Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

“Thank you. I am grateful you say this, because I need you to act as her guardian.” Herezah frowned, confused. “What I mean is you will be going to Galinsea as Ana’s escort.”

  Herezah felt her perfect composure slip. “What?”

  “Ana is representing us in the Galinsean palace. She needs a woman by her side, someone of your caliber to assist her. Take a couple of the slaves to see to both your needs.”

  “Boaz, really, I—”

  “My mind is made up. Believe me, I’ve already had this fight with Lazar. But he is resigned to my decision and I trust you will not argue the point.”

  Herezah was incredulous. He had honored her with honeyed words, and now he was using that same sweetened tongue as a weapon, lowering her to the status of nursery maid. Before she could find words of protest, he had turned away at a signal from Bin.

  “It seems we are under way,” he said, distracted. “It’s to be a brief ceremony, purely an exchange of gifts to seal the marriage.”

  Pez scampered in ahead of everyone, cartwheeling and whooping for joy. He was dressed head to toe in emerald and white to honor his Zar. Behind Pez came the Galinsean party—Marius and Lorto looked refreshed, as well as bemused by the dwarf ’s frivolity. They were accompanied by the Grand Vizier together with a host of Percherese dignitaries, all hastily assembled. Herezah grimaced behind her veil. It was not traditional for a Zar’s marriage to be displayed publicly. It seemed vulgar to her that something so steeped in tradition and mystery was being paraded around almost as a piece of entertainment. Joreb would turn in his tomb—but then, although Joreb enjoyed tradition, he always encouraged his elder sons to think as daringly as their imaginations permitted. We must move Percheron forward, he used to tell the older boys on the rare occasions he gathered them together. It’s valid to keep an eye on the past, to respect what’s gone before, but don’t be left behind by not keeping your other eye on the future.

  It seemed to Herezah that her own son was taking a very forward-thinking approach. Already his short reign had seen so many of the old traditions discarded that she herself was beginning to feel somewhat antiquated in her views, and yet she’d always considered herself a relatively contemporary thinker.

  Pez rolled nearby, pausing to shriek hysterically at Herezah, and this dragged her from her private thoughts back to the event before her. Coming through the doors now was Salmeo, looking very grand and exceptionally pleased with himself. He was holding the hand of Ana, who, dwarfed by his enormous stature, looked every bit the child at his side. Even though her hand was held by Salmeo, she walked as far from him as she could; there was little doubting how much she despised the eunuch. Above them, four Elim carried a silken canopy, embroidered with the finest gold thread. The canopy was a bright blue—Ana’s choice—and that particular shade of aquamarine would now be her palace color, unusable by anyone else in the harem.

  Ana was unveiled because she was in the presence of her Zar, and her arrival drew a hush of awed silence. As much as it galled Herezah, even she had to acknowledge that she had never seen a more glorious-looking woman. To think, just hours before, they had dragged her seemingly lifeless body from the river.

  Ana sparkled—every inch of her glittered and glowed. Her garments had been carefully chosen to seductively reveal her diamond-encrusted shoulders and the golden-hued, flawless skin beneath. The palace seamstresses must have worked impossibly hard these past few hours, Herezah knew. The Valide jealously watched Ana kneel and then lay herself prostrate on the Throne Room’s cool, magnificently tiled floor.

  Herezah could not resist a searching gaze at Lazar, who, despite his own best efforts, looked…what was the right word?…forsaken. Something precious was being taken from him today, and when his own rigid stare slid from Ana to the Valide, Herezah understood that he realized she knew what he was giving up. She would not go so far as to call it love, but his desire for this young woman was certainly obvious to her. Something was dying inside Lazar, she could sense it, and it galled her more deeply than any other wound that she was not the one who was inflicting this pain on him. If only he could feel one tenth of the anguish, of the ache she’d felt for him, he might come close to understanding real envy.

  From Lazar’s forlorn appearance Herezah drew her ultimate comfort, for this day that had gone so badly wrong for her. His suffering pleased her. Her son was marrying the girl she wanted dead, yes, but Lazar’s impenetrable facade was being smashed, burned to rubble before her eyes.

