Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  Maliz really had to stop himself from laughing out loud now. It seemed the Zar, for all his intelligence, couldn’t even sense what seemed incredibly obvious…to him anyway. Maliz returned his focus to Lazar, enjoying playing the Spur as much as laughing secretly at Boaz. “Are we not led to believe that it is dangerous for you to enter Romea, Spur?”

  “It is,” Lazar answered. He wasn’t doing a terribly good job of disguising his anger. “But I am the only one who can lead Ana there safely, successfully.”

  “Ah, so you get her to the city and then turn her loose alone? Surely she needs an entourage? We can’t go to the Galinsean court like peasants, Zar Boaz?”

  “Again, you’re right, Tariq. Lazar, we need to think this through better. This is a royal visit. Granted, it’s also a diplomatic visit, but my wife needs more protection than you’re offering. As it is, you won’t be able to go into Romea, so that leaves who? Jumo?”

  Lazar was already shaking his head. “Zar Boaz, I must counsel you otherwise. Going across the desert is fraught with dangers. I cannot protect a large party.”

  “You cannot protect us anyway, Spur,” Maliz chimed in, including himself in the party. His clever insertion was not missed by Lazar, who grimaced. “Surely this is such an important diplomatic mission it requires at least some of the usual pomp accorded such an event? We need to appear strong, confident, even if we are terrified out of our wits.”

  Lazar’s eyes blazed with anger. Boaz was having none of it, though. “Lazar, I know this does not please you. Believe me, it does not please me either to have to send anyone to Galinsea, but Tariq is right. This mission is far too important for Ana to be cast into the enemy’s den alone.”

  HE KNEW HE WAS beaten. And if good sense hadn’t prevailed, he might have reached his fingers around the throat of the alltoo-helpful Vizier, who seemed to be deliberately baiting him. This man was not Tariq—not by any stretch of the imagination. Lazar had no doubt now that Tariq was gone, replaced by the demon that Pez had warned him about. And Maliz had admitted to being alone with Ana—it was this fact that was driving Lazar’s fury. She had been in such danger without realizing it. He had to speak with Pez.

  “Who exactly would you suggest might make this party more acceptable, Majesty?” Lazar asked.

  “That’s a good question, I’ll admit. Time is so short we don’t have many options.”

  The Vizier piped up again. “I shall go, Highness, if you deem that suitable.” Maliz didn’t look at Lazar.

  But Lazar reacted as if stung. “As head of security in Percheron, I would recommend that we need our head counsel—the Grand Vizier—close to the Zar.”

  “Well, I agree with both of you,” Boaz said, shrugging. “Lazar’s right. I feel you should always be close to the palace, Tariq. That said, you do have very high status and are closest counselor to the Crown. It would be a goodwill gesture to send you.”

  The Vizier nodded sagely, then frowned. “It occurs to me to suggest that you should also send Pez, as a gift, Highness. Laughter is a great way to leap cultures, bridge our differences, and so on.”

  “Zar Boaz, I must protest,” Lazar interrupted, frustration spilling over. “Really, I can’t take a circus across the desert. I’m trying to stop a war!”

  “So am I, Lazar,” Boaz said, a fraction coldly, and the Spur knew he was no longer talking to a young man slightly in awe of him. The man in front of him was a Zar demanding respect from his Spur.

  “Forgive me, Zar Boaz.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Boaz said, sensibly waving the moment aside. “We are all worried, and it may not appear so but I am fully sympathetic to your task of guiding people safely across the desert. It’s frightening just to think of you taking that route. It’s absolutely necessary, of course?”

  “For speed, yes, Highness. By sea it would take two moons, which would not be fast enough to avert warriors hungry for booty. Marius and Lorto will stay the warships in open sea and send messages back to Romea. I’m hoping that by the time the birds arrive, Ana will have already argued her case with the King.”

