some food whilst they waited.

  It had actually not been long. As Boaz entered the chamber Marius and Lorto had just begun nibbling on the decadent array of brightly presented food. They struggled to their feet to bow, and Boaz, not usually prone to cynicism, was nevertheless uncertain whether the two visitors were bowing to the Zar of Percheron or the Crown Prince of Galinsea directly behind him.

  “Ask them to make themselves comfortable again, Lazar,” he asked, and listened as, in three briefly uttered words, the Spur had them both seated again.

  Graciously, Boaz joined them on the floor. As a show of goodwill, he allowed a servant to wash his hands in a bowl scented with orange blossom before he dismissed all servants and reached for a small flatbread. Boaz was not hungry, not after what had just happened, but he knew that the breaking of bread together was one of the fastest ways to make strangers feel at ease. His history lessons had taught him that both Galinsea and Percheron followed the same tradition that generosity at the table—even to an enemy—was the highest form of hospitality and diplomacy. He dipped his bread into a thickly oilslicked bowl of chickpea paste and ate, encouraging Lazar and the Galinseans to follow suit. “Make some small talk, Lazar—I don’t care what you say but put them at their ease.”

  “They are at ease, Highness,” Lazar assured him, before beginning a conversation that the Zar had no hope of following. Looking to Tariq, Boaz said softly, “We might yet save this situation, Grand Vizier. And our secret weapon is Odalisque Ana, can you believe.”

  The man shook his head. “I thought she was being executed, Highness.”

  Boaz sighed. “So did I, Tariq, so did I.” Realizing that Lazar was addressing him, he turned his attention to the Spur, who concluded, “…about where we’ve been.”

  Boaz frowned.

  “Excuse me, Highness, I’ve explained where we’ve been, and why we left so suddenly.”

  “Are they shocked?”

  “A little.”

  “Barbaric Galinseans surprised by an execution?” the Grand Vizier asked.

  Only Boaz, who knew Lazar well enough, noted the slight bristle at his deliberate barb.

  “No, more intrigued that we would kill a girl for her ingenuity by using her bright mind instead of reprimanding her.” He shrugged with mild apology. “Galinseans are pragmatists. They do not hold to tradition as closely as the Percherese.”

  “Have you explained anything further?”

  “Not without your permission, Highness. Shall I do so now?”

  “Go ahead. Let them know what we’re planning in terms of the emissary. I presume they understand your reluctance?” he asked, and Lazar nodded. “Proceed. Tariq, come with me,” he said, motioning toward the door. “Excuse me to them, Lazar, for just a moment. I need to brief Ana.”

  Lazar acknowledged his Zar but did not break from his discussion with their visitors.

  Tariq followed Boaz outside. “You’d better brief me, too, Highness. I think I’m rather confused.”

  “Yes, I intend to. What I need right now is for you to organize for Ana to be brought before the visitors as soon as possible. She is being checked over by the doctors at present and I don’t doubt she’s in shock and not in a position to pay us the attention we require, but you need to impress upon her the importance of what I need her to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “To travel to Galinsea as my emissary.”

  MALIZ ARRIVED AT THE harem, where he was met by the Elim
.

  “I’m here to escort Odalisque Ana, at His Majesty’s request, to the Throne Room,” he said to the eldest.

  “I must fetch Grand Master Salmeo to speak with you.”

  Oh lovely, Maliz thought, just what I need. “Thank you.”

  The eunuch arrived shortly. “She is not ready,” he said abruptly, giving the Grand Vizier no salutation.

  “I shall wait.”

  “I can send her with an Elim escort, Tariq. You need not linger for such lowly duties.”

  “Nothing on behalf of my Zar is lowly. He expressly asked me to bring her.”

  “She is still with the physicians, and will be for some time yet, unless you want her coughing up river water all over the esteemed dignitaries.”

  “While I’m sure that wouldn’t help our cause, apparently she is all we have.”

  “What is meant by this insult to the harem?” Salmeo spat, no longer able to maintain his calm facade. “This girl was to be executed. The harem deals with its own. What is the Zar thinking by interrupting our private and traditional proceedings?”