  She smiled at the Spur and both understood what her curving lips conveyed. He looked away, disgusted that she could read him as well as she had.

  Into the hush, Salmeo spoke the traditional words. “Zar Boaz, King of Kings, Mightiest of the Mighties, may I present your First Chosen. The harem approves the marriage and we give you Odalisque Ana to be our sparkling jewel, a treasured possession. May she please you, my Zar, and bring you fine, healthy heirs. Brothers!” His final word was the signal for everyone to offer their good wishes to the Zar and his bride. Specially crafted lightweight wooden eggs were rolled toward the couple as Ana was lifted from the ground and then guided to stand directly before her husband. The wooden eggs were symbolic, meant to offer blessings for a fertile marriage, and in Percherese homes the custom was for the children of the two families being brought together to paint the eggs, with any design of their choosing. In the imperial palace it was also the custom for the eggs to be studded with tiny gems for the bride to collect as keepsakes. Some women, and always the First Chosen, swallowed one of the eggs, acknowledging their power to bestow fertility.

  Ana chose a tiny egg encrusted with palest sapphires that seemed to reflect the color of the sea. It wasn’t easy to swallow, of course, but when she opened her mouth as instructed, to prove it was empty of the egg, applause exploded into the room. The only person not clapping, Herezah noted, was Lazar.

  Boaz cleared his throat and the room became silent. “Thank you, brothers. I accept this woman to be my wife, my First Chosen and Absolute Favorite. She is to be known by that title from now on. We cast away Odalisque; she is now to be addressed as Zaradine Ana.” He held out his hand and Ana stepped up one stair. She momentarily stood above all except the Zar himself. Boaz lowered his head and kissed her hand, drawing a box from his pocket. The box was carved, inlaid with pearl, and was too big for jewels. Once again Herezah was struck by the way her son was breaking from custom even at the most traditional point of his wedding ceremony, when the Zar would normally bestow a magnificent piece of jewelery on his First Chosen.

  “This is for you,” Boaz said, a smile stretching widely across his face. “Open it, Zaradine Ana.”

  With shaking hands she took the heavy box and did as she was asked, withdrawing exquisite miniatures, perfectly rendered in stone, of her favorite statues from Percheron: Beloch and Ezram, the twin giants; Crendel and Darso, the winged lions; Iridor, the owl; and Shakar, the feared dragon.

  Ana opened her mouth in unfeigned delight. Herezah heard puzzled whispers around the room from those who could see the gift. Surely replicas of statues were meaningless to a beautiful woman?

  “Do you like them?” Boaz asked quietly, but just loud enough for Herezah to overhear.

  “I adore them, Zar Boaz,” his new wife replied, and no one could mistake her pleasure.

  “Let the feast begin!” Boaz announced, his own delight evident.

  There was more bemused clapping and smiles before Salmeo called order for the final announcement. “Brothers, we ask you to follow the torches out into the courtyard, where the feast will be held. Our Zar and his new Zaradine will now consummate their marriage and we will provide proof shortly.” His voice took on a conspiratorial tone and the men laughed. Even Marius and Lorto seemed to understand without the need for translation.

  AS ANA TURNED TO follow Salmeo and her Zar, her gaze fell upon the Spur. There was no sense of triumph as she thought there might be within herself, and she saw only deep sorrow in the look he returned. He dipped
his head to her in a crisp bow and took his leave. She was sure he would not be joining the festive celebrations over food. Her mind was a whirl and it was hard to know what to think, how to think. All she knew right at this moment was intense pain—for Kett mostly, but also for herself at being denied death, and for discovering that Lazar had lied. That he was alive and now she would be traveling with him. Worst of all, she knew, despite all her intentions, that she loved him harder at this painful moment than she thought possible. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to Lyana either. It was an ironic turn of events. Lyana had granted her greatest prayer that Lazar somehow survive, even though death seemed so certain, and in return she had given her oath to the Goddess that she would not seek his affections. Lyana had been true and Ana intended to honor her pact with the Goddess. She hoped it would make it easier to keep her promise now that she had anger coursing through her veins, but it was matched equally by the familiar pain of desire. She would have to let them go to war within her and pray that anger won out. Right now the Zar would expect her to join him in his bed. She had not allowed herself to think about it until this moment, and as much as she liked Boaz, the thought revolted her. She had never seen him as a lover, more as a brother, but she had no choice. To keep those she loved safe—and she helplessly included Lazar in this small group—she had to see this through and be a dutiful Zaradine.

  THE SIGNAL WAS GIVEN and Ana followed behind the men, carrying her box of statues, more precious to her than any jewels.

  No one noticed the stillness of the Grand Vizier, who was still trying to understand the meaning of the Zar’s gift to his Zaradine. Maliz was utterly convinced now that, although Ana was not the Goddess, she was his guide to the discovery of who Lyana was. How Boaz could be involved intrigued him—or was it just pure coincidence? Stranger things had happened in his lifetime, but he had learned to pay attention to everything, treat all potential clues as leads to the pathway he sought.

  Ana and her box of statues—renderings of the very same creatures Maliz had personally turned to stone all those centuries ago—would lead him to that path.

  24

  Lazar did not join the festivities; instead he tried to put distance between himself and the Zar’s private chambers, convincing himself that if he were physically removed he might also be able to remove the thought of Ana and Boaz from his mind. He found himself in a lonely orange grove on the fringe of the palace complex, mercifully empty of workers or servants. His head hurt from lack of sleep, but his heart hurt far more.

  Pez found him brooding.

  “You didn’t hide it very well.”

  Lazar looked up from the ground, where he had been studying an ant’s labors. “What do you mean?”

  “Ana.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Not to Boaz, thankfully.”

  “I thought I could handle it, Pez. I thought I was bigger, stronger, tougher.”

  “Than what?”

  “Than love,” Lazar replied wistfully.

  Pez hefted himself onto the small stone bench seat next to Lazar. He was silent for a few moments. And then he sighed. “I hadn’t realized how painful this is for you.”

  “If I didn’t have to keep seeing her, it might be easier.”

  “This is true, but you have no choice now that war is coming. How do you think your parents will react to her?”

  “I haven’t known my parents in so many years it’s hard to judge, but I can’t think of a better candidate.” Lazar sighed. “I would spare her it if I could, Pez, I hope you know that. But there is no guarantee that they would necessarily forgive me—or even listen to me—if I argued Percheron’s case. Ana has as much chance as I do to gain their ear and they will spare her life—they have to, she is a diplomatic emissary. With me, they could do whatever they want—kill me, throw me into the dungeon. And I’d be no help to Boaz and Percheron in a stinking cell. I need to be able to fight this war if it’s coming. I know how the Galinsean mind works.”

  Pez nodded. “Well, we shall all be there to give her confidence.”

  “You’ve heard, then?”

  The dwarf grimaced. “Yes. In a way, I’m pleased—I’d rather keep my enemy close.”

  “It seems all my enemies are along for the ride.”

  “Herezah will certainly make it an interesting journey. I think we can count in days when she’ll make her move on you.”

  Lazar groaned.

  “It’s probably a good thing. Keep your mind off Ana.”

  “I would not touch the wife of the Zar.”

  Pez shrugged. “That’s good, then. Perhaps you can do us all a favor and keep his mother happy.”

  Lazar ignored the comment. “What about the Vizier? He’s been goading me most of the afternoon.”

  “What do you think he knows?”

  “I have no idea. He was certainly probing, trying to make connections.”

  “That’s what Maliz is about. His whole reason for being is to find the clues that lead him to Lyana. He takes nothing for granted, leaves no stone unturned. There is no thread too weak for him to pull on. He will always follow each to its end.”

  “And I’m one of them?”

  “Of course you are, but he doesn’t know that. You are simply another person to be watched until you can be discounted as having no potential, no clues to Lyana’s physical incarnation.”