  Boaz sighed, drained his cup. “Right, here is my decision. Lazar, you will escort Absolute Favorite Ana, together with Grand Vizier Tariq, and the Valide will go as Ana’s escort…” He held up his hand, glaring, to prevent the furious outburst threatening to erupt from Lazar. “Ana needs the guidance of an older woman, and whatever else my mother is, she can be relied upon to be courtly. She is also incredibly perceptive when it comes to people. I want her there at that palace, especially as I realize you can hardly risk discovery. You will also take Pez—he will make good entertainment for our royal neighbors.”

  Lazar had to assume that Boaz’s keen gaze was suggesting that he was sending the palace clown as help rather than hindrance. He pressed his lips together to prevent himself saying anything regrettable.

  The Zar continued. “You will take a dozen of the Elim and four of my elite guard, the mutes, who will have the express task of guarding my wife. You can take as many or as few of your men as you wish, although I would prefer that you leave the city fully secured by the Shield in your absence. Zarab knows what might come at us in the meantime, especially if Marius and Lorto cannot head off all of those warships.”

  Lazar couldn’t risk opening his mouth, such was his fury. Instead he maintained a stony silence. It was the Vizier who spoke up in response.

  “Very good, my Zar. Please excuse me so I can make arrangements for gifts for our counterparts in Galinsea. Er, Spur Lazar, perhaps you can guide us in this?” He smiled and received a scowl in return. He continued: “The exchange of wedding presents will take place in three hours, Highness. I’m sorry it won’t be the lavish affair it should be for your first wife, but I know you understand. We will do our best to impress with a wedding feast. May I suggest you rest until then. Spur Lazar, when do we leave?”

  “At nightfall, as the Zar wishes,” Lazar growled. “We can reach the foothills by midnight, sleep until an hour before dawn, and set out on the camels then.” He hoped it sounded unappealing.

  “Camels? Lovely,” Maliz replied, a wry expression accompanying his words.

  Lazar needed to escape. “Excuse me, Highness. I need to brief Jumo on the extra supplies we shall have to organize.”

  “Yes, go, by all means. Ensure that you take the royal tents. And, Lazar…?”

  Lazar looked back, the war inside him only barely sheathed.

  “As unhappy as you are, I want you back here to witness my marriage to Odalisque Ana.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, Highness,” Lazar said, and Maliz smiled.

  23

  The entire palace had swung into action. The kitchen had never worked more ferociously, although a feast for such a modest number of people was easy for the cooks to achieve. No Percherese wedding, rich or poor, peasant or royal, was complete without rice, tinted yellow with saffron. And in this instance, because it was the Zar, and the bride was his First Chosen, the golden rice would be scattered with precious jewels.

  Animals were slaughtered, and although there was no time to roast them whole, alongside everything else that had to be prepared in time, the carcasses were carved up and simmered with vegetables. Soon the palace grounds were scented with the fragrance of cinnamon and cardamom, spicing the meat to be served with the golden rice. Beef was minced, spiced, formed into small individual mounds to be roasted over coals and served with flatbreads and yogurt laced with garlic and slivers of onion, together with fresh, ripe tomatoes. Anchovies were battered, ready to be deep-fried and served on beds of roka, the prized sweet green leaf that grows wild beneath the hills north of Percheron. The array of side dishes punctuated what would have to be a simple wedding feast, in truth, with magnificent splashes of color. Lightly cooked beans were dressed with lemon and garlic, artichokes stuffed with olive pilaf, vine leaves wrapped around small roasted vegetables flavored with fennel, dripping with tomato-scented oil. Sweetmeats vied for attention, glistening on platters
, ready to be laid out on the feasting tables.

  Simmered chicken breasts were beaten into strings to give texture to a rice dish that could be served savory or creamed and sugared for a sweet course. Meanwhile the hastily achieved showpiece was a camel, stuffed with sheep, which had in turn been stuffed with chicken that had a special fruity rice stuffing. Showpiece or not, it would have to be the final savory course to give the kitchens sufficient time to cook this spectacular dish reserved entirely for a royal wedding feast.