  “Well, Salmeo, I’d suggest he’s thinking of you. Should it come to war, you’ll be amongst the first to be put to the sword. The Galinseans hate our traditions, you know, and the harem would be one of its major targets.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I can see that. The harem has different meanings to different people, Salmeo. To you it is home, it is life, it is tradition—you know nothing else. To the Zar it is his most treasured investment, from where he will choose his heir. To the Valide it is her seat of power. To the people of Percheron it represents their heritage and an extension of all that is beautiful in their realm. It sets them apart from other kingdoms.”

  “And to those other kingdoms, it represents something else, no doubt,” Salmeo interrupted.

  Maliz didn’t mind, he had nothing better to do just now until he could get some peace to ponder all that he had learned. “Ah, and now we come to it. You catch on fast, brother. To other kingdoms it is the symbol of Percherese wealth, decadence. It is, I don’t doubt, envied, and thus a target of hate. It makes our Zar different from all the other kings who follow a monogamous marriage system, even though I imagine they lie with whomever they wish behind the palace walls. To destroy the harem is to destroy one of the key aspects of what makes Percheron so covetable, so exotic, so different.”

  “And tell me, Tariq, how does Ana fit into this campaign to save the harem, to save Percheron, as the Zar suggested?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss matters of state so openly, Salmeo. I’m sure you understand, but suffice it to say that Ana will be taking on a new official capacity for the Zar.”

  “This is outrageous!”

  “I suggest you take it up with Zar Boaz, Grand Master Eunuch. I am merely the escort today. How long before she is ready, do you think?”

  “Wait here,” Salmeo said, turning on his heel.

  Maliz did as asked and took the time to replay in his head the conversation he had shared with the Spur about the old priestess. It was intriguing that the Spur, back from the dead, had been nursed to health by Zafira. Coincidence? Perhaps, but unlikely. Centuries of battling the Goddess had taught him that anyone even remotely connected to her was suspect. Was the Spur involved? Is that why his death had been contrived, his survival from the poison and his wounds kept a secret…but why? And then why would he come back…unless it was to be close to Lyana. But who was she? Maliz knew Lyana was close, possibly not arisen yet, though Iridor was. His only suspect was the dwarf, who was frustratingly proving to be every bit as mad as everyone assured the Vizier he was. The priestess had claimed that Salmeo was Iridor, but Maliz knew that had been a ruse. He’d spent too much time with Salmeo; he would know if the eunuch was Iridor.

  So far he had Pez, Lazar, and this odalisque as potentially being involved but none were showing any of the usual signs of being close to the Goddess—the nervousness of her disciples was usually his first inkling that he was getting closer to Lyana, but Pez was impossible to read in his insanity, Lazar so remote it seemed he was passionate about nothing, and he hardly knew this girl. Tariq had met her on a couple of occasions but paid little attention. That she was beautiful and a troublemaker was as much as his memories could offer.

  But Lyana was clever, Maliz admitted to himself. She had tried many guises over many cyclical battles. She had been an old woman once, other times she had given herself the most ordinary of looks and roles—one year a merchant’s wife, another a harlot, once even a simple bread seller. He smiled remembering her most audacious attempt to confuse, when she had re-birthed herself as a lad. That had not worked very well—the female form was best.

  As Maliz was thinking this, Salmeo emerged once again, this time with the girl, fully covered in the simplest of dark gowns and matching veils. The sea-green eyes appeared dulled, uninterested.

  The Grand Vizier stood. “Odalisque Ana?”

  She didn’t respond. Salmeo murmured something to her.

  “I am,” she finally said, not looking at anyone or anything in particular.

  “Is she all right?” Maliz asked testily.

  “Well, she drowned once today, if that helps clarify things a little, Grand Vizier. Then she was revived, pulled back from the brink of death. The physicians say there is no outward sign of damage, but, as you can see, she is vague, to say the least.”