  “Like what?”

  “Some have already presented themselves. Kett, for instance—Maliz may or may not have made the connection.”

  “Kett’s involved?”

  “I’m sorry, Lazar. I haven’t told you this. Kett named himself the Raven a long time ago to me.”

  “And who is the Raven?”

  “The bird of sorrows. He lives a life of sadness, brings grave news, and if my memories serve me true, then he makes a prediction.”

  “A prediction of what?”

  “Usually cryptic but traditionally related to the outcome of the battle. That’s why we call him the bird of sorrows. It has never been good news for Lyana’s followers. This time it may be different.”

  “Who does he tell?”

  “It varies.”

  Lazar paused, thinking. “You think he gave his prediction to Ana.”

  “Possibly. They spent time together before he died. Perhaps that’s what Ellyana meant about this time being different.”

  “I don’t get you,” Lazar said, frowning.

  “Well, to my knowledge the Raven has never had access to Lyana before. He usually has to tell one of her supporters.”

  “And you think he’s told Ana—”

  “Lyana.”

  Lazar ignored the interruption. “You think he’s given her some important information.”

  “I’m guessing. I have only the traditions of the past to go on, and as I keep telling you, this time is supposed to be different.”

  Something struck Lazar. “What happens when Maliz comes into contact with the woman he hunts?”

  “Ah,” Pez said, conspiratorially. He paused a moment. “Forgive me, I just had to check that no one was eavesdropping.”

  “Using the Lore?”

  Pez nodded quickly before continuing. “Maliz hunts down anyone he suspects can lead him to the Goddess.”

  “And?”

  “When he is finally aware of her, he comes into his true power.”

  “Only when he knows she has risen?”

  “Yes, that’s when his powers are all his to draw upon.”

  “So where has Maliz been all of this time before stealing Tariq’s body?”

  “He hides. Give himself to a body that requires very little of his powers to control. To tell the truth, he’s powerless until he commits to a body.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Pez sighed. “Maliz lurks, for want of a better word, in a body he chooses deliberately because of its ability to hide him. For instance, someone old, someone very young perhaps, someone with an affliction. He lives within this body,
virtually dormant. If it should die he can move to another body, but without Iridor’s rising, he has no power to commit to a body.”

  “Take it over completely, you mean?”

  “That’s right. He can exist for decades, moving only should the host look like he’s dying. But he can’t use his full magic…just enough to make the body function and sustain itself. He is summoned when Iridor rises. He comes into greater powers at the rising of Lyana.”

  “Is it the same for Lyana?”

  “Similar.”

  “And?”

  “Well, traditionally he destroys her,” Pez said irritably.

  Lazar was frowning again. “He won’t waste any time. He’ll kill her on the spot?”

  “If he can, yes. I believe in some cycles he’s done just that. More often he has to struggle a little harder. She is evasive, and of course, she fights back.”

  “But if he has access to her, that is to say, he comes face-to-face with her, he has the power to destroy her?”

  Pez misunderstood the question. “History shows that blow for blow, yes, he is stronger, but this time—”

  Lazar shook his head. “Then Ana is not who you think she is.”

  Pez continued, talking over Lazar’s soft realization, not registering what he had said. “…this time, being different, I have no idea how it will go. What did you just say?”

  “I said, Ana is not the Goddess.”

  Pez frowned quizzically. “Why do you say that?”

  “Pez,” Lazar said gently, as if talking to a young child, “Boaz sent the Grand Vizier to fetch Ana from the harem only hours ago. They spent a considerable amount of time together because Boaz entrusted Tariq-Maliz, whatever you want to call him, to brief Ana on the plans regarding Galinsea. And what’s worse, I sense she sees the Vizier as an ally.”

  Lazar watched his friend’s face blanch, his lips part, but no sound came out. The Spur waited, knew it was a shock, understood that this news placed Pez in a situation of terrible limbo.

  “Did he touch her?” the dwarf finally asked, his voice urgent.