  Vast trays of pastries were assembled. The favorite of the Zar was bar’shoula, dozens of layers of pastry so thin as to be almost transparent, with caramon nuts and dried figs held together by the region’s sticky honey, then coated in a runny sugary icing. The pastry would be served with a small slab of Percheron’s famous armak: clotted goat-milk cream shot through with ribbons of pomegranate syrup. The bar’shoula was dusted with gold for the royal occasion. For those who wanted to sample the famed icy sherbets of the Stone Palace, the kitchens were busy mixing the dark mulberry juice that had been sweetened and scented with rose petals into shaved ice. No Zar’s feast would be complete without Percheron’s frozen specialties.

  Salmeo had just returned from the kitchens, where he had personally delivered the cache of exquisite gems to be scattered over the golden rice. He had left behind a trustworthy Elim to watch over their use so that they didn’t find their way into dishonest pockets. He had quickly moved himself past the disappointment of the failed execution. He was an opportunist at the best of times and from a young age had never lingered too long over any situation gone awry. There was always something to salvage from any circumstance, as long as you approached it positively. Already he was thinking ahead to the new court within the harem that would now have to be established to cater to an Absolute Favorite. Ana would need to be separated geographically from the Valide, as well as the other girls. She would now have her own retinue of slaves to serve her, as well as a personal assistant. As much as he found Ana a thorn in the soft belly of the harem, Salmeo found her spirit challenging as well. As much as he threw his lot in with Herezah, too much power to the Valide could undermine his control. Ana’s presence would keep Herezah in check. If he played them against each other with his well-honed skills, he could be on top of things again. He would have to impose his own authority, of course, as soon as Ana came back to them from her diplomatic travels.

  It was time now to make his way to a suite of rooms in the harem where he knew they were preparing Ana. She would have already been through the rigorous bathing ritual, and as he walked in, Elza and her helpers had Ana naked in their circle. They lofted soft-scented powder at her, dusting her entire body with a light mistlike covering of fine talcum that clung to the already applied oil of frankincense. The room was filled with the fragrance of the spice gently overlayed by honeysuckle, jasmine, gardenia—there were more scents, but he was so over-whelmed by the smell that he could not pick out the individual flowers that contributed to it.

  “Are your hands readied, Ana?” he lisped, and she turned, her face a mask. He had anticipated anger—a scowl at least—but there was nothing. She appeared blank, but hatred emanated from her all the same.

  Ana lifted her hands, palms downward, and showed him the intricate pattern of painted henna that stretched from her fingertips to halfway down the length of her hand like short gloves. Her feet were stained with the henna bark also and dusted with gold so she glittered.

  In a velvet pad, Salmeo carried the jewels she would wear to her wedding as well as the grit of diamonds that would be the final layer of dusting so her body sparkled for the Zar. The jewels themselves were the same ones Herezah had worn when she had married Joreb, which Salmeo found fitting. These belonged to the harem rather than to Herezah, who possessed enough precious stones to look after a small harem of women herself. Joreb had always been generous, especially to his Absolute Favorite.

  Salmeo knew the riches were meaningless to Ana but he enjoyed the slaves’ exclamations at the beauty of the pieces when he unrolled the velvet.

  “Emeralds only for this special day,” he said, allowing the sun passing through the shutters to spark a fire through the magnificent jewels he held aloft. “To match your eyes, Ana. Why are they so sad?”

  “Perhaps because I’m not dead.”

  Elza’s face twisted in embarrassment at her charge’s directness but she remained silent, shooing away her helpers now that the Grand Master Eunuch had arrived.

  Salmeo ran an appraising gaze over Ana’s body. “Very, very nice,” he lisped. “The drowning seems to have caused no long-term damage.”

  “None that you can see.”

  “Manners,” Elza hissed as she hurried by Ana to pick up the baskets of dried, crushed petals that formed the talcum along with chalk.

  “I have no reason to be polite to him,” Ana said. Her voice continued to rise and Salmeo could see Elza tremble. “He has tried his hardest to destroy me, but like a bad smell I keep returning to spoil his days.”

  “Indeed you do, child,” Salmeo said, his thick lips pulled into a pert grin. “However, it is not altogether as unpleasant as you think. But try not to goad me, Ana, remember when you return—”

  “If I return.”

  He ignored her interruption. “When you return you will be all mine again, and while you may well be First Chosen and Absolute Favorite of the Zar, you will also be simply Ana, a member of this harem.”

  “You can no longer hurt or threaten me, Salmeo. I despise you. But you are nothing, the mere slime that gathers around any powerful person.”

  Though he should have been used to her insults by now, Salmeo found himself unexpectedly enraged by her boldness. “Is that so? I presume this attitude of yours means you’ve suddenly given up caring for your family, then.”

  He noticed she didn’t flinch at his threat, and wondered what had changed. Her family had always been her weakness.

  “You cannot threaten me with my family’s welfare anymore. They have protection now.”

  “From the Zar?” He laughed. “He wouldn’t even know who they are.”

  “But the Grand Vizier does, and should anything happen to my family that seems accidental or unusual, it will find you, Salmeo, because I have already warned Tariq of your threats.”

  “Tariq now, is it?” Salmeo carefully controlled the fire in his voice.

  Ana nodded. “You share the same status, I gather. May I suggest you don’t attract his ire—he has the Zar’s respect, unlike you, and I imagine he’s every bit as cunning as you or the Valide.”

  Although Salmeo inwardly fumed, he smiled softly, and put a fat finger against his lips. “Shh, be careful, Ana.”

  “I’m not scared of you or her anymore. I died today—a few more seconds beneath the waters and no one could have revived me. Nothing scares me anymore.”

  “You feel strong now, Ana, but I assure you, once you’re back, it will be different. I can make others suffer. All the time you’re away, you’ll know they’re crying because of you. Young Sascha, for instance—”

  “You leave her alone!”

  “And then there’s the shy, pretty Lesan…”

  “I swear—”

  “What do you swear, child?” Salmeo encouraged. He watched her take a deep breath.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Good. Treat me with respect, Ana, and perhaps we can start again with a nod toward your new status.”

  She stared angrily at him but said nothing.

  “And be careful with Tariq. There is something rotten there, something I can’t fathom. He will not confer his favors lightly.”

  “You worry about your own relationship with him.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now turn, Ana, let me place these jewels around you. Elza, bring your silks, it is time to dress Ana for her marriage.”

  BOAZ ROSE, LOOKING AS elegant and eligible as his mother had ever seen him in dark, glimmering emerald robes over white silks. He
stepped down from the dais and took her hand. She bowed, fluid and magnificent in her own multilayered silks of various colors. Though she knew she looked as stunning as usual, she had never gotten herself ready this fast before. When he raised her he kissed her hand. “Welcome, Mother.”

  “You honor me, Zar.”

  “As you should be,” he replied.

  Her eyes glittered with the anger she had had to bury over Ana’s startling change in fortune. It was unbelievable—one moment a prisoner in the process of being executed, the next marrying into the Imperial Court of Percheron. It was not lost on Herezah that Ana now had equal ranking with herself within the harem. And she was careful not to show that this fact shattered her. “This is a surprise for us all.”

  “As much to me as well. As you’re aware, I had formally chosen Ana. But it was an uninspired idea to make her my wife, and a very good one, which might just avert war.”

  The Valide turned to where she sensed the Spur stood. He, too, looked dazzling in all white, and even though he was paler than she recalled, his face looked more chiseled than she could remember. Despite her fury, she felt the familiar thrill shiver through her body at the sight of him. As usual, his expression was un-readable. From behind her veil she smirked. “And what do you think, Lazar?” she purred.

  “It’s what we all wanted, isn’t it, Valide? From that very first day we all saw Ana, we knew she was perfect.”

  “Not so perfect, perhaps, now that we know how headstrong she is and how much she hates everyone here. Not to mention the lengths she’ll go in order to impress that upon us.”

  “Still,” Boaz interjected diplomatically, “it’s the right thing to do and Ana can make the difference between bloodshed—our blood, that is—and peace. We must all keep this in mind. Forget what has gone before.”

  “Fret not, my Lion. I shall be a dutiful mother and will treat her as I would my own daughter,” Herezah said, the cloying words sticking on her tongue.