  “And this is who shall save Percheron. My, my…” Maliz decided he was going to enjoy watching this episode. This young woman could not be the reincarnation of Lyana. Had she been the woman he hunted, he would have felt it; would have felt every inch of his body respond to her magical presence. And her magic would have triggered his and released him from the prison of Tariq’s mortality. Although he would ultimately die as the Vizier when this battle was done, Lyana’s arrival gave him his full powers, feeding his fury, making his borrowed body invincible. He needed her to cross his path soon, for until such time he was vulnerable. Oh yes, none of his enemies realized that until Lyana’s presence made itself physically felt, he was entrapped by the mortal man and could die as any mortal. It was his darkest secret and once again he thanked Zarab that Lyana had never known this. Her supporters always assumed he possessed his demon skills permanently. Maliz shuddered: it would be so easy for Iridor—whoever he was—to stick a knife into him or contrive a death by any number of means, and Tariq’s body would die, taking with it the demon.

  Maliz grinned, smug in the belief that they had never discovered this…and never would. Whoever Iridor was, he was no doubt treading very carefully, wary, believing that the demon could not be murdered in his sleep, poisoned during dinner, or simply met with some seeming accident. He would warn her other disciples, too, no doubt, that Maliz could not be killed by conventional means. In fact—

  “Vizier Tariq, what are you smiling about?” Salmeo’s lisping words cut through his thoughts.

  “Ah, forgive me, Grand Master Eunuch. I was just thinking how sad it is that we hide our most treasured possession—great beauty—behind the veil. I have seen this girl; I know her magnificence. She would take our visitors’ breath away.”

  “How little you understand the harem, Vizier Tariq, and how obvious that you have no wives of your own. Our women are never to be paraded before others. Their beauty is protected, to be enjoyed only by their husbands.”

  Maliz did not want to debate with the eunuch now. He was vexed that he’d been caught off guard momentarily anyway, and if he continued this conversation, that irritation might show itself. “Our Zar awaits, Salmeo. And no doubt he’ll decide whether or not to allow this young woman’s exceptional beauty to fall upon others. Odalisque Ana, if you please?”

  “Elim will accompany you,” Salmeo warned.

  “As you see fit.” Maliz turned once again to Ana. “Come with me, my dear. It seems you’re suddenly the most important person in whole palace, next to the Zar,” Maliz said, just loud
enough for Salmeo to overhear, as he guided Ana away from the harem.

  “Grand Vizier, forgive me, but I don’t understand,” Ana pleaded.

  He believed her. Her eyes were so large and filled with confusion that he felt a strange thrill of sympathy for this young woman. This was not an emotion he was used to. He recalled Tariq’s memory of her outstanding beauty, even as a fourteen-year-old, remembered the sweetly innocent body that didn’t seem to match her oddly confident, direct manner that had so upset Tariq and Salmeo. “I can tell you some more—as much as I have been told. I know they’re waiting for you, Odalisque Ana, but let us take the slower way to the Throne Room so I have a little time to explain.”

  “That’s generous of you, Grand Vizier.”

  Maliz smiled. No one had ever accused him of that trait before. “How does it feel to return from the dead?” he asked conversationally.

  She didn’t pause before replying, as he had anticipated. “I feel angry.”

  “Why?” He hadn’t expected that answer.

  “Because I hate this place and everyone in it. My death was my ultimate escape.”

  There was true venom driving this statement, and he was pleasantly surprised by the passion in her tone. He began to appreciate what Boaz saw in this particular girl and he almost regretted telling the Zar that she was inconsequential. “That’s a very sweeping statement, Odalisque Ana. Do you not crave life? How about everlasting life?”

  She stared at him as they walked. “No, Grand Vizier. Life has not treated me kindly and there is nothing to look forward to with age. Dying young is appropriate.”

  The girl could be Lyana with that sentiment, he mused, but none of his senses were on alert. This was no goddess walking in disguise at his side. “Do you really hate everyone here?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, Grand Vizier Tariq.”

  “I thought you were friendly with the dwarf,” he probed.

  “Pez has no sane process of thought. No one is friends with him because it’s impossible to understand him.” He could tell she was being careful in answering this question and his ears pricked up. “I do, however, feel sorry for him. Pez is trapped in his mind as I am trapped in the harem